Back in 2008, I felt like I was one of the last people to find out about Girl Talk. I'd have to say I learned about this music that has been described as a "sound collage," basically a mash-up of all different sorts of music, in two equally responsible, but parallel paths. A friend of mine introduced me to it one weekend in Chicago. I think we were sleepy, but it was time to go back out on the town (a good motivator is a necessity when you've been at a football game all day in the frigid cold). When it came on, I instantly loved it because it was like a delicious vidalia onion of music - layer upon layer of songs -- a constantly evolving sound that made music from choas, filled with familiar hooks and beats from songs that spanned the history of a TimeLife music compliation. It was something I'd never heard before (think Journey blended with Jay-Z, for example).
Now don't get me wrong, back in high school and college, I might have been "sort of" on the fringe of the music scene with an awareness of punk, alternative and college bands (just really enough to impress guys, but not enough to make any intellectual claim as might occur if I were in living in High Fidelity). At this point in my life, I am definitely not in the know when it comes to these sort of things (unless I accidentally happen upon it, which is really how I learn about anything that seems ahead of the curve, pure happenstance. A benefit of being a Sagittarius, I guess). My pop culture knowledge of music is even more hindered because I primarily listen to only one type of music (of course that's country).
But, back to my origins of discovering Girl Talk -- At the same time, I heard a review of his songs on NPR, most likely while commuting to or from work one day. With these two paths of knowledge now converging, I knew where and how to get my hands on his music, and I knew this was right up my alley. When I got home, I bought the "pay what you want" download, which I thought was pretty cool (first and only experience with that). In an instant, I was gettin' down all over the house - my cat probably thought I was nuts -- well, probably not, I did (and still do) that a lot. Anyway, I had an hours plus worth of Girl Talk mash-ups to motivate me during work-outs. At that point, I was mainly running and this music is perfect for running.
But in addition to being great for work outs, I loved the mash-ups for another reason. The music I experienced when I was growing up was probably 75 percent driven by what my parents were listening to at the moment. And they had diverse tastes, which is no wonder why I have diverse tastes - you listen to country, but love Gaga?? I can remember listening to Preppy Deluxe, The Drifters, Sam Cooke, Buddy Holly and the Crickets, Dirty Dancing (and More Dirty Dancing), John Denver, Stand By Me, The Coasters, Whitney Houston, Michael Jackson - the list goes on and on. Once the cassette tape took off, my parents amassed an enormous collection of music - from what they heard growing up to what was popular at the time. This was certainly thanks to my ignorantly signing them up for a mail order music club (you remember, get seven records for one penny - and you actually taped the penny to the mail in subcription). I sent that in (why I didn't raise an eyebrow from my parents when I asked for an envelope and stamp and probably some personal information, I don't know) and as suddently as the seven "free" records arrived in the mail one day, we were locked in to the club membership for at least one year. I'm sure some laws have changed that makes this completely illegal now, but back then - I think my parents just decided that they loved music enough to keep the club membership and make the most of my mistake.
Because of this extensive collection that probably played like an encyclopedia of American music from the 1950s-1990s, nine times out of 10, I can bust out the lyrics to almost any Motown song, beach music song, and so forth - I love to play that game with the radio because I always win, beating out competition in a matter of seconds. I was born into a family that loved music, and a family with many musical abilities. My maternal grandfather was a band teacher in South Carolina, eventually earning the "Order of the Palmetto" for his contributions to youth and music in the state prior to his passing. My mother was an accomplished clarinettist and her brothers were all talented musicians, two of which are still active in bands today. My paternal grandfather owned a radio station - fostering my father's love of music as well (as well as fueling his record collection). And, me, I used to be able to sing (although, without practice you lose it), but even with a faltering voice, I still love to sing along, especially to that old Motown sound, all warm and fuzzy accompanied by the rich thump of a real bass. The sound that reminds me of countless road trips to Myrtle Beach and the scenes I would imagine of what it was like back in the 50s and 60s.
So, a few months ago, I learned that Gregg Gillis (AKA Girl Talk) was coming to Charlotte. Even though it was on a week night, I just had to go and see this guy in action. I bought my tickets and then made the mistake of reading a blog post about how to survive a Girl Talk concert (from a recent show in New Orleans). It sounded like maddness - prepare to sweat (yes, it sounded like even more sweat than my hot yoga class), then the crowds, people pushing against each other, there was a mention of people being on extasy that pretty much freaked me out. I wasn't exactly sure if this was for me...it just sounded as chaotic as the mash-ups themselves.
After stressing about the fact that I might have to stay up late the night of the show for almost a week, coming up with a million excuses of why I might have to bail out, the night finally arrived. I thought the show might last until the wee hours of the morning, but after all that stress - it ended at 11 p.m.! I honestly couldn't believe it. In the future, I must remind myself that as with most things, it usually ends up working out, so it's not worth stressing over. What happened to shows that last until 2 a.m.? Not that I was asking for that, but an early end to the show was not what I was expecting.
But back to the show - it was a blast - definitely chaotic and the closest thing to a "rave" that I will ever attend - stuff just kept flying off the stage and into the flailing arms of the crowd below - balloons, confetti, beach balls, toilet paper - it was like being at a Blue Man Group show, except the people on stage dancing around the DJ booth weren't blue, they were just dressed up in 80s work-out gear (also unexpected), but as told -- they were sweating it out, and I mean, they were sweating it out, not just to the oldies, but to some goodies in there too. It was like a snapshot of the Y from about 20 years ago -- one guy even looked like he was leading a step class or high impact aerobics to get really 80s about it. Make no bones about it - I was standing safely off to the side (yes, I am lame, but I did not want to join the crowd - I value my personal space now).
