Ginch (gnch), n. [Cdn. under garments], a wife-husband musical venture with no interest in making money.

Christopher writes the music, plays all the instruments, records, produces and, Allah willing, Mellissa will sing. Otherwise Christopher is forced to drink vast amounts of cheap, Canadian beer and try to belch something melodic.

"...so I was in between drinks while walking between bars and this wisp of a girl came up to me and said, "Hey mister. Give me dollar." So I told her, "Dance like a gypsy." Anyways, I spilled my drink on her and she got mad. But I gave her the dollar anyways because I was feeling generous. Two years later, I was sitting on the crapper when I remembered the little wench who should have danced like a gypsy for me and I figured, "Who cares. She looked like a boy anyways." And then there was the time I was messed up on magic mushrooms and fell down. That was scary. So when I met my wife I was obviously done with living a crazy life like that. Getting high and falling down: that's for single people. Now I drink and have three cats, except one is missing. But that's okay, he got under my feet and tripped me and when I fell down I was scared. I don't miss him in the slightest. Oh, by the way, I don't take music seriously and neither should you. That's why god invented draft beer. To make musicians feel better -- actually, really great -- after they figure out the music industry is a kind of like a BYOB bar and its up to you to create the art, tour it, record it and dance like a gypsy so someone you'll never, ever meet can make a living off of you. If little girls won't dance like a gypsy for me, I'm not going to dance like one for them. Besides, falling off stages are scary."

-Christopher, drunk and interviewed in a pub.

Mike Patton, Led Zeppelin, No Doubt...and...Mike Patton. Wildcat beer (Nova Scotia's poor man's ale), bootleg tobacco, twinkly lights, things that are shiny and that funny looking baby with one eye brow who's out to get me when he grows up.