We were in recovery mode on Tuesday, so we wandered from stage to stage trying to find a comfortable place to sit and music that wasn’t too noisy. We couldn’t find either, so we left around 8:00. We did consider staying for Los Lobos, but we just didn’t have it in us. Too many days in a row. Too tired.

There was good news though. We stopped by the P-Mate booth to say hi, and Laurie (the lovely P-Mate Demo Woman), gave me a hug AND five free P-Mates AND a free P-Mate T-shirt! Not only that, but she told me I was welcome to use the special P-Mate Porta-Potty whenever I want. This is in addition to the five free P-Mates that Karen, the North American Distributor, mailed me after reading the blog.

I bet you’re wondering what’s so special about the special P-Mate Porta Potty. Well, there’s no lineup, there’s no stinking hole of human filth, and there’s no lid. Just a urinal. And they burn candles and incense in there. I think that’s a very nice touch. I haven’t used it yet, but you’ll be the first to know when I do.

We asked Laurie if she works full-time demonstrating the P-Mate. She doesn’t – she times her holidays from her regular job to coincide with Bluesfest, where she vacations in the P-Mate booth. She’s also studying to become an electrician.

On a separate note, I’m probably not the only one eating at Bluesfest. Maybe we should all rate everything we eat at Bluesfest, so we can learn from each others culinary experiences.

For example:

I won’t order the Chicken Devine (sic) again.

Joey’s Only Fish & Chips: tasty and the portions were generous, and I might eat there again. Also, Joey’s is handing out coupons for a free meal at their regular restaurants, and the coupons are valid until the Leafs win the Cup (in other words, forever). But here’s a tip for you: you must order your food from the right-hand lineup and then pick it up from the left-hand lineup.

I had vegetable pakoras at the Indian place (Rose’s?) and it was pretty good – a big serving for only $3.50, but it could have used a raita dipping sauce or something.

Has anyone tried anything else? Would you recommend it? I’m thinking about trying the chocolate fondue…

Late last night I left the Flatlanders at the River Stage to go home, and decided to stop for a quick pee on my way out.

If you’ve ever been in a Porta Potty late at night, you know how dark they are. Since the P-Mate woman hadn’t had a chance to visit the blog yet, I still didn’t have a free P-Mate. So I assumed the traditional position: squatting above the black hole of human waste so that none of my exposed parts would come into contact with any of the porta-potty parts. It’s a technique most women master at a very young age.

After I zipped back up I unlocked the door, stepped outside and turned to close the door behind me. But wait! Something wasn’t right! My toilet paper hadn’t disappeared into the stinking hole of human waste. It was sitting in plain sight at the top of the hole. I stepped back in to investigate how my toilet paper was managing to defy the laws of gravity.

Well, apparently the idiot who used the Porta Potty before me had put the lid down. And, in case you’ve never noticed, the Porta-Potty lids are black, which means they’re invisible in the dark, so I never noticed it was down. I had peed on the closed lid.

Where did the pee go? Well, it probably went all kinds of places, but upon further investigation I discovered that much of it had rolled off the lid and onto my pants. Nice.

Two questions:

1) Why do Porta Potties have lids anyway?
2) What kind of moron puts the Porta Potty lid down?? Not only is it a useless thing to do, it also violates the cardinal Porta-Potty rule, which is “get in and get out as fast as possible without touching anything.”

On a related matter, it’s nice that they have hand-washing stations outside all the Porta-Potty stations, but the water’s all gone by dusk. Why don’t they just put out those waterless hand-sanitizer dispensers like they have in hospitals?

I saw Sarah Harmer at Bluesfest yesterday. She seems like a good musician and a lovely person, and I wanted to like her show but I was a little bored. The thing is, I can walk all day but I find standing for an hour and a half in a densely packed crowd pretty hard. The music has to really sizzle to make it worth it, and Sarah didn’t sizzle for me.

I also checked out Tony D’s Power Hour over at the River Stage, which was kind of fun. Rockin’ blues.

I visited the P-Mate booth. Years ago they gave these devices away for free at Bluesfest. They allow women to pee standing up. I was trying to remember what they were called the other day, and came up with the Shenis. But no, it’s P-mate.

Basically it’s a cardboard funnel. You unzip, lower your pants a little, position the P-mate, and pee into it. If all goes well, the pee travels through the funnel and into the Porta Potty, and you don’t have to put your bare bottom anywhere near the disgusting porta-potty hole.

I tried it in 2001, and it really really works. The hardest part is trusting it and letting go. It was free back then. Now it’s $5 for 5 pees, and you can even buy a P-mate poster ($5) or t-shirt ($20).

The P-Mate demo woman was lovely, but she didn’t give me a free P-mate.

“But I’m blogging it,” I said, “I should get a free P-Mate for my promotional efforts on your behalf.”

She laughed and said she’d check out the blog and then decide if it warranted a free P-Mate.

