Brian’s Song

My Musical Musings

Fri, 14 Aug 2009 16:27:51 -0400

Here’s what I have on my iTunes. Thought I’d share:

What the Hell (Revisited, Yet Again)

Fri, 27 Mar 2009 17:39:01 -0400

OK, so this post has been a long time coming. Back in the beginning of February (Feb. 10, to be exact), I was driving my girlfriend to work. We got there and she went in, and then I made my way back to the house to rest and relax a bit. (I’m taking my “convalescence” easy. Don’t hate me.)

To get back to the house, I take the Benjamin Franklin Parkway, which hadn’t been a problem. Anyway, I was at the intersection of 16th and Arch streets (one short block before the Parkway) at a red light when I noticed a cab idling next to me. I thought nothing of it.

Here I’ll give you a little more background. The street we were on, 16th, is four lanes heading north. The left-most lane, which the cab was in, is a turn-only lane. That means he could only make a left onto either Arch or the Parkway. I was in the next lane to the right, which was a turn or straight optional lane. (If you were to turn, you could only go onto the Parkway from this lane.) The next two lanes to the right are both straight-only lanes.

OK, now back to the story. The light turned green, and I started to make my left onto the Parkway when I noticed the cab was going straight through the intersection. “What the (hell)!” -- the comment has been edited to remove adult content -- and I started honking my horn and hitting the brakes.

This didn’t work. The cabbie made a sharp right turn into my driver-side mirror, pancaking it against my car.

Needless to say, I was a little put out by this.

He got out of the car, a squat fellow of European origin, and apologized, saying “There’s no need to get the insurance companies involved. ... I am a man of honor. ... I will pay for all of your damages.”

I then watched as his fare left the scene of the crime.

(Note: I should have gotten her contact info.)

Then he started saying I could hold onto his New Jersey driver’s license, and that if I called him, he would give me his phone number. I said, “What’s your phone number?” He said “Give me a call and I will give it to you.”

At this point, I said “(Fudge) this. I’m calling the police for an accident report.”

At this point, Siegfried (the cabbie) turned a bit and became belligerent. The police arrived, and Siggi had changed his tune completely. The officer came to me and took my report, then went to Siggi and spoke to him as I waited in my car. When the officer came back, he said “The cabbie says you hit him.”

WHAT?!?!?!?!

I explained again how he was in a turn-only lane and that I was turning onto the Parkway to have him hit me.

Anyway, I was a little irritated again with Siggi, so as I was heading home, I decided to call the cab company (Crescent Cabs in Philly) to complain. It turns out Siggi wasn’t even licensed to be driving the cab. It was signed out in someone else’s name.

Anyway, I got the work done on my car, no thanks to Siggi, and I will never ride in a Crescent Cab ever again. That should show them.

Where, Oh Where, Has the Blog Been?

Fri, 27 Feb 2009 15:05:46 -0500

OK, it’s been quite a while since I’ve written anything. I hope you can forgive me. Things have been hectic recently, but I know that’s not really any excuse. Some of the biggest recent news involving yours truly focuses on the following: I moved in with my beloved girlfriend; I was involved in my second Brazilian jiu-jitsu tournament; and I was involved in an accident with a Philadelphia cabbie.

First things first. Meg and I moved in together just over a month ago, and things are going swimmingly. I’ve always wanted to live in Philly, and now I’m right in the heart of it (well, just north to the heart of it) in Fairmount, which is better known as the Art Museum area. The move was very easy, thanks especially to Chris and Dan, who were stellar throughout the process. (I never thought we could unload the truck in under 10 minutes, but those guys are pretty phenomenal at the whole moving thing.)

Onto the jiu-jitsu. Back in November I took part in my first tournament, and there really isn’t much to talk about. I was way, way, way overwhelmed and couldn’t remember anything when the time came, so I’m not going to talk about it anymore and will instead focus on the most-recent tourney.

We had word about the tournament for weeks, but since I had just moved, I didn’t think there was any way I’d be able to take part. Things worked out, however, that I had the day free, so I decided the Thursday beforehand to go. The tourney took place in Cherry Hill, N.J., about 20 minutes from the house. I had no idea what my weight was and didn’t really put much thought into a proper preparation, so I just decided to go out there and get some experience.

Little did I know how long the day would be.

