So with no Alex, I'm Nigel No Mates over here, but before things got to drastic, boy was I glad to see Steph. I told her all about my list and how I needed her help and soon enough I was mixing it up and scening hard with David Grrr and laying down myspace love right there:

David has 2916 friends and isn't even in a band so that's pretty scene. His main interest appears to be regurgitating stuff . . .

like WOAH!

I'm on tour and shit!

I'm in Greymouth hanging at the local hipster joint DP1 and they're jamming that Romantech "down and out" mix hard, and the mocha's not to shabby either.

Me and Romantech have been at each others throats since yesterday when we missed our flight and had to spend 4 hours lurking in the airport. We tried to ingratiate ourselves with Savage and Mareko in the smokers area but they quickly shuffled off, probably because they'd never scene two white boys keeping it so real in their life. I was about to tell Savage that he should think seriously about becoming a role model for weight loss among young pacific islanders and moari, but Romantech chucked his lighter at me, so I spent the next two hours asking him why it is that I've lost every decent woman I've ever had . . . and he told me to remember the future.

So yeah we had a massive set to in the airport cafe, and I told him he is unorganised, selfish and a complete smug prick claiming that last night in Nelson was "one of the best sets of my life". Bloody Nelson drum'n bass hooligans wouldn't know a good bit of post modern avant garde electro if it smacked them in the face, I had to spend half an hour lecturing local teens on how to be scene, and what it means to be fakecore.

I only saw ONE scene kid all night.

But yeah we bought a Toyota Corona 86 to be our cruisin dope ride in our great southern expedition, and she's a sweet runner. Anybody in Dunedin or Invercargill wanna buy a tidy little toyota for like $1100?

Wanaka tonight!!!

Talk soon! Love ya! Keep it real . . .

PS romantech says he's feeling the Pendulum on "Streamline" and the new State of Mind promos on Subtitles are off the hizzy, dropping certain dancefloor devastation. "remember the future" Peace.

Nelson to Christchurch . . .

First things first:

We are playing a short free gig at the Christchurch polytech at lunchtime on Wednesday and the gig on friday at Foam is free too, so get in there ya dirties!

But yes, currently we are in repose ensconced in a salubrious cashmere hills condo overlooking Christchurch and recovering from a hell of a weekend of beautiful countryside, awesome people and slammin parties!

Wanaka has never failed to be a killer spot to get the party started and sure enough by two in the morning I was surrounded by beautiful European girls supping outrageously on ostentatious cocktails, parked fireside peering out into the darkness over the lake. Unfortunately the situation lent nothing to quell Romantech's ballooning ego as the night's turnout again was pretty lacklustre for the electrotrash shenanigans until after midnight when the place suddenly rammed out with boozy continentals jumping round like demented fiends to the feel good tunes. So while Romantech was otherwise disposed bleeting at the frenzied crowd "who want some'a what I got?", I took the opportunity to get better acquainted with Hannah Marie the Finnish cross country skiing sensation who likes "the dancing music" and then it was back to owner Paul's place for a blaze in the spa, confirming we'll be jetsetting in again for snow season in July.

The only major downer for me is Ambrozia pretty much doing a watch trick on me, taking this brittle heart as it is in her "just friends" bag and smash, smash, smash with the hammer . . . whoops! Sorry! Hope it wasn't expensive! Don't ya just hate it when the magic's gone? Truth is that though we did incur both the blown tyre AND the gas out scenario, this was only enough spicy inconvenience to add a dash of adventurous jeopardy to the visual delights experienced on our journey down the West Coast, yet both laptops have proved highly dubious in their capabilities on the road, leaving Romantech with that smug, superior grin. I hope all his precious vinyl melts.

Going in and out of Haast didn't afford us much coverage for free txting so we were surprised how an actual conversation quickly provided the opportunity to compound a little reality right there in the rolling darkness of the rugged alpine slopes.

