Those of you who don't do it don't know this...but summer is the worst time of year to be a Spinning instructor. Inevitably, as the weather gets nicer in April, May and June, your classes are decimated as people turn outdoors to ride outside, take up jogging, go out on the boat, stay late at the beach. It's understandable really, but my job goes on. As a result, I can have classes as small as 3 students, sometimes less!
That makes it hard to stay fresh, put together new rides, seek new music and stay on top of my game. I stuck with it through June and July but in August I did nothing but repeat rides. I didn't design anything new and even slowed down with the music acquisitions, legal and otherwise.
But last night, with the cool dampness settling in over Beverly and darkness coming at 7:00 p.m., I had a class full of familiar faces who hadn't been around since the spring. Personally, it was certainly good to catch up with them again, but as an instructor, it was stimulating to have a nearly full class again, to be able to work with their reactions and feed off their energy. It was a great feeling to deliver a solid ride to a group that appreciates it, get some of those "what, are you crazy lady?" looks from them as I put them through their paces and hear the feedback after a long, slow summer.
So it's back to getting creative and pushing the envelope with my terrain and my music. I like to keep them challenged and off-guard, but within the bounds of being safe and sound. Sure, their form has dropped off during the break, but it's giving me a starting point from which to rebuild. Today it's pouring buckets, which I hope translates to another capacity crowd in tonight's class.
Cheers to getting back on the indoor road.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
A whole different sort of king
Barry Manilow has left the building.
We left the TDBankNorth Garden on Sunday night at 11 p.m., fully sated and overdosed on his sugar as if we'd just polished off a bag of candy corn. And at 7:45 a.m. the next day, as I passed through the ground level of the same building, I was surprised to find nary a sign that he'd been. Not a tour bus, gear truck or scrap of poster that indicated he was here. But in my heart and in my head, I'd knew he'd been.
Wardrobe dilemmas not withstanding (I resolved that on my own, thankyouverymuch), I had a wonderful time. My inane ability to instantly recall obscure and not-so-obscure lyrics stood me well. Barry lost me on a few of his 50s and 60s cover versions, but when it came to a full-blown Manilow number, I was on it, at high volume. His lyrics and melodies are just undeniably sing-able, I dare you to pop on the iPod, sit on the train, at your desk or in your car and not sing along, at high volume. Or at least bob along or shake your booty!
Certainly, there was some Las Vegas kitsch and even a little more cheese. But you can't deny that this guy can 1) play, 2) sing and 3) put on a show. I don't think it's possible for him to put on a sub-par performance, but thankfully I don't have to find out.
To the older folks who sat behind us....No, I won't SIT DOWN, not during Can't Smile Without You, not during It's a Miracle and certainly not during Copacabana (my sister might even argue that the final stanza of Mandy is worth standing...). If you came to a Manilow show to sit quietly for those, you came to the wrong show.
To the band at my cousin's wedding last weekend, who looked down his nose at us when we requested aforementioned "Copa"....did you happen to notice that when you finally agreed to play Barry's version of Copa during your break that that was the only point of time all night that the dance floor was full? What's that tell you?
I consider my sister and myself fortunate to have seen Manilow now that he's signed on for eternity to a Vegas show and has sworn off national tours. We grew up on his music (we blame you for this, Mom!) and danced around the living room to his melodies (well, the last time I did that was...Sunday afternoon) so in a sense it was a celebration of good times past and bringing them forward to today when we just might need a little pick me up.
And lift us up he did.
Louis, hope this was your dream come true! Once I serve some time as a back-up singer, mine will be too.
We left the TDBankNorth Garden on Sunday night at 11 p.m., fully sated and overdosed on his sugar as if we'd just polished off a bag of candy corn. And at 7:45 a.m. the next day, as I passed through the ground level of the same building, I was surprised to find nary a sign that he'd been. Not a tour bus, gear truck or scrap of poster that indicated he was here. But in my heart and in my head, I'd knew he'd been.
Wardrobe dilemmas not withstanding (I resolved that on my own, thankyouverymuch), I had a wonderful time. My inane ability to instantly recall obscure and not-so-obscure lyrics stood me well. Barry lost me on a few of his 50s and 60s cover versions, but when it came to a full-blown Manilow number, I was on it, at high volume. His lyrics and melodies are just undeniably sing-able, I dare you to pop on the iPod, sit on the train, at your desk or in your car and not sing along, at high volume. Or at least bob along or shake your booty!
