Yee hah! What a summer. There have been some crazy summers in the past, like the one where Walter Mondale raged a roaring campaign
against Ronald Reagan, or when that one guy killed all those people, or when Hoops McCann went to Nantucket to garner material for the cartoon love story he had to write in order to get into the Rhode Island School of Design – man, that was one crazy summer. Especially the rhinos. And Demi Moore when she looked like she does now except her breasts were normal and her skin wasn’t so tight.
But this summer was insane. In fact, it achieved all three of the requirements needed for an officially crazy summer.
Requirement one: The country was at war.
Requirement two: Record-setting heat waves scorched the world, making the evening news’ weather maps look like MapQuest’s directions to Hell.
Requirement three: I lost the hearing in my right ear for nearly three weeks in a depressurization mishap after flying from Sacramento, Calif., to San Diego.
It’s the first time in the history of anything that all three have happened at the same time. Craaaaaazy. But there was more – this summer had more insanity than a Susan Powter infomercial. In case you missed the smaller details, here they are (listed in order of importance as it applies to world relevance):
When did this country become so intolerable? Used to be, an A-list Hollywood superstar makes a few negative remarks about another culture and we’d all chuckle and say, “That’s just Mel being Mel.” Not anymore. Seems the popular culture-consuming public has gone and got itself some high-and-mighty ethical values. Shame on you people for judging a man for making inflammatory remarks while intoxicated. Why, if I were being punished for all the insensitive things I’ve said while drunk, I’d be stuck writing a column for the Emerald’s “Back to the Books” edition.
On the other hand, I, for one, was happy to see Kevin Federline get some positive reviews for his live performance debut on the Teen Choice Awards. With lyrics like, “Look man, I’m in a whole ‘nother tax bracket / It don’t matter what you blow, boy, you can’t match it / Forty grand, I take the whole crew to Miami / Then we pop Cristal like it were Grammies,” you have to admire the man. I mean, grammatical dumbassery aside, if you bumped up another tax bracket, you’d be popping Cristal like it was a Grammy, too. Well, a Teen Choice Award at least. (And way to be a rebel, K-Fed! You drink Cristal even though Jay-Z has forbade it in his 40/40 Clubs in New York and Atlantic City and the rest of the hip-hop community has shunned it.) I wish I had the guts to blow $40,000 on a trip to Miami. I’d probably put it in my IRA.
And then there was Paramount’s dismissal of Tom Cruise and his lucrative production company, Manic Egomaniac Pictures. I’m afraid I won’t be able to comment on this because Cruise’s religious beliefs forbid white, Anglo-Saxon Protestant men between the ages of 27 and 28, who weigh around 165 lbs., who lie when people ask how tall they are by saying they’re 5 feet 11 instead of 5 feet 10, and who are working on their second Coors Light of the evening from talking about Hollywood studio transactions that may or may not be based on a middle-aged actor’s crazy antics regarding his love for a woman who happens to be the same age as said pasty white boys (scary thing is, there are a lot of us).
Then there’s the famous golden-brown dog that was finally punished after years of trying to eat those cute, innocent chipmunks. This, to me, is a sign that the Bush administration’s anti-homosexual agenda is finally coming back to haunt it. When an agent of evil attempts to destroy two gay chipmunks, it’s gonna get booted from the club. This intolerance will no longer stand in this modern world of ours! So long, Pluto. It would be nice if you apologized to Chip ‘n Dale on your way out.
Pluto getting booted was crazy; now that he’s been reclassified as a “dwarf cartoon dog,” all his shows are going to be on the surreal side. Now Mickey will have to get a cat named Uranus or something. But I think the craziest thing of the summer is that Jessica Simpson started dating John Mayer. Or is it that John Mayer started dating Jessica Simpson? Dang it! I hate when I get confused like this! Stupid insanity.
Elsewhere, the cure for a clogged right ear was found when two beers were consumed at lunchtime in Old Town San Diego, much walking in the sun followed and the afflicted was forced to yawn dozens of times in a five-minute span while waiting for his wife to finish taking their kids to the potty. Thankfully, the return of hearing cut down on embarrassing miscommunications such as:
K-Fed: Back then, they call me K-Fed / But you can call me Daddy instead.
Matt: Back then, they called you cliché bread? But I can call you fatty instead?
K-Fed: Don’t hate because I’m a superstar! And I’m married to a superstar! Nothing come between us no matter who you are!
Matt: I’m sorry, Mr. Spears, but I’m temporarily deaf in my right ear. I thought you said you were a superstar, but that would be just plain crazy.