Sweet Emotion

"You talk about things that nobody cares
You're wearing out things that nobody wears"

Sweet Emotion, you know who. . .

In 1993 I listened to an interview with Mavis Staples who had just released a record, The Voice, produced by Prince.  She said that after about three minutes with him she knew she was in the presence of genius, which is saying something given her pedigree.

The same year he did a few shows at the DNA Lounge.  You can now stream them off of Wolfgang's Vault, which was what we, Ian and I, did this morning on our walk in the marsh; he is such good company these days.  The intro then rolling bass line then tight horn ensemble into You Sexy Motherf***er is fucking spine tingling.  Ian, who usually hates anything like funk, was totally caught up, though he was spinning so hard on his future plans that after Prince we did John Prine for two miles and he never complained.  Not through Sabu Visits the Twin Cities or Hello in There, or Bruised Orange.  That was a first.

This is a stressful time and need to stay and be present.  Notwithstanding the joy of throwing heavy iron balls around, the best thing I have done in the past three years is develop a consistent yoga practice.  Breathing deep and sweating it out on the mat is nothing but good and it is now essential.

So that was it Thursday.  Blast of a day mediating trust dispute, getting the parties to a settlement and saving the judge probably three days of trial time, having a ball.  Meet with client at 3:45 and finish late but enough time to duck into EH class; she plays the best music and lays me out.  Takes fucking 40 minutes to drive down Lombard starting at 6, erasing the glow.

Friday, in office by 8, bail at 4:15 and head in for 135 minutes of Pradeep.  Why one would go to a bar on a Friday evening instead of his classes is beyond me.  90 minutes in he has us in reverse triangle and twisting left to right, my weak side.  He hangs in and tries to guide but given cortisol levels and 90 minutes I am close to spent.  Give up trying to get the left hand outside the right foot, it is just a practice.  The other side is a cake walk.  Finish and roll down Market with clean-up calls onto the boat and north.

Get home and receive word that Brigid is at friend's house for night, after missing seven days of school with stress related migraines.  Over my dead body.  I call her tell her to be ready in 30, she sounds relieved.  Collect her and we watch Rush Hour II with B.

Today, she has tech from 9:00 to 1:00.  Drop her off, Ian and I spill into marsh with ecstatic labrador.  Listening to Prince and Prine his concern re Brigid is genuine and illuminating and very thoughtful.  We collect her, and head to Costco, they are thick as thieves and giggling.

He drops Aerosmith's greatest hits into the cart and at seven bucks I don't veto.  We head to Trader Joe's to complete shopping for the dinner Brigid says she is going to cook.  We listen to Sweet Emotion, Dude Looks Like a Lady and Love in an Elevator, which Ian seems to know a little too well.  We come home, unload the car and Brigid does face plant into the sofa and does not move for two and a half hours.  Ian helps put away without being asked, casting an occasional eye over his sister's prone form.

I am ready for a nap, but fuck that.  Go out at 4:30 like this:

10+10 28kg rows

10 20kg bootstrap squats

16/5 to 32/1 descending ladder, give up on the 16 after first circuit.  There is no point.  Move to 5+5 20, 4+4 24, 3+3 28, to 1+1x2 32.  The 28's go well, failed reps second circuit second 32 left, but fix it by third and it rockets up both reps.

3x

20 28kg swings to 1+1 28kg tgu x 5

30/30 20 swings 28kg x 5.

Rose is demanding ball play which we do till dusk.  Brigid wants to do dinner; I stay next to her, it is excellent.

Finish with Butch & Sundance after catching last two innings of NLCS; Giants victorious in game 1.  There will be a fall only over my dead body.