The World Cup is over and I’m back from the major Canadian city in which I spent last weekend with my cousin, her husband, her brother (the oldest of the six close cousins), her friends, with whom I am also friends, and a good friend of mine/grad school classmate/coworker from when I lived in a southern state who happens to be from said Canadian city and is a former collegiate footballer, so my brain can process other things again. I will no longer be distracted by Diego Forlan’s flowing locks (seriously, they’re magical…I ended up cheering for Uruguay when England went out based solely on the pull of a footballer’s hair and no one who knows me found that at all surprising), France’s awesome implosion, godawful American football announcing (I loved Alexi Lalas as a player, I loathe him as an analyst…he’s smug and offers nothing of value), Spain’s possession, the name Bastian Schweinsteiger (best name of the World Cup) and England’s disappointingly early exit from South Africa.
I’m not going to write back posts, so I’ve renumbered the posts since I got back from Iceland. I’ll just pick up from there.
Coming soon, the Sopwith Camel.