MR WRONG: Shun the sun
Indignity Vol. 6, No. 50
FIRST THERE'S THIS DEP'T.
Tom Scocca
CHAPTER 31 of Tom Scocca's serialized work of fiction appears Friday, which means now is a great time to get caught up on THE STAIRS!
COLUMN DEP’T.
MR WRONG: It's So Hot Out There They're Saying “Hot Out There”
I DON’T KNOW what’s going on in your neck of the woods weatherwise, but where I’m living, it’s very hot. It’s the kind of hot where people you might meet—if you are unfortunate enough to have to go outside and on top of that, meet people—feel compelled to say “small talk” stuff like, “Wow, it’s too hot,” or “I am perspiring heavily on account of this crazy heat,” and the humidity references, ugh, because they have heat-poached brains, they went outside, I don’t judge, it’s too hot out!
The best strategy, if you are fortunate enough to have a place to live, in this Economy, is to keep the shades down, and if you are blessed with the modern miracle of air conditioning, keep the windows and doors closed, because the air out there is not good! It is deadly! And too hot!
Plus, I have been advised that at any minute there might be a cataclysmic thunderstorm with wind and hail and all kindsa crap, and I am concerned about this, because I am highly invested in the safety and security of my recently re-opened MICRO POOL™, the subject of which I lean heavily on to supply the Gentle Readers of the Mr. Wrong column with the chance to enjoy (or at least read) freshly-typed words of the Mr. Wrong column, and, in that regard I went into way too much detail in last week’s Mr. Wrong column!
JOE MACLEOD
OK, so right before I sat down to type today’s Mr. Wrong column (which may have already broken the record for the number of times I have typed “the Mr. Wrong column” into a Mr. Wrong column), I went out on the deck of my castle to stow our leisure-time folding chairs that might get blown around when the maelstrom happens, because if one of those gets lifted up by a malign zephyr and ends up in the MICRO POOL™, it will def tear the delicate pool liner and cost me several hundred dollars in repairs!
So I am outside, in the stultifying heat, breaking my own good common sense rule about avoiding the heat! I think that’s why I typed so many “the Mr. Wrong column”s into today’s column (Mr. Wrong), my brain-pan got overheated.
Anyway, I am out there in the blazing mind-roasting hellscape of Perdition’s own flames made Earthly, and I see this thing sticking out from under the cover of my terrifyingly large combinated smoker/grill and I realize it’s one of our cats, outside in one billion degrees fahrenheit or whatever, and I can see part of his face, and I am pretty sure he’s OK, but I’m not sure, you know, because it’s like three hundred million degrees, and he might have heatstroke or something.
I shake the cover of the grill and he does a routine cat-reaction of yawning and stretching and kinda giving me a dirty look as he saunters back into the house to assume the position we have come to call “konnichiwa (こんにちは),” but I did some research and it’s not an accurate term in good usage of Japanese, even in this Humor context, so if anybody knows a good funny one-or-two-word term for what to call this in Japanese, lemme know and I’ll send you a prize.
He also does this other one, which I have seen squirrels do, which I believe is a variant of what is called “splooting,” and while it is not undignified, it makes me worry about this feline, like, does he need more calcium or something in his diet?
Look, it’s hot, the cat is doing undignified postures, I am gonna wrap it up a little early, because the power has gone out twice while I been trying to type this thing (notice I didn’t put “the Mr. Wrong column” there), and I really hate typing on my phone if the power really cuts out, so please be careful if you are experiencing any of this oppressive hotness, find a cool place to hide in, some cities have “cooling centers” that they have open for this very reason, it’s almost as if the planet’s climate is changing, eh? Anyway, remain well hydrated!
The MR. WRONG COLUMN is a general-interest column appearing weekly. No refunds. Write Wrong: wrongcolumn@gmail.com.
