In other words...

I've been telling and re-telling the weekend war stories to people who want to hear about that sort of thing. The band played two markedly different shows and I think it's worth sharing.

The Boy show at the Horseshoe on Saturday night was absolutely fantastic. So many people came out to support us and it did nothing but feed us and make us more determined than ever to conquer the world. The show was one of the best I've ever played. I can't speak for the others, but I was proud of them. In fact, I've never been more proud of what those three guys and I did on stage Saturday night. And it's a feeling I want to have again and again.

On Sunday night we played in Brantford. There were a few differences. First, there were @240 less people at the show. The organizers (although really nice guys) suffered from an attack of dreaming too big (been there, done that) and lack of experience. It was a charity event for St. Leonard's, but they just couldn't get folks interested enough. So, we played to 15 people (including the two sound guys, the two organizers and one or two of the other bands). But rather than screw around, we rocked the shit out of the place. We played like were at Wembley stadium (and it kind of sounded like we were, because the room was so big and there was so much delay on the sound!) That also felt really damned good. To just play music and not care who was listening. No talk of record lables or management people. We just had a good time and we played with everything we had. And the tiny crowd that was there, was riveted. We played for an hour and the only place any of them went was to the back of the room to get a drink and then back to their seats to watch us rock.

The show was not without its charms. A fog machine, three head wounds (Styx cracked his head on the giant tv that was above his drum kit and Glenn smashed his skull on my ocular cavity/forehead area in a crazy head-butting incident), a peculiar thrust stage (I felt a bit like Derek Zoolander) and some very, very white versions of a few Bob Marley tunes that The Mink sang while we covered for Glenn breaking a guitar string. Anyway, I've tried to capture the essence of the evening in a few haiku poems. Enjoy.

The fog rolls past us
He kisses my head sharply
With an Irish bonk

Solitary souls
Stand fast with awe and new love
For the goose-egged rock