Dr Phil had told us at the airport that true happiness lies in discovering your purpose in life, and doing it, for it will drive you, and it will fill you. Romantech reckoned not one of his records ever told him they "needed a break" wanted to be "just friends" or decided to move to Welly or Melbourne. And EMU was a successful entrepreneur of print and design with three cars, two properties and a beautiful wife made of his teenage sweetheart. He discovered amongst the surging revenue life had lost meaning, and promptly packed his belongings into one of his cars and set off to become a photographer, film maker, musician and multimedia exponent, and never looked back. But I struggle . . . I see everyone from the snaking queues at the baggage check in to the idle residents of sleepy west coast towns, striving for normality, happy in their anonymous existance . . . oh adequacy, how you stun me with your gentle charms . . . do I still bear across my shoulders the eager dreams of a 19 year old, full of reckless passion? So roll the dice, reach for the sky and grab the lollies as they fall where they may like chips when they're down, oh gravity loosen your grip . . . don't take my music, don't take my words, my ability to take these useless dreams that fill my head and make of them something that can be held, that can be felt, that can be shared . . . that is real . . .

And so it's true, the big cities like Auckland are lonely and emotionally desolate . . . and you say you're still in love, and if it's true what can be done? It's hard to leave all these moments behind . . .

I sat backstage at Nelson's Phat club while Romantech lapped up the glory like a starving mongrel and reading a Pavement I noticed an old school friend of ours spread naked as a sophisticated commercial contraption. It was certainly the sort of tastefully erotic piece that rings the bellof a savant such as I, she looked great, but well, she was still going naked and shit. She used to be the singer in a band. Now she just seemed desperate to be anything.

Then later, a quote from some hipster New York act:

"It's like 'I'm not getting laid enough; I hate my fucking job; I like to play guitar; I like to smoke weed; I want to be something that's outside everyday life.' Working in an office is bullshit, y'know? Travelling the globe, talking to beautiful girls, taking drugs and drinking, thats the ideal."


April 13: homecoming party @ Foci (we ain't playing. we is getting pissed)

May 4: It's my birthday y'know! Gig @ Khuja with EMU, Romantech, Beautiful Losers on the bill!

May 26: Palmy TBC
May 27 . . . RC @ Happy with EMU, Romantech, Beautiful Losers and um . . . some real hot local welly hipsters TBA . . .

July: queenstown/wanaka jaunt

October: Mega uber return to the South. AA gigs orn.

PS I got wild plans for RC series 2 . . . just you wait! Casting begins when I get back.

RC vs Christchurch

FREE @ FOAM // bedford row, CHCH tonight!

Reality Compound / EMU / DJ Romantech / THE Dr Hitchcock guests

add my man dr hitchcock for rizzle: www.myspace.com/mixtapesessions

Sorry about these huge tour reports but this tour is just off the hook so far, and we're just stuffing reality down our gobs. Tom's done it for us again! Cheers, boss!

Okay so we been in Christchurch for like five days and it's been a fuckin' scream. Like I think I'm gonna be sad to leave on Saturday . . . that is like, unprecedented. Christchurch has definately upped it's buzz factor while maintaining it's reputation for having the highest proportion of ravishing beauties in the country.

Christchurch is gearing up for the Unity fest and every frickin DJ in town is on the bill - but hey lets get to the point. If theres scene kids, I don't see them. Studded belts, Peek-a-bowls, boys in make up, ridiculously tight jeans . . . It ain't there. Everyone's kickin' Romantech's 90's retro styles all puffas and caps and baggy jeans, neutral tones.

But sunday nights cosy touchdown was abruptly curtailed on Monday when the owners of said salubrious condo arrived home early to find the tour party in full repose going Ferris Bueller on it, so we had to lay low till the heat blew over.

Tuesday we hit the art scene attending nutter Greg Malcolm's series of audio visual installations "Malcontent" at the HSP gallery and our mate Pedro's opening of his "Ojitas Verdes" exhibition, posing as eminent Graffiti artists we were quaffing down a bit of culture with a lotta bubbly when I ran into Emmaline (she was onShorty st) and we reminisced a little on pubescent theatrics . . . I love your friends they're all so arty . . . indeed. I hate fuckin Vice. Vice kinda owns me. Pricks.

So awakening in somewhat of a cultural stupor we trawled down to our lunchtime gig at CPIT, where good old Marcus informed me last years performance was still being talked about. Before I could get my bearings I found myself onstage performing to a crowd of students attending a healthy lifestyles expo after EMU's laptop frazzled. Coming in with a fairly shocking rendition of "Make Me" which left me forced to result to some fairly vulgar interplay with a condom and a banana, all were pleasantly surprised to discover that Pussy likes to eat Bananas as well. I figured I laid a fuckin Moa egg, until I recognised it's not every day they see some fuckwit from Auckland bouncing round in and out of various costumings screeching about needing myspace and getting some pussy.

Thursday begins with one of my favourite myspace buddies, the lovely Brit, a veritable portrait of the unassuming southern beauties who litter this region. And we endeavoured to discover the "real" christchurch, taking in a range of vital cantabrian architecture and spacial constructs that lead to the museum where we hated hard on various stuffed beasts and exhibits for basically not being scene enough to hang with us. Bet that mummy's hassling it's mummy for a studded belt right now. Then we went looking for some real scene action and it took us to McD's to find at least an outcrop of studded belts. Ahem.

Then it was off to our radio spot connect with the man Dr. Hitchcock who is not only the man, but he's our man, one of our special guests for friday. He's a rolling wheel and a dude for real and all hipster kids on the indie/electro tip oughta make a big connection at www.myspace.com/mixtapesessions especially all you fucking auckland posers who think you're all that. The doc is running game.

Because again, it was a myspace tip, I was already in a drooling frenzy explaining to the doc what happens when we compound a reality on the 'space, when he blew my gourd, casually remarking "Oh I see you reprinted that 'hipsters vs. scenesters' thing thats been going round the net" . . . in our ef*face tour mag, and I'm like dude, I wrote that! Thats when I began to realise how next level i is, and how it's time to start preparing yourselves for RC series 2, beginning after we've recovered from this tour.

We were on the prowl for a Massive shindig when we ended up cruising to Foam to check out live Dubwise vibrations from Taos, hitting the cocktails and getting in on the jam, and next thing firing up a full house of wild hippies and dread heads. There were some numbers going down out the back and I was getting some hype for the gig on and next thing I gots mad cats all like, you're that dude who was on the radio tonight going on about wearing make-up, stripping down, and getting seriously wild . . . and I'm like - you know it . . . it's RC vs. Christchurch . . .

That's right we came to put on a show so Christchurch, you might wanna sit down before I continue . . .

It's an electropunk synthwave shakedown on the Short Circuit 2 tour @ Foam bar CHCH // Friday night with beats, treats and freaks . . . and it's free . . .

Christchurch to Dunedin . . .

Its only a six days till I come home to the Team and all my girls. And thats good, because everything would have worked out, and I'll be like yeah, this tour was totally like super too much. But then I started thinking about Rico (my colour photocopier) and sticking up those posters and then I was like . . . for the first time ever I was like, not quite so looking forward to getting back to Auckzers.

So Christchurch was a party because you got Dr Hitchcock rolling up with his crew, rocking a motherfuckin pimpin jacket, Elton John specs and a synth strapped like he was frickin John Rambo out for first blood . . . and Pedro and all the art scum wed picked up trawling the galleries, (So sick of frickin art gallery wankathons already!) and then like . . . a posse of the discerning regulars who come because . . . its great little place and the continentals who work there rule. Their cocktails are the best, and I was partaking extensively. So we threw down some rockin live synth punk wave shit, and like we were actually good for once! I wish more people saw it . . . but a lot of cats werent ready for my synthcore style, then again, who is? Still, at least were not shit ALL the time. Then later we locked down, and having partaken heavily, cruised to the Breakfastaz gig, basically because we knew we would rip the floor apart and so we did. We fully faded them all for moves . . .

And lost the car keys. And had to get a taxi home. And so the car got towed. And we'd been frickin pissed as chooks and couldnt find our tour loot and we had to load our gear out. And we went to the copshop and good old EMUs gotta warrant out for sending obscene pictures to the city council in regards to a previous ticketed parking offence. I dunno we . . . well it got sorted. But there was a stony silence in the car heading out, know that much.

There was an article on Myspace on national radio. Bleeders were on it. Dude, just get a fuckin alarm clock, already! And like how all these fakecore emo bands are making it on the 'space. So theyre not actually selling out, they just sound like shit anyway.

Okay, so we played in Timaru. Just before you say anything . . . the equipment was fucked. the PA leads, their decks, our lappies, everything was messed. We were there for hours tryna make it sound good, and it honestly sounded like a cat had vomited on our gear and chunks of regurgitated catfood were cookin up the circuitry. Romantech was pissed off so I jumped on the decks. A hens party full of 40 somethings came in and wanted something they could dance to. I dropped Fuck the pain away by Peaches and they bailed hard!!! Yeah! People started cruising in and we started busting out live electro, and like Pete, the bar owner, who shall from now on be refered to as Willie Nelson was just like Nah, shut it down, shut it down, it just honestly sounded like shit because the sound rigging was fucked.Put on Styler.

Resident DJ Styler um . . . rocks the house. Kickin off with MC Hammers smash hit You cant touch this, he played cds through the house mixer, fading into silence and then fading up the next hot pick of classic pop and Top 40. But Timaru was rocking, we were collecting $5 a head and the drinks kept coming! Nice! I wasnt complaining! I just started chatting up some girls from . . . Te Muka???

I was to later have a realisation that had already partially formed in its fruition. But its so cunning and devious I have to call my agent first. Lets just say I see big future for DJ Reality, Matty Compound and MOA in Timaru, playing classic hits and top 40 for free piss and dirty cash!!! heheheh!

So come 4.30am we turn up on the Doorstep of Princess David aka Backwards Girl aka Becs proving once again that myspace is love, even in Timaru where Becs is leading the battle to make Timaru get real, but we cant do it alone. Were gonna need Scotty Rocker, were gonna need David from False Start, well fly in them in by chopper, come in hard, well come in deep, next thing yknow Timaru will be an enclave of pretty boys with pretty fringes and pretty make up, and our work will be done.

So we were determined to take in a bit of excitement at the circus, but Romantech was eager to pow wow with local Drumn Bass folk, little knowing we were about to have a significant paradigm shift. Learn more in the ensuing bulletin.

Again we missed our opportunity to capture the unique character of Oamarus Penguin Club, but we will not be halted in our resolve to rock this venue in a most romanticized fashion. Leisurely we made our way to Dunedin, our spiritual home in the south as it's hipster stronghold. Believe it or not weve actually done killer gigs in Dunedin last year and Ive already been recognised three times in the street since Ive been here. It feels good to be back amongst friends and ex-pats from the land of Auck, somewhere where my shit is understood.

Dunedin

Okay so Im in Dunedin and I like it here. Except I am definately coming home on Monday and it's making me very Blase indeed. Today I got my wake'n bake on and walked around hiding in the bushes and giving people strange looks. I don't reall do that in Auckland, but hey.

But yeah, Dunedin, plenty of hipsters who are all cruisers and groovers, and heaps of Auckland mob and mad American hippies all hanging loose, its cosy and I like it. I just been knocking back those mochas and full flavoured local brews and negating and debating on the issues and such. Stimulating stuff.

If theres something going down in Dunedin all the movers and shakers are hip to that shit. Thats what I hate about Auckland! People are always doing things and they dont ask me first. I would be only too happy to open for like U2 or be on Celebrity Treasure Island but does anyone ever ask?

AND theres this guy who rides round on his old bicycle with a specially built trailer for his mutt! Its got sides and an aerodynamic metal visor. Fuckin cool.

Dunedin to Queenstown to . . . HOME??!!

So yeah Id love to tell you all about what happened at the gig in Dunedin but . . . but after trawling some cosy local bars sampling the full flavoured local brews consorting as we do with our hipster academic associates and friends at Radio 1 - by the time the gig was in full swing um . . . well . . . Apparently I DJd a set of dirty electrotrash . . . yup, that happened, and Romantech took over which sounds like a nightmare because he was more pissed than I was and telling people strange women were his girlfriend while I was concentrating mainly staying upright, but I spose it could have looked as if I was dancing . . . Lucky EMU broke out the synths and started making strange noises with local mad scientist ISO 12 in support but by that stage I was in a well advanced state . . .

On the morrow, discovering myself back at hipster stronghold None gallery, I was awoken again and swept away by the three levels of abrasive cutting edge and avant garde art, music, film in motion . . . room after giddy room of sculptures and culture . . . devices, instruments drum kits and amps . . . and hipsters lurking with beds set amongst the rugged architecture of creativity . . . jesus, Auckland! Why do you make it so hard to grasp these hipster visions and microcosmic romances that flower amongst the antiquated buildings and the urban spaces, drifting in a haze of innocent, wistful wafts of art and life . . . why do you smother these innocent ideals with your traffic jams, festering materialism and listless pretentious bullshit . . . when in a fleeting instant I drink a thousand bleeding hopes from your eyes like we pass in the street like strangers . . .

