Dear Diary,

I finished my class prep for Early Period Arts and Sciences Day next week.  This one’s a killer:
How to Be a Bad-Ass Bard in Three Easy Steps
Step One: Be F’ing Brilliant
Step Two: Be Really Charismatic
Step Three: Work Your Ass Off
It worked for Etaine, it worked for Anubh, and it apparently works for me.  If this class doesn’t make me rich, nothing will.  Sheesh, I should have put it into book form first.  Doofus. 

What else, what else.  Days run together here at summer camp, you know.  Ooh, I gave Roderick his very silly hat.  And he jumped around and laughed, and I issued an order that he not wear it much during the daytime, what with it being hot as blazes and him turning purple while wearing it.  Gretchen seemed pretty tickled by it too, which is good. Gotta impress the ladies, you know.  She also said that the embroidered banner I gave them last year hangs in a place of honor in the Mandrake office, which made me all misty.  Richard’s hat is, as I thought it would be, too small.  Which means I get to do it again, but better.  He laughed a fair bit when he saw it and again when he wore it up at the shop, so I won’t have to eat it.  I think eating it would have had rather detrimental effects.  What a story to bring to the ER, eh? Oh, and we are, slowly but surely, turning Hannah’s eyes towards the iron age.  Teeheehee.  This year: a striped linen tunic and some pants.  Pants on a young woman who was raised doing mostly 14th Century stuff–Earth-shattering!  Next year: a torc.

I’ve been sewing like mad.  Lots of hems to finish off.  And some luceting.  Which I hate.  Ooh, but Etaine likes it, so I showed her how and she made one of the cords I needed for Scott’s hat, and then her art bees started clamoring to make strange luceted things out of handcut deerskin lace.  I wonder when she picked up the crack habit?  Anyway, I took her up to the merchant area and she picked out a lucet and some books at Brush Creek Wool Works.  And I accidentally got some lovely flax to spin, using my inscrutable spinning bowl of course.  And some lovely roving for Jayme, who has developed a spinning habit. 

Oh, and we were sitting up on the crassy knoll, like we do, having eaten some fine sausage (still a  fest, of course) and some delicious ribeyes and some baked potatoes.  And Keegan offered Etaine and me icy cold PBRs, and we drank them gleefully and asked for more.  And, apparently, that really confused many of the guys–the highly educated, brilliant ladies drinking the beer of the cheapness.  I wish I’d had a tape recorder.  Adon may never recover.  "Those aren’t really PBRs, are they?  Those are expensive beers wearing disguises, right?"  Barharhar. 

And then Scott got here, and a stupid evil little yellowjacket stung him in the middle of the night.  When vespids are supposed to be sleeping, not stinging my fellah.  So he’s in charge of the extermination program now, which is good because he’s so much taller than I am.  And thus swats way higher up in the air with the special vespid-squishing expensive Israeli sandal.  If you’re gonna do it, do it right. 

It was the best day ever.

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