So if you happen to visit the P-Mate Booth (over by the River Stage), be sure to tell them you read about it at knitnut.net. Maybe I’ll get a free pee out of it.

I got to Bluesfest around 6:00 and lay down on the grass beside the giant inflatable beer can to catch a few much-needed zzz’s while waiting for my friend. Then I ate a Chicken Divine, which wasn’t divine but was edible. I drank water because I was still a bit hungover and couldn’t face beer. I didn’t much feel like being at Bluesfest, to tell you the truth.

But then I discovered the cure for a hangover and sleep deprivation: Béla Fleck and the Flecktones. Well, maybe not a cure exactly, more like a stay of execution.

These guys are musical wizards, plus they’re a lot of fun to watch. And I was finally close enough to a stage to actually watch the show and hear the music. Béla plays banjo, along with a one-man horn section, a percussionist who plays a bizarre homemade electric drumaphone (?), and simply the best bass player I’ve ever seen. (I’m no expert, and I do realize that bass is an important instrument, but I’ve never found it all that interesting…this guy made it sizzle.)

The horn player plays two saxophones simultaneously, which, ya know, is a bit of showmanship right up there with playing your guitar behind your head. But he also made the trippiest sounds come out of those saxophones…it was like they had human voices.

You know how Ottawa always wants an encore, even if the show wasn’t very good? It’s almost like we think it’s rude not to request an encore. But last night the crowd sincerely and desperately demanded its encore. It screamed and chanted “ONE MORE SONG” for about ten minutes, completely drowning out the MC who was trying to make some announcements. The crowd was HUNGRY for more. We didn’t get it, because George Thorogood had already started playing on the other stage, but it was not for a lack of trying.

After Bela Fleck, well, George Thorogood was just George Thorogood and the hangover and fatigue settled back in. We didn’t stay for all of Thorogood, opting instead to go sit on a bench at the transitway to wait 45 minutes for the number 86.

I’m breaking my No-Blogging-At-Work rule today because it’s a quiet day at the office and there’s no time at home.

I had fun at Bluesfest last night, even though Bob Dylan is so much older now and his once-gravelly voice has pretty much all been used up. I found it a little disconcerting that his songs have mutated over the years, but that’s okay. And I hear he was a bit of a prima donna backstage, making all kinds of demands and conditions, like everybody else had to get out and there were to be absolutely no cameras on the grounds and no he would not participate in the raffle for the Blues in the Schools Fundraiser.

But who cares? He’s Bob Dylan and I used to love Bob Dylan and I still love his old stuff. And even though I couldn’t see him (nor could anyone else, since he insisted that the big screen Jumbotron be turned off) there was still something special about finally almost seeing him.

I didn’t have high expectations for the music, so I wasn’t disappointed. It was enough just to be in the same place as him, and to know that if my arms were half a kilometer longer I could have actually touched him.

Van Morrison was good but too quiet. From my vantage point at the back of the crowd, I could have used binoculars and a hearing aid.

“I hope he does Moondance,” my friend said.

“He just did,” replied the guy next to us.

A few minutes later I found myself thinking of the tune Cleaning Windows, and hoping he would play it. And then I realized that that thought was probably inspired by the faint strains of Cleaning Windows whispering through the loudspeakers. If I concentrated really really hard, I could hear it.

The Good News: There was much chaos and confusion at the front gate as people lined up for their admission bracelets. This chaos resulted in us being told to keep our tickets upon receiving our bracelets. Said tickets were listed on UsedOttawa.com this morning, and sold at half their face value, which means that four of us paid half price for our festival passes.

The Moral Dilemma: Should I feel bad about that?

I don’t know if I’m ready for it, but Bluesfest is on for the next 11 days and I’ve got my ticket. I’m an all-or-nothing kind of Bluesfester – either I practically live there, or I don’t go at all. If I try to pace myself, I lose my momentum.

Here’s the forecast for opening day, starring Van Morrison:

Cloudy with sunny periods and 60 percent chance of showers in the morning and early in the afternoon. A few showers beginning in the afternoon. A few showers ending in the evening then cloudy with 60 percent chance of showers. Risk of a thunderstorm.

Why don’t they just say it’s going to rain?

Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Bluesfest is Bluesfest no matter what the weather. One of my all-time favourite bluesfests was in ’99 and it rained outrageously. The crowds thinned as all the fair-weather bluesfesters scurried for shelter, but those who remained were energized by the rain. It was a lot of fun, all that rain and mud and music and spirit. The volunteers threw straw down to try to soak up some of the mud, but the mud soaked up the straw instead.

Personally I’m happy that Bluesfest is returning to Lebreton Flats. I like the wide-open space, the easy circulation of people, the way the space lends itself to moving between stages and running into friends. At City Hall, the space was deep and narrow and you had to move through congested channels to get anywhere. It was easier just to park yourself in one spot and stay there. I didn’t like that.

