All of the components are present that have made the season so swell: bike-riding, lake-swimming, fire-fucking, shroom-taking, chest-baring, story-telling, beer-drinking, to name a few.
And all in such abundance that you just might start to feel guilty about your good fortune given the often-sorry state of the world all over the world, until you consider that given such good fortune, it’s incumbent upon the fortunate to celebrate such good fortune as much as is reasonably possible.
It’s not as if one’s own enjoyment reduces the enjoyment of others in less enjoyable states. In fact, a good case can be made on Utilitarian grounds that one is morally obligated to maximize one’s enjoyment (just so long as doing so doesn’t cause pain to others).
A world with more pleasure being experienced is preferable to one with less, and so you’d better take that lake swim and float around with your eyes closed to experience the underwater Grateful Dead album cover art dancing on the inside of your eyelids, so help me John Stuart Mill.
And be sure, as well, to stand around the three-quarters of Christmas tree fire and let its surprisingly warm flames allow the SOC to come out in full force in all its soft, muscular, hirsute, and hair-free incarnations.
It's the time of year when some people (bless their hearts, but not for me) load up cargo vans and car trailers with feather boas, sequins, and tons of post-apocalyptic survival gear to make merry on a barren desert in the middle of nowhere. More power to them, I say, but for me, the simple joy of a bicycle ride to a serene body of water right in your own backyard is more than enough.
It really takes so little to have so much fun; thanks to summer, all summer long.
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