"SO LONG, LUDDITE!"

As time goes by, I get scared of this shit. Like I'll forget how to go off on tangents and be terribly inconcise, which is apparently not a word. Since fucking when, I say.

This is a week of big deals. Yesterday, I activated the apparently "cheap-ass" cell phone my friend Nick gave me in September when he crossed over to the dark side, aka iPhoneville. I had to go to the Virgin Mobile clinic in the Eaton Centre, a very scary place.

The girl there told me that my V-card I bought at Esso wasn't working because after three months without putting money on the phone, the number goes kaput.

Honey treated me like I was from another planet. Which I am, but let's be frank, I look a lot like real people that are not aliens in disguise.

Perhaps you heard a couple of weeks ago that 40% of adults in China and India are onto us, in that they believe that aliens walk the earth disguised as humans.

The truth is out there.

See: Victoria Beckam.




















Soanyway. I decided that not having a cell phone kind of harshes my game. When it comes to booty calls, it's like going to McGill and not taking Ritalin. Plus, I think I'll be a killer txt flrt. Seriously you guys, I used to be really good at MSN.

"Good start, Nicola."

Okay, current events... Guru passed away last week, which brought me back to straight kicking it with my dear friend Georgia in France in the summer of 2001. It was all about Jazzmatazz. Nectar from a Mason jar, 7 dollar dress. And Marlboro Lights. And hash. Them were the days, for sure. Now, let's take it back to the high school house party...



One of my favourite BBC Radio1 DJS, Gilles Peterson, made his show this past week a Guru tribute, which you can listen to here but only for the next 13 hours, so get on it.

I find Gilles Peterson generally throws down great foreplay music. I think if you grab a bottle of red and listen to his show from the beginning with one total fox, you'll probably score at least a steamy make-out sesh. So get flirting, team.

If it were at all possible, I would love to keep him in my back pocket to provide original soundtracks to get down to. I think this is a really great idea. A house DJ to provide a musical score for your sex life. Like a personal chef but way cooler. Rather than "I'm feeling bloated, lean fish and steamed vegetables, please" it would be like, "So tonight we're feeling taking some ecstacy and fucking on the pool table. Gilles, man, we trust you so just go with our pace, and if you could throw in a little Daft Punk, that would be great."

You dig??

More big deals to be shared shortly, thanks for coming.