Some people like to cheat the seasons. People think it's spring at the beginning of March, summer after Memorial Day, autumn after Labor Day, and winter after Thanksgiving. For those who are patient and pride themselves on accuracy. It's now official. Summertime is here.

The northern hemisphere is tilted toward the sun, and everyone is slightly more cooked than usual. Nightlife buzzes more lively, and shade is a high commodity during the day. Cars become convertible, bikers pop up all over the place, parks fill up. Movie theaters provide mid-day solace with blockbusters and air conditioning, clothing diminishes and disappears. Ice cream, sno-cones, cold Mexican beer with lime, ice tea, Kool-aid, ice chests full of cokes. Backyard barbecues by the dozens, weddings, siestas, vacations, baseball games, horseshoes, lawn chairs, gazeboes, dogs running rampant, trips to the lake, trips to the mountain, trips to the beach, trips, trips, trips. Good times, lazy times, summer times.

There are the songs. Summertime, and the living is easy. Summertime, summertime, sum, sum, summertime. Hot town, summer in the city. Cause it's suuuuuuummeeeeer, my time of year. An instant hit is just waiting for any band if you release it right now.

A slow subtle madness takes over those who embrace the season. This means turning off the air conditioning and experiencing those 80, 90, and 100 degree temperatures. Your head will start to buzz. What used to be sharp keen thinking in spring turns into a steamy summer fog. The young girls wear next to nothing, and everyone turns to take a second glance. The guys blast their stereos on the drag and through the neighborhood, and everyone nods their head slightly. You want a weight loss diet that really works? Sit in the shade and melt away.

I was due to be born in the middle of June, but for unknown fetus reasons, I refused to see the world until a week of summer had gone by. I'd like to think I was destined to be a child of summer. If you think about it, the steamy heat we endure in the summer months is the closest we ever get to experiencing the womb again. My creative output is greatly diminished from late June to late September, and there are moments that I wonder if I will ever think clearly again. It's hopeless to fight it though. I learned long ago not to fight with Nature. Just ride the heat wave, dissolve into a lump of a man, and come back strong in the fall.

Everybody moves in the summer. Jeremy left, Adam left, Tifanie left, Nicole left, and all I could do was wave good-bye. Families wait until school is done to transfer to a new destination. All the hipsters that are through with their local scene pick up and move to another local scene to get sick of. College graduates move to new jobs or do that backpacking in Europe kick. High schoolers work those summer jobs, so they can buy beer and escape the world for a night. Run away in the summer, and no one will stop you.

Our nation's independence came in summer. By the time July Fourth came around, the heat had gotten to our forefathers, and they decided they didn't want to be hassled by the Motherland any more. That's what we all want in the summer. No hassles, no worries, no troubles.

The stock market goes down as the temperature goes up. No body prospects in the summer. It's all about survival. Three months of monsoon rains. Three months of hot, hot, hot. Three months of drifting. There will be days of madness. There will be days of peace. Days of exhaustion. Days of exhilaration. Dog days, wild days, dead days. All we can do is survive and wonder why it can't be summertime all the time.

Chris Jungle is cooked.