Tuesday, May 4, 2010

God bless salsa...

Here is a recent post by Roy Williams.  It is as good an explanation of what I'm up to with this blog as anything I could think up.     Salchatero

“Most of one’s life… is one prolonged effort to prevent oneself thinking.”
- Aldous Huxley, 1894-1963

“Our minds are lazier than our bodies.”
- Francois, Duc de La Rochefouchauld, 1613-1680

You probably have a limiting factor in your life that’s holding you back.
A limiting factor may be a habit, a preferred chemical or an attitude that hinders your advancement, your happiness, your future.

Can you think of a creative way to remove the limiting factor from your life?

“Creative thinking may mean simply the realization that there's no particular virtue in doing things the way they always have been done.”
- Dr. Rudolph Flesch,  writing consultant and author of Why Johnny Can't Read

You are your own best teacher. You know where you’re coming from and what you’re all about. You know where the bodies are buried and the names of the skeletons in your closet.

You also know the answer to your problem. But you don’t yet know what you know.

How can we get you to realize what you already know? How can we brighten your future?

ANSWER: Interactive journaling.

“I never know what I think about something until I read what I've written on it.”
- William Faulkner, winner of the Nobel Prize

Faulkner was like you and me. We learn our minds when we write our thoughts.

The problem with our century is that we are constantly distracted; “Too much to do, too little time.” Writing dictates a frame of mind we rarely experience today.

Writing moves us from the emotional confusion of right brain, abstract thought, to the logic and clarity of left brain, analytical thought. This is why we think writing is difficult.

Interactive Journaling focuses your thoughts and quiets your mind so you can hear yourself say what you know to be true.

Interactive Journaling has turned countless addicts into model citizens. I believe it might also be able to turn pessimists into optimists.

At its heart, Interactive Journaling is a series of written questions that students may answer however they choose. But these answers must be written down.

In this private, inner world of the mind, there’s no one with whom you can argue. There is no authority figure trying to impose his or her will. The only teacher is your own experience. The only voice you hear is yours.

Interactive Journaling facilitates behavior change quietly and affordably. Are there behaviors you would like to see changed in: your employees? your students? your kids? yourself?

Each of us already knows the right answers. I’m going to Carson City to learn the right questions.

Fingers crossed.   Roy H. Williams


                                                   God Bless Salsa     

     In order to show my disdain for cigarette smoking (my first ex-wife was a smoker; we were married for seven years, and when she left, she took everything but the blame), when someone asks me if they can bum a coughin' nail,  I reply with arch facetiousness: 

"No, I don't have a cigarette.  The only thing I smoke is crack."   

After my wife left, the only thing I missed was her mother's cooking.

   So, I and my salsa crewe sit with our backs against the bar one Saturday night at El Sol y Luna on Sixth Street.  I'm in the midst of a thirty-clubs-in-thirty-days self-imposed salsa marathon.   Ritmo Tres,  my favorite salsa band, blasts out  "Lolita, su me vida".   

The bar door bangs open, and in walks a tall, pretty Latina, about 25 years old, accompanied by a group of wannabe gangsta vatos.  She is wearing a short, grey dress, sewed out of enough material to  make a large handkerchief.  They stop in front of us, and order drinks.  The Latina, whose eyes look like pinwheels in a chemical storm, leans over to me, and asks if I have a cigarette.  

I respond:  "No, the only thing I smoke is crack."  

The pinwheels speed up as she reaches up to her neckline and pulls it down, so a pretty, perky breast pops out.  My eyebrows shoot up as my eyes widen to take in the scene.  She gets a "Oh yeah, watch this" look on her face, and reaching down with crossed hands, she pops her dress off like a bottle cap.  Now she's standing there in grey high heels and a purple thong.  I'm leaning further back for a full view.  

First I said "Whoa, Nellie!"  

Then I said "God bless salsa!"  

Her friends scramble to get her dress back on, and she's yelling "Get away from me!  Leave me alone!"  

Much to my disappointment, they succeed in covering her up.  The operant rule in such a situation is: Never Touch a Naked Crazy Person.  So, I did nothing but look.  The last I saw of her, she was wobbling down Sixth Street with her friends.  The crewe began to laugh and high-five.  I pegged her for an after-work topless dancer, but Rosa, who witnessed the whole thing, jumped in our shit with both feet.  

"What's the matter with y'all?  You're acting with children!  She's Someone's Daughter!", Rosa thundered.  

"True dat", I replied in my Connecticut accent,  "but she's not MY daughter."  

With that, we all went back to laughing like fools and high-fiving, while the band played on.


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