#ThrowbackThursdays - #ROW80 - Artwork For Sale (Ha Ha)

I posted this four years ago today and when it popped up in my Facebook feed I was delighted, because I remember how damned silly it was and I'm all for silly. I've done nothing but brood and carp over Trump and it ends NOW. I'm getting back to my fun, 100% fact-free posts and getting in shape for the A-to-Z Challenge that begins April 1, 2017 and in keeping with last year's theme, I'm going to continue to write about all of the hoo-ha that goes on around here on the Avenue. Nebraska Avenue, that is. There's just too much “specialness” going on to not take advantage of the human condition or the everyday idiocies I see, and boy howdy, there are a butt-ton of 'em, whatever a butt-ton is.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy my little journey into the Visual Arts. My dear friend, YumaBev, or Bev Mittan-Ribaudo, who has Parkinson's Disease, is an actual, real-live, award-winning photographer, along with her Wonderful Husband. Just think of me as the anti-Bev. And, oh, yeah, I got those e. t. blues treated and am playing up a storm on the viola.

The trip to Japan was a smashing success in that I came back alive and Japan is still standing! I'll have more posts and tons of pictures to write about; I've just been busy unsnarling my life, since my phone never left Florida, along with my mind, apparently. I've been spending the time getting playing, practicing and caught up with doctor's appointments and untangling the fine mess that my bank made when they canceled my card 3 weeks early, because it wasn't a “chip” card. All is well and my financial status is good. Sheesh! Anyway, enjoy this little post that I originally wrote for #ROW80, four years ago today!

This is not just any artwork. This is artwork of the finest photography taken by my ever-shaking hand. Call me the anti-YumaBev. In terms of clarity, form and content. This here is some murky stuff. Just take a ramble through some of my fine pictures:

Jim and cat napping. If you look in the left 1/3 of the picture, you can imagine two white paws, very restful. Price: free.

See, I helpfully pointed them out. This is free also, should you wish to possess it. Actually, just copy the damn thing.

Animals make cute subjects for photographers, since I am not one, I find them to be a singular pain in the ass to try and take pictures of, yet I persist. This is what happened, when I was testing my new camcorder one night, which also has no night filter, and lent that extra-special dimension of creepiness we all hope for when we're taking pictures of the family doing family things about the house. . . alone. . . and in the dark.

I think I had some artsy-fartsy idea of seeing the cat through a victorian era lamp, but what I've appeared to have captured is some Lovecraftian "Colour Out of Space" horror that resides in our living room. Best call out Chthulu from under the kitchen sink. He's been napping far too long anyway. He needs to go on va-cay. Price: I give you Skittles to take this off my hands.

Before I took the famous picture of Mama kitty napping with Jim, I had to test the camcorder to see if it was photo-graphing or if it was taking moving pictures. Since I don't see well in the dark (or the light for that matter) it was highly necessary to stand in the kitchen and press several buttons at once on a device about which I knew nothing. (Gee, Mary, couldya have gone in the bathroom, shut the door and turned on a light? What? And ruin all this fine art and fun!) This is what we referred to as "learning" when I went to school to become a computer engineer. We had these things called "books" but hardly ever read them. This was a much more fun way to learn and also un-learn the messes we made that were referred to as "programs."

Anyway, I discovered the proper sequence for producing still photographs after many stops and starts and some amazingly amazing non-action sequences of my stove-top. Of course, I couldn't be bothered to turn on the light, because, eyes and I didn't want to wake the little darlings snuggling in the next room.

Bonus points for my finger in the lower right. Price: Let's haggle.

I haven't even gotten around to the videos yet. YouTube pisses me off. Every time I upload one, they say, "this seems a bit shaky, do you want us to fix it?" What, and ruin my great art? How do you know that's not part of my artistic statement on the world, YouTube?

Here's a picture I took of Mama and then I kind of morphed it with Pic Monkey. She was all sprawled out on the bed, happy as a clam.

It was too blurred, so I filtered it, and removed most of the shadows. She loves to sleep like this.

The only other pictures I've ever taken that were worth a damn was the one down below of her on my blog and some of my viola and the one I took of the house down the street. I'm no photographer, but it sure is fun taking pictures and I'll have more of my "artwork" on display during the A-to-Z Challenge, 2017!

