An excellent 2 ½ weeks off to catch up on bills, putz around the garden and watch the beginning of my kids baseball and soccer seasons. Toronto is best enjoyed in late May and early June, at this time of the year it’s hard to imagine living anywhere else in the world.

Today was a day filled with rain and Paris Hilton. I kind of understand the rain, I completely don’t understand the obsession with Paris Hilton….but whether you found yourself inside or out, today, it was impossible to not be swamped by one or the other….the only difference was that one felt cool, refreshing and invigorating, the other felt like you’d been dunked head first in to a vat of slime and pus….thank god for the invention of the 24 hour news channel, how did we ever survive before such valuable info was placed at our finger tips.

We did this gig (The Three Rivers Arts Festival) a couple of years ago. Back then it was set in a decent sized park that backed up to the river, so we thought we knew what to expect. Well, you know what they say about The Road and Expectations. When we arrived we discovered that the park was under construction and so the music stage had been moved a couple of blocks in to the city and in to the downtown traffic, on to what could best be described as a glorified pedestrian-median. There was barely enough room for the deep fried veggie, gyro, pulled pork and Meat Cone stalls. A very odd “venue”. And then, at soundcheck, the rains arrived, which meant that our much needed refresher rehearsal was cancelled, and it didn’t let up until just after the show was supposed to start. Amazingly, a whole bunch of people toughed it out. They grow them hardy here in Steeler Country. So we did our best and fought through the sound issues and memory lapses and gave them a show…or, at least, a 2 hour respite from Paris.

By the way, the Ducks (ex-Mighty of Anaheim) won the Stanley Cup a couple of nights ago…yaaawwwnnn….I now remember why I can’t root for the Ottawa Senators, maybe its the uniform, it just doesn’t seem to be very inspirational to those who wear it. Alfredsson certainly stepped up (although his period ending slap shot on Neidermeyer was about as bush-league a move as I’ve ever seen), but where the hell were Heatley and Spezza. Oh well, another city wins the cup where, outside of the arena in which it is being hoisted, no one gives a crap.