ultranow

golden girls tattoo moment

question: on whom and on what part of that person's body is this tat? 

answer: tommy lee, dick

abs through the ages

aggressively historically reductive yet amusing video on abs through the ages [via nytimes]

what's he looking at in amazement and adoration?

he's looking at himself in amazement and adoration because he loves his body and i should love my own body and i do i do i do and you should love your own body and you do you do you do.  see what he loves after the jump.  see what you love in the mirror.

gym blues

i stopped working out and i don't know why or of course i know why.  it's hard in the moment and for some reason when it comes to my body i don't think of long term goals.  i'm still lean and reasonably tight and all.  i just lost some muscle and probably without the same level of core strength my back gets sore more.  and probably without the circulatory benefits my brain gets sore more.  and probably without the way to burn off energy my mood gets sore more.  so i guess i best work out.  it's just i quit my gym because it didn't fit in my schedule but now i have a bike and places to go plus i have a rowing machine at home and the electronica channel on digital cable so there's really no excuse except that i'm not doing it which isn't an excuse but rather a fact.

i think what's missing is when i'm at a gym i get competitive, not directly like i'll lift more weight than the next guy even if i can't, but i figure if other people are in the room i should try not to look like a fool.  and maybe if some of those people are guys who look at least somewhat like the pictures i post on here, then it would be to my benefit to look good in comparison.  i'm not just a mind i'm a piece of meat (or a piece of wheat gluten since i don't eat meat).  other people seem to remember i have a body more than i do.  i guess because i'm so close to it i can't see it.  i can't see me.

living

i've been so focused on thinking about what i want to do for a living, i haven't thought about where.  and it turns out, looking backward, where has always been the most important.  my priorities are for sure changing.  i've gone from so happy to be earning a better living than i had in the past (with some reasonable savings finally) to knowing that money isn't enough, that money can't override a lack of satisfaction.  but then watching roseanne reruns where she amusingly hates every damn job and boss she ever has (except tellingly when she, jackie, their mom and nancy open the diner) has sent me a message that maybe just maybe life outside of work can make work worth it.  now i don't have kids to support.  i have me.  and being a safety net for people i love.  beyond that i'm eating a cold burrito right now because i'm so tired from being bored at work i don't have the energy to heat it up.

the vicodin monologues

pigs on parade is back on the seattle streets and it took about two seconds of one of the sculptures being in westlake center for someone to rip its wings off, thereby destroying the when pigs fly metaphor.  can people please leave public art totally the fuck alone?

my wisdom tooth i had out last week got infected, or should i say the hole that remained got infected, so i'm in total hideous pain, partially from the gut wrenching antibiotics.  for awhile there, i was doing a steve lawrence impression, which if you're old enough you'll know i'm talking about that guy who looked like one side of his jaw was constantly swollen.

my bus driver today kept jerking the bus like it was his minus first day on the job, plus he was singing and talking to himself like a maniac which made me terrified.  more terrified than normal.  this was better than tuesday, when this bag lady, oh i'm sorry that's rude, this bummette paid her fare in pennies.  as in 150 pennies.  she put a plastic bag on the floor of the bus and kept hunching over to pick up handfuls over and over.  i was heard to utter "jesus fucking christ get off the fucking bus, lady."  and i meant it.

when i was getting my antibiotic and extra vicodin prescription filled, i ran into someone i knew through an old job and she told me she sold a design to ikea.  of course i looked it up and it turns out to be true.  see hallaryd.  her artwork, which i personally think is kinda boring, at least in its ikea incarnation, is now in thousands of people's houses, and was in a set shot on dancing with the stars, though that last part i can't fact check because i hate dancing with the stars.  what kills reality shows for me are when i hate one or more of the judges, and on that show i hate all three.  i'm trying to watch so you think you can dance, but i hate mary murphy and mia michaels, so that's going to be tough.

it's amazing how grumpy constant pain can make me.  of course, it's better than what someone else i know has:  flesh eating bacteria on his face.  i'm totally not kidding.  the hospital let him out after giving him antibiotics, but then he had to go back because it was antibiotic resistant flesh eating bacteria.  so blame the healthcare system for not appropriately quarantining contagious people.  don't scapegoat the individuals.  except for typhoid mary.  it was totally her fault she gave everyone her bubonic plague, i mean typhoid.  but speaking of bubonic plague, if you get bubonic plague in your boobs, is it called, boobubonic plague?