#IWSG – MARCH 2016 CHECK-IN

The last couple of months have been rather hairy; lots of wonderful things have happened and, some not so wonderful things have happened as well. I've been writing sporadically, but have been trying to keep up on deadlines; so far that has also been sporadic; #IWSG is easier at this time (for you #ROW80 folks who wonder what happened), but I've been practicing more and reading a lot for the language and tone.

Currently, I'm reading two different books that couldn't be more unalike in tone and gravity, but both are simply wonderful. I'm reading “11/22/63” by Stephen King, recommended by a dear friend.

courtesy:www.liljas-library.com      

“11/22/63” is so much like the Stephen King of old. It is fraught with suspense and the atmosphere of the 60s is captured perfectly by King, and his language is again beautiful. His characterizations are sharp and he has lost the coyness that pissed me off in his later works. You cannot help but feel for Jake as he tries his damnedest to foil an assassination that will change the world completely. And as Al, Jake's mentor says, “With Kennedy alive, there would be no Viet Nam, no Watergate”, and that lends a desperate quality to Jake's actions, but he's always thinking and trying to stay one step ahead. But, not having finished it yet, I have no idea what the foiling of Oswald's plan will bring about in the present day.

courtesy:www.goodreads.com                                        

“The Fourth Hand” by John Irving, is much like “A Son of the Circus” in tone, which I enjoyed immensely. Irving can take the most absurd situations and make them hilarious, even when they're really pretty tragic. This book involved Patrick Wallingford, or “the lion-guy” as everyone calls him, after he has his left hand bitten off, fought over and eaten by a pack of hungry circus lions in India, while on assignment. It doesn't get any better for Patrick, or "disaster man" when he takes an assignment in Japan and his clothes are “sent for a day to the Philippines, because that always happens”, according to his Japanese hosts. “They are only misplacing, they will be back.” says one of the hosts. They come back, but apparently, the Customs Agents used drug-sniffing dogs and they pissed all over his clothes, so Irving refers to Wallingford's clothes as “pissed on by Filipino dogs clothing” throughout the rest of this trip. Wallingford is used to all of this and just sort of goes along with anything that happens to him.

This is another book I haven't finished yet, but it is extremely enjoyable and Irving's writing is of the type that always makes me laugh. “A Son of the Circus” was just hilarious, even when it was tragic, again.

So, that's pretty much for it for last month. I wrote some on "The Nebraska Creepers" and now have my own special little episode to add. I want to keep the reader in the dark as much as possible as to who are really the good guys and who are the bad eggs. Working through that is a bit tough. I'm not that great at fiction and even worse when it comes to editing. 

The symphony managed to put on some nice concerts, and we are now in rehearsal for “Swan Lake” by Tchaikovsky, “The Blue Danube Waltz” by Johann Strauss (I forget which one) and Franz Liszt's Piano Concerto. It should be a good one! 

#ROW80 - NFC Championshi-ERK! EDIT from 2013 Original

As I have mentioned to several of you, I am in the process of editing several of my posts for inclusion in an e-book about my life. I have NEVER edited anything. I just sort of "pants" it and go. I did a bit of work on this, expanded it and tried to clean it up for language. I'm including the link to the original post, at the bottom. Anyone who cares to or who has the time to, is welcome to compare the two and make suggestions. I know you'll be kind, as you always have been to me. Thanks!

I wonder if these are free-range violas, because, if not, the price has really skyrocketed!

Q: Have you heard about the latest form of urban violence?

A: Drive-by viola solos.

So, here's a little number I cobbled up during the American Football season almost three years ago as we headed into our playoff season. Enjoy!

First off, goals, schmoals – I should explain that this was written as part of “where am I now” in the writing process of the #ROW80 group that I belong to. We try to set measurable goals for our writing, none of which has ever occurred for me. I am a slacker. Anyway, I got a wild hair and was completely taken with this topic after what I witnessed during a Falcons-I Forget (*scrolls down* – SAN FRANCISCO 49'ers!) playoff game in January of 2013. My latent low inhibition just took over. Oh well, look at the happy part of this; I'm off the streets and fending off muggers, and I'm not mugging anybody. Just kidding.