I wish it could have been on a weekend, but I did get to see the man in action (who apparently is a biomedical engineer?), rocking back and forth from his computer, letting the music take him and the crowd where it wanted to go (well, I'm guessing it was a computer, I couldn't see since I wasn't able to put my 30-something-year-old-self up in the mosh pit. Those days are long gone.) I was amazed to see all these young kids around me, and it reminded me that about 15 years ago, I was one of those kids so totally wrapped up in the music and the moment (however, I was way too straight be drinking, smoking or on drugs, which I'm sure many of these kids at the show were, sadly).
But, I had a youthful energy that I'm sure radiated off me to the 30 plus year-olds in the crowd, maybe reminding them of carefree, earlier years. Of course, most shows that I attended in high school or college did not end at 11 p.m. - that part, in addition to the venue, seemed a little commercial to me. There was also a taped "line" of where the standing area was and where the walking area was. I remember seeing shows in Charlotte at the Milestone Club, 13-13 or the Pterodactyl. Those were basically fire traps, but there weren't a lot of rules - it just seemed like it was more real, more freedom, made you feel closer to the music. And there was no tape to create a path - you had to work your way through the people to get to the restrooms.
I was definitely more of an observer, and as I watched the crowd "get up and dance," I had a realization that I probably won't be going to shows (not that I go to many now) like this for much longer. A feeling that started when my husband and I went to the Jackopierce show last year at the Visulite - it's just different now, because my life is different -- so much has happened, so much has changed, with more changes to come. Once I start my role as "mom," I'll be attending concerts with my children (yikes - my parents got some good ones, like Milli Vanilli, ugh...is that in my future...)
But needless to say, I'm glad that I went. I didn't even feel that old either, despite the nostalgia - probably helped by the fact that because we thought the show would start late, we didn't arrive until close to 10. So, an hour was probably an ideal amount for me - I could get my groove on as the DJ Gregg Gillis peeled back the layers on the onion, while in my mind, I peeled back the layers of music over the years, each song triggering memories from the past or creating new memories for the future.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
I'll Take the #3...Oh Wait, Is that What I Ordered?
If you're out to dinner with me and we're at a restaurant where I have dined often, there is a 99 percent chance that I will order the exact same meal that I have ordered on previous visits. Usually, this is done very covertly, without pomp and circumstance, until I can no longer resist the urge to say that what I'm about to order is the absolute, very best thing on the menu.
Once everyone has released the breathe of air they were holding waiting for this to happen - what rings out is a chorus (sometimes in surround-sound) of, "we know, Betsy either orders the best or worse thing on the menu." Then it is typically followed up by sneers or jeers and maybe a few "remember when Betsy ordered..." stories.
One of the more common themes of my misadventures seems to revolve around restaurants.There's so much good food for fodder here (pun intended) - for instance, I have a track record of encountering several non-food items in my ordering (hence, one of the reasons I feel I am justified to say that I often order "worst thing on the menu" versus just "something not that great on the menu"). And, yes, my top ten list is completely disgusting and I will not go into that and mess up my lovely blog that revolves around pies. I will say that recently I did find an arm hair (not mine) in a taco and that doesn't even grace the top five.
Another example, although you might not believe me and hopefully some friends will comment on this - is that if there is a bug to be found, it will make its way into my water, iced tea or wine without fail. Sometimes, even if I get a new glass and new liquid, more bugs will find their way into my drink. It has happened so often that I pretty much continue to drink my wine or water as long as the size of the bugs is minute (not to be totally gross, but when possible, I'll fish them out). I gave up being grossed out or annoyed by this long ago. Seriously, I'd never drink anything out at a restaurant ever again if I didn't make these concessions.
I absolutely love food and I enjoy a great meal out. That is why I insist on always striving for "the best thing on the menu." And usually, I get it right. Sometimes it takes a few tries at my ordering technique to obtain ordering perfection, often requiring multiple visits. It takes a lot of work for me to settle on what I want to order -- deep thought, attention to detail, weighing of the pros and cons, what am I in the mood for? All these questions must be answered before I can make the right selection. And when it is the right selection, it is worth it, which is why I tend to always order the same thing again and again. Why deviate when you know you won't be disappointed? When you know it will be just as delicious as it was last time? The only issue is when there is a new chef and it's made completely different. It is just devastating to me - hard to recover from that one (well...at least until dessert!).
Now, I have to admit that there is only one restaurant out there where I have rarely ordered the same thing, and I have done this NOT because I "ordered the worst thing," but because the menu is so compelling and food so delicious, I have preceded to eat my way through just about the entire menu over the many years I've lived in Charlotte. Props to 300 East. *cue the fingers to the thumb, brings her hand up to her lips and makes that kissing noise* Simply divine food.
But I digress, back to my main point here - sometimes it takes a few tries at my ordering technique to get to ordering nirvana, and today was no exception. A few weeks ago, I tried out one of the latest hot lunch places in uptown Charlotte, Newk's. I got one of the salads and I liked it okay, but felt I could do better. So, today I thought, I'd like a little less food (the salad bowl was bigger than my head) - I'll go with a half soup and half salad. So I place my order and wait for it to arrive. I get my little half salad, but I am presented with the largest bowl of soup I've ever seen. "This is not mine," I say. The server asks, "what did you order?" I explain - "I got the half soup." He says, "This is the soup." I counter, "I thought it was small" (and point to my co-worker's smaller bowl of soup accompanying his half sandwich). Exit server, leaving me in a state of confusion with an enormous bowl of soup. I still have some work to do here.
