Really what it means is that I was in Pittsburgh for less than 24 hours and about four of those were spent rehearsing and eight were spent sleeping. I drove up to erie alone on Friday night because I heard the weather was supposed to be terrible and I didn't want to have to rush in for Saturday. I spent a delicious night in the hotel and spread out across the bed. I sleep naked in hotel rooms by myself. Don't tell the cleaning staff.
The workshops and shows went well, if you don't count J not having anyone in his drum class, when 5 people were registered. We rocked the afterparty (all...night...long...or, more accurately, until about 11:30 pm) and sold a bunch of artwork and generally had a blast spending time with each other. Khafif was all together (minus our trumpet player) for the first time in ages, and we had total connection and jamming out. Also the bartenders were cute. Didn't hurt.
On my rive back up to Canada the next day, the sun was shining and the snow piled on the side of the road didn't interfere with my tires at all. When I got to the border, I pulled out my trusty sign -- which says, "My window does not roll down, may I open my door?" -- and the border guard smiled and nodded.
"You don't have to do that," he said. "I've seen that a lot."
"I just want to make sure I don't scare you and maybe get shot. You could reach for your gun!" I pointed out, and we both laughed. He asked me a few standard questions, and then said, "Do you have anything you're bringing back?"
"No," I said.
"Do you have a gun to return fire?"
"No," I said, "but there is a bazooka in the trunk."
"Those are okay," he said, and waved me through.