I do not have the most patriotic of hearts. By which I mean, once summer rolls around, I am not necessarily the best at remembering a) what day it is right now, or b) the fact that it happens to be the birthday of the nation of my birth. But because I live a life of haphazard adventure, this does not mean that I did not (accidentally) celebrate Canada Day!

Here is what I did:

1) Surprisingly, found a copy of Herizons (a fairly fantastic Canadian feminist magazine) at the newsstand. (Incidentally, this issue of Herizons includes a really wonderful interview with the late Jane Rule, which I will be blogging about once I feel slightly less like a tired, drunk, idiot, because the interview was really wonderful, and contained some really beautiful words that, admittedly, almost brought me to tears in public. Which takes a lot.)

2) Saw George Strombolopoulos? Maybe? Ok, granted, I spent most of my evening at Velvet Margarita drinking two of those tequila/tabasco things that I’m so enamoured with these days, and then an entire coconut filled with Pina Colada, so I am not exactly the most reliable witness, HOWEVER. I swear to god. George Strombolopoulos was standing outside a bar on Cahuenga. I swear to god it was George Strombolopoulos. Like, it’s plausible that he was hanging out in L.A., right? Maybe? At any rate, he’s involved with the entertainment industry, so it’s not totally far-fetched? But, anyhow. There was this guy who looked exactly like George Strombolopoulos and I squinted at him in a drunken manner and he stared back in a “I am a Canadian celebrity – why would someone in Los Angeles recognize me?” kind of way, and then I tried to explain to my friend Ellen that I just thought I had seen George Strombolopoulos, Canadian Celebrity, and that if it was actually George Strombolopoulos, this was possibly the most hilarious thing that could have happened in the entire world, which entailed trying to explain exactly who George Strombolopoulos is, but, of course, nobody who isn’t a Canadian with left-leaning tendencies and an addiction to the CBC really, truly, gets how funny it would be for me, the girl who spent a lot of quality time during her undergraduate years milling around in Toronto, Ontario, Canada, stomping ground of Strombo, to encounter George Strombolopoulos in Los Angeles, after living there for, what, 9 months? It’s the most fucking hilarious thing ever. I saw George Strombolopoulos! In L.A.! Or, at least, his Los Angeles doppelganger. And George or Stromboganger is just as cute in person. Maybe. I don’t even know anymore, that tequila/tabasco thing is too amazing. Jesus. I need to go to bed.