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This is not really much different from the dude who used to drive around North End Halifax yelling at the whole neighbourhood to come and buy some fresh fish out of the back of his pickup truck.

During our trip to the States I went looking for a Mars Bar. But apparently they don’t have those in the US. I thought, that’s fine, I’ll just get a treat that I can’t get at home. So I picked out a chocolate bar called a “Milky Way.” Turns out a Milky Way is pretty much exactly the same as a Mars Bar. I was impressed. I almost kept the wrapper. But then I threw it away. Anyway, that’s how delicious this chocolate bar was, that it almost had me convinced a piece of garbage was something precious.

That’s what life on Earth is mostly like.

You might have noticed I have a thing for Mars. I was born on Earth but I know that deep down inside I have the soul of a Martian. I have a constant restless feeling here. Like, no matter where I go on Earth I never ever feel at home. I am indifferent about travel because it doesn’t really matter to me where I am. No matter where I go, I’m still on Earth.

Sometimes when I’m walking through the grocery store I freeze in one place with this weird paralysis and I can’t move and my legs start shaking and it feels like my bones are trying to burst right through my skin. I recognize this sensation as a primal urge to leave behind this earthly body and reclaim my ancient physical form as a Martian.

Someday I will return. I can’t wait.

I know where Amelia Earhart went. She went to Mars. I am building a time machine, a portal through the continuum, and I will follow her there very soon.

The moon is no sanctuary for me as the lunar surface has already been sullied by the footprints of Earthlings.

You might think I would also be offended by the presence of the little Mars Rover on my home planet, but no. When I return to the red soil I will greet this robot explorer warmly and I will fall on my knees and embrace him like a long lost little brother.

The atmosphere of Mars is 95% carbon dioxide so when I arrive I will be asphyxiated almost immediately. But those will be the happiest seconds of my life.

“Here it is! I can’t believe we’ve finally finished it. The gateway to the portal of infinity.”
“‘Gateway to the portal of infinity.’ Hmm. Yeah. Anyway, pretty sweet.”
“Aren’t you excited? This is an epic moment! We are about to step forth into history.”
“Oh yeah, I’m just saying, we might want to pick another name, is all.”
“What’s the matter? Are you nervous? Relax, man. We’ve tested everything. Nothing’s going to go wrong.”
“Ok, I’m fine, it’s just that… ‘gateway’ to the ‘portal,’ it’s just kind of redundant.”
“It’s one small step for humanity, and one giant leap two billion years in the past for a couple of dudes, is what it is. All the way to ancient Mars. Man, this is gonna be so awesome.”
“Also, technically speaking, two billion years isn’t really ‘infinity’ per se.”
“I like the name. Before we leave maybe we should put a sign beside the doorway that says ‘Gateway to the portal of infinity.’ So the janitor doesn’t walk through by mistake. Or should we just get a plaque? A plaque would be pretty rad.”
“So in other words… this here is the doorway to the gateway to the portal of infinity.”
“You better put on your helmet.”

~
In conclusion, listen to my all-time favourite track.
Fake Blood – Mars

American bathrooms should have signs over the urinals that read “Please put your bird away before texting.”

Except I didn’t watch my buddies die face down in the muck so some sign could tell me to put my bird away while using my iPhone. I’m going to stand right here in a McDonald’s bathroom with my bird hanging out and I will send a text message if I want to and if you don’t like it, too bad. Yep, just hanging out, enjoying my text message.

Hey guys I saw Sarah Palin in Bryant Park. She was standing on the merry-go-round with a couple of her crotch-fruit and getting her hair combed by a small Asian man:

I had trouble getting a decent picture because I had to fight my way to the front of this huge crowd.

soundtrack: Born To Lose by Johnny Thunders.

On highways in the USA, people like to throw stuff out their car windows. You don’t really see that in New Brunswick. Somebody threw a sandwich at us. We looked all around the car for something to throw back, but all we had was an iPod and we needed it.

We ditched the car in Connecticut and caught a train to NYC. The conductor kept up an amusing patter over the PA system: “This is the express, express express express. 125th Street Harlem and Grand Central Terminal. Happy birthday Arthur, and thanks again for coming out. Transfer ahead for Stamford and Da Bronx. That’s D-A, DA Bronx… You got that right.”