wow, posting on vicodin is intense.  time for more hardboiled eggs.  is that hyphenated?

tonight was the longest 15 minutes of my life

going to a bar isn't fun when you don't drink, don't smoke, don't want casual sex, don't know anyone, don't like superloud music no matter how good it is, don't yearn to spy peepees in the terlet, don't seek male prost companionship, don't play pool and most of all are not into a constantly on the move and therefore unavoidable objectively ugly man in a yellow and blue wrestling singlet, hiking sneakershoes, black socks and a fannypack slung across his shoulder as if a purse, drinking a bottomless margarita while manually self-fluffing.  i said one word tonight at that pit, or rather mouthed it to the bartender:  water.  if only i'd said it wa-wa-water, then i'd have bonded with someone (i.e. dead annie sullivan - helen keller's teacher of wa-wa-water fame).

a yoga class is looking pretty good about now.  i am officially not a barfella, though i never was but could still manage a decent enough time to justify it.  i'm actually just seeking conversation and potential new friendships.  admittedly, a bar may not be the best tack.  but then again, maybe a yoga class wouldn't either.  i genuinely don't know what to do.  yes i do.  time for sprouted grain bread and cultured butter and carob soy milk.

body yes

as if a beacon of light to rescue me from my self-imposed by life experience workout pity party, so appeared in my life the naked body of seattle mayor greg nickels.  he was working out at my gym this morning, or more precisely, since he's a bigwig, his gym.  he is stout/husky/purposeful/imprecise in his workout style, a real plus size role model for humanity, a near hairless bear.  since he's a democrat, i am not about to disparage him in any way, except that later in the locker room his swimsuit was revealed to be so incredibly tacky i threw up on it and it didn't affect the look.  it is taking all my strength to not describe his genitals, which i swear i was not attempting to see.  i was simply in the shower area when he got back from the pool and well, i looked.

i write stories on my body, almost all of which have been told to me.  that i am weak.  that i am unlovable.  untouchable.  that i am dirty.  fucked up.  damaged.  they are stories.  and i repeat them and i am in them.  until today when i am not.  today i write no story.  i simply am aware of being.  i am aware of stories.  i stop telling.  i stop listening.  i am simply awareness.  changing.  moving.  a body historically accurate yet undefined.  a body impermanent.

i saw the mayor's face and knew it was him.  i never thought of his body before.  he was just a head and a suit.  maybe shoes.  i had no story about his body.  no history.  no assumed reality.  my body can be the same.  nothing predetermined.  nothing assumed.  my body exists.  moves through space.  has moved through space.  has felt.  can touch and be touched.  can love and be loved.  can see and be seen.

body not body hot

i'm supposed to go to the gym more.  i'm supposed to like it but i don't.  i'm too damn numb most of the time and working out is not numb.  i don't do drugs except tv.  not even sugar or caffeine.  just tv.  and computer i guess.  i like exercising while i'm doing it or at least can stand it or really i don't like it all all.

the stupidest thing i've ever felt proud about

yesterday i noticed the wiki for self-proclaimed fitness celebrity john basedow had a picture that was completely not john basedow.  it was in fact someone doing a poor john basedow impression.  i immediately took action, registering on wikipedia and creating a discussion on the image saying "this is totally not a picture of john basedow."  as of this moment, the picture is no more.

do i have the energy to post an actual picture of him?  no.  that would be a ridiculous waste of time.  and if you're wondering why i was at his wiki in the first place, well he's a fitness celebrity so that's why.

exercise for me(n) only

so i went to a personal trainer 9 times in december and waxed about it halfway through in things that hurt.  and it did.  but then it didn't hurt as badly and i recovered more quickly each time and began to notice improvements, not that i'll be appearing clothesless here anytime soon.  i am definitely an exhibitionist but only at home with the blinds drawn and the lights off and my eyes closed.  now i've joined a gym and have started working out on my own as in sans trainer as in the only people around me are grunting busybodies and i'm one of them.

today was my first day at the new gym and i pushed myself about 85% as hard as my trainer had which by some misinformed math means it will take me 15% longer to reach my goals which by the way i don't have any specific goals besides being stronger and healthier which i already feel.  so it's not about attaining certain measurements meaning i don't plan on hanging a weight from my dick but if i did i'd hang the 22.5 pound dumbbell because i like saying dumbbell because it's so how they threw shade on leave it to beaver.

