Pink Moan

August 8th, 2008 by Gnat

Summers always seem to slip away from me. It’s part of my obsession with time, I think, and a bit daunting to explain. But ever since I was a kid it’s been hard for me to enjoy the summertime. You see, nearly as soon as the season begins I’m already anticipating the depressive spiral I experience upon summer’s inevitable passing into fall. Wow, that’s some serious Jewish neuroticism rearing it’s head, isn’t it?! Even Woody Allen would have a hard time topping that neurotic tic. Someday I’ll talk about the theory my fellow Heeb friend Maddy has regarding Jews and neuroticism (hint: it’s programmed into our DNA and has to do with our being on the run throughout history), but that’s a whole ‘nuther post.

Back to summer. Endless myth and sunshine. No school when I was a kid and vacations to California and NYC to visit my dad. As an adult, summer doesn’t mean as much to me but the dread of it ending is still there. It’s ingrained. This weekend I’ll venture to the beaches of Malibu in an attempt to have fun, relax and grab myself a piece of the California sun. I dig the myth. In the meantime, I’m digging these Belle and Sebastian lyrics (from I Know Where the Summer Goes), I think they groove with my neurotic sentiments:

“I know where the summer goes
When you’re having no fun
When you’re under the thumb
I know where the summer dwells
If your underarm smells
And your kitchen looks like hell”

(ah, but Malibu looks pretty good)