The American Spectator

blockquote> em>Deck the halls with baling wire, br> Fa la la la la, la la la la. br> Tis the season that is dire, br> Fa la la la la, la la la la. br> Don we now our suits of mourning, br> Fa la la, la la la, la la la. br> Troll the ancient summer warning, br> Fa la la la la, and sis-boom-bah! /em> /blockquote> Yes, it’s the time of year formerly known as summertime. You remember summertime; when the living was easy under the boardwalk during those lazy, hazy, crazy days of soda and pretzels and beer. In days of yore, summer was celebrated as a three-month-long respite from the chill of winter; a haven from school for kids and a laid-back reprieve for adults.

What were once long, languorous days filled from top to bottom with the delights of nature and leisure are now, more or less, like any other time of year. Today’s summer world is full, not of glorious childhood freedom or adult relaxation, but of rigorously scheduled sports, camp, and vacation plans.

But even the little enjoyment left to us by the demands of modern life has been snatched away by the jaws of today’s soap-opera media. The soaps, as some of you who hung around the house all summer may remember, are the stuff of sudden and calamitous happenings, the worst of which usually occur on Fridays to keep the audience on pins and needles for as long as possible.

p>In that tradition, the media have deemed that we must now spend our summers — at least until the end of August when they go full press into their annual Bush vacation-bash mode — cowering in anticipation of the wrath of a god so evil, he would allow a major U.S. city to be built below sea level and run by Democrats. br>