Sea Monkeys, Big Gay Abe

In this article last night, on a controversial biography which claims Abraham Lincoln may have been gay, I came across a historical quote in which the president is described as having thighs "as perfect as a human could be." Somehow I find the possibility that Abe might have liked guys much less startling than the revelation that he was OMG teh hotness....

The larger sea monkeys are now about .7 cm long, and very feathery. They also have little beady eyes. They sort of turned out to be my pets, and I'm contemplating getting some Triops as well (which reportedly look like little trilobites or horseshoe crabs, only with three eyes.)

Magical Meatball Tour

This afternoon as we left the apartment, I went round the back to drop off some garbage bags, and noticed an eagle in one of the trees behind our building. At least I think it was an eagle: it was much too large to be just a regular hawk - until I got near it, I couldn't be sure it wasn't a human child sitting on the tree branch, except I didn't think a kid would be able to climb that high. I pointed it out to Himself and went inside for his camera (I'll post pictures later). The eagle just sat calmly on its perch, waiting for something sufficiently stupid to fly by so it could catch itself some lunch.

On the streetcar afterwards, a guy who got on at the Humber Loop had probably come from the deli counter at the big Sobey's store, since he had rather a lot of food with him including a meatball sandwich he handed to his friend as he sat down, and a container of meatballs he slurped straight from the styrofoam. "Howya doing, Sweetie," he asked me, "and how has your day been thus far?" He offered me a meatball, which I declined as politely as I could. He offered Himself a meatball, with the same reaction. He and his friend discussed "the Old Man," to whose house they were headed to drink beer and hang out. He got off in Parkdale, saying he'd be back. It was around this time I noticed the Sunday streetcar driver was singing the names of the stops.

True to his word, the Meatball Guy got back on a few stops later, having somehow gone to a bank machine to get his friend the money he owed him, made a run to a liquor store to pick up booze for the Old Man's place, and caught up with the streetcar again. He tried chatting up a different young woman, who told him she was on her way to confront her boyfriend, who'd dumped her for another girl.
"Your voice is kinda strained," he said, "you been screaming at him?"
"I've been in bed with pneumonia all week."
Meatball Guy offered to go with her and beat the guy up: "I've got a bicycle," he said, "and a chain."
"Baaaaa-thurst Streeet!" caroled the driver.

I gave my seat to an older woman, who thanked over and over again until I began to wish I hadn't. Later she gave me my seat back and sat down between Meatball Guy and his friend.
"Howya doin', Sweetie, and how's your day been thus far?" he said (I forgot to mention he'd also said this to the girl with the cheating boyfriend). The streetcar driver's singing had gone up a key. "At this rate," said Himself, "he'll be shattering the windows by the time we get to Yonge Street."

The Meatball Guy's friend asked him for a beer and he opened the case from the liquor store. He offered me a beer. He offered Himself a beer. We both said thanks, no, but thanks.
"C'mon, can't I give you anything?" he pleaded.
"You've already given me entertainment," said Himself.

We got off at Yonge Street Subway Station. The streetcar windows remained intact.
"Now I've got a craving for meatballs," Himself said.