Review - Cushi Tush

Review - Cushi Tush

Cushi Tush is a baby seat with a difference, its made from ARPRO® which is Expanded Polypropylene, its an environmentally friendly, green material. In manufacturing No VOCs (Volatile Organic Compounds), hydrocarbons or other recognised environmentally damaging compounds are used. ARPRO® is 100% recyclable

OK that's the science bit over! You can more information on the technical specifications here

This seat is incredibly lightweight, so light that when it was delivered I didn't even know there was a seat inside the box (perfect for my bad back)

Now BG does have a Bumbo seat but unfortunately due to the fact she was such a sickly whenever we out her in because of the way it lifted her legs up, she would just be sick once she was sat in it!! With this seat it doesn't happen the leg holes slop down so there is no pressure on her stomach.

It comes with a tray which is held into place in three positions and is great for playing and eating.

the Cushi Tush has been a bit of a god send in the last week as with my bad back its been difficult to get the high chair out and put it away again, so I use it for snack time.

When the chair arrived it was snacktime so that's was the first time we used it (plus I couldn't wait to get it out of the box!)

Its also good for when I want BG to calm down before naps and bedtime, we put her in it and sit and play quietly or read.

BG also likes to play with it!! As its so lightweight she throws it around!

Now I'm sure with younger children (this chair is suitable from 3 -18 months or 30lbs) that they can't get out of the chair so you could turn you back for 30 seconds, well not with BG she has learnt to get out of the Cushi Tush already as these pictures show!

So just a warning this is meant as play or snacking chair, its has no straps and children can easily get free so please don't leave them unattended!

This is one of those products that I wish I had found a few months ago, it would have been perfect for when I started weaning, it has a high back which helps supports her. We bought a highchair far too soon, it wasn't suitable for her as it wasn't supportive enough.

The Cushi Tush comes in a variety of colours, I got to choose mine and I opted for the mixed look and I really like it!

Now they also make a Cushi Therm which is a bottle insulator and I actually have one of those that I bought my self and its really good, keeps the bottles really hot.

My favourite item they make is the Lil Cushi Tush, so your child can put their doll or teddy in it!! Suitable from 3 yrs and is made from the same material, so so cute!

If you're looking for a play seat for your child or a first feeding chair then you can't go wrong with a Cushi Tush. Its lightweight, durable, non-toxic, Paediatrician approved and fully recyclable. It also looks good and takes up little space.

For more information on the Cushi Tush and to find a list of their retailers please see their website

The cheapest I've found the Cushi Tush is at the whole kaboodle for £27.95, if you find it cheaper any where else please let me know!

NM X

http://newmummystips.blogspot.com

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Wallpaper - August.

20 Wallpapers all created by Jared K. Nickerson (J3Concepts), 1920×1200.

For personal use only.

Enjoy.

imrohan.com

Click here to download:

imrohan wall-aug.rar (8560 KB)

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The Reluctant Businessman

A guest post from inshin. Does it get better when we look back ?? http://inshin.wordpress.com/

I was reminded recently of a time when I worked in the aircraft industry. It truly is one of the most amazing industries, still retaining hints of the pioneering explorations that provide us with wonderful stories full of adventure. People who work with aircraft tend not to be 'workers' but much more in the vein of those born with a vocation as we see in medicine and teaching. They are often obsessed with flight, even when they are the ones who don't fly but work to keep the big metal birds in the air. It was in this area that I found myself in. A collection of highly skilled hard working people who could patch-up a twenty year old plane so it could make it to it's next stop, and next patch.

But my story is not about one of those occasions when a creaking plane struggled through harsh terrain, bringing much needed supplies to desperate people. It was an incident which brought me to Miami, where our crew were inspecting, signing off and flying a 'new' twenty year old plane back to Europe. My job, however, was to visit some aircraft suppliers and keep up our contacts to support the ongoing maintenance work. Now in general I tended not to have a problem meeting new people in business and discussing whatever issues needed to be covered. However, this was my first time in the US, and being the wrong side of 25, I wasn't exactly the most experienced, as things were to turn out.

I headed off, suited it up with my (half empty) brief case. Met in the hotel car park by the main meet of the day, I was driven to another part of Miami. We had a pleasant mandatory tour of the facility and then discussed buying selling prices and loads of other things that I tried to indicate I was knowledgeable on. Overall that went quite well and we had lunch.

My problems started to arise when the visit ended. Unfortunately this suppler wasn't able to drop me back to the hotel and I needed a taxi (cab). They duly arranged this and I sat into the back of one of those great big American cars I love. My appreciation for these marvelous vehicles was a considerable distraction as the views around this part of Miami all seemed pretty industrial. But gradually I noticed we weren't moving and realised that we were in thick traffic going nowhere.

This is probably where the inexperience revealed itself. I suddenly thought of the issue of money. Glancing towards the meter while groping for my dollars, it dawned on me that it was very likely I didn't have enough to pay for the taxi. I glanced at my meager funds and quickly calculated that if the taxi didn't perform like starring in a Bruce Willis movie soon, I wouldn't have enough. Fortunately I correctly worked out that the meter in an American taxi showed the actual charge due, unlike at home where there was always a manic routine the driver would perform at the end of the trip with the meter which resulted in almost a double charge materialising.

I looked around at my surroundings and roughly calculated that I felt we were not too far from my hotel. In a grand gesture I implied to the driver that the traffic was so bad I'd get out here and walk the rest of the way. He looked somewhat shocked but agreed to take the few dollars I had on me and I exited the car.

Striding confidently in what I thought was the correct destination I headed off suited up, brief case in hand and, shortly afterwards, sweating profusely in the humid and blinding sun that so often attracts people to this part of the world. It wasn't long before the jacket had to come off and I carried it over my arm, balancing the now ridiculous looking brief case in the other.

I wasn't quite sure why I was getting frequent head light flashes and car horns blasting as eventually the traffic, considerably faster than earlier, tore past me walking alongside what I suspect would have been called a freeway. Anyway it was bigger than any road I had ever seen with about six lanes on each side. Fortunately my sense of direction has always tended to be good (except when walking late at night in Wicklow after a few). In the distance I was sure I saw the shape of the hotel. Between me and there, it seemed that the road dipped under a fly-over and the path I had been walking seemed to stop. At this time, there was also a bus stop, and, as you would at home, I approached the lady sitting there to confirm my suspicions of the hotel's location.

Her reaction to my question, accompanied by the continual blaring of horns as cars past, began to make me wonder was I missing something. When I asked her if the building the far side of the flyover was my hotel and could I get to it, a look of fear crossed her face and she continued to stare straight ahead of her with no comment. As I waited for a more reasonable response, I glanced around looking at a slowly moving car passing by with a few youths hanging out of the window calling out various things I didn't quite catch.

Finally I realised that my walk, dress and general demeanor probably resembled something out of a movie like Falling Down with Michael Douglas. I decided at this stage the best thing would be to proceed through the end of the path and under the flyover, not quite sure what I would encounter in the somewhat darker stretch before me.

Clearly the flyover represented another six lane by two freeway as it seemed to take a long time to emerge the far side. It was long enough to read a series of some very artistic graffiti as my pace quickened with the sheltered and cooler air the flyover provided. Once out the far side I could see the hotel car park and knew I was near safety.

I strolled on into reception and met some of my colleagues, recounting the story of my recent adventure. The response was not quite what I expected. One of the more veteran members of the team almost went into a rage when he realised what I had done. Seemingly I had traversed one of the most dangerous stretches of the Miami airfield area and that the probable reason for surviving the route and not being shot was because those who might typically act in such a territorial way had also seen the film Falling Down and may have suspected that the useless brief case contained a base ball bat or even an Uzi.

As I sat contemplating the incident, elements of the event did seem to become clearer. The taxi driver was shocked at the location I decided to leave his care, the flashing lights and horns, at least initially, seemed to be a warning to get out of the area for my own safety, and the lady at the bus stop was probably fingering a Magnum in her shopping bag in an attempt to move into self defence mode. As for the car that slowly drove by, well they obviously were worried about the brief case.

Whilst it may have been the saving component on the day, the brief case was parked and never produced again.

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Menacing Figures?

Rachel Pattisson (aka "MIss") is a full time mummy and a freelance writer (whenever Those Two happen to fall asleep at the same time). Up until recently, she was a teacher. Many of her teaching tales remain untold. They don’t fit nicely into her ‘mummy blog’ so she decided to make a special place for them at Miss's Memoirs, where you will find survival tactics, reality checks and lots of funny tales from teaching.

You can follow me on Twitter, ask me to do some writing for you, view the original post about that scary encounter or read more funny stories from Miss's Memoirs.  Enjoy!

Scary Encounter

It’s late at night. I’m walking home. Alone.

Two figures are coming towards me through the gloom. Teenage boys – men really – swaggering along, all leather and piercings and bravado.

They are looking at me. Directly at me. Is this a challenge? What are they planning to do?

I have no option but to keep walking. There is nobody about and nowhere to run to.

I will not show my fear.

I walk as tall as I can (which is not very tall, actually) and put on a confident (looking) swagger of my own.

They are still staring at me. Menacing? They are approaching fast. I look into the middle distance and hold my course on the footpath.

Are they drunk? On drugs? Up to no good?

I plan to walk past and keep walking, fast.

The distance between us shrinks. They are still looking at me. Their stares are far too direct. These are not merely innocent passers-by.

And then they speak.

This is what they say:

“Hiya Miss!”

 

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The Sensual World

It's a Kate Bush track, originally inspired by Molly Bloom's soliloquy in the final chapter of James Joyce's Ulysses - eight monolithic "sentences" (one stretching to over 4000 words), with only three pieces of punctuation. If you're not familiar with it, let's just say she uses the word "yes" a lot, and that the final, breathy "Yes" of the soliloquy and of the entire book (still present on the album, even though the James Joyce estate refused permission to use the rest of it) leaves little room for misinterpretation. Enough said. Of course, Ulysses is ubiquitously featured in lists of "banned books" throughout the world, the subject of numerous obscenity trials, yet still ranked first on the Modern Library's list of the 100 greatest English-language novels of the 20th Century. Sounds a lot like Frankie Goes To Hollywood's Relax, doesn't it?

Anyway, I've got your attention. It's a great album, and it's a great (but insanely difficult) book, but it's not all that much to do with what I'm going to write about. Earthy subjects are obviously very good at attracting a read, but we just have to face it. We live in a sensual world - one that appeals to our senses, and, be honest, that ultimately leads to the continued propagation of life on this planet. I meet plenty of poor souls who aren't willing to appreciate their sensuality. Fortunately, I'm not one of them. Don't worry, for those of you of a nervous disposition, I'll keep it 'clean'.

Sight. Pretty remarkable, when it comes down to it. If it was a TV, it'd be some ridiculous number P with a million to one dynamic contrast ratio, or whatever that latest techno-blub is. Your visual cortex delivers data to the brain at speeds that would make the internet cry. And, behind it all, an amazing piece of wetware processes it all and somehow manages to solve partial differential equations so you can catch a ball. Don't even try to break it down, just appreciate it. Color. Shape. The face of a child. A flower. Being lost in someone else's eyes. Sunsets. Moonlight. The world is full of beautiful things, beautiful people. Take the time to stop and look at them.

Sound. Compressions and rarefactions in the air all around us somehow, remarkably, have texture and timbre, envelopes and even emotions. String those sounds into words and perhaps humankind's most significant achievement - communication through language - appears; shape them into music, and our most potent form of entertainment emerges. I don't care much for TV. The computer, I can possibly live without (well, for a short period, anyway). Don't try to take away my music. A song has the ability to capture a moment in time and embed it forever in your memory. More physiological effects send you whistling, humming or even singing through the house as you push the vacuum cleaner. Sometimes, music inexplicably makes you gyrate other body parts. Anyone can dance. Everyone should.

Taste. Bit of an ewww-to-mechanical-and-biological one this. Evidently at some point it was determined that creatures would probably find it easier to remember to sustain themselves if it was a pleasant experience as well. (OK, it isn't always). Everything could taste like chicken, I suppose. This is one of those things though where you owe it to yourself to try as many different tastes as you can. I perish the thought that my kids could grow up thinking that "exotic" is putting a pickle on a hamburger, or a "treat" is soft-serve ice-cream. Flavors can take me to exotic places; they can also take me home. In a world where the rule is make the meat taste of nothing, and standardize the sauces, we can do much better. Although a hamburger can be blissful, too :)

Touch. I loved watching Robin Williams in Bicentennial Man. The android comes home, proudly tells his would-be human love that he is "now in proud possession of a central nervous system", and he asks her to slap him about a bit. (It's a brilliant movie, provided you have hankies at the ready). To have an entire body surface covered with millions of electrical receptors, in some places several thousand to the square inch, and not to make the most of it seems a bit of a waste, doesn't it? While my air conditioning has been down, I've been surrounding myself with oscillating fans. Having those run up and down me all night has been... exhilarating. Sometimes in sync, sometimes not. This is one I'd better cut short before I get into too much trouble.

Smell. This one is vastly underrated, associated with negatives, and, let's face it, the human olfactory system is pretty lousy compared to much of the animal kingdom's. A dog can identify every other dog in the neighborhood from within three feet of a fire hydrant. But scent is one of the most utterly evocative of all the senses, capable of triggering a stream of memories. A Yale University study found that the smell of Crayola crayons is one of the 20 most recognizable scents to American adults. Freshly-cut grass is another favorite. A sea breeze recalls a first love, from a vacation that's decades ago. Even in a crowded room I can tell if there's one person in it wearing Elizabeth Taylor's Passion. Rosemary grows outside my front door - a scent that means home. I bought me one of those little aromatherapy diffusers from Wal-Mart. Lavender heals. Peppermint cools. Tea tree invigorates... the list goes on.

And more? Perhaps, yes. Your brain is a significantly clever piece of hardware, capable of synthesizing minimal cues, comparing it with its previous database of knowledge, wisdom, and experience, and coming to some otherwise quite inexplicable conclusions. Entire societies have dedicated millennia to seek higher states of enlightenment. There's another post in itself.

Every once in a while, all of these come together, brilliantly, satisfyingly. Something as simple as a rainstorm, simple, perhaps, powerful, certainly, valuable, undoubtedly. I feel those "change in the weather" twinges in old wounds, my sixth sense I suppose, and rush out to see the clouds break, hear the rumble of the thunder, smell the rain, feel it trickle all over me, even taste it. This, quite simply, is what it means to be alive. Welcome to the human condition.

