So I was over on the Island on the weekend to see some long lost relatives, and had a blast. The sailing was on time, Georgia Strait was like glass, and the weather was warm enough I could stay ondeck for more of the two hour voyage in a muscle shirt. Paradise. Everyone is hale and healthy, and sends their love.
(Disclaimer: Wrye is not our actual family name, although it is, I am given to understand, a name with a proud lineage of its own that I first accidentally appropriated way back in the heady days of 1998.)
Anyway, when three wings of the clan Wrye gather, politics get discussed. When my right-wing Albertan and Island cousins are in agreement with me and mine, it's a rare event. And we all agree we're all mighty angry about New Orleans indeed. But I presume you've read all about that catalogue of murderous incompetence by now...
In other news, Lady Wrye hasn't been impressed with my blogging efforts so far.
"I'm hardly in it at all", she says.
I try to explain that this is a blog about comforting the uncomfortable, discomfiting the powerful, and witnessing history, but she's having none of it.
"It's all facts and news and things. Where's your sense of humour? Why isn't it more like Fafblog?"
Well, I explain, there already is a Fafblog, but she assures me I'm even funnier. Hrm.
Later I check my email, and there's three messages from Fafblog, wanting to get ahold of Lady Wrye to confirm that they're going to see the soup poets exhibit on Wednesday.
Bloody Fafblog. I hate those guys.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment