Just this past weekend, there was a wedding of two people from wealthy & prominent families - he, the son of a former prime minister; and she, the daughter of a successful stockbroker.
When the story first came out, I was surprised that CBC radio dared to be so bold as to mention that both the bride & groom in this "fairy-tale wedding" were, um, somewhat underemployed -- that he, in his early thirties, a former teacher and now occasional public speaker, was thinking of returning to university soon; and she, freshly thirty, a former model & TV show host, was now a part-time personal shopper.
The newspapers were much more tactful, focusing on the arrangements themselves - the dress, the suit, the flowers, colour scheme, the car, the guests, the security, etc.
Oh, the security... Word has it in the office that the neighbourhood in Outremont was blocked off, that Mounties were in attendance, and police helicopters were circling the area...
At first I thought, how do these two underemployed kids rate such high-level security arrangements? and then realized their guest list undoubtedly must have demanded it. But in between those two thoughts, I came up with this one...
Imagine, you want to have a world-class wedding but you don't rate...
Could you style yourself a sort of a trompe l'oeil world-class wedding?
I mean, if you had "security" in Mountie outfits - wearing badges that stated clearly and distinctly, I am not a Mountie - would that be terribly illegal? And if you hired some professional impersonators to counterfeit the rich and famous... and asked your guests to come in costume as the politico or celeb whom they most resemble ... would that be breaking any laws?
Could you ask your wedding photographer & assistants to join in the spirit of things and "crash" your wedding as paparazzi, and then chase your car as you drive away? (Of course, you' re having the wedding & reception locally because you're trying to keep it low-key, you humble thing, you.)
How hard would it be, I wonder, to convince the person officiating to wear bishop's robes? or Papal regalia? or pass himself off as the Dalai Lama?
I think the best part would be sending the guests mocked-up newspaper clippings as thank-you notes. "We wanted to particularly thank the Prince of Wales & his dear wife for the lovely embossed cheese knife," exclaimed the bride in an interview after the reception, adding "we will think of them whenever we use it at our wine-tasting soirees."
Of course, there's always the cheap tabloid press photos, and the tadwry stories that go with them; you might encourage your guests to "sell their stories to the press" - and post their photos & stories on a website. (Caption competition, anyone?)
Yup. I predict these will soon be all the rage, these "faux fame" weddings.
Heck, I bet if you send out invitiations to enough Canadian celebs... chances are, some of 'em might even show up. :) It's the free meal. I can't tell you how many shows I've done just for the free meal...
Stop doing that; you'll go blind.
Want to be brainier? Play Sudoku while eating eggs.* And then have a nap.
* One egg! {thunder & lightning} Two eggs! {thunder & lightning} Uh... five eggs! {thunder & lightning} ha! ha! ha!
I had to bring The Old Man {aka St. Farticus} to the vet this morning, which meant I had to arrange to come in late to work this morning, and that meant I was able to sleep in this morning.
And I would have overslept too, if I hadn't been awoken by this dream:
I was walking down a street when I noticed that a Used Bookstore I liked had gone out of business -- or, at least, through the window by the front door I could see there was nobody at the cashier's desk. When I looked in the window to the body of the shop, however, I could see there were people in there and the shelves were half-emptied out; and I thought there might be a possibility it was still open for its final clearout sale. So I went in.
There were no sale prices on the stuff, and I figured one would just haggle at the caisse; but I pretty broke, and I was too embarassed to even try. Plus, though I found items that were moderately interesting, there was nothing that I really needed. So I couldn't really justify buying something; but I wanted to buy something just for the sake of buying something.
For example {I must have been in the women's studies section} there were some original sample textiles for women's period dresses {I recall in particular a pale green, orange & cream plaid} stored rolled up in cardboard cylinders; they were accompanied by the corresponding period books on fashion, as well as some modern and period books on ettiquite & women's social history. Fascinating; but I felt it should better belong to someone who was student of such things.
Also found three old grey tattered books, late 18oo's I think; part of a series containing facts and fictional stories about cats. But it was incomplete, and I knew that would irritate me not to have the whole set; so I couldn't bring myself to buy it.
There was also a part of the store which dealt with secondhand junk/antiques. Again, interesting stuff, but nothing I really needed...
