Wake me when it’s over—summer, that is. I know, I know, you just love it: the long days, the warm evenings, the trips to the beach, the afternoons at the ballpark when your favorite team is playing and the pennant race is tightening—and the temperature is skyrocketing, and your skin is blistering, and the beer is $14, and the drive home will be in 88° heat, which is fine if you don’t mind running the air conditioner, except that you’re burning through $4-a-gallon gas, because it’s summer driving season and the giant oil companies didn’t get to be the giant oil companies without knowing the right time of year to hike their prices.
And that’s hardly all of it. Summertime is the season of horribles, from higher crime rates, to increased
