New Music

"Go ahead and put Dragonforce on," Lut says after we get in the car.

I flip through the CDs in the overstuffed case until I find it. It's one of the albums I gave Lut for Christmas, based on John Ringo's* recommendation. I slide it into the player. Drums and bass beat out a frenetic rhythm line, overlaid with electric guitar. Not quite intelligibly, the vocalist sings the first stanza:

On a cold dark winter night hidden by the stormy light
A battle rages for the right for what will become
In the valley of the damned a warrior with sword in hand
Travels fast across the land for freedom he rides

Lut and I listen as we drive down the highway. After a minute, Lut says, "It's like goth on speed."

I giggle. "It is, isn't it? Cruxshadows at 78 rpm."
But without the squeaky voices.

* Look, I told you not to judge him based on Ghost. Anyway, he has good taste in music.

Exercise

It's a beautiful Saturday: t-shirt weather in January, which does happen now and again even in the Emerald City. The good weather and the day off combine to take away two of my main excuses for not exercising, namely that it's dark out and it's too cold to be anywhere but in the den, with a comforter, two cats, and my computer to keep me warm.

It's not that I've stopped exercising. I still walk to and from work, which means that my idea of "no exercise" involves about three hours a week of walking. But I've gone from exercising five-six times a week for more than an hour, to two or three times a week for twenty to thirty minutes.

Five to six times a week for more than an hour is more ambitious than I feel. Five times a week for twenty to thirty minutes seems reasonable, though.

So I pull on a pair of jeans tight enough to demonstrate my need for more exercise, and go for a jog.

The first time I jogged a mile without pause was when I was 16.

The next time I did it, I was 35.

I can still jog over a mile, at a pace so plodding that some of my friends walk faster than it normally. I don't make it much more than a mile; a mile and a quarter, or perhaps a mile and a half if one feels generous.

Still, it's a start.