1. Environmentalism as a pagan faith?! Oh, sanctimonious Christians, you make me laugh.
2. Speaking of pagan faiths, I saw a book today I mean to buy eventually about how the Virgin of Guadalupe is a border-jumping goddess who’s managed to thrive while the rest of her kind were relegated to the ash heap of history. Looks very interesting.
3. It turns out that Joe O’Donnell, the nice old man whose book-launching party I went to at the President of Vanderbilt’s house, who recently died, was a lying liar who lied. I want to call about eight people back in Nashville and just be all “Holy Shit! What do you make of that?!”
4. It’s okay if your town wants to take extra-legal steps to fight illegal immigration, but not okay if your town wants to take extra-legal steps to keep illegal immigrants. So, we’re for local authority except when we’re against it? I’m not sure.
5. Oh Southern Democrats. I’ve got nothing to add to what Mary and Sean have said except to say that the Democrats down here do some fucked up shit.
6. Yes, I ate the strawberry glaze on the cheesecake. Yes, I am deeply regretting it and waiting to see just how hard it’s going to get for me to breathe. I don’t care. It was worth it.
As we say here in Montreal, “Hola, muchachos!”
No, actually, what they say here in Montreal is “Non, madam, vous may not pay with an American credit card,” but that’s another story for another time. A short story that amounts to “why I haven’t had any chocolate croissants yet.”
But anyway, today I learned an exciting poem. It goes like this:
El minche de esa rumí
dicen no tenela bales;
los he dicaíto yo,
los tenela muy juncales;
I don’t know what it means, not speaking Spanish, but I have been assured that, if someone in Andalusia recites that poem in my presence, I will have no trouble getting dark eyed men to smooch me. I assume it’s some kind of a love charm. As I do in all matters Spanish, I will rely on Mack’s aid. Hopefully, he’ll agree to recite it in front of handsome men in order to unleash its power.
Okay, clearly, I’m going to Montreal when I die. I’ve not been good enough to get into Heaven, per se, but I haven’t been bad enough to warrant anything more than an eternity of a town full of escalators and wide open stairwells.
I might could be okay with that, if they let me keep this bed in the afterlife. It’s enormous, not that that matters, because you don’t really toss and turn in it, nor do you roll around. I’m going to guess by the lack of crust on my face in the morning that I might even be snoring less in such a bed.
Here’s the thing. When you get into this bed, it feels like it takes your body to it and nestles you in. Every part of you is cradled in soft fluffy supportiveness. Then, you pull the duvet up and it’s light and warm and it settles around you like snow, but comfy. And you just have a minute to notice all this because once your head hits the pillow and you stop moving, you are out.
And say you wake up having nightmares about open stairways and being chased? The bed does not allow you that momentary panic where you can’t remember where you are, because you are awake and instantly aware that you are in the most comfortable place you’ve ever been.
So, hurray for the bed. Now I’m off to find some of these chocolate croissants I’ve heard so much about.