Certainly, there was some Las Vegas kitsch and even a little more cheese. But you can't deny that this guy can 1) play, 2) sing and 3) put on a show. I don't think it's possible for him to put on a sub-par performance, but thankfully I don't have to find out.
To the older folks who sat behind us....No, I won't SIT DOWN, not during Can't Smile Without You, not during It's a Miracle and certainly not during Copacabana (my sister might even argue that the final stanza of Mandy is worth standing...). If you came to a Manilow show to sit quietly for those, you came to the wrong show.
To the band at my cousin's wedding last weekend, who looked down his nose at us when we requested aforementioned "Copa"....did you happen to notice that when you finally agreed to play Barry's version of Copa during your break that that was the only point of time all night that the dance floor was full? What's that tell you?
I consider my sister and myself fortunate to have seen Manilow now that he's signed on for eternity to a Vegas show and has sworn off national tours. We grew up on his music (we blame you for this, Mom!) and danced around the living room to his melodies (well, the last time I did that was...Sunday afternoon) so in a sense it was a celebration of good times past and bringing them forward to today when we just might need a little pick me up.
And lift us up he did.
Louis, hope this was your dream come true! Once I serve some time as a back-up singer, mine will be too.
Friday, September 7, 2007
The Problem with House
I will fully admit, I am pathetically addicted to House, MD. I love Hugh Laurie in an a sick and twisted but wholly cynical sort of way -- he says what I think and gets away with it. I love how he treats patients, Wilson and the Cottages, as if his genius excuses the maltreatment. Late to the House party this past spring, I spent the summer voraciously getting up to speed on Seasons 1 and 2 and just downloaded and watched the episodes I missed from Season 3 on the iPod. As I said, I am hopelessly, pathetically addicted.
But I have my problems with House too. If you know me at all, you know I have issues with just about everything and House is not immune.
First, House is meant to be a diagnostic medicine genius. Patients come to him when there's no hope and/or when everyone else has given up on them. Somehow, House (almost always) comes through. He solves the case usually just in the nick of time, but not before he misdiagnoses the patient at least a half dozen times, usually almost killing them with inappropriate surgeries, drug treatments or his inane brand of humor. I know they have to fill an hour and having him solve the mystery in the first 20 minutes or so really kills the vibe, but I think after three seasons of this, I'd think twice before turning to House when all my other options are gone. You know, just in case this time he doesn't get it right.
Second, the opening minute usually sets the stage for whatever the medical dilemma is. We get to see who's sick and why. But a lot of the time, we're misdirected and someone else in this short segment is sick, injured or wounded and we realize about half-way through the show that we never found out why. What happened to the young father of the (eventually revealed to be ill) baby who fell down the stairs vomitting (yet is fine in the ER where they bring said baby), or whether the thug in the truck stop diner survived the head bashing the eventual patient gave him. It's almost a diversionary tactic, this "whooops, not him, him" stuff. Yet I sit there like a fool and always try to outsmart the directors...and I feel so smart when I get it right.
Lastly, I think it's time we got some for Cuddy. She's been playing the game with House long enough now, so whether it's Wilson or some new dude they add to the cast for her, I think she deserves a little reward of the physical sort. As long as it's not House himself (because he's mine). Because that relationship has the Niles-Daphne vibe to it, and we all know that Frasier went to hell once Niles and Daphne finally hooked up (plus he's mine). But it'd be good for House to have to watch it, as well as provide plenty o' fodder for him to one-line (and anyway, he's mine). Enough said.
But all my whimpering aside, as summer comes to a close and the countdown for the only really good tv drama begins (September 25th at 9:00 p.m. if you're keeping track), I only have eyes for one medical guy and he's not McDreamy, McSteamy or the George formerly known as a doctor. Nope, he's House.
But I have my problems with House too. If you know me at all, you know I have issues with just about everything and House is not immune.
First, House is meant to be a diagnostic medicine genius. Patients come to him when there's no hope and/or when everyone else has given up on them. Somehow, House (almost always) comes through. He solves the case usually just in the nick of time, but not before he misdiagnoses the patient at least a half dozen times, usually almost killing them with inappropriate surgeries, drug treatments or his inane brand of humor. I know they have to fill an hour and having him solve the mystery in the first 20 minutes or so really kills the vibe, but I think after three seasons of this, I'd think twice before turning to House when all my other options are gone. You know, just in case this time he doesn't get it right.
