Things I’ve learned

It’s been a while since my last real blog post.  Even longer since my last “things I learned” post.  I wondered at that.

But only for a nanosecond.

Let’s get to it.  What have I learned?

I learned:

1.  I’ve missed yoga.  Three years ago I took a yoga class to fulfill a college credit requirement.  I registered for the beginning class even though I had previous experience and was probably more transitional intermediate than beginner. I did so out of fear.

A costly miscalculation on my part.  As it happened, the instructor was the Antichrist and seemed woefully unaware the course was entitled “Yoga for Beginners.”   Think wine-soaked ballerina with severe Adult Attention Deficient Disorder.  Who teaches a yoga class set to swinging show tunes?…and sings along…and twirls…oh, so much twirling…She taught the class from her own private padded bubble, offered no modifications, and failed to understand the core principles of yoga.

I have many personality flaws.  Chief on the list:  Type A.   I’m an overachiever. That is especially true if there is something I value at stake.  At the time, it was my GPA.  I wanted an A and it is not in my nature to quit once I’ve committed.

Oh, the clarity of hindsight.

Three years later, I am still suffering the repercussions of that earned A.  My diagnosis: persistent grade 2 hip flexor strain with severe pain and limited ROM. Could be worse. Could be better.  But I’m making progress with the help of some wonderful physical therapists.  Last week, at their badgering urging, I started to practice yoga again.

I’m not going to lie.  The first few dozen sun salutations were rough.  But, at the same time, it was an incredible feeling.  Of course, I needed an extra day of physical therapy to recover, but they assure me it will get easier.  I’m going to choose to believe they are right.

Namaste.

2.  The X-Files is returning to television.  I’m conflicted.  I always loved the X-Files.  It was great television.  But reboots, remakes, and sequels annoy me.  A few years ago, I wrote about it. On the one hand, I am curious to see Mulder, Scully, Skinner, and Cancer Man reunited.  They were fascinating characters.  On the other hand, I think it is often better to remember something beloved in its original, unblemished state.  I probably won’t watch.

Of course, for all of my righteous indignation, I am a total hypocrite.  There are two films looming on the horizon – one slated for release later this year, the other next year. Jason Bourne and James Bond.  Both are sequels/remakes/reboots.  Both make me giddy with excitement.

I thought about arguing the merits of these franchises and how they differ from all the unoriginal rubbish out there.  But I don’t need to explain myself to you. Instead, I offer you a peek at the new Bond.

Savor it.

3.  I don’t like cherries.  I’m forty-two.  I’ve spent most of my life believing that I don’t eat cherries because I am allergic to them. Turns out – not true.  I just don’t like them.

Strange.

4.  Spring in Texas:  Bluebonnets and bees.  What else is there to say?

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5.  Miles Davis makes the perfect background for writing.  As a general rule, I don’t listen to music when I write.  It’s distracting.  I do much better with everyday white noise. Well…unless, it’s “screaming toddler Tuesday” or “”where’s the damn coffee in this place’ octogenarian Thursday” at my favorite coffee shop.  The latter is always a special treat.  There’s nothing quite so entertaining as a group of filter-free, half-deaf senior citizens out for their weekly breakfast social.

Last week, I discovered Miles Davis.  I’ve never been much of a jazz fan.  I much prefer old-school soul, sixties R&B, anything touched by the hands of the almighty Sting, and Florence and the Machine.  Jazz always seemed like too much work to fully appreciate. Does that make sense?   Probably not.  Sorry.

Anyway, I was researching Jazz artists/albums in reference to a character development I am doing for my current WIP and happened upon Sketches of Spain, a Miles Davis work conducted by Gil Evans (fun fact:  Gil Evans and Sting recorded a live album, Last Session, in 1987).  I liked the title; the cover art was warm and inviting.  I took a listen.

It was spellbinding; yet, subtle and unobtrusive.

I bought it.

This week on “screaming toddler Tuesday”, I plugged in my headphones, turned up Sketches of Spain, set it to repeat, and just wrote.