the gym is not the enemy.  it's just work.  it's just tough.  and then i go home.  the best part was being too lazy to change back into my bacco bucci low boots so i wore my blue black ben sherman pants with my white asics sneakers, like diane keaton wore a skirt and sneakers in baby boom for her commute and basically every woman did too in working girl except melanie griffith whom i think wore stilettos on the subway.  since i haven't name brand dropped enough, let me add the socks were smartwool and the underwear was sweaty.  though sweaty is not a brand.  it's a lifestyle.  okay, calvin klein red band because they're comfortable and mr. ck is not rich enough.

while i was doing this, the media was still obsessing about britney spears falling asleep in a vegas nightclub on new year's eve.  or maybe she passed out drunk.  i don't care.   it's just to distract us from the real issues - wars/occupations, the fda approving cloned food, and kathy griffin being banned from several major talk shows because people are afraid of her.  now i need to eat organic chicken and broccoli and yams while wearing american apparel sweatpants and t-shirt.  this would be a good deal more pretentious if i'd mentioned dolce & gabbana once.

things that hurt

• dreaming that you're working in some big company that's in a tall building made of snow at the las vegas airport and you go on vacation for two years and when you come back they've given , kkk-er, holocaust revisionist, ex-presidential candidate, former member of louisiana state representative david duke the corner office and have a drug plan where they fill prescriptions but with bad information on the pill bottles because they're goal is to just make not keep people well so you're in the lunchroom and anderson cooper asks a pointed question about the drug plan and people are so upset he gets "disappeared" and then someone pulls a gun and everyone thinks it's fake but you know better so you run out of the lunchroom along with the only other person who takes the gun seriously who is this women with black naturally curly hair and she goes to the side office and says you can join her in hiding but you say that's a bad place to hide because it has no back way out and she agrees so we go running up the stairs and find a room with a chess set and haylie duff and the woman with the perm says if people come after us we should go up these shingles that are part of a side staircase and then up into an attic room because there's a back way out from there and just as she says that haylie screams "the press!" so we all run as planned except you don't bother climbing up the shingles you just jump across a pool of water to get to where the stairs continue so you're a few steps ahead of haylie and perm woman but we all get behind a curtain that goes into the attic and it's dark and we don't know where to go when suddenly a guy the perm woman calls professor is there and he is wearing a bright green sweater and baggy black sleep pants and we tell him that people are after us and he picks up a dozen glass bottles on a glass bottle holder and drops them out the window to the pavement below and they explode with noise and those after us are no longer after us because they heard the noise and went to investigate thinking we fell out the window and exploded like glass or whatever they thought but we still don't know how to get out and the professor says we don't have to right away and you think he likes haylie and perm woman more than you even though you're cuter because you've been working out lately and had that long vacation to rest up so you shuffle around in the dim room which came into view better after time and had black floors and walls and metal scrollwork and a red velvet movie theater behind a curtain and you wondered what was playing and what professor did for a living and if haylie duff would have beaten you at chess and whatever happened to anderson cooper but then you woke up.

how to counteract the weak jew stereoype

while stereotypes are not based on reality, they also don't exist in a vacuum.  personally, i am a weak jew.  as in not physically strong.  or at least not physically strong enough to kick nazi ass.  so one way to stop being a weak jew is for me to stop being a jew.  since racist cunt michael richards made himself jewish by just saying he was (and therefore that his past on stage anti-semitism was playacting and okay because he's jewish even though he's neither matrilineally nor patrilineally jewish and also hasn't converted), shouldn't i just as easily be able to say i'm not jewish?  then no more weak jew.

the course of action i'm actually taking, as inspired by jewish jocks throughout history (sandy koufax, pro football player and wrestler goldberg, mark spitz, some rabbi somewhere who ran a marathon, cute cantors, and mark feuerstein who looked hot in bike shorts on that sela ward billy campbell show that was cancelled too soon "once and again") is to work the hell out.  so i found a personal trainer who knows his business and he's going to kick my ass tonight or more precisely i'm going to kick my own ass per his instructions.  it will hurt.  and i will get stronger.

