Yours Truly is much better with a chainsaw than a power drill, either cordless or cord varieties.
Triple F Ranch: freakin' finger-burning fiasco.
Was told after fact, via Vincenzo, that one does not touch one's screw newly screwed as it results in just the injury I had just sustained.
Then there was the issue of speed versus impatience.
It had probably been about twenty years since I screwed drywall screws into drywall and it is like so not getting back onto a bicycle.
I let others do the power drilling. Perhaps I will never use my power drill, resplendent with its shining choices of bits, and handy case.
Six of us in total worked sawing, power drilling, taping, moving, and the like. And the paintings - now a Polaroid installation and photo depot - is nearly ready for action.
In a lull of gigs tomorrow I have to rush over to Central Terminal and put on finishing touches.
Heard from Julian Muse that he is in the Middling City for a wedding and will be hastening and gracing. And, assumedly, purchasing a fine Polaroid of his likeness.
En route to Hardware from Central Terminal witnessed some curious things: motorcycle club on William Street looking most welcoming, a nice tungsten glow for it was Thursday and that is loud pipes save lives through the MC; a bevy of copcars near Mohawk Place as a band covered Neil Young's Powderfinger and then later on news report heard that a femme fell from a window, probably not a Neil fan; and then after Hardware saw throngs of gothkids wandering out of Town Ballroom, a good portion of them with white and black-painted faces.
Thought then what a fab photo series that would be, documenting the groups that leave venues, all charged up.
Speaking of such, Little Laura realized oso late that Interpol is playing in TO and we are ticketless. I proffered up the hypothesis that someone is always willing and able to unloose some tix from their person.

Ticket to Love, Love.