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    Monday, December 14, 2009

    For You Blue

    Song Info (from Beatlesongs):"For You Blue" is on the Let It Be album and was 100% written by George Harrison. The song was inspired by Patti Harrison, and George said, "[It's] a simple twelve-bar song following all the normal twelve-bar principles, except it's happy-go-lucky!"

    Back in September I started something I've been wanting to do for over (and you have no idea how weird it is to me to think it's been this long) twenty years. I couldn't exactly tell you what started the urge in me, but I suspect it was a combination of the Ninja Turtles and Bruce Lee that first got me interested in martial arts. There was something almost graceful and certainly beautiful about the way masters of the various arts could disarm, disable, and defeat their foes, and it appealed to me from the get-go. I have a vague recollection of borrowing a movie from a friend that was about a "Kung Fu Finger Book," (this is most likely it, but who knows?) a movie that had everyone fighting over some sort of book that apparently contained instructions on a deadly form of kung fu that apparently involved fingers. Pretty much the only thing I remember about the movie is that people were constantly asking other people if they knew where the kung fu finger book was, seconds before a fight broke out.

    Regardless of where the interest sprouted, I never had the opportunity to study any of the arts. The closest I got was writing a paper on the rise in popularity of the martial arts in America, and borrowing The Tao of Jeet Kune Do from a friend's dad who studied karate. I didn't really understand the book back then, but I knew it was way awesome that Bruce Lee had invented his own martial art.

    The more years that went by, the more any idea of studying a martial art seemed silly. Sure, I knew that old and older people still practiced, but they had started young and I, like Luke Skywalker, was too old to begin the training.

    I met a fellow named Gary in the improv troupe, and found out pretty soon that he had a Tae Kwon Do studio, but it took me about three years to talk to him about it. We met for lunch early in September and talked about what all was involved with a fellow my age starting out, and he not only convinced me to give it a try, he pointed out that there was a class that was held at the Community Center at my very own church. Huh. I've never been one to notice things.

    I checked on it, and sure enough, the next sessions were to begin in two weeks. I signed up, figuring the worst that would happen would be that I'd hate it and be done with it. I didn't figure anyone got beat up in their first couple of classes. When I showed up, I was given a white belt, which I soon figured out meant "guy who has paid for classes."

    It was a little surreal, that first class. I was being taught things that I already knew, at least to some degree. I would never say that I learned a martial art by watching movies, of course, but I did learn some things about martial arts - terminology, philosophy, the fact that you bow to your sensei, that kind of thing. Actually doing those things, though? So weird.

    Tae Kwon Do has the belt system, like many martial arts - White to Orange to Yellow and on up. My teacher explained it to me early on that the belts were kind of like grades in school, with a black belt being similar to graduating from high school. The degrees of black belt past that were analogous to college, grad school, and beyond. Each belt requires the learning of specific skills and these are incorporated in a form, a series of skills performed in sequence. The form we were studying in this session was 28 moves long.

    Now, I felt I was understanding the moves themselves -not that I could perform them that well - but it turns out I was foiled by something I didn't know I'd have to deal with: memorization! I could not remember the sequence of moves for the life of me. If someone called them out, I could perform them semi-correctly, but left to my own devices I quickly became a statue, frustrated at my inability to remember the series.

    It was when I learned that we were learning a form that I experienced what can only be described as rebellion. See, although I never met Bruce Lee, I had learned some things from watching his movies, reading his books, and reading about him. See, he wasn't just a movie star, he changed martial arts in a lot of ways. His philosphy, the aforementioned Tao, was that a fighter shouldn't memorize forms, a fighter should gather moves from whatever worked. So he might take a kick from karate, a grapple from judo, and a punch from boxing and mix them into his Jeet Kune Do (which means "Way of the Intercepting Fist"). He was very very adamantly against students learning forms. Even though I wasn't in Jeet Kune Do and never had Bruce Lee as a teacher, it was a tenet I had grown to accept over the years, a viewpoint that made a lot of sense to me. Yet here I was, learning a form. It was surprising to me how much that bothered me. I guess, though, in one sense, I shouldn't have let it bother me, what with the fact that I never really learned it...

    I was the oldest white belt in the class, and only one of the two youngest people was a white belt. The other one was an orange belt, and the day he chose me to practice a move on, I was reminded of the episode of "Seinfeld" where Kramer was taking karate. Elaine discovered he was in a class of kids, which explained why he was "dominating the dojo."