On the way out, I had to look back at the menu. Yep, there it was - in black and white - you can either get a half soup and half sandwich or a half salad and bowl (yes, that is bowl) of soup. What is that?!?! That defeats the purpose of a half and half. I wanted smaller portions. Apparently, I need to read the menu more closely.
And just another aside, I do have a tendency to over order as well - having done this most recently (and egregiously) at Shomar's. My co-workers love to go there and it took me about five or six times to land on my perfect "best thing on the menu" - the Greek chef salad with chicken, no shell and pita on the side. One time I ordered the gyro platter - what arrived but the largest plate of food I've ever seen - lamb meat stacked sky high, on top of french fries, with lettuce, tomato, a side greek salad and a plate of pita on the side. I could have fed a small country.
My menu foibles continued on throughout the day apparently. I went to East Blvd Bar and Grill tonight and ordered a very tasty and delicious USA Burger. Thinking it was just the standard cheese burger, I was shocked to see it arrive with three pieces of bacon on top. "That is not mine..." *Reprise lunch dialogue with server.* It was an odd sense of deja vu. In this case, let me tell you, the customer was not right. Again, I apparently did not read the full menu. Although, really, when I think of a USA burger, I think of the basic burger...but I didn't get the memo about the bacon. Still good though.
Needless to say there are two certainties (well, probably many more) that will occur if you are out with me at a restaurant. The first is that there will be drama, and most likely high drama during both the ordering phase and the delivery of food phase of the process. The second is that I will order either the "best thing on the menu" or I will take a wrong turn somewhere and truly end up with the "worst thing on the menu." But I can guarantee that no matter which way my meal ends up, it will definitely be an entertaining dining experience.
Once everyone has released the breathe of air they were holding waiting for this to happen - what rings out is a chorus (sometimes in surround-sound) of, "we know, Betsy either orders the best or worse thing on the menu." Then it is typically followed up by sneers or jeers and maybe a few "remember when Betsy ordered..." stories.
One of the more common themes of my misadventures seems to revolve around restaurants.There's so much good food for fodder here (pun intended) - for instance, I have a track record of encountering several non-food items in my ordering (hence, one of the reasons I feel I am justified to say that I often order "worst thing on the menu" versus just "something not that great on the menu"). And, yes, my top ten list is completely disgusting and I will not go into that and mess up my lovely blog that revolves around pies. I will say that recently I did find an arm hair (not mine) in a taco and that doesn't even grace the top five.
Another example, although you might not believe me and hopefully some friends will comment on this - is that if there is a bug to be found, it will make its way into my water, iced tea or wine without fail. Sometimes, even if I get a new glass and new liquid, more bugs will find their way into my drink. It has happened so often that I pretty much continue to drink my wine or water as long as the size of the bugs is minute (not to be totally gross, but when possible, I'll fish them out). I gave up being grossed out or annoyed by this long ago. Seriously, I'd never drink anything out at a restaurant ever again if I didn't make these concessions.
I absolutely love food and I enjoy a great meal out. That is why I insist on always striving for "the best thing on the menu." And usually, I get it right. Sometimes it takes a few tries at my ordering technique to obtain ordering perfection, often requiring multiple visits. It takes a lot of work for me to settle on what I want to order -- deep thought, attention to detail, weighing of the pros and cons, what am I in the mood for? All these questions must be answered before I can make the right selection. And when it is the right selection, it is worth it, which is why I tend to always order the same thing again and again. Why deviate when you know you won't be disappointed? When you know it will be just as delicious as it was last time? The only issue is when there is a new chef and it's made completely different. It is just devastating to me - hard to recover from that one (well...at least until dessert!).
Now, I have to admit that there is only one restaurant out there where I have rarely ordered the same thing, and I have done this NOT because I "ordered the worst thing," but because the menu is so compelling and food so delicious, I have preceded to eat my way through just about the entire menu over the many years I've lived in Charlotte. Props to 300 East. *cue the fingers to the thumb, brings her hand up to her lips and makes that kissing noise* Simply divine food.
But I digress, back to my main point here - sometimes it takes a few tries at my ordering technique to get to ordering nirvana, and today was no exception. A few weeks ago, I tried out one of the latest hot lunch places in uptown Charlotte, Newk's. I got one of the salads and I liked it okay, but felt I could do better. So, today I thought, I'd like a little less food (the salad bowl was bigger than my head) - I'll go with a half soup and half salad. So I place my order and wait for it to arrive. I get my little half salad, but I am presented with the largest bowl of soup I've ever seen. "This is not mine," I say. The server asks, "what did you order?" I explain - "I got the half soup." He says, "This is the soup." I counter, "I thought it was small" (and point to my co-worker's smaller bowl of soup accompanying his half sandwich). Exit server, leaving me in a state of confusion with an enormous bowl of soup. I still have some work to do here.
On the way out, I had to look back at the menu. Yep, there it was - in black and white - you can either get a half soup and half sandwich or a half salad and bowl (yes, that is bowl) of soup. What is that?!?! That defeats the purpose of a half and half. I wanted smaller portions. Apparently, I need to read the menu more closely.
And just another aside, I do have a tendency to over order as well - having done this most recently (and egregiously) at Shomar's. My co-workers love to go there and it took me about five or six times to land on my perfect "best thing on the menu" - the Greek chef salad with chicken, no shell and pita on the side. One time I ordered the gyro platter - what arrived but the largest plate of food I've ever seen - lamb meat stacked sky high, on top of french fries, with lettuce, tomato, a side greek salad and a plate of pita on the side. I could have fed a small country.
