Oooh fuck you June. And fuck me too, I guess.
June. June June June. JUNEYJUNEY JUNE. How I love thee.
Well no. What's interesting about June is that it in Sweden, it kicks off with groups of drunk young people traveling around in trucks decorated with bushes and announced by the booming of Eurotechno. Yes, this is exactly what happens. No, I don't know why.
The official explanation is that these youngsters are celebrating high school graduation. They've managed three years of high school studies and must now dance jerkily through town.
Every time I see these trucks with signs proclaiming that this or that class has now made it through the hurdle that is high school, I wish that I had a sign of my own, saying "You are all going to die." I feel the burning need to make these people aware of their mortality. As a newly hatched adult you still think you're going to live forever and that there's no way that New Kid on the Block will EVAH go out of style and step out of time, but alas.
In all honesty, I like the trucking, in a sense. I see it as an analogy, an appetizer. Because basically you're going round and round through town in the back of a truck - that pretty much sums up what's up ahead around the bend. You're not really going to be going anywhere. Life isn't going to be a clearcut as a degree, a job and a little army of yes-man self cleaning babies. It's shit. It's bills, mortgages, bad hangovers and the occasional bad case of the runs.
Thank God you'll have your all-inclusive charter trips to Ibittthhhha, Mallorca and Greece where you can join your fellow country men in flocking to the nearest Swedish restaurant because your know your kids can't handle that spicy Spanish food (and neither can you but nobody has to know. Maybe if you're feeling a bit adventurous later you and your significant other can try a hummus pita alongside those patent Swedish meatballs at Bosses Cocina. Unfortunately a decision you will regret later when you get the aforementioned runs. You will fail to see the correlation between the copious amount of cheap beer you have been "sipping" and the diarrhea, cursing hummus pita from this day on. The bread section at ICA will give you the shudders.)
But I digress. Life is never what you think it will be. And if you do, you might as well just keel over here and now. Imagine a life filled with breadpudding. "What are we having tonight? Oh bread pudding? That's AWESOME!". It's probably be true the first couple of times - or, well, it's bread pudding for chrissakes, that's not even pudding bad example - but in the long run, a lifetime of safe, predictable bread puddings isn't going hold be nuthin on a bullet through the head. So, I suppose that maybe, just maybe we should allow these youngsters - still wet behind the ears and bopping around cluelessly to Haddaway - their minute of graduation bliss.
We can save that collective sigh of relief at the silence that follows the vanishing trucks for later. Let them cheer and wave at you, they don't care that you're fiddling with your phone pretending you're doing anything else but paying attention, they probably don't even see how hard you're trying to not notice them. And if a few of them do fall off the back of the truck which some will inevitably do because of too much - yeah, sure, I'll give them this -"hummus" then maybe you could even pick them up and dust them off.
At the end of the road, because there will be an end to this road, maybe it's all about these minutes of mindlessness, beer and anticipation. Eventually the garlands of flowers around their necks will wilt. Us adults, we all know that.
But there's nothing to say that they can never be replaced.
I'd like to think that.
Well no. What's interesting about June is that it in Sweden, it kicks off with groups of drunk young people traveling around in trucks decorated with bushes and announced by the booming of Eurotechno. Yes, this is exactly what happens. No, I don't know why.
The official explanation is that these youngsters are celebrating high school graduation. They've managed three years of high school studies and must now dance jerkily through town.
Every time I see these trucks with signs proclaiming that this or that class has now made it through the hurdle that is high school, I wish that I had a sign of my own, saying "You are all going to die." I feel the burning need to make these people aware of their mortality. As a newly hatched adult you still think you're going to live forever and that there's no way that New Kid on the Block will EVAH go out of style and step out of time, but alas.
In all honesty, I like the trucking, in a sense. I see it as an analogy, an appetizer. Because basically you're going round and round through town in the back of a truck - that pretty much sums up what's up ahead around the bend. You're not really going to be going anywhere. Life isn't going to be a clearcut as a degree, a job and a little army of yes-man self cleaning babies. It's shit. It's bills, mortgages, bad hangovers and the occasional bad case of the runs.
Thank God you'll have your all-inclusive charter trips to Ibittthhhha, Mallorca and Greece where you can join your fellow country men in flocking to the nearest Swedish restaurant because your know your kids can't handle that spicy Spanish food (and neither can you but nobody has to know. Maybe if you're feeling a bit adventurous later you and your significant other can try a hummus pita alongside those patent Swedish meatballs at Bosses Cocina. Unfortunately a decision you will regret later when you get the aforementioned runs. You will fail to see the correlation between the copious amount of cheap beer you have been "sipping" and the diarrhea, cursing hummus pita from this day on. The bread section at ICA will give you the shudders.)
But I digress. Life is never what you think it will be. And if you do, you might as well just keel over here and now. Imagine a life filled with breadpudding. "What are we having tonight? Oh bread pudding? That's AWESOME!". It's probably be true the first couple of times - or, well, it's bread pudding for chrissakes, that's not even pudding bad example - but in the long run, a lifetime of safe, predictable bread puddings isn't going hold be nuthin on a bullet through the head. So, I suppose that maybe, just maybe we should allow these youngsters - still wet behind the ears and bopping around cluelessly to Haddaway - their minute of graduation bliss.
We can save that collective sigh of relief at the silence that follows the vanishing trucks for later. Let them cheer and wave at you, they don't care that you're fiddling with your phone pretending you're doing anything else but paying attention, they probably don't even see how hard you're trying to not notice them. And if a few of them do fall off the back of the truck which some will inevitably do because of too much - yeah, sure, I'll give them this -"hummus" then maybe you could even pick them up and dust them off.
At the end of the road, because there will be an end to this road, maybe it's all about these minutes of mindlessness, beer and anticipation. Eventually the garlands of flowers around their necks will wilt. Us adults, we all know that.
But there's nothing to say that they can never be replaced.
I'd like to think that.
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