Exigencies

I just found this PostSecret site, where as part of an art project, people send in post cards with their secrets written on the back. Now they have video secrets also, which to me are a little too close for comfort. Some funny, some embarrassing, some disturbing, some terribly sad, these things will get you, I promise.

It's All Part of My Rock 'n Roll Fantasy

I think it would be fun to challenge my friends and compatriots to a Journey Karaoke Sing-Off. I think I could bring it. Here's how this would go:

I would open things up with a rousing version of "Separate Ways (Worlds Apart)" or perhaps "Don't Stop Believin'." Then I'd take it down a notch with a mid-tempo number, like "Girl Can't Help It" or "Only the Young." As a capper, I'd bring down the house with a tearful rendition of "Faithfully." There wouldn't be a dry eye in the place.

I've been practicing a lot in the car, with Journey's Greatest Hits reissued on CD. My fellow motorists agree that this thing is something that I should do.

Booty Camp

I've been going to fitness boot camp with a fellow producer and friend. It's something she signed up for through Brookline Adult Ed, and I just kind of tagged along. It's pretty tough going, so far. An eight-week program with 2 sessions per week, and we just got through the third session. I say "got through," because that's what it is, a test of endurance, stamina, and generally dealing the prospect of reaching one's physical limitations.

We do jumping jacks, "mountain climbers," "planks" (don't ask). We skip around the gym sometimes. We do sprints. We do TONS of lunges, so much so that it feels I may pop a quad. We jog in place. We use resistance bands. We do tons of ab and core work.

It's led by a personal trainer/field hockey coach type. She is great. We hate her. She makes us work. We love her. etc.

The whole thing is tremendous fun and hugely gratifying, and I love and dread every minute of it.

I'm Helping.

People don't really need, or want, my help, it turns out. I am friends with a number of shy people who either (a) live alone or (b) have trouble lifting heavy things or (c) are Going Through Something that I've been through before.

When I talk with these people, I feel an overwhelming compulsion to try and assist them, whether it be with my mad resume-building skillz, my enormously impressive biceps, or my incredibly attuned listening abilities. Or, perhaps, to pick up the other end of the new sofa.

However, I find that my offers to help, while evidently appreciated, are routinely declined. Are people afraid I'll expect something in return that they cannot provide? Are they unwilling to admit that they need to rely on other human beings to get through the quotidian tribulations of this life? And perhaps most puzzling: why do I care?