Chilliwack Dreamin'

We arrive at the lake on Friday nights, usually around 8:00pm. By then, a small crowd has nestled down into our site, lights turned on, ice stashed in the coolers, with neighbours and friends ready to greet us with cold beer dangling at the ends of open arms.

Mark was there last Friday and had just returned from a fishing trip up in Campbell River, and look what he brought us: Hmmmm, fresh prawns. He even made garlic butter, as you lifted the little buggers towards your mouth, it's smell teasing your taste buds mere seconds before the prawn is infused in such delight.

As you know, Mark and his wife have expensive taste. They drink Grey Goose Vodka and lately they've been mixing it with Red Bull energy drink.

Now, I haven't tasted either, since I hate vodka and I'm too nervous to drink these energy things that make your heart race and keep you up all night wondering when it'll explode. Mark makes up drink after drink and offers them to just about anybody who walks by our site. Including prawns!

Lately, I've noticed other seasonal folks walk by and wave, or stop to chat as if they've known me all their lives. It makes me wonder about the late night walks Mark and hubby take to other sites, drinks in hand. There's this one guy hubby talks about, a gentle giant ex-South African cop, who tells a story of once killing 21 men.....with 3 bullets. Anyways, hubby has visited him on several occasions, always sneaking up behind him and grabbing him by a headlock. Gentle giant barely flinches.

The Grey Goose vodka bottles are too beautiful to throw out and I've been keeping the empty ones for display at the camp table. (anything goes when decorating campgrounds) Until one evening I spied two young men stalking out the place, I hear them whisper "are they full", then one dodges behind a tree closer to the site to investigate further. You've never seen two guys run as fast as they did when I popped out of the trailer. I think I'll get Brandon to piss in them.

Sometimes I am left alone with my thoughts as the visitors depart, when the teenagers don't want to listen to my old fuddy-duddy music, as Brandon runs off to Cooper's place and as hubby and Mark are out and about making new friends, this is the only time, MY TIME, I'm allowed to play my music:



The boat traffic hasn't been all that bad this year, probably because of the price of gas, but as always, some yahoo has moved our buoy to accommodate his own boat. And he moves our buoy so that it is too close with another guy's buoy. At least he's not anchored on it. Since the end of June the campground has been full and you get this few oddballs who think they can do whatever they want to.

We ordered in a truckload of pea-gravel to cover the sharp crap that was already there, sharp pieces of slate or something. We also needed the extra layer to even out the site. It looks quite nice now, as we lay out our loungers and prop up the umbrellas behind them, looks tropical.

Approximately 2km from Cultus Lake there is a new housing development called







There are not too many pictures on the internet (because I still don't have a camera charger) but these pictures sort of show the view, except these are the homes on the lower street of the development. And many of the trees on the hill have now been cut down. House prices ranges from 450,000 to 714,000, depending on the view you get, but all the houses are built with top notch materials and care.

We've been watching this development for about a year now and there are a lot of houses ready built for sale. We love the Chilliwack area. It's clean or fresher or something. New. It's also not Surrey, where it's becoming a dumping ground for America's Most Wanted. You can't go shopping anywhere now without having some rehab ex-convict manning the cash register.

I hate my neighbourhood. I hate my neighbours. I hate being the minority. I hate it when the Surrey R.C.M.P. won't lay assault charges on the 50 year old fuck next door who choked my 15 year old visually impaired daughter, then punched her in the face, just because she wouldn't move away from a basketball hoop nearby, as they park underneath it to pester the kids again. They saw no marks on her neck, despite 5 other teenagers, my husband and myself witnessing this event, they believed him and his now Christian demeanor of lying through his teeth, "I didn't touch her".

The next evening I saw him and yelled out into the street that I was going to kill him, "I'm going to kill you if you ever touch my daughter again...I am going to buy a gun and kill you ..you goddamned motherfucker!"

10 minutes later the Surrey loser-brigade is at my door. Go ahead I yell, charge me for uttering threats, but you damn well better charge the loser next door too, or there will be hell to pay.