Fantastic.

Here.  Have a listen for yourself.

Things I learned this week…

I learned this week…

…that oral presentations aren’t all that bad.   (insert cheesy laugh track here)  I’m just kidding.  Oral presentations suck.  However, they do get easier.  And by easier, I mean that I only wanted to pass out once or twice and the uncontrollable shaking only lasted for half of the class period this time.  Progress.

…that middle school crushes are complicated.   My daughter likes a boy.  He likes her back.  Sounds simple so far – trust me it’s not.  Just getting to that admission was mind-blowing.  Now, as Valentine’s Day approaches, the question of what to give this boy in celebration of the Hallmark holiday has surfaced.  Card?  Stuffed bear? Box of chocolates.  This week, I quietly trailed behind her in the seasonal aisle of my favorite big box store as she grappled with this difficult decision.  After twenty minutes or so, she decided on an oversize Hersey Kiss.   I thought it was a good call.  Getting a boy something too affectionate or personal at this stage of the game is risky business.   Equally risky, I’ve discovered, is the mode of delivery.   She tells me that she can’t very well roll up to the park on her bike and hand him a giant Hersey Kiss in front of his friends.   That would be the kiss of death (har har).  No, she’s given this a lot of thought, consulted with many of her little girlfriends.  The general consensus among the great minds – she should most definitely drop, ring, and run.    This should prove interesting.

…that I am an introvert.  This is not a revelation,  I took the Myers-Brigg personality test years ago – several times, in fact, just in case I was doing it wrong.   I am a ISTJ and scored 1oo% introvert every single time.    As I age, I’ve learned to deal with it, and what I once viewed as a near crippling personality flaw, I’ve grown to accept and even, embrace.  This enlightenment, if you will, has aided in my journey of self-discovery, given me the courage to try new things, and overall, helped me grow comfortable in my own skin.  Susan Cain’s book Quiet – The Power of Introverts in a World that Can’t Stop Talking is a must read for introverts trying to find their place and purpose in this life.   I’ve got a list of folks who could use a copy of this book.  Maybe if they understood me a bit better they would stop bugging me to speak up and contribute to debates I find pointless and beneath me.  Yes, I know – I am an elitist introvert.  Or so my husband tells me.  Sue me.

that Nicholas Cage is not a vampire.  This is good information.  For a minute there, I was worried.

…that another great musical voice has been silenced.  I am saddened and aggrieved by the loss of Whitney Houston.  Premature death, no matter the circumstances, is a tragic thing and one that deserves a measure of understanding and compassion, if for no other reason, than for those who are left behind to grieve the unimaginable loss of a loved one.

…that four weeks into “Yoga for a Grade” I find myself looking forward to the class.  I still think the instructor is a flake, and that she has failed to read the college’s catalog description of the course.  There is no way this class is beginner level, but I’ve kept up, and though my hamstrings have not quite gotten with the program, I feel my core strengthening and my stamina increasing.  I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I enjoy this class, but I don’t dread it.  Now, that might change if she makes us do another elementary level art project.   That was just humiliating.

***Warning!  Pet Peeve of the Week***

…that nothing make me angrier (and this is a bold statement because there is a lot of things that make me angry) than being manipulated and threatened, no matter how veiled.

…and last, but not least, this week’s awww moment is brought to you by this adorable, and quite photogenic, kitty getting all spruced up for a night out.  I don’t know the source of this photo because my husband shared it with me.  If you don’t smile at this picture, then you need to see a doctor about that heartless whole in your chest.  Enjoy.

Things I learned this week

I learned this week…

…that I am old.  Or so my health insurance carrier tells me.  I received a very nice letter from them informing me that my recent birthday (the one that isn’t until mid-June) has pushed me into a higher age bracket and, though it pains them greatly, they must raise my rate by 2% effective April 1st.  Bastards.

…that once again, I find that I am a few steps behind everyone else when it comes to discovering new and exciting television.  First, the BBC’s Sherlock, and now PBS’s Downton Abbey.  I need to get with the program.  Both of these shows are well-written, well-acted, and well…just plain brilliant.

