Note: Comments are behaving strangely at the moment. If you ignore the weird text and just type your comment and press Post, it is received but the page won't reload like normal. I'm investigating and hope to sort soon!
"Today's class will feature no less than three Bon Jovi songs," our Body Pump instructor gleefully announced this afternoon.
Oh hell yes! Way to turn around my bitcharse disposition in one sentence. You cannae beat a bit of the Bon. The tunes turned out to be a really dodgy techno remix of Living On A Prayer and two inferior newer songs, but it did the trick. I don't know where I'd be without exercise to elevate my mood. In jail, probably.
I had a Bon Jovi Flashback in the middle of the Tricep track and nearly dropped the bar on my nose from laughing. The day before my last high school exam, me and three good mates went to Sydney to see Bon Jovi in concert. My first concert ever! Unless you count that Elton John tribute guy who played at the local greyhound track when I was ten.
When you lived in a far-flung rural town the only way for kids to get to concerts in the Big City was by charter bus. It took about five hours, excluding vomit stops. Since this was 1995 there was only a cassette player on the bus and the self-appointed Overlords of the Cassette would sidle up to the driver and bat their eyelashes until he put their tapes on. It always fascinated me how on a bus full of strangers a clear hierachy of popularity would establish itself within the first fifty kilometres. Anyway, we were approaching the outskirts of Sydney; so close to Bon Jovi we could smell the acid wash, when a rather tired and dull blast of guitar dribbled forth over the speakers.
"What the hell is this shit?" I snorted to my friend Jenny.
There was an outraged intake of breath and one of the Cassette Chicks spun around in her seat, fixing her kohl-rimmed eyes on me in what we call back home a Death Stare.
"This shit," she hissed, "Is Bon Jovi's latest album!"
Oh. Well. It was shit.
Anyway that has bugger all to do with anything, doesn't it? I have an almighty backlog of posts but had pangs of self-consciousness every time I sat down to write. It's been odd trying to get back into the groove after my Internet Exile. It's like I had amnesia and stumbled across my belongings like a stranger… I write about my blubber? On the internet? Why would you do that? Why would anyone read that?
And then I watched some really depressing documentaries about wars and poverty and felt guilty for writing about trying not to eat things for almost eight years.
More soon, comrades!