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The wild Phil goes through several stages when the Summer, or "Ugh Season," begins.

1.) Terror.
2.) Anger.
3.) Depression.
4.) Apathy.

I'm in full-fledged Stage 4. The shining hope that comes with the approach of the warmth has eroded into a complete distaste for anything outside of my house and computer. Even the prospect of vacations later on in the summer sounds terrible, because anywhere my dad wants to send me I'd have a bunch of relatives feeling like they have to entertain me when I'd rather just chill and they'd rather just do whatever they want.

The thing I hate most about the summer is unequivecally that it turns me into an insufferable whining mass of terrible mood. I will say in my defense I try not to whine in person, and that 90% of the time I am it's because people keep bringing up how much my summers suck.

I'm a victim of circumstance.

One good thing: I'm applying for an internship at CPTV for the fall. It's through the writing internship program at UCONN so it is far more likely to happen than all the shot-in-the-dark summer internships I applied for.

See, the thing isn't that I hate work. No, I LIKE work. I just hate where it is I'm forced to work. The kind of things I'm doing are fundamentally not the kind of thing that I want to do, and I've been doing it for 9 years.

I've been told that I can get time off whenever I want, which is somewhat more lax than usual, but with the caveat that I have to have plans. If I don't, I'll have to work more. That's right, I get punished for not having a social life.

This is in fact a fundamental flaw in having three people on which you rely for nearly all leisure, but I am not a man who excels in the social arts, and beyond that I am terrible at having initiative to actually hang out with new people or go get a ladyfriend or something. In which case technically I can't really complain because I'm not trying.

Wha wha wha. Well-off suburban kid cries about how fantastic he has it. Why can't I even gripe about my own life without feeling guilty?

APATHY, readers. It has descended hard and fast, and while it is not inherently overtly negative it's not something to brag about.

A BETTER STORY

My chumpal Adam and I had a two person party for the Lost season finale, and prepared an epic feast fit for at least 4-5 people. We have a long history of creating epic meals (including one of the most ungodly delicious but unhealthy and heart-stopping drinks ever conceived, so powerful and calorie-packed that even divided among three people it threatened to end all our lives right there) but this was to be our greatest challenge.

I brought 18 wings and 12 potato skins from work. We went to the market and got a steak so massive we couldn't believe it had actually come from a cow, and some teriyaki mango marinade. Also we got some ice cream bars.

I am not ashamed to say it conquered us. We are only human, and it may not sound like a lot but goddamnit it was a ton of food. At the end there were a few slices of steak, two skins, and four or five wings left.

We didn't eat the ice cream because we didn't want to die.

Oh also the Lost finale was superb and we decided that every time a commerical is coming and it suddenly fades to black on Lost it should go "oooooooooh SNAP."

It was good times, readers. Good times.


It's so easy to run long on these things. If word vomit is a disease, then I have contracted it in every one of my limbs and several organs. I am, in fact, aware that the preceeding metaphor was entirely nonsensical. I'm proving my point, this is a very hands-on blog.


Hope you're all having wonderful adventures and funtimes!