First the bad news: Jon Stewart is gone for three whole months! He said the sweetest goodbye last night; I miss him already. If I tell you that I feel a great and genuine love for this man, you have to understand that this comes from someone who has loved Paul McCartney for 49 years, since February 1964. The two of them, my guys, overflowing with talent, social conscience, kindness, and fab good looks. Good taste in men, no? My ideal man-only dinner party would include those two, Pierre Trudeau, Paul Newman, Nelson Mandela, and ... hmm. How big can this dinner party get? Maybe Bill Clinton to pull it all together, and of course my funny, welcoming son. And my Uncle Edgar and my dad. A girl can dream.
Ewan McGregor. Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy. Leonard Cohen. Oh stop. And to add some gay class and colour, my best friends Wayson, Chris, Bruce, JM and Richard ... Positively No Girls Allowed in This Club. Except Moi.
Here's the good news: the rosebush on the fence outside the kitchen has more than a hundred buds, I counted, and they're just starting to open. That mass of peachy blooms is going to be glorious, and I can just sit here, out of the rain, and watch the show. Feeling the need for a treat on this, yet another damp, chilly, gloomy day, I just went to the Epicure and bought $62 worth of cheese, including a new Quebecois chevre. And I'm off in a bit for my singing lesson. How good is life?
Jasmine, who works at Doubletake, is being let go at the end of August, and told me recently that her English has not improved because she's too shy to speak and gets little chance in any case. I offered to help her find ESL classes, and after trolling the net and a visit to the Newcomer's Centre at the Y, I am gratified to find a huge number of resources for foreign language immigrants to this city. Am also thinking of setting up an English conversation group chez moi, where Jasmine and her Bangladeshi friends can chat casually with Canadians. Anyone interested in joining us?
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