He sat down behind us and said, “Very very busy train today. Lots of newspapers. It’s a sign the economy is recovering… people are leaving their papers, not picking up old ones.”

We arrived at Grand Central just a few minutes before 11am, just in time for the Veterans Day ceremony. The entire ceremony took less than seven minutes. I guess those are New York minutes. Then we went outside for a walk just in time for a parade. We posted up outside the Empire Steak Building and watched the parade for a while. The US Marines marched by in their snappy uniforms and someone yelled, “Let’s hear it for the Marines!” and everyone cheered except for a little old lady who was pushing her walker up the sidewalk and saying “No right. No right to kill” over and over.

I emailed my brother and told him about the Veterans parade and said “I put on my Mountie uniform and marched up Fifth Avenue right behind the US Marines. People cheered and cheered!” He wrote back and said: “Funny thing about that story… When I went down to New York years ago, there was a huge gay pride parade happening in the city. I put on my Mountie uniform and marched right behind some marines. People cheered and cheered!”

We’re on Rivington just up the street from ABC No Rio where I played with my old hardcore band ten years ago. Best show of the tour as I recall. Dan, Trish and I ate a meat salad from St. Mark’s Place. It was mostly bacon, sausage and big chunks of turkey, with tomato and olives and roasted red pepper and balsamic dressing and there might have been a few little bits of onion and shredded lettuce in there too but mostly it was just the best salad I’ve ever had.

Dan and Trish have this suite for a couple nights, and somehow they got upgraded to a bigger one for less money hence the invitation for me to tag along. They described the place as “a bit worn, but nice” but to me it’s the swankiest place in the world. I don’t know much about hotels but this is nicer than any apartment I ever lived in. When I got out of the shower there was a monkey standing there waiting to hand me a towel. I could totally live like this.

I had a quick nap while Dan and Trish headed out to some bar. Five shots of anything for $10, anytime of day or night: it was about 7pm by the time we all met up again and those two were wasted. Vodka plus Kahlua plus Bailey’s makes a nice shooting sequence but I didn’t want to get drunk because I like to have my wits about me especially in a strange foreign place.

Dan and Trish conked out pretty early, so I went and walked around Manhattan for a couple hours. I met a pretty girl named Maureen and we hung out for a while outside a special party for a bunch of Germans from Cologne (Nov. 11 is Cologne Day) but eventually I had to excuse myself and go get lost in the deserted nighttime streets of Chinatown before finding myself on Church Street standing right in front of Nine Eleven.

If you get a minute, check this out. It’s my great uncle Private Peter Clark.

http://privatepeterclark.com

I am writing to you right now from the United State Of Maine. We pulled off the I-95 at Assgas Plaza, where they have free internet, as well as a monkey bathroom and a vending machine that sells poutine and chicken legs.

We crossed the border without a hitch even though Trish told Dan that she had phoned ahead to the border and told them that he was a “terrorist with a gun in his asshole.” The border guard seemed bored silly and did the whole interrogation with his eyes turned upward towards the ceiling of his booth. As we pulled away he said “Enjoy your trip,” and Dan said “Thanks, you too.” (”I was nervous,” he said.)

We are going to drive all night and get a train from Connecticut to the Lower East Side, so, see you there.

Vickers went for an ultrasound on Monday. The vet said his liver is failing and he needs to be put down by the end of the week. So I’ll be taking Vickers in tomorrow morning to be put to sleep.

Vickers has been my closest companion for 14 years and I’m broken-hearted. I’m finding it hard to believe that he’s here today and he won’t be tomorrow. The vet says he is in discomfort and is probably experiencing headaches and nausea. I don’t know what a cat headache looks like. He seems fine to me which just makes it harder. We’ve just been hanging out and everything seems so normal. But I guess there is no sense in trying to pretend that this isn’t happening.

Vickers has definitely lost weight. He’s skinnier and I can feel his bony shoulders and the ripple of his backbone. His demeanour is the same as always though.

He still climbs up on the couch at my feet, same as always, and walks up the arm and along the back of the couch and down the other arm, and figures out where the Macbook is so he can sit right in front of it, same as always. He’s lying across my shoulder purring right now as I pet him with one hand. I feel so guilty. Would he still be purring if he knew I was planning to snuff him tomorrow morning?