I'm not afraid of the Surrey RCMP anymore, nor do I feel protected. They're useless. And don't bother phoning the complaint line either, because the bitch at the switchboard will just tell you there's a shift change and there's more important crime out there than your little incident. So let me get this straight: you won't come when fucktards next door have blocked my driveway so that I can't hook up my travel trailer to go camping, but you will come when I tell you that I'm just going to tie up their car then, with a towline off my Hummer and remove them myself. And I'm the one in trouble. Hmmmmmm?

See, I'm already rawled up. It's not easy to make a decision to move. But if you're feeling bad about yourself when you're home, hide out from her and her spying and whether or not your dumping debris down the creek, or your pool pump is too loud, or the kids will get run over by their speeding in the street and knowing the police won't do fuck all, or the other neighbours who haven't pressure washed their houses in years and it's now stained in moss green, with unkept gardens, and the prostitutes come at night to take care of business because everyone in the street is too cheap to leave their lights on at night, and the 80 bed facility nearby is almost ready for the next round of released convicts.

Shit, only three more days, only three more days until Friday.

Yesterday's Boyfriends & Leather Coats

Last year I burned CDs for my daycare customers, selecting top hits and having their children crayon the CD jackets, which made for nice Christmas presents. This year's PLAYLIST is mostly of long forgotten songs, the songs we all know the words to, with a dash of today, as I attempt to mix history up a bit, because I like confusion.



My very first concert was Led Zeppelin.

Didn't know them, didn't know rock'n'roll other than the Partridge Family Christmas Album, yet they were the IN band and Carrie and I bought tickets to see them at Seattle's Kingdome...circa 75, 76...it was so long ago, but what an adventure, a trip arranged by a local radio station, the bus transport, tickets, immigration, everything. It was so easy back then.

We wanted to be like Annie Leibovitz, taking pictures with our Nikon cameras, stills of our favorite rockstars, behind the scenes, priviledged, backstage pass carrying groupies, which we had to fight and claw our way to the front of each stage, being crushed and trampled to capture every picture we took, every memory of our youth momentarily infused in song.

We had heads-up on an up and coming band Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, but we were too young at the time to enter into a drinking-licensed establishment such as the Commodore Ballroom in Vancouver, boosting a 1,000 person capacity.

We make-up'd our faces, dressed in high heels and wore halter-tops, thank God Carrie was almost 6 feet high, as we stood in the line to enter the Ballroom I'm feeling frantic, terrified of embarrassment in not having proper ID, being turned away into the belly of Granville Street. Lost. A Juvenille. I remember my dad saying 'where did my little girl go' as I dressed up to see Tom Petty and stood in front of my parent's dresser mirror, using my mom's makeup, and all I wanted to say was, it's pretend. I'm pretending.

Today, I can honestly boost I single-handedly, with another 999 people, bolstered Tom Petty's career, because if you can't make it in Vancouver, you can't make it anywhere.

We met Queen at the Bayshore Inn.


We booked a room in the tower where Howard Hughes stayed and because apparently it's the best portion of the hotel overlooking Vancouver Harbour
which didn't phase us one bit, when you're 17 and hunting down rockstars we just wanted to be where Queen existed.

Carrie loved Brian May and I loved Roger Taylor.
Linda loved the Bay City Rollers, my sister loved Elton John. And that was final...we lived and breathed these men, in fantasies, in hopes and dreams, in hotel lodgings and record purchases, as we strived to achieve closeness, much more than any other fan would ever take, as we pronounce ourselves "Number One Fans".

I sat in the Bayshore Inn Hotel, in an enclave removed from the main lobby, one that entered into the yacht club and marina, isolated in the late afternoon of sea. We all were anxiously awaiting the Queen concert, hoping to spy our lovers in the lobby, in the restaurant, anywhere.

Alone, waiting for the girls to join me, I saw him approach the elevator nearby. It's Roger. And it's not the first time we've met.....I've bothered him previously for a picture and an autograph, but this time I'm flabbergasted by his fur coat and fluffy blonde hair, his presence.

I rush and gush as any 'number one fan' would and ask for a picture. As the elevator door opens, he enters, then motions for me to enter with him.

I am so fucking scared I don't know what to do or think. It seems like an eternity before the elevator doors close, as I am frozen stiff in disbelief and inexperience and flashbacks of my dad wondering where his little girl went, and I'm not ready....despite the romance of it all, I'm not ready. I'm just a kid with a camera.