This is not your typical Sunday check in post. Nope, first off, it's Monday and second off, here in the good ol’ U S of A, it is Martin Luther King Jr.'s Birthday and President Obama's 2nd Inaugural Celebration! So, what better way for me to celebrate, than to write about 2013's NFC Championship game between the Atlanta Falcons and the San Francisco 49ers that featured guys running over guys and plowing into unaware guys on the side-lines. That’s right, “UNAWARE” guys on the side lines, during one of two games that will decide which of two teams are going to the Hyper Bowl, er, uh I mean, Super Bowl LXVII (is that 47 or 67? I failed Roman Numerals in Ancient Times class, or I skipped that day.)

Sing Along: "I see I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X, XI, XII, XIII, XIV, XV, XVI, XVII, XVII Wheels On The Big Rig" or however the stupid song goes. Whip that out at parties, and you'll be asked to leave.

Anyway, dude got clipped below the knees and fell as if pole-axed, backward onto that hard surface and landed backwards, head-first, with a bounce or two and was thankfully unhurt. Apparently, he works at the Atlanta Falcons field and this was their first ever(!) playoff event, and really, he can’t be faulted for that part of it. The poor guy had his back turned to the action and was most likely, looking at and marveling at the crowd and all of their noise, hoo ha, folderol and mostly, NOISE. And boy, howdy, there was a bunch of it, being as how, my Google says, the Georgia Dome can shovel 71,250 people into permanent seats.

The first time I ever faced a crowd like that was when I played for The Moody Blues. I was in my mid-30s and had been playing viola professionally for about 20 years, by this time. My performing experience went from symphony-polite-coughing and maybe a standing ovation, or two. Occasionally, the standing ovations were prolonged.

Stunning, wonderous. I love Mozzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz..... *snore*

Once, during a Grand Pause, or a fermata, where the orchestra came to a screeching halt after a fortississimo passage and it was deathly quiet, I had the great good fortune to hear a bellowed “I FRY MINE IN LARD…” from the back of the audience and then, stunning quiet. Nary a peep, cough, fart or rustle.

The fermata, unfortunately, is one of those musical devices that has no metered time, so as the Conductor stared us all down, daring us to laugh, and we all played “one potato, two potato, three potato, four…” Concert master and Principal Second Violin and Principal Viola and Principal Cello all sitting there, giving one another the evil eye, the hairy eyeball, the stink-eye and it's all becoming rather “High Noon-ish,” I and my stand partner who are on the 2^nd stand, are not daring to look at one another, because we are truly deranged idiots, pinheads, morons and jokers. We are holding our breaths, and are puffing up like horses around rattle snakes, or, horses being saddled, because HolyMotherOfGod, I’mSoGonnaLaugh… I see his viola scroll start to shake out of the corner of my eye and just then? As I start to go eeeeeeeeeee? As the air is leaking out? And I think I hear a similar eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee coming from somewhere around the oboe section and I'm thinking “If there is a God, may He smite us all now so that we may know His mercy and NOT suffer the Wrath of the Conductor”, who is beginning to sweat blood from his eyeballs, it would appear. . .

But,allofasudden, the Conductor gives the downbeat and off we go. To this day, I do not remember what on God’s Green Earth we were playing, probably Rachmaninoff. I’ve been ambushed by him a number of times. Him and his G. P.s. Well, that was a digression.

This all changed when we started playing in open-air theaters and stadiums.

Okay, I haven't faced Wembley and I'm sure I don't want to; actually, I probably do. We rocked it at 1-800-ASK-GARY Field. A name like that for a Venue just drips class. I can't wait until Kotex, or Fleet Enema buys a sponsorship and demands to have it named after their company.

In the summer of 1992, The Moody Blues were in a resurgence and instead of having a summer off, we had a tour around the Midwest for a few weeks. We had an afternoon rehearsal with their conductor who told us the basics, miced us up and off we went. We had a full orchestra, and plexiglass partitions between each section. I felt like we were in cattle pens. That night, the orchestra was in place, when the Blues with Justin Hayward took the stage.

There were 10,000 people in the audience. Up to that point, I had never played with that many people in an audience. When that audience roared and that sound hit the stage, the orchestra, who for the most part had not experienced that before, was pretty well aware that this night and this concert were going to be different. But first, we had to get over the shock of all of those people yelling. If we had been zebras, and the yelling people lions, we would have been dead ones. We all just froze for about 2 beats and then our training kicked in and off we went.