…that if civilization as we know it should end and the burden of rebuilding and repopulating the world falls to the brilliant minds of the students in my Sociology class, we are all screwed.   Newt Gringrich’s moon colony might not be such a bad idea after all.

…that my daughter’s sixth grade band is amazing.  I am very proud of her.  She’s come a long way in five months.

…that as the daughter of a breast cancer survivor, I’ve always had the highest respect for Susan G. Komen for the Cure.  Not anymore.

…that I really don’t like making my own coffee in the morning.  That makes me sound spoiled, doesn’t it.  Well, I am.  My husband makes coffee every night at bedtime, sets the little timer thing, and BAM!  I have coffee when I roll out of bed at 5 a.m.  He’s out-of-town.  I have to make my own coffee this week.  It sucks.

…that my fat cat has lost weight.  This a good thing for he tipped the scales at 19 lbs at his last vet check up.  I am happy to report that his “high fiber, low-calorie food that costs me a fortune” actually worked.  He’s down to a svelte 15 lbs.  Of course, he thinks he’s starving to death and has taken to counter hopping in search of something left unattended.  I turned around the other night and found him perched by the sink, staring a hole through me.  I was a little scared.  For a minute, I thought he was contemplating my nutritional value.

…that me and old Thomas Hobbes are not going to be good friends.

…that I find reminders of my dad in the strangest places.  This week on my way to the office, I was listening to a 60s themed satellite radio station I like and a song I haven’t heard in years came on.   (Don’t judge me.  I’ve made no secret of my opinion on the music produced during that decade – BEST MUSIC EVER)  As it began to play, recognition took hold,  and all I could see was my father dancing around in his stocking feet, lip syncing the words, and making Groucho Marx faces.  I miss my dad.

***Warning:  Pet peeve of the week***

…that I hate pointless art projects.  I hate pointless art projects even more when they are completely irrelevant to class curriculum.  In Yoga for a Grade, we were instructed to make a new friend (shoot me now), ask them asinine personal questions, and create a collage of their life based on what we learned in a ten minute conversation.  We are expected to present them to the class when next we meet.  Really?  I think I preferred the Down Dog into Plank (hold for one minute), then down and up into Up Dog sequences she made us do – fifteen times in a row! – during the last class.

…and last but not least, this week’s awww moment is brought to you by Cousin Violet, the Dowager Countess of Grantham (Maggie Smith) from Downton Abbey.  She is quite warm and loving in her own way – really.

Things I learned this week

“Procrastination is the most common manifestation of Resistance because it’s the easiest to rationalize.  We don’t tell ourselves, ‘I’m never going to write my symphony.’  Instead we say, ‘I’m going to write my symphony; I’m just going to start tomorrow.’”  – The War of Art – Steven Pressfield.

“The most pernicious aspect of procrastination is that it can become a habit.  We don’t just put off our lives today; we put them off till our deathbed.” – The War of Art – Steven Pressfield.

This week I learned:

…that listening to the Bee Gees or any other disco era music while working out on the elliptical, is dangerous.  Not dangerous in that I might fall off and hurt myself, though that is always a possibility when we are talking about me.  I was passed over when they were giving out the coordination gene.  Case in point:  I once fell off a ladder while painting my bathroom.  I guess I shouldn’t have put the ladder IN the tub to paint.   But that’s a blog for another time.  No, it’s dangerous because I find myself strutting in time to the music.  And when I say strutting think Tony Manero in the opening credits of Saturday Night Fever strutting.

It took me a while to figure out what everyone was staring at.

…that I am easily entertained and enjoy scoffing at the incompetence of others – when it doesn’t directly affect me.  This is a character flaw that I’m not necessarily proud of and yet, I can’t seem to stop myself.

