About two weeks ago, I finally found a cheap full-length mirror and set it up so that I could watch my hands while practicing guitar.
Right away, my right hand speed improved about 10 notches on the metronome; I noticed some kind of subtle tension in my right arm, and just noticing this seemed to help loosen it up. I've gotten a lot out of working with simply noticing body sensations of tension and release, but this mode of sensing is notoriously fragile; it doesn't take long for held muscular tension to be experienced as "normal" and then ignored by the brain. I needed another "channel" of feedback to work with while practicing.
I also immediately noticed some strange things going on in my left hand, specifically that there was some constellation of mini-startles and held tension between my ring finger and my pinky. I then noticed that I was holding tension in the small muscle on the outside edge of my hand that pulls the pinky out to the side. I was holding this tension even when I didn't need to.
In the meantime, I noticed some weakness in the ring finger; when it's not fretting a string, the ring finger likes to lean against the middle finger, and the ring finger then lifts, rotates, and wastes a lot of motion when it moves to press the string down.
But, I found that when I relaxed the muscle related to the pinky, the ring finger shifted away slightly from the middle finger; the two fingers are related, and their habitual tension states are related.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Friday, May 2, 2008
more about the night paul s. ended the argument by blowing a booger onto bob
The night Paul S. ended the argument by blowing a booger onto Bob, I was just a wee lad, aged 17; if I recall, it was a humid summer night at my job as a busboy at the local country club. My cheeks were peach fuzz, and I spent so many of those nights endlessly cruising the streets with my friends, deliberately getting lost on the back roads, as if burning up the miles would end our small town Indiana boredom.
It was the night Paul S. ended the argument by blowing a booger onto Bob, and Bob was upset. Bob was in a state of high dudgeon. He had a chip on his shoulder (which looked a lot like a booger).
"He blew a booger on me!" exclaimed Bob.
It was the night Paul S. ended the argument by blowing a booger onto Bob, and Paul fled to his office upstairs.
The kitchen phone rang.
"Don't answer it!" yelled Bob. "It's him!"
I picked up the receiver, and a nasally voice inquired whether Bob was there in the kitchen.
"I'm not here!" screeched Bob.
I replied that, no, Bob was not there.
"Well take a note, and let him know we have a big order of sauteed boogers coming up!"
A short digression about boogers: boogers may well be the great equalizer. We all get a little booger hanging around now and then.
Even George W. Bush gets boogers now and then; if you think about this, you know it's true. How else could it be?
Perhaps even now, George W. Bush is in the Oval Office admiring a green, gelatinous beauty perched on the tip of his index finger. George considers what to do with it—all options are on the table; Dick Cheney looks on and says, "Yes, it is a beaut, sir."
But, that was now and this is then (or whatever)...
And so...I shall always remember the night Paul S. ended the argument by blowing a booger onto Bob. It was a lesson in life, a peek into the raw underbelly of the human condition, a lesson I have carried across the threshold into manhood, and I shall carry it with me always (the memory, not the booger)...
...my enduring memory of the night Paul S. ended the argument by blowing a booger onto Bob!
It was the night Paul S. ended the argument by blowing a booger onto Bob, and Bob was upset. Bob was in a state of high dudgeon. He had a chip on his shoulder (which looked a lot like a booger).
"He blew a booger on me!" exclaimed Bob.
It was the night Paul S. ended the argument by blowing a booger onto Bob, and Paul fled to his office upstairs.
The kitchen phone rang.
"Don't answer it!" yelled Bob. "It's him!"
I picked up the receiver, and a nasally voice inquired whether Bob was there in the kitchen.
"I'm not here!" screeched Bob.
I replied that, no, Bob was not there.
"Well take a note, and let him know we have a big order of sauteed boogers coming up!"
A short digression about boogers: boogers may well be the great equalizer. We all get a little booger hanging around now and then.
Even George W. Bush gets boogers now and then; if you think about this, you know it's true. How else could it be?
Perhaps even now, George W. Bush is in the Oval Office admiring a green, gelatinous beauty perched on the tip of his index finger. George considers what to do with it—all options are on the table; Dick Cheney looks on and says, "Yes, it is a beaut, sir."
But, that was now and this is then (or whatever)...
And so...I shall always remember the night Paul S. ended the argument by blowing a booger onto Bob. It was a lesson in life, a peek into the raw underbelly of the human condition, a lesson I have carried across the threshold into manhood, and I shall carry it with me always (the memory, not the booger)...
...my enduring memory of the night Paul S. ended the argument by blowing a booger onto Bob!
Thursday, May 1, 2008
busy, busy, busy
I've had a busy couple of weeks with guitar playing, the Alexander Technique session with SBC, getting sick, kicking caffeine (my first abstention in several years, followed by nasty, nasty headaches, and now I seem to be sleeping better), and getting my sitting practice up and running.
After the sitting at CG's this morning in Ballard, I walked to the bus stop and admired the Olympic Mountains looming in the distance and looking massive!
Things I found myself thinking about during the walk:
1. life in dysfunctional rock bands
2. life in the food service industry
3. the night Paul S. ended the argument by blowing a booger onto Bob
When I got home, I felt energetic in spite of three hours of sleep, and I got busy with some urgently needed housecleaning, including finally sorting and filing a pile of papers that had been floating around ever since I moved into my new room. I am now officially completely moved in!
I am now two floors up from all the nastiness and evil in the basement. Now that he's out of range of hearing, sight, and smell, I hardly think about the Birdman at all. Just about everybody has moved out of the basement to get away from him.
And just in time, now that he has the place to himself, he seems to have cleaned up his act somewhat. Most of the reek is gone, and when I saw him in the hallway the other day, he looked like he had actually taken a shower and cleaned the stink off his body.
Does he still babble to himself in his room? I have no idea, but he's probably still nutty as hell. Who knows?
Then a nap, followed by class.
After the sitting at CG's this morning in Ballard, I walked to the bus stop and admired the Olympic Mountains looming in the distance and looking massive!
Things I found myself thinking about during the walk:
1. life in dysfunctional rock bands
2. life in the food service industry
3. the night Paul S. ended the argument by blowing a booger onto Bob
When I got home, I felt energetic in spite of three hours of sleep, and I got busy with some urgently needed housecleaning, including finally sorting and filing a pile of papers that had been floating around ever since I moved into my new room. I am now officially completely moved in!
I am now two floors up from all the nastiness and evil in the basement. Now that he's out of range of hearing, sight, and smell, I hardly think about the Birdman at all. Just about everybody has moved out of the basement to get away from him.
And just in time, now that he has the place to himself, he seems to have cleaned up his act somewhat. Most of the reek is gone, and when I saw him in the hallway the other day, he looked like he had actually taken a shower and cleaned the stink off his body.
Does he still babble to himself in his room? I have no idea, but he's probably still nutty as hell. Who knows?
Then a nap, followed by class.
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