It is fantastically, gloriously blazing hot and sunny, and this is what summer should be all about floating in the pool, drinking pina coladas and mojitos, and frying your pasty white skin into submission. (Disclaimer: I wear SPF 55 and still burn a little because I am naturally the shade of a vampire). Let's just take a moment to appreciate how marvelous this summer has been. Last summer, I believe that there were about five total days that were pool-worthy and the aid of an air conditioner was never necessary. I'll accept the blame for this, as I, ecstatic over my recent and long-overdue graduation and stint of "funemployment," misguidedly dubbed it "The Summer of April," hoping to spend my overabundance of free time frolicking in the sunshine and lazily sipping rum-and-pineapple concoctions. Instead, I learned the same lesson George Costanza did in the "Seinfeld" episode where he proclaims it "The Summer of George," hoping to, and I quote, "taste the fruits and let the juices drip down my chin!" Just as it didn't pan out for George (he succumbed to a near-deadly combination of errant invitation and extremely atrophied limbs), it didn't pan out for yours truly, either. What is the moral of this story? I guess it's something like, take all lessons learned in "Seinfeld" episodes quite seriously, keep your expectations low and you won't be disappointed (this one courtesy of Mom), and if you're lucky, you'll be rewarded with a heat wave. I don't know.