    The class ran for two months. On the last day we took our belt test, with the assurance that we had already earned our belts, this was just an exhibition. If our teacher didn't know we were capable, he wouldn't let us take the test, he said. Since I couldn't remember the 28-move sequence, I took some comfort in that. On the flip side, though, I also felt like I didn't deserve the belt upgrade because I couldn't perform the sequence.

    The next session starts in January, and I am planning to sign back up. I enjoyed 90% of the classes, and didn't mind the workout I was getting while in the class. I think it could eventually be a thing I really like, but I'm also planning to take it a step at a time and see how it goes.

    I'm still going to feel a little guilty when I watch Bruce Lee movies, though.

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    Tuesday, December 01, 2009

    Matchbox

    Song Info (from Beatlesongs):"Matchbox" is on the With the Beatles album and was written by Carl Perkins, who hadn't been able to make a hit of it. The Beatles' version got as high as 17 on the Top 40. Pete Best sang lead on it in concerts until 1962 when John Lennon took over. Sure sounds like Ringo on the recording, though.

    I've been driving a 1999 Saturn Wagon for a while now and it's been a mostly reliable little car for me. It's only got 129,000 miles on it, so it should be good to go for quite some time -- keeping in mind that I drove an Oldsmobile Calais to 212,000 miles and it was ready to go a bunch more when I sold it. Sadly, though, I don't think the Saturn is going to make it as long as the Calais.

    Two weeks ago I went to pick up Megan at her apartment so we could go work at our church's Community Center. When we got back down to the car, it wouldn't start. There were lights on the dash and the headlights came on, but it wouldn't turn over nor click. Not cool.

    The first thing I do in these situations is call Dad. He knows most cars better than most people, and I can't tell you how many times he's been able to diagnose a problem over the phone, sometimes by hearing the car run and sometimes just by hearing a description of how the car runs. As far as I know, he's pretty much the best mechanic ever.

    So I called him and told him what I knew and he gave me few suggestions, but none of them were working this rainy, chilly night. We were able to jump it using her car and I was able to drive it to the Auto Zone across the street from her place, but once there, it was unstartable and unjumpable. The fine folks there were able to test my battery and said it was bad, so I bought a new battery...and it didn't change a thing. Still no starting.

    It should be mentioned that at this point I had called my friend Pete, who is the "car guy" in our immediate circles. He was able to wrangle the battery out and the new battery back in, a skill I did not possess. Alas, even Pete was stumped by the issue. I had no recourse but to call a tow truck and have it towed to Pep Boys (who I shan't be linking to for reasons that will become evident shortly).

    They were closed by that time in the evening, so I bummed a ride from a coworker the next morning and got there soon after they opened. It's a short walk from there to Barnes & Noble, so I went there, got a hot chocolate, and bummed their free Internet until I heard from Pep Boys. Rather, that's what I intended. What actually happened was that I called them after three hours because I hadn't heard from them. This is what they said:

    Well, we couldn't find the problem, but we were fiddling with some wires under the dash and now it's starting and we can't get it to not start anymore. We want to look at it a bit more and we'll let you know what we find.

    So I guess that was good and bad - working is good, not knowing why is bad. Also, as it turns out, "we want to look at it a bit more" is good but "we'll let you know" means "when you call back after three more hours of not hearing from us." Sigh. In the end, though, they didn't charge me anything since they couldn't figure it out, so all I was out was one vacation day from work.

    Fast forward to last night. Same deal: I spent the evening with Megan (it was Spaghetti Night!) and when I went to leave, my car didn't want to start. So I called Dad again. He'd been looking into it, figuring that since it wasn't technically fixed, it would probably stop working again at some point. He had me check a few more things, then said I needed to check a few connections with a tester.

    Yeeeeeeeeeah. It was at this point that my Dad apparently started speaking in fluent Greek. I knew he was capable since I'd heard it before, always in conjunction with explaining car stuff. I was able to figure enough of it out to realize I didn't have what I needed with me at that moment, so I made plans to talk to him this morning when I was better prepared. Megan loaned me her car so I could get home and get back in the morning.

