Saturday, I had an extra-long workout at the gym; 30 minutes of which was elliptical work.
We went to the Oregon Country Fair. It was rainy and just the right temperature for me. While I missed seeing some of the more exotic costumes (or lack of costume), I also didn't miss some of the fashion donts that happen at the fair. It was nice seeing L.H. a writer-friend who sells masks at the fair. I think my favorite group was the Fighting Karma Marching Band, who plays a selection of Sousa mash-ups.
At some point over the weekend, The Child and I got into a discussion about music. He's discovered "Imagine Dragons" and so he was playing me their song. OK, songs; but like U2, their songs sort of sound the same. In this case, there's a signature A-minor key, the word "whoa-oh-oh" in a sort of tonic-fifth-forth progression, an AABB rhyme scheme, and a key word (like "radioactive") repeated about four to ten times. Actually, it could be much worse.
TC: "John I want you to play something with a strong bass. Like 'Duuuuuuhhhhhn.'"
John: "Oh, well, here's something." (Plays the Scorpions "Rock Me Like a Hurricane")
TC: "No John; a strong bass."
John: "Well..." (Tries Duran-Duran's "View to a Kill.")
TC: "C'mon. Bass. Duuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhnnnnnnnn."
John: "Umm" (Tries The Cars "Just What I Needed") "Er, no..." (Tries "My Best Friend's Girlfriend")
TC: "There's no bass in this."
John: "Hmm. Well, you know, I don't normally like what they play at the gym -- but I noticed when they changed the music to some newer stuff that it all sounded generically bland. Listen to the artistry of the guitar in this--"
TC (throwing his hands up, tilting his head sideways and making a face): "Ugh! No! (In a Graham Chapman voice) Not the artistry!"
John: "Alright, fine; we can listen to "Imagine Dragons." (figured I may as well listen to it to make sure that it's just sad indie songs and not songs about sex and war)
Monday, I went to the gym and had a typical workout. My latest focus is on obliques, so I've been doing side crunch things.
Dreams: Odd mish-mash dreams. Tuesday and Wednesday nights I've dreamed that I've written a short story (the second time I remember editing it), but when I wake up, I can't remember what I've written.
This morning I had another hypnopompic visitation; this time it was a small muppet-like white-whiskered gnome wearing a blue shirt and a red cap. I think he had a red nose, sort of like Bert's from Sesame Street. He was looking at the books on my end table. I knew he wasn't really there, and he faded away. So far all of these instances have been silent. I suppose if they start talking to me I should write down what they say.