The Danger of Recorded Material
I was reading a post over at J’s place about making mix tapes today. I doubt kids these days even know what that means. These days, kids just make play lists on their MP3 players, something I’m still trying to figure out how to do. They don’t have to worry about missing the beginning or ending of songs, or about some DJ screwing up the last couple lines for you. Making a good mix tape off the radio was a major accomplishment back in my day.
Sometimes, if I was drowning in algebra homework, I’d just put a tape in and record the entire Top 9 at 9 (or something like that) program on my local radio station, while I sat at the dining room table with my dad and rolled my eyes a lot. Sure, the recording had commercials and lots of DJ talking but I could get the top songs, listen to them later, AND get to hear if any random boys were dedicating "Please Don’t Go Girl" (New Kids on the Block) to me. (Just in case you have no clue what I’m talking about, and for your listening pleasure, because I swear it is still a good song. . .)
On one particular occasion, my mix tape was awesome! The Top 9 at 9 had featured all of the coolest songs like "Toy Soldier" for example. I was hanging out in my bedroom, listening to the taped program after school, when the DJ said that it was time for listeners to call in for a chance to win New Kids on the Block tickets. They were looking for the 102nd caller.
I frantically rushed to my parents bedroom and started dialing the radio station’s number. I knew it by heart from requesting stupid New Kids on the Block songs on a regular basis. If speed dial had existed back then, they would have been my #1. When calling during a contest such as this, it was quite common to get a busy signal until the DJ announced there was a winner; but my call went through and before I knew it the DJ had picked up the phone!
"Oh MY GOD!" I screamed. "AM I THE 102ND CALLER?????"
I was leaping for joy and imagining meeting and marrying Donnie Wahlberg when the DJ wrecked my fun.
"What?" he said with complete confusion and a dash of attitude.
"AM I THE 102ND CALLER?" I yelled again.
And it was at that very moment that the tape player in my bedroom next door clicked to signal that I needed to flip the tape over. I needed to flip the tape over, and I really needed to hang up the phone. I slammed down the phone and died a little bit of embarrassment.
Since I wasn’t listening live that day, I’ll never know if I was on the radio live or not. I really hope not. If I was, I’m sure that the DJ and the listeners got quite a treat that day, and I don’t think I ever called into another radio station again.
MP3 Players are society’s way of making sure teenagers don’t suffer any unnecessary blows to the ego. Kids these days don’t know how good they have it.
What’s something dumb that you did as a kid?
Daddy is a Better Mommy
I need to be able to walk pronto. Let me tell you why.
Today, Mr. BBM got up and made breakfast. He made the girls pancakes and he made me eggs, toast and bacon. He also served orange juice and coffee. When he was done cooking and cleaning up the entire kitchen, he started cleaning. He cleaned five levels of this house. By cleaned I mean vacuumed, dusted, cleaned three bathrooms, and also got on his hands and knees and polished our wood floors.
When I say vacuumed, I mean that he even used the attachments and vacuumed behind the TV and other crazy nonsense places that no one besides my Mom thinks of vacuuming.
While he was doing that, laundry was started, clothes were folded and. . . get this. . . put away. When I do laundry, clothing will sometimes sit in piles until, well, there are no more piles because we’ve worn everything straight out of the piles, and it’s back in the laundry again. He also changed the sheets on two beds.
When he was done with that, he set the girls up with a Disney movie because they had been climbing on me and driving me nuts for the entire time he cleaned. Boo hoo for me right? I know, no sympathy expected. Understood.
Later, he sat down, watched some football and then declared that it was time to make dinner.
For many men (and I know this because in case you don’t know this. . . women talk), this would mean calling Pizza Hut or the local Chinese restaurant. If they are kitchen savvy, it might mean Kraft Mac-n-Cheese, or if they’re really feeling ambitious, frozen chicken nuggets.
He went down to the kitchen and I assumed he was making Chicken Divan. It’s easy to make, but it takes a while. I assumed wrong.
He wasn’t only making Chicken Divan; he was also made Shepard’s Pie. . . from scratch. . . which means he made mashed potatoes from scratch. When he told me and my jaw dropped to the floor, he said, "Well, I wanted to make sure we had food to eat this week." Yes, my bottom jaw is still hanging out on my very clean floors.