    This morning I dutifully tested the things I was supposed to test and relayed to Dad what I was finding. Somehow he was able to figure out from what I was saying what the probable cause was, circuit-wise. Armed with this information, the following things happened today:

    • Called the towing company, had to leave a message
    • Called the towing company again, talked to a lady who said "The lines are crazy, I will hang up and call you right back!"
    • Called the towing company again 15 minutes later after not hearing from them, talked to a different lady who said they'd be there in 20 minutes.
    • 45 minutes the tow truck arrived
    • Had the car towed to Pep Boys, got a ride from the towing guys
    • Went inside, explained what was happening
    • Was told "Uh... we can't really work on that sort of thing"
    • Called secretary at church to see where was a good place to take cars
    • Called CarX, they were willing to look at it
    • Called towing company - "They'll be there soon and give you a ride"
    • Called towing company 45 minutes later - "Hey, how soon will they be here?"
    • Was told "Oh, they already towed your car there."
    • Arghed
    • Walked across State Road 52 to CarX, at great risk
    • Talked to Mike, explained what I knew
    • Walked back across 52 to McDonald's, then Best Buy, then Barnes & Noble
    • Mike called me back! Like an hour and a half later!
    • Walked back across 52 to CarX - I am a decent Frogger player
    At this point, Mike had good news and bad news for me. The good news was that he had found the problem: the place where some wires connected to one of the fuseboxes was all messed up. The bad news was that he couldn't fix it.

    Sigh.

    He recommended another place to me, but had more good news for me - a way to get it working until such time as I could get it the parts replaced:
    "What you do, see, is jiggle these wires right under here..."

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    Beatles Week III: With A Vengeance

    Beatles Week ends up being my favorite "week" of the year, blog-wise. Sure, I know that I'm a slacker blogger, but that's part of the appeal of Beatles Week for me: for the next eight entries I have subject suggestions. Of course, it also works against me, because the closer I get to Beatles Week, the more I think, "Ooh, I could blog that --- but wait! Beatles Week is coming! I'll just do it then."

    Here's the original explanation of Beatles Week:

    I declare next week to be Beatles Week here on MadMup.com. Basically what that means is that my next week's worth of posts will be inspired by the titles of Beatles songs. This doesn't mean that the posts will be about The Beatles, just that the song title will guide the post.

    Since I know I haven't been the most faithful of bloggers recently, I'm going to stretch the definition of "week" a bit and say that my next week's worth of blogging will follow this theme. Since the blogging week is like the work week, that means the next five entries will fall under the "Beatles Week" heading.

    If you have a blog and are interested in joining in, here is a list of song titles (with lyrics) and there's also the Wikipedia version. Leave a link in the comments if you're planning to join in!
    Last year I made the change that a "week's worth" in this case would mean eight entries, based on the Beatles song "Eight Days a Week."

    I don't plan these ahead, as a general rule. While I have one or two ideas, I tend to read a list of titles and see what strikes me. As usual, you're welcome to join me by doing Beatles Week on your blog, too. If you do so, you'll be the first person to do it!

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    Friday, November 20, 2009

    Heads Up

    You know what's just around the corner?

    No, no - after Thanksgiving.

    And before Christmas.





    Beatles Week!

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    Thursday, November 19, 2009

    Suit Up

    I don't know if it's the increasing amounts of euchre I've been playing lately, but I've come to realize I like the card suits in a particular order: Hearts, Spades, Diamonds, Clubs. It's to the point that when I play Solitaire that's the order I put up the aces.

    I guess I haven't grown out of having weird quirks yet.

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    3 comments

    Thursday, October 29, 2009

    A Wild & Crazy Guy

    If you're anything like me, you have a list of "must-see" entertainers that you keep - people you will do everything in your power to go see if the opportunity comes up. I've had the chance to see both Weird Al Yankovic and Sheryl Crow, but up until a month ago, I didn't figure there'd ever be a chance for me to see the number one on my list, mostly because he stopped doing comedy tours in the early 80s.

    My first exposure to Steve Martin was his appearance on The Muppet Show, one of the few TV shows I was allowed to watch as a kid. We'd watch it as a family, and I'd look forward to it all week. (I remember being crushed the week Alice Cooper was on, as we weren't allowed to watch that one.) Steve's appearance was silly and hilarious: he juggled, played the banjo, and made balloon animals, all while putting on a semi-faux sardonic exterior - but you could tell he was having a great time with the Muppets.

