It's just that he was/exceptionally clean

Last night, after seeing "The Chairs" at Soulpepper, we got stuck in one of those brilliant thunderstorms. Lightening flashing everywhere. Wind blowing so hard, we didn't even try to open our umbrella. And we ran through the cobblestones of the distillery district-me hobbling with my nagging rugby injury through the thick rain that felt so good after the beyond ridiculous heat of the past few days. It was the kind of storm that always makes me feel so great. I'm not sure why that happens. I tell people that the storm creates negative ions, an explanation that I've heard somewhere that is probably some tall tale. Don Delillo claims that it has something to do with the fear of death and the sublime, which also strikes me as a stretch. But whatever the explanation, I know it's not just me, as the security guards giggling in the rain last night would attest.

In other news, a few days ago, there was a racoon on dupont who got its head stuck in a tin can. It may have been the saddest thing I've ever seen, which made me feel bad for laughing so hard. It obviously couldn't see at all and was wandering back and forth across the street, banging into things, and just missing being run over. Some good people with no fear of rabies tried to get the can off its head--at one point, holding onto the can and swinging the racoon around like a discus. The can wasn't going anywhere. As I said, it was a bit sad as it was seemingly inevitable that there was no hope for the racoon. It was like the time a racoon got stuck at the top of the lampost (a big city light one) on bloor. The fire department, hydro, humane society, all just shrugged because there wasn't anything they could do and waited for the thing to take a leap.

I'm not sure what the morals of these stories are.