So we met with the organisers of the Fringe arts festival taking place in October to ensure RCs inclusion on the grounds that we are fully rocking our fringes (and that Andrew is fully biting my cap fringe look). Perhaps not keen on my conceptualised installation where we play Pussycat Dolls over and over again to three 15 year old skanks in little shorts who are pissed on a hip flask of gin, I agreed instead to contribute my special skills of being scene, posing, screeching, stripping down, simulating sex with the floor etc. to an ambitious multimedia artcore showcase thatll have the chin strokers creaming themselves. Then I acquired some fabulous rainbow coloured ug boots, and fired Romantech as our manager and replaced him with Simon Toogood, a hitchhiker we picked up heading to Invercargill.

On arrival, I immediately convened with a scenester delegation that included Nicole, Lawra and Claire, and later also Alaska and Rose, and Jake and Brendan as well, to brief them on leading developments in the scene, and get pics on for the space, resolving RC are committed to parachuting in with Scotty and David Hall out of helicopters . . . No, no, a helicopter that turns into a limo - Tim will understand - as we have undertaken to petition mayor Shadbolt to explain to him that the youth are trying to be scene and we need full support in providing an AA show to breathe life into the desperate wastelands of culture that is Invercargill. You dont understand. They need us! Forlorn teenagers litter the street like so much worthless trash, purposeless, and I promise you, Invercargill, my heart goes out to your lifeless existance and I promise you an AA show in 2006!!! Were gonna do it, arent we girls?

El Tigre is Invercargills hippest venue, thats probably why its closing down. We were treated to sumptuous platters of lamb, tender peppered chicken, prawns, scallops, prosciutto, feta, brie and stilton, sundried tomatos, olives, grapes, pesto and tapenade, fresh baked breads, imported beers and fine wines in the private dining room of the restaurant . . . I honestly felt like Id just got laid. But the gig . . . same old story, the place doesnt start to heat up till after midnight . . . where the DJs Romantech and Nas-t play out some delicate and mysterious courting ritual of the turntable, his trepidation palpable, from amongst the vinyl bled beats I hear his call to her in the mix, oh Nadia, come away from this place with me, fill my broken dreams with your beauty, skill and grace . . . and like two spinning records joined in the mix in an adoring ensemble we shall blend and move in time together always . . . until yeah, I was actually getting ready to play again when I was told the gig would finish at 3. Ridiculous. A club full of adults enjoying themselves responsibly to cutting edge tunes, and we have to tell them to go home. Or do we? It was time for a lock down!!! As the DJs spun classic 80s and 90s club classics, and we boogied and downed shots with the crew, I became hopelessly lost in the nostalgic soundwave as I tend to do when Im invers, dreaming of times and women in my life, which for a moment seem so hazy and far away . . . When all I ever wanted was you . . . wanna be your - lovah . . . wanna be your mother and your sister too . . . wanna be your lovah . . .

Id already counted the hours till home as we pulled into Queenstown, but each time we come here it blows my mind. The money. The opulence. The gorgeous classy birds everywhere. The indulgence and the sickly ostentatious tourist party culture of this place. Again we indulged in the finest dining courtesy of our hosts following our champagne in the spa, but unfortunately it pissed down and the night moved slowly as I dreamed of home and the boys from the Compound team, and all my wonderful myspace girls . . . And here it is, sunday night and the boys have left me at the hotel and gone to the Salmonella Dub after party, but hey . . .

Why do people want to live empty culturally barren lives and hide from themselves in Timaru and Invercargill? Why do they want to be empty vessels, pretentious ciphers of wealth in Queenstown and Wanaka jumping off bridges and feeling the wind in your face and the alcohol in your blood in an endless renewal of the restless moment, why dont they feel this need to have the stories and the memories and the visions spew forth from inside them like emotional graffiti on a wall that is eternal life, that are the songs and tales that stalk through the minds of others, and in its fleeting and momentary embrace find an existence that is preserved forever . . .
Oh fuck it. The adventures over. Its time to pack away the excitement and return from whence I came . . . It just feels weird not to be desperately anticipating home . . . were already coming back in July AND October . . . each time it just gets better . . . yeah, well . . . hey Auckland. See ya real soon.

ahhhhhh . . .

