If the past three months could be summed up in a catchy, T-shirt-like slogan, it would read “2007: Summer of Love.” And what a summer it was.
From the hilly enclaves of the Appalachians, to a men’s room in the Minneapolis airport; from Nepal’s virgin slopes, to the MTV Music Video Awards in Las Vegas. From sea to shining sea, a youthful zeal was apparent in all walks of life. Not for me, mind you; I spent more time playing Xbox with my 11-year-old brother than I’d care to admit. But that doesn’t mean I was unaware of the wild times happening around me.
Idaho Senator Larry Craig is the uncontested champion of the 2007 summer of love. His little game of bathroom footsie with an undercover police officer generated enough media and tabloid fodder to send shivers down anyone’s sexually repressed spine. Somewhere, Mark Foley is smiling. But despite the lewdness of Mr. Craig’s actions, no one should be too surprised. After all, he was just a victim of circumstances far bigger than he or any other individual could understand. The summer of love does strange things to people.
Contrary to popular belief, summers like this don’t come often. You have to go back 40 years – to the summer of ’67 – to find the last one. Before that you have to go all the way back to 1873, when U.S. President and famed alcoholic Ulysses S. Grant, in an attempt to divert public attention away from a crippling recession, declared the first ever “Summer of Love” in America. Similarly, 1967 saw extreme social and political turmoil, as the war in Vietnam continued to escalate. That fabled year brought hippies and scenesters alike to San Francisco en masse, where they joined in on what appeared to be a counterculture revolution.
But like any Jennifer Lopez fantasy, the ride must stop somewhere. For the hippie generation, it was the harsh reality of poverty and drug addiction. For us, it’s September. And while the prospect of returning to school doesn’t quite hold up to the dilemma of whether to spend your last few dollars on food or LSD, the academic rigors ahead of us can’t be underestimated.
September is a lot like your least-favorite aunt – the one who never looks you in the eyes, and asks questions as a formality because she’s clearly just waiting for her turn to talk. Surfboards are swapped for textbooks, while midnight Taco Bell runs are replaced by 9 a.m. discussion groups. It’s a twist of fate both equally cruel and inevitable.
But it’s not all bad, not as bad as an endless summer – also known as unemployment – anyway. Going to school and contributing to the betterment of society is how we as young adults allow ourselves to justify the debauchery and misuse of brain cells that occurs over the course of a single summer vacation. Just as flower power died with the 60s, the non-stop party lifestyle takes a back seat with September’s arrival.
So as we embark on this peril-filled adventure that is the 2007 school year, it becomes apparent that the true struggle lies in the transition – going from three months of unbridled summertime sin to an autumn filled with learning and other tedious distractions. And since I know how much our friends at the Oregon Commentator enjoy life lessons, it’s only appropriate that this past summer be put into proper perspective. Some of us traveled abroad, embracing new cultures. Others sat at home, gained a few pounds and felt wholly inadequate. No matter what you did, though, it’s all history now. The summer of love is officially over. Rest in Peace.
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Summer of 2007 a truly classic summer of love
Daily Emerald
September 23, 2007
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