Walking down the hallway towards the elevator, my footsteps clicked on the floor like echoes of the treadmill I was on last night. I didn’t lift free weights and didn’t use the weight machines. I walked at a brisk pace for forty minutes while watching the console tick off the time. At three point seven mph, I take exactly two steps per second. Most times I feel like I could walk all night, occasionally it’s a push to squeak out one mile. The treadmills are lined up like soldiers in front of the ceiling to floor windows which sweat with condensate. It’s cold outside and the gym is packed with most people plugged into their mp3 players, insulated in each of their own musical preferences. Music used to be a shared event among friends, but this is a thing of the past, except at concerts.
The best concert I remember attending was when Crosby, Stills, and Nash blew into Lexington’s Rupp Arena around 1977. It was a sell-out and the crowd was mellow. I remember that Stephen Stills said something like this was one of the best crowds they had ever performed in front of. The crowd and the band were in synch and as I recall they did three or four encores. As huge as Rupp Arena is, it felt cozy that night. Walking back to our apartment we came to the corner of High and Stone streets. The street signs were missing as usual. As fast as city government could replace them, they would be ripped off the post by some student. Those were the signs of the times, so to speak. I once went to a party close to campus and in the living room, hung on the wall, was the corner of High and Stone. The last concert I went to was to see Chris Whitley around ’02.
This guy at work has a Apple iPhone and there is a free application you can download called Shazam. You hold the iPhone up to a speaker and it can identify the artist, the song, and the CD title within ten seconds. It’s pretty slick. He said he’s been trying to stump it but hasn’t been successful yet. I can’t decide what I want for Christmas, a blue ray player or an iPhone. Charlene will probably give me clothes but I’m still a little kid at heart when it comes to Christmas gifts. My grandmother would buy us underwear.
My sister Janet and her room-mate had a costume party on Halloween; It may have been 1977 also. I rented a gorilla outfit and rode to the party on the back of a motorcycle. We were coming up to the local McDonalds which at the time were selling banana milkshakes. Of course I told Tim to stop and I went in and order a banana shake in full gorilla regalia.
Tim Donovan was a high school friend who moved to Louisville from Chicago. His father would beat him from time to time. He would confide with us and show us his bruises whenever it happened. He died in a motorcycle accident in Bowling Green, KY. Some believed it wasn’t an accident but suicide which, sadly, I think it was.