The veterinarian said to forget about what’s healthy for a cat and let him eat whatever he wants this week. So I’ve been feeding him bacon and eggs and coffee, and a can of tuna everyday, and a hamburger, and peach yogurt and Mars bars and fried chicken and steak and mozzarella cheese. And gin and tonics and a fine cigar. I hope he is having a good time.

And tomorrow morning, that’s it. They’ve given me three options: I can take away his body, or they can cremate him, or they can cremate him and I can take away the ashes. I’m not really happy with any of these choices.

For half a second I thought about taking away the body and burying Vickers in a hole in Gaspereau Forks cemetery right next to the place that’s reserved for me. But I suppose it’s not a good idea to be burying stuff in the cemetery anytime I feel like it. They might have a system or something.

I considered taking away the ashes but only if I could have the remains conveyed to me in a coffee can à la The Big Lebowski. Vickers must’ve seen that movie at least as many times as I have. But Vickers has been an indoor cat ever since we moved to this big old house. If I were to scatter the ashes in the place he loved best I would wind up making quite a mess of the bathtub. I’ll probably leave it all to them because I don’t want to deal with it.

It’s been a hard week. I’ve known for months that it was coming but I still can’t believe this is it. Hanging out with Vickers tonight it seems like he’s got plenty of life left in him. I guess I just have to trust the vet.

At least we can say Vickers lived a long happy life and never suffered. That’s about the best any of us can hope for.

There is a bottle of Advil sitting on the kitchen counter back at my house. I’m thinking really hard about that bottle right now. I have one of those headaches that makes me think God is punishing me for being an asshole. I would like to find a construction site somewhere and lay my head down on the asphalt and run over it with a steamroller so that my skull squishes like a cherry tomato and all the bad stuff comes running out. I didn’t even drink last night, so fuck you, God, you spiteful little twerp.

Last night I did sound for the Divorce Records showcase featuring Secret Colours, Husband and Knife, Dead Wife, Grand Trine and Nadja. Secret Colours were the pleasant surprise of the night for me… I found some of the songs surprisingly pretty and poppy underneath the swirly washes of ambient sound. From there the night became progressively noisier, I loved Husband and Knife, Dead Wife and Grand Trine were chaotic and punk as fuck, and Nadja closed off the night with their deep doomy soundscapes. There was a vinyl giveaway and I came away with a free test pressing of the new Dog Day record courtesy of our good friends at DIVORCE RECORDS.

When I got off work I went to an afterparty at the Rock Garden and ate a bunch of pizza. Here is a picture of me and James Reid going ham on some Hawaiian slices.

DJ services were provided by Graham from Holy Fuck and last night’s Paragon headliner Cadence Weapon. I enjoyed talking to a few friends but I wasn’t really all about tearing it up on the dance floor. I’ve had this mindset where I’m in Halifax to work and I can have my fun when the shows are over. I’ve been invited to perform at Saturday’s afterparty, and more details are sure to follow somewhere on this Internet.

I bailed on the afterparty when Prince came on the sound system. I’m not dissing Prince but I have a rule that when the ’80s music comes on, it’s time to get the hell out of the party. Unless it’s Italo-Disco. Or Acid House. Or DAF, or Front 242. Or Devo. Or the B-52s. On second thought I am dissing Prince after all.

I’m wearing a Moneen hoodie that Dish lent me and someone told me it smells like my house in the country but to me it smells like cigarette smoke. Today at 2pm I made myself some breakfast consisting of vile spaghetti in a disgusting mushroom sauce. The crew had all gone out to eat at the Spartan and I ate by myself in silence while wishing I had gone with them.

Tonight I will be at Coconut Grove doing sound for some East Coast boy-bands. Soundcheck is in three hours and right now I am about to go have a nap in my car.

I’m sitting on Mark and Brendan’s couch listening to some Government Issue on a dreary Thursday afternoon. I’m in Halifax to do sound for a few shows during the Pop Explosion.

I start tonight but I came down last night just to hang out and go to the punk rock show at Gus’s Pub with Fear Of Lipstick, The Hemingways, The Stolen Minks and The Fat Stupids. There was tons of stuff going on last night but I really just wanted to hang out at the punk rock show.