Second, the opening minute usually sets the stage for whatever the medical dilemma is. We get to see who's sick and why. But a lot of the time, we're misdirected and someone else in this short segment is sick, injured or wounded and we realize about half-way through the show that we never found out why. What happened to the young father of the (eventually revealed to be ill) baby who fell down the stairs vomitting (yet is fine in the ER where they bring said baby), or whether the thug in the truck stop diner survived the head bashing the eventual patient gave him. It's almost a diversionary tactic, this "whooops, not him, him" stuff. Yet I sit there like a fool and always try to outsmart the directors...and I feel so smart when I get it right.
Lastly, I think it's time we got some for Cuddy. She's been playing the game with House long enough now, so whether it's Wilson or some new dude they add to the cast for her, I think she deserves a little reward of the physical sort. As long as it's not House himself (because he's mine). Because that relationship has the Niles-Daphne vibe to it, and we all know that Frasier went to hell once Niles and Daphne finally hooked up (plus he's mine). But it'd be good for House to have to watch it, as well as provide plenty o' fodder for him to one-line (and anyway, he's mine). Enough said.
But all my whimpering aside, as summer comes to a close and the countdown for the only really good tv drama begins (September 25th at 9:00 p.m. if you're keeping track), I only have eyes for one medical guy and he's not McDreamy, McSteamy or the George formerly known as a doctor. Nope, he's House.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Dodging the bullet
So, there is finally an outcome to my previous post about potentially being jobless. Thankfully for me, I have been transferred to another business unit at my company. A business unit that remains profitable and viable "at least for another 18 months", which is a good thing. So now I can carry on with the handful of pressing personal issues in the next 8 weeks without worrying about dealing with a new employer too. That whole newness thing is exhausting anyway and I just don't have the mind or the will to deal with it now.
So things are good, right?
In the words of Moby, "why does my heart feel so bad?" Honestly, I've never been through anything so emotionally draining. I've been through two mergers and layoffs before, so I should know how it goes. But I guess being a "survivor" is different for me. Now I see the faces on the stories that are being written without a paycheck to support them. It seemed that here, more than anywhere, everyone has a story: an older woman with cancer, a younger woman with a 6 year old son with cancer, a woman without a college degree who was a week away from 30 years here, several older people thisclose to retiring but not eligible for Medicare or full Social Security yet and certainly not an attractive prospective hire.
One of them, a 25 year veteran of the company, asked me "how do you feel now that you know" (that you're staying)? I replied that I felt guilty for being kept on when so many were going. And she replied "And so you should".
Really? You think so? My guilt was mainly self-inflicted, but to get a glimpse of how she might have felt about me was eye-opening, shocking and validation of how I already felt. I just can't explain why I feel like this.
So I am one of about 20 left here and I am anxiously looking forward to starting my new work. And I know today is a new day and it's time to look forward and not backward, etc. etc. I just wish it was easier being one of the lucky ones.
So things are good, right?
In the words of Moby, "why does my heart feel so bad?" Honestly, I've never been through anything so emotionally draining. I've been through two mergers and layoffs before, so I should know how it goes. But I guess being a "survivor" is different for me. Now I see the faces on the stories that are being written without a paycheck to support them. It seemed that here, more than anywhere, everyone has a story: an older woman with cancer, a younger woman with a 6 year old son with cancer, a woman without a college degree who was a week away from 30 years here, several older people thisclose to retiring but not eligible for Medicare or full Social Security yet and certainly not an attractive prospective hire.
One of them, a 25 year veteran of the company, asked me "how do you feel now that you know" (that you're staying)? I replied that I felt guilty for being kept on when so many were going. And she replied "And so you should".
Really? You think so? My guilt was mainly self-inflicted, but to get a glimpse of how she might have felt about me was eye-opening, shocking and validation of how I already felt. I just can't explain why I feel like this.
So I am one of about 20 left here and I am anxiously looking forward to starting my new work. And I know today is a new day and it's time to look forward and not backward, etc. etc. I just wish it was easier being one of the lucky ones.
Is there a need for this many mattresses?
