The signs of summer are all around here on our sunny and warm left-fringe oasis.
Local UPS guys change into their short brown shorts and try to balance the effeminizing effect with new pairs of bitchin' Oakleys. Apathetic tenured professors cancel exams while earnest young lecturers force overly ambitious final projects on exasperated students. Scanner Dan changes from his red Badger sweatshirt to an airier, but no less becoming, white T-shirt.
I gave a lot of thought to what I wanted to do this summer. At first, I thought I should try to win a highly competitive internship at a publication in a city like New York or London.
Then I realized that in the journalism market-unless your uncle is Ted Koppel or you have won a Pulitzer Prize and you wish to sort mail for a PR firm in the suburbs of Chicago-you have to wait until you graduate to use a media company paycheck to support your living habits.
So that left Madison as the only option. Actually, not the only option, just the best one. I went home to Janesville the summer after my freshman year, and if you don't understand why I couldn't let that happen again, you've never been there.
Really, I can't think of anywhere I'd rather be than right here.
For everyone leaving Madison this summer, allow me to make a brief case for (some of you) coming back to visit frequently.
Madison is fun in the summer because, how do I put this delicately, most of the students are gone.
Before you get all indignant, let me explain. Imagine Madison without lines at restaurants or bars, where you can sit down and read at the Union Terrace without listening to drunken Theta Beta Zeta Epsilon Chi dudes call each other \fag"" over pitcher after pitcher of Miller Lite.
The Madison Police Department sees the empty dorms as a sign that no one will do anything irresponsible or illegal and takes an even more hyper-laid-back position on substance abuse and such public tomfoolery.
Madison even holds special events as treats for those of us who stick around. They stage Rhythm and Booms, a multi-million dollar excuse to get drunk and watch shit explode to a soundtrack of badly timed patriotic music. If you've never seen it, I can't explain how cool it is.
And if taunting is your game, the Memorial Union holds open mic night at the Terrace every week. Nothing feels better than booing a Puddle of Mudd cover band until your throat is sore, and then rocking out to the a cappella Color Me Badd warbling of a quartet of stoned philosophy grad students.
I feel a little bad staying in Madison for another summer, just because I'm pretty sure I'll spend a lot of it not being particularly productive. But also, I'm not sure I care much. I'm a 21-year-old journalism student. I have all of next year to figure out how to write good.
Speaking of wasting your time and mine, I've had a great time writing this column and reading your hate mail this year. I'll be back next year, and I hope I can tell you I learned something valuable from the last summer break I'll ever have. Peace.