Then I saw a black wooden walking stick.
The head was the shape of a heraldic (or medieval?) stylized "lion". The body of the stick was like a table leg, the "proud" curve of the table leg being the chest of the beast (almost like a seahorse); and the base where the cane tapped the floor was a ball~and~clawfoot. The overall effect was a bit like an highly ornate elongated bathtub leg.
It had an almost a germanic gothic type of rendering; there were lots of protuding triangular "scales" which stuck out by maybe about a half an inch. It also had, I suddenly noticed, four little wooden arms - two on each side - attached to its chest by metal rings; so they were articulated at the shoulder and they swung fairly freely.
They were willing to sell it to me for about $70.
On the tiny dangling price tag {written in those precise and elegant curliqued numbers often seen on price tags dangling from antiques - well, of course, because you're not about to buy something at *that* price if the tag looks like a ransom demand from some illiterate criminal lowlife} that the original price of the cane was something like $525, or maybe $595.
I didn't have the cash on me, but they did have interac. Interestingly, that price was the same price the vet quoted me for The Old Man's checkup, which I planned to pay via Interac... and that's what woke me up.
Got to the vet on time. Will pick up The Old Man tonight. Will get the results by tomorrow. Then we shall see what we shall see.
~ ~ ~
I wonder if my subconscious chose "bookstore" because of Rosie, the cat from Welch's bookstore.
My first afternoon in Montreal, I took a random walk downtown, guided only by green streetlights; and by nightfall, I was walking down The Main.
Something made me look up. High above, there was a girder/pulley arrangement; it projected from an old dark building, spanned a small fenced~in yard, and jutted out over the sidewalk. Perched like a gargoyle on top of this girder was a black & white cat.
I watched the cat slink back across the girder, over the yard and into the building; and that's when I noticed smack in the middle of downtown Montreal was a tiny yard crammed full of headstones. It took my mind a moment to register that it wasn't a cemetary, but a monument engraving business; and that moment was a wee bit surreal.
Spent a little time looking through the chain~link fence at the yard, thinking about how cool it was, how it deserved to show up as a location in some story, and wondering how I could work it into something somewhere...
Started walking again, and immediately found a nifty little bookstore; as I entered, that very same black and white cat slipped in past me through the doorway. The bookstore was Welch's; the cat was Rosie.
I remember when I found out Rosie had died; her passing was mentioned by one of the hosts on CBC radio one. A fairly respectable achievement for a cat, I thought, to have yer wee obit on national radio. Found a nice little reminisce about Rosie here too, at Utopia Moment.
The last time I saw Rosie, I was surprised to see her quite svelte; she used to be respectably plump. Got to talking with the bookstore cashier who, quite cheerfully, mentioned Rosie had not been put on a diet but had simply just lost the weight. I told him unexplained weight loss in a cat ought to be taken as a warning sign, and said Rosie should to be taken to the vet.
But even as I spoke, I heard myself sounding like a crazy cat lady, and so I apologised for sounding like a crazy cat lady, which of course made me sound even more like a crazy cat lady... and I could see the cashier wasn't taking me at all seriously. In the end, I don't know if Rosie's passing was indeed related to her weight loss... so I may very well be a crazy cat lady.
Maybe I should drop by and ask... maybe I should bring condolance flowers... maybe that would be the irreversible step down Crazy Cat Lady Lane... ah, well, it's too late anyways; should have thought to send flowers when I first heard of it... and, wake up and smell the catnip, I've already bought the birdhouse on Crazy Cat Lady Lane.
~ ~ ~
I don't know how to wrap up this little anecdote; and it needs a wrap-up; but all I know is, I've got to leave *now* to make it to the vet before it closes.
Bye! :)
Army Life On The Fly
Oh, I don't want no more of army life
Gee mom, I wanna go
But they won't let me go
Gee mom, I wanna go home
Check out this excerpt from an article in The Scotsman:
The idea, which Officer Cadet Wales (Prince Harry’s name and rank for the next 44 weeks of training) will find particularly tough, is not to draw attention to yourself, not to attract the unflinching eye of the Colour Sergeant or drill instructor to that fact that you exist and have not been recently punished or humiliated.
