when summer comes around every year, i long for some sort of reprieve from the overachieving, overwhelming, and overcommitted life to which i subscribe from september to may. and every july, despite my attempts to grow up, i find myself wishing i was at camp.

i have rolled my eyes (you have too) at the countless renditions of "summer lovin'" duets inevitable at karaoke bars and talent shows, but i must admit that there is something magical that happens during the summer.

maybe it's the sunshine.
(or in my case, the fake tanning.)
maybe it's laid back attitude.
(or in my case, the less anal-retentive one.)
most likely, it's the skimpy outfits that females believe the heat entitles them to wear.
(which is fundamentally just not my case.)

for the majority of my childhood, i went to sleepaway camp in maine and was then a counselor for a day camp in miami. i'm not sure who thought it was a good idea to leave 20-30 pre-teenagers in my care each summer, but i can proudly assure you that more than one 10 year-old learned the word "fuck" under my supervision.

once my college career center told me that being a camp counselor would not help me get into my aspired flavor of graduate schools, i began doing what america's youth, i.e. monica lewinsky, does best: internships.

(on a side note, we would be doing a lot of people a favor if we shipped off CEOs and lawyers to relay races and water slides every summer. that said, the naturally ensuing harvard competitiveness at business school's friendly section olympics allegedly turned into four black eyes, one broken ankle, and 20 people puking twinkies. so camp-asshole will need to figure out how to keep aforementioned executives from hurting each other.)

and after a few years of pretending to be a professional -- where summer meant letting interns attempt the work that i should have been doing, being a student again means that i'm back on the internship circuit -- attempting to do work that the much more qualified adults should probably be doing.

don't get me wrong: internships are incredibly valuable. you get the inside(r trading) scoop on a company, a network of professionals who love to talk about themselves, and access to a cadre of other interns who are equally as eager, confused, and (professionally and sexually) frustrated.

so what has been refreshing for me this summer is that the inherent internship aggravation has been trumped by the realization that working for this small-search-engine-company-you've-probably-never-heard-of is actually a bit more like the being at summer camp.

for all the perks -- being paid to live in a city with flawless weather and gorgeous men, working out in a upscale gym, eating free healthy food for three (often four or five) meals a day, and doing some work to advance the company as long as it doesn't interfere with my fun-regimen -- there are obvious draw backs.

for instance, there is no beer pong table. or dance revolution supernova machine 50 feet from my office (editor's correction: installed this week). or on-site manicurist.

i suppose that even first-world countries are plagued with third-world features.

i mean, i did compete in the company's bbq cookoff this week, work behind the scenes in an industrial kitchen (which was arguably better than any orgasm i have ever had), and flirt with some chefs to better understand food pairings and flavor layers. but really, i still have no idea how i'm going to advance the projects i'm assigned to complete before the end of summer.

but honestly, summer interns are notoriously useless.

and i practiced uselessness all year in business school.

so i'm just doing to do what i do best: sport some cleavage. flirt. underpromise and overdeliver.