Ercassesanwi
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Below are the 2 most recent journal entries recorded in the "Holly" journal:
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10:41 pm
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Big Bad Voodoo Daddies
Saw this ^ group in downtown Raleigh at a free concert that turned, at least somewhat, into an impromptu dance. My sister ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) faerymere says they're ska, but they sounded like big-band swing to me. All of them wore suits and hats, and those horns could really sing.
The best part was that my burning desire to dance did not go unfulfilled. We found a group of the regularly attending Saturday-night Durham dancers. Admittedly, there wasn't much space, and the ground was uneven, and nondancers kept walking through our carefully carved-out area as if it were public property (which it is), but it was still great. Dancing friend firebreatherjen said she was glad we got to "dance in public." When I pointed out that what we usually do isn't exactly dancing in private, she said that she meant dancing at an event that wasn't specifically a dance, where nondancers could see and admire our skill. She had a point. One lady, probably somewhat drunken, stood to the side and gawked at us, staring intently at our feet as if trying to fathom how we were doing what we were doing. I felt that I did pretty well, and I was told that one of my partners for the evening later commented that I was "a great dancer." I am inordinately proud.
Work has wound down. I worked just eight hours today, and I plan the same for tomorrow. As the writer of Murphy's law might suspect, now I seem a bit too caught up on my work for another office day tomorrow. That's how it works. The attorneys set impossible deadlines for four weeks, then they don't give you any business the next four. (This is all the whining I plan to do in this entry. Really.)
Because of a weird mix-up with the teacher of my swing-dance classes, I won't be taking swing lessons this month. I thought my week would feel a bit empty. Then my lovely roommie supermer asked if I wanted to take a month of shag lessons with her and her cousin Ben (who lives across the street and whom her family has suggested I should marry but who has ignored us and our invitations to come over for almost a year now). For the non-North Carolinians, "shag" is a form of dance--and no, I'm not using "dance" as a metaphor--that one does to "beach music." It seems a lot like swing only slower and more laid-back, both the dance and the music.
I'm on better terms with myself now that I feel more caught up at work and in housework, which had been suffering during my 50- and 60-hour workweeks.
I have great ideas for some LJ essays, but I would have had to skip on the housework to write them. I hope to get to them later. To remind myself, one is on the film The Phantom of the Opera and the other on the sermon and small-group lesson from this past Sunday.
Current Mood:  mellow
Tags: big bad voodoo daddy, swing dance
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11:31 pm
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a buch of short clips
Several relatively interesting things have happened to me lately. In no particular order:
I was stalked by an 18-wheeler driver on the highway. At first I thought it was in my head. I already am nervous around big trucks because when I was learning to drive, my grandfather took me on the freeway (too soon) where I knocked off his side-view mirror against an 18-wheeler. Normally, I pass them or let them pass me. I never travel alongside one. This one I couldn't seem to move around. I thought perhaps he, like me, was going the speed limit. I would try to pass him, and he would seem to speed up. I moved over one lane to the left; so did he. I slowed down; so did he. I was very nervous and frustrated, but I still wasn't sure I wasn't making it up. So I began to speed up, waiting till he was beginning to speed up, too, and then went back down to the speed limit as his momentum carried him forward. Then, to my horror, he waved to me as we passed.
This truck-stalking incident happened on my way back from a deposition in Asheboro, over an hour and a half from Raleigh. The deposition was to start at 1:30, and I was supposed to leave at around 11:20 to get there in plenty of time. For reasons unbeknownst to man, I wrote "12:20" on my directions instead. At ten to noon, Lynda walked upstairs and asked, "Aren't you going to Asheboro today?" I responded that I was leaving around 12:30. "It takes only an hour to get there?" she asked, at which point it all clicked, and I ran out the door. I, compulsive speed-limit follower that I am, went five over the whole way (for which I've been applauded by roommie supermer and friend Melanie). I arrived at 1:20, hurried into the lobby, announced myself, and said that I was running late. The receptionist replied that no, I wasn't, because the witness, a surgeon, had canceled due to an emergency surgery.
I've not enjoyed working long hours and over the weekends, but I'm looking forward to my next paycheck. I promised myself I wouldn't bring home work over the weekend, but I did. It's not that much, though. And this is my last rush order (for now).
I've noticed that my new dancing addiction has influenced my taste in music. I've been a Harry Connick, Jr., fan for a while, but taking up swing dancing has interested me more in Frank Sinatra, big band, and jazz. I'm now officially a Michael Buble fan (even though I spent several weeks making fun of his name). That boy can sing! And "Fever" is now one of my favorite songs. It is usually played at least once at swing dances at the Durham armory, and I try always to have a partner and dance to it. I like Romeo's line: "Fever, yes, I burn, forsooth!"
Just to let all the guys out there know, dancing is mad attractive. A newly-converted-to-dance friend of mine firebreatherjen has commented that otherwise plain-looking men become attractive when we discover that they are good dancers.
Current Mood: geeky
Current Music: "Fever," Michael Buble
Tags: swing dance, work
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