My menu foibles continued on throughout the day apparently. I went to East Blvd Bar and Grill tonight and ordered a very tasty and delicious USA Burger. Thinking it was just the standard cheese burger, I was shocked to see it arrive with three pieces of bacon on top. "That is not mine..." *Reprise lunch dialogue with server.* It was an odd sense of deja vu. In this case, let me tell you, the customer was not right. Again, I apparently did not read the full menu. Although, really, when I think of a USA burger, I think of the basic burger...but I didn't get the memo about the bacon. Still good though.
Needless to say there are two certainties (well, probably many more) that will occur if you are out with me at a restaurant. The first is that there will be drama, and most likely high drama during both the ordering phase and the delivery of food phase of the process. The second is that I will order either the "best thing on the menu" or I will take a wrong turn somewhere and truly end up with the "worst thing on the menu." But I can guarantee that no matter which way my meal ends up, it will definitely be an entertaining dining experience.
Monday, January 17, 2011
The Golden Globes - Too Much Dang Work for Real Life
After watching the Golden Globes last night, I thought I'd take a beat from last fall's "the rent is too damn high party" and title this blog accordingly. Before I begin my reflections on the night, I must admit that as someone who usually meets most political campaigning with a rolling of the eyes, I took particular delight in the New York gubernatorial race, following it very closely. I really did enjoy Jimmy McMillian and his "rent is too damn high" campaign, including the creative theme song he developed with a pumpin' beat. For becoming something of a national icon (okay maybe just for 15 minutes), I have to admit - he was straight-forward and you knew exactly where he stood on his issue. No ambiguity there. I admire that.
But I digress...After absorbing this morning's declarations of red carpet "dos" and "don'ts" (and I truly think it was definitely saying something if you were a red carpet "do;" the competition for "don'ts" was tough) - I got to thinking about all the effort that goes into looking your best for the myriad of award shows that happen throughout the year. It must be just like getting ready to get married, only it's something that happens again and again and again.
Recently, I've been reflecting about the months of preparation I took leading up to my wedding in June 2010, mainly because I used to be in shape (it was only six months ago!). I have since gained several pounds and become very, very out of shape. I ask myself after each workout that absolutely feels like torture, like I might throw up - "why, why, why did I let myself get out of shape?" What a harsh reality. I look around, who can I blame - my husband? No...I know, my kids (wait, I don't have any kids)...Oh darn. There is no one else to blame. This is something I have done to myself. I have to blame me (bites my tongue). That just makes the pride hurt that much worse!
I can remember my motivation for crossfit - I couldn't miss more than a few days in a row, otherwise the workout and next several days afterward hurt like hell. I recall getting sick one week and when I started back, it was a hellish nighmare of burpees, box jumps, thrusters and pull-ups. I can feel the sweat stinging in my eyes just thinking about it. That's probably one reason why I didn't return after the honeymoon.
I spent endless amounts of blood, sweat and tears (as I have said before) on preparing myself for the big day. And, it was so exhausting in fact, that I carried my need for rest straight through the honeymoon and most of the way through 2010 (until about Nov/Dec). I can imagine that preparing for these types of awards shows would require the exact same preparation as the big day - just more frequent. No wonder they don't gain weight, all this work would be so tiring, it would be too much effort to eat!
That would mean outfit preparation - not just figuring out what to wear, but jewelry, purses and shoes for each outfit (in the real world, you have to be your own stylist, but in the not-so-real world, I guess you'd hire someone who would probably talk you into wearing something so hideious for your body, you'd end up on the fashion "don't" list). Better to be your own stylist, I think.
After the outfit, you need perfect nails (with coordinated toe and finger nail colors), spray tanning (I did this at least five or six times, not sure how I did not end up with tanning spray all over my car by the end of it and it is not the most comfortable thing in the world. It looked pretty natural, but I did not feel natural - as I rubbed off color on anything I came in contact with. Going to the grocery store after a session was not a good idea. I was like a science project.).
There's also waxing (painful), hair cut and color (super time consuming), the list goes on and on. And not to mention all the money I spent! Well, and more so, the time! I was constantly running from one appointment to the next. I filled up a whole week before the wedding with this stuff. That's not even factoring in the constant trips to the gym (Ultimate Crossfit and hot yoga). That was just a glimpse of how I spent several weeks leading up to the wedding. My husband would be mortified (well, mainly if he knew the beauty tab)! (Although, I'm sure he loved the end result, and so did I). Don't get me wrong, I am a girly girly and love getting pampered, it was just a bit much. I did throw in a few massages, which were devine, and looking back, probably took some of the edge off.
Now, fortunately, I had a lot of spare (if you want to call it that) time to work on all of my beautifying before the wedding. And of course, if you are a celebrity, part of your "job" is finding the time to fit all of these activities into your daily life. That is not the case for real people - I haven't even been able to get my nails done in weeks (and I've been so lazy, I haven't even filed them - they are jagged edges just waiting to rip skin - watch out, I could get into a cat fight with you. Meowr!).
Perhaps this is one reason why I love to take out the old judgement hat and rain down my decisions as these scarlets walk (or hobble in a drunken stupor - you know who I'm talking about, and there's always at least one of them!) down the red carpet. We can imagine all the work and effort that has taken place for them to get into "Golden Globe" shape, and by God, don't we just love it when they fall short. All that hard work - for the Glamour "don't" page! Oh honey! Bless her heart!
For us who live in reality, we take joy in the bride walking down the aisle who looks her very best on her big day (at least I'd say 99% of us do!). And that's because as "normal people," we completely deserve to have that moment in the spotlight. It makes us feel good, seeing someone "normal" basking in the efforts of bridal preparation. So completely deserving. And apparently, as my blog would suggest, so completely lucky to only have to go through all of that preparation every now and then.
