I’m front page at Sinister Bedfellows this week. buy my book.
So very suddenly I find myself attached to a band. A band that is going on tour this weekend. I only found out yesterday, but the plans are well in place. I’m not sure how this happened, that I’m coming along, but it seems I am some sort of package deal. I’m going to Victoria this afternoon to hook up with Nikky for his gig, then I’m to meet a van-load of musicians at some random cross-roads disastrously early tomorrow morning to go to Gabriola for a concert at their wine festival. Sunday we’re back in Victoria and only returning to Vancouver for Monday night. I foresee a lot of not sleeping, really. Part of me is glad and part of me wants to know what the hell I think I’m doing. I’m not a musician, it rails, I’m barely even a writer!
Monkeyfluids is pretty good today, thanks to Michael for reminding me it exists.
Yesterday I went to a surreal educational puppet show about bees put on by DeeDee, a transgendered line-backer of a harpist from New York who drives a giant custom tricycle. It was in the park near my house and I know Vern, the fellow who made most of the bees. April was there. Strange days on paper, but alright in person. I’m still unemployed, though I’m crossing my fingers for a local PA job that looks like it would be utterly perfect for my odd myriad media skills. (I have a viral marketing gig for September lined up in case everything else falls through). Last night I got some recording done at my mother’s house, so there’s a mp3 polished ready to send out to the darling people who thought I was worth paying for. There will be more when I return. It’s been a stupidly busy and unexpected time lately, I’m sure you understand. See you after the cut.
Jesus Monkey Pants in Space has a new home on Warren‘s The Engine.