My body works backwards.
During some winter months, Heather and I join a cross-fit exercise class at our local rec center. Most of the exercises are challenging because, well, if they weren’t, why would we want to do them?
But some of the exercises are challenging to me and not most of the other participants. When we’re supposed to take our right hands and touch our left feet, I typically take my right hand and touch my right foot. And similar things happen with other exercises.
I call it body dyslexia.
“Disabled” is not a good word, because it’s a label. A person living with a disability is a better way to describe those of us who are challenged in one or more areas because that’s only a part of who we are – not the whole.
I’m living with body dyslexia.
And dancing? Impossible for me.
The “DANCE” photo is courtesy of Georgia de Lotz via Unsplash. Used under a Creative Commons license.
I’ve seen a lot of live music over the years. My favorite shows are always in small venues. I love to see musicians up close. Their interaction with the crowd is often more personal. And it’s fun to think that we could shake hands during the show if we wanted to.
Small venues like to feature local musicians as the opening acts. It’s great for smaller bands to grab a little of the spotlight often reserved for national acts. Sometimes that propels them to fame.
But often the contrast is huge. Professionalism, musicianship, and overall quality of the performances are often massively better for the national acts.
Occasionally, opening bands are better. Sometimes I’ve seen shows where I went for the main band and ended up being introduced to an opening act that became a favorite band. That’s a refreshing surprise.
I always like to give each band a chance. I may not like their style or attitude, but I try to listen with an open mind and open ears.
The photo is Mimi Parker of the band Low. I saw her and the rest of the band on Friday night, March 8, 2019.
I’m burned out on Christmas music.
My brother and I used to both get a Christmas CD every year. The variety of interpretations of classic Christmas carols and songs was always interesting.
Until ten years or so ago.
Then stores and parking lots and hospitals and everywhere except your car or home began playing Christmas songs from the day after Thanksgiving onward.
It’s just too much. And there’s no choice.
Their bad = my bad.
“Ninety minutes from New York to Paris.”
Donald Fagen sang that in his retro-futuristic album, The Nightfly.*
A transatlantic flight in the Concorde jet actually took 173 minutes. But that was still pretty darn fast. It was faster than any commercial jet that is currently flying.
When we lived in England, 21 years ago, it was the twilight of the Concorde era. Those amazing jets were being phased out because they made a lot of noise (breaking the sound barrier) and were very expensive to fly.
But British Airways had a special around Christmas time – you could fly the Concorde to Iceland for something like $150 round-trip. But that was more than we could afford at the time.
I will always regret not taking that flight.
Photo courtesy of Eduard Marmet and used via the Wikimedia Commons license.
* Great album, by the way – if you’re into jazz-pop of that era.
My company is moving out of the current office that they’re renting to a building that they’re buying.
It’s financially wise, from what our CFO says.
But I will miss Coverall. Their Colorado office is in our soon-to-be past building.
My dad wore Coveralls. They were one-piece work clothes, kinda like this. (Little did I know that Urban Outfitters sells them now.)
Turns out Coverall is a janitorial service – with a 1-star rating on Google.
I never went into their office, but I have a few days left. Maybe I will.