After years of doing live sound I grew to dislike big rockstar shows, attending them as well as working them. I got sick of road manager types and huge load-ins and all kinds of bullshit attitude… I like small shows, weird shows, punk rock shows. I like a show when it’s a good mix of your very best friends and people you’ve never seen before in your life and there’s good music and a healthy degree of clowning around.

Tonight I’ll be at the Divorce Records showcase at Gus’s and it should be a noisy good time. There’s also an after-party later on with DJ sets by Cadence Weapon and one of the dudes from Holy Fuck. The cover charge is eight bucks. Eight bucks, I came here to make money, not spend money, anyway, I hear there’s gonna be pizza, I’ll probably wind up going after Gus’s.

Today I ate an apple and a can of sockeye salmon for breakfast lunch and dinner. I don’t know if there’s such a thing as a “fish high” but I got all woozy and weird from putting away forty-four grams of fishy protein and sat on this couch for a long time marvelling at high-speed internet until the power went out and snapped me out of it.

I think I’m gonna go down to the Paragon and try to say hello to Think About Life before posting up at Gus’s Pub. And from 6pm on I’ll be hanging out at Gus’s Pub eating Tic Tacs for the calorie content and I think by the time the afterparty rolls around I’m going to be so hungry that I will take two slices of pizza and stick them to the windows of my car and then attempt to travel backwards in time to ancient Italy to give them the secret pie recipe for the betterment of all humanity forever and ever, because I love you.

i ate some good food today and saw some good friends. but the exuberance of the weekend is starting to give way. i haven’t slept in days.

it’s not hard finding places to stay. the hard part is having someplace to hang out in the daytime. with no home base to post up in, i spent the day dragging myself through the heat of the halifax streets.

dozed off at the corner of almon and agricola, dozed off on the wall at pizza corner, dozed off in the air-conditioned park lane food court trying to cool down.

now my car’s fucked up and i might be stuck here for another couple days dealing with who knows what expense. it’s the exhaust, it sounds terrible and i can’t really drive on it.

anyway, right now i’m going to head down to reflections and play rockin for dollars and try to bring the party and squeeze some fun out of it.

i just dozed off at the wheel of my car parked in front of robin’s old apartment. that’s not good; none of that is good. i need to get out of here.

Vickers, those are my shoes, give them back. You are a cat. They don’t even fit.

Vickers is an old man and lately he’s been having some old man problems.

He lost his appetite and all but stopped eating. When you pick him up, he feels so much lighter, with shoulder bones sticking out. Have you ever seen a skinny Vickers? This has been a matter of great concern and heartbreak.

The vet shaved his belly and gave him an ultrasound. They found a cyst on his liver. The test was inconclusive. It could be lymphoma, which is a form of cancer. Or it could be lymphocytic portal hepatitis.

If it’s lymphoma then he’s all done. Another month, maybe two at the most. If it’s hepatitis, he will be taking steroid pills for the rest of his life, and he should be good for another few years (he’s 14 or 15).

So I’ve been giving him the pills. I tried stuffing them inside cat treats, but he’s not feeling these treats. (Has anyone seen Pounce on the store shelves lately? Gaspereau Forks is dry.) I have to tilt his head back and push them to the back of his little mouth with my fingertip. Vickers wasn’t too crazy about this at first. He has gotten good at taking pills though, and lately it doesn’t even interrupt his busy purring schedule.

Anyway I swear to god he’s been putting some weight back on since we started on the steroids. I’ve also put him back on Special Dinner. We’d had him on this swirly food that supposed to be all nutritionally ideal and blah blah blah but Special Dinner is all he ever liked to eat anyway.

I’d been planning on doing some serious touring this fall but I haven’t really been setting anything up. It doesn’t seem like a good time to be travelling. Should I just be optimistic and book a bunch of shows? Or should I be pessimistic and book a bunch of shows. I don’t know. I think I’ll probably just stay home.

Vickers is my best buddy. We’ve been companions since the mid-90s and I’m used to always having him around. The house has felt a little empty, a little eerie while he’s been doing tests in Saint John.

I got in the habit of leaving items of black clothing bundled up on the floor or lying on furniture around the house. I would notice the amorphous black bundles out of the corner of my eye and for a second I’d think it was Vickers having a snooze.

Anyway he’s back home now. We’ve just be hanging out, same as always. His personality hasn’t been affected in the slightest.

You guys should come for a visit.