…that my belief that there is some unseen force sucking out the brains of the parents at my daughter’s middle school still holds true.  This week there were no carpool line scuffles, but there was some interesting parallel parking going on.  One lady tried, and failed, to squeeze her mini-van into a slot several times, before giving up.  Instead, she opted for something similar to the photo below.  I took this snapshot in 2004 while walking through the heart of downtown Rome, with my dear friend Manie.  Somehow it was funnier in Rome.Rome 2004

…that I’ve successfully pissed away another holiday break with nothing to show for it.  I was supposed to finish my novel – didn’t happen (though I didn’t really expect to finish and I did make some pretty good progress).  I was supposed to clean out my flowerbeds and winterize – didn’t happen.  I was supposed to finish Daniel Silva’s The Confessor – didn’t happen.  I was supposed to finish working on my husband’s incorporation documents – didn’t happen.  Oh well.  There’s always Spring Break.

…that while I’ve been making word count progress on my novel, I find that I am increasingly frustrated with certain plot points.  Major plot points.  I’m going to have to work this out or I see myself going ahead with the ceremonial cleansing burn in the backyard.  Who wants to bring the marshmallows?

…that Lisbeth Salander is still one of my all-time favorite fictional female characters.  I was skeptical about the American version of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.  I feel that we have become a society of reboots and remakes with very little originality coming out of Hollywood.  I’ve read the book, seen the Swedish film, and I doubted that even the great David Fincher could make this story better.  I was wrong.

***Warning!  Pet Peeve of the Week***

…that it is very frustrating when someone forwards me an email and instructs me to inform them of associated deadlines when the deadlines are spelled out in the very first line of the forwarded email.   I’m all for delegating, but good grief.

…and last but not least – this week’s awww moment is brought to you by this little guy who seems to be digging winter just as much as me.

Things I learned this week…

“Resistance is not a peripheral opponent.  Resistance arises from within.  It is self-generated and self-perpetuated.  Resistance is the enemy within.”  – The War of Art:  Winning the Inner Creative Battle – Steven Pressfield

“Resistance has no strength of its own.  Every ounce of juice it possesses comes from us.  We feed it with power by our fear of it.  Master that fear and we conquer Resistance.” – The War of Art:  Winning the Inner Creative Battle – Steven Pressfield

This week I learned…

…that if I want to succeed at this writing business, I need to suck it up and just do it.  My fellow WC-er Bill Chance turned me onto a book by Steven Pressfield called The War of Art.  Absolute brilliance.

The-War-of-Art_Pressfield

…that discovering a new thing, no matter how small and insignificant, can really change my whole outlook.  This week I discovered how to make comment notations is my Word documents.

What?

You’ve been doing it for years?

Nobody likes a braggart.

This is eye-opening to me because I struggle with the  need to produce perfection.  I think it comes from my profession.  I am a paralegal.  When I write, it needs to be damn near perfect before I hand it over the my attorney for review.  Otherwise, I look like a complete moron, and they wonder why it is that they are paying me good money for crap they have to rewrite.  Unfortunately, this bleeds over into my personal writing.  It’s a habit I have vowed to break – not at work, at home.  These little notations help me tag something that needs review, ask myself questions, offer suggestions, and move on.  By getting it out, even if the issue is not resolved, I am free to continue.

…that meeting my first weekly writing goal within two days of making it was a great feeling.  Maybe I should up the ante.  Or maybe I should just wait and see how next week goes, and the week after that.

…that the holidays are finally over.  Finally.  I can file them away under “done” and move on to the next thing.   Though, I don’t really have much to complain about this year.  I had one of the most laid-back, stress-free holidays ever.  I can only think of a handful of instances when I seriously contemplated body dumping sites and weighed the likelihood of a criminal conviction over a temporary insanity plea.  That might be a record for me.  Usually, during the holidays, I fantasize about having a Bond car with a machine gun and rocket launchers.  Maybe I am mellowing.   Yeah, what are the odds of that?  Maybe I just had an off-year.  Maybe I should go book my December Caribbean trip now.  You know, just for peace of mind.

