Happy Memorial Day Weekend, mei amici! This is the unofficial start to summer, and I can believe it. It is hot as bawls here in North By God Carolina. It's so hot that my damned clothes melted off, so I'm left sitting around in puris naturalibus In case you don't know what that means, you can probably see the word "natural" in there--you know, on second thought, I don't need anybody throwing up, so we'll just leave it at that.
Anyway, Memorial Day is here as well as summer! I've mentioned in the past how much the Romans loved them some holidays, and I've told you about how they were superstitious about ghosts of old family members and gods and shit haunting them, and we all know about the famous Roman legions marching across most of Europe, conquering and plundering as they went. So, Memorial Day would be a holiday that the Romans would fully embrace--almost as much as we do now.
You know what else the Romans loved? Summer vacations. Since the city would get hot and smelly (what with all the horse shit littering the streets and vats of piss sitting around to brighten your smile and toga), well-to-do Roman families would retreat to the countryside where they would live in the villas and enjoy the cool, pastoral relaxation away from the bustle of the city. They called it feriae aestivae, and it typically lasted from late June until the beginning of August.
My family--who was decidedly not wealthy nor Roman--would do something similar. Every weekend, and especially on the long holiday weekends, we would retreat to the pastoral coolness of The Lake, which wasn't exactly cool and we did not exactly own a great tract of land, and the cottages were slammed so close together that you could hear people next door passing gas or taking a piss, so forget pastoral. In fact, we had a small cottage well removed from the water with no air conditioning and well water that smelled like fish and tasted like rust. Vivimus somnium.
Despite how unpleasant I make it out to be (and believe me, I wish I was exaggerating), some of the happiest memories of my childhood took place at The Lake. Where else could cousin Napoleon almost get crushed by half a maple tree and live to tell about it, or how could I not look back on that time I stepped in dogshit walking to the swimming hole--in my bare feet--and laugh gleefully at the memories.
So, substituting for my memories of sitting in the back of a crowded station wagon with the Beach Boys blaring in my ears as I drifted off to sleep while we criss-crossed the nation, going from one roadside attraction to another, I have memories of The Lake. And, well, I probably wouldn't have it any other way.
I just wish I had had a chance to fuck one of the Dietz girls...
So, if you find yourself stuck in traffic, or on a crowded beach,
or your kids are driving you fucking batshit crazy! or you have some family or guests who are beginning to, you know, smell like fish--if you catch my drift--you can always turn to a loved one and utter this little gem:
Pronounced: "Hike oh-leem may-mee-nee-say eeyou-wah-beet!"
You could also use that phrase in case you suffer from premature ejaculation or erectile dysfunction, so it doesn't have to just be an awkward holiday-related scenario that causes you to rely on your old buddy Latin for a release.
And, in case you were wondering, I'm not planning much this weekend. A little yard work, maybe a couple of small projects around the house, and lots of laying around watching my big-ass tv and grilling. Seared meat is what summer is all about! Valete!
 "my friends"
 "completely naked"
 "Summer vacation"
 "Living the dream!"
 "later, bitches!"