Ex quinque his sensibus quose animantibus natura tribit, visu, auditu, gustu, tactu, odoratu - Aulus Gellus (c. 125-180)

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The Importance of a Good Support System

Michele Kellenbenz is a fibromyaliga and neuropathy fighter. Michele blogs her struggle, accomplishments, and tricks for fighting the good fight against these invisible illnesses. Her hope is through her blog others will learn from her mistakes and not end up in the same situation. She is currently working on her first appeal for disability. When her hands are cooperative she also likes to work on transforming recipes from sugar to splenda, and makes gorgeous beaded jewelry. You will find Michele's blog at http://ramblingsofinsanemind.blogspot.com/. You can email her at alonelydragonfly@aol.com with questions, comments, or suggestions. Also, make sure you follow her at http://twitter.com/chelekell.

The Importance of a Good Support System

If you live with fibromyalgia, neuropathy, CFS, MPS, or another "invisible pain illness" there is no doubt you may come across naysayers, negative Nancy's, friends and family who in the least don't understand what you are going through, in the worst... don't believe you. Let's face the truth, it's easier to empathize with illnesses you can see or even are more prevalent, like cancer, heart attack, or stroke. www.fibrohugs.com has an excellent "letter to normals" that I believe should be a must read for everyone, especially those who deal with fibromites in their family, friends, and even coworkers.

When I worked for a certain, now bought out, aircraft parts manufacturer, in sales, I sold 1 million dollars a year more than the next closest sales rep. But, all my boss could see was I had more sick days than anyone else. My last job was at the Disney Reservation center where I had an excellent, extremely understanding boss (he had gout so he sympathized!) who knew how hard it was for me to leave my job there, I loved it so.

So, if you don't have support at home, work, or in your circle, what should you do? An excellent question. I found an amazing support group online. Soulten's fibro support is my favorite. http://forum2.aimoo.com/soultensfibrosupport/errno-1/warmtips.html This group of people are not only my online support group. They are my online family. Most of these people I met in the fibromyalgia chat room on www.prohealth.com. They do not all have fibro, some have depression, are bipolar, or have neuropathy like me. They are from all over the world, and I don't think I would have made it through the past year without having their support.

One of the hardest things I had to learn was to kick the negative Nancy's to the curb. I cleaned house of the people who refused to believe my illness is not "all in my head". As hard as cleaing my life of these people were, and in some cases they were really long term friendships, I had to. No one should have to prove they are ill. You wouldn't ask a cancer patient to see their chemo treatment for proof would you?

I want to thank my support system. I have the most amazing husband who works 50-60 hours a week, takes care of me and our home too. Sweetie, you are my rock and I love you. To my best friends who I am realizing worry way too much about me and are always there to lend help, even from an hour away! And, lastly to my friend, neighbor, and sister Nan. Somedays I don't know what I'd do without you. You will never know how much the simple act of unloading and reloading my dishwasher means to me... and for that and all the other things you do for me (including picking up my prescriptions in the pouring rain) I love you (and u are NOT a negative Nancy!).

@chelekell

be well, chele :)

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The Sneaky Switcharoo

In the last 3 weeks my happy to eat anything baby has turned into a right fussy madam.

One minute she loves something, two days later she doesn't like it! Its making feeding times a right nightmare and with her not drinking a lot of milk it worries me slightly

Now its not all food she's gone off, fruit and yogurt she will lap up, so its not that she isn't hungry its just she doesn't want to eat the savoury food!

Me and OH have devised a sneaky way of getting her to eat the savoury dinners, we call it the sneaky switcharoo!!

Basically we try her with dinner if she won't eat it we start feeding her the sweet pudding the sneak a spoon of savoury in before she realises!! and it works, sometime you can get 3 spoonfuls in before she realises its not fruit or yogurt!!

We also coat her porridge in yogurt to get her to eat when she decides she doesn't want it! We put some porridge (which already has fruit in it!) on the spoon then dip in the yogurt so she doesn't realise its porridge!!

Sneaky? Yes, Works? Yes!

Hey we already know I'm an evil mummy!!

If you have any other advice to help with a fussy baby please let me know!

NM X
 
http://newmummystips.blogspot.com
 
http://mummynew.blogspot.com

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Does Eddie Izzard Have This Trouble?

My optometrist is a tiny woman of a very slight build and a quietly-spoken voice. There is no way she could make me do anything against my will. No way at all. Every time I go, though, we have exactly the same conversation.

"I prefer to dilate your pupils as part of the examination. Lets me get a better look inside your eyes, and it wears off after an hour or so. Shall we do that?"
"No. Last time I did that, it lasted all day. Makes me nauseous. I think you can skip that bit Doc."
"I really would prefer it if you'd let me dilate you."
"I don't wanna I don't wanna I don't wanna."
"Please, I promise you, it'll be fine."
"Oh, all right then, I suppose."

The upshot of this conversation is I spend the rest of the day wearing Roy Orbison shades, staggering around like a drunk, and tripping over my shoes which look like they're in clown sizes. I'll complain about it for the rest of the day, to which everybody helpfully reminds me, 'Well, you could have refused, couldn't you". No. That's the problem. I couldn't. OK, I admit it, I'm a bit of a pushover, especially when it comes to ladies. One thing I should have learned by now, though, is to never underestimate the willpower of a strong-minded woman, and its obvious corollary. Never enter a bet with one. But of course, that's precisely what I did.

An upbeat and funny friend of mine on Twitter (and indeed, a guest poster here) is expecting her first child, and handling the trials and tribulations of the whole business with a more than liberal dose of humor. Strange thing how stream-of-consciousness discussions begin, but it started with an exchange of blog comments. "Awww, bless her", I start thinking, overcome with pathos. The idea of anyone insistent on sticking to their skinny jeans and heels as long as possible through pregnancy - definitely a first time mom. I remember what it was like the last time, 12 years ago, when The Boy was on his way; having to walk mom-to-be up and down the house constantly, while helicopters hovered overhead and radioed back to Sea World that Free Willy had escaped. Heels? Yup. Sure. Whatever. And one thing I can be trusted on is to open my mouth. "If you make it to 28 weeks, I'll be in awe of your superhuman powers," I tweeted. Somehow, between there and now, that escalated from a mere observation to a bet. The game's afoot.

And, of course, I lost. And, since a bet's not a bet unless you've got something to lose, what would my forfeit be? Surely, the punishment should fit the crime. There's only one logical suggestion. I should put on a pair of heels.

This does, of course, raise a few issues - perhaps, surprisingly, not the issues that immediately spring to most people's minds. I refuse to take myself too seriously. I'll go out of my way to do things just to raise a smile, or in this case, hopefully, a laugh. And, no, I'm certainly not insecure - a joke like this is in no way a challenge to my sexuality, little boys have been marching up and down the hallway in their mom's slingbacks since the dawn of time - so, what the heck? Why not? It's not like I'll be wearing them all day at work. Could be fun, and, who knows, I might even learn a bit of empathy for some women I see who are obviously in discomfort from these things. Besides, I've supposedly got a decent pair of legs. Most friends of mine my age have things that I can only equate with hairy milk bottles. Anyway, Wikipedia tells me that high heels being just for women isn't necessarily the case. They were practical for Mongolian horsemen and Egyptian butchers. (Seriously, I'm not making this up). Dance shoes such as Cuban heels aren't considered effeminate, are they? Of course, that would be cheating on the bet, wouldn't it?