I hear they’ve installed special turf that doesn’t get muddy at the New and Improved Lebreton site. I’ll let you know how it works out.

But I probably won’t be blogging as much for the next eleven days. I’ll try to squeeze in a little here and there, but between work and Bluesfest and the occasional nap, I might not have much time.

Oh, but I have to tell you this one little story before I go.

Today I was standing on the sidewalk with three friends, and one of them was telling us about Opera Under the Stars, which was free opera at Lebreton Flats last weekend. She was in the middle of her story when a guy on a bike came up to us and looked thrilled to see us. None of us knew him.

“You know what?” he said, interrupting my friend’s opera story, “My aunt was a schoolteacher. She died. She was 85. You know what? They have these cards now so you can record your last thoughts. You know what my aunt’s last thoughts were? Don’t be sad too long, and be generous.”

We thought those were nice last thoughts.

He turned to Penelope.

“You know what?” he said, “You’re smart like my aunt. I can tell you’re smart.”

And then he turned to me.

“You know what?” he said, “I’m going gray too. You’ve got nice blue eyes though. But everybody gets old.”

A bit of a backhanded compliment, and of course I had to wonder why he was singling ME out for the old comments, especially since two of my three friends are older than me.

“You know how I spend my spare time?” he continued, “I pluck my nose hairs.”

Lucky bastard. I wish I had spare time.

I was happy to have somewhere to go today that wasn’t downtown to celebrate Canada Day. I went to a brunch party where I ate some good food, saw some amazing typewriter art, and met the Bubblemaster.

I also met some local celebrities whom I’ve always wanted to meet, and they seemed really nice but I felt kind of celebrity-shy and didn’t talk to them much. Next time I will.

Instead I talked to Janet, who updated me on her progress towards becoming a carnivore.

Last we heard, her organic ground beef was safely – and probably permanently – in her freezer after flirting with its best-before date.

Well, last night she was going to a dinner party and there were some carnivores attending, but the hostess didn’t have any meat. To further complicate matters, the carnivores were exclusively beef-eating carnivores and the hostess is boycotting beef because beef is environmentally bad.

“Because cows fart so much?” I asked.

This was a serious question, because I know farm animals fart and burp a lot and create tons of methane gas. Seriously, New Zealand’s biggest contribution to global warming is its gassy sheep.

“Um, that’s very interesting,” said Janet, “But I don’t think that’s her issue with beef.”

Then she told me about how cows are resource hogs, and how much raw material it takes to produce a pound of beef. It seems cows just aren’t an efficient way to make food.

So back to the dilemma of the exclusively beef-eating carnivores going to the beef-boycotter’s place for dinner. Janet, of course, had the perfect solution: she just happened to have half a pound of organic ground beef in her freezer. She offered to thaw the beef and bring it to her friend’s place.

But then she fell asleep and woke up a bit late and realized she didn’t have time to thaw it.

“Don’t you have a microwave?” I asked.

“Well yes,” she said, “But it would be environmentally irresponsible to use energy to do something that doesn’t require energy.”

So she phoned the butcher at Saslove’s and asked how to defrost the organic ground beef. He said she could microwave it, or, alternatively, she could place the packet of beef in cold water to hasten the thawing time. That’s what she did.

Then she took it to her friend’s place, and they put it on the counter while they talked about how to turn it into burgers, and it sat there for quite awhile. Eventually the Beef-Eaters showed up and, lo and behold, they brought four steaks with them!

“Which was great,” said Janet, “because we weren’t sure how to prepare the ground beef and what to use for binding and we didn’t really want to put our hands in it. Ugh.”

So the barbecue was fired up and the Beef-Eaters had steak and Janet had salmon and I’m not sure what the others had.

“The salmon was very good,” said Janet, “even though I charred it within an inch of its life. But everybody was happy.”

“And the beef?” I asked, “Where’s the beef now?”

“In Kate’s freezer.”

My jaw dropped. I felt like a bit of a meat nazi imposing all my rigid meat rules on her, like don’t keep it in your fridge for three weeks and don’t refreeze it. But somebody had to tell her.

“You can’t do that!” I said, “You’re not allowed to refreeze meat!”

“Oh, but it’s still in the original packaging,” she said, “It should be fine.”

“No,” I insisted, “You must not refreeze meat!”

We discussed it for a bit, and she wasn’t completely convinced so she’s going to call the butcher and ask him. If he concurs with me, then she’ll throw the organic ground beef in the garbage.

“Which would be kind of sad,” she said, “since it was a living thing and it died for me.”

Yes, that would be sad. But it was a 400 pound living thing, and only half a pound of it is being thrown in the garbage. Besides, food poisoning is so much sadder than food wastage.

It occured to me later that throwing it out isn’t necessarily wasting it. On my way home I saw these seagulls recycling the discarded food from Cicci’s restaurant. Janet might feel better throwing her refrozen organic ground beef in an open dumpster, where it could feed dozens of seagulls for a day.