Summer is fucking dead. Heralded by the recent solstice, Labor Day, or the onset of "hoodie weather" (the latter loudly welcomed by goobers who think vegetables are "delicious"), the end of summer comes for us all. MTV did its ceremonial part to drive this home several weeks ago by crowning an official Song of the Summer at the VMAs. One Direction bested more likely candidates like Miley, Dad Funk and Robin "But what is consent REALLY?" Thicke. It was, if you’ve been following the internet, probably the least interesting thing to happen that night, and nothing in particular seemed to have been accomplished by it.
The gesture seemed particularly hollow to me primarily due to the absence of country duo Florida Georgia Line, whose tune "Cruise," in remix form with a guest verse from Nelly, I probably played anywhere between one and six times a day during those balmy months, depending on how much more awesome I needed to feel about everything. Now, I'm going to go out on an admittedly unfair limb and say, with all due respect, that if you are the kind of person who reads a blog called "New Criticals," you probably haven't heard it (if I'm wrong, mea culpa). Allow me, then, to be your ambassador to a more blissful existence, one that might forestall the end of summer for a few more precious weeks.