It is a hot, tired Wednesday, and I have missed an opportunity to hit the beach due to errands that I have put off until today. My body is sore from partying fucking hard and my apparent inability to stretch regularly. Or maybe it had something to do with that bouncy castle adventure….

For anyone keeping score, I survived my extended birth weekend, and enjoyed some great days at Clear Lake, soaking up the rain and sun, the clear, cool waters and many laughs with old friends. Sunday was a world of pain, but the sun was shining, so it was hard to complain.

On the long drive home, I was looking forward to some days of resting, but as the good Lord knows, there is no rest for the wicked. Monday night, after a full day of work, we had a show to play, so by 6 pm I was back into the beers hard.

The show was a strange one, hosted in a house for two touring bands who, for some bizarre contractual agreement, were unable to play a “legitimate” show for X amount of time within Y amount of kilometers of a small, Manitoba folk festival.

Our band was added to the bill by a buddy who had set up the gig, and we ended up playing first. The house was a sweet old one north of Portage in the West End, and about fifty people ended up coming out. Between sets, we’d pour beer into our mouths and smoke electric lettuce.

When the beer ran out, and nobody wanted to run the gauntlet to the local vendor and back, we dipped into a bottle of clear Chinese hard liquor. The only writing on the label in English was “52 per cent.” My friend Dr. Rainstorm had given it to me on my birthday. He was back from Shanghai for a month, and said they sell this stuff at super markets in large, 2L bottles for approximately $2, and that while the label boasted a strong “52 per cent,” it was really anyone’s guess as to what its power truly was.

Squirrelman and Woodtick had already left, and Good followed shortly after the Chinese booze was busted out. We mixed the stuff 50/50 with 7UP from the fridge, and it didn’t taste bad, but the cloud of vapour that hung over our circle was thick and undoubtedly poisonous. Exhaling was pure ethanol.

Combined with a bottle of single-malt scotch making the rounds, shit got weird quick. I was swaying back and forth, trying to focus on the final act. Wet fell down the stairs. When all was said and done, I walked home in the dark while the city raged around me.