This morning a propane plant exploded in northern Toronto, forcing residents to evacuate and shutting down the highways in the area and generally inconveniencing the hell out of everyone in the area, including me trying to get home from Mississagua to Scarborough.
When I originally started writing this post at about 1 pm, only minor injuries had been reported, and so I felt okay about being disgruntled about the state of the highways this morning. Then I found out that a firefighter had died, and the perspective alters drastically. As of two hours ago, the firefighter's family still hadn't been notified; the article linked above does not name him for that reason.
BlogTO's coverage is rather less confusing than the Globe & Mail article, and includes videos of the biggest explosion.
One of the things I do not recommend that anyone do is cut one's own hair in the bathroom mirror. I don't appear to have done too much damage though - my hair was a shaggy unstructured mess before, now it's a slightly differently-shaped shaggy unstructured mess. I'm thinking I'll get a hair dresser to poke at it before the wedding Husband and I are attending at the end of August, so I'll have an actual hairdo to go with the magic dress I bought yesterday morning. Shopping is normally a painful and drawn-out experience for me, being shaped rather more like a 50s pin-up girl and rather less like the athletic clothes-rack which is so popular today. Also, I'm short, which just makes it even more fun. But less than 20 minutes after a despairing phone call to my mother, I was walking out of the Eaton's Centre with a dress that is beautiful, a lovely colour, and fits so well I don't even have to wear a bra (this is an event so unheard of that it makes Halley's comet look like a weekly occurence). The gods of fashion took pity on me yesterday, that's all I can say.
There is no more music sorting for me this week, since Boyfriend has made off with my external drive, but at least he returned my iPod. Since he claims he intends to return the drive with another 200 gb of music, I may be coming out on top here. I do still intend to have that sex thing ready to post tomorrow at some point.
When I originally started writing this post at about 1 pm, only minor injuries had been reported, and so I felt okay about being disgruntled about the state of the highways this morning. Then I found out that a firefighter had died, and the perspective alters drastically. As of two hours ago, the firefighter's family still hadn't been notified; the article linked above does not name him for that reason.
BlogTO's coverage is rather less confusing than the Globe & Mail article, and includes videos of the biggest explosion.
One of the things I do not recommend that anyone do is cut one's own hair in the bathroom mirror. I don't appear to have done too much damage though - my hair was a shaggy unstructured mess before, now it's a slightly differently-shaped shaggy unstructured mess. I'm thinking I'll get a hair dresser to poke at it before the wedding Husband and I are attending at the end of August, so I'll have an actual hairdo to go with the magic dress I bought yesterday morning. Shopping is normally a painful and drawn-out experience for me, being shaped rather more like a 50s pin-up girl and rather less like the athletic clothes-rack which is so popular today. Also, I'm short, which just makes it even more fun. But less than 20 minutes after a despairing phone call to my mother, I was walking out of the Eaton's Centre with a dress that is beautiful, a lovely colour, and fits so well I don't even have to wear a bra (this is an event so unheard of that it makes Halley's comet look like a weekly occurence). The gods of fashion took pity on me yesterday, that's all I can say.
There is no more music sorting for me this week, since Boyfriend has made off with my external drive, but at least he returned my iPod. Since he claims he intends to return the drive with another 200 gb of music, I may be coming out on top here. I do still intend to have that sex thing ready to post tomorrow at some point.
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