i already had my intro appointment with all the questions and measurements where i joked that i felt like the before picture at which point he offered to take my actual before pictures.  the shirt came off.  the insecurity turned on.  i have lower than average body fat actually.  it's just that i'm no muscle prince.  more so a muscle viewer.  and still bitter i didn't audition for bad news bears back in the '70s.  i know being on a losing team was my destiny.

he'll push me.  i'll do what he says.  and i'll know that it's me pushing myself.  his words.  his knowledge.  my action.  i am a strong jew already.  physically.  ethnically.  internally.  stronger.  ready to face those bullies who threw pennies at me in junior high.  who punched me in the stomach in gym class right in front of the teacher who did nothing.  the bullies who called me fag in college before i called myself that.  and most of all face the part of me that feels weak, that seems weak, that looks weak, that is weak.  i'm weak.  and i will be strong.  damn i know how to get my money's worth out of something.

oh, he's "hot" and "straight" and everything but for some reason that doesn't matter one bit.

fight or flight or fight or flight or fight or flight or something else

can watching a weight loss infomercial make you lose weight.  yes!!!  especially if it's for vibromass and you row 2000m on your concept 2 rower while the tv blares vibromass worship.  keep in mind the mass is shorthand for massage though the first association i had was biomass.  the same machine in every spa sequence from the '40s to the '60s is back and now made entirely of easily breakable plastic.  i swear rosalind russell used one in the women and someone tried to kill james bond with one once.

the vibromass ad plays fast and loose with the word exercise.  having one's arms be vibrated cannot really be called exercise, unless you're practicing cunnilingus at the same time.  if the fcc had more time on their hands, they'd cease and desist these false hope peddlers.  as cher said during her bally's fitness commercial about 16 years ago -  "if a great body came in a bottle, everyone would have one."  or maybe she said "if everyone came in a bottle, it would be great."

but some good things do come in bottles.  i learned recently that adrenal stress can lead to excess cortisol production, which can lead to excess fat storage around the middle.  it's documented or whatever, so herbal support for one's adrenal glands can help balance them out and increase the functionality of one's parasympathetic nervous system, thereby assisting in the metabolizing of fat and helping with rest and digestion.  or some such nonsense but really it's true.

i'm not a naturopath, but i learn from them, and honestly if you've had massive stress in your life, either short or long term, and know you've been in the fight or flight mode for way too many hours, your adrenal glands may be stressed out and need support.  you've still also got to do things to help reduce stress in general but adrenal support is really important in my opinion, at least for me.  so look into it.  this isn't medical advice.  i'm just making the non-groundbreaking point that stress affects our bodies more complexly than we might have thought.  it can make people want to buy vibromass for one thing.

there are top notch adrenal support supplements out there, but talk to a naturopath before you do one.  though it can vary for each person, supposedly you take one for about 2 weeks for every year of prolonged stress in your life.  so i'll be taking one well into 2008.  hilarious.  damn '80s were harsh on me.  i can't tell you how many rubik's cubes i got pegged in the head with.

otc

ever since i first heard kendra on girls next door (that playmate reality show on e!) say "off the chain", it's been etched in my non-playmate, non-living with hugh hefner and his two other girlfriends mind.  i've become determined to find a way to bring "off the chain" into my vocabulary, or at least find that one perfect place to apply it.  it's here. 

fitness and money enthusiast john basedow has got this website see.  it's called fitnessmadesimple.com see.  and fitnessmadesimple.com now cues up the fms theme song to all visitors.  and i thought mp3 or wav files autoplaying on a site was so next blog button on blogspot.  i suggest the consumption of toxic mcnuggets while listening to the lyrical gold:  "here's john basedow / he's going to show you how / to reach your potential / and turn your whole life around".  love you john.  love your dye job and -5% bodyfat and non-gimmicky nature.  you are rich and plain and full of protein and the fms theme song is off the chain.  off the damn fucking chain.  that's how kendra and i feel about it.

p.s. if the song is off his site now, e-mail me and i'll post it here cause i grabbed it already.  in other words, i'm not going to host it if i don't have to.  that'd be like john basedow's site being inside my site and that's kinda oogy.

when even lifetime has to whisper the word mastectomy, there is something wrong with the world

on my knees in my apartment with two strong men over me - no, really

in considering whether or not to go out tonight, which would inevitably mean eventually hitting the seattle eagle, i just did itunes-mancy and got the following eerie three:

