by RAF KATIGBAK

This week's Richie Hawtin interview was one of the toughest I've ever had to do. I mean tough in the "physically challenging" sense. Here's the scoop.

It's early Wednesday morning. My alarm is honking steadily and I decide that an extra nine minutes of snoozing couldn't hurt. "After all," I say to myself, "the Richie Hawtin interview is a whole hour away." Forty-five minutes later, following one of the most engaging talking-hot-dog dreams of my life, I wake up with a start. With T-minus 15 minutes before his call from Thailand, I frantically put my desk into interview mode. Questions: check. Notepad: check. Extra-strength cup of coffee: check. Tape recorder: check. Batteries for tape recorder: SHIT!

Heart pounding, I grab my coat and run to the Radio Shack in the mall across the street. With seven minutes to spare, I run back across the street, perilously dodging cars like that Frogger game (but instead of a frog, imagine a dishevelled Asian man in a parka and Spongebob Squarepants pyjamas). As I put my key in the door and turn the key, I feel a strange click in the lock and notice that the key doesn't actually stop turning. As I pull it out, the inner workings of the lock pop out in a volley of springs and tiny complicated pieces of metal. After feeling my heart stop for 7.9 seconds, I realized what I had to do. I'm not sure if it was my selfless dedication to journalistic integrity or the fact that the freezing cold temperatures had caused my genitalia to retreat well into my body, but I was determined to get back inside. In one swift motion, I quickly scaled the four-storey ladder at the back of the small building next to my apartment, jumped down 10 feet onto the neighbouring roof, climbed up my rear balcony and busted down my back door. Alarm wailing, I quickly alerted the authorities to the false alarm and settled down to my desk battered, bruised, partially hypothermic and with one whole minute to spare.

Of course, Hawtin's cell phone wasn't working and we didn't actually talk for another 45 minutes, but that's a whole other story.

This Saturday, Jan. 31, you can help DJs Amyl Nitrate and Radiowhore blow out their first candle at Missy Bar as they bring out the best indie pop, '60s pop, new wave, electro, glam rock and classic alternative tunes for the first anniversary of their Razzamatazz nights at Missy. As always, beautiful people and no cover, guaranteed!

Don't forget to catch residents Bliss and Melon as they welcome West Coast breakmeister Kemek the Dope Computer at Blizzarts's new Apesh!t night tonight, Thursday, Jan. 29. The perfect thing to toast yer buns on these frosty nights. Or check out NYC sexy-lectro duo Avenue D at Mini's Overdose night at the Parking.

Piñebo! Ibajumbo! Diskoakimbo@sympatico.ca

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