Of course everyone was mellow at Woodstock–they were all high. Even for those who hadn’t taken any drugs, there was probably enough stuff they were breathing in the air.

The same was true in Washington. At the inauguration of Barack Obama, all you had to do was breathe the air–to be instantly intoxicated. Just like people were high at Woodstock–In Washington, people were high– on hope.

A couple of weeks ago, I watched the first night of this season’s American Idol auditions with teenage son, Jacob, and I found myself paying particular attention to the words Simon, Paula, Kara and Randy used to tell rejected contestants that they wouldn’t be moving on to the next round. Interestingly/scarily, some of the judge’s words resonated with me.

After blogging yesterday, I got all caught up in an internet surfstorm, which pretty much blew the day away, so I didn’t make it to the gym. I don’t like going after 4pm, when it’s crowded, but I’ll get there eventually. It’s just a matter of scheduling. Plus, I still have to find my membership card. Found a Netflix movie underneath a pile of bills, though. I forgot all about Netflix. So I watched a movie and ordered a pizza. Have you ever had the stuffed cinnamon cream cheese rolls they have at Big Fat Pizza Guys? OMG, they’re to die for!

I should really be getting ready for work, but I’m just not that into it…What if each day we woke up to a world where all we got to do was learn and imagine and create and relate with the people we love. Would that be such a bad thing?..OK now I’m thinking of all the people I’ve met who wake up each morning in much more difficult circumstances and I’m feeling like a thankless complainer.

“I shall turn 50 this year, which is not without its odd emotions and has got me thinking about being, well, old. I don’t mean decrepit, I mean not infantile, no longer so attached to things, no longer so concerned about what others think, no longer so anxious to prove myself — you may know the sort of thing I mean. It was rather a treat, therefore, to play what is– in a way– my first modern romantic lead in a film that is more romantic than comic (although it has very funny moments and is underscored with irony and subtle humour throughout) where I was not required to be stunningly attractive or in despair or in need of rescue, but simply an ordinary woman in her forties living a rather stale-looking life as best she can.”

[S]talking is “a course of conduct, directed at a specific person on at least two separate occasions, that would cause a reasonable person to feel fear.” But a recently single midlife friend of mine has, since her divorce, attracted several sad-sack, underachieving older men who call her regularly but for whom she has expressed no interest. She calls them, in a kindly way, her “stalkers.” She doesn’t fear them, although she admits that they can get annoying. (No surprise, her underachieving ex-husband also calls her regularly to lament his life, so maybe she needs to set up some firmer boundaries…)