I need about four more hours sleep, can we make this happen? Wednesday night in Gaspereau Forks we got smashed on 100-proof vodka. At three o’clock in the morning we were sitting around the barbecue cooking sausages under the light of the moon and planets. I decided that would be a good time to get out my minidisc and start recording the new podcast. The next morning I listened back to some of this recording and it was such a drunken trainwreck that I have decided to spare the world from having to hear it.
I bought a car yesterday and climbed in it and drove to Halifax. Good thing it works. My old car’s a green 1996 Chrysler Intrepid. My new car’s a green 1996 Chrysler Intrepid. It’s like I have a fleet now. The new one’s in much better shape and has half the kilometrage. I watched them put new brakes on it at the garage before I drove it away and if I die in this car because of brake failure, I’m going to be right pissed.
I need a name for my new car.
Tonight I perform at Gus’s Pub. I drove down to Halifax last night and pulled into some karaoke bar in the North End, a place where the scenesters mingle with the cougars and “The KKK Took My Baby Away” could just as easily be followed up with “Killing Me Softly.” I dropped off Vickers the Cat at Gerry’s apartment and Vickers ran right up the stairs and hopped in Gerry’s bathtub. That’s probably what I should’ve done. Then I went to the Marquee for Ruby Jean and the Thoughtful Bees and subsequent afterparty debauchery at the birthday boy’s house.
Yesterday I was in a canoe in the country and it was 35 degrees out and I didn’t want to leave, but now I’m here and I’m glad. No matter how exhausted I am the show tonight is going to be bonkers because machinery does not tire. Neither does the human brain. No nerve cells in the human brain. The brain cannot tire. That’s what I’m telling myself. I’m trying to make myself go outside and wander the city instead of lying here fooling around on stolen internet. Even in Halifax it manages to be hot as a pair of tits.