It was an exhilarating experience; I’ve always loved the Moody Blues more orchestral stuff, but the conductor, Larry Greene is also their arranger, and he had gone back and arranged some of their harder rock stuff like “Ride My Seesaw” for strings and that’s even more more fun to play. I’ve found that I like music with a harder edge to it. I’m sure it’s one of the reasons I don’t like Mozart and I revere Beethoven.

Mozart gets right up to an idea and then backs away. Beethoven takes it in his teeth and just ragdolls it. I love that. I also love the fact that he doesn’t bore the violists to death in his orchestral and other ensemble writing. Mozart is pwecious, hard to play and there’s damn little reward for all of that work; he’s insipid. Oops, lemme get back to our sideline guy.

I’ve enjoyed my rock ‘n’ roll violist career, which has also veered off into blues, metal and a bit of rap, believe it or not. But, back to our poor dude. Man, did I feel for him. Guy stood up; I was so relieved, because he fell so hard. As he was turning around, the Fox Team, (Terry, Howie, Michael, Jimmy and Whoever) were helpfully pointing out that this was the Falcon’s first playoff Event ever. The guy who had been knocked over was wearing a jacket that said “Event Team” on it.

I hunted and hunted for the actual footage, but alas, it was not to be found. This is pre-game footage in the stadium prior to the NFC Championship game between the Atlanta Falcons and the S. F. Forty-Niners in 2013, which S. F. won by 28-24. The noise must have been incredible and it is understandable that Guy Who Was Knocked Down was a bit overwhelmed at first. 

As the man turned and looked at the camera you could see the horror slowly growing on his face. You could tell what he was thinking: “That shit right there was just on tee vee. Oh... Dear... God... can I move to Saturn? Maybe to Pluto. Pluto isn’t far enough away… My wife is going to divorce me. No, that's not punishment enough. She's going to kill me and set my ass on fire, and then EAT it! What was I thinking, looking at that stupid bunch of loud-ass people? My ass is on the line, here. My ass... is my ass too wide? Do these pants fit okay? My kids, my grandkids, my great grandkids are going to be talking about this and wanting to hear this story, forever! This is going to be on AFV, isn’t it? 

"No, this is too stupid for that. It's gonna be on World's Dumbest Workers #9 ! Heavens to Murgatroyd and Zeus! on National TV, no, INTERNATIONAL, TV! Gah! Did my Aunt in Outer Slobovia see me? I hope I don’t get fired. Damn, does my head hurt. Can I go home? Do I have a home? My wife has probably packed up and moved by now. Mebbe my wife'll let me sleep in the garage or the dog house. Mebbe in the trunk of the car. Mebbe I should just go to a hotel. . . Mebbe I can become a hobo. They still have those, don't they?”

Relax, guy, if I hear you got in trouble over this, I’m writing a letter. I’ve done so much stupid stuff in front of the public, it’s not funny. I’ve fallen off stages, fallen out of chairs. Fallen off risers. I very gracefully draped myself across 3 people once, along with my viola and bow, held up over my head and rolled like a barrel down to the floor, protecting my baby, my viola, Wolf. How I managed that, I will never know. I’ve taken bows wearing Taco Bell on formal, black velvet unknowingly, after playing a triumphant Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. To make matters worse, my stand partner’s fly was open during the whole performance which he proceeded to holler out to me, as we took our bows, during a standing ovation, as if I needed that information to make my post-performance glow complete. I don’t think Beethoven would have minded.

The point is, a roaring crowd is pretty impressive; I was awed by it when I was on the “receiving” end of it the first time. It does take some getting used to. So, Guy Who Was Knocked Down and Was Embarrassed, don’t be. I hope you get a chance to get used to playoff events as more come your way. I hope you are okay. You totally made my day! Almost three years later, you are still a fond memory.

LINK TO SOURCE: https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=4044142491333444735#editor/target=post;postID=6815935106587589377;onPublishedMenu=allposts;onClosedMenu=allposts;postNum=215;src=postname

AIKIDO THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS

AIKIDO CHUSEIKAN OF TAMPA BAY

We all know martial arts, as practiced in the Far East, as being centuries old and also constantly evolving, as any form of art does. We're also pretty familiar with Kung Fu—mostly from Jackie Chan movies; which is an entertaining way to learn about how things to “Not Try At Home, Kiddies.” Judo is a much more recent art, which translates as “The Gentle Way” and was developed in Japan in 1882.  Aikido, however is even more recent than that.

