With summer’s arrival comes a journalistic convention that seems more and more dated. It is the “summer reading list” of books, often beside a graphic showing a bathing suit and sunglasses.

Sure, I’d like to check out Douglas Brinkley’s biography of Walter Cronkite and Hilary Mantel’s sequel to “Wolf Hall.” Heck, I’d love to read Joan Rivers’ funny and shorter book, “I Hate Everyone ... Starting With Me.”

Problem is, few of us worker bees will be packing a steamer trunk of volumes to waste away the lazy afternoons. Average working Joes now put in a month more of labor a year than they did 25 years earlier, and much of that time comes out of summer vacation’s hide.