I went to 7-11 and got crap. I love 7-11 and not only because it’s full with heavenly doo-doo from hot dogs, chips of every shape and color and cheese and chili that you have to milk out of a bag – really...ask to see it, it’s in a bag and sometimes it needs to be milked. It’s because you can go there as you are. For some reason, I feel like I can go there with my hair a mess, no makeup on and clothes all askew and nobody will notice. Kind of like when you’re in your car, you think you’re invisible, of course until somebody next to you is staring at you because you’re, well, you know – trying to keep your finger warm.
At MY 7-11, yes MY 7-11 in Oregon City, there is this great gal there named Malia. She has a great smile, always nice to see at the counter. She’s one of those people that are a pick-me-up, somebody who could be having the worst day of her life, but you’d never know it. A few weeks back she had been at the counter when I purchased a hot dog, hold the bun. After seeing her puzzled look, I told her that I was trying to lose weight.
This particular 7-11 “crap” run night, she asked how the diet was going and I looked down at the bag of Doritos, the slice of pizza and the candy bar in front of me and stuttered “ahhh, not so good.” I explained to her that weekends were bad for me. During the week I was cool as a cucumber, but weekends were like the food devil was driving my self control train straight to Hell. “I’m so sorry”, she said. 7-11 is to me, besides being a place where I can totally feel frumpy, is like a convenience bar. You belly up and tell your woes. I think it’s the 24 hours thing – they’re always there for you, no matter when, because they are open 24 hours! It’s a friend that never closes. I truly believe they should add bar stools to the counter...I'll get right on that...
I explained to her that I had seen a video recently of myself dancing last year on stage at the blues festival and I looked like a dancing turtle. I had told a co-worker that too and she had asked, “Have you ever seen a dancing turtle?” I told her no, but I think we might be close cousins. “What’s a dancing turtle look like?” Malia asked. I started making my dancing moves, hunching my shoulders up and she said with a sad “ohh” with a look of recognition like she had just found her car in the Disneyland parking lot after 12 hours straight in the park and the lights were left on.
She smiled and said the most incredible life changing thing.
“Just don’t dance.”
For a moment, I thought about it. I’m after all, not a really terribly good dancer, turtle or not. I mean, I'm not awful, awful, but I sometimes am a white guy in a white girl’s body. I don’t really HAVE to dance. I can find an alternative. I saw the amazing Susan Tedaschi in concert a couple times and she didn’t dance. She just sorta swayed with her face turned every so slightly up, looking almost angelic. Yea, I could just sway. I mean, there's nothing in the guidelines of blues diva-ness that says I need to dance. I never really got a contract after becoming a musician that laid out the terms of my new entertainment career that said I must dance and jump around like a fool. I just took to that on my own - the fool part comes naturally. I could sway. I could sway.
Or I could just sit on a stool. That is pretty cool. And rhymes…. I sometimes sit on a stool at my gig out at The Horseradish in Carlton. Actually, I really just lean against it to be honest. Maybe leaning is the way to go. Is that more sexy than swaying? Swaying might make me sea sick. But then again, leaning might appear that I had low blood sugar. I’d had to have to stop the show every time somebody came up to me with a glass of orange juice.
Nope, that won’t work.
You know what else won’t work - NOT dancing. It would be just stopping myself from doing something enjoyable, just to continue to avoid changing myself for the better. Dancing feels good! Getting extra weight off will help it look good too (to me, and that is what ultimately counts).
I can’t dance…I mean RUN from that fact.
Let the turtle dance!