• no more tears
• my boyfriend
• on top

combine that with it being assless chaps night at the eagle and i don't know what the hell to do.  did i mention it was the diana degarmo version of no more tears?  that's embarrassing i have that for sure, though she did a stint in hairspray after ai so that makes it better i guess.  now if i don't go out but i don't want to stay in, is there a third option?  what isn't out or in?   sleep i think.  last time i was at the eagle someone told me dreams are out of body experiences.  well i fought really hard to get into my body so why would i want to ever go out of it i don't know.  unless there was a sale somewhere.

two movers delivered my long ago ordered furniture today.  'spensive kind since i can't afford a condo so why the hell not get nice furniture.  the key moment was when one brought in an ottoman and took the time to introduce himself and shake my hand while holding the ottoman one handed.  he was mike - a shit eating grin seann william scott clone except strong.  i like muscled powermen in shorts carrying things and shaking my hand. 

the sex moment was when i realized there was some wrapping around the chrome swivel base of one of the chairs i got and they offered to lift the chair while i removed the wrapping.  so i was literally on my knees and all i could see was their bodies from the upper thighs down.  bulging thighs.  tan calves.  penis containing homo collages on canvas at their eye level.  oh i also noticed the chrome swivel base and removed the wrapping as planned and caught a quick reflection of the same thing i already saw but from a different angle.  as i wrote the check i thought i heard the seann clone say condoms but then i realized he was saying concept 2 because i have that rower.  he was bragging how he has the best time at the 10,000m distance on the concept 2 at his gym.  i said i can manage 2000m, which while true was irrelevant somehow.

i believe the reason some of us are attracted to straight men is not for the fact that they are straight, but for the fact of their confidence, bravado, i rule the world attitude - and general lack of self-hate.  it's sexy to not be afraid of life or self.  to not be afraid of going out and being.  still don't know what i'm going to do tonight.

membership

how do i make over a body
that has memories of being weak
how do i sculpt work out change a body
that is static
how do i breathe into a body
that is a sieve popped balloon funnel

i am told that strength is possible that
a personal trainer is an exterior decorator
i am told that muscles respond to
effort and challenge
i am told that a look is a look is
an attempt to be seen is a
presentation of nudity

exercise in spurts
visible results lead me to stop
no frame to place the clay

i eat very well
i sleep okay
i walk all the time

i don't push
i don't expend
i don't
tucker myself out
with tries

my body is my own yet my own
is not to show
bigger body more to love yet
more to attack bigger target
these are past lives i am not
this way now i can work now i say

my body can breathe and
try to become itself
spirit outside inside all
muscles inside outside all
tendons biology these are not what was hurt
these are not what was made weak
these are strong
all is strong
and mine
and yours

17 things i'm not

before the vicodin the dentist gave me to help with the pain from my wisdom tooth extraction yesterday completely knocks me out (or maybe it already has) here are 17 things i'm not.  it's easier to say what i'm not than what i am.  maybe that's easier for you too. 

• rich as a ceo
• poor as a c-3po
• tall as a conan
• short as a cruise
• old as an oprah
• young as oprah's secret lesbian girltoy
• promiscuous as i used to be
• coupled as i used to be
• patient as i think i am
• popular as i dream of being
• aerobically fit as nastia liukin
• blond as a blond wig
• tan as farrah at a clambake
• monotheistic like satan
• licensed to drive
• masochistic
• tracey ullman

what? a feeling!

i can think of no better way to celebrate my finally buying some styling jeans (two pairs actually) than with irene cara's what a feeling (ultranow distressed denim mix).  just like fashion, the key with this track is layering.  actually i think that's out.  the key to fashion is nudity.  in advance of nudity, i discovered my taste in denim is not for the extremely deconstructed (rips and tears and sludge) but for the non-generic branded designer jeans (not levis, not diesel) from somewhere else in the world where they understand my legs and ass.  the names of the companies which understand my legs and ass are little big and j & co.  love them.  the challenge has been, as with purchasing furniture, the balancing of form (gay) and function (jewish).  this is a broad stereotype i'm applying to myself, and yet it's completely accurate in this context.  bottom line, i want it all, and at a reasonable price.  i spent a bit but but but i am worth it, or at least my ass and legs are, and that business up front.