The only issues that come into play are purely logistical. How do I get a pair that fit? My daughters don't wear them, and even if they did, my plates of meat are far too big. I'm a ten and a half (US) wide fitting in a tennis shoe. It's not that they don't make heels in that size - far from it - but it would be nice if they were fashionable. And, despite the fact that this is something that will be over and done with in a few seconds, it would be nice if they actually fit. I had no idea what would happen if I were to walk into Wal-Mart and start trying on shoes in the shoe aisle. I think I'll draw the line there. Other plots ensued. I could order them online, perhaps. (There's a surprisingly large amount of size 11's up there. I'm figuring add half a size for comfort to even stand a chance of getting my lithe and lissom feet in them). Perhaps I could head out on the razz and see if I can find myself a lady with feet that size, explain my predicament, and that I'm interested in borrowing her shoes. Or maybe not. I honestly don't look at feet all that much when I'm out.

At this point, I was accused of stalling. The very thought! Two weeks have passed as I tried to think my way out of this acquisition problem (or, perhaps, hoping that people would forget?). Of course, nobody does forget something like this - and I'm definitely not going to be accused of welching on a bet. By hook or by crook, I was going to have to get me a pair, get this photo taken, and be done with it. Sunday seemed a good night to go ahead and do it - it had been a thoroughly humorless weekend, and I fancied a laugh. Sunday. In blue velvet, god-fearing America. In Wal-Mart. It took a skinful of Newcastle Brown for me to do it, but I went for it anyway. Not much of a selection; it is, after all, August, and the Christmas trees are already out in lawn and garden - the summer fashions just aren't out there any more - but their sizes go right up to 11. Good. Let's get this over and done with. I gingerly picked a right shoe from three pairs, sat down on the little shoe-trying-on chair, looked both ways to make sure the coast was clear, and, one by one, this ugly sister tried to see if Cindy's shoes would fit.

Not even close. The best I could get had my heel hanging out the back of the shoe by an inch or two - the rest, I couldn't even get my toes into. How was I to know that male and female shoe sizes are apparently so vastly different? Apparently, what I need is about a size 13, maybe even a 14, and where the heck am I going to find them? Does Eddie Izzard have this trouble?

To Be Continued!

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Update from GolfSigma - Are We There Yet?

Rich is the founder of GolfSigma and passionate about serving our customer the golfer.  We launched in March 09 and are focused on one thing and that is Tee Time search.  Remaining neutral to the golf world and displaying all tee times, discount and long range and international tee times.  The goal is to be “The Sum of All Golf”.  I can be reached at news@golfsigma.com  Blog URL http://blog.golfsigma.com/

Sunday, August 16, 2009

Are we there yet?

Simply stated, GolfSigma is a tee time search engine, period. To that point everything we do is done with the objective of how this will make the experience of our user, the golfer, better. We, and I use that term loosely because I would not even know how to code an excel spread sheet, have spent the last three months getting the quality of the inventory dialed in. As we started to grow we started to slow down and run into all sorts of oddities, I have talked at length in past post about these problems.

Enough said, "we have nailed it", as I knew we would, and it is time to move on. In the process of cleaning things up we have added another 250 courses making it a total of over 2600 golf courses. Tee times in GolfSigma over 500,000!

Coming up next, we will be adding new places to search which means more golf courses, more tee times, more tee time overlap, and tee times that are further out in time. We are at the tip of the iceberg and ready to charge forward.

Are we there yet? Let's just say the journey has just begun!

Finally more to come………..

Rich

 

Twitter @golfsigma

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A Brave New Hashtag #worthaF

@Eyglo retweeted me this morning. A most unusual retweet, indeed. For a start, it happened eleven hours after the original, which, let's face it, isn't your typical waiting time for an RT. I guess it happens. Sometimes, people are offline, want to continue the same conversation, remind the sender where they left off, retweet instead of reply... it's all good. That wasn't the unusual thing.

A new hashtag. #worthaF.

Why thank you. That's very kind. Errr, what? Is this some new Follow Friday thing?

Well, it didn't take much hunting (OK, I clicked on the hashtag) to find out what was going on and trace it back to the source, the cannot-be-easily-summarized @Angpang, and very shortly the pieces began to fall into place. It is indeed a suggestion for a #followfriday replacement, which, after about your first month or so on Twitter, you realize is a wonderful idea which is sadly, notoriously broken. It is spam bait, it is noisy, it is horrendously devalued by those who wish to game the system, and, at times, it can be plain annoying. There are those who play the game nicely, wonderfully in fact, crafting beautiful tweets as to why you should follow a particular person, keeping their recommendations to just precisely those people who deserve them - but they're always drowned out by the spambots, the thoughtless retweeters,

It is, however, sadly addictive to do #followfriday. We all have our down days. Being told by a bunch of people (or even robots) that you're great and worth following sometimes feels worth something. You feel compelled to respond, to return the favor. It's a terrible, terriible drug, that encourages abuse. It's resisted several months of attempts to reinvent it, but maybe #worthaF is the way to do it. Angela's article and the way the tag was used on its first day out explain it perfectly; I'm not going to go through it all again. So what makes me think this is a decent idea that's worth a shot? To find out, we'll have to strip it all down; delve deep into the anatomy of the tweet, of Twitter, and of us users ourselves. Just remember, it's

#worthaF RT @whoever [their beautiful original tweet]

and let's take a look what's good about it!

The tag

Let's be honest, it's inherently racy. Nothing wrong with that at all, it's what makes the world go round, but it's what makes it memorable. It's also surprisingly unique - Google it, and you'll find that uses of it and descriptions of it are already coming in way up the search list. It's brief and to the point - this person is worth a F(ollow). Irresistible. What's more, it's only going to end up costing you a total of nine characters over a regular retweet.

The retweet

The established way of giving props to your peeps, a retweet is by far the best way to encourage a friend and spread the word to others about just how great they are. Quality retweeting has, in itself, been suggested as a better way of doing #followfriday - and it is certainly possible to do that way, although there's a significant number of spambots out there that are in the retweet game. Things get even better when you consider that mnost Twitter clients have retweet capability built in; even Twitter itself is about to add it. RT's are well-woven into the fabric of the Twitter universe. The Twitter pros (in other words, people who can count) know a good way to encourage retweets is to keep their own tweets short, leave room for the RT sauce.

The target

Simple enough. Just one person. There was nothing to stop you doing single-person #followfriday's before (I have received some delightful ones where the recommendation used the rest of the tweet to describe me in glowing terms), but it's far too easy to stretch a #ff to eight or nine people with some blanket words like "wonderful tweeps", or even ten or eleven amnd forget the reason entirely. That, above all, is what makes Follow Friday croak. The RT format here pretty much compels you into single-person recommendations. They mean so much more. They're also a lot harder for the spam brigade to take advantage of. (A single tweet by a single human, recommending a single human, has far greater personal value for the folks involved. Far less marketing value for the 'bots). Most important, think of it as blowing a kiss to your recipient, as Angela pointed out. You want to make sure your recipient knows they got it, without it being buried in some lurid ball of bodies.

The tweet

This one is the big one for me. There have been plenty of twitter tropes lately about it being a "theater for the mind", a "verbal gym", a place where you live purely by your wits, armed with only 140 characters. What defines our identity in Twitter space is simply what we say. (If you are picking your followers based on avatars, you are definitely in the wrong place). All my relationships - oh yes, as far as I'm concerned, my Twitter friends are as real as any others I have - are based purely on the sum total of what those people have said to me, to others, and to all. To recommend someone in their own words is the highest compliment you can make. You're literally saying "Look at this person. This is the sort of thing they say here. This is why they're worth my time, and worth yours."

