I’m sorry, apparently Canada had an attempted terrorist attack this week? What? Did anyone bother explaining to these people what we’re like here? Gruesomely chopping off Stephen Harper’s head would not send us into an epiphany of terror, we don’t like him. We sort of expect it to fall off anyway, like a withered vestigial limb might. Blowing up Parliament might raise some blood-pressure because it’s some of our only architecture, but I imagine it would become an interesting bit of novel political history to be bantered over dinner rather than a great loss to rally with. As far as I’m concerned, unless they blow up the CN tower, they’re out of luck. Poor sodden fools, let’s dip them in maple syrup and throw them to the moose for being ignorant in their goals.
Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain
I went to AJ’s after work yesterday and by midnight we had finished my gown. (My mother had been wonderfully helpful in procuring tulle for me while I was at work). While I was there sewing tulle to my crimson dupone silk, AJ was finishing a dress for another masque attendee, a black and white kimono that, in contrast to mine, perfectly exemplified the spray of different aesthetics I’m expecting to see Friday. It was fun. I’m going to have to dive-bomb them randomly with cookies later.