But I digress...After absorbing this morning's declarations of red carpet "dos" and "don'ts" (and I truly think it was definitely saying something if you were a red carpet "do;" the competition for "don'ts" was tough) - I got to thinking about all the effort that goes into looking your best for the myriad of award shows that happen throughout the year. It must be just like getting ready to get married, only it's something that happens again and again and again.
Recently, I've been reflecting about the months of preparation I took leading up to my wedding in June 2010, mainly because I used to be in shape (it was only six months ago!). I have since gained several pounds and become very, very out of shape. I ask myself after each workout that absolutely feels like torture, like I might throw up - "why, why, why did I let myself get out of shape?" What a harsh reality. I look around, who can I blame - my husband? No...I know, my kids (wait, I don't have any kids)...Oh darn. There is no one else to blame. This is something I have done to myself. I have to blame me (bites my tongue). That just makes the pride hurt that much worse!
I can remember my motivation for crossfit - I couldn't miss more than a few days in a row, otherwise the workout and next several days afterward hurt like hell. I recall getting sick one week and when I started back, it was a hellish nighmare of burpees, box jumps, thrusters and pull-ups. I can feel the sweat stinging in my eyes just thinking about it. That's probably one reason why I didn't return after the honeymoon.
I spent endless amounts of blood, sweat and tears (as I have said before) on preparing myself for the big day. And, it was so exhausting in fact, that I carried my need for rest straight through the honeymoon and most of the way through 2010 (until about Nov/Dec). I can imagine that preparing for these types of awards shows would require the exact same preparation as the big day - just more frequent. No wonder they don't gain weight, all this work would be so tiring, it would be too much effort to eat!
That would mean outfit preparation - not just figuring out what to wear, but jewelry, purses and shoes for each outfit (in the real world, you have to be your own stylist, but in the not-so-real world, I guess you'd hire someone who would probably talk you into wearing something so hideious for your body, you'd end up on the fashion "don't" list). Better to be your own stylist, I think.
After the outfit, you need perfect nails (with coordinated toe and finger nail colors), spray tanning (I did this at least five or six times, not sure how I did not end up with tanning spray all over my car by the end of it and it is not the most comfortable thing in the world. It looked pretty natural, but I did not feel natural - as I rubbed off color on anything I came in contact with. Going to the grocery store after a session was not a good idea. I was like a science project.).
There's also waxing (painful), hair cut and color (super time consuming), the list goes on and on. And not to mention all the money I spent! Well, and more so, the time! I was constantly running from one appointment to the next. I filled up a whole week before the wedding with this stuff. That's not even factoring in the constant trips to the gym (Ultimate Crossfit and hot yoga). That was just a glimpse of how I spent several weeks leading up to the wedding. My husband would be mortified (well, mainly if he knew the beauty tab)! (Although, I'm sure he loved the end result, and so did I). Don't get me wrong, I am a girly girly and love getting pampered, it was just a bit much. I did throw in a few massages, which were devine, and looking back, probably took some of the edge off.
Now, fortunately, I had a lot of spare (if you want to call it that) time to work on all of my beautifying before the wedding. And of course, if you are a celebrity, part of your "job" is finding the time to fit all of these activities into your daily life. That is not the case for real people - I haven't even been able to get my nails done in weeks (and I've been so lazy, I haven't even filed them - they are jagged edges just waiting to rip skin - watch out, I could get into a cat fight with you. Meowr!).
Perhaps this is one reason why I love to take out the old judgement hat and rain down my decisions as these scarlets walk (or hobble in a drunken stupor - you know who I'm talking about, and there's always at least one of them!) down the red carpet. We can imagine all the work and effort that has taken place for them to get into "Golden Globe" shape, and by God, don't we just love it when they fall short. All that hard work - for the Glamour "don't" page! Oh honey! Bless her heart!
For us who live in reality, we take joy in the bride walking down the aisle who looks her very best on her big day (at least I'd say 99% of us do!). And that's because as "normal people," we completely deserve to have that moment in the spotlight. It makes us feel good, seeing someone "normal" basking in the efforts of bridal preparation. So completely deserving. And apparently, as my blog would suggest, so completely lucky to only have to go through all of that preparation every now and then.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
The Journey
One of the things I cherish most about my yoga practice is the chilled, lavender-scented washcloths that the instructors leave on our mats at the end of class for savasana (which is supposed to be your own time to relax after the practice and clear your mind in silence). I live for this treat, which is delightful when you have been sweating like it's over 100 degrees at 90 percent humidity (and there are people who practice right next to space heaters and humidifiers - what kind of insanity is that?). The icy cold feel of the washcloth on my face and neck, almost burning it's so cold - it is a dream.
During savasana, the lights in the studio are dimmed and the ceiling fans are making their familiar squeaking sounds as the blades rain down sweet breezes (maybe that doesn't accurately describe the smell) --it's time to rest and give thanks to your body for the hard work its just completed, an acknowledgement of the gift you just gave yourself.
Now, there's probably some enlightenment stuff that's supposed to happen to as your clear your mind, but if you know me (or if you can surmise from my blog posts), it is virtually impossible for me to clear my mind for any amount of time, much less a few minutes. No, during savasana I am either doing one of two things - drifting off into a coma-like, semi-conscious sleep (this has only happened a few times) or thinking about things I need to do (and mind you, I am not just thinking at casual, walking pace speed, no I'm going a mile a minute from one random thought to another). Usually I'm thinking about something that is worrying me or a looming deadline or even a far off deadline - the things in my life that might or could weigh me down.