i had a thought a couple of nights ago right as i was going to sleep.  a psychotic thought.  luckily it faded away after a few moments.  the belief in the idea faded, not the memory of the idea.  the idea is that i am meant to be myself, and not just when i'm alone.  i'm meant to be myself around men.  around prospective dates and boyfriends and lovers.  i really love the word lovers.  it's dreamy.  the idea is that i haven't met solid matches yet because i'm a fraud from the get go.  i look at myself through another man's eyes and become who i think he wants me to be and i wish he would become who i want him to be.  but who can keep up that level of self/partner-delusion for long?  besides candy spelling.  i'm so on tori's side by the way.  she wanted to do an aaron spelling tribute and candy blocked tori's use of the clips.  what the hell?  what's she gonna hump the clips?  anyway...

early century modern

how is it not all about modern times by j-five feat. charlie chaplin (rove dogs remix) [expired] right now?  it's the only thing i can listen to at the moment, mostly because of the line "people have to yell nowadays to get heard" which was really creepy to hear while i found out about the shooting yesterday.  when someone tells me to "get up and get down move to the music" i really want to but i can't always comply.  the last time i got down to the music i couldn't get up after.

i used to dance.  on speakers even.  shirtless.  yet not in a circuit boy way because i could never pass for that.  i danced because it was what to do.  i went to the gym because it was what to do.  i'm not a puppet anymore though.  i think about why i do what i do.  and if it's for me or someone else.  i thought working out was for me and i'm trying to pick up my workouts lately.  to actually build momentum enough to have a bodyshaping impact.  and i hit a wall.

i started thinking well i'm not dating anyone now anyway so what's the point?  as in my body is for other people not me.  so that's what i thought years ago too when i was working out everyday which is disturbing.  it was never for me.  and now i want it to be.  i want that to be enough reason to be strong and healthy.  i have some momentum now and i'm going to do my best to keep going.

i just hope i don't go the opposite and when i do have a boyfriend say to myself well fuckit i have a man i can let myself go.  because that will just be the whole angelina jolie phenomenon.  ever since brad, she's just collagen, a mop and oranges.  i never want to let myself go to that level.

5 things i hate about being sick

...on a sunny summer saturday in seattle.

1. main activity is staring out the window self-pityingly as other people frolic, or more precisely, leave their apartment building on their way to frolicking, for example by playing frisbee in the park or attending the funeral of someone they're glad is dead.
2. food network is nauseating (especially barefoot countessa).  "this recipe is easy...get your double boiler...add cognac...filet mignon...make a whiskey sour for your husband and bring it to him as he's writing a new book in his study...repeat"
3. porn has no effect beyond creating the same confusion experienced by the "insert tab a into slot b" instructions for assembling orange and black cardboard unicef collection boxes in 1978.  half those pennies went straight for candy and never made it to africa, right?
4. sitting, lying down and standing are all equally uncomfortable and exhausting.
5. i have no future.

wait, how is this different than any other day?

highly erotic underutilized pose

giant shiny taint

taint as in abc as in ass ball connection as in his pride and joy.  well...joy once he wakes up.

body inventory

vagina: don't have one still the government controls my reproductivity

gut: mid 30s morphing from med. to lg. must get back to true med. or else is a feeling i have though who cares because a 31 inch waist does not equal happiness though i wouldn't know maybe it does

spine: workaday slouch why hold head high when not going anywhere up

missy elliott: for real and alive we all have a missy part dance bounce move it

spelling nerve: 26 letters in the human genetic code who am i

pet hand: no pet to pet get a fish pet a fish get a lizard pet a lizard get a cage put a creature in it get a pet hand

cleaning legs: red glitter fashion broom sucks up the dust which is 40% human skin 30% thrown out technology 25% the past 5% exhalations kitchen is a mess bedroom near my bed is a mess don't have a bedroom have a studio so a living room bedroom combo place near my bed is a mess always perpetually forever and i know why it's because nobody looks at it so it's there if a tree falls in the forest and nobody sees it fall is why it exists

porn section:  erogenous body exists in variable body locations here and here and yes here and also here which the last here is a secret

smile:  don't know but i feel it sometimes

skull:  brain plates continental drift pangea baby head soft spot has candy in it delicious cleverosity is my shield

hands:  click and motion and pop and lock 11 years of piano lessons music still comes from them just not classical or jazz or anything that sounds like anything yet it is music