    His appearance on the show stuck with me, and years later I got into his comedy albums and movies. He has also written essays, novels (one of which I've quoted from before), an autobiography, and a few plays. He is probably the closest we have to a Renaissance man in the entertainment field today, and I'd love to have a career like his.

    Earlier this year he released the album "The Crow: New Songs for the Five-String Banjo," which is made up mostly of songs he wrote. He is joined on the album by such luminaries as Dolly Parton, Vince Gill, Earl Scruggs, and Bela Fleck, and it's probably the best bluegrass album I've ever listened to. Granted, that list is a short one, but I stand by my statement.

    When I heard he'd be in Chicago putting on a concert, I bought tickets the same day. It was for a Thursday evening, but I knew I had to go because I might not get the chance again. I took a vacation day on the Friday after, but since schools were on Fall Break, I was able to convince Megan to go with me.

    It rained pretty much the whole way to Chicago and the whole time we were there, and Chicago comes by the nickname "The Windy City" honestly. It was cold and wet and unpleasant, but we had a great time. We were able to eat at Giordano's before the show, and it was right across the street from the Sears Tower (which I guess is now "Willis Tower"?).

    Driving in Chicago has never been one of my favorite things to do, but I figured this time would be better because of Helen, my GPS. Helen is so named because she sounds like a Helen, particularly when she says "Recalculating" in an ever-so-exasperated tone when I have diverted from the route she spent so much time planning for me. Helen has been a great help to me, but apparently Helen has her limitations. It never once occurred to me that in the middle of downtown Chicago, amidst buildings a mile high, that Helen might have some difficulties contacting her satellite buddies. This made for several fear-inducing minutes when it appeared that we were lost forever with no hope of ever finding our way to the Cadillac Theatre in time to see Steve Martin the Steep Canyon Rangers.

    Helen, though, much like life, found a way.

    I am always reminded when I go to concerts that I should have paid the extra money for closer seats. While we didn't have any trouble hearing the concert, it was a little difficult to make out any details on the musicians from our last-row-in-the-balcony seats. If the kind lady next to us hadn't offered the use of her binoculars we might never have known Steve was wearing glasses.

    I don't know your feelings on bluegrass music -- and, frankly, I wasn't too sure on my own feelings about it -- but let me just say this: it is next to impossible to be unhappy while you're listening to banjo music. We enjoyed the concert immensely: Steve was hilarious in-between songs, the fiddle player was incredible, and everyone was having a great time.

    And the absolute best thing? The musical pinnacle of the evening? The very last encore was a bluegrass version of Steve's hit from 1978, "King Tut." Earlier in the evening I had said something to Megan about how it would be awesome if they played it but that there was no way - Steve had moved on, it was a different era, yada yada yada. And then all of a sudden, there it was. I couldn't have been more surprised or thrilled.

    In the midst of a lot of great things that are making up the German Chocolate cake that is my life right now, this evening was the pecan-coconut frosting on top of it.

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    6 comments

    Monday, October 19, 2009

    It's Been Said

    Expectations are premeditated disappointments.

    -George Moore

    I'm sure someone said it before George, but he's where I heard it. It was a warning about going into relationships with expectations about how the other person should treat you or what they should do for you.

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    Tuesday, October 13, 2009

    I Am The Eggman

    I've been doing a lot of changing in the last few months. I've always been one for self-critiquing, but I haven't always been one for doing anything about the findings. A combination of events (my birthday being one of them) was the push I needed to help me move past myself, however little the steps might be.

    Most of my adjustments have been in my thinking - how I approach relationships, how I handle conflicts, how willing I am to take on new responsibilities, that kind of thing. I haven't turned into SuperMup or anything, but the changes have been good for me. I think the best way to describe it is that I've become less adamant. Not about important things, of course, but about things that I've learned aren't as important as I thought.

    Anyone who has known me for any length of time whatsoever knows that I am not a "vegetable guy." I am a "meat and potatoes guy," through and through. Also, "dessert guy." I couldn't see the point in eating stuff I don't like the taste of.

    Along comes this mindset change, and with it this thought: "I should try lettuce again." Now, please understand that this thought is as foreign to me as Clark Kent is to Planet Earth. I had tried lettuce on many occasions dating back many years. A long time ago it made me gag. More recently I found that I no longer gagged, but I still didn't like it any. Turning 37 was apparently my rocket to Earth, and Texas Roadhouse ended up being my Ma & Pa Kent.

