A Broadcast No One Will Receive: Free-Fucking Radicals

Back from Montreal with a newfound hatred for Air Canada. Fuck the national airline - it should have gone under years ago, and it seems to have no problem carrying that mentality as the insignia of the corporation.

*Punches the unused boarding pass*

But then i digress...

Montreal was a wonderful way to cap off the summer, with a multifunctional media pass used often to blow my mind to little melted bits, and a groovy/crazy magazine posse to cover an amazing festival named after how ridiculous Jacques Cartier must have looked to the Mohawks. On the second day of the fête, when Nick Diamonds mentioned that summer was indeed over, i felt very inclined to believe him. It was curiously astounding to fully realize the season had passed me by so quickly, a terrifyingly breakneck giant humming and spinning whirl since the rainy Norwegian spring. It did make me want to throw up a little.

Strangely, summer has never been an issue, although with such a short one where i live, i have always understood why the townsfolk worship and celebrate the two months with all glee and jubulance. However, this year is the first time i have felt any kin to the season. Maybe every summer for the last three years has presented itself to me without consequence because there was nothing to end it. The summer would turn into the fall slowly and the days would get shorter with the trees becoming yellow and red. Then there is the first cold that leaves frost on the windowpanes and then the snowstorms become more frequent. Warmer days then seem to creep through the darkness and you realize that the snow is turning to rain, and it's almost summer again.

This year, i am heading back to school, wet behind the ears. Hence my obsession with the ominous end of summer - an obsession leaving me with a weathered face, little sleep, charred brain and decreased liver function.

Indulge me.