I woke up around 7:30 the day of the tournament and got myself showered and packed up, then drove out to Cherry Hill for the weigh-ins, which were taking place around 8:30 a.m. I got there and saw one of the guys from my school, Bill, and we checked in and weighed in, along with the dozens of other competitors.

Like I said, I had no idea what my weight was, so I just figured, worst-case scenario, that I’d be competing at heavyweight against some guys who would probably be about 15 pounds heavier than I was.

As I got up to the scale, I thought “Think light thoughts. Think light thoughts.” Didn’t work, though. I got on the scale and it read “204.4.” Oh well. Then I looked at the weight classes. Cruiserweight, where I wanted to compete, was 186-200. Heaveyweight was 200.1 to unlimited weight. Ugh.

The rules meeting was held at 10 a.m., and then the waiting game started, and continued, and continued, and continued. I was competing in the gi tournament (meaning I would be wearing a gi, or kimono -- the jiu-jitsu uniform). The majority of the tournament, however, was no-gi, meaning guys wearing shorts and T-shirts. That started around 11 a.m. and went until about 6 p.m.

Then the purple belts went in the gi tournament. Then the blue belts. Then the white belts, where I’d be competing. I didn’t get on the mat until about 7 p.m., which makes it a very, very long day watching lots and lots of other people competing.

I’m not complaining, however. I learned a lot watching guys much, much better than me battling.

Finally, the heavyweight white belts were announced. I checked in and then started watching the guys, one bigger than the next, come and check in. I was, by far, the smallest of the group (although there was one guy who was probably about 4 inches shorter than me who was pushing 300 pounds).

My coach was there, and he gave me some really good advice. “I want to see you put these motherf&#@ers on their backs,” he said. He also added in, “You are NEVER competing at this weight again. It doesn’t make sense. You’re going to do whatever you have to to lose the weight to get to a lower class.”

“Yes, sir,” was all I could reply.

The last thing he said to me before going on the mat was “Do not pull guard.” Pulling guard happens when you jump up, wrap your legs around your opponent’s waist and pull him down onto the mat with you. It’s a position where you can attack, but since I was so outweighed, it didn’t make sense.

“Yes, sir,” was all I could reply.

First a little background on how winners are decided. In jiu-jitsu and grappling tournaments, points are awarded for takedowns, escapes, gaining advantageous positions, etc., and there are also submissions. Two points are awarded for a takedown, four points for gaining mount, four points for gaining back mount, etc., etc.

My opponent in this match was a big kid (early 20s), probably about 6’3’’ (compared to my 6’ even) and weighing about 235 or so. In other words, I was small compared to him. The five-minute match started and we slapped hands, then got at it. In the previous tournament, as I said earlier, I forgot everything immediately. This time I felt good. I got in and grabbed his gi and got a good grip of it with my right hand, while trying to control his right hand with my left hand.

I moved to try a leg sweep, but his legs were too long. However, I kept pushing and keeping him off-balance, and I got the impression he wasn’t liking that too much since he kept grunting when I’d move him around. I kept moving him around until he pulled guard. “Good,” I thought. “I’ve busted out of guards plenty of times.” The score a this point was 0-0.

Unfortunately, I kept trying for one specific guard-pass, and it wasn’t opening up for me. I missed a couple opportunities, but this was a learning experience for me.

Finally, with a few minutes gone, my opponent tried to attack and rolled out of his guard. I’ve seen this plenty of times before, so I sprawled my legs out and got him in a front-face lock. The score at this point was 0-0.

Here’s where it all went horribly, horribly wrong for me. I have a couple submissions I like from controlling with a front-face lock. One is called a D’arce choke, where I’d bump my opponent over onto his side and slide my arms through into a triangle choke. The other is called a Peruvian necktie, where I jump up, wrap my leg around the opponent’s arm, and then fall back, moving my other leg over the small of his back and try to separate his head from his body. That, at the time, was my favorite submission and probably my most successful too.

Unfortunately, I rushed it. I jumped up, moved my leg around his arm and didn’t quite make it, and then lost my grip on the front-face lock. (If I had it to do over again, I’d go for a four-point back mount and then try to choke him out. However, hindsight is 20-20.) The two of us scrambled and I, out of reflex, pulled guard. Since I wasn’t tripped, no points should have been awarded, but the referee said “Two-point takedown, red.” I, unfortunately, was green, so I was down 2-0 with under a minute to go.

