In the Northern Hemisphere, the dog days of summer are most commonly experienced in the months of July and August, which typically observe the warmest summer temperatures. (Or, in New Orleans, March till early December.)
The Romans referred to the dog days as diēs caniculārēs and associated the hot weather with the star Sirius. They considered Sirius to be the "Dog Star" or, Canis Major (Large Dog).
I would have deemed it due to the proximity of the sun to the earth's tilt...but I'm not a Roman. I don't look good in leather straps, sandals and, for the record, I also will go on record to attest that I've never crucified anyone claiming to be the son of a deity.
Sirius, by the way, is the brightest star in the night sky. (Sorry Beyonce.)
The term "Dog Days" was used earlier by the Greeks primarily because the Greeks thought themselves to be better than everyone else for inventing the world's FIRST portable sandwich AND for getting away with pre-marital sex via other anatomical entry points. They might be lousy bankers...but the Greeks definitely know how to throw a party...AND crash a national economy! It's like living with my ex all over again.
The Dog Days originally were the days when Sirius rose just before or at the same time as sunrise, (Much like my neighbor's dog).
This is no longer true, owing to precession of the equinoxes...and a primary factor as to why network television debuts shitty new programs during these months.
The Romans sacrificed a red dog (Not the failed Miller beer product) in April to appease the rage of Sirius, believing that the star was a primary cause for hot, sultry weather. It's simply amazing to me that this empire eventually fell.
In fact, sultry summer days are now attributed to Global Warming®, according to Al Gore©.
Dog Days were popularly believed to be an evil time "the Sea boiled, the wine turned sour, dogs grew mad and all other creatures became languid; causing to man, among other diseases, burning fevers, hysterics, phrensies, Acid Reflux, PMS, herpes, Karaoke bars and anal hematoma."**
**(Or, as my computer spell check helpfully demands that I change to "tomato.")
Realizing that "Dog Days" was all just a foolish "wive's tale" Sirius decided to hire Howard Stern and merge with XM satellite radio...and, the rest is history. (for $13.95 per month. With an option to add the NFL package.)
I don't have the first clue as to why people seem to behave as they do during the warmest days of summer other than to speculate that it has something to do with margaritas.
Did you know that there's a CDC sanctioned study which theorizes that when ice cream sales spike, so do homicide rates? Who says that our tax dollars aren't spent wisely? One researcher offers this brave dissent:
Saying that warm weather causes crime is just as simplistic as saying ice cream causes crime. I was in Chicago this past weekend, and I didn't kill anybody. (I ate a lot of ice cream, too, for what it’s worth.)
Thank you doc. It's useful to point out that, by comparison, the crime rate survey was likely not done on Michigan Avenue or in the lobby bar of the Intercontinental Hotel.
I don't believe that there's correlation or causation between ice cream and homicide rates other than the irritating music which emanates from the drug, I mean, ice cream truck, driven by a gentleman named "Big Worm." Moving, however, probably holds an extreme correlation.
Summer moving is always a fresh, new and exciting chapter in the making for one's life. New beginnings are fun for everyone...except for the one guy, who finds himself, reluctantly, enlisted in the moving process.
He's extremely hung over and finds himself engaged in a full-blown argument within his head as to the correct name of the young woman with which he had unthinkable sexual relations, at 4am, on the previous evening after being tossed out of the bar.**
**Note: If you own a pickup truck, SELL it, and/or post your own death notice in the local newspaper so that all of your friends and family believe you to be deceased. You'll also need to cancel your cell service provider.
As my friends have aptly demonstrated, it's especially a smart idea to move in late July/early August in the sub-tropics where the median heat index is somewhere between 4 to 5-thousand degrees.
I saw a car literally melt into a giant silver blob in the middle of an intersection on the day that I decided to help a friend move two weeks ago. I showed up, logically, at 8:00am, when a pleasant morning breeze prevailed (from the North) and the sun hadn't yet cleared the buildings and trees. Of course, her plan was much more logical than mine, in that we began loading in and out between the hours of 1:00pm and 4:00pm.
It's absolute entertainment value at its finest when assisting a couple on moving day. Blissful, sweet nothings, which are shared between couples, devolve from:
"(Playfully giggling) I'm SO excited about the new place! I have a special treat for you tonight sweetie to christen our new house. I found my special toy in that box from the closet shelf."
To:
"If you move the f**king box tape one more time, I am going to kill your entire family and the dog...in front of you."
Where I grew up, summertime held special camaraderie in promoting "community." Neighbors would visit with one another on their front lawns or porches for lazy afternoon/early evening social time.
In the deep south, where the average temp is 97 with humidity reaching levels as that of a boiling tea kettle, one might spot family and neighbors strewn across the porch, slumped backwards in their chairs...resembling the scene at Jim Jones' religious compound after they drank the Lord's special Kool-aid...or a Tom Jones concert.
Summertime also represented long afternoons of baseball, sitting under a giant tree in my grandparents back yard, riding bicycles all morning with no particular destination in mind and an inappropriate moment with my second cousin. She was related by marriage so, I'm told, it's okay.
One study from the New Jersey Medical association relates summertime behavior to the following:
Heat suppresses the thyroid hormone, which causes energy drain. Heat also stimulates growth hormones, specifically, a closely related protein hormone called Prolactin, which causes lethargy. In addition, Prolactin inhibits the effects of dopamine, a chemical in the brain that is associated with positive feelings and/or the strong feeling to go home with, what appears to be, a fairly attractive person as the bar announces Last Call.**
**Note: Ask your doctor if Prolactin is right for you.
Dog Days of summer stirs a nostalgic image of 1960's Americana, in my mind. An era where children splash around an open fire hydrant on a busy city street, completely doused in cool (lead pipe laden) water, eventually causing them to fall terminally ill from various forms of cancer decades later.
That's an image that Norman Rockwell probably never painted.
Because I'm an optimist, I like to fast forward to the same scene in the 21st century where one of the children, likely, will become a hood ornament on a Lexus SUV at the hands of someone reading a text which reminds:
"Don't forget to pick up some hummus at Whole Foods sweetheart...xoxo!"
I have a simple, yet, unscientific hypothesis as to symptoms which these Dog Days present in mankind. It's a highly sophisticated psychological term which I regularly diagnose upon myself and friends when the blazing red Mercury rises on that doorstep thermometer:
It's not the heat...it's the humidity. Or, perhaps, you're just being an as**ole.
Of course most of my friends, upon receiving the above assessment, blankly stare at me as though Alex Trebek has just informed them that 18th century opera is today's Final Jeopardy question. With the exception of my homosexual friends.
As I finish this piece, and round out the summer, I'm reminded of sincere fun times which punctuated my childhood. Backyard picnics, fishing, swimming, all of my uncles, my father and my grandfather slumped under a shade tree in the backyard with a blood alcohol level of .38 as my mom and grandmother screamed at them as though they were making a bid on The Price Is Right.
With that, I hear the faint sound of music from a block away; I'm heading outside to make a purchase from Big Worm...I mean, the ice cream man.
