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The end of the Junos: final impressions

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It’s been a crazy four days, and in six hours I’ll be hopping on a plane back to the west coast. So long, Junos – it’s been a slice.

You know what I won’t miss? Windchill.

A couple of cab drivers assumed I was a singer when I told them I was in town for the Junos. In hindsight I should have made up a band name.

I was warned beforehand, but I’ve also learned the hard way that Saskatchewan air is exceedingly dry. I’ve gone through so much moisturizer that I’ve lost count of the tiny complimentary hotel bottles I’ve drained. Surprisingly, the skin is cracking worst on my ankles. I guess the wind is getting in between my shoes and pant cuffs. Also my nasal passages are drier than the sahara. Is it possible to get dandruff in your nose? I think I might have that.

Speaking of the killing strength of dry prairie air, I also realized it’s true that 90 per cent of a hangover is dehydration. I’ve woken up feeling exceedingly hungover at least half of the mornings, despite consuming only a single pint of beer this weekend. I stumbled out of bed feeling like I would die if I didn’t drink water within two minutes, and drained half a bottle before I’d even fully woken up.

You just don’t have to worry about these kinds of problems on the west coast.

While in Regina, I had a chance to talk to at least a couple of musicians—Tom Barlow, the Matinee, the Great Lake Swimmers—and there’s a lot of transcribing to do. A little bit of that will be coming at you in the next week, and you’ll see the full versions online in our May issues. I also still hope to piece together something about the Hannah Georgas show I caught on Friday (spoilers: fantastic).

I’ve enjoyed both Regina and the Juno awards, but now it’s time to return to the coast and study madly for the exam coming my way in 21 hours.

Thanks for everything, Junos. Next year the shindig is going down in Winnipeg, and this time next year we’ll see if  any of us are willing to do the whole thing over again.

And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s to always go to the after party – because sometimes Fred Penner is there and if you miss him you will never forgive yourself.

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