The timing

Twitter isn't like much of the Internet. It has a compelling real-time dimension - the bit that you never realize until you try it - that takes it over and above much of the rest of the Web, even the other social networking sites. Nothing is as satisfying as a conversation that snowballs into interactions firing in all directions. As such, timing your RT just right can make a big difference. There's not much point retweeting any of the big guys within a few seconds - most of your followers already saw it too; likewise, you probably don't want those wonderful words to wait until Friday, either. This one's still an open question - whether to leave your #worthaF calls to 'traditional' Friday, or scatter them throughout the week, but, again, it's your RT. Your call.

Wait!

That's the entire #worthaF tweet covered. Could this solution possibly be as good as it looks? I honestly think it could. The first ones I saw today (Friday August 14) honestly went really well. I encourage you to give it a go. Next time you see that tweet, the one that reminds you, hey, that exactly sums up this person, why I like them, why I follow them - save it somewhere for a RT, maybe now, maybe later. Add that tag, give it a try. Promote this to your friends; the good ones, the interactive ones. Maybe @mashable will pick up on this; some big gun support would make all the difference.

And maybe, just maybe, we can make Follow Friday #worthaF.

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Are you #WorthaF?

I'm a copywriter living in England. I'm pretty new to all this, having started my blog - Incense and Peppermints - just a few months ago. I love to write, hence my profession, but it's very liberating to babble-on about anything that takes my fancy through the blog, alongside the commercial work that provides a daily challenge and income. And then there's the comments my blog has netted... incredibly rewarding. So many people taking time to say they enjoyed the post. What took me so long to enter the blogosphere? I'm also a mum of two children. I try not to talk about them too much. And fail. I hope you enjoy my work, and thanks to Guestblogme for the platform.

Are you #WorthaF?

Update (14th August) : #WorthaF went through its first Follow Friday today and I saw over 100 uses of the tag. A great debut I think! A fair few were mine, I admit, but so many from others. So THANKS to everyone who did it. Hope it worked for you all. Suprise, delighted, amazed - that was me today.

I think the On Friday element worked too, so maybe the strategy of "stash your top tweets in Favourites all week and RT on Friday with the #worthaF tag" is the way to go?

Anyway, the original blog on #worthaF...

You might have noticed, I don’t do Follow Friday on Twitter. I fell-out with it a while ago for lots of reasons, which you are welcome to read about here in my first post Follow Friday Can Bugger Off.

In that initial post I put forward an alternative to Follow Friday of collecting the best tweets your saw that week in your Favourites folder, and on Friday telling your followers to go look in your Favourites by tweeting the link http://twitter.com/Angpang/favourites.

But that’s not working for me right now.

Firstly, because my Twitter honeymoon period is over. I am now in the happily married phase; I’m there, but I’m not obsessed. Real life is being attended to more and I’m not on Twitter often enough to collect Tweets in Favourites so efficiently.

(For an excellent post on Twitter as a romance do pop over to read Debra Snider’s ATwitter when you have a moment).

Secondly, let’s be honest, Follow Friday is also I 'Heart' You Friday. People are blowing kisses at each other as much as trying to pimp their follower lists. If you Favourite someone’s tweet, they don’t automatically know about it, as they do when their @name is broadcast on your Follow Friday list. No one wants to blow a kiss and not have it land.

Last Friday I watched @Gibbzer (an advocate of my Favourites approach who really is worth a Follow) take her Favourite tweets and re-tweet them along with a tiny message that sort of said ‘you should follow this person, just have a look at this brilliant Tweet they did…’ and I thought

‘ooh follow recommendations through the medium of retweeting, I like that, that’s the way to go’.

So I’m going to follow Gibbzer’s lead.

My take on it will be adding a short & sweet hashtag and doing it anytime, not just Friday.

At the moment I'm thinking of the hashtag #worthfollowing or (because it's short, descriptive and cheeky) #worthaF. Should other people take this up, it's easy to search with a hashtag and see other recommendations.

And my reasoning for doing this anytime of any day is because I might not be on Twitter on Friday, because the recommendation will stand out more, and because I like to do stuff on the spur of the moment.

So, an example (pay attention):

#worthaF RT @thingy blah blah [wonderful tweet] blah blah

And if you’re jaded with Follow Friday like me, I invite you to chuck a few out there. I would love to search #worthaF and come across lots of recommendations by clever people, yes, people like YOU.

And if you don't like hashtags and feel they're the Twitter equivalent of dancing to The Birdie Song (by The Tweets, I have just discovered, now there's appropriate), you don't have to use any: put your own spin on it. But I didn't need to explain that to you, did I?

If you do give it a go, pick short tweets if you can or you'll have to faff about editing them. Or you could use (as @Nikki Dee says) www.twitlonger.com.

I am not looking to overthrow Follow Friday. And if you do FF and enjoy it, carry on. It's just not working for me. I want an alternative that's all ice-cream and no wasps.

As ever, let me know your thoughts.

And that photo of Monroe blowing a kiss is by Weegee, fascinating photographer, read more at Weegee's World.

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Guest bloggers for #followfriday 8/14

OK, it's been a busy week with a lot of guest submissions, so I'm doing the same thing again this week as I did last time. My guests are also my #followfriday recommendations on Twitter. Be sure to check them out and also to check their writings here! And, if you'd like to be on the list, interact with me before next week!

One of the nicest things over the past couple of weeks has been the diversity of posts; in fact, every post has been written by a different author and there's a wide range of topics here. I'm going to endeavor to keep that up as time goes on - if your post is a good as these, but about something different, expect to jump to the head of the queue. Anyway,. here's the list of latest guests!

• @elenelsecchio returned from holiday after visiting the new Picasso Museum in Malaga and wondered whose interpretation of art is the 'correct' one;
• @GolfSigma gave us a glimpse as to what it takes to make a custom Internet search engine aiming to be "The Sum Of All Golf";
• @guestblogme is still sneaking stuff in here, this time about his visit to an archaeology lecture;
  
• @inshin made his first submission here with an embarrassing hiking experience;
• @nursebevw gives us an insight into the frustrations and challenges of living with fibromyalgia;
• @OptimistsAlcove sent in two photos for Wordless Wednesday that say much more than they show. The added caption is precious;
• @RachelPattisson makes an acute observation about how toddlers think in her first post here;
• @RohanLikhite quickly looks at the three online services that he's currently excited about;
• @theparadiddler returns with more advice for would-be drummers and musicians on how to worship your heroes.

Be sure to check out these people on Twitter, read their articles here, and follow their links back to their own blogs and show your appreciation for their writing. Have a great #followfriday, folks.

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I wish I could have my body back

Hi! Thanks for visiting my blog. I hope that in some small way I can help people understand what it’s like to live with Fibromyalgia or help those with the illness to feel that they aren’t alone in the world. I am a nurse by profession but unable to work at this time. I am working on getting a couple of certifications for Medical Transcription so I can hopefully work from home. I also work with a few charities to do what I can to pay it forward somehow. I am also very proudly a mom and wife. In summary..my Twitter Bio says it best: Mom, Partner in Crime, Nurse, Student, Philanthropist, Fibromite with CFS and Celiac Disease, Crafting Fiend, Full time brat and all around freak of nature. 

