Twice?

My God, what an evening last night. Nonstop entertainment from 5 to 2. And I'm just not used to that! Old, you know.

But it started off with veggie wraps on the balcony and the usual beers, then off to . . . where else—The Festival Mondial de la bière
(sorry people, I SIMPLY CAN NOT DO PUNCTUATION, LET ALONE ACCENTS OR FINESSE, ON THIS KEYBOARD, so get used to it. Like text messaging, I should imagine).

And it was INSANE. There were so many people at Windsor Station that they were doing the Wave, like a soccer crowd. Ole, ole ole ole, all the way down from the end of the hall. Very, very bizarre. I'm just simply not used to it. And every single one of them had a beer.

And then it was off to the Musical Box at Bell Centre. They're a Genesis tribute band, but they've gone beyond that now. They're so huge that Phil Collins has said that they actually play BETTER than Genesis did at its peak. And they're officially sanctioned by Peter Gabriel and Michael Rutherford . . . so you know how good it was. But it was SO LOUD. And this time I forgot my earplugs. You know it can't be good when you are slightly deaf when you walk out—you know, that dull sensation in your ears when you can't hear any treble.

But then . . . it was a taxi to a party in the Plateau with like, sixty people I didn't know. They were all really nice, but my partying days are over. I couldn't remember their names and that bugs me, because I pride myself on that. But there were simply too many of them! But what was wonderful about it was that we are in Montreal, and one just drifted from English to French, many, many times in the same sentence. Only in Montreal.

And you know it's time to go home when you get sick of the thin crappy watery Lowenbrau and request something stronger . . . and get a vodka and cranberry juice for your troubles! I was pretty much staggering to the taxi (didn't mention the tiny brandy bottles we smuggled into the concert). And . . . I actually requested a drag from a cigarette from someone. I haven't smoked in 20 years. And it was like someone had put a fist down my windpipe. I got dizzy and had to sit down. Nope, won't be taking up that habit again any time soon. But the amazing thing is with what concern these twenty-somethings surrounded me and asked if I was okay. Like my son says: Ultra-mega-super radically cool.

So . . . all in all, like a time machine straight to my twenties, all around.

Needless to say, I hardly slept. And now it's a Cuivree and jazz at 11 a.m.

Well, you only live . . . twice.

Nicky