2003-05-26

Yeah. So, as mentioned, New York was more fun than should legally be allowed (and apparently somehow it literally WAS � more on that later). Friday night I got to bask in the reflected hipness of Jeremy Broomfield himself, an honour of which I�d hitherto only dreamed. His legions of admirers will be pleased to discover that his tireless efforts to rid the world of zombies do not stop for the weekend. Oh no! The hunger of the undead for hot brains is unceasing, and so is Jeremy�s vigilance. Here we are after a grueling session of hand-to-hand combat training:

The next night I met the illustrious Doug and his lovely-and-talented wife Shandy, both of whom are so fucking cool it�s a wonder penguins don�t live on them.

I had so much fun, in fact, that I�m heading back to NYC for the Canada Day holiday (nothing says �Yay Canada!� like a trip to the States, right?).

Not-so-fun element of the weekend: being �randomly� searched BOTH TIMES I went through Customs. (Note to self: perhaps a German army jacket festooned with Exploited and Alien Sex Fiend buttons is NOT the most appropriate of airport fashions.) On the way back, I got the Super-Deluxe Search Package, including a bonus swab of my toiletries, which was then tested for drugs. And which came back positive. For fucking COCAINE. Seriously, I have NO idea how my TOOTHBRUSH came in contact with COCAINE. Coke is an indulgence I partake of maybe once a year, and the activity generally doesn�t coincide with my regime of dental hygiene. Sure made for a fun ten minutes of unmitigated terror, though, as the guard calmly rifled through my unmentionables at his leisure before finally telling me that my stuff had probably been cross-contaminated at the hostel I�d been staying at, since there were only trace elements of the drug. I�ve never been so happy to discover I�ve been cohabiting with drug addicts. I was having horrible visions of a wholly unwelcome intimacy with a latex glove.