Bonding over scalloped potatoes.

In an age where everything is changing, where "funk" and "fat" have traded in the phonetic lovin' in favour of the cooler "ph", we can always rely on the simple pleasure of eating scalloped potatoes with a dozen of our closest friends. Allow me to explain (actually, I'd explain with or without your permission). A group of us went skydiving last weekend at Eden North Parachute School (advice: the middle set of outhouses smell the least). Provincials were going on, and it was a massive party (there were lemons). We got there on Canada Day (or "Canaday", according to Jo). We mostly kept to ourselves that night, as we had to get up bright and early for our skydiving class the next morning. The class was long, but it involved getting out of wooden airplanes for practice. Arch! Arch! Everyone in our little party did it (sauf ValiDic, but he never intended to jump in the first place and he is THE coolest valedictorian of all time). I am proud of us all, even those of us who blew away. I recommend skydiving, but beware, it's a lot more windy getting out of the plane than you'd think. Saturday night, we ripped it up with the real skydivers. It was a grand time. I'm a fan of Merlin the Seamstress.

Last night I was downtown and I enjoyed the company of people who enjoy tattoos. Then I ate a massive amount of tortellini when I got home.

Potatoes taste best when scrubbed with dirty SOS pads.

Now a word from our sponsor:

outhouses = outgoes

ValiDic = valet's

tortellini = turtleneck