This morning I felt determined to get some school work done since it’s been a while that I’ve done any. (I’m studying to work as a Medical Transcriptionist & Medical Claims/Billing Specialist from home) I get my books and as soon as I start, I start feeling foggy headed and like I’m getting a headache. What the hell? Do I keep going and try to push through, knowing I’m risking a headache that I usually can’t get rid of? UGH!!! I hate feelings detached from myself. It’s a constant battle.

My body always feels separate from my mind. The biggest frustration is not being able to have much control over what my body does. I am just a passenger in this runaway train most days and it’s exhausting.

I want to do so many things… like be an active member of my family. Someone that they can depend on rather than always having to say “we’ll see how I feel” when it comes to choir concerts, band performances, or even just cooking them a meal each night.

I want to at least be able to work on my school work so I’m heading toward a goal that I want to achieve. I have a nursing degree that I worked my ass off for that I can no longer use because of my illness.. why can’t I just have one small thing not dictated by my body and it’s unrelenting torture?? It used to be that I would go through my day and then realize that something hurt. Now, I try to go through my day and hope to realize the moment that I might be comfortable. A moment when the pain is not at the forefront of my mind sabotaging every thought or action. I have tried.. and still do try to will it away. Some people think that fibromyalgia is “just in your head”. I sincerely wish that were true… for me, it would be gone already.

There was more to this post, but just as fast as it entered my head.. it’s gone. Fibro fog… love it. Now THAT is in my head…

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3 Services I Want To Use.

Ok, so there are a bunch of new startups that have taken the tubes by storm. Its amazing how most of these have been restricted to only a few countries because of legal reasons. Well. That sucks. Here are 3 services that i'm hoping will be available for use in other countries. I have left out the obvious ones like Hulu and Comedy Central. =P

Spotify:

In short, here's how it works: Spotify is a peer-to-peer music streaming service; it's a desktop application, but its content all comes via the cloud. Think of it as though the entire iTunes Music Store were actually just your library, and that instead of the poorly designed mess that it is, imagine that it was refreshingly streamlined, fast, and easy to search and use. It also has a nifty iPhone app that lets you stream and store your library. Yes, store. You can listen to all your music anywhere you want for free, without purchasing anything. And the best part is that its 100% legal. Somehow. That gives you a little bit of an idea what Spotify is like. It also works under Windows, Mac OS X, and Linux (using Wine). (lifehacker)

Google Voice:

Google Voice is a service that gives you one number for all your phones, voicemail that is easy as email, and many enhanced calling features like call blocking and screening, voicemail transcripts, call conferencing, international calls, and more. Google voice just makes your cell a bit more awesome-er.

Mint:

This is the one im really looking forward to. Mint is a  fresh look at budgeting – that’s free. Imagine a budget website that’s ridiculously easy to use and doesn’t force you to really do any leg work at all except input all your credit cards and bank accounts (don’t worry you freakin’ pessimists – it’s super safe). Next, sit back and watch the magic happen. Mint tracks all your money, creates you a budget based on your previous spending, categorizes all your purchases, and shows it all to you in pretty pie charts and bar graphs. You don’t have to do a thing. It updates itself every time you log in. They even send you e-mail updates when you’ve gone over budget or if you have a credit card payment due this week. And did I mention it’s free? Yeah. It’s amazing.

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Toddler Logic

Rachel Pattisson is a mummy blogger whose blog, Really Rachel, was intended to be about All Sorts Of Things and turned out to be mostly about her children.  Well, they are infinitely bloggable, of course.

In between mummying and blogging, Rachel is a freelance writer with a love of all things wordy. You can follow me on Twitter, ask me to do some writing for you, view the original post about toddler logic or read more from Really Rachel.  Enjoy!

Toddler Logic

When you are two, you can be more independent.  FP has started to walk down the stairs by herself.  She holds onto the banister and takes one step, very carefully, at a time.  My attempts to walk with her and hold her hand are shunned.  “Mummy go in front,” she says.  I walk a short distance in front and hope that I would, at least, break her fall if necessary.

On smaller flights of stairs, a person who is two can be even more independent.  The few steps leading down to our half-landing are negotiable by FP without holding the banister.  In such situations, FP can help others to go down the stairs: her doll, Lucy, for example.

FP may be carrying Lucy in her arms but, mindful of the extra danger posed by stairs, she holds Lucy’s hand as well for good measure.  “You’re holding Lucy’s hand,” she tells me.  “It’s good to have a hand to hold on the stairs,” I confirm.

Even if Lucy isn’t there to need a hand and no banister-support is required, FP still takes stair-safety very seriously indeed.  She carefully goes down the stairs holding her own hand.  There’s some kind of toddler-logic at work there, I’m sure.

See and download the full gallery on posterous

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An Evening with Dr Zahi Hawass

Zahi Hawass is about the nearest thing you can get to a rock star in the archaeological world. He's the current Secretary General of the Egyptian Supreme Council of Antiquities, in particular spearheading a movement to return Egypt's relics, scattered all over the world, to their rightful place in the Cairo Museum (such as the Rosetta Stone). To most, however, he's recognizable from numerous National Geographic and Discovery Channel specials, the quintessential explorer, a modern-day Indiana Jones, complete with explorer hat. He's the reason my oldest daughter wants to be an Egyptologist - and my other two hold him in equal reverence. When we found out he was going to be lecturing at Clowes Hall (on the Butler University campus in Indianapolis, IN) we wondered whether it would be worth the trip. We'd seen the Tutankhamun and the Golden Age of Pharaohs exhibit when it was at the Field Museum in Chicago a couple of years ago; Hawass' visit to Indianapolis coincided with another exhibit, Tutankhamun: The Golden King and The Great Pharaohs, at the Indianapolis Children's Museum. We weren't really sure whether it was worth the round trip (about three and a half hours each way) and then we found out it was on the kids' second day back at school. It didn't seem like it could be done - but on the night before, I made my mind up. I'd pack up work a few hours early, grab the kids, and head on up the road. Nothing ventured, nothing gained - besides, it would be a surprise for them. It honestly pays to keep your kids guessing.

We knew we were cutting things a bit fine, and then, just outside Frankfort on the bridge over the Kentucky River, I-64 W was down to one lane. That held us up for about thirty minutes and I spent the rest of the journey doing mental arithmetic, calculating that I'd have to average over 80 all the way to get there in time. It wasn't going to happen, no chance. We could have just turned around, but I pressed on. Even if we caught just the last couple of minutes, surely it was worth a try. Of course, we were late. I ran into the box office, sob story prepared, about "how I'd traveled such a long way". As I entered the ticketing office I could hear Dr Hawass' voice booming over the PA. He was already in full swing. This is one of those times where having an accent that makes it sound like I'd traveled a lot further really helps; it's also a valuable accent to have when flirting with bureaucratic ladies. Flattery will get you everywhere. The ticket lady grinned at me and said, "Go on in"; I offered to pay for the tickets but she just smiled sweetly and said, "Don't worry about that honey". Honey. Wow.

