Maybe it’s all the Beach Boys songs that are such a part of our shared cultural heritage.
Maybe it’s the residual effects of the American school system’s three months off in the summer.
Maybe it’s Madison Avenue’s effect on the cultural zeitgeist.
But Americans are supposed to love summer.
To Americans, summer is fun; barbecues, baseball, boating at the lake, fun fun fun in Daddy’s T-bird…
…and, fact is, I like all that.
But for most Americans, summer looks a lot more like this…
…with, on weeks like this, a heaping helping of this:
Don’t get me wrong. I love summer – provided I can be violently physically active, preferably biking (with its built-in breeze).
- one of ten Minnesotans whose family didn’t accumulate some kind of lake property back in the fifties, so summer is a matter of trying to stay functional between bouts of non-misery
- not a teacher
- battling hay fever that is intensely aggravated by the heat and humidity, so when I say “stob” I really mean “dode go”
- a cold weather baby
…and you can have this hot, steaming, humid, mangrove-swamp-dwelling dripping crap.
That is all.