The Strath

Journal Entry, Air Canada 135,
Edmonton - Toronto,
August 10th, 1980.

An I N S A N E few days behind me.

Man ... I gotta get all of "this" under control. The past week in Edmonton has literally taken me to the edge of wildness.

Alcoholism lurks deep within my genes, so I've got to watch it. There's way too many opportunities in this business to go to the bar. The cop out is to call it "de-stressing" when really - it's just good old fashioned DRINKING, and there's nothing trendy or glamorous about that.

My Scots-Irish family has always enjoyed their booze. One of my earliest memories is that of a party my grand dad threw when one of the Popes died (our home in a gray Glasgow tenement became an impromptu opera house for drunken Scotsmen to sing "the Battle of the Boigne" and "the Orange Lodge Forever").

But this past week it was a New World ecumenical, bunch of media whores who partied the morning, afternoon, and night away at Edmonton's famous old Strathcona Hotel.

Me, Sue, playwrite Tom Crighton, Tom Rowe (who's a "driver" for local film crews), CBC anchor Bob Spence, radio producer Rick Phillips, folk singer Paul Hahn, my buddy Spud, a couple of guys from the SCTV crew, Catherine O'Hara ... and Toronto's most famous mayoralty candidate, Rosie-the-Clown. AKA - Vicki Gabereau.

Vicky's been hired to co-host the morning radio show, Edmonton A.M. and I'm thinking of signing on as her producer. The station manager wants us to goose the ratings and bring some energy to the plant.

Poor guy doesn't HAVE A CLUE what he's about to unleash.

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