Summer of ’25

Summer’s almost over, and I haven’t even gone to the beach yet.

So much for my plan to go undercover and infiltrate a gang of bank-robbing surfers. I managed to set up an above-ground pool in the backyard for about two weeks. That project failed after a series of demoralizing setbacks.

The pool was lopsided, grass was growing all around it, and the water pump barely worked, among other issues. I needed to regroup and strategize, so I drained it and packed it up in the attic, never to be seen again.

School Year Blues

The school season is approaching. Sorry to all the kids out there.

I recall the thrill of summer vacation, three glorious months of freedom. The school year was over, and there was no looking back. Loose from our shackles, we set out into the world, an unstoppable force of adolescent rapture.

The prospects of summer vacation seemed endless, like how I see weekends now. But like weekends, the time would flash by in a dizzying haze.

Some of us would go off to summer camp; others would spend the time at home, bugging our parents. We could sleep in, eat junk food, and watch cartoons all day. That’s good living.

Of course, summers were also an opportunity for family vacations. Chattanooga, TN, was one of my family’s favorite vacation spots. There was nothing more exhilarating than the alpine slide. If you haven’t ridden the Smoky Mountain Bobsled, you don’t know what you’re missing.

After the family vacations, summer camp sing-alongs, and time spent enjoying the best months of our lives, summer inevitably came to an end.

As the creeping dread of August set in, school shopping wasn’t far behind. We found ourselves wondering where the summer had gone.

Five stages of grief later, we were back at it again, sitting in class, books open, and longing for days gone past.

Anatomy of a Meme

July was packed with headline-making moments, a litany of significant events well worth discussing. For instance, who can forget the Coldplay “kiss cam” debacle that catapulted a cheating couple to Internet stardom.

The scandalous viral moment was an exercise in how quickly one random incident can “blow up,” leading to instant notoriety for all involved. In this case, a middle-aged couple was exposed on a jumbotron during a Coldplay concert in Foxborough, Massachusetts. 

Their terrified reaction and attempt to hide themselves led many to believe they were having an affair. That assumption proved correct when the couple were quickly identified as Astronomer CEO Andy Byron and his company’s head of HR, Kristin Cabot—both of whom were married to others. 

What began as a humorous moment quickly spiraled into scandal, ultimately forcing both Byron and Cabot to resign from their jobs. The fallout took on a life of its own, spawning countless parodies and reactions from millions around the globe.

Its lifespan illustrated how quickly viral moments can erupt and how fleeting they often are. We watched memes take hold, spreading as millions shared the video across social media. Byron and Cabot had their personal lives unraveled and marriages destroyed over a few seconds of exposure. 

The ultimate irony? Had they stayed calm and played it off naturally, no one might have ever noticed. Let this serve as a warning to all concert-going cheaters out there. The Kiss Cam is always watching.

American Beauty

We also witnessed unlikely controversy from the recent American Eagle ad campaign with actress Sydney Sweeney. The seemingly innocuous ads featured Sweeney in jeans and a tank top or denim jacket, accentuating her figure.

This is known in most parts of the world as modeling.

But that was too much for the moronic cancel culture mob. I realize calling them “moronic” is grounds for cancellation, but so be it. The ads featured a play on words, saying, “Sydney Sweeney has great jeans.” This was juxtaposed with Sweeney commenting on her “great genes.” Eugenics alert!

I heard about these ads for an entire week, so I suppose American Eagle should thank the people complaining about them. ABC’s Good Morning America even featured a segment commenting on the ad “controversy” while giving credence to the notion that the ads promote “eugenics,” “fascism,” or something stupid.

Plenty of people are born with good genes; that’s just a fact of life. Some inherit physical attributes, athletic ability, or natural talents. The truth is, all of our genes were good enough to get us here.

Beauty, while often seen as exceptional, is ultimately only skin-deep. A healthy society celebrates both inner and outer beauty. Standards may shift over time, but people still recognize beauty when they see it, and there’s nothing wrong with that.

Real American

We also know hate and vitriol when we see it. The recent passing of wrestling icon Hulk Hogan at 71 should have been an occasion to reflect on and celebrate his legendary career.

There was plenty of that but also an undeniable barrage of spiteful comments disparaging Hogan and his legacy from all toxic corners of social media.

The inevitable grave dancing commenced with chants of “good riddance” and all other nuances we’ve come to know from the perpetually enlightened class.

I don’t know—and honestly don’t care—what Hogan said or did twenty years ago, whether it was on that reality show with his daughter, in those leaked Gawker tapes, or tied to his political views.

He was a larger-than-life superstar who put wrestling on the map and galvanized a generation. He also made No Holds Barred (1989). Hogan certainly contributed more to the world than any of the petty losers trashing him.

Generally, we don’t speak ill of the dead (except for murderers, dictators, or shady contractors). That’s exactly what “Rest in Peace” is supposed to mean.

You don’t have to like Hogan or say a single good thing about him, but there’s no need to go out of your way to tear him down, either. I know that’s too much to ask in 2025.

If you do trash talk the Hulkster, don’t be surprised if he rises from the grave to body slam you, brother!

And August 1st is now “Hulk Hogan Day” in Florida. Happy HHD to all who celebrate.