If only I knew then, my grandfather’s weatherbeaten Smith Corona could power an ipad.
I was lacking in my civic pride.
Despite the Allentown Art Festival being just four blocks to the south, I put forth almost no effort to partake. It’s not because of any particular anything, there was just nothing compelling to make it worthwhile to go. I’ve seen decades of shepard’s crooks make the trek back up Delaware to ad hoc parking lots. I last made a serious voyage when Music is Art was next door on Franklin and gave the whole proceedings a little more soul. Neither was interfering with the other, they fed off each other resulting in a nice neighborhood party. This apparently offended the Allentown Association who wants to keep the art as vanilla and soulless as is possible. So, to be that big of a crowd who are there mostly because of a seasonal sense of obligation, I sat it out.
I also begged off the Race for the Cure as it raced past my door. In tribute, I raced to the coffee maker.
When the traffic cleared, I made it to Bikram Yoga class. It was only my third class this go round and I’m still finding my way and learning how to breath. Psychologically, the heat index is a thing, but the moment you go in, and it’s hot, you either don’t care or heat causes you to stop thinking about it. I’m not very graceful at it, but the results are good. Nice to accomplish stuff without some psycho with a headset barking at me to pedal faster. You only compete against yourself and looking at me I like my chances. That session seemed extra brutal as it was 105 in the room and a very long day at the office left me a little wrecked when I woke up on Saturday morning.
We had our creative black tie fundraiser and I played bartender to the stars.
“Stay thirsty, my friends”