Mike Buzzelli

Summer loving

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It’s Memorial Day weekend, and that means summer is upon us. That makes me insanely happy. The insane was a given, but the happy is new.


It’s not just the scantily clad people, but it is nice to be able to tell the difference between a supermodel and a farmer. This winter everyone was so bundled up, facial hair and lipstick were the only determining factors that helped you distinguish between men and women. Downtown, you would occasionally see someone with both.


I just love summer. It’s nice to be able to plan an event and not have to worry about snow and ice. Snow and ice kept me away from a lot of great events. Sometimes, weathermen kept me away from some really cool activities because they would threaten snow and ice, but none came. It was the fear of the snow and the ice. Shoveling out, scraping ice from my windshield, skidding down the road made every outing a lot less fun.


Flowers are in bloom again! The bleak gray goes away and there is color everywhere. It’s like going from Kansas to Oz.


Side note: Technically, Dorothy goes from Kansas to Munchkinland. She has to walk to Oz.


Is there a reverse Polar Vortex? Can we get a Tropical Vortex up in here? Actually, a Tropical Vortex sounds like a smoothie at a hipster juice joint.


I don’t even mind the rain in the summer. You don’t have to shovel rain.


I love the heat. I’m convinced I’m part lizard. It can never be too hot for me. Once, I was sitting out at the pool in Palm Springs and I didn’t notice it was 111 degrees. The screen on my cellphone melted, but I was swimming away. To be fair, there is no humidity in the desert. Also, I was in the water, and it was cool and refreshing. My cellphone, however, was sitting on a plastic chair in direct sunlight.


Two Tuesdays ago, I met my friend Kristy at Market Square in Downtown Pittsburgh. It was our first 80-degree day. We were planning a comedy event at her theater, Arcade Comedy Theater (June 14). We sat outside at a table at the world’s slowest Starbucks. About 20 minutes after she ordered it, she brought me an iced tea to a little metal table outside the building.


She sat down at the table, dabbed her brow with a napkin and said, “It’s hot!” She was the first person to say it to me. I don’t normally hit women, but I remember balling up my fist. This winter, I had vowed to smack the first person to say “It’s hot,” but, since she co-owns the theater, I thought it best not to belt her, especially since I still want to perform there. She also paid and brought me my beverage, so I decided cracking her across the face would just be rude.


I was going to promise to smack the next person who says it, but, with my luck, it will be some old lady at the bus stop. So, I’ve promised myself to stop making such violent vows.


I am just going to relax and enjoy the summer as much as I can.


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