WEATHER REVIEWS
New York City to Parsippany, New Jersey, to New York City, June 7, 2026
★★★★ The overlapping roars of various air conditioners that had been necessary at night carried out over the morning street, but the dampness was gathering itself to leave. The rain had washed clean the bottleneck on the sidewalk where a dog had left an incomprehensible number of turds a few days before. The forecast had seemingly arbitrarily specified that there would be clouds at 1 p.m., and clouds there were—and then 40 minutes later there were unpredicted streaks of rain on the windows. Minutes later, though, full sun was shining again and the new puddles were burning off. One more fleeting spit of rain hit the windshield on the way up and around on Morningside Drive, after which the ride over the bridge and out into New Jersey was bright and easy. The flag over the Police Athletic League gym caught exactly the amount of wind that makes a flag wave most presentably. When the late afternoon basketball was finished, magnificent purple clouds had gathered loosely over New Jersey. The Manhattan skyline was a sketch by someone who'd gotten a little carried away with a straight edge and sharp pens. As the sun descended, the glass faces of the towers turned coppery or brilliant silver, depending on the angle they were catching. The meandering Meadowlands streams were pale metallic blue. People labored up a steep, grimy parking lot with the wind and sun at their backs, clothes whipping in the gusts, beside bent and tossing branches. The sky was clearer in Manhattan, while off to the west of Twelfth Avenue, over the river, hung an arched cloud like a vast pink-bellied whale slowly flattening out as it swam. Colors followed colors, with one interlude when the rental car, heading back to the garage, faced up a sloping cross street into a tintype view of black clouds on white sky.
New York City, June 8, 2026
★★★★★ Morning was tranquil, clement, brilliant. Birdsong came louder than the voices on the video calls. If there had been an outdoor electrical outlet, there would have been no reason to go inside at all. While the computer's battery was recovering, a breeze picked up enough to raise a stage whisper from the dogwood leaves. A high-floor window, swung partway open, threw a reflected afternoon sunbeam down through the space where the morning sun had been. The skate shop guy, hanging out by the open front of the store, stopped a passerby to explain that they were going to have a watching party right there on Broadway come game time. Everything sparkled; everything shone; the huge white wings of a passing egret were brilliant beyond all previous egret brilliance, the wings of an angel not yet deigning to descend. The skate shop guy, hanging out by the open front of the store, stopped a passerby to explain that they were going to have a watching party right there on Broadway come game time.
New York City, June 9, 2026
★★★★ The ninth-grader had no school to get ready for, but the sun did the job of the alarm clock anyway. The day was heating up but not fast enough for troubling with switching to shorts and putting sunscreen on the legs. Streaks of wispy cloud formed the shapes of a sleigh and a galleon. The glare in the streets put a strain on the eye muscles. A smell of sun-heated vegetation filled the street leading down to the Park. The little niche on the shore of the Pool by the crabapple tree was nearly curtained off by leafy branches. A fisherman cast a line most of the way across the water and reeled it back and cast again. House sparrows flew out low over the water and hovered there, briefly and frantically, to peck at the duckweed before retreating to land to recover for another foray.
SANDWICH RECIPES DEP'T.
WE PRESENT INSTRUCTIONS for the assembly of a sandwich selected from Consolidated Library of Modern Cooking and Household Recipes, Vol. IV, by Christine Terhune Herrick, Editor-In-Chief, author of The Little Dinner, The Chafing-Dish Supper, etc., and associate author with Marion Harland of the National Cook Book, with a list of contributors which includes many of the famous chefs and cooking experts of the United States, published in 1905 and available at archive.org for the delectation of all.
Sardine Sandwiches
Remove the bone from sardines; rub to a paste with a little Worcestershire sauce and lemon juice. Butter and cut thin slices of Boston brown bread, spread with the sardine mixture, cover with another slice, and cut across, making them semi-circular in shape.
Salmon Sandwiches
Use cold boiled or canned salmon. Mince fine; add lemon juice and the yolks of 1 or 2 hard-boiled eggs to a cupful of the minced fish. Season with salt and cayenne. Spread thin slices of bread with the mixture and cover with another slice, either with or without the addition of a leaf of crisp lettuce or a few sprigs of watercress sprinkled with salt.
If you are inspired to prepare a sandwich inspired by our continued offerings, be sure to send along a description of your experience and a photo or three to us here: indignity@indignity.net.
EASY LISTENING DEP'T.
Here is the Indignity Morning Podcast archive!
TOM SCOCCA
SELF-SERVING SELF-PROMOTION DEP'T.