    I tried some salad. If I remember correctly, I tried someone else's salad. And... it was okay. It wasn't awesome, but I could eat it. That was the first step on a slippery slope. The next time I went, I actually ordered a salad for myself. Then I ordered salads at other places. Now ordering salads is a standard part of my restaurant experience. And something weird happened along the way: I actually starting liking salad, even looking forward to the next one and even more strangely, occasionally getting a hankering for salad. I have apparently been replaced by a pod person (but not a pea pod person, as I still can't stand peas).

    A couple of things about my learning to eat salads:
    • I am still on the hunt for the exact right salad dressing. The Caesar at Texas Roadhouse is the current favorite, but I feel like there is something I'm yet missing.

    • The House salad (minus tomatoes!) at Texas Roadhouse is my absolute favorite salad, and it's all because of the hard-boiled egg on it. Just writing about it is making me want one. If they were open for lunch I'd go tomorrow.

    • I can eat tomatoes on salad, but I don't like to.

    • Eating salads hasn't changed some other eating habits. For instance, even though I can now eat lettuce, I still don't order it on things I liked before liking lettuce. I won't get lettuce on Taco Bell soft tacos or on Culver's butterburgers, for example.
    I've discovered that my mantra has become "I can eat that." As in, "That may not be my favorite thing to eat, but... I can eat it." I can't adequately explain to you how much of a change in thinking about food that is for me, nor can I find the words to describe how that is indicative of a sea change in my thinking as a whole.

    I'm not sure where this change in thinking will take me, but I will say that so far it's been a good thing.

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    6 comments

    Thursday, September 24, 2009

    Cats Are Awesome

    My friend Carolyn told me this story and I had to share it:
    Okay the friend of a girl I work with has this cat that steals from people when they visit. It goes through handbags and takes a one thing and runs off to a secret place to hide it.
    I thought that was great just in and of itself. But then she followed it up with this:
    BUT
    This friend had chemotherapy (she's fine now) and was in bed feeling rotten. She took a nap and when she woke up, all this STUFF was on her bed. Then the cat came in with a thing. Turns out, the kitty was giving her all the stuff it had collected as presents.
    That is, like, my new favorite story ever.

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    Monday, September 21, 2009

    She Just Smiled

    Last weekend I had some people at my house for what we termed "International Beatles Rock Band Day." As is easily surmised by the title, the day was all about playing Beatles Rock Band. The tricky part is that "International." What made it international? I will tell you: having someone from another country/continent is what makes it international.

    Brian, Angela & Josh (married!), Matt, and Carolyn were the out-of-town attendees, representing (in order) Albuquerque, NM; Jacksonville, FL; Chicago, IL; and Hurstbridge, VIC, Australia. So, Carolyn's presence is what made it "International."

    We've all known each other for 4-5 years online, and I've met a couple of them before, but if you had told all of us 4 years ago that we'd ever get to meet Carolyn, we most likely wouldn't have believed you. So when we found out she was coming to visit, we all freaked out and got really excited.

    Until she mentioned the vegemite. As in, "When I come to the States, I am bringing vegemite and you are all going to try it." We got a little nervous, but we were pretty sure that she'd never be able to get that stuff past Customs, so we felt safe.

    When she arrived in-country a week before IBRBD, she announced that she had no problem getting it in the country and that we should all resign ourselves to our fate.

    Sure enough, when everyone got here and were preparing for the start of IBRBD, she toasted up some bread and slapped some vegemite on it.

    Now, I feel I must at this point say that I don't mind the smell of skunk. I wouldn't want it on me, but if I'm passing through a cloud of skunk smell as I'm driving somewhere, it does not horrify me. But you should know, dear reader, that the smell of vegemite horrified me. It was like the smell of stale bread, only with a lurking vengeance buried beneath the surface, waiting to strike, maim, and consume anyone who got within tentacle's reach of it.

    But I had promised I would try some, so I gamely accepted my corner of vegemite-infested toast and ate it. I could write you a thousand words as to my reaction, or I could just save you a lot of reading and show you:


    It may be difficult to discern from the picture, but my twisted visage should somewhat convey a similar sentiment to Colonel Walter E. Kurtz's last words:

    The horror... the horror.

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