I fell in love with Erica Kane the summer before my freshman year of high school. Like all red-blooded teen American boys I'd come home from water polo practice and eat a box of Entenmann's Pop'Ems donut holes in front of the TV while obsessively fawning over 'All My Children' and Erica her clothes and her narcissistic attitude.

'Summer of Love: Art of the Psychedelic Era ' the Whitney Museum's 40th-anniversary trip down counterculture memory lane provides moments of buzzy fun but it'll leave you only comfortably numb. For starters it may be the whitest straightest most conservative show seen in a New York museum since psychedelia was new.

Summer is a great time to visit art museums which offer the refreshing rinse of swimming pools - only instead of cool water you immerse yourself in art.

But after the time there I'd had it with fashion again so I left to go to architecture school in a summer course at Harvard which didn't last very long.

'Tis the last rose of summer Left blooming alone All her lovely companions Are faded and gone.

Being a child at home alone in the summer is a high-risk occupation. If you call your mother at work thirteen times an hour she can hurt you.

I wear clothes that most people in the Midwest would probably deem inappropriate at my age. And I rock a bikini all summer long. I know that it's not normal but I just don't care. I live once.