Month: September, 2015


When updating my leadsheet app on my ipad this week and am horrified to discover that the set lists I been building this entire year, have not been saved.


I loose everything.


I am on the verge of freaking out when I realize that it’s not like I lost the knowledge of how to play the songs. I just have to search for them again the in the app’s database and recreate a new list.


And when I do, I find that my new list has 100 songs in it. 13 more than the 87 it used to have.



In a candid conversation this week, someone asked me what was the worst part of my job.


I didn’t have to think twice.


I hate being photographed without consent.


And lately, people have been pointing their cameras, phones and video equipment at me, making me feel like some kind of performing monkey, or an animatronic freak show at a theme park.


What bothers me about this is the complete lack of human exchange.


There is absolutely none of the common courtesies of “how are you doing”, “what’s your name”, or even “you sound great” leading up to the very transgressive act of shooting.


And in a flash, I feel ironically both unseen and unheard.


But also just as quickly, I give thanks that I am acknowledged by a spiritual power that has a greater focus than the lens of any guest.



I finish my workout and smile as I write down my last exercise in my log.


It looks like a picture perfect plan.


“This is totally be publishable, as is, in any fitness magazine,” I think smugly.


Just then, a guy that looks like he stepped off the pages of one of those magazines walks onto the floor.


Immediately, I start to wonder how he programs his workouts for himself and what his plan looks like.


The only thing stopping me from feeling like a complete failure is remembering that in the gym, as in life, everyone is on a different and uniquely special plan.




The funny thing about loosing someone to cancer is finding out that everyone wants you to know they have someone whom they lost to cancer too.


Most of my regular guests, over time, have come to know why and how I’ve ended up in Detroit.


I rarely volunteer to share details about my personal life anymore.


And when probed to do so, I am never disappointed with the outrageous empathy-I-know-just-how-that-feels response stories.


This week, a man told me that his grandmother was diagnosed with cancer. She prayed everyday and was then stricken with polio. The polio miraculously made the cancer cells shrink and go into remission. Alas, while she was cured of cancer, she eventually died of polio.


I wanted to tell this man to give it a rest.


But then I thought maybe I needed to give it a rest.


By simply telling people a little white lie about moving here for work, and thus saving a little bit more of myself just for me.