Life enters a realm where the absurd become normal. A dead fly on the windowsill of my cell prompted the Colour Sergeant to order me to attend the dreaded "show parade", an extra inspection at night when most are collapsing into their bunks awaiting the early morning call to PT (physical training).
"Show yourself and that fly tonight, Mr McDermott", the Colour Sergeant spat at my face. You did not wipe the spittle away or indeed blink until the non-commissioned officers have left the vicinity.
At the evening show parade, another Colour Sergeant asked me what I was doing holding a dead fly in my hand and, dissatisfied with my explanation, told me that my fly did not reach the necessary standard as it was not buzzing. "Show again Mr McDermott, yourself and fly buzzing."
Attempts to catch a live fly in the five free minutes during the day failed and ensured I again stood at the show parade holding the dead fly, but this time making a feeble buzzing sound.
"You are so pathetic I cannot bear to see you on my show parade," bawled the Colour Sergeant. Humiliation and ridicule were a welcome alternative to "show again". I got almost six hours of sleep the next night without having to attend the show parade.
Oh, yes, sir, but the Norweigan Bluebottle prefers kippin' on its back! Remarkable insect, isn't it, sarge, eh? Lovely exoskeleton!
I have nothing to wear...
This quote from (but not representing the opinions of) the CBC:
No short skirts? What are they going to make them wear, ankle-length pencil skirts? Heck, boys, we keep telling you, length doesn't matter; remember all those poodle-skirt-wearing cheerleaders flashing their legs doing the Jitterbug? That was a lot of fabric, and I'm not even counting all those crinolines.
I suppose they could make them wear pants... which reminds me, there once was an era when women weren't permitted to wear pants.* Yes, because of that whole "we want to keep the genders visually distinct" thang; but it was also justified in part by claims that pants revealed the curves of a woman's bottom in ways that a skirt could not, therefore pants were more sexually provocative than skirts. Hence, pants on a woman were were vulgar.
How about those full~body unitards that gymnasts and ice-skaters wear? Or ballerina tutus? I haven't heard anybody complain about how sexually provocative those are. Lately.
Y'know, I think, when you come right down to it, the problem is not with what they're wearing. Adolescent girls are in the first flush of sexual bloom, and I think it would be darn near impossible to dress them in anything in which they're not going to look just yummy... really, if you want them not to look sexy, you're going to have to give them shots of something which makes them grow facial and dorsal hair.
If you don't believe me, try this: picture, side by side, Ms. Hilton and the Queen of England both wearing the same leg-and-midriff-baring cheerleading uniform. Are they equally sexually attractive? There, you see? It has nothing to do with the outfit.
I mean, for heaven's sake, it's all just such nonsense.
Isn't the point of the law to define crime, and the point of the church to define morality? And aren't people supposed to respect the separation of church & state? If it's a question of a sexualized portrayal of under-age girls, then shouldn't it be dealt with by the state's child pornagraphy department, rather than the State Education Agency?
I know, I'm having trouble with my own conclusions here too. On the one hand I'm saying, leave it alone; and on the other hand I'm saying, if you're *really* worried, hand it over to the Fed. I suppose those aren't mutually exclusive options; but it does seem to advocate both underreaction & overreaction at the same time.
Ah, well. If I can't say that my opinions are incisive, at least I can say they're true to who I am...
~ ~ ~
* I was thinking specifically of the 30's and '40's, but now I realize it actually pretty much describes a rather significant chunk of Western History... which reminds me, I seem to recall there was also an era when tables weren't allowed to show their legs either. Perhaps this is a myth; can somebody dispell or confirm this for me?
P.S. The Queen of Spain has no legs.
P.P.S. Psst -- here's a peek at what Havelock Ellis has say about that.
P.P.P.S Incidentally, I'd be willing to bet that if all cheerleaders were made to wear huge foam replicas of cheddar cheese wedges, adult clubs would soon follow suit. It's the strippers who are emulating the schoolgirls, not the other way 'round.
Happy 05-05, aka May 5th, aka Cinco de Mayo!
Yes, as some say, "Cinco de Mayo has become another excuse to go out and party". But, oh, the food, the glorious food... and the drink, the magnificent drink... let's not hold that against the food & the drink. They're just the innocent bystanders here.