Bad news, everyone. It’s fucking August already. It’s summer’s Sunday. Those gut-punch back-to-school commercials are already in heavy rotation, with children engaged in the highest act of betrayal: appearing (FOR THE CAMERA) to be excited about new clothes from Target. I’m a 31-year-old man and those commercials still bum me out. I think, perhaps, they always will. It’s always been a challenge for me to enjoy August, the month when summer belches its hottest heat even as it’s pushing away from the dinner table. Gone are the halcyon days of July, when everything seemed possible and you could wear swimming trunks to EVERYTHING. Here is August, replete with mortality.
Summer isn’t over yet, though. No fucking way. The end may be visible on the horizon, but that’s only because anxietysight is 20/20. There’s still plenty of time to get hammered and pass out on a leather couch that you won’t be able to unstick yourself from in the morning. There’s still plenty of time to show up at a swimming hole that you didn’t know was clothing-optional, but you drove too far to be scared off by a bunch of old, wobbly penises. There’s still time for summer, so here are some of my suggestions for rounding out August and turning it into a monthlong Sunday Funday.
Pick an August cocktail. If you’re anything like me, you arbitrarily picked a cocktail at a young age, and you’ve mostly just had that cocktail your whole life. For me, it was the Old Fashioned, which is nice because it seems classy and masculine, but also has a cherry in it—so it basically comes with candy. Why not expand your horizons for the month, and pick a brand new cocktail? It could be a delicious adventure, plus it’s an easy way to seem interesting so more people might sleep with you. Like, why not start drinking the Tom Collins? What the fuck is it? You can be the person who knows.
Swim. You’re probably already doing this, but do it more. Seriously. Soon it will be November, and you will be older then.
Just go drive in the fucking country for no reason. As someone who now lives in LA, one thing I miss most about Oregon is the huge, sweeping fields of grass, trees, and land that hasn’t been flattened and bent completely to industry. Just go drive around it, windows down, blaring music. Fucking do it. Next to being drunk, it’s the only way to really appreciate Tom Petty.
Go see a fun show. Like maybe a show featuring Ian Karmel, who is performing at Revolution Hall on August 12th. Am I doing a new hour? You bet I am. Will there be a joke about Shaq? There will 100 percent be a joke about Shaq. Is the joke, like, eight minutes long? At least. Will Sean Jordan be performing as well? Great question, yes. Okay, this was fully self-promotion, and that might be a conflict of interest—but I want you to come to my show and then kiss me gently on the cheek afterwards, and I didn’t know how else to tell you. @IanKarmel