PlazaJen: Passion Knit

Tuesday, March 07, 2006

Yah Mo B There!

So, I was saddened this morning to see that Kirby Puckett had died. An awesome baseball player, I watched him help win the '91 World Series when I lived in Minneapolis, and his exuberance for life & the game made him one of the most-loved players in town. Unbelievable to have a such a bright light gone at only 45 years old. Then I see that Dana Reeve, wife of Christopher Reeve, has also died, at the age of 44. These people are not that much older than me! ACK!

Looking for a picker-upper, I read my horoscope. Apparently I should have just stayed in bed:
CANCER (June 21-July 22)
You cannot win for losing during the daylight hours. Crankiness and difficulty with situations merge. Know when to retreat. This act could easily define your mood. Why interfere with the obvious? Tonight: ** Come out of your shell.

Well, fuck that. I came out of my shell early. I listened to the ULTIMATE Michael McDonald Collection on my drive in, and there is something about him that puts me in a hysterical & happy place. Partly because I have this shard of a memory, of the guy in accounting at the last place, who would burn us CDs & had a wicked sense of humor. I happened to request a little M.M. Motown, which garnered me much mockery and when he delivered the disc, he did a dead-on warble to rival Michael, and it was flippin HILARIOUS, and of course, it's really only funny to me? But it's leg-paralyzing, bubbling-over with high-pitched laughter hilarious to me, and when you've had my morning, it's necessary.

So, I'm driving along, sing-shouting along, "Ain't no mountain hiiiiigh enough" and I am dancing in my car seat and I think to myself, "How will this explanation fly with the po-lice if I get pulled over for speeding?" Because Michael McDonald makes me speed, too. Not only that? My dancing has NO rythym. I become the Worst Dancer Ever. Like how you imagine your parents dance, as they chaperone your high school dance. You feel the shame & pain wash over you, just imagining it. I don't have this dancing problem with Outkast, or Cake, or Death Cab for Cutie, or Fall Out Boy (do you see how I am subtly striving for musical redemption here?) But Michael McDonald turns my internal rythym OFF but still inspires the dancing. Sigh.

Let the teasing commence. In my defense, it could be worse. It could be Michael BOLTON.
posted by PlazaJen, 9:31 AM