The door shuts and Roger shrugs his shoulders, okay.

I had a long leather coat, one I constantly wore, through high school, trips to Italy and England, concert mad-dashes to stage fronts, a garment that made me feel special, pretty, glamorous.
A few years back my niece was elected to be in an "all-girl" band, supposedly up and coming, so I gave her my coat for rockstar luck, this coat I had hidden in my closet, hiding yesterdays of Tom Petty and Roger of Queen, hoping it would regain purpose some day.

She became an actress instead. And I wish I had my coat back. I miss Roger.

Walk the Cat..but can you Talk the Cat

AND HERE'S WHAT THEY REALLY SAID TO EACH OTHER..............

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

Released 1998

Brandon received a respectable "B" for his speech on Languages, posted elsewhere in my blog.

Following are memorable passages from hubby's favorite movie, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, a twisted, outlandish venture into the mind of a warped junkie, a reporter who is traveling to Nevada in order to cover a Hells Angels motorcycle race, along with his Samoan attorney Dr. Gonzo.

Brought to the screen by Terry Gilliam ("Monty Python and the Holy Grail," "Brazil"), one can only expect the movie to be strange, but it is severely distorted to the point of insanity. What is even more intriguing is Gilliam's use of his camera, cinematography and backgrounds -- the camera essentially takes on the role of a third person, as it is constantly moving, positioned at awkward angles against harsh, dizzying backdrops, wallpapers and carpets.

Written by Hunter S. Thompson, the book is an account of Thompson and his attorney's trip to Las Vegas during early 1971, perfectly matched by the acting of Johnny Depp and Benicio del Torro.



I have been to San Francisco twice. I was 19 years old when me and my sister decided to take a trip, just because. San Francisco, just because.

We were both living at home at the time and had lots of money to spend, no boyfriends and we were both skinny at the same time. Usually one is fat, one skinny, the other skinny and one fat, long hair...short hair. It is difficult to keep up the twin appearance.

On the airplane down from Vancouver, we met two other girls, Maureen and Irene...and if anybody hit on us, the "oh sure" looks we received on introducing ourselves as Maureen, Irene, Corinne and Colleen. They were 21 years old and also decided to take a trip, just because.

We met up several times during our stay in San Francisco, but on one thrilling night we all took a taxi to Oakland, where Jefferson Airplane...Starship were playing at a local pub, a very small venue. I desperately wanted to see the band play, as I actually was a fan of their music, but because we weren't 21 years old the pub owner wouldn't allow us in, which was a shame, because across the border in Canada we were legal age.

The second time I was in San Francisco I went with hubby and we sailed down from Vancouver on a spectacular cruise ship. However, this spectacular ship also had a spectacular casino, where I lost our trip money spectacularly. Thank God we pre-purchased our rental car, where we ended up sleeping for a few nights.

I was 21 years old, making desperate phone calls to the wire service to ask when the money would arrive from my folks. Again, across the Golden Gate Bridge, we were stranded in Oakland because we didn't have fare to pay the toll.

And despite being down and out, cold, hungry and without cigarettes, my memories of my trip with my sister flooded me, covering me like the San Andreas winds, thinking how I am of age now....and DAMN!...wouldn't it be nice to see Jefferson Starship.



I searched through YouTube to find the best memory I had of Jefferson Airplane and found lots of the reformed Jefferson Starship stuff, yet even though I wasn't at Woodstock and was too young to understand it or it's musicians at the time...like most of us now, we were somehow there.

H2 Hummer Transformer Instructions

Brandon's H2 Hummer Transformer toy came with difficult instructions to follow, especially for an 11 year old kid. With practice and the help of Phil, he finally mastered the transformation. And since he's such a YouTube kind of kid, he decided to upload kid-friendly instructions.
So unless you have kids into this sort of stuff, you may find it boring. I have added a YouTube clip just for you at the end of this post.

Part 1 of 2

Part 2 of 2

AND, following is a cool YouTube animation in reverse transformation...

Cool Magic Trick....

1976

When other kids were listening to Boston, KISS, Peter Frampton or ABBA, me and my sister were at home practicing our Barbra impersonations; the cross-eyed stare and the head shake dance.

