Video Of The Week: Men Without Hats

You can dance if you want to, you can leave your friends behind, 'cause your friends don't dance and if your friends don't dance, well, they're no friends of mine. Or maybe they are, I don't know, I'm not much of a dancer anymore...

Long gone are the days of my breakdancing youth...

I chose this Men Without Hats song for a simple reason: I'll be playing it on Sunday at the Sake Of The Songs benefit show for the Mile-End Mission - which really needs the proceeds these days, what with the minus-30 weather and all - along with a song by Sarah McLachlan (Hold On) and one by Richard Desjardins (Pis J'ai Couché Dans Mon Char).

The evening's theme is ''Canadian Folk'', and while I mostly respect it with the other two artists, I'm stretching it quite a bit with this song - but they expect me to cross certain lines at these shows anyway; there are enough straightforward folkies playing the event anyway, they kind of need me as a mood breaker/comic relief.

I'll likely have the video playing in my head while I'm belting it out, too, and will imagine little people all around me. Maybe.

Not My Month

From back pain to frozen bank accounts to being out of work to finding work for a week but having it be useless for the first day to it being the coldest month of the year, it just hasn't been my month.

Just sayin'. There's been no recess.

Murphy Strikes Again

Ok, so this winter was a little less bad than they normally are, but I still managed to go cold-free, flu-free, back injury-free and even indigestion-free for all of it, despite not being among the sheep who were vaccinated.

So Saturday, as it was 25 degrees (pretty much 80 for my American friends), I went out wearing jeans, shoes, a t-shirt, a hoodie and a cap - and I caught a cold. What. The. Fuck.

April is the worst tease of all the months - 25 in July won't get you a cold, and 25 in September is a miracle. Winter's Hell, and Summer is what Life is about. The in-betweens are rainy, either brimming with promise (Spring) or announcing a slow and painful death (Autumn).

So my throat's killing me, my nose is running a marathon and dripping more than Meat Loaf at a concert - while everybody else is having a good time.

Guess I'm Doing Fine

It's not the first snow storm of the year, it might not even be the second one, but it's the most annoying, for sure. The first one to make me forgo sleep because it'll be more of a bitch to get home and come back to work than just stay here and write.

I'll need caffeine and uppers: Pepsi, Rockstar (pomegranate flavour, with vodka, because it doesn't specify a daily limit I can intake), Wake Ups. To start. Then, in a couple of hours, I'll decide if I need more - or stronger - material. Hopefully not, because I'm more than due for a full night's sleep tonight... seven nights in the making. Wouldn't want my day's consumption to ruin the night I so rightfully deserve.

I'm seeing birds flying in the top-right corner of my right eye, my left eye feels like it's covered in Vaseline, my balance is off a bit; I probably look like a drunk when I walk the hallways going to washroom.

My headphones are on, and ironically '80s-style goth-rock fills my ears, adding to the sense that I'm out of synch with the world; Joy Division's Transmission, And One's Military Fashion Show, The Cure's The Blood... never has the 'random' feature been so focused.

My stomach grawls, as wretched gases fight to leave my body's premises. I'm freezing one minute, boiling the next. Outside, the world is not only covered in white Artic Leftovers but actually drowning in it, not inch by inch but foot by foot. Sitting inside, ten feet from the windowsill, I wonder if death will feel this weird, if I'm nearing it somehow with my decadent lifestyle. I wouldn't be ready, that's for sure.

To think two months ago I was in Cuba, the one place on earth that makes you truly wonder about divinity, but also the one place where you wouldn't need it.

My body is doing all it can to shut down. My eyes close, my brain blinks, my mouth won't open. Nine more hours and it'll be smooth sailing. Cold sweat covers me, shivers take over, a wonderful piece of machinery that needs to rest.

Beck comes on, with Guess I'm Doing Fine. Figures.