In the dead of night, a Bell AB-212 descends onto the heliport of David Guetta’s Ibiza compound. A slim, tall African-American lady descends the stairs onto the tarmac. Her hair is styled in a mullet, or some shit.

A few minutes later, another helicopter lands, transporting a Caucasian female with an aggressive platinum blonde hairstyle. She looks like she could use a sandwich.

Neither has any idea why Mr. Guetta has summoned them. A few minutes later, when @mikewillmadeit, French Montana, Future, Nicki Minaj, Flo Rida, Pitbull, and Katy Perry ascend the helipad stairs, everything becomes clear.

Their mission, should they chose to accept it: craft The Song Of the Summer 2013.

This did not happen, but it kinda did…

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Summer 2012 fucking killed it. I skated a bowl, then got hammered on the beach and jumped in the ocean–thus getting wavy in both a literal and figurative sense. I skated the TF in the rain, drank a beer across the street, skated the TF some more, then skated the World Famous Lenox Ledges. All things considered, this might have been the best summer since 1999, aka The Summer of Newport, when a busload of Brazilian girls rolled up on that most late-Nineties of spots as Wenning switch 360 flipped into the rays of the rising sun. The only thing missing was a consensus slam-dunk no-brainer Song of the Summer.

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A cult of sorts surrounded the film Dazed and Confused amongst the dudes I hung out with in high school.  Aside from the usual incessant quoting, there was a drinking (or whatever) game in which one chose a character and did everything that character did for the duration of the movie.  For example—if that character drank a beer, you drank a beer. It should be noted that I never saw this game in play, just heard about it apocryphally.

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November 26, 2010

The interesting thing about literature–and art in general, I suppose–is that one can use it as a prism through which to view one’s own experience. Or, if one so chooses, one can enjoy it on a purely literal level.

Case in point: The Odyssey. As a typical ninth-grader, the Sirens chapter comes off more like an adventure story; the sirens themselves function as but one in a series of wacky antagonists encountered by Odysseus over the course of his travels. However, almost twenty years down the road, the message the five-thousand-year-old blind dude is sending could not be more clear: Women make dudes irrational. Read the rest of this entry »