The founder of Aikido, Morihei Ueshiba (b.1883) made the study of Budo (warriorship) his life's work. He was a figure of great renown who traveled all over Japan, studying under great masters of many arts. His diligence and discipline in the mastery of sword and staff brought him students from far and wide, though he was more deeply interested in the study of the spiritual world than anything else.

[Morihei Ueshiba, Founder]

Upon returning from the Russo-Japanese war in 1905, he moved to a small house located on a mountain outside his home village. He lived there and studied intensely, spending his days training his body and spending his nights in prayer.

At age 36, he met his spiritual teacher, Onisaburo Deguchi, and eventually at in the spring of 1925 at age 42 proclaimed that he had a “divine vision.”  At that moment nature's process became clear and he knew that the purpose of Budo was the protection of all living things.  

Ueshiba is known to have said:

"Budo is not felling the opponent by force; nor is it a tool to lead the world into destruction by arms. True Budo is to accept the spirit of the universe, keep the peace of the world, correctly produce, protect and cultivate all beings in nature.”

Morihei Ueshiba retired to the countryside in 1942 at age 59, and spent the last years of his life in deep prayer and teaching aikido as a way to reconcile the world.

[Jet, in black Hakama, instructing 3 of the more junior students.]

Aikido’s founder ultimately understood the harmony and power of the creative process from which all things evolve. His art was the art of the empty hand, staff and sword; his creative way was Budo.

I, as a westerner, and having spent very little time in Asia, can only dimly conceive of what Morihei Ueshiba was trying to convey. I do understand from years and years of trying to master the viola the idea of underlying concepts which are to be ingrained into your very fiber, but these concepts in music are not generally seeming at odds with one another, such as using force versus keeping the peace.

[Jet, reading from the son's founder, before warming up for the day's lesson.]

I do believe Aikido contains one of those “everything that rises must converge” concepts that scientists, philosophers and theologians talk about, something like, “When you reach the pinnacle of a discipline, that would seem to be at complete variance with another, for instance, Mathematics, or Astrophysics, you become one with the Universe, or “see God.”

The very Catholic Southern author Flannery O'Connor uses this as a theme in many of her short stories, beginning with the aptly named “EVERYTHING THAT RISES MUST CONVERGE”. While her stories often point to man’s shortcomings and greed, she balances this with characters who are seeking something better than just the every-day materialism that she saw around her. I believe that statement to be true and it is why people strive so hard to learn every bit that they can regarding the world around them, in an attempt to unify the concrete things that they can see and touch with the spiritual things and they can’t see or touch, but feel to be true.

I do believe Aikido contains one of those “everything that rises must converge” concepts that scientists, philosophers and theologians talk about, something like, “When you reach the pinnacle of a discipline, that would seem to be at complete variance with another, for instance, Mathematics, or Astrophysics, you become one with the Universe, or “see God.”

The very Catholic Southern author Flannery O'Connor uses this as a theme in many of her short stories, beginning with the aptly named “EVERYTHING THAT RISES MUST CONVERGE”. While her stories often point to man’s shortcomings and greed, she balances this with characters who are seeking something better than just the every-day materialism that she saw around her. wrote of this in many of her short stories. I believe that short, concise title of one of her short stories to be true and it is why people strive so hard to learn every bit that they can regarding the world around them, in an attempt to unify the concrete things that they can see and touch with the spiritual things and they can’t see or touch, but feel to be true.

So… to try and learn more about Aikido, I went along to an Aikido class that my friend Jet taught on Thursday night and found out quite a lot by watching her teach.

ON GREETING

Each lesson begins with a formal greeting and finishes with a formal closing. For the greeting, Jet adopts a “seiza” (formal seated) posture and bows facing the front, with the students behind her, doing the same. She turns to face the class and chants “Onegai shimasu!” and the students echo her.

[This is the "Shomen" or the upper seat of the Dojo. My fine picture-taking skills are once more in force. You cannot see the picture of the founder, but you can see the practice weapons on either side. This place is clean, airy, and smells of cedar and is delightful. I could have perched here in my corner for a week.]