But today, I have to admit, I was thinking about my blog because I knew exactly what I wanted to write about. In particular, I was reflecting on something that my yoga teacher said during class. As we were yoga breathing and doing our downward facing dogs, she told us to think about how we can get so focused on the goal, we don't stop to enjoy the journey.
This rings so true to me. As Oprah said the other day in her Season 25: Behind the Show series after filming a show with The Judds, "I had a breakthrough." Well, Oprah and I have something in common now, besides charisma and intelligence - I had a breakthrough!
I got to thinking - when I get to yoga class, the first thing I think about is savasana - I jump straight ahead to my favorite part. I can't wait for those lavender-scented washcloths - seriously, I'm like Pavlov's dogs about those things. One reason - it means the class is nearly over, and let me tell you that after sweating out more water than you thought could be in your body for an hour and a half, you are definitely looking for signs that the end is near. I don't blame me - who could?
Why do I do that? Why is that my first thought? It's a recognition that many of us who are high achievers are taught to focus on the goal - "keep your eye on the prize" and "reach for new heights," "push yourself, you can get there." I know that deep down inside I am a believer in the journey, or maybe I just know that is how it should be - make every day count, carpe diem and all that. But in reality it's easy to lose track of that when your eyes are focused ahead all the time, instead out the car window...
The other difficulty is that journey can be a challenge to endure - it's often filled with fear, doubts, tears. There are those times when you can't see the end to a seemingly hopeless situation, it seems as there's no way out, or at the very least - that the "goal" is so far away, you feel as though you'll never achieve it. But, in my experience, if you stop and experience the journey, it can also be filled with laughter, memories and pure joy. It's those experiences that define us as people, steps to the goal that we should be relishing and cherishing with every breath. It's those things that we never get back - and if we don't stop enough to experience them, they won't even become memories that we can pull out of our library and rewind from time to time.
Just as in yoga as in life, it's hard to slow down and let the journey carry you, to fully commit yourself to the journey and only the journey. During class, I spend a lot of time intentionally throwing thoughts of "when will this torture end?" out of my mind. But, what I must do is embrace the journey - make every moment, every motion, every breath count. And at some point, I will find that I reached the goal without having to worry and fret about getting there. And, I have got to believe that if I freed up all that anxiety I've focused on the goal, I would find that I could make my poses stronger and accomplish feats I've never done before.
And in life, by intentionally taking time to enjoy the journey, delight in every second like it's the lavender wash cloth at the end of an awesome practice, I might find that I've achieved my goal without hardly trying or, maybe without even realizing it. And that I'll find that I've not just achieved the goal, but exceeded my wildest dreams. As we close out our practice, I'll close out my blog. Namaste.
During savasana, the lights in the studio are dimmed and the ceiling fans are making their familiar squeaking sounds as the blades rain down sweet breezes (maybe that doesn't accurately describe the smell) --it's time to rest and give thanks to your body for the hard work its just completed, an acknowledgement of the gift you just gave yourself.
Now, there's probably some enlightenment stuff that's supposed to happen to as your clear your mind, but if you know me (or if you can surmise from my blog posts), it is virtually impossible for me to clear my mind for any amount of time, much less a few minutes. No, during savasana I am either doing one of two things - drifting off into a coma-like, semi-conscious sleep (this has only happened a few times) or thinking about things I need to do (and mind you, I am not just thinking at casual, walking pace speed, no I'm going a mile a minute from one random thought to another). Usually I'm thinking about something that is worrying me or a looming deadline or even a far off deadline - the things in my life that might or could weigh me down.
But today, I have to admit, I was thinking about my blog because I knew exactly what I wanted to write about. In particular, I was reflecting on something that my yoga teacher said during class. As we were yoga breathing and doing our downward facing dogs, she told us to think about how we can get so focused on the goal, we don't stop to enjoy the journey.
This rings so true to me. As Oprah said the other day in her Season 25: Behind the Show series after filming a show with The Judds, "I had a breakthrough." Well, Oprah and I have something in common now, besides charisma and intelligence - I had a breakthrough!
I got to thinking - when I get to yoga class, the first thing I think about is savasana - I jump straight ahead to my favorite part. I can't wait for those lavender-scented washcloths - seriously, I'm like Pavlov's dogs about those things. One reason - it means the class is nearly over, and let me tell you that after sweating out more water than you thought could be in your body for an hour and a half, you are definitely looking for signs that the end is near. I don't blame me - who could?
Why do I do that? Why is that my first thought? It's a recognition that many of us who are high achievers are taught to focus on the goal - "keep your eye on the prize" and "reach for new heights," "push yourself, you can get there." I know that deep down inside I am a believer in the journey, or maybe I just know that is how it should be - make every day count, carpe diem and all that. But in reality it's easy to lose track of that when your eyes are focused ahead all the time, instead out the car window...
The other difficulty is that journey can be a challenge to endure - it's often filled with fear, doubts, tears. There are those times when you can't see the end to a seemingly hopeless situation, it seems as there's no way out, or at the very least - that the "goal" is so far away, you feel as though you'll never achieve it. But, in my experience, if you stop and experience the journey, it can also be filled with laughter, memories and pure joy. It's those experiences that define us as people, steps to the goal that we should be relishing and cherishing with every breath. It's those things that we never get back - and if we don't stop enough to experience them, they won't even become memories that we can pull out of our library and rewind from time to time.
