Best Minute and Forty-Four Seconds Ever

That's what you're going to see tomorrow night at 7:00 EDT. Well, maybe not REALLY, but I've gotta pump myself up a little. I am quite excited about it and it should go off without a hitch. We've practiced it many many times now, out of and then in the Metro Centre where the awards show is happening. Yesterday morning was three and a half hours of rehearsing the performance over and over again, with about fifteen minutes of staring into space in between each time, while the technical people sorted out camera angles and sound and technical type things. Ben Mulroney and his female e-Talk Daily counterpart, whatever her name is, were spotted sniffing around and filming some little incidental segments. He has a very large head.

I thought I'd probably be meeting Pamela Anderson somewhere in there, but now realize that the closest I'll come to her will be when the actual show happens and she steps onto a stage about 50 feet from ours as we finish our bit. Not that I was especially keen to meet her or anything, but I did have myself kind of psyched up to be as normal as possible and follow Alison's advice of "look her in the eye". But they really have the whole shenanigan planned out so that the high-level and low-level celebrities are kept well away from each other in both time and space. However, Coldplay's dressing room is right across from ours, next to the garbage storage area. I don't know what that means.

One "celebrity" I will get to meet is Cheryl Hickey. A woman who used to live in the apartment above us in Halifax, and now lives in Toronto, showed up at the bar where we were with some friends last night, and turns out to be working for Entertainment Tonight Canada. I told her, truthfully, that I think the show is a lot more interesting than its American counterpart, and revealed my embarassing but not insignificant crush on Ms. Hickey, the main host. Yeah, yeah, I know. So she says, "Well, you should come by the media area at the show. We'll be there, and you can meet her." Yikes! Hilarious, weird, and awesome.

This whole town has gone Juno crazy and there've been all sorts of shows and parties, most of which Ali and I have successfully avoided. The one last night at the bar I mentioned was The Self-Conscious, Mike O'Neill's new band. I think I've already raved about them on here, but no harm in saying it was really really enjoyable. I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. The place was a madhouse of squashed together bodies, many from out of town. Normally, that would be a definite minus, but I kept running into people I know and everyone was so keyed up and full of good will that the mood was pretty infectious.

The evening before that was a free outdoor concert in the Grand Parade (Toronto translation: = Nathan Phillips Square), starring Joel Plaskett and Matt Mays. We couldn't wait for the Mays set, but Joel had the enormous crowd (4,000?) in the palm of his hand as he belted it out and pontificated Springsteen-style about the meaning of a hometown. Shameless Hali-pride pandering abounded. Hundreds of little kids were lifted onto as many pairs of shoulders. Many balloons were lost forever to the clear twilit sky. It was great.

And tomorrow night promises to be no less of a spectacle. Unfortunately, Rich's entourage seems to somehow be short a couple of tickets for the show, which means that both Charles and I have to give up our seats in order for our significant others to be able to attend. So you may catch glimpses of us after our opening bit, milling around down in the general admission section in front of the performance stages. I'll be the one punching the air to the Black Eyed Peas.

This whole thing has sure been a good time, and I'm pretty excited about tomorrow night. Playing with Rich again and getting to spend some time with him and Charles has been really nice -- I wish we could do some more of it. And I'm getting paid very handsomely too, even after you subtract the musicians' union's penalty for not being a member. Man, I hate that union. See you on the red carpet, maybe, I'm not sure, probably not.

- Andrew