I tried and tried to sweep him, but just couldn’t do it, so I lost my one and only match 2-0. My coach was pissed at the referee, and my opponent came up and apologized afterward. It was my own fault and I have no one to blame but myself.

Afterward, my coach told me he was proud of me, and some other guys from the gym complemented me on my effort.

I sure would have liked to have gotten a win, though.

I’ll write more to tell about the cabbie hitting me.

And I promise, it won’t be eight months before I write again.

Eye Can’t Believe It

Sun, 22 Jun 2008 23:44:59 -0400

OK, OK, OK. It’s been a while since I’ve put anything up on my blog. I’ve been bad, but it’s been a little bit of a rough time for me, as many of you know. My employer and I decided to part company last month, so I’ve been very active in a job-search-type mode. Things were slow for a while, but I finally got a couple responses that seem promising, leading to a pair of interviews for this week.

Anyway, last Thursday I took my usual Brazilian jiu-jitsu class and got my usual good workout for the first half, learning a few new techniques. After about a half hour of drilling, the instructor and owner of the gym decided it was time for sparring. It had been over a week since I’d sparred, so I was looking forward to it.

I was paired up with Paolo, who’s been training for a few months longer than me and with whom I’ve sparred before. We’re fairly evenly matched, so I was looking forward to matching up with him.

It all started so innocently. I leaned in and grabbed hold of his gi collar, hoping I’d be able to muscle him into a prone position from which I could try to get my arms in for a choke. With my arms pulling and my head resting on his shoulder, Paolo turned his head, butting me on my cheek. I apologized, since I shouldn’t have led with my face. We kept rolling. When we parted, the instructor said “Brian, you have a mouse,” meaning the spot where I got butted was starting to swell and turn into a black eye.

“I’m OK,” I said, since there was really no point in stopping at that point.

We kept rolling and eventually Paolo tried to swim one of his arms free to grab one of my arms.

Bam! His elbow hit me flush where I had gotten headbutted just a few minutes before. I tapped the mat, and the instructor said I could ice my face down.

It swelled rapidly. I was a little disappointed with myself, but whatever. I was more concerned with how a black eye would impact my impending interviews.

Anyway, I iced it down for the rest of that sparring session and the next one. When the third one came along I was asked if I felt OK and said I did, wanting to get back on the mat.

This time I was matched against Brendan, who’s also at a similar skill level as me. We rolled for a few minutes until Brendan got a cut on his hand. Not sure if it happened on his gi or mine, but it happened, and he had to get off the mat to treat it. The instructor looked at me, with a “What the hell are you doing tonight” kind of expression.

Brendan was replaced by Hailey, who’s also at a similar skill level. We were rolling and working for a few minutes before -- bam! -- Hailey tried to swim an arm free when he hit me flush on the jaw. I hit the mat and the instructor came over and said “What happened this time.” I was pretty dumbfounded.

I got home Thursday and iced my face down for about three hours. The next day I told my girlfriend about it. She was a little concerned (she’s had concerns about the whole jiu-jitsu thing anyway) but suggested I try arnica, a homeopathic medicine that’s supposed to clear up bruises. It was a really good suggestion, since all of the bruises on my arms have cleared up over the past few days and some of the bruising on my cheek cleared up. However, some of the other bruising turned a very, very iridescent shade of purple.

Well, the photo above was just taken, so that’s how much the purple shading of my eye has subsided. I’m going to be up front about it when I meet tomorrow and Tuesday mornings with my interviews, telling them the situation.

One of of the guys I train with recommended I say it happened while I was saving an old lady from getting mugged. That’s pretty good, but I still think I’m going to go with the truth. I’m probably doomed.

United Take the Double!

Wed, 21 May 2008 19:57:00 -0400

Following what has been a fairly traumatic week, I’m thrilled that Manchester United beat Chelsea 6-5 on penalties to win the UEFA Champions League final. This, of course, means Man United are the best team in Europe; something I think any objective observer will admit to.

I watched the whole match, which was officiated horrendously, and my heart was in my throat a few times, mostly in the second half when Didier Drogba created a few half chances for Chelsea (and then got sent off for slapping United centerback Nemanja Vidic), up until John Terry had the chance to win the match during the shootout, but instead hit the ball wide.

We are the champions! Today is a good day.