I met with the producer of the new video today, signing some papers, talking some sniz over a long deserved triple americano (I LOOOOVE caffeine) and I want to show you the production stills so badly. Like, SO badly. But alas, you must wait, such is the game.
This year has definitely taught me to learn to sleep on stuff. I am a raging insommniac who often wakes up in the middle of the night to work on microdetails no one will ever notice, a compulsively on-time deadline-oriented triple-check multi-tasking control freak about most things (especially my art) — so this waiting game has been exceptionally trying to get used to.
I remember walking into the label office a few minutes early for a meeting one time just after I got signed and they were all looking at me like “dude, you’re not supposed to be here for another 20 minutes… rock n roll time.” I HATE that. It is so the antithesis of my whole 80’s WALL STREET time-is-money-don’t-fuck-around-with-mine vibe (yeah I am the deformed evil twin of chill-with-the-acoustic-guitar-and-smoke-weed-it’ll-happen-when-fate-says-it’s-time; indirectly related to bad-haircut-and-ironic-queen-st-facial-hair-indie-rock. Both of them are second cousins to hey-man-lets-get-some-tallboys-and-play-hacky-sack-in-the-park, against whom I have developed severe allergies).
So now I’m learning to operate on rock n roll time without feeling like a total asshole — although I am probably still more on time then most of the people I know and yet I still feel like a dick about it. Ha. Moron Time. So when you see me arriving late to an event you can secretly have a song in your heart for the knowledge of my debut in breaking the timebarrier. You were my Flux Capacitor all along, baby.
Missed seeing Care while she was here for the holidays, so I might just be forced to go down to LA LA LAND and check in with a bitch while she’s recording the new DM album. We have this theory that we are not, in fact, allowed by the laws of space and time to be in the same city at the same time. I swear to god, any photo you see of her & I is totally digitally enhanced. She’s like the Polkaroo with me. (If you live outside Canada you need to google that shit, it’s Canadian children’s programming and we were all raised on it. Say “Polkaroo” to any Canadian artist and they’ll DIE. Literally. It’s like saying BLOODY MARY in the mirror in the dark.)
I was talking to a friend who DEMANDED I bring back a popular running blog I used to do, THINGS I HATE (yeah I am totally original), but I’m actually in a good mood today and all amped out on Sugarfree RedBull en route to rehearsal, so instead I will plagiarize him completely, as he send me this email earlier today.. You know, just so we ease you into it instead of giving you a list of like 15 things at once.
A THING I HATE:
“Toronto hating, small town ontario people/families haters at downtown Starbucks
Look, ok we can tolerate the “toronto is not canada!” diatribe. But if you’re going to sell out and get in line with the purveyors of $4 coffee (heavens no), at least learn there isnt a fucking “medium regular”. Also, don’t ask questions. That’s what the starbucks website is for – to initiate the FOB (fresh out the barn) prior to their big city adventure. Now mush along.”
Yes, that’s what it’s about.
Still haven’t died yet, maybe see you later??