Jet asks the class what do they think “Onegai shimasu” may mean. A shrug, a guess, an answer. She laughs and explains it means, “Please train with me!” It’s apparent they’ve gone over this before.

I should mention that this is a mixed-level class. Some students are very new, some are black belts, some are kids, and there is a mixture of adults as well. Jet’s told me she’s passionate about teaching the children and showing them an entirely new way to look at life, and it shows. She's at ease with these kids and they respond to her (actually, she's wonderful with everyone).

She takes a book out of her Hakama (the wide skirted black pants worn over the bottom of the gi—the uniform) and explains that today's reading is from the founder's son. The students all gather round her and she proceeds to read.

At this juncture, I should explain that the mat space in the Dojo takes up almost the entire room. I have taken off my shoes, as required in the Dojo, and am sitting quietly in the corner, observing. As I am not a student, I did not ask permission to step upon the mat. The room is big and hollow-sounding and I can’t hear the reading well, so during the five minutes that she reads to her students, I took a few minutes to play "tourist," and look around.

The smell is already familiar to me. When I traveled to Japan and discovered Japanese bathhouses and tatami mats in our hotel rooms, they were the most wonderful, clean-smelling things ever. This smell is the same and it is wonderful. Now and then, a student appears from another room and waits quietly on a small carpet, for Jet's permission to step up onto the mat itself. This is all done quietly and with Jet's welcoming smile, as she reads.

I carefully inspect the Shomen; the upper seat, or the shrine, which houses the picture of the founder and “the spirit of Aikido.” It is beautiful. All of the students' practice swords are lined up carefully and you can see that everything in this Dojo is lovingly and carefully tended.

Jet is done with her reading and briskly gets to her feet; her students follow. It is time to begin warming up and they do so with sets of jumping jacks, crunches, and a couple of sets of other things I didn't really recognize. All of these were to limber up for something else I had never seen and was totally delighted with when I did.

WARM-UP AND MISOGI (Cleansing) PRACTICE

This was a series of exercises that began with large, sweeping movements of the arms and hands, back and forth, with the knees slightly bent, and feet slightly set wider than the shoulders. Throughout the entire process, it looked as though the people, led by Jet, were moving as one (they had obviously done this many, many times).  They appeared to pour water on first their heads, and then shoulders. The source of this “water” was the stream they were standing in, and they had to cup the water in their hands for each successive dousing and it was one of the most lyrical and beautiful things I have ever seen. They worked their stretching exercises from each leg, to knee, and finally sat in the “stream” and worked over every toe on each foot. What a marvelous way to warm up.

Now that everyone was thoroughly warm, it was time to begin practicing some Aikido moves.

AIKIDO

Ai – Harmony, unity; to be in accord with or to join.

Ki – Spirit; life force or universal creative energy.

Do – The way or the path.

Jet demonstrated several moves with uke Alan Abelson (who by the way received his black belt two weekends ago during the Dojo’s umbrella organization(ASU)’s Regional Testing Seminar. YAY ALAN!!).

[Everyone, working on the exercises demonstrated by Jet and her uke. (Uke: “One who receives, or one being thrown.”)]

After the demonstrations, both Jet and Alan would pair off with several of the students (kohai; junior student and sempai; senior student) and go through each move, making sure both parties were very clear on the actions and movements, follow through, take-down, force, and release. It was fascinating. I am almost certain I have the sequences wrong, but the concept is clear.

As the students worked through their various exercises, they treated one another with the greatest respect and they also seemed to have a lot of fun doing what they were doing. There was a woman there around my age, who told me afterward she was taking Aikido “just to do be able to it!”

The kids were going through their movements and would work with one another or another adult. There was great concentration shown on the parts of these children. They were having fun—and learning, too.

[Alan, pairing off with a much smaller student, helping him. A joy to watch them both!]

[Here, Jet and Alan go through a flurry of moves, after she carefully describes what they are going to be doing. There is no sound, because I'm on my Smartphone with the sound turned off; typical me.]

When the hour had ended, there was a formal closing followed by an informal meeting up by the Shomen, with all of the students gathered in a circle. The feeling of inclusion for all during the entire lesson was apparent and I had the sense that these people were really part of a coherent group.

[End of class, with Jet smiling!]