We went into the auditorium where Dr Hawass was lecturing to a packed house of all sorts - students, bohemians, elderly couples - accompanied by a slide show that was flicking through what seemed like thousands of photographs, about one every two seconds. Through it all Dr Hawass presented, talking with meticulous detail on a whistle-stop tour of what seemed like his entire life's work; his analysis of Tutankhamun's mummy using CT scans, the identification of Hapshepsut's mummy (performed mainly by matching a missing molar with one found in a box bearing her name), the robotic exporation of several sharts in the Great Pyramid, his responses to the theorists who claimed that evidence of an even more ancient civization lay beneath the Sphinx, and now his more recent work near Alexandria where he has potentially found relics relating to Cleopatra and Mark Anthony. Throughout, Hawass was incredibly engaging, witty, and thoroughly impassioned by his topic - the crowd would applaud and cheer at each subject, while his sense of humor makes him a captivating speaker. When speaking of curses, he tells how the tomb of a husband and wife are emblazoned with threats of being "eaten by hippos and crocodiles", while the wife's tomb also adds the extra line "and scorpions and snakes. Proving, of course, that women are by far more vindictive when it comes to revenge. I mean, of course, in the ancient world". Descending into the cursed hole in the back of the Sphinx, he stated that "I'm no fool. I didn't go down there. I sent my younger and more expendable assistant", and he takes great pains to point out his opinion of the curse stories as bunk. When cataloguing the relics found at the possible burial site of Cleopatra and Mark Anthony, he tells how his assistant got excited by a man's mask, complete with a cleft chin. "Do you think," she said to Hawass, "that this may be the mask of Mark Anthony?". Hawass responded in style. "No, my dear. It is more likely the mask of Richard Burton".

Hawass spoke for over 90 minutes, and ended his talk with what he considers his personal album, a series of pictures and amusing anecdotes about the visitors he's received on the Giza Plateau over the years. He gestures to a photo of "this old lady" (Queen Elizabeth II), then, without skipping a beat, the picture switches to Dr Ruth Westheimer, who Hawass admits he didn't realize who she was, but had to stand her on a chair to receive his gift from her, a copy of Sex For Dummies. The location shooting for Transformers 2 sees Hawass firmly in the photograph with "a bunch of young people... This is Megan Fox, and this is... errr... Indiana Jones' son." His personal album soon becomes an assemblage of superstars and international royalty; it's often hard to remember that, not only is he an archaeologist, arguably the world's expert on his subject, and also a television personailty, but he is a politician - no, better put, a statesman, an ambassador to his country. At that, it was all the more remarkable that, after his evidently-exhausting speech, he opened the floor to questions, particularly to the younger visitors from the Children's Museum who were all at floor level. One excited little boy approached the podium and asked precisely why Tutankhamun was so important. Zahi Hawass came to the edge of the stage, squatted down, and explained that Tuthankhamun had became king "at about your age... nine years old" and answered the question, not to the crowd as a whole, but directly to the boy, who was evidently on the verge of fainting. More was to come, as the MC explained that Dr Hawass would be available to sign books and "explorer hats", available for purchase outside in the lobby. There was a stampede.

The queue to see Dr Hawass wound its way through the lobby, out of the front doors, back into the building, as staff wandered up and down saying that, because of his tight schedule and obvious exhaustion, he would sign whatever was placed in front of him, feel free to take photographs, but do not try to take photographs with him. Nevertheless, my oldest one was trembling at the thought; the other two (plus a friend we also took) were also excited at the prospect of passing merely a few feet in front of who they considered a Great Man. It was indeed impressive to get so close; the signed books and hats were an incredible takeaway; however, hearing his words was one of the most valuable experiences for me. One of his answers in particular stuck in my mind.

To like something, is not enough. To love something, is not enough. You must have a passion for it.

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"Exquisite Torture" #musicmonday

Omar Alvarado is the owner of TheParadiddler.com, a blog about drums and all things drumming.  Drumming is a passion; he not only plays, he writes about it!  Informative editorials, educational articles, drum covers, instructional videos, and more, can be found there.  Don't be bashful in leaving comments (yeah or nay) - your participation is encouraged!  Sign up for the FREE newsletter as well - your information will be completely private and will not be sold.  Follow The Paradiddler on Twitter as well.  Read on, then drum on!

"Exquisite Torture"

Do you remember the first time you were absolutely blown away by the ability of a drummer? Maybe you were a wee little lad (like me) who saw Peter Criss' monstrous kit (at least to me it was) and watched how seemingly gracefully he handled the whole thing. Or maybe you heard a song for the first time on the radio who's drumming sounded just amazing, really fast hands, great technique, who made you beg the question, "Who the heck was that?!" Or maybe you watched Buddy Rich vs. Animal on "The Muppet Show", and after picking your jaw up off the floor you exclaimed, "No way! How can anyone be better than Animal?" (Ok, this was also me ).

Of course, this type of experience is not limited to drums. My alter-ego favorite instrument, the piano (no I can't play it - yet) has on several occasions made me just watch in awe as the keyboardist painted a most wondrous story. Rick Wakeman is my favorite keyboardist, as he not only has just 'sick' chops, but as I hear his playing I not only see (or hear) his technical ability, but I also hear how he crafts and phrases the notes and chords, and how he interplays between the different keyboards - an absolute master.

We can go on and on! We may have read story after story about how, when seeing certain guitarists for the first time, the observer immediately wanted to play the instrument. Seeing or hearing Eric Clapton, Stevie Ray Vaughan, and Eddie Van Halen, among others, influenced entire generations of artists with their wizardry of the strings.

So we see our favorite drummer, or keyboardist, or guitarist, and what do we do? We air-play, of course! We want to imitate our favorite musician. Next, if we're so fortunate, our parents afford us our instruments of choice (or we work for it, which is even sweeter). So we go about learning to play, either via lessons from someone else, or self-teaching ourselves with CDs, DVDs, or other self-instruction media. We're so excited as we embark on our journey towards becoming 'monsters' of our instruments, just like our 'idols'.

Well what happens? For many of us, we never achieve Neil Peart or Eddie Van Halen status. Some lose interest, and others, because of more pressing obligations, stop lessons entirely. Still others, if their goal was to play in a band and become rich and famous, are for the most part disillusioned with the competition and the cruel reality that the music industry can be. Some of these, still for the love of the music, end up playing in local bands ("not that there's anything wrong with that!"), hoping maybe one day to be discovered.

During all of this time, we may go back and revisit our first jaw-dropping experience. We may even have been fortunate enough to see these players live. We may also have picked up on other favorites, and tried to learn their style of play. Alas, but we just can't do it! These players make it seem so easy, so fluid, so effortless. And after much effort ourselves, we come to the realization that we just can't play like these guys (or gals, i.e. Sheila E.)!

But all in all, these scenarios aren't necessarily bad. We may delight in the virtuosity of our favorite players, and be content with that. I've discovered a wonderful phrase that captures the essence of our amazement of these players: 'exquisite torture'.

I'd like to say that I came up with that phrase, but it was not I. It came from one of the special features on the DVD "Nights In Rodanthe", a fantastic movie adapted from the novel of the same name by Nicholas Sparks. Some of us may know of Mr. Sparks' penchant for writing stories of romantic tragedies (i.e. "A Walk to Remember", "The Notebook", etc.). Drumming aside, this is a movie that should be watched with a loved one, so you can appreciate what you have while you have it, because you never know when that special someone won't be there anymore. I haven't given anything away because Mr. Sparks' novels follow this theme for the most part.

In the movie, one of the main characters is actually the house where most of the movie takes place. It's a spectacularly beautiful house on the beach, a survivor of many natural disasters. In this house there is a particular room that has many mystical artifacts: statues, pictures, and the like. In one of the special features of the DVD, Diane Lane, who plays one of the main characters, states that her character goes to this room and sees all of these artifacts, and it reminds the character of something (or things) that are elusive to her, as if the things she wants to embrace are within reach, but she just can't quite reach them. To the character, it's like 'exquisite torture'. There is beauty, there is elegance, and she's always drawn there, knowing that these items represent to her things that are just beyond reach - 'exquisite torture'.

