Hell's bells, I just wrote this moments ago and lost it in a flashpan of disaster. A few hours ago, through a gin & tonic haze, I bought a fuckload of pyros for my demi-arsed Independence Day fete. Found a joint called The Boom Boom Room or some such thing and it was a low-budge enterprise and seemed like it was in a trailer. If it wasn't, it should have been, for perfection's sake. Upon entering one is treated to a spread of pre-packaged goodies and, behind chicken wire, yet more choices. I wondered if the nice man at the helm might say, excuse me, madam, under Canadian law I cannot lawfully sell you fireworks whilst your breath reeks so of gin. Afterwards, I went to purchase more Canadian goods: Canadian tampons, and a Canadian cup of joe. A ruse, you see: tampons would flabbergast the man at the border, something I'd mention if I thought his laser eyes might be drifting over to my trunkal area where the cache lay quietly, and coffee to seem o-so relaxed. Mr. Innocent asked if there was anything to declare. Just coffee *giggle* I said, eyes wide. Onwards I sped. I was in Canada shooting a 50th wedding anniversary gig and afterwards (after punching out so to speak) was practically duct taped down and force-drunk the gin and tonics by my friends Jamie and Paul.

How does one know when one needs to take one's car in for a tune-up? When one cannot get the mph's up to 85 by the end of "All Along the Watch Tower." Add auto tune-up to the big list of things to think about doing. My newspaper editor was haranguing me and we had an exchange of sludgy emails until he paged me and I called him thinking that perhaps this was finally it, my career with the now non-fledling paper was kaputskis, that this last bit was enough at that very moment to throw me into the no U-turn abyss of finality - but instead he offered a sincere apology. I dropped the phone on the floor. Not really but metaphorically I did. Yesterday I set a world record for espresso consumption during a single day and even I was amazed. It took several cocktails later to get me off of the ceiling. Off to a weekend full of bands and the usual mayhem. Luvv and kisses, your favorite person named Nancy!
BTW whomever left the robotic message on my cell phone rocks. The message said (think robot voice) hello my friend Nancy and with her help I can take over the world.Keep thinking positive thoughts, Mister Robot.

The all-day music marathon festival was loads of fun, and film. People absolutely go kookie for cocoa puffs for the Canadian bands and it was a sunny happy day unlike some other venues of late where security rules with iron fists and t-shirts. At one point in the afternoon I was talking to Eddie, my cop pal, and his boss - a real live cop boss like in the movies. They were both off-duty and I learnt that that's why both of them weren't wearing their badges and their other signifiers. But then Eddie showed me his badge in a smart leather flip-open deal. And he said that his boss had an even nicer one. So then he showed me his, it said Sargeant along the bottom. And I boldly asked if I could fulfill one of my fantasies. He said sure. I snatched his leather badge holding device out of his hand, flipping it shut. I went over to one of my girlie friends and said "FREEZE, YER UNDER ARREST" while I deftly flipped open the holder. It was great. After the festival came to a non-screeching halt I hung out with my newspaper teammates for quite a while on a patio, slushing down cocktails merrily and generally screaming and being mayhemious. I can't say that any of the bands hitting the stages really blew my head off, national or regional, but the happy vibes all day sure did.