Aikido has so many interesting things about it, I don’t think I couldn’t pick any one thing that was most appealing. It has a flavor of Zen Buddhism and the idea of living calmly and living a “centered” life (not in the ego-centric way) but just being in the “now”(as in the Zen hotdog vendor and the guy who says, “Make me one with everything”).

This encounter was also appealing in this world of over-stimulation, over-medication and over-complication. We forget that there are simpler and nobler truths that have nothing to do with us. While we may be out trying to save the world, or get the latest iPhone or pretending Kanye West does in fact, make sense, people like Julie ‘Jet’ Tollen and the Dojo co-founders Guy Hagen and Don Ellingsworth are busy running a little school, making better people for the future.

I have provided links to the website, which contains their contact information. If you are at all intrigued, I urge you to give them a call. They are happy, friendly folks and fun to be around. That is saying something coming from the one of the world's worst curmudgeons!

[I just thought the floor was pretty, too!]

#ROW80 – WRITING PROMPT FOR JUNE 26, 2015 – DESCRIBE YOUR PET PEEVES

Ok, now, here is a prompt I can probably really get my hooks into, because I LOVE to carp, but only in a way that is going to amuse the listener or the reader. I guess we can start with that particular peeve right there. I hate nothing more than a person who whinges on about something, or is all depressed about something, yet has absolutely no solution for the issue or worse yet, adds to the problem.

If you are someone who is going to sit around all day and cry about how crappy the economy is, or how hard it is to find a job, yet you're not looking for one, I don't want to hear you whining about it. There are jobs, just not the job that pays you $100,000.00 a year and you work 2 hours a week. We all know these characters around here. They're bumming quarters at the bus stop. I run 'em off with my cane and bad-ass self. They don't even get close. Go pick up cans, loser.

But, nearer and dearer to my heart as far as peeves go, are things inside of things, that I can't get to. What in the name of God has gotten into the Packaging and Marketing industry? The list is growing and it seems we pay more for the fancy packaging than the item within. I have a hard enough time with my essential tremor trying to get into boxes of flea stuff for my cat, CD and DVD cases, but I shudder when I buy stuff like batteries. You need a crowbar and a hammer to get into the Energizer wrappers on these things. I'm gonna be an Energeezer by the time I get it open, and the device I need the batteries for will be obsolete. Gardening shears might help, but I think one of the McDrunkleys took them out of the front yard, or maybe I never had them.

While we're at it, could you package yellow rice in something that you didn't need an Apex Predator to tear open with his/her fangs? The last time I tried to open my bag of yellow rice, so I could make a simple dish of yellow rice and black beans, the kitchen scissors had grown legs and walked off, so I tried to open it with my teeth. The whole thing blew open and I had rice scattered everywhere. I guess that's probably not on Martha Stewart's list of how to open shit in the kitchen.

There is so much you can do with this tasty, inexpensive yellow rice. It does however, make lousy confetti, especially in your kitchen. 

While we're at it, I have to mention something that almost sent me back over to the Happy Farm. I ran out of giant garbage bags, and before I could get up to the SweetBayWinn-DixieStoreToBeNamedLater, I went two block south to the Dollah Store and bought their giant garbage bags. These must be some kinda bags that are made in an alternate universe shipped here and zapped with a special electrical charge, because, although it's easy enough to get into the box and unroll one of these nightmares from the roll, I defy you to open this bastard. No amount of finger-licking, thumb-licking, rubbing the bag against itself, rubbing the bag against your leg, against the cat, trying to puncture it; NOTHING can get it to separate from itself. 

At one point, I generated so much electricity, I think I shorted out 12 city blocks and scared all the cats away. My hair stood on end, and I levitated. Or maybe, I was just that damned mad. I'm sure they were put here to do nothing but torture earthlings. Every time I had to change out the kitchen garbage bag, I wept. There was at least one hour of hell and frustration and things thrown against the wall. I finally just duct-taped 2 of them together. I will NEVER buy these things again. The Dollah Store should be ashamed of itself and if the Dollah Store should be ashamed, THAT's bad.

I couldn't find the UFO or MXYSKYZGLRK Trash Bags that I bought at the Dollah Store on the innerwebz. They were probably recalled because they ate universes or melted stars, or something.