I don't know if this rage has swept the nation, but here in good old MA, there is now a proliferation of mattress stores. In Beverly (pop. 44,000) alone, there are three mattress stores within 1/2 mile of each other on the same strip of the commercial zone in the northern part of the city. And in Boston, the Buck a Book is now a Sleepys, the HMV music store is a Mattress Discounters, both in the Downtown Crossing area, which is populated during weekdays mainly with Financial District workers out on lunch and assorted tourists. Exactly what I would not think of doing either on my lunch break or on vacation, buying a mattress that is. Browsing music and buying cheap books and wrapping paper, both used to be on my lunchtime agenda.
So what's driving this shift? Why the explosion (which is up from zero in both cases) of mattress sellers? Has the demographic changed and it's been figured that 2007 will be the year that we'll all be replacing our mattresses. And how exactly does Beverly (again, pop. 44,000) decide which of the three to buy from? And why?
File it under conundrum, because it's slow today and I've nothing else to think about.
So what's driving this shift? Why the explosion (which is up from zero in both cases) of mattress sellers? Has the demographic changed and it's been figured that 2007 will be the year that we'll all be replacing our mattresses. And how exactly does Beverly (again, pop. 44,000) decide which of the three to buy from? And why?
File it under conundrum, because it's slow today and I've nothing else to think about.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Blogging on the news
Lots of little things today...
The Brady Baby -- other than the fact that it was quite possibly the longest human gestation in history, or at least felt that way, why do we care about the spawn of Bridget Moynahan and Tom Brady? This pregnancy was followed like the British press follow a royal birth. But why? She's a former model with some not-so-great tv and movie credits to her name, he throws a ball for a living. Nothing special there. The one thing I can admit to, however, is that I am thrilled that Bridget opted to name the child Moynahan rather than Brady. Despite what Ann Landers says (that this kid will always be known as the "Brady baby"), I just can't stomach rewarding the elder Brady with a namesake when he was clearly taking calculated risks in the lead-up to the break-up, leaving poor Bridge "devastated" and, consequently, knocked up.
Really, it's ok -- so another Republican has been caught in some kind of unexpected sexual situation and he's found it necessary to steadfastly deny that he's "not gay and has never been gay" rather than equally vehemently deny that he solicited sex from a prostitute (albeit of the male persuasion). I find the latter troubling from a moral perspective, whereas the former is not the least bit offensive. I find it more troubling that the Republicans seemingly need to declare their innocence in the "Gay or Not" debate, when really, what does that have to do with how well they govern and represent their constituents? In a word, none. Yet, Republicans like Mitt Romeny are doing their best to distance themselves from this evildoer. Further, even if he did solicit a prostitute, does that change whatever good he's done for his district? This all harkens back to the Clinton era, when said Republicans actually tried to impeach Clinton for having "sexual relations" in the Oval Office. Not for some egregious national security breach or fatal mistake he made in governing our country, but for simply getting it on with a woman. Again, completely overlooking the effectiveness of the individual and souly focusing on the "wrongdoing" of having sex, whether it be with a male or female, is pretty narrowminded. Unless, I guess, you're a bible-thumping conservative in the Red States.
People from the South should pay too -- so now Massachusetts Transportation officials are thinking about charging south shore commuters for using Route 93 northbound. Well finally, it's about time. If you're from the North Shore, you pay just about any way you drive into the city, whether it be the tunnel or the Tobin, it's $3. Even folks out west get hit on the Pike, paying by the number of exits they pass. I'm sure South Shore folks will be all up in arms about this, but hey, with bridges crumbling around us, I'm all for making them pay their fair share as well.
The Brady Baby -- other than the fact that it was quite possibly the longest human gestation in history, or at least felt that way, why do we care about the spawn of Bridget Moynahan and Tom Brady? This pregnancy was followed like the British press follow a royal birth. But why? She's a former model with some not-so-great tv and movie credits to her name, he throws a ball for a living. Nothing special there. The one thing I can admit to, however, is that I am thrilled that Bridget opted to name the child Moynahan rather than Brady. Despite what Ann Landers says (that this kid will always be known as the "Brady baby"), I just can't stomach rewarding the elder Brady with a namesake when he was clearly taking calculated risks in the lead-up to the break-up, leaving poor Bridge "devastated" and, consequently, knocked up.
