Wednesday, February 24, 2010

originally printed in the Waterloo Region Record on February 16, 2010.

People who are hyper-critical, narrow-minded and over-judgemental really, really drive me crazy. As I sat watching the Grammy awards a few weeks ago, I barely recognized myself, brow furrowed and lip curled, hurling criticisms and insults at the TV.

I don’t usually watch awards shows partly because most of whom I’m interested in seeing aren’t usually included. But I thought I had heard that my all-time favourite artist would be performing and announced my plan to watch, much to the amusement of my husband and kids.

Soon after the show began, my armchair became a soapbox from which I heckled and disparaged.

I had been looking forward to Neil Young, but instead, fell victim to an assault on my senses by… Lady Gaga. In an understatement of unbelievably huge proportion, it could be suggested that these two performers’ styles are different. Although, I’m not sure Neil Young even has a style….which is part of what makes him great. His song writing, singing and guitar playing lack nothing, and leave his audience wanting more of the same, but not more theatrics.

I have seen the odd (yes, pun intended) picture of Lady Gaga and was still taken aback by what she was wearing and her strange performance. (As a talented piano player and singer, she did, however, redeem herself somewhat during her duet with Elton John.)

My 14-year-old son had joined me to watch and I suspected he would be as shocked as I was by this performance. Attempting to gauge his reaction, I nonchalantly remarked that the peculiar design of her costume made her look like a Jetson. Judging by his non-reaction, my comparison went over like a rock at Fred Flintstone’s place of employment, Mr. Slate’s quarry.

Next, a singer named Pink wowed the audience as she was dunked into what I assume was a pool of water, emerged soaking wet and was then suspended, spinning above the stage. It did look kind of cool – for a circus performance. But as the speed with which she spun increased, and the water splattered from her, I thought of the centrifugal force of my salad spinner. That, and how she could possibly keep her voice steady and not throw up.

Both these women have amazing voices, and I was puzzled about why, as “singers,” that didn’t seem to be enough.

It became a bit clearer when my thoughts were interrupted by the buzzing of my son’s cell phone and he began a text-conversation.

I think it’s possible that I was downright over-stimulated by the performances at the Grammy awards. Like a baby with too much going on, I became cranky and irritable. My son, equipped with iPod, cell phone and computer rarely out of reach, was not fazed at all.

Perhaps my middle age brain, having not developed with constant connections to these sources of texting, surfing and chatting, simply does not allow all of those simultaneous stimuli to register. I do, however, take pride in my reasonably proficient multi- tasking skills; I can watch TV, fold laundry and apparently, hurl insults at the TV.

A friend once gently suggested that it might be time to expand my musical tastes, given that my iPod is filled with much of the same music my cassette player screeched out 20 years ago. I briefly thought that there might be some value in those words. Then I remembered that I’ve also been married to the same man for 20 years, and nobody seems to think that’s a bad thing. After watching the Grammies, I know, without a doubt, I’ll stick with both!

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

originally published in the Waterloo Region Record, February 2010.

I have become aware of a cruel irony especially apparent at this time of year, as many of us recognize the need to engage in more, or fewer activities that affect our health. Although I hesitate to call mine a resolution, I am trying to incorporate more exercise into my schedule because, even though it sounds good, I don’t believe that “running around” is providing me with the health benefits I should be considering at this age. The irony, of course, is that when I was younger, I needed less exercise and had time for more, and now that I am older and requiring more, I have much less time.

I have begun attending a Zumba class. If you’ve never head of it, I’m not able to tell you much, since – and this is why I don’t call such plans resolutions - I have only been twice. From what I can tell, the instructor uses simple dance steps to provide a cardio and core workout. And just as I have great difficulty actually getting to the classes, once there, the degree of difficulty in performing said “simple” dance moves does not decrease.

Both classes I attended with a friend who is a certified fitness instructor, and as the first began, I was struck by an obvious realization: if I didn’t want to look completely ridiculous, it was probably a bad idea to take a spot beside somebody who receives actual training in, and has been instructing similar classes for more than a decade.

Fortunately, I consider my heart health more important than the risk of looking like an idiot, and thanks to my 14 and 10 year old kids, I have become really quite good at laughing at myself. The manner in which I run - or throw, catch or do anything else that requires coordination - are all great sources of entertainment for my kids. I can’t say I ever actually looked good participating in these activities but I am pretty sure that such manoeuvring of my younger self would not have caused quite the hilarity that it does now.

As the music began, my friend, who knows me well, offered some advice. “If you can’t get the steps,” she began, “just shake it.” I had forgotten about her gruelling enthusiasm for fitness activities, and her ability to get the absolute most out of every move…and how I used to curse both from the back of the class when I attended hers.

As I considered her words, I could conclude nothing else but the only time the words “Just shake it” would be worthwhile advice is if I were standing behind a well-stocked bar preparing a martini. But on a gym floor, I thought it no coincidence that her suggestion of “shake” and my reality of “stiff”, would actually combine nicely. Surely, a drink mixed with those two descriptions would render me…umm, much better able to keep in step!
Another problem this type of class exemplifies is that my limbs don’t always perform the way evolution intended. The swinging of my arms does not seem to naturally match (or, oppose?) my steps. When I actually have to think about and plan for this to happen, I have serious concerns that my issue goes much deeper than lack of coordination.

There is, however, one instruction we are given, that seems to be the only action at which I excel, and can achieve without any trouble at all. It’s intended to be a reminder of sorts, but to me, it’s a source of pride that rests well within my realm of ability.

Breath!