Montreal's The Breezes make you want to be anywhere but where you are and it feels like they get us to that other place in swift fashion. Last night on Letterman, Cameron Diaz was saying a bunch of hippie junk, in describing what she loves about surfing. She talked about the whole routine of getting up sometime during a day, hitting the 7-Eleven, scrounging some change together to buy a frozen burrito for nourishment, then getting to the water and just staying there all day, waiting for those whales of water to grace you, to take you. She, like so many who have done it before, likened surfing to a spiritual endeavor, one that makes you feel closest to god. She rambled about what it's like to piggyback onto a wave heading for the shore in Hawaii that came from thousands of miles away that is filled with all of this information, all of these experiences having moved through, over and across every living and non-living thing in that great expanse of water, riding the wave to its final destination, smiling and high-fiving it as it beaches itself. It feels as if the four Canadians in the Breezes are up there on the back of that wave, with us and Diaz, taking us into the shore, with the sunset pushing us gently into that casually declining grand finale. We're hoping that some people are snapping photos of us and we hope that they'll be considerate enough to forward them on to us after Hipstamatic develops them. We've done as the Breezes have said we could get away with doing. We've saved our troubles for another day and we've just let ourselves get carried away to a nice, refreshing pop punchbowl, where we're just out on an inner-tube, flat on our back, thinking that the cloud above us looks a helluva lot like a sundae and that reminds us -- ice cream sounds pretty good right now.