Today someone came into my cubicle at work and told me, “you know, you’re a good guy.” Of course, this was related to something I did at work (we’re not known for dropping random compliments); I just hope it works out as well as this person thinks it will.

Then, this evening at the ballroom dance practice (where—get this—I actually danced), Connor informed me that I’m a good dancer—and that I wasn’t allowed to question it.

That’s reassuring to hear, because—as Barry and I talked about tonight—I never watch myself in the wall of mirrors that is a prominent feature of the room. Barry feels (and I mostly agree) that it’s a rather Narcissistic thing to do; the downside to that opinion is it means that you never have any idea whether or not you look like a total fool.

(Unless you’re doing the polka, in which case you know you look like a fool—and you love it.)

Of course, this was the same Connor who earlier had put on a far-too-small pink sweater (female, of course) and then danced a lindy hop. So, um, take that for what you will.

Otherwise, today was pretty much characterized by me rocking out to (erm) Michael Bolton’s Dance with Me. (The song’s actually much cooler than the singer would indicate. Really!) I’d alternate between that and a variant (I think) of Rockapella’s cover of Shambala. Both are fun West Coast songs, in my book.