Editorial

Heatstruck

TODAY IS THE FINAL DAY. Since the last week of August, it has been more like Rio de Janiero around here than Rochester, NY, with temperatures approaching near 32 degrees Celsius day upon day upon day. That is because our friend the jet stream has snaked its way far, far north, nearly hugging the Arctic Circle. This has allowed great volumes of atmosphere from the Amazon Rain Forest to cross our southern border without passport and blanket most of the country.

But today is the final day. Beginning very late this evening and through most of tomorrow, the jet stream will return to its home turf and drag a cold front with it. Might even get some thundershowers in the package.

Here’s what the National Weather Service has to say. I really enjoy reading their reports. I don’t know who writes them, but they can write for “Perihelion” any time.

AN INVERTED TROUGH EXTENDING FROM THE UPPER GREAT LAKES TO THE CENTRAL PLAINS LATE TUESDAY NIGHT WILL GRADUALLY EVOLVE INTO A LEGITIMATE ... ALBEIT WAVY ... COLD FRONT ON WEDNESDAY AS IT WILL PUSH SOUTHEAST ACROSS THE LOWER GREAT LAKES. THE OVERALL SYNOPTIC FORCING WITH THE SLOW MOVING FRONTAL BOUNDARY IS NOT BEING ADVERTISED AS BEING ALL THAT IMPRESSIVE ... BUT IT WILL BE ENOUGH IN COMBINATION WITH THE MID SUMMER LIKE THERMODYNAMIC ENVIRONMENT TO PRODUCE INCREASINGLY NUMEROUS SHOWERS AND POTENTIALLY STRONG THUNDERSTORMS.

I’ll take “potentially.” I’ll take whatever I can get at the moment rather than the dreadful heat that has been relentlessly baking my property. Although I have plenty of air-conditioning, I don’t really like it. Continually circulating the same gases within the house for days at a time tends to produce light-headedness, and the slight sense of panic that accompanies claustrophobia. Fortunately, I have my alprazolam, and a widescreen TV to get my mind off the climate.

Being forced to watch hours of unfiltered TV with the air-conditioning going full tilt and a cold beer results in some very weird behavior. I’ve discovered that the lady bimbos on “Tanked” really grate on my nerves, and that I’d desperately prefer to see the “Wicked Tuna” live up to their adjective, reverse the dynamic, and start stalking the fishermen. (I have nothing against fishing; I go fishing; but I don’t think it is truly exciting boob tube entertainment; something is needed to spice up the drama. Charlie with vengeance on his mind might be just the ticket.)

I don’t like to watch fully-scripted TV series because I don’t have the time or patience to commit to the sixty-nine hours or longer needed to figure out why Michael Westen got a burn notice in the first place. Once I attempted to DVR an entire series so I could deal with the time constraints, but after a month of the episodes sitting in limbo on the hard drive, I couldn’t care less, and deleted them.

What has positively set my jaw on the hardwood floor recently is the proliferation of “reality” shows (yeah, right) that appear to indicate a growing segment of the American population wants to live like Alley Oop. Or at least like Fred Flintstone.

One of the latest is “Live Free or Die,” on National Geographic, Tuesdays. “Live Free or Die” is not about New Hampshire, believe it or not. The show explores one of America’s most remote subcultures, following six people who have left the modern world behind to live in backwoods and swamps where they hunt their own food, build their own shelters, and survive only on what they can produce with their own two hands and sharp intuition. The half-dozen primitives live in mostly the South, like in Georgia and North Carolina. But the show isn’t called “Wisdom, Justice, Moderation” or “Esse Quam Viderai.” I guess they don’t have air-conditioning, either. Wonder how they’re surviving the heat?

The wannabe troglodytes include: Colbert Sturgeon who remarkably resembles Buddy Ebsen when he was partnered up with Fess Parker; Tony and Amelia who stepped out of a time machine from the 1960s Hippie subculture; Thorn, who is intent upon teaching his young daughter when she visits (and I can’t quite figure that one out, either) the proper way to decapitate a chicken; and some other unusual individuals.

I don’t get it, this whole “re-wilding” thing. We didn’t spend hundreds of thousands of years evolving into politicians, door-to-door salesmen, and telemarketers only to throw it all aside in favor of a bone in the nose and an animal hide loincloth.

[Left, Davy ... Davy Crockett ... King of the Wild Frontier.]

So I have my own off-the-grid script I’d like to sell NatGeo, Discovery, or Animal Planet. I call it “Cro-Magnon 2016” or “Leave it to Erectus.” The premise of the series is that a group of diverse survivalists are air dropped into a remote location and tasked to build a functioning, thriving tribe within a single TV season. Initially, however, they have no tech, no food, no water, no clothes, and here’s the wow factor, no language! In the beginning, they cannot use any spoken words at all. They are encouraged to develop their own language, but are forbidden to use any words or syntax that already exist in modern speech. They can’t say “water,” but they can call it “hoga.” They can’t shout “shit!” but they can yell “aff!” A primitive religion is optional.

Points are deducted from their Caveman Aptitude Rating (CAR), initially set at 125, for using modern language, mathematics, science, cell phones, George Foreman Grills, or unauthorized communications with Bear Grylls, Mick Dodge, or Atz Lee Kilcher. If a tribesperson’s CAR falls below 50, they are immediately kicked off the show. They are not replaced, so an individual’s misbehavior can have serious impact on the tribe’s overall health. Too few people and the tribe becomes unsustainable. Getting caught playing “Candy Crush” results in immediate ejection. Sweet!

At the end of the season, if a post-modern tribe of humans has successfully been established, the participants each share the cash prize equivalent of a boatload of opilio crab, and ... a new car! (The audience goes wild.)

My main concern is that too many people will be falling all over themselves to get on the show. What does this say about us as a species? I fondly remember back in the late ’50s and early ’60s, what with the nation hell-bent on sending a man to the moon, we all had stars of tomorrow in our eyes. A sense of wonder pervaded the environment. High tech was embraced, encouraged, and celebrated by the media. What went wrong? When did we lose our evolutionary manifest destiny?

I don’t want to hunt a turkey with a bow and arrow for dinner. I want to buy one at Wegman’s so I can cook it in my microwave in time to watch a science fiction movie on my widescreen TV with a cold beer right out of the fridge in my hand. I like a nice Guinness Extra Stout, thank you.

Sam Bellotto Jr.