In September, I’m going to New York City to work on an album with my old friend Barbara, aka Ilana Iguana, and I’m so excited I could squeal. (Never been to NYC before. Been in New York, but never the city.) Aimee and I are flying out together – she found us a screamin’ deal on airfare – and we’ll staying with Steven in the city and then with Barbara in Jersey. We’ll be rehearsing in subways, eating good food, and hanging out. I’ll see Katya and Tane and meet the Roche sisters and everything.

The material is this amazing a cappella stuff Barbara’s been writing over the last twenty-five years. I even get a gospel solo in the end of one of the charts… Barbara gave me an old recording of the chart, Sweet True Love, that we recorded with a boom box in the MIU student union in the early 90’s and said, “This is the exact way I want you to sing the solo. You nailed it… it’s perfect. Do it like that.” So even though I’m usually queen of the improv solo, I’ll be copying my own decade-old improv because she loves it.

While I’m gone, Brett will be going to Telluride to the Blues ‘n Brews Festival, where the dumb whore will get to see The Reverend Al Green live and in motherfucking person! *swoon* If I weren’t going to sing and see old friends, I’d be painfully jealous.

I’m a little jealous as it is.

I have no idea what we’ll do with the dogs. We’ve never kenneled them before, but I can’t imagine asking someone to come out here twice a day for five days, or asking someone to keep them for that long ’cause they’re all spazzes. And when I say “spas,” what I mean is, that Dingo will eat your baby. What I mean is she’s already munched a kitten (oh, gross bad dog) and bitten a cop (oh, good dog!).