Mouths will foam

Nightmarish images on all news media:  

That horrible man with blood on his jaw from his clipped ear, pumping his fist as if in victory.

A roaring sea of red and white - unsettlingly like Hades on Canada Day, except with twisted faces topped with scarlet baseball caps, torquing their hands into one-finger salutes, while their contorted mouths form "F*** YOU" through snaggled teeth, over and over at the news cameras.  (We didn't get much of that in Ottawa, not even on Canada Day.)

The shooter, some foolish young man, apparently a registered Republican, with an automatic rifle so beloved of Republicans these days, is dead.  The report from the Secret Service sounds so damn American:  "neutralized and now deceased" - as if those are two different things.  Someone killed in the crowd and already hailed as a hero; two others seriously injured.

And all this on the eve of the Republican convention.  Mouths will foam.

I will find other things to occupy what passes for my mind.  And, just for the record, I'm not in favour of anyone getting shot.  The last thing we need are martyrs.

Flash and burn

The Resident Fan Boy's sister forwarded an email from her future daughter-in-law's sister.

Apparently this young woman thinks it would be a fabulous idea to surprise my husband's nephew and his bride with a flash-mob at their wedding reception next month:  The effect will be much better if EVERYONE participates. Even for those people apposed [sic] to dancing please try your best, and stand near the back if you want.

Unable to restrain our curiosity, we took a look at her video on YouTube and the first thing we noticed was that it is seventeen minutes long.  It begins with the Maid of Honour - she actually signed her email to the RFB's sister with this, like a rank or position - a fresh young thing who looks about, I dunno, fourteen, but is probably ten years older - standing in a well-appointed hallway in shorts, her bare feet in fourth position.  Her biography at her sister's wedding website describes her as a business major who loves long walks on the beach and organizing her sorority.  Her first name (withheld for obvious reasons) pinpoints her squarely as a nineties baby.

She demonstrates the choreography, which, mercifully, is for only two minutes of flash-mobbing, saying earnestly in uptalk that it is "not too hard" and reiterating her desire that everybody join in.  The next fifteen minutes (although I have not been able to bring myself to watch more than the first five minutes) consist of her breaking up the dance into little pieces and repeating them a few times each, complete with instructions of who is going to be doing what.  Apparently, there will be different moves, according to whether you're connected to the bride or groom -- so not complex at all.

After each segment, she plays the damn music again.
So we can "practice" (sic).
It's One Direction's "What Makes You Beautiful" mashed with some other song I don't recognize.

Did I mention this dance involves two moves that involve dropping down to nearly touch the knee to the floor?

Golly.  I'd bless her cotton socks, if she were wearing any.

So the Resident Fan Boy and I chuckled kindly -- she's almost endearing in her sweetly controlling way -- and decided against sending a video of the song "Schadenfreude" from Avenue Q to elder daughter, the one who actually has to attend this wedding.  The RFB did forward the instructional video. The responding texts began to appear within minutes:

"I WON'T"

"Seriously though, if my maid of honour plans that, she is to be stopped."

"If I end up with a dancing infant as my maid of honour, I am to be stopped."

We pointed out that hiding in the washroom for two minutes should be easily accomplished (provided there is room), and I did send this YouTube snippet of an early episode of Friends.

For some reason it came to mind.