I’ve been hemming and hawing but have finally decided that, rather than feel guilty about not posting yet having little new news to post, it would be unusually sensible for me to say that I’m taking the summer off and that I’ll return to all this after the Labour Day weekend.
I know you all will miss me, and I’ll miss all of you too, but now you’ll be able to focus all of your attention on the things that matter most:
1) Family;
2) Friends;
3) Yarn sales;
4) Ravelry.
I hope that each of you gets some time off of your own. It will be great to hear about what you’ve been up to and what projects we’ve all been working on once September arrives.
So, first: I’ve been on vacation for a week (a week of utterly miserable weather, I might add) and have spent most of it cleaning, learning card tricks and flourishes for reasons that have yet to come clear to me, sleeping, watching strange and disturbing French horror movies, playing the ridiculously addictive MouseHunt on Facebook–Scrabulous has been left in the dust–and…I’ve started the second sock.
Today, June 22, is the start of Pride Week in Toronto. I don’t pay much attention to the week itself–though if I’d been paying attention I could have gone to see my malicious soulmate Sandra Bernhard at Massey Hall. Many of you hate her. Many of everyone everywhere hate her. However, she has been the tabloid Nostradamus; she knew at the beginning of the ’90s that celebrity would consume us and divert us from all that was meaningful, important and frankly terrifying in our lives. It, not religion, would become the true opiate of the masses–and look, it has. Now politicians, activists, criminals, victims, artists, scientists, singularly shrill freakshows and boring ordinary people must compete in the celebrity arena to be seen and heard and acknowledged by the public at all. Without that acknowledgment, they somehow aren’t real–even to themselves.
Did I tell you I started the second sock?
Oh, yes, Pride Week. Well, I’m all for getting back into a more celebratory mood, so here are a few cheery things to check out. By the way, when did Cyndi Lauper of all people become the better, smarter, funnier, sexier, more talented, more relevant Madonna? It’s like I turned my back right after her superior-to-Celine recording of ‘I Drove All Night’, and then I turned back and now she’s this…superhero.
This is not a complaint.
The first 90 seconds or so of this song might be off-putting but stick with it, it turns into something quite wonderful. (Annoyingly, they’ve disabled embedding on the original video, so here’s a live version for you.)
This is more frightening than the abovementioned French horror films–don’t say I didn’t warn you.
And you can’t have a gay celebration without Margaret Cho. (Needless to say, turn down your speakers or plug in your earphones. This is not now, and never will be, safe for work!)
