I am about to do something drastic. Something I swore I would never, ever do. I have to admit now, in the past, that my opinions of people who indulged in the activities I speak of were unfair> I was not in a similar position. Now I know. I am about to embark upon something for which I am totally unprepared, and which just might kill me.

This weekend, Ed and I are going camping.

Allow me to explain. I do not camp. I have never camped. My idea of camping involves the Hilton, maybe a Best Western or even a motel. 'Roughing it' means dealing with tiny bottles of shampoo. I love the ourdoors; I, however, am not exactly a creature who thrives in the wild. I love a good hike, love being outside, but at the end of the day I want a bed with sheets and a hot shower.

And yet here I am, packing a cooler and the tent Ed hasn't used for years, trying to figure out how many socks I need, and contemplating not bathing 2 days. It's a short trip -- Friday night to Sunday morning. I am nervous.

I am also very excited. I like alcohol, flame-cooked hotdogs and marshmallows, which, as I ahve been informed, form the Holy Triumvirate of camping food. I am looking forward to reading outside and seeing some beautiful scenery and maybe sticking my toes in a real actual lake that wasn't built so that some rich jerk might have lakeside property in the desert. the idea of sleeping in a tent is greatly appealing. the idea of trying, and failing, to tan even sounds a bit fun. So, though I go with a great deal of trepidation, I find myself getting quite excited by the prospect this trip. I might even survive, if the mosquitos don't eat me.

In other news, my brother has gotten a job that he actually seems to like and is busily hunting for an apartment. It's bene painfully, ridiculously hot for a week. I rewrote approximately 40 pages of poetry for THE THESIS and feel prety damn good about it ( handing in 60 pages of critical work recently also really improved my mood). Due to a tragic accident involving the 80s being channelled through a pair of scissors, I have very short hair (trust me -- cutting it all off was far better a prospect than leaving it all on. Think boufant. With terrible huge punk bangs. Yeah. No.). Plans for a certain August 3rd are going very well -- I am the most devious person alive. Prof. X even let me measure the circumference of his head. It's going to be GLORIOUS -- you'll all know what I mean very soon =)

Finally, I'd like to take this opportunity to welcome two awesome little people into the world: Jeremy Leipert and Natalee Caple's twins, Cassius and Imogen. Weighing in at around 4 1/2 lbs apiece, their arrival has caused all manner of panic of the most welcome and joyful kind. I can't wait to meet them in person -- and they may come home soon. So exciting? Though their presence in the house may cause my ovaries to actually strangle me.

Between my ovaries and the mosquitos, pray for me.

The fine young man pictured above made the following conversation possible.

Location: Interior, Day. Starbucks.

Me: This is the driest scone ever conceived of by man.
Mike: I am displeased with my loaf.
Me: Your banana loaf?
Mike: It's too loafy.
Me: Not bready enough?
Mike: Yeah.
Me: I have never been a loaf fan.
Mike: What do you have against loaves?
Me: I prefer a good scone. Which this is decidedly not.
Mike: Let me try some. (takes some. I start scraping the frosting off). What the hell are you doing?
Me:Removing the crust of frosting
Mike: frosting can be good
Me: You can have the ass-frosting them. I think they just frosted it to cover us the sawdust.
Mike: I think that an official strategy of the commercial food industry. When something goes wrong, apply frosting; no one will ever know.
Me: Something went horribly wrong here.
Mike: Where's the pumpkin? I thought this was supposed to be a pumpkin scone.
Me: I think is brushed against a pumpkin once.
Mike: More like they make it in the same factory as pumpkin loaves and some of the fumes permeated them.
Me: Do they have pumpkin loaves here?
Mike: Pumpkin bread.
Me: they need to recalibrate their loaf-to-bread ratio.

Batten down the hatches, folks. There are 2 Walschotses permanently in town.

For the last two weeks, my brother has been living on my futon. He was originally going to visit us for a bit this summer, maybe a week; then maybe a month; not he has applied to, and been accepted into, the Philosophy program at the U of C and is out a job interview for position in Kensington The fine young lad has taken very well to the city, and it seems that at least for the next few years this the place he, too, will call home.

With a little luck, he may even get his own ROOM or APARTMENT one day, rather than living out of a pile of suitcases and plastic rubber maid containers in my living room.

Honestly, though, aside form my mother, Michael is probably the best house guest on the face of the earth. He's quiet and tidy and very polite, despite my active efforts to make him snap. It's been a regular slumber party over here.

Welcome to Calgary, Mike. Smell that? It's clean air. You'll get used to it. =)