Just as in yoga as in life, it's hard to slow down and let the journey carry you, to fully commit yourself to the journey and only the journey. During class, I spend a lot of time intentionally throwing thoughts of "when will this torture end?" out of my mind. But, what I must do is embrace the journey - make every moment, every motion, every breath count. And at some point, I will find that I reached the goal without having to worry and fret about getting there. And, I have got to believe that if I freed up all that anxiety I've focused on the goal, I would find that I could make my poses stronger and accomplish feats I've never done before.
And in life, by intentionally taking time to enjoy the journey, delight in every second like it's the lavender wash cloth at the end of an awesome practice, I might find that I've achieved my goal without hardly trying or, maybe without even realizing it. And that I'll find that I've not just achieved the goal, but exceeded my wildest dreams. As we close out our practice, I'll close out my blog. Namaste.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
I Went to the Gym and All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt
So, no offense to my gym, the Charlotte YMCA, but the title indeed sums up my evening. It seemed to have slipped my mind that it was January, which means prime time at any and all gyms. Gone are the easy breezy days of showing up to class with a minute to spare and getting "the good spot." Oh, how I love thee January.
I'm not quite sure why I thought I'd be able to sail right into class today. In my 34 years, I'd estimate that I have experienced at least 17 or 18 Januarys at the Y (Yes, I started going, to that exact gym, when I was 16). We all know the drill - it's new year's resolution time. Everyone wants to work out, get in shape and lose weight. How do you do that - you dust off the Y membership you haven't used in 11 months and head for the gym.
It's crowded, you can't find a machine, people (many of whom are working out for the first time in ages) are cranky (wouldn't you think it would be the opposite - happy, endorphin-filled people?). And then, there are the newbies to the gym -- now, of course, at one point in time I was certainly a newbie, but that was back when I was 16. The newbies -- you love to hate 'em -- they wander around cluelessly, they don't obey the gym rules (hey! it's crowded, so that means 30 minutes, not an hour on the machine!) and most importantly, they take up space in the classes that used to be practically empty!
I can recall one year in which I declared I would not go to the gym until at least mid-February. The only hitch in this plan was that I didn't do any other physical activity in the interim. So, when mid-February rolled around, I had found other ways to spend my time, which I'm sure involved eating and drinking wine. Needless to say, that directive was not a huge success.
Even if I had not run into a friend on my way out of work, I still would not have had the 20-30 minutes necessary to arrive to the gym early, claim my space and most importantly, find a parking spot. If you really want to experience some road-ragers, visit any gym parking lot during the hours of 5-8 p.m. M-T during the first few weeks of January. Yikes.
So due to my lack of planning, I arrive at the gym with T minus two minutes until spin class time. The "duh meter" clicked "on" in the back of my mind as I approached the satellite parking lot, the lot that is usually about 20 percent full around the 5:20 p.m. mark. I drove through the lot - completely full - with a line of cars in front of me and a line of cars behind me. I stared in disbelief -- the gym is really packed today. Really, I couldn't believe the lot was full - I think I actually said that out loud to myself in the car.
I drove around the block and contemplated turning the car around and going home (I think that was my inner subconscious that did not want to work out). But then the parking gods opened up and as I turned back into the lot, a spot appeared. I pulled right in it, except I couldn't leave the car all lopsided and wonky in the spot. So, put her into reverse. What's that - I see movement out of the corner of my eye - someone thinks I'm leaving. I'm sorry just straightening out here, nothing to see, move along - yes, I know I am a horrible parker and you're raging at me outside of a Christian organization just because I wasn't really leaving my parking spot. I'm sorry!!!
Once my car was set, the clock was showing 5:32. I told myself that I should still be okay. I'll just sneak into class - I really only missed the warm-up. I'll still get to complete the true workout of spin class - the hard hills and ladders. So, I head into the gym. Boy, it is teeming with people. Somewhere the wheels were turning...what is the date? Wait, oh no, is it...it is January at the gym!!!!! (Cue the horror music and pan in and out on my face as the recognition of this truth grows).
On my way in some really nice people greeted me and handed me a t-shirt. "It's a long sleeved one, it's really nice." In retrospect, I wonder if they thought I was a newbie. Quel horreur! I USED TO BE A CROSSFITTER!!! Maybe I should have titled this "Nightmare on Morehead Street."
Ever the optimist, I continued to hold on to the thought that there would still be a spot for me in spin class. Why, just last month I'd gone several times (same day, same time) and there were only about 15 people in the class that could hold about 40 (she says, innocently). No problem - well, there was a problem - completely full. Where have all these people been? They certainly weren't there a mere three weeks ago!
I tried another class - there was room, but no equipment. So, I decided to hit the track. I didn't even make an attempt at the machines - that would be pointless. So, I'm running, up above the class with space for me, but no equipment, on the indoor track. Running, running, one lap, two laps, three laps - then I hear the instructor say, "group one, up the track." Are you serious? I wanted to scream. Just let me do this one thing, please. Me and the other two guys were doing just fine up here by ourselves, I wanted to plead.
The class, their eyes wild with new year's resolutions, flies up the stairs to join me on the track. They are breathing down my back like a herd of antelopes. "I'm doing a distance run!!!! Can't you see I'm in this for the long haul!?!?" I wanted to yell as they blew past me. Well, I was only running a mile, but do they really need specifics?
It takes 16 laps to complete a mile and I just didn't have the attention span for more miles, so I found a lone mat and completed about 200 crunches in various styles. I ended with a stretch and then thought, "I've done just about all I can do here." I wasn't waiting around for 45 or so more minutes until the next classes. I was done.
