The best advice that anyone has ever given me was when I was younger and completely out of control...I ran into this black guy, eight feet tall wearing an emerald green satin jumpsuit, matching skates and very stoned. I said to him "I'm very sorry. Perhaps you can help me."
He looked down to me and replied, "little lady, let your mind go and your body will follow."
As I stand in front of the mirror on this twenty-ninth day of giving myself Jazz Hands, one thing is abundantly clear. I have yet to let go of my mind. Mechanically stumbling through this routine is simply...well...mechanical and stumbly. Remember yesterday when I referred to my hand jazzing as sublime? I was either fibbing or being ironic, take your pick. Today I decide to deploy prior to coffee one, coffee two, shower one (okay, I only take one shower)...so I'm breaking some rules, since it really doesn't seem to matter what time of the morning these hands of mine jazz, it always seems forced.
As stated, it is morning time. The house is quiet save for the burp and hiss of the coffee machine brewing a distant two room lengths away. The bathroom is a strange combination of sterility and cat piss, lit way too bright with the warm glow of eight screaming, sixty watt, soft-white, light bulbs. With outstretched arms and shaking rigid hands, I say "Jazzzz Handssssss!" Sigh. I turn off the lights, and the room becomes dim with the subtle illumination of hazy dawn lurking through dust and soap scum windowpanes. I try again. "Jazzzz Handssssss!" Sigh. It's an improvement, but still terrible execution.
In an ironic twist of fate, one of those sixty watt, soft-white, light bulbs goes on right above my head, but not literally, that'd be weird.
Perhaps this routine could take place at night, in the dark, where nobody can see me, including me. Perhaps then, and only then, will my mind truly be free from the awkward constraints of seeing. Sure, there's my mind's eye, but if I can fool it for a moment or two while I deploy my Jazz Hands, it won't see a thing!
I shall thrust my hands into the night sky and Jazz Hands mightily unto the stars...and then report back.
Stay tuned.
I probably need to clarify that a black man did not give me the advice as stated above, nor did he call me "little lady." Just in case you are not the one person that will know where that quote comes from (that one person being me), it is the second time in as many days that I've referenced the film "L.A. Story" in my blog. It's a terrific movie complete with clanging testicles and talking billboards. You should not deprive yourself further and seriously consider checking it out.
Day twenty-nine complete.
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