I don't know why, but this video sometimes makes me want to cry. I've watched it, and the early versions quite a bit. Maybe it's because for just a few minutes people are dancing and happy, and the often ugly realities of the difficult world do not intrude.

The story behind this video is that there's this guy called Matt who has basically (badly) danced his way around the world - 3 times (Wikipedia). The 1st was at his own expense, and 2nd and 3rd were sponsored by Stride Gum.

From what he's written on his blog - Where the Hell is Matt, and said in interviews (like this one in the Globe & Mail) - they are a very cool sponsor. He didn't even have to wear a t-shirt with their logo on it, let alone pose with a pack of their gum. There's just a credit at the end - with their logo - thanking them for their generosity. Very classy. He's declined to say exactly how much they gave him, but he notes that he travelled cheaply and used an inexpensive non-professional camera to shoot the videos.

How did all this get started? Well, he was working at what many would consider a dream job (in the games industry), but it was killing his spirit, so he saved up some money and just walked away. That's a pretty brave thing to do. I guess he just didn't want to get stuck on the dreaded 50x50x50 plan (fifty hours a week at work, for fifty weeks a year, for fifty years). I can certainly relate to that. Security is one thing, but getting your soul slaughtered is another.

Math may be an international language, but so is dancing - no matter the country or culture, it's just a natural thing - and in this 3rd outing, he gets others to dance with him. And definitely the music is very evocative. I've already downloaded it for the ZUNE I just got for FREE (more on that shortly, including an unboxing video).

So, I've been spring cleaning and rearranging my place. I've got a lot of stuff, too much actually, and had decided it was time to do yet another cull. It's not all junk, very little of it actually. There's lots of magazines, books, graphic novels, gym equipment, and all sorts of gadgets and equipment (most working, some not). Basically, I grabbed some boxes and started making different sorts of piles. I decided to give some to friends, and list other stuff on my local FreeCycle, which is this world-wide phenomen where you send and email to get rid of stuff, and also to get stuff. The idea is to keep things out of landfills.

In the middle of getting all this sorted, I smashed my foot up against my vertical climbing machine, and immediately knew I had done some serious damage beyond just simply stubbing some toes. It was some minutes before I could even bring myself to look at my foot, that's how scared I was. When I did, it was various shades of purple. Turns out that I broke my baby toe, dislocated the next toe, and badly sprained the middle toe of my right foot. Of course, unless you break your big toe, or break off a toe, there's not really much they can do for you. It's all about the ice, walking slow, and taking baby steps (literally).

I already have serious foot problems to do with their structure (fairly wide, and practically flat), so this really was the last thing I needed. And ever since my neighbour's stupid dog snacked on one of my very expensive custom orthotics last year, I've been in a world of pain. The new ones just aren't as good although they are worth about the same. And no, she didn't offer to take care of the expense. But I digress. I had to get out my stupid crutches I had from back when I was getting my sports-wrecked knees fixed, and put my pre-paid Crossfit (more on CF later, it's totally crazy) membership on hold for all of June. I'd previously worked out there with a sprained ankle (stupid broken sidewalk), and a modified program, but it quickly became clear to me that there was no way to tough it out this time.

A week after I did this to myself, I hobbled over to a giant book giveaway at the local church. Usually it takes me 1 to 2 minutes to get to that building. This time it took me 20. I knew it would be well-attended, but I was determined to go, and promised myself to be careful and vigilant. While I was busy watching out for running kids and heifer-sized guys, some tiny little woman stepped right on my broken toes. I tried - unsuccessfully - to smother my anguished scream. It wasn't on purpose I know, and I could tell she felt really bad. I thought I was going to throw up for sure, and I had to sit down for quite awhile. Anyway, after that it took a full month to even start to heal, and I had to wear slippers, something I never do!

Well, it's been almost 8 weeks now, and they are still problematic, but at least they're nearing normal size and colour. And you can bet I am being very careful, to the point of paranoia, around the house.