Saturday, April 15, 2006


I just watched the first six episodes of Sex in the City.

A man's intelligence really is inversely proportional to the size of his hands. Granted there's some genetics involved, I don't think it's actually because of the amount of manual labor one does, but of how one does it. Ie. intelligently or in a brute way that makes one's hands humongous.

I went blues dancing last Friday. The afterthought was disappointing. The more I thought about it the less it seemed to be blues dancing. It was entirely different from the real blues lesson I had down in Sunnyvale. The clincher that "blues dancing is anything you want it to be" by the love-fest woman. Is that what she says of tango too? If anything were anything one wanted it to be, why would it even have a name, specifically... blues? Do you really experience freedom?

Not all people need to dance ultra close to complete strangers and dance blues "because they want to be close to someone." Do you really experience closeness? Frankly, that's sad. It's fake. And that's it, it felt like an evening of fake blues. Dance close to someone you know and love. Or dance to make a beautiful dance.