Something happens every August whether we want it to or not. The Dog Days arrive. Kids get their final warning that school is on the way. Families exodus the safe confines of their houses for one last heated vacation. Everyone looks a little dizzy and doesn't realize it. I fall victim to the August sloppiness every year. I try different things to keep it together, keep it together, keep it together, but I realize I'm just repeating myself.

Something happened when Marlon Brando died. I got to see all those old Brando movies I had never seen. Take out Streetcar, The Godfather, and Apocalypse Now (I had seen those plenty), and the winner of the other Brando films is Last Tango In Paris. To describe the French/American movie would pale in comparison to actually watching the bizarre early 70s gem. I watched the flick with my brother and said that was Brando's last great movie. A real powerful love affair. He exclaimed that it was more of a weird sex movie than a love affair flick. I've been making the same mistake with my real life relationships for years. Man, it's getting warmer.

I sat at the back end of the Golden West waiting for the open mike comedy show to end so my band could play. Only a fool would book a brash rock band after lame comedy, but a lot of people are dizzy these days. The comedians had lots of tired jokes about being Catholic and Hispanic, New Mexicans having no car insurance, and parodies of pop songs that were in vogue three years ago. The material was older than Old Beans. Right before we ripped into Republican Girls, I shouted out to the sparse crowd "How come no one made fun of our fucking president?" and someone gasped like the secret service were going to break in and take us away. This country has become scared of its own shadow, and we don't even realize we're causing it.

A few couples I know bought houses this summer. Well, not exactly bought. They agreed to finance a place for several years in hopes of someday owning the dwellings or reselling it later to cover debts. Settling down or something like that. I don't really have the itch, money or inclination to purchase a house, but I probably shouldn't knock those who do. I might need a place to crash some day.

I ordered two cases of wine off the Internet in early July, but it did not arrive in the time allotted. When I called the company to see what was wrong, they stated, unbeknownst to me, that one of the selection I made would not be available until September. The entire order was being held back for that reason. I didn't get mad at the guy. I just substituted out the pinot noir, and I received the cases the next week. Why would anyone order two cases of wine two months before they really wanted it? What kind of business would hold off an order for that long? Oh, who cares? I've got wine now, and it's hot today.

I'm reading Stranger Than Fiction by Chuck Palahniuk (the Fight Club guy). It's a collection of bizarre non-fiction pieces that he wrote for magazines or himself. It's really fascinating stuff, but I'm realizing something else. Every time I get excited about a book I'm reading, the world around me becomes less interesting. I hear people talk about their petty problems, talk like they never received an education, and find new ways to screw themselves over. Chuck Palahniuk is right: reading is something we do alone. It affects us in a unique way that no one else is experiencing at the same time (save clingy book club groups). Bill Cosby is more right than people give him credit for: it's not just black kids talking a bunch of jive, it's an entire generation. The more I read, the less I relate to the world. Maybe that's why half of the Americans don't read. Hey, half of the Americans also voted for Bush. I think I'm on to something. No wait, it's just the heat.

You know what? Marlon Brando, stand up comedy, buying a house, ordering wine, and reading a book may not have much to do with each other, but it's still part of freaky dog day living. What's that? Rick James just died at age 56. Man, these dog days are officially Super Freaky.

Chris Jungle goes on vacation in a week.