Forget what I said about a lot of rain last week. It wasn't, and I can say this because the streets never disappeared like they did yesterday. The water either soaked in or burnt off enough that they'd reappeared by midafternoon yesterday, but this morning my lake is back. It's kind of neat. And when there's standing water, for some reason it smells like the ocean.
My immediate instinct, of course, is to roll up my jeans and kick off my boots and go splashing around in it, because I'm still ten years old. And, judging by how often I did this as a kid, I am also totally immune to things like leeches and ringworm. But I did that yesterday. (I need new flip-flops too; mine have some sort of stringy plastic on the soles that looks like Brillo and is supposed to be nice and cushy for toes. It isn't. What it does do is never dry off, which sort of defeats the purpose of such footwear.) It's ghost-hunting weather, tadpole-catching weather. It reminds me of the day Bleu and I picked up a pallet of strawberries at the flea market, took them to the park with the Indian mounds, and ate ourselves into diabetic shock. I want to go explore under the trees with the Zeiss, and get rained on until my hair looks like an unhappy mop. I love this part of summer.
The best stuff yesterday had nothing to do with rain though. Vinny's still ours! The big-ass contract kicked in and, according to some guy from the paper, Vinny can
run the show if he wants. Which is a nicer thought than him being mailed off to Edmonton or somewhere. This part is especially true: "Vinny wins any matchup with ownership in the eyes of Lightning fans. Vinny is the good guy. He'll
never be the bad guy." We also got Mattias Ohlund, bringing our total of Swedes up from None to Two, as compared to this time last week. And we got Matt Walker, who I'm sure will have competitions with Meszaros to see who is more indestructible.
In other news, it turns out Riley really really
really likes Elvis....