Where else in the world would you see a woman with a neck brace gyrating to some live music along side a crutch-waving man and a woman donning a balloon helmet? Why, at Cesar Chavez Park in Downtown Sacramento, of course.

Such was the scene last night at the Friday Night Concert in the Park. Sad to say, though, that the entertainment we were hoping for — Mumbo Gumbo — had, unbeknownst to us, been postponed and replaced with a less-than-stellar substitute group by the name of Syncro. Clever name, though not-so-clever music. Although they did have a pretty rockin’ sax player as the lead instrument, which is an original take on a 4-piece band. But still. It was mediocre at best. Definitely a disappointment.

Now you must understand that I’m something of a longish-time Gumbo fan. You see, because I was introduced to the group when I first moved to the Sacramento area back in the early 2000s (you know, in the good ol’ days, before text-messaging started raping the English language and the art of communication. But I digress.), there is a bit of nostalgia attached to seeing Mumbo Gumbo live. Besides that they’re just fantastic performers. And the fact is that I see them maybe once a year. So I was looking forward to seeing them last night, to introducing some new friends to their fine music, and fully expecting to dance the night away right in front of the stage while belting out the lyrics to “Love Makes Me Stupid” (because love — or the lack thereof — really is making me stupid right now) as per usual for a Gumbo good time. (OK, that was cheesy. Apologies.)

The night was not a complete bust, however, thanks in part to the aforementioned eclectic collection of characters whose sole purpose (of course) was to make up for the lack of entertainment coming from the stage. More so, I was in the company of good friends, which as we know, makes all the difference in Downtown.

Post Script: There is a possibility that photos will be posted at a later date and time.

Guy passes on skate board.

Guy on skate board stops.

“Do you happen to have the time?”

“Sorry, I don’t.”

What should have happened:

Guy on skateboard continues to skateboard merrily along; I continue to walk merrily along.

What actually happened:

“I was also wondering if your personality is as stunning as you look.”

Hmm. Let me think about that one. Well, considering that 1. it’s probably close to 90 degrees; 2. I just ran two miles, which means that 3. my face is an obnoxious shade of red; 4. sweat is dripping down my face; 5. my hair is in a ratty pony tail; and 6. I’m stinky, unless my personality is obnoxious, drippy, ratty and/or stinky, I sure hope the answer is a resounding no.

But thanks for asking.

“Good question.”

“I don’t suppose you’d give me your phone number so that I could find out.”

Not likely.

I did, however, consider giving him my website so that he could see what I look like sans two-mile jog. But only for a split second.

Hello? Anyone out there? Anyone? Anyone?

The teaching gig is over. At least until fall. And I find myself in the same predicament that I was in a few months ago. I spend (almost) all day, (almost) every day by myself. Alone. No people. Sometimes even no talking. Or very little of it.

I. am. going. nuts.

Is it really possible to kill, oh, I don’t know, say 30 minutes (or more) by staring off into space until the sun shining through the glass on your balcony door turns all fuzzy and you’re in such a daze that you think you’re finally being called home? (Look to the light…) Yes. Yes it is.

Ach. The point I’m trying to make here (fear not, there is indeed a point) is that for several months I’ve been talking about, thinking about, researching about, dreaming about, wishing about, hoping about this crazy little idea called coworking. And I’m making some progress: connections with others (people!) who are interested in the concept, connections with others (more people!) who are interested in helping get the process going, and even a lead on a prospective space.

But nothing is gelling quite yet, and that progress feels more like baby steps forward and 6-foot-tall-adult steps backward.

The problem, I think, is that my focus has been mostly on finding a space. You know, if you build it they will come. Because thus far, creating consistency has been nearly impossible due in large part to the simple question: where could a coworking group comfortably meet on a (semi) regular basis? But the reality of that focus is that when I sit down to work (yes, sometimes I actually get work done), there are no — you guessed it — people.

Now, this prospective space that I speak of is a promising prospect — it’s just moving a hellava lot slower than I would like. So in the mean time I need to find the people. I need to be with the people. People, where are you?

The good news is that I recently moved into a very rad apartment in Midtown and I have — despite some of my work-from-home issues — actually been working from home. And while working from home, here I sit at the dining room table thinking, how cool would it be if there were a few other people here working with me? Why can’t I have people here? I’m sitting here writing, and there are five empty chairs around this table — people could be sitting there, in those very chairs, working on their laptops. We’ve got wifi. There’s even a printer and a coffee maker. What more do a couple of coworkers need?

An addendum to the good news is that I also have two very rad roommates who are cool with my opening the place for coworking sessions a couple of times a month.

Now all I need is people.

So I’ve been deliberating about whether or not to post this pic, because really, this is not technically a personal blog. That’s not the intention, anyway. But would you just look at this photo? I mean, we are one good looking family, don’t you think? Not that I’m biased or anything (or even the slightest bit narcissistic). But still. Who can deny a fabulous photo when he/she sees one? Besides that, my little bro graduated from high school a few weeks ago. Crazy. He’s the youngest; the last of the snot-nose-punks to leave the hallowed halls of public education; the last to cross the proverbial threshold into the confusing, undefined, at times exhilarating and at other times torturous stage of life known as The College Years. Even more crazy.

Does anyone really care about time? Why is that when we’re busy, all we want is a little bit of free time to take care of all the things we never have time for. And when we have that free time, we can’t figure out what to do with ourselves and all we want is a bit of structure to help fill that time. Isn’t that the way – always wanting the opposite of what we have, never satisfied.

And so here I sit at just such a juncture. The semester is over. Final essays have been read. Grades have been posted. I just recently moved. Which means there’s plenty of unpacking/organizing/cleaning to do around the house. Yet when I look around the bedroom, kitchen, dining room, the sight so overwhelms me that I sigh and tell myself I’ll do it – whatever it may be – tomorrow.

Same thing is happening with writing and several miscellaneous projects that I’ve got brewing. There’s a to-do list in my brain. I even wrote the list down. But when I look at the list, I want to sigh, crawl back into bed, throw the covers over my head and make futile attempts at convincing myself that I am, in fact, not the goal driven person who gets highs from ceremoniously crossing items off to-do lists.

See, I know what needs to get done; it’s only a matter of doing it. And therein lies the rub – exactly how does one motivate oneself to make progress on multiple projects; to organize one’s schedule so as to actually be productive on said projects; and to track progress so as to attain some kind of tangible result indicating said progress?

Some days (today is one of them, I think), time gets the best of me, and before I know it, half the day is gone. Poof. Bye-bye. Just vanished. And what have I got to show for it? Nothing. Not a damn thing. Except for, well, shaved legs and maybe a blog post. If I’m lucky.