Really, it's ok -- so another Republican has been caught in some kind of unexpected sexual situation and he's found it necessary to steadfastly deny that he's "not gay and has never been gay" rather than equally vehemently deny that he solicited sex from a prostitute (albeit of the male persuasion). I find the latter troubling from a moral perspective, whereas the former is not the least bit offensive. I find it more troubling that the Republicans seemingly need to declare their innocence in the "Gay or Not" debate, when really, what does that have to do with how well they govern and represent their constituents? In a word, none. Yet, Republicans like Mitt Romeny are doing their best to distance themselves from this evildoer. Further, even if he did solicit a prostitute, does that change whatever good he's done for his district? This all harkens back to the Clinton era, when said Republicans actually tried to impeach Clinton for having "sexual relations" in the Oval Office. Not for some egregious national security breach or fatal mistake he made in governing our country, but for simply getting it on with a woman. Again, completely overlooking the effectiveness of the individual and souly focusing on the "wrongdoing" of having sex, whether it be with a male or female, is pretty narrowminded. Unless, I guess, you're a bible-thumping conservative in the Red States.
People from the South should pay too -- so now Massachusetts Transportation officials are thinking about charging south shore commuters for using Route 93 northbound. Well finally, it's about time. If you're from the North Shore, you pay just about any way you drive into the city, whether it be the tunnel or the Tobin, it's $3. Even folks out west get hit on the Pike, paying by the number of exits they pass. I'm sure South Shore folks will be all up in arms about this, but hey, with bridges crumbling around us, I'm all for making them pay their fair share as well.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Time for the serious dilemma
Ok, with all this talk about potential layoffs, job searches and the like, it's time to move on to the serious decisions in life, such as:
What does one wear to a Barry Manilow concert?
I've somehow managed to comfortably fit in at each of the dozen or so shows we've been to so far this summer. Live, The Police, The Alarm, The Psychedelic Furs, Keane, Chris Botti. At all of them, I've felt comfortably and appropriately attired.
Yet somehow, I'm thinking that this summer's standard concert uniform consisting of shorts, sandals and my Product (RED) t-shirt is not going to work at Barry. Nor will my day-to-day Talbot's-inspired wardrobe suffice. However, I'm not a spangly sequinned flashy feather boa sort of girl either, which is kind of the direction I suspect we might be heading. Did I mention we're sitting on the floor for Barry? So we'll be directly in the line of fire of a potential fashion disaster. Honestly, it was much easier deciding on a suitable dress for wedding-palooza this weekend: walk into Talbot's, pull it off the rack and buy it. Pret-a-portez personified. Even my "french mani/pedi vs. vibrant solid color" for the wedding-palooza went better than this. What's a girl to do?
I suppose if asked, my mother would say "go in what you feel comfortable." Yet somehow, I think I'd manage to stick out like, oh, I don't know a straight 30-something female with an uptight middle class wardrobe. But wait, you're right, that's what I am.
So, suggestions and advice greatly appreciated. If any of your sage wisdom includes either my Product (RED) t-shirt or a Talbot's sweater....huge props to you!
What does one wear to a Barry Manilow concert?
I've somehow managed to comfortably fit in at each of the dozen or so shows we've been to so far this summer. Live, The Police, The Alarm, The Psychedelic Furs, Keane, Chris Botti. At all of them, I've felt comfortably and appropriately attired.
Yet somehow, I'm thinking that this summer's standard concert uniform consisting of shorts, sandals and my Product (RED) t-shirt is not going to work at Barry. Nor will my day-to-day Talbot's-inspired wardrobe suffice. However, I'm not a spangly sequinned flashy feather boa sort of girl either, which is kind of the direction I suspect we might be heading. Did I mention we're sitting on the floor for Barry? So we'll be directly in the line of fire of a potential fashion disaster. Honestly, it was much easier deciding on a suitable dress for wedding-palooza this weekend: walk into Talbot's, pull it off the rack and buy it. Pret-a-portez personified. Even my "french mani/pedi vs. vibrant solid color" for the wedding-palooza went better than this. What's a girl to do?
I suppose if asked, my mother would say "go in what you feel comfortable." Yet somehow, I think I'd manage to stick out like, oh, I don't know a straight 30-something female with an uptight middle class wardrobe. But wait, you're right, that's what I am.
So, suggestions and advice greatly appreciated. If any of your sage wisdom includes either my Product (RED) t-shirt or a Talbot's sweater....huge props to you!
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