You may know I'm not the biggest fan of summer. Sure, TV's less of a wasteland than it used to be June through August, and there were some halfway decent movies in the theaters this year. But as the days wore on, I still found myself checking fall premiere dates and looking longingly ahead to Oscarbait. Fall may not technically start for a few weeks, but with Labor Day past us (and despite the fact that it hit 90 out there today), I'm declaring summer officially over.

But first, I'm looking back. Because though I may bitch and complain about my least favorite season, I did manage to keep myself fairly well entertained this year. These are the five things that I most enjoyed in between cases of heat exhaustion:

I owe rm one for insisting in comments to my post about the Tonys that Passing Strange was something special, and needed to be seen in context, context being something that one underwhelming televised song performance couldn't provide. Her rave was in the back of my mind when, on a restless weekend when my husband was out of town, I took advantage of the newly opened TKTS booth near me on a whim and scored myself a half price orchestra seat for one of the final performances. Excellent move. It's the most emotionally and ideologically sophisticated piece of theatre I've ever seen. It also rocks; I'd never seen an entire Broadway audience literally bounce around in their seats before. Luckily, Spike Lee was there the same day I was, filming the show for broadcast in 2009, where it will hopefully be discovered by those who couldn't catch it during its all too brief run.

Unconvinced that the network that considers the works of Jean-Claude Van Damme Classically American was likely to be behind quality original programming, I skipped the first season of Mad Men when it aired last year. But since the buzz built and built, I eagerly Netflixed it. It quickly turned into a running downstairs late at night to drop outgoing discs into the mailbox for the early pickup so I could get more ASAP situation. It has a Sopranos-esque depth (which isn't surprising considering that's where the creator cut his dramatic teeth), only with superior female characters and kickass production design. Season 2 is really cooking now, and wow, is it great. I suspect it may remain my favorite hour of TV even after other shows start returning.

Because of a series of programming conflicts, I also missed Cranford when it was on PBS in May. Despite its flawless pedigree, I sort of dragged my feet when it came to getting around to it on DVD, having surpassed even my very high limit on costume drama after all those weeks of Austen on Masterpiece Theatre. But then I suddenly found myself in the mood again and was richly rewarded. I sobbed my way through a good deal of it (yes, I consider that a good thing). Everyone in it is fantastic, but I especially enjoyed seeing a side of Philip Glenister that I hadn't seen before. And now I absolutely need to see every Elizabeth Gaskell adaptation ever made. You're next, North and South!

I must have some special kind of amnesia, because somehow, I always forget how much I enjoy the Olympics until I find myself on the edge of my couch, rooting hard for some athlete I'd never previously heard of competing in a sport I don't actually care about. The Michael Phelps thing is totally played out by now, and I'll be completely sick of him by the time he shows up to host Saturday Night Live, but it really was exciting to watch him be so freakishly good. And props to Yimou Zhang for a gorgeous opening ceremony, too. I don't know that they'll ever top that torch lighting.

Okay, please don't be too quick to judge me for getting a good deal of pleasure out of the Twilight series, which I consumed in one big weeklong binge courtesy of my library. My god, do those books suck. Suck, suck, suuuuuuck. The writing is frequently amateurish, the plot is sometimes absent for three quarters of a volume, and many of the characters have no discernable personalities. The "heroine" is the Sue-iest Sue who ever did Sue, and if she has more than a couple of redeeming qualities, I did not spot them. But it's so perversely fun to hate her. Most of the time I was reading with my mouth open in either horror at their deeply disturbing sociopolitical underpinnings or the sheer cracked out-ness of where the story goes and goes and then goes some more in WTeverlovingF-inducing fashion. Sadly, I will totally be going to see the movie in November, as though I'm loathe to throw any actual money Stephenie Meyer's way, I am unable to resist the opportunity to laugh my ass off at the absurdity that is vampires in baseball uniforms. For I, unlike the Cullens, am not made of stone.