…that aside from the fever, ringing in the New Year from the warm, cozy comfort of my bed was fabulous.  I spent New Year’s Eve battling a nasty little cold and watching a Jason Bourne marathon on one of those “not in HD” channels.  I should try that again next year – well, minus the fever.   I might even splurge and dig out the DVDs.

…that on January 6, 1540, Anne of Cleves married England’s Henry VIII.  It didn’t work out too well for them, but at least she didn’t lose her head.  On January 6, 1996, I married the love of my life.   So far, so good.   At least I think so.  He does keeps telling me I’m no picnic to live with; that I’m snarky, moody, and unreasonable.  I’ve no idea what he’s talking about.

…that the Kardashians have entered the building – or more accurately – the city of Dallas.  Hold on to your hats, folks.  We now have ourselves a couple of genuine Hollywood “celebrities” in our midst, and they are taking the metroplex by storm.  Screw substantive news, or anything else that might enlighten or educate our feeble minds.  We are now to be subjected to a chronology of every breath they take, every move they make, every vow they break…

****Warning – Pet Peeve of the week****

…that with the New Year, my gym has been inundated by folks who have vowed to get in shape.  That’s great.  Awesome, even.  I applaud anyone out there willing to get fit the old-fashioned way – by sweating.  What I don’t applaud are the newbies with no manners.  I realize that there are those among us who believe their time more valuable; that waiting their turn is a foreign concept.  However, I will not be cowed by the intimidation tactics of others.   I will be done with my reps when I’m done.  Not before.  Staring at me will not make me move on.  Asking me how many reps I have left will only motivate me to do more, at a slower pace.   I can’t wait until February.  By then, they will have either learned a little gym etiquette or fallen off of the fitness wagon.  I hope, or else I might need to find myself a good criminal lawyer.

…and last but not least – this week’s awww moment is brought to you by this prehensile tailed porcupine.  Look at that face.  Don’t you just wanna hug him?

A Year in Review

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Poof!  Another year gone, just like that – in a flash – never to be heard from again.  It seems the closer I get to 40, the faster this ride goes.  I don’t really like fast rides, they make me nauseous.  It’s why I’ve lived in the Dallas area for some 12 years and have never stepped foot on the grounds of Six Flags Over Texas.

But that is a blog for another day, isn’t it?  Perhaps I will try to conquer my fear of amusement park rides by making a trip over to Arlington in 2012.

Yeah, right.

Anyway, with 2011 coming to a close, and a new year looming on the horizon, I thought it would be fun to take a look back and reflect upon what I’ve learned this year.

This year I learned…

…that Cabo San Lucas, Mexico is beautiful and romantic.  The ideal place to celebrate 15 amazing years of marriage, with the love of my life.  The “two shots of tequila + 5 beers for $5.00” specials made it all the better.  At least, I think so…I don’t remember much after…wait…we went to Mexico, right?

…that whale watching in the Pacific Ocean is surreal and terrifying.  I’m glad I stood up to my fear of water/boats and went on the excursion.  I can mark it off my bucket list with a big fat black Sharpie (with a notation in the margin that reads: never, ever try this again).

…that sometimes it is necessary to stubbornly take a stand, even if it means alienation from family you love.  Things tend to work themselves out in the end.  And, well, if they don’t then, so be it.

…that marking the four-year anniversary of my father’s death was just as painful as year three.

…that the weatherman on my local NBC channel either has a sick sense of humor, or his degree in meteorology is just an honorary one. The snow event captured below was only supposed to be a light dusting.    As in, not going to stick, or cause any trouble on the roads.  We ended up with a foot total. Epic. Fail.  Why is this a problem, you ask?  It’s only snow.  Well, down here in Texas, measurable snowfall is a sign of the coming apocalypse.  I didn’t leave my house until it melted.  It’s just better that way.

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…that with three or four inches of ice coating everything (in a separate, unrelated winter weather event – another epic weatherman fail), including the street, I can survive an entire week without leaving my house.  On day two, I did attempt to check the mail.  My mailbox is across the street.  I made it to the middle of the road, fell on my ass, promptly got up, dusted off my pride and went back into the house.  There was nothing I needed in that mailbox, I was sure of it. Well, except for those two Netflix movies, but I made my husband go get those for me.  Have I mentioned that he is the most awesomest dude ever?

