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Jogging Tech

Image by Lyn Millett via Flickr

Technology Thursday

We all look for motivation to exercise wherever we can find it. I wrote a long post over at my blog the other day about my recent foray into the Couch to 5K running program. There are several things I'm using to keep myself motivated, not least talking about it publicly in places like Twitter, Facebook, my own blog, and now here! But one of the things that is helping a lot is technology.

First, of course, is the music.

The Boss and Me (Or the Mom and the Magic)

Work Wednesday

You work nine to five and somehow you survive till the night.

Bruce Springsteen, Night, Born to Run (1975)

I spent Monday at work simply surviving until nightfall. Not because I was having a bad day. (It was filled with phone calls and meetings but was far from fraught.) Not because I needed to regain some balance after our Halloween weekend mayhem. And not because I wanted to connect with my kids.

No, I couldn't wait to call it a day because I had floor tickets for Bruce that night. Bruce! Bruce Springsteen! (Do I really need to hyperlink to his bio?) The Boss! 

Since I've achieved married with children status, I've only rarely gone to concerts - child-oriented gigs excluded. And most of those have been classical or jazz. Somehow, in the mix of events we deem "babysitter-worthy," rock concerts just haven't rated. But when my boss bought Springsteen tickets for his Spanish wife, I knew I just had to go see Bruce and the E Street Band this time. (After all, Bruce just turned 60 in September!) My husband wasn't wild about going, but a good Jersey Girl-friend was.

Beforehand, I thought that I would relive memories of my first Springsteen concert more than 20 years ago.  And I did - a little bit. 

But Monday night's concert wound up being more about now than then. 

Travel, via Music Festivals...

Travel Tuesday  

 

Music, music everywhere, such a feast to behold!

 

Following on from last week's post, maybe traveling via eating is not your thing, but music... ah, now you're playing my song! I love a music festival. Every year, last weekend in March, a gaggle of mothers (only) from Daughter's primary school head off to the Apollo Bay Music Festival (that's us on the right). We all get in the "love bus" (one of the mother's VW Caravelle) and head off down the coast for 2-3 days of music, marquees and mischief. We've been doing it now for years. It's certainly one social event that is hotly anticipated.

 

What's made me think of it this week is that the "early bird" ticket invitation has just landed in my inbox. They're not wasting any time!

 

The beauty about going to a music festival is many fold. Not only are they colorful and noisy and local and toe tapping, they introduce you to acts from all over the world that you may never have had the pleasure (or not) to be exposed to. Many an artist will use it as a good reason to visit a place/country, to spread their love and sell a few CDs. For locals, it's a great way to showcase what they do also.

 

Coming up in October are a plethora of music festivals; just Google them and you'll see. Or even better, not got any local? Why not organize your own? Start the inaugural world music festival in your hometown and get the drum rolling... what a contribution you will be making.

An Overscheduled Mom Slows Down

Startup Sunday

I was racing out of the house, an overscheduled mom late on a summer day. My afternoon had been lined up so beautifully: my daughter's music class at 3:30 p.m., the bank with my business partner at 3:40 p.m., a meeting with our marketing guru at 4:30 p.m. and then a networking event at 6 p.m. But I had taken an extra few minutes to perfect a project for a client and worked past my planned departure time.

Now I would be late for every single appointment.

As I screeched out of our driveway, I could feel the tension tightening my chest. The only thing I hate more than being late is being kept waiting. As I mentally ran through my to-do list, it started to feel so oppressive and impossible to achieve that I wanted to scream.

Then I heard a little voice in my head. Even worse than being late, what if you get into a car accident? We don't want Mommy getting hurt! (That voice sounded remarkably like my husband.)

I thought:

What's the worst that happens? If I'm five minutes late for music class -- well, the teacher was 10 minutes late last week! And my business partner doesn't care if I keep her waiting; neither does Ellen. They're the easiest people to work with, always understanding and flexible. As for a networking event, being late is de rigueur!

I slowed down.

Making Media of Our Lives

Technology Thursday

In the wake of Michael Jackson's untimely passing there was, as usual in our tabloid-celebrity culture, endless commentary. I managed to avoid most of it. While I appreciate his talent and own some of his material, I can't say that I felt a terribly emotional connection. I'm also temperamentally averse to maudlin celebrity culture as filtered through the 24x7 mediagasm that takes place whenever something like this happens (although I do confess to becoming a bit teary while watching Princess Diana's funeral.)

Anyway, I avoided most of the commentary, but did come across a couple of things that I found interesting.

Tech-Enabled Ubiquitous Music

Image by tanais via Flickr

Technology Thursday

Anyone else out there remember back in the day when if we wanted to get one of our favorite songs on tape, we'd sit poised over a tape-recorder's 'record' button holding the recorder up to the radio waiting for the song to be played? Yeah, that was a loooong time ago. First there was the cd -- access to whatever song on the album we wanted, whenever, without having to fast-forward or rewind! Then there was the mp3 and the iPod -- access to whatever song we owned (if you are obsessive like me and ripped all of your CDs), whenever you want.  And right in your pocket!  And of course, there are things like Pandora -- access to just about any song you can think of whenever you want, wherever there's an Internet connection.