New Year’s Eve is the horniest weekend of the year in Halifax, Nova Scotia. I mean all hell breaks loose. You’re all going to get laid this weekend, every one of you.

Well… except for you. And you. Sorry. Don’t look at me–you’re your own worst enemy. Can’t seal the deal. So anyway, what am I going to do this weekend? Sit around Gaspereau Forks all by myself? No way!

You got a toothbrush? We’re going to Halifax!

“You hear that, Doug? I’M COMING TO HALIFAX.”

“Philly!”

“Sit down and shut up you big bald fuck.”

I’m playing a show at the One World Cafe. Friday, December 30, all ages, 8pm-10pm, with this band HotShotRobot. I like the name. Excitement will be in the air at this show as we celebrate the 10th anniversary of me getting alcohol poisoning. Some people think New Year’s Eve is overrated, well I almost didn’t make it to December 31 1995. Buddy and I split a pint of gin a quart of rum and a 40 of vodka. Some pile of booze. Nearly did us in. Everybody blacked out at the same time so god knows what happened. It’s not like I was an alcoholic… in fact if I were I probably would’ve known better. Didn’t touch a drop for three years afterwards. Couldn’t get near it. I still take it easy on the sauce for the most part. So, come on out tomorrow and buy your boy a ginger ale.

This show will rock the sweaters off 1000 dogs.

I still don’t know how I feel about the whole ‘sweater on a dog’ thing even though I played the song in Saint John and everyone loved it and the video got re-vlogged by Ryanne (cheers Ryanne). What do you fellas think?

So I drank a bunch of caffeinated pop last night (which I never drink) and wound up staying up all night basking in the glow of some lovely n00dz (thx 4 teh n00dz) and writing a new song that’s not about feelin’ good, feelin’ good, feelin’ good tonight.

“Phantom City Wants to Hurt You” by A/V.

Followed down the street where the bottles are smashed with the smell of gasoline
they’re burning up limousines
followed in the alley where the dealers spit blood to defend their stash
sucking on broken glass
followed on the bridge where the soldiers climb over the protective wall
screaming in free fall
followed in the rubble where the fire left nothing but a blackened shell
and a secret you can never tell

phantom
city.

And it’s this three-note bassline that I looped over and over for about 5 hours. So fuck you. I love living alone.

I jam in the downstairs bedroom. The original adapter for my drum machine has long since worn out. The adapter I replaced it with is 300mA when it should be 500. Sometimes that’s not quite enough current. Some of you may know that I live by myself in a great big seven-bedroom house. When my grandmother was getting old and having a harder time getting up and down the stairs, they installed a toilet in the downstairs bedroom. I may have mentioned how cool it is to have a toilet in your bedroom. I get my water from a well. The well is run by an electrical pump in the basement. The pump kicks in whenever it’s necessary to fill up a reservoir.

What I’m trying to say: whenever I flush the toilet, my drum machine cuts out.

swordfight-flushbeat.mov [1.5MB QuickTime]