While he was doing all of this, I spent time reading books to the girls, reading a book to myself, coaching Big I on how to do back-bends, watching football and yelling the scores to Mr. BBM as he worked like Cinder-freaking-rella. . . all while I was hanging out on the sofa.
I told him he needs to knock it off, because he is seriously starting to make me look bad. My house hasn’t been this clean, this organized, and my family hasn’t been this well fed in like. . .well. . . forever.
I’m a bit worried he’s going to burn out, and then what am I going to do? Either that, or I’m going to have to come back from my injury and go get a full time job; because is it just me, or is he seriously contending for my job?
BBM brings you “Pimp My Crutches”
So I can’t walk. That doesn’t mean I can’t go to observe a Black Belt Workout, and that’s just what I did (Thanks to Mr. BBM who pretty much kicked me out of bed and the house today to make me go, and Hanshi who invited me to come and watch). Unlike when I’m gi’ed up, I arrived a little late. The workout was already in full swing.
I crutched it up the stairs and when one of the Kyoshi’s at our school saw me, she started clapping. She followed that with a shout of "Now THAT’s SPIRIT!" and the entire dojo started clapping and cheering. I wasn’t expecting a standing ovation (o.k. not really a standing ovation since they were already on their feet anyway, but an ovation none-the-less), but that’s just what I got.
I smiled and thanked them and then spent a good part of the workout talking to Kyoshi about good martial arts books, and our soon-to-begin book discussion group. Our first two books which are going to be discussed simultaneously are "Living the Martial Way" by Forrest Morgan (which I’ve already read but will gladly dig into again) and "On Killing" by Dan Grossman. Although I’m sure the idea of a dojo book discussion group has probably been in the works for quite some time, I like to think that it’s Kyoshi’s way of keeping me involved and included even when I’m sidelined, and that makes me feel incredibly good.
Despite only being at my new dojo for a couple months, I can honestly say that I feel a part of the family; and I am honored to be included in such a stellar group of people. But enough about that before I get all teary and sentimental. . .
After the workout, I met Mr. BBM at the local fabric store. I started with ordinary wooden crutches, with uncomfortable rubber grips and armpit rests. After a day, Mr. BBM strapped some Warrior shin guards on the top and that was o.k. My Mom took it a step further by replacing the shin guards with egg crate foam secured with duct tape. But egg crate and duct tape do not a pretty crutch make.
I’m sure most of you have heard of MTV’s "Pimp My Ride" which is a makeover show where professionals take beat up cars and turn them into extraordinary vehicles. Today was my very own version of that show except my "ride" these days are my crutches. Keep in mind that I’ve called in a favor to a friend who owns a Japanese painting kit, who also knows how to write "Nintai" in Japanese. That will be forthcoming to my already pretty awesome crutches.
I give you the before picture. . .
And the after Asian-inspired crutches. . .
Since a girl needs more than one look. . .
In case you’re wondering, Mr. BBM and I made these without the use of a single piece of thread or a needle. The pretty floral covers go over top of the asian fleece covers and it all fits over top of the foam and duct tape concoction. There are also matching hand-grips in case you were too wowed by the top to notice the bottom. Just in case you can’t tell from the photos. . . my new and improved crutches are FAB-U-BBM-LOUS.
If I’m going to have to use them for a while, they might as well be pretty and cool, right?
Alice and the Witch
As promised. . .
Alice in Wonderland and a little witch. If only you knew how very fitting these costumes were for their very distinct personalities. . .
"Alice" is carrying around the white rabbit she chased in the story and the little witch (for this picture anyway) had tossed her custom-crafted by Home Depot and Mr. BBM broom aside. She was like "Seriously, you’re expecting me to carry around a broom? You want me to carry a broom when I could be carrying around melting chocolate? Um, no. I don’t think so."
Because flash cards are the new "Kit Kat’s". . .
Hmm, M&M’s or Goldfish? I’m thinking M&M’s. After all, there’s nothing cuter than chocolate drool on a witch.
Here is the calm before a major storm that almost involved a self-inflicted head wound off my Mom’s floor as she threw herself flailing around in true 2-year old style because Mr. BBM wrangled the lolly away from her because she seriously had enough sugar already.
The little witch from behind because one day she’ll thank us that there is a cute picture of her butt.
And for all of you people who thought that "Caldron" was spelled "Cauldron". . . you can spell it either way. I checked. Oh, and that’s Lil C looking in her other bag for her long lost lollipop. Yeah, the night ended on sort of a rough note.
