Things in the Air

The smoke's blown out to sea. For now. How is it that I've been able to follow the Colorado and Arizona fires almost since the instant they were set, but it takes an ash cloud blotting out the sun to get the local media to mention that Quebec's on fire?

(Maybe, says Inner Snark, it's time to admit that reading an eight-page free paper on the subway and peeking at the front page of bostonglobe.com does *not* keep me fully informed about global affairs.)

So today I'm trying to find two people to be spotters for a stiltwalker. (It's not the best term for them, but I guess Human Cushions doesn't really sound too good, either). If the stiltwoman had asked me a week ago, I could have done it--I even have some training, thanks to my Performance Art Cheerleading work (long story)--but I've already committed myself to being a Giant Beet at this particular festival. The festival's name is ArtBeat, see, and I'll have a beret and be the Art Beet.

I might still try to be on hand to help her, even in the big costume. But she'd probably be safer without me. By all the rules of slapstick, if my friend falls at any point in her life, it WILL be on someone dressed like a giant vegetable.