Another 10 minutes on the treadmill this morning, this time listening to my Woodstock album. I hoped to keep in the spirit of the 40-year anniversary celebration. Funny thing is, though, I was only 12 when Woodstock happened, and, even if I'd been 18 or 20, I doubt very seriously I would have ventured north to see what all the hoopla was all about. In fact, I doubt I would've been networked enough to even know about the festival. Sure, there was plenty of rock in Chattanooga, on the turntables and FM radio, but that sort of intrepid hippy/flower power doings simply wasn't happening in Chatta-vegas, as we loving call our "large town."
The bagel for breakfast gave way to a late lunch of an apple and a craisen/walnut mixture. It was delicious! After work we ate at Souper! Salad!, and I avoided animal products altogether. I wasn't to keen on the vegan route--and I'm still not convinced--but I need to get ye olde cholesterol down.
I splurged for the 40th anniversary boxed set of Woodstock, the movie. I'd never seen it in its entirity--still haven't; watched about 3/4 of disc 1 (of 3), and will watch the rest tomorrow--but it's certainly in keeping with the mood.
You know, the nearby Bonnaroo festival is only about an hour away in Manchester, Tennessee, so perhaps I'll "get my Woodstock on" and go to that celebrated, world-class festival. I'm not interested in drugs or sex with strangers, and I doubt I'll run naked in the rain/mud, but I could see myself braving the heat and noise to camp within hearing distance of some mighty good music . . .
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