Oh don't you worry, we'll rock out.

Apparently I'm going to have to remind myself a couple more times in the next few months to just trust my/our instincts with all this wedding-type stuff, already. Seriously.

This time it isn't elegant flowers and sleek vases distracting me, it's music. Specifically, a dj. Specifically, this dj (scroll down, he's in the last photo). Not some guy with a computer and a bunch of mp3s and a microphone, but an artist who uses vinyl and turntables to create something that's greater than the sum of its individual-song parts. Click around through some of the dj mixes over there and just try not to bust out with some dance moves.

I'm not genuinely, deep-down-in-my-heart-of-hearts disappointed that we won't be hiring him (although I *am* disappointed not to have an opportunity to rock out to his tunes at some other event). We're compiling our own music, and -- as with the bottles and jars as vases -- I'm excited about it because it's very us. The Awesome Fiance and I are music people, and while Mr. Flashdance there clearly has excellent taste, I think it's safer if we keep complete control of the set list (mostly so we make sure to include all the must-haves, of which there are many).

I have no idea what Mr. Flashdance charges for a fee, but that's probably another good reason to stick with the plan. We surely shouldn't be able to afford him if his rates are in any way linked to his level of talent. Plus, there's the pesky matter of him being located in California. And the fact that if he played our wedding, I'd spend half the night at the table asking about the songs. I mean, honestly, how cool is it to watch him at work? I find live artistry and musicianship (this guy, a really good band, whatever) so fascinating, but for this particular event I intend to be fully immersed in dancing with the wonderful man I will have just married (and lots of other loved ones), so recorded music will do just fine.

Plus, we found that most elusive and important of items this afternoon: a suitably danceable Rage Against the Machine track, free of profanity. So, clearly, it's going to be ok.

Recounting a Great Weekend, Part I: R to the O

Ohmygoodness, ohmygoodness, ohmygoodness. I just wrapped up one of the best weekends I could have hoped for. This post is likely to be full of soaring and poetic narrative detailing over-optimism, sheer joy, and blatant avoidance of all things remotely negative. If any of these things bother you, I suggest you stop reading now. Otherwise, chipperness ahoy!

Mr. Terrific and I spent Friday evening with a lovely group of his coworkers. Great people, all very welcoming, friendly, and just plain fun to be around. Awesomeness points: hundreds.

On Saturday, we made some progress on the old house front. The corners of one particularly awkward hallway (over a staircase) that I couldn't reach are now officially painted. Hooray for Mr. Terrific being taller than I am. Awesomeness points: several.

In the afternoon, it was strongly suggested that I take a nap (insert another few awesomeness points for that), in preparation for a surprise adventure in the evening. Mr. Terrific had asked me a few weeks ago to block out the day and he managed to keep me thoroughly perplexed about why, refusing to refer to the plan as anything other than just "the surprise." We got in the car in the early evening and I was assigned to navigation assistance, as the directions were of no help in deciphering the substance of the destination ("Brownfield?! What the heck's in Brownfield?").

Pulling into the parking lot (and I use the term loosely... dirt road and adjacent field, more like) wasn't helpful, either. The adorable farmhouse exterior gave no indication that we were about to walk into a gorgeous, serene, cathedral-ceilings-with-timber-frame-exposed-beams, 200-seat performing arts venue to see a primarily acoustic show by quite possibly my favorite band. [For those of you reading from a geographic distance, if you've not yet discovered the
Rustic Overtones, good lord, you need to check them out. Seriously. Now. Please? For me? It will make my so happy to know I've shared their fantabulousness with others.]

And what a show it was. Such palpable excitement and energy from the two hundred of us who wanted to be there enough to make the long trek over back roads not even navigable via GPS technology. Such talent on the stage, fantastic songwriting, and amazing musicianship. I've got a special place in my heart for any band with a horn line, but these guys are over-the-top talented. And the singer? Dude has got control over his voice, yo.

I might be slightly biased, what with the fact that Rustic Overtones provided much of the sountrack of the early years of my adulthood. To be fair, though, Mr. Terrific, who's been skeptical of the extent of their talents, was mightily impressed Saturday night and may be won over as a convert in the near future. Regardless of whether my perception of their fabulosity was accurate, for me, enjoying the show was an electric, soul-nourishing experience. It's the sort of thing that might, I suspect, only be fully appreciated by those who've had the opportunity to feel the rush of being showered in appreciative applause (which I've only had an inkling of in comparison, to be fair). Listening to expertly performed music so energetically good that my face hurt from smiling and my hands hurt from clapping made my soul decidedly un-hurty. Awesomeness points: a gazillion.

Cue Chariots of Fire Theme

I'm signed up for a 5k road race in two weeks. I've done a few 5ks several years ago, and I actually signed up for this particular race last year but didn't end up running in it for various reasons. I'm determined to keep that from happening again this year. A couple months ago, I made a point to make my trips to the gym treadmill-focused without overdoing it, causing shinsplints, and bringing myself back to square one. I came to the realization yesterday that - uh oh! - this thing is coming up on the horizon alarmingly fast (which phrase, of course, has nothing to do with how I run). My mile-and-a-half or two-mile treadmill outings of late aren't going to cut it if I have any hope for not thoroughly embarassing myself at the race. I know I'm going to be among the slowest of the slow (always am!), but I'd like to finish the thing, and finish in a time that's at least not humiliating. For me, 33 minutes would be keep me out of humiliationsville. Half an hour would be fantastic, but I'm not sure if it's realistic for me, at least for this particular event.

Anyway, I went to the gym today and set out to get my muscles and psyche used to the idea of running for thirty minutes at a time at a slightly uncomfortable speed and level of exertion. It was great! So so so great. I mean, yeah, I got bored at various points and tired at a lot of other points, but the treadmill screen tally at 3.1 miles was a lovely sight. Today's "ok, I'll run a little while longer" moments brought to you by "Take the Power Back" by Rage and "Toxic" by Britney Spears (don't judge, it's up-tempo and very motivating).

Now I'm exhausted and a little hurty, but in the best possible way. Time to make a batch of broccoli-cheddar soup. Today's a good day.