*** For those of you who may have missed it, check out the second half of the previous post for how the MRI went.
Little Worker Guys
Updated Version
When I was dealing with my whiplash injury over the summer, one of you suggested I read the book "Zen in the Martial Arts" by Joe Hyams. Like Funakoshi’s "Karate Do-My Way of Life", it was a quick and enjoyable read. There are lots of cool Bruce Lee anecdotes throughout, and I thought it provided lots of food for thought.
Being injured, there’s one particular story from the book that seems to keep popping up in my head. I can’t recall exactly who this happened to in the book, but I believe it was one of Hyams instructors who was injured. The doctors gave him some not so great news. (I can’t recall what he hurt now either, but it was some joint so just stick with me on this). Every night, when he went to bed, he imagined little worker people in his body. He imagined them down to their worker hats, even their lunch bags. He visualized them going to work on his injured body part every single night.
When he went to the doctor, the doctor couldn’t believe the improvement, but it wasn’t a complete success. He had imagined these worker people building up his joint and they had done such a good job that the joint was almost too strong, too stiff.
So, when he went to bed, he imagined the worker people going back to the joint and refining their work. When he went back to the doctor again, his joint was healed completely.
Every night as I’m drifting off to sleep, I imagine little worker people in there. They sort of resemble Mario Brothers characters. They have white hard hats on, denim pants and little red t-shirts. They also have silly moustaches. They bring with them silver lunch boxes and on the first night they carried bags of tools with them (Now they just leave their tools in my knee overnight so they don’t have to carry them down from the brain each night). Because the surgeon is so sure I tore my ACL, each night they get busy reattaching it.
We’ll see if they’re any good. MRI is this afternoon.
Post MRI
You people told me it was going to be loud. You did NOT, however, tell me that it was going to sound like there were 100 birds simulataneously and repeatedly flying into a window right by my head. Man it was loud.
I will tell you that upon entering the room, I didn’t like the looks of that tube one bit. I could immediately feel myself getting worked up. My heart was pounding. I must have asked the lady about 16 times if my head was definitely going to stick out. Her first response was that "it should" and then she changed that to "It will honey. You’ll be fine" because she could tell that her first response was about to get her a very uncooperative patient. How do people go all the way in there? I hope I NEVER have to do that. And I don’t mean to be rude, but unless you’re a skinny little thing, how the heck does one even fit in there?
The woman stuck some headphones on my ears and told me not to move. I willed my body to relax and closed my eyes. I was expecting something like ocean waves or Enya in my headphones but instead it was a local rock station. The first song was Mick Jagger. Then it moved onto Guns-n-Roses’ "Sweet Child O’ Mine" and eventually Led Zepplin, not exactly going to sleep music.
I was fine until she told me the scan was going to start. My leg muscles immediately tensed up and I could feel them twitching a bit. Plus, my knee wasn’t super comfortable strapped into this contraption thing. I was worried she’d have to re-scan my knee but she didn’t. It took about 20 minutes and I was out of there.
I brought my films home with me, just in case I happen to run into an MD who knows knees over the weekend or something. Also because Mr. BBM and I like to self-diagnose a la google, which is exactly what we did. We went to google images, looked up normal MRI ACL scans and then compared them to the torn ACL images and looked at my scans.
In normal ACL scans, the ACL looks almost like a thick black cord, maybe the thickness of two shoelaces. Unfortunately, my ACL does not at all, look like that. My ACL looks like. . . shredded chicken or crab meat perhaps, or frayed wire, or a really, really, bad frizzy hair day. It doesn’t appear to be attached at all to the femur either. I’m not a doctor and neither is Mr. BBM, but Mr. BBM has looked at MRI’s before and works in the medical field. It doesn’t look encouraging at all.
Now I have to wait until Tuesday to see the doctor and get the official verdict. I think I’m in for a long couple of months.
***I’ve joined this National Blog Posting Month thing which means I have to post every single day for the month of November. Would any of you like to join me? I was thinking it would be really cool to have a martial arts or martial arts followers group. Interested? Get on board here and drop me a comment or email and let me know you’re also crazy like me. It’s not just torture either. You can actually win prizes if you meet the challenge. You can join the martial arts group here. Please join me because one person does not a group make.
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