Come again?

I woke up this morning—literally, because my alarm was set to NPR—to the news that Luciano Pavarotti has passed away from pancreatic cancer. I’m quite sad about this news, because Pavarotti has always been sort of a part of my life—dad likes him, and I used to get hauled out of bed late a night to watch the Three Tenors on PBS with the sound waaay up. Funny the things you remember.

But, meanwhile, it is hot and muggy down here, and I am cranky as hell. I know, I know—London wasn’t a bastion of perfect weather, but then again there was NEVER this much humidity. I am thisclose to chopping all my hair off. I am so sick of all the little curls and ringlets sproinging out of my ponytails, not to mention my FRINGE—good Lord, who thought THAT would be a good idea?!—that I’m sorely tempted to go way short. The only thing staying my hand is the fact that in a few weeks we will be knee-deep in snow, and then I will miss my hair.

Also, I guess it is football season. Not that I bleed gold and green* but it’s a little weird going around seeing ads that say “ARE YOU READY FOR SOME FOOTBALL?!!” and then seeing the Bears logo. I almost feel like I should run around with a Packers sticker and commit a few acts of vandalism. Not that that would do much good. On the other hand, there’s something comforting about the Changing of the Seasons that brings American football back around, instead of incessant footy matches between random teams I’ve never heard of.

I spent most of the afternoon in a coffeeshop writing, and then I went shopping for cheese and now I’m going to go paint a picture of a cat. My life is awesome.

PS: I put that poster of Sweeney Todd up on my desktop, and, after a closer look, I’m fairly certain it’s inaccurate—did Fleet Street in whatever the hell period that is have a clear shot of Big Ben? I don’t think so. Look, Tim Burton, you LIVE in London—don’t go throwing around images because you think Americans are too thick to get that we’re back in the cesspool of western civilization that is—was London. I’m watching you…



*On the contrary, I bleed red, white and blue and THESE COLOURS DON’T RUN, baby!