Well, Tica was great! I, on the other hand, really struggled. I had a major equipment malfunction (with my effects pedals and electric), could not hear myself over the air conditioning unit cooling the Co-op, and my face was dripping with Florida sweat. In a very sweet and mostly effective attempt to help, Joe set out a fan, but my hair just kept blowing into my sweat and lipstick… AAAARRGH! Well, I was so worried about my face melting that I just couldn’t focus. What, me shallow and vain? Eh, the gigs can’t always be glorious, at least I killed at the CMC a month or so back. But not in the courtyard the other night, I played sloppily, sang shrilly, and just couldn’t keep it together. Upside: it wasn’t stagefright that got me this time, just everything else. It was OK, but if I were in the audience I doubt I’d be in a hurry to come to any more of my gigs. Anyhow, here’s an appropriate pic from the gig.
Me (Barefoot Justine Mara Andersen) appropriately enshrouded in darkness and psychedelia.
Barefoot Justine 
Yeah, that picture say says it all.
And what, dear Ed, does it say? Be careful, I have planted landmines all around that question.
Not sure yet. But I will come up with something… tiptoeing through landmines and all. But I do think I seen that back drop on an episode of The Partridge Family when Mr. Kincade got the band to play at the local pizza parlor. What does that mean you ask? It means I am drinking cheap beer and not making sense.
Groovy.
Oh wait. It means that performance won’t be on the ‘Barefoot Justine’ live album.
Well done, you have learned how to dodge feminine landmines, I see.