…that even at my age, a little recognition and validation can put a spring in my step.  In April, I received a scholar award from my favorite professor, in my favorite subject (history).  It might not mean much outside the confines of my campus and academic world, but it certainly went a long way to helping me feel like I wasn’t wasting my time.  Though I’m sure my family would tell you that my ego was so inflated from this unprecedented honor, that they had to keep reminding me that I did not, in fact, win a Pulitzer.

…that just when I thought I was getting the hang of this aging nonsense, I get the call informing me that I could expect to be a grandmother by the end of the year.  Let the months of denial begin!

…that even though I swore I had absolutely no interest in the British Royal wedding; that I scoffed at the crazy people who were planning to get up in the middle of the night to catch every tantalizing second of it, I couldn’t help but be mesmerized.  No, I didn’t get up in the middle of the night.  That would be ridiculous.  I got up at my normal time, switched on the television, and there it was.  I couldn’t get away from it, and I happened to catch it at the precise moment that she entered the church.  I watched every stinking minute of it and was nearly late for work.  Damn you, England!

…that I’ve lived in the Dallas area for a long time and this was the first year we have braved Scarborough Faire in Waxahachie.  I’m ashamed at our stuffiness.  So much fun.  Maybe next year we will dress up.  Don’t tell Nolan.  It’ll be my surprise.

…that turning 39 this year wasn’t all that bad.  Of course, a gift of diamonds goes a long way in making the aging process bearable.  Oh, and an a Happy Birthday wake up call and an afternoon visit from my nephews didn’t hurt, either.

…that a girls only trip to Key West is quite the adventure.  I learned a lot, made some new friends, discovered mojitos, and the wonders of drag queens.  If you’re interested, you can read more about my adventures [here].

…that cursing Mother Nature for bitch slapping us this winter only resulted in several summertime bitch slaps.  I think I might even classify it as a beating.  I’ve been through hot, dry, miserable summers before, but this year was by far, the worst.  Wish I had known this little bit of trivia in February.  I might have been a little nicer to that fickle whore.

…that middle school parents are all bugger eating morons who wouldn’t understand a rule if it slapped them upside the head and introduced itself.

…that having my granddaughter born on Thanksgiving Day was certainly a surprise.  She was a few weeks early.  I will be completely honest, I was emotionally unprepared.  Mostly, because I am a realist and don’t look at the ooey gooey side of things.  I see the cold hard fact that becoming a parent in your early twenties, is tough stuff.  I became a parent at the tender age of 18.  I know of what I speak.  However, after much thought and reflection, I was able to remove myself from that side of the equation.  Grandparents, after all, are meant to be the fun ones – it is not our job to dwell on the struggles of first time parenthood. Instead, as reward for the years we spent rearing our irrational and, at times, ungrateful children, we are allowed to bask in the splendor of a child we can spoil, fill with excessive sugar products, and send home to torture their parents.  Acceptance grows out of denial.  But be warned, call me Granny and I will gut you like a pig.  My willingness to accept such a position only goes so far.

…that I don’t completely hate the holiday season.  I discovered that I like Christmas music, baking cookies, and long walks on sandy beaches sipping fruity drinks with little umbrellas…oh wait…that last one was just my holiday happy place.  My bad.

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…that saying goodbye to a kitty I’ve had for 16 years is one of the hardest things I’ve had to do in a very long time.  We will miss you and your sweet, quirkiness, Pistachio.

…that my daughter becomes more and more like me every day.  In some ways I think this is a good thing – I am independent, dedicated, and emotionally tough.  Good traits.  On the other hand, I am sarcastic, snarky, and bitchy.   Not traits one strives to pass along to their children.

The other day, my daughter and I were standing in line at the Gap, in front us were a mother with a young girl.  When they reached the counter, the woman at the counter said to the child:

“Oh, I love your Hello Kitty shirt!  Do you know what my name is?”

