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Siete de Mayo
This week, in addition to hosting Siete de Mayo (which, of course, is the infamous Mexican holiday, on which some famous saint, as a party trick, turned all of the Mexican water into dirt. The party was being held in the Netherlands, and the crowd had been enquiring after this water into wine miracle they'd heard so much about and the saint, to appease the crowd, said that he wasn't quite up for the water into wine miracle, would they settle for a slightly different variation? So the crowd said, 'Sure, why not?' appreciating the fact that it wasn't everyday you got the opportunity to see a miracle at your very own party. The host of the party, Edwaard van Histlevrood, was quite pleased, himself, as he held a certain degree of pride in holding the most talked about parties in the Netherlands, though lately his parties hadn't been living up to his high standards of being talked about, not since the one a few years ago during the course of which Miss de Boer ripped her dress and a windmill fell through his roof (unrelated incidents). So the saint readied himself at the front of the room, by the fireplace, and pushed the sleeves of his robe up and raised his hands in the air, largely a trick he'd learned from his mentor, Saint Fredrick the Pious Counseller of Widows Whose Husbands Had Expired in Some Sort of Sea-Related Incident who was, in fact, quite pious, a deadly cook, and an expert at keeping his sleeves out of the way, whether he be preparing a nice pasta dish or counselling some poor grieving widow or passing on his excellent sleeve-hoisting knowledge to other prospective saints.
'I beseech thee,' said the saint, once the crowd had quieted down, which it had begun doing when it noticed the saint raising his arms, often a sign that a miracle is about to take place, or at least someone's going to speak in a loud voice and be quite dramatic, ' I beseech thee,' he repeated, in case anyone hadn't noticed that the miracle-working was commencing, 'may the water be turned from water into dirt this day!' At which not a few people in the party gasped, and Edwaard began to get the creeping sensation that he was going to have to kill the saint.
And, as the general crowd's impulse, past the gasping stage, was along the same lines as Edwaard's, the saint had to hold up the crowd's slow advance by holding his hands aloft again, also a trick taught to him by Frederick, who explained that holding your hands high made them think that you were about to proclaim something, or at least make them think that you had a rock or something in your hand that you might throw, should they come too close.
'Wait,' he said in a reasonably commanding voice, the voice that probably got him the sainthood, in the end. 'Wait,' he said, showing a propensity for repeating himself, which also probably got him the sainthood, as most people didn't listen the first time he said anything, 'not here, though. In, err... Mexico!'
At that the crowd sort of stopped it's advances and rocked on it's heels. Edwaard squinted his eyes.
'Yes! Mexico! Ehm, now, does anyone have any relatives in Mexico we could perhaps ring and ask after the state of their water now? No? No one? Ah. Well, I've turned their water to dirt! It's a miracle!' He waved his hands about majestically, the sleeves swooshing this way and that dramatically. A child towards the front of the crowd clapped her hands in time to the swaying. 'And now, and now, I'll turn it back!' The saint waved his hands again, 'I beseech thee, again, let this dirt that was water be turned into water once again! Ehm... oh. Right then, we're done. Miracle's over, kids.' And the saint got away from the front of the room and sat down in a chair close to the door, and asked for a few cups of wine, as miracle-working was incredibly tiring, and drinking wine, really really fast, was an excellent way to replenish his strength.
And everyone was happy, including Edwaard, who could now say he got quite an impressive international miracle at his party. The Mexicans were stuck, for a couple of days, with a sludgy sort of mud-water type thing as the saint tried to work out a small problem he'd had with the turning of the dirt back into water, but in the end he got it most of the way back, so he really couldn't see why anyone would complain, as it was terribly close, and if you weren't really paying attention and someone asked you to take a sip of a cup of Mexican water combined with a few drops of normal water you really almost couldn't even tell that it was water that you were drinking. And it probably had a good deal higher mineral content than it had before.), also could possibly be some people's Día del Inamorati.
If it does happen to be your Día del Inamorati this week, waheey! Have fun! If not, that's okay, you can still have fun, just not quite so much as those people celebrating their Día del Inamorati.
Those people intent on celebrating their Día del Inamorati requiring co-celebrators please note that we have a limited selection in the Sane Magazine offices, and you may get stuck with the horoscope writer, if you're unlucky.
disclaimer:
The Head Editor's been off for most of this weekend, apparently finishing off his second novel, God Coffee, I Miss You and working on a few film scripts that have been bouncing around the office (not literally bouncing, that's a figure of speech) accompanied by telephone conversations and emails with slimey LA-types (the preceding is a joke. Honest. Please, please, slimey LA-types, we didn't mean any harm by it, and we honestly don't think you're terribly slimey, just a little bit, and who said slimey was ever a bad thing, anyway?), so it's been a rather quiet one for us around the office, save for being subjected to the horoscope writer's impressions (of which the one of an elephant clearing it's throat at the Walton's breakfast table was the only believeable one, really).
Look for something useful coming out of him having a week off, probably by the end of May, which is appearing more and more like our designated new product/content launch timeframe.
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