As long as I'm digging up pet peeves, could we stop with the woman on the phone who says “Say 1 for yes, or 2 for no”. She doesn't understand a damned thing I'm trying to tell her, because she's not of this earth. She's from Saturn or maybe Neptune. I've gotten to the point, where I just turn into Silent Cal. Remember him? Calvin Coolidge, one of our worser Presidents. I just turn into a rock and say nothing. After she says “I didn't get that” about 40 or 41 times, she gives up and transfers me to Pakistan, where some guy named “Happy Birthday, or Surprise” (I'm NOT making this up) will be happy to change my password. His accent's not bad, and we get through it fine.

Just watch, this will be the next trend. I've been on TTY calls and on calls where interpreters were needed. This is a new representative for "Sign Language Customer Service". The agent just "signs" over the phone and the new Google app that hasn't been beta or alpha tested for that matter does the translating. "We" meaning "each other" will be the "help desk".

Somebody really needs to get the Pakistanis up on the cultural part of what's haps in the good ole' U. S. of A. I called one help desk and talked to an agent named “Arson”, leading me to wonder if he sat between “1^st Degree Murder” and “Breaking-and-Entering”. They were all very helpful, and naturally, who am I to spoil that kind of fun, by telling them they may want to rethink their “blending in with the Americans” campaign.

"Hello, my name is Surprise! Have you tried stopping and restarting your brain?" This looks like something Google came up with; it's so creepy. Although, upon further examination it looks like Amazon weirdness.

But back to peeves. Talking robots, or no live people in Customer Service. Try calling Google, or don't bother. They're not home. They're out lava-skiing, or falling off mountains, which is fine with me. They have this browser called Chrome and this Blog application, called “Blogger” which I spent 5 entire days trying to add a picture to a post in, and was entirely unsuccessful, because Chrome decided it hated Windows (we all do) allofasudden. I tried everything and came up with the bullshittiest fix in the history of ever, about 3 years ago, after I had spent 4 days trying to contact the coneheads at Chrome and Google support. Their support is. . . “us”. In other words, each other. Well, none of “each others'” fixes worked, so I made my own, posted I made a fix, and then? To be a real bitch? I. Didn't. Share. Just fixed it and closed my own damn ticket. Bastards. They owe me $11,000,000.00 by my count. If I weren't such a cheapskate, I'd go join the grown-ups over at WordPress.

One more peeve and then I'm done. I was torn between the public transportation having the A/C on when it's 35°F outside and like a meat locker on the Hartline bus, but I expect that and can compensate, so, I really can't complain. This other one I can holler about, and there's really only one solution.

Why, oh why, is it necessary to start playing horrible Christmas carols on public announcement systems earlier and earlier every year? The rule of thumb used to be, the day after Thanksgiving. With the pursuit of the all-mighty dollar, ruble, yen, or currency of choice and the competition from the internet, the “Christmas Shopping Season” is being pushed back earlier and earlier, so that it isn't unusual to see Halloween stuff side-by-side with jolly ole' Saint Nick.

From "30Rock" which is an absolutely hysterical take on Network TV.

The only thing more terrifying is to hear the music, “Werewolf Bar Mitzvah” by Tracy Morgan (Jordan on the show), followed by “Have a Holly, Jolly Christmas” by Burl Ives, and all I have is this mental image of him lusting after Elizabeth Taylor in “Cat on A Hot Tin Roof” Not a very good Santa figure, if you ask me. Folks, we're just plain confused. For my money, I'll take “Wererolf Bar Mitzvah” any day, firstly, because "Werewolf" is hilarious, and secondly, because I loathe Christmas music, simply for the fact that I've played ALL of it, eleventy-billion times by my last count, being a working musician. For YEARS, I never had a Christmas off and I played as many as 4 different gigs a day during the Christmas season.

In all fairness, Burl Ives was a wonderful character actor, and also sang "Big Rock Candy Mountain". He had a good, unique singing voice and is more closely associated with folk music.

My solution has been this: during the Christmas season, I wear earphones and listen to whatever I want. I may be listening to the soundtrack from “Runescape” or Shostakovich, or YumaBev's CD (named a top Parkinson's Blog of 2015! And she sings!), or Def Leppard, or Mahler, but I will NOT be listening to Christmas music. There are a few secular songs that I like and that's about it, but Christmas isn't about spending money earlier and earlier each year and I resent the attempt to try and “put me in the mood” to do so. Christmas is from the heart and by that criteria should be felt every day. Enough peeving.