My baby girl graduated from public school this past week. This means that come September she goes to HIGH SCHOOL!!!!!

Honest to God, there is something seriously wrong with the education system. High School??? She was born like four days ago!

Her sister Legshaver, is already in high school. It basically brought about the disappearance of the darling daughter I raised.I can honestly say I really haven't seen her since she started being educated there. I see someone who physically resembles her, even sounds like her on occasion.

But that is basically where the resemblance ends.I don't know how it happened, nor do I know what to do about it.

Anyway my Cuddlebug looked fabulous in her new dress (that I paid for), with her hair done, ( that I paid for), with the antique clutch purse she chose ( that I paid for).Her makeup was great...Good God my baby wears makeup!! Still haven't got my head around that yet.

She was radiant until her older sister closed the car door on her pinky. I would have cried too.

Some ice and a few minutes makeup repair and she was back to being radiant again.

She got an award and looked beautiful as she went up on stage to get it.She was proud, as she should be, and I was even prouder. Sea Hag and I exchanged a glance at that point as if to say to each other... look what we made, can you believe it?

We went outside for pictures and enjoyed the cool air immensley.

Then came the dance. This is started off with a father / daughter dance, or mother / son . I had been dreading this, but I was going to be goddamned if I would let Sea Hag's guy Thomas have the honour.

I tossed my cane to Legshaver, and Cuddlebug and I took to the dancefloor. I did my best to lead her around without stepping on her. She did her best to help me keep my balance.

It was great. A very special moment.

After the first dance the parents all split and left the kids alone til 11 oclock. I went home to the Cave and had a few beers and reflected on my baby girl . She is a memory now, and in her place I have a really terrific young lady.

I hope high school doesn't take that out of her.

Those of you that know me from " the other place" know that music plays a fairly large role in my life.I love music, have not one iota of talent, but love to crank the tunes.

I am a firm believer in the M and M factor...memories and motivation that music can bring.Nothing like the tunes to conjure up great memories, or to get you pumped up when you need to be.

So anyway, I was talking to a friend of mine the other day about a new tune I heard by Kid Rock. I have never liked Kid Rock, but I liked this tune.It starts with the piano riff from the late, great , Warren Zevon's Werewolves of London, then pays homage to Lynard Skynard's Sweet Home Alabama. It is a great tune and takes me back to MY teenage years at my cottage , similar to what he is singing about.

So my friend and I got to talking about songs we liked , and dead musicians. I guess you can blame Warren for that topic taking precedence.

I said that I would love to go back in time and smack some sense into Shannon Hoon. He was the lead singer of Blind Melon ( the song No Rain is one of my all time faves). Hoon and the band were just on the cusp of making it big, he had just had a baby girl , and he killed himself with a heroin overdose.I believe he was 24.

Stupid waste.

Then my friend went into a song and dance that I am sooooo tired of.

Jimi Hendrix. " He was the greatest guitarist in the history of Rock and Roll" my friend stated.

Oh really. " Why do you say that?" I asked. " Well, he could play the guitar behind his head" came his reply.

Sounds like he was a double jointed spastic to me , question is..how WELL did he play it when it was behind his head." So ?" I said.

"So?" my friend exploded." He could play the guitar with his teeth! He did it on stage all the time"

" Incredibly rude " I said, " and totally disrespectful to the ticket buying audience to floss with his guitar strings when he should have been concentrating on his performance."

" THAT WAS HIS PERFORMANCE!!" my friend yelled. Clearly I need to be more careful in my choice of friends.

" Demonstrating poor personal hygiene is hardly what I would call performing" I said calmly. I was glad I wasn't the one losing my cool. The bottom line for me was that Hendrix did other people's songs, if people chose to call his mess ups on the guitar " innovative" , well that wasn't my opinion.

And like that idiot Shannon Hoon, he died young of a heroin overdose.

I had to put an end to this argument once and for all. " Look " I said, " Hendrix had the chance to open for The Monkees on their nationwide tour " This is true. " He got booed off the stage so many times that he quit the tour".

My friend was almost apoplectic. He was speechless.

Game , set , and match as far as I was concerned.

I really do need better musically educated friends.

I have always known there are differences between Americans and Canadians , but until my recent invasion into the U.S.A. I didn't know what the biggest difference was.

I do now.

It isn't hockey, it isn't politics, it isn't the variety of regional dialects and accents.It has nothing to do with immigration , the military , or the foreign policies of our respective governments.

The biggest difference between Canadians and Americans is breakfast.

During my recent foray to Cincinatti , SHE took me to a local family restaurant for our " most important meal of the day". I admit I was hungry and was looking forward to some scrambled eggs and maybe a little sausage to go with my coffee.Hungry enough to risk the female restaurant staff falling in love with me.

Yes, I was that hungry.

As we made our way to our table I saw the wait staff , both male and female , laden with huge trays of food that looked delicious. I remember thinking " wow, that must be going to a big family"...it wasn't.

It went to a table of two.

SHE and I checked the  breakfast menu ( it folded out to 3 pages), and when the waitress came I ordered two eggs and sausage.The waittress ( who had clearly fallen in love with me at first sight, poor thing) then asked me if I wanted whole wheat toast or white. " No toast for me thanks" I said.

" Home fried potatoes or hash browns?" I didn't want either but , you know...when in Cincinatti... "Hash Browns I guess" was my reply.

" Do you want gravy on your biscuits or do you want them just with jelly?" Huh?

"Now for your pancakes you can have either buckwheat, buttermilk, or blueberry and what kind of syrup do you want on your pancakes?" I felt sorry for the poor thing, she obviously had fallen for me so hard that she had totally gotten confused and mixed up the entire menu.

"I just want a couple of eggs and some sausage" I said and to clear it up for her I pointed to it on the menu. The waittress , even in her befuddled state ( poor thing),  then pointed out the asterisk I had missed. My two eggs and sausage CAME with all this other food. So much for my " she's trying to get to my heart (poor thing) through my stomach " theory.This was the normal breakfast!!

I looked over at the table for two I mentioned earlier. There was enough food there to feed half of Ethiopia, or a Northern Ontario hockey team.

I cancelled my order seeing as I had no Ethiopians and no hockey team with me. Mercifully SHE took over at this point , even more mercifully the waittress screwed up and we ended up having eggs benedict, two eggs with some kind of sauce on a split english muffin...and that was all. It was more than enough.

I'm a pretty big guy, 6'2 on my left foot, 6'1 on my right. I wear a large shirt and I like food to go with my beer.But there is no way in hell I could have eaten all the food they wanted to serve me for breakfast !!

I don't know any Canadian who would have even if they could have.I figure Americans must eat breakfast on Saturdays and then nothing else for the rest of the week.

Another difference between us.