The woman moves her sweater and shows the girl her name tag.  Her name was Kitty.  My daughter rolled her eyes and, in a voice laced with sarcasm, said:

“Oh Jeez!  That’s what I want to do when I grow up.  Name my daughter Kitty.  Wonder if her last name is Cat.”

Of course, being the responsible parent that I am, I admonished her for saying such a thing – after I was able to stopping myself from laughing hysterically.

All in all, I think 2011 was a pretty good year for the Isaacs family.  I’ve had worse.  Much, much worse.  I have high hopes for 2012.  It is the year I will finish my novel.

Seriously.

Stop laughing.

Screw you.

Happy New Year!

Things I learned at the Sting concert…

Photo by Anna Webber/Getty Images North America

Sting, my favorite musician of all time, made a stop in Dallas on his Back to Bass tour this week.  I was fortunate enough to be there.  I won’t bore you with too many details of the show.  Suffice it to say, Sting is a God.  Head and shoulders above the rest.  Still a class act after all these years.  This I know to be true.  I have seen him perform before.  His vocals are flawless, his backing band without equal, his set list a great mix of commercial hits and lesser known glittering gems that set a true fan’s heart fluttering with excitement.  All in all, it was a superb show.

While Sting may be top on my list of favorite things, people watching comes in at a close second.  What better place to people watch than a rock concert, right?  Right.  I can’t help myself.  It’s all in the name of character inspiration.  At least that’s what I tell myself as I gawk unabashedly at the masses swirling around me.

Here are a few of the things I learned at the Sting concert:

I learned that…

…that it was not hard to spot the husbands and boyfriends who were dragged kicking and screaming to a concert of an Englishman they couldn’t care less about.  They were the ones whose faces were illuminated throughout the concert by the light from their iPhones and Blackberries.  I image they do not have very happy relationships and are one banana peel away from a nasty, hate-filled break up.  While it is true that they may have earned “points” by showing up, they prove just how uncommitted to the unity they really are.  It’s sort of like when you go on a date with your husband or boyfriend and instead of engaging you in conversation over dinner, they browse their mobile twitter feed.  I feel pretty certain that their deeds will not go unpunished.  We women are a spiteful lot.  Their wives/girlfriends will make them suffer.  Even if done subtly, revenge can leave its mark.

…that there is something inherently wrong with women over a certain age showing their faces in public while wearing thigh high leather boots, skin-tight leather pants and skimpy glittering tank tops.  Denial?  Not just a river in Egypt.  Look, I know that age is relative.  You are only as old as you feel, but have some self-respect.  60 and dressed like a hooker at a Sting concert?  It just reeks insecurity and is, frankly, pathetic.

…that walking ten steps behind the aforementioned 60-year-old hooker and carrying her swag bag, is her mate – a short, pudgy, bald man who she has dressed up to look like Charlie Harper.

…that I should start carrying around a small travel size bottle of bleach in my purse to sanitize my eyes.  The gentleman in front of me was kind enough to flash me a good two inches of his butt crack every time he stood.  I’m not sure I will ever recover from the sight of his hairy ass.

…that there are those among us who will pay a premium price for tickets and then spend the entire show engaged in an activity that does not involve watching or listening to what they have paid to see.  I don’t understand this.  I paid $200 to see Sting.  I want to see Sting.  I want to hear Sting.  I want to feel his music seep into my pores and surge through my veins.  I don’t want to continuously have to pull my eyes away from the stage in order to let these inattentive people in and out of their seats at regular intervals.

…that copious amounts of alcohol will make the man sitting behind me who, by his own admission, had never seen Sting and didn’t really seem to know who he was, a very vocal and ardent fan.  I’m just grateful that he didn’t spill his super-sized wine on me.

…that though I felt like one of youngest people at this concert, it was nice to see children scattered through the crowd.  There weren’t many, but I am encouraged by this.  There is perhaps a smidgen of hope that this younger generation will know real musical talent when they hear it.

…that I am still sad I missed the reunion tour.