In Which The Summer Wind Came Blowin' In From Across The Sea

Summer Here Kids

by MOLLY LAMBERT

What happened to Summer? Not that betch who dumped Joseph Gordon Levitt and made him enroll in fictional military utopian school to become Cobra Commander. I mean the actual season. Where did it go? Was it not so long ago I first broke out my SPF 10000 moonscreen (4 gingers, you couldn't understand) and tiki umbrella?

Is it really so soon that I feel the wispy cold leaves of autumn a rap rap rapping at my cab cab cabinet. Were it not for my birthday and the impending return of Mad Men I would dread the arrival of September. Vestigial dread of high school starting back up.

Where were the summer jams? Instead all we got was the death of the eighties, as personified by Michael Jackson and John Hughes. Where is the justice? Who'll stop the rain? How about four year old Zachary Clouter of Ipswich, Suffolk? 

Yes this genius found a potato that looks like a goddamn duck. How fucking cute is that. Would that we could all go back to the days when we reveled in the simple pleasures, pleasures like finding potatoes that look like ducks, instead of focusing on the inevitable day of reckoning when ducks and potatoes alike will be slaughtered and roasted and sold for their delicious hides. 

Which one is which? Will a potato duck float? Or maybe you've been wasting your life looking for duck shaped potatoes when you should have been out winning Ernest Hemingway lookalike competitions. 

It's enough to make a person develop courtship disorder. In a rare bit of good news, Yahw-h has chosen to fulfill all of Alex's fantasies with the news that Disney has acquired screen rights to a new rendition of The Diary of Anne Frank, to be written and helmed by David Mamet. I can't wait to hear what Anne sounds like with Mamet's wordistry. "Fuck! I'm stuck in the motherfucking attic! Fuck those fucking nazi cunts."

                          and I pray, oh my god do I pray

Fall is a good season, perhaps the best season, even in Los Angeles. But it is a contemplative season. When you feel the need to pull on sweaters and listen to Red House Painters or Smog or some other band that gives you feelingz.

But I'm not done with you yet, summer. I wanna body surf on a rainbow.  I want to feed dolphins with that gap toothed betch from True Blood. I am but a dreamer. I have so many dreams, world. Why won't you let me dream them. I just want to train elephants.

Molly Lambert is the managing editor of This Recording. She tumbls here. She twitters here.

 

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