MJ is dead. So is Farah Fawcett (poor lady, overshadowed by the Gloved One).
After the seasons of arctic cold and relentless rain, last week saw the advent of the third glad season of my homeland : melting humidity! However, the sun disappeared this weekend, to be replaced by monsoon rain, then found its way back again today, in a weak parody of the +30 (“90 degrees in the shade,” for you Fairenheit weirdos) I’m accustomed to in these summer months. If this weather is global warming, then global warming sucks.
Canada is almost 142, and tomorrow I shall be fêting my beau pays wholeheartedly. A bruncheon date with le chum and un ami, a beach date with more amis (global warming be damned!), then street festivals (read: beer gardens) all evening. The vast majority of my work cohorts are taking Thursday and Friday off, somehow making even a Wednesday holiday equal a long weekend, but I’m somewhat excited about having one long week turn into two mini weeks, with a glorious day of nothingness in between.
To Canadianise yourself, if only for the day:
Say “Eh!” (or “Eh?” or even “Eh.”) at least once.
Order some Obama cookies from Byward Market…
oh wait. Maybe not that.
Happy Canada Day!