Appendix 1: Girls vs Marijuana paradigm shift (in Timaru)

If I was in love with a girl, the whole world would know it. If someone is there for you when youre down on your knees, thats love, thats being a true friend. That kinda stuff matters to me. Because it's real, and whatever it takes to get up and do what you have to do, and do the best you can, is good. Yeah, I'm a ends justify the means type of guy. hard.

There's no doubt in my mind that art is the most best, mainly for me, my writing and my music. So let's take it back. Retro has been a popular concept for a long time. In the 80s, before meeting my first girlfriend Melanie and forming The Droogs with Lubes, I created a 7-page treatment for the James Bond franchise working title Explosive Thinking. It wasnt picked up. We were heavily into the sixties rock sound back then. Soulful and psychadelic rock. Being retro is nothing new.

One day at school I saw this girl Renee and she was really neat. I wanted to like, hang out with her. She was tall and skinny and had like big brown eyes and beautiful milky skin sprinkled with freckles like a mocha. I wanted to talk to her but I was shy. So when I walked up to her, she ran away, she wouldnt even speak in front of me! Then when I tried again, she punched me in the arm! This is when I first found out about what girls are like.

Then in the 90s, we stole some stuff off my grandma. We knew we had to make it into a cigarette and like smoke it, but we couldnt get it to go so we chucked it away and went back down to hang at the skate ramp. Later, I started smoking because I wanted to be cool, but by the time I left school, I was really sick of getting drunk, it was dumb. I liked to smoke up weed instead.

So then in the 21st century, I decided writing and music was best. It gives definition to my identity and the tools to create meaning out of my life. Girls are definitely more exciting and important than writing and music but they always run away and it sucks, thats why I decided that girls are only my second favourite thing. Pot is third favourite because I smoke it up and it makes me feel great! In fact generally unless its social, I dont generally like to hang out and smoke pot. Because when I get my buzz on, I like to concentrate on my favourite thing writing words and music.

Now just because I really like pot, it doesnt mean you will to. Pot is not the thing for everyone. And if youre not into pot, well I dont think you should judge me.

Because now Ill be straight up with you. I smoke so much pot that the crazy effects you get over the first few years or if you dont smoke that much that often at all, I dont get that. I dont get paranoid, I dont get the munchies, I dont wonder if I just said that out loud and whether everybodys looking at me. I just get in a damn good mood and appreciate more deeply the broader existence of reality and the beauty within it, then thatll make me feel like doing something cool, like writing a story or a song on my computer.

But girls are mean because they always run away, and you try to be nice and then they hurt you. And so I came on tour and I couldnt get any pot. And weve been having such an awesome time travelling and partying and playing our music that I didnt really care. But suddenly I would start thinking about how girls are always mean, and how they cant be nice! Then I would start thinking about how I missed Auckland and Kate and all the rest of the Team, hanging out on the space, surfing the net, making stuff on the Transubstantiator (my computer) and Rico (my colour photocopier) . . . and I would just feel so so sad.

At first, I thought it was because girls are mean, and yknow all the excitement and stress of touring round doing gigs. Then I started to realise it wasnt normal. Some nights Id rock parties and drink for free and chat up beautiful girls in strange new places, others Id sit there feeling like I wanted to die and hoping no one would notice or talk to me, wondering why girls are so mean all the time. It was unnormal behaviour.

Then on Sunday in Timaru, Romantech hooked up with some shifty Drumn Bass characters and we hung out at their pad while they talked DJ shit, and then they sold us a bag. Then we went down to the circus and got high on pot. And basically it was like falling in love again. Yesterday I was spotted skipping down Dunedins main drag, singing Billy Joel tunes like I was the star of a fist pumping 80s feel good movie, and Id just got the girl, and it was a deep romance between a man and a plant.

So I have a psychological dependence on pot, as it turns out, and if I dont smoke it regularly, I start displaying symptoms of Manic Depression!!! How crazy is that? Which is why you shouldnt smoke as much pot as I do. But Im gonna keep smoking pot because I like it and it makes me feel great! Just like Im gonna keep trying to be nice to girls even though they are always mean and run away.

But just for now I think I like pot better than girls. Girls are always the most exciting thing but then they run away. And it sucks. Oh well, doesnt matter, cos I just get high on some pot and write a bulletin and a song about it! And then along comes a new girl . . . Wow, your writing is really cool . . . you wanna hang out sometime??? Yeah!!! heheheh. All good. heh. Story of my life.

xx Matt