Or so I thought...I head out to the parking lot and I started to have this feeling akin to a tuna fish or a baby seal, swimming out in the big, black ocean when they slowly begin to realize they are being stalked by a school of sharks. I know, I know -- you want my space. I promise that this time I'm not just straightening up! I really am leaving - although, if you're waiting for me, I take at least three back and forths to get out of the spot before I feel comfortable that I'm not going to hit the car next to me as I'm leaving. So, please no raging - save that for the gym.
So, it wasn't the best workout day ever, but at least I worked out. And to all the gym folks who will be diligently going to the gym until Feb. 1 (or Jan. 15) and to all the newbies - God Bless Ya!
I'm not quite sure why I thought I'd be able to sail right into class today. In my 34 years, I'd estimate that I have experienced at least 17 or 18 Januarys at the Y (Yes, I started going, to that exact gym, when I was 16). We all know the drill - it's new year's resolution time. Everyone wants to work out, get in shape and lose weight. How do you do that - you dust off the Y membership you haven't used in 11 months and head for the gym.
It's crowded, you can't find a machine, people (many of whom are working out for the first time in ages) are cranky (wouldn't you think it would be the opposite - happy, endorphin-filled people?). And then, there are the newbies to the gym -- now, of course, at one point in time I was certainly a newbie, but that was back when I was 16. The newbies -- you love to hate 'em -- they wander around cluelessly, they don't obey the gym rules (hey! it's crowded, so that means 30 minutes, not an hour on the machine!) and most importantly, they take up space in the classes that used to be practically empty!
I can recall one year in which I declared I would not go to the gym until at least mid-February. The only hitch in this plan was that I didn't do any other physical activity in the interim. So, when mid-February rolled around, I had found other ways to spend my time, which I'm sure involved eating and drinking wine. Needless to say, that directive was not a huge success.
Even if I had not run into a friend on my way out of work, I still would not have had the 20-30 minutes necessary to arrive to the gym early, claim my space and most importantly, find a parking spot. If you really want to experience some road-ragers, visit any gym parking lot during the hours of 5-8 p.m. M-T during the first few weeks of January. Yikes.
So due to my lack of planning, I arrive at the gym with T minus two minutes until spin class time. The "duh meter" clicked "on" in the back of my mind as I approached the satellite parking lot, the lot that is usually about 20 percent full around the 5:20 p.m. mark. I drove through the lot - completely full - with a line of cars in front of me and a line of cars behind me. I stared in disbelief -- the gym is really packed today. Really, I couldn't believe the lot was full - I think I actually said that out loud to myself in the car.
I drove around the block and contemplated turning the car around and going home (I think that was my inner subconscious that did not want to work out). But then the parking gods opened up and as I turned back into the lot, a spot appeared. I pulled right in it, except I couldn't leave the car all lopsided and wonky in the spot. So, put her into reverse. What's that - I see movement out of the corner of my eye - someone thinks I'm leaving. I'm sorry just straightening out here, nothing to see, move along - yes, I know I am a horrible parker and you're raging at me outside of a Christian organization just because I wasn't really leaving my parking spot. I'm sorry!!!
Once my car was set, the clock was showing 5:32. I told myself that I should still be okay. I'll just sneak into class - I really only missed the warm-up. I'll still get to complete the true workout of spin class - the hard hills and ladders. So, I head into the gym. Boy, it is teeming with people. Somewhere the wheels were turning...what is the date? Wait, oh no, is it...it is January at the gym!!!!! (Cue the horror music and pan in and out on my face as the recognition of this truth grows).
On my way in some really nice people greeted me and handed me a t-shirt. "It's a long sleeved one, it's really nice." In retrospect, I wonder if they thought I was a newbie. Quel horreur! I USED TO BE A CROSSFITTER!!! Maybe I should have titled this "Nightmare on Morehead Street."
Ever the optimist, I continued to hold on to the thought that there would still be a spot for me in spin class. Why, just last month I'd gone several times (same day, same time) and there were only about 15 people in the class that could hold about 40 (she says, innocently). No problem - well, there was a problem - completely full. Where have all these people been? They certainly weren't there a mere three weeks ago!
I tried another class - there was room, but no equipment. So, I decided to hit the track. I didn't even make an attempt at the machines - that would be pointless. So, I'm running, up above the class with space for me, but no equipment, on the indoor track. Running, running, one lap, two laps, three laps - then I hear the instructor say, "group one, up the track." Are you serious? I wanted to scream. Just let me do this one thing, please. Me and the other two guys were doing just fine up here by ourselves, I wanted to plead.
The class, their eyes wild with new year's resolutions, flies up the stairs to join me on the track. They are breathing down my back like a herd of antelopes. "I'm doing a distance run!!!! Can't you see I'm in this for the long haul!?!?" I wanted to yell as they blew past me. Well, I was only running a mile, but do they really need specifics?
It takes 16 laps to complete a mile and I just didn't have the attention span for more miles, so I found a lone mat and completed about 200 crunches in various styles. I ended with a stretch and then thought, "I've done just about all I can do here." I wasn't waiting around for 45 or so more minutes until the next classes. I was done.
Or so I thought...I head out to the parking lot and I started to have this feeling akin to a tuna fish or a baby seal, swimming out in the big, black ocean when they slowly begin to realize they are being stalked by a school of sharks. I know, I know -- you want my space. I promise that this time I'm not just straightening up! I really am leaving - although, if you're waiting for me, I take at least three back and forths to get out of the spot before I feel comfortable that I'm not going to hit the car next to me as I'm leaving. So, please no raging - save that for the gym.
So, it wasn't the best workout day ever, but at least I worked out. And to all the gym folks who will be diligently going to the gym until Feb. 1 (or Jan. 15) and to all the newbies - God Bless Ya!
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