As much as I am a lover of warm weather, summer is the season of stale cultural retreads. No worthwhile TV. Scads of bland popcorn flicks and remakes. Sure, a few football players helpfully implode their careers in the service of futilely attempting to slake our insatiable lust for football news, but truthfully, fresh Mike Vick dogfighting jokes probably won’t last us through June, the discovery of a doggie Dachau or no. And because I’m enough of a low-level functionary at work, I can’t get much time to enjoy the summery splendor – I worked two out of three days over Memorial Day weekend, don’t have enough money to take any exotic vacations, bitchbitchbitch, etc.

