At the Royal BC Museum — which we skipped through quickly, pausing mostly for the ice glacier and mammoth — two crystal glasses caught my eye.  They were monogrammed F.R. and the caption above them named Francis Rattenbury and his notable architectural acheivements (some buildings in Victoria, I forget which.) 

He was more notable, however, for his life.  Bedded much younger Alma Packenham out of wedlock, divorced wife Florrie, Married Alma.  Then got old and boring and clubbed by Alma’s teen lover.  The murdering teen lover was sentenced to die and Alma stabbed herself in the heart. 

They must be laughing, the Canucks, at our silly old Spitzer affair.  How dull in contrast. 

I haven’t read An American Tragedy in years, but the storie’s the same I believe.  Sister Carrie (not a nun) seduces established man who leaves his family, loses standing and money, bores her out of her mind etc.  Can’t remember, though, if anyone dies. 

I’ve taken to drinking lemon water.  Please remember if I wind up at your house.

[Wiki for Rattenbury]

A. has requested I show this picture.  I would have earlier but for the focus – A. commits the most daring act of our lives and I screw up the shot.  It was even scarier, I promise, in person and completely clear. 

(That’s A.’s very own hand, by the way, beneath the creepy, spindly fur.)

Hmm.  That sounds derogatory but isn’t.  It’s a song in The Boogie Book from seventh grade piano. It came to mind. 

I’m back!  From Canada, you sillies.  Well, Victoria, that may not technically count.  Still.  There was customs. 

Stopped first in Seattle to catch the ferry.  This guy — let’s call him Stan – is from Pike Place Market circa Wednesday. Stan either has a big fat tongue or a sausage in his mouth.  Either way kind of gross, eh?