When she used that term, a light switch went off in my head. This is exactly what happens to us admirers of specially gifted players! We love what we see, we want to play like them, we practice long hours, but it's just quite not reachable. We cover our favorite drummer, or guitarist, but as many times as we play it, something's always just barely missing. We know the notes, we know the groove, but it's just not the same. But we keep watching! But we keep listening! Why? Because we're masochists! We'll watch these players over and over again, knowing we'll never play like that! Oh but we just love it anyway!

So really, 'exquisite torture' is more of a positive thing. Some of us actually attain a level of play that is very satisfying, and if we play in local bands and the crowd reacts in a positive way, that may be good enough for us. Many of us continue to wish we play like our favorites, but we're content with either just watching (or listening), or playing to a level that we're at peace with.

Of course, there's another extreme. In the article "The Emergence of Air Drumming", I wrote about those who may never even own a kit, but they sure feel like they can play! If you watch some of these air drummers, it looks like they would know what to do when placed behind a kit. But if they were to play for real, they'd soon realize they've been had! Let's just call that being tortured in an exquisite way, so to speak. I do believe air drumming is a good teaching tool, however.

But seriously, do we really need to play like our favorites to enjoy playing? Of course not! Everyone is different - we each have something to offer. We're all unique, and even though we may never achieve Thomas Lang or Mike Portnoy status, we'll sure have fun trying! 'Exquisite torture' - hmm, I think I can live with that!

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The Slaughtered Lamb

I’m living in Cavan, Ireland, and quite a novice when it comes to Twitter and Blogging.

I enjoy Rugby, Golf, (actually most sports although I can’t play any except a little Golf), Music, Space, History, Travel, Film & Writing.

I hope to record some thoughts in my blog of times gone by and one’s still happening. Enjoy and contribute. (inshin.wordpress.com / @inshin)

The Slaughtered Lamb

There are times when real life and fiction can blur into one. Sometimes this is good, sometimes its unwelcome. In the younger days when I would walk in the Wicklow hills with a friend, one such incident happened. We weren't exactly your typical hikers and tended to plan our trips the night before in the pub, or the week before, in the pub. We also didn't exactly stick to the plan either, and this was one such occasion.

Our hike was to take us from Glendalough, Co Wicklow, to Drumgoff Bridge and on to the hostel at Glenmalure. We had done this before, using the youth hostels in both places to stay over. Its not a significant hike by road, only 6.7 miles, but as we were to learn, mother nature can cast it's dramatic wrath on those who foolishly tempt fate.

Of course, our plans, as ill-conceived as they often were, also tended not to be adhered to. On arriving in Glendalough, we promptly found the nearest pub and settled in after our long bus journey, all of forty five minutes. One of the main issues we had neglected to consider was the time of year, it was October, and while the day seemed reasonable, the day light was significantly shorter than our last visit, something we hadn't quite recalled.

After a quantity was consumed, we realised that the light wasn't great and decided we should hit the road. We were probably less than two miles from Glendalough when the drops started to fall. With the light almost faded, and the temperature dropping, we remembered we had brought no wet gear.

Although we travelled by road, it definitely felt like climbing, and after a while we reached a severe bend which allowed us to look back at the lights in Glendalough.  From then on, the lights were few and far between, and the drops started to get harder.

We were still reasonably cheerful when the rain started to become more persistent. As we moved on, I realised denim had it's uses but wasn't great when it came to water. Gradually the trousers became heavier and much colder, and as the heaviness started to take it's toll, tiredness slowed the pace significantly. Do you know that in the pitch dark you don't actually need a torch, your eyes just re-adjust. One thing we did bring was a torch.

We kept going, and after a while a total sense of desperation kicked in as rain, cold and darkness had a strange dis-orientating impact on our exploring experiences. In the distance from time to time we could see a light and thought of leaving the road to get there. Once however we could see that the light was clearly a barn of some sort and decided the likelihood of the others being more than that, remote.

It seemed we were always walking up hill. I knew from the past that it was up so far and then down, into the valley. But this night seemed to be up hill for ever. Nature's other friend the wind had decided to join the attack and before we reached the top we were battling the the driving rain and incredible push of the wind trying to stop our advance. I remember thinking to myself, what the hell did we do ? The attack seemed relentless and gradually wore us down to almost total desperation.

We talked to each other about what was happening and although we knew we were finally descending, we had no idea how far we had walked or how far we had to go. We knew we were in trouble. None of the distant lights provided us with any comfort and the cold of the heavy wet jeans was now hurting and weighing a tonne.

Finally we had had enough. We hadn't heard or seen anyone for hours, we were exhausted, cold and wet and hadn't a clue how far we had to go or if it was possible to turn back. Gradually we heard a car somewhere behind us. The first sound of  it's kind in several hours. We grabbed our torches, finally, a use for them. But a thought came to mind, a car on this road might not stop with two lunatics flashing lights at it. For all they knew we could be an IRA training unit, not unheard of, although surely better prepared. The thought didn't last long. We stood in the middle of the road flashing the lights desperately and flay-ling our arms madly.

The car slowed down and then stopped a bit away from us. The drivers door opened slowly. We could see there was someone in the passengers seat. I remember the voice, 'Have ye a problem ?' Not now I thought.

We explained our predicament. He offered a lift to Drumgoff Bridge with a peculiar smile that made me a little embarrassed about our great adventure and hardships to date. I knew soon enough the reason, as we had only become somewhat comfortable in the back seat behind the driver and his young daughter when he chirped, 'Right now, here we are.' And sure enough, 100 yards down the road we were at Drumgoff.

The driver and his daughter were both giggling as they exited the car. They walked away into the Bridge Hotel, which was the only recognisable structure there and was really just a pub. We followed sheepishly. As we entered the bar, the 4 or 5 men sitting at the counter stopped talking and looked at us. What amazed me was that within the few minutes the driver had left the car and entered the bar, he had managed to tell the whole story before we walked in.

It was a bare plain square room, with the men at the bar and no one else, not even behind it. We turned away and sat down as far from the counter as we could. After a while the conversation started. There were recollections of the great snow and storms of different years and the hikers and travellers that were lost or rescued at different times. We so wanted to be out of there. But I remembered that the place was called a hotel and asked was there a room. No, not for many years. 'The Slaughtered Lamb' I thought. That scene from a wear-wolf horror film, when the star walked in and silence descended as the congregation eyed him up and down.

Finally our rescuer decided to leave. 'Want a lift back to Glendalough ?' he smiled. We asked would he be so kind as to run us up the rest of the mile or so to the hostel. 'No!', was the quick retort. 'No-one there this time of year, it's back to Glendalough or nowhere'.

We looked at each other. The time had come to concede it was a complete failure of an expedition, and take the small mercies that were available. We headed back. En route there was one last stop. In the middle of no-where, the driver left the car and walked to another car stopped, still with lights on.

Wow, two cars, what happened a few hours ago when there were none ? There was a quick exchange of something, a brief conversation and then he returned. We continued on silently back to our hiking start point.

After negotiating with the manager at the full hostel in Glendalough, we were allowed stay the night, sleeping on the floor in front of a roaring open fire. A real win, as the gents accommodation was over-run by boy scouts.

As I lay there aching and falling asleep I thought, never again. But I did.

 

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