Gettting Rubbed the Right Way

Dear Madonna,

I barely had time to unpack my suitcase after ACC in Houston, do laundry, and re-pack for SwingVoucour in Vancouver.  More than just a dance trip, I was overseeing the delivery of the event (as I'd booked the hotel), and took the time to conduct site inspections at six other hotels, both downtown and in Richmond. I took a client to lunch, met a colleague for dinner, and saw Bob Saget of all people perform at the Rver Rock Resort & Casino. My night at the beautiful Hotel Georgia afforded me the opportunity to swim in their saltwater lap pool, and have their driver, Jim, chauffeur me around in a Bentley! I got to get together with my first dance instructor, Graeme and his wife, Elizabeth, and was invited to help teach a couple of classes, but opted to get to the airport early and get some work down before my red-eye back to Toronto.

I knew I'd be feeling rough after a weekend of dancing, lack of sleep, and sitting all cramped up on a plane for four+ hours, so I'd booked a massage that the Stillwater Spa in the Hyatt - paid for in part by a gift certificate from one of my favourite sales people.  My massseur, a tall, Eastern Eureopean man, introduced himself and - even after asking him to say his name again - I swear he said Steely Dan.

Steely Dan had some smooth jazz playing in the treatment room and asked me if that was okay. He thanked me when I said yes, and didn't ask for "frogs and waterfalls".  I went for the eucalyptus-scented oil, even though I couldn't smell it, and gave the go-ahead for both scalp and glute massage.

To tell you the truth, I'm a little nervous about getting massages - not about being touched - but perhaps being touched too deeply.  On more than one occasion I've started crying during a massage, and afterward I sometimes feel sick. 

But Steely Dan did an amazing job. I swear he pulled out some moves I've never experienced before. And, of course, I've been a basket case ever since - but in a good way.