But mostly I think we were mesmerized by the high notes Barbra reached and held onto for what seemed like an eternity, the notes we could not copy, instead flailing to the ground out of air.

At one point I began buying opera records, like Carmen and Madame Butterfly, which probably made my folks wonder what the hell was wrong with me. But my curiosity of high notes lasted briefly, as I soon returned to Queen and Rod Stewart and the British invasion.

And when I grew weary of them, only she remained ... the greatest singer of all.

Is this the Ferry to Guantanamo Bay?

Of course it's not...it's going to Gabriola Island, silly.



I have some video cam recordings of the ferry rides, but am feeling a bit lazy tonight to photobucket them together ... I've got a movie to watch. I once played the stock market, TSE, and did trade shares on this little known company operating in Vancouver....LIONSGATE. Damn! I wish I kept my shares.

Oh Me Oh My...the Misery

I joined the TheMomBlogs last week, linking myself to another social group in the hopes of finding interesting blogs or anecdotes from other moms from across the world, to communicate with other women from different cultures and backgrounds and family life, struggles and victories.

However, I didn't know this group had a rating scale attached to it, that other members rate your blog, elevating your star ranking from 1 yellow star to 5 yellow stars. So I logged in and sure enough, there is a scale of:

Awful!
Bad
So-So
Good
Cool!

I then asked my sister to rate me, Cool!, because damn-it...I'm cool, what can I say, but I was merely hoping the "Newbie" flag would be removed from my member name. I had no idea this rating meant a pissing battle of yellow stars because someone out there has ranked me out of my five star rank. Go on cunt, rate me again...you jealous, mindless skank...what was that?, did I just hear my star ranking drop to two stars.

Can't people survive without being acknowledged? It's a goddamned social area for pete's sake, until you actually start visiting other member's sites, you discover they're pastors' wives living in isolated wheat fields in Saskatewan knitting baby bonnets for their triplets, or moms in the midwest, reminiscing their glory days of sex because now they're eight months along and can't use vibrators anymore....and the majority of these members appear shy, timid, lonely, blushing into their monitors as they read the initimate details of some woman who just wants to garner a giggly "cool!" rating, then she posts another rant about performing coitus and her profile tells us she has 6 kids.

I choose to remember motherhood differently. The majority of momblogs I read are about newborns and here and now, which is fine, but I am also a mom of young children and I also have a mom, who mothered me...and she didn't need five yellow fucking stars to tell her who she was....

I love you mom. Thanks for making me a leader and not a follower.

I remember this following movie scene, forever and ever, something so captivating and real by Kathy Bates and her Oscar winning performance that reminds me of mom, as we sat in the theatre, my sideway glances, wondering if she recognized herself.

Back then, though, we called it the "screaming meemies" and for such a dramatic scene, I remember we were laughing, giggling uncontrollably under our breaths as to not disturb the people around us.

A forewarning perhaps, as I sat with my mom in the dark, in my 30th year of life, innocently aware that years later I, too, would become my own Oscar winning actress and beseige upon my own children a menagerie of glass.

The first 40 seconds of this clip is what I wanted to capture for this post, however, it was only available in 9 minute segments. You can either stop it after 40 seconds, or continue the scene, but I seriously would recommend you get the full movie, Misery, to enjoy it's masterpiece in full length, starring Kathy Bates and James Caan, who also gave a kick-ass performance.



UPDATE: November 13

From momblogs NEWSLETTER released today:
Finally - If you want to put up a rate box/vote box on your site. To get your link ID and coding, just log in to your account at http://themomblogs.com/blogs/profile.php and then click on My Profile, then My Links and you will see Rate Me Box, click on that and grab the code. Your IP is tracked so you cannot continue to vote over and over for yourself. Remember - this is something that is meant JUST FOR FUN. Don't take it too seriously - but you can get your friends involved to vote for you if you want. Play nice, and don't rate other blogs just to bring their score down.

Dear Santa, please make them build BRIDGES

http://www.gabriolaisland.org/GICC/home.htm

Gabriola Island is located in the Strait of Georgia, between Vancouver Island and the mainland of British Columbia, approximately 3 miles (5 km) east of Nanaimo on Vancouver Island. Gabriola is easily reached by a 20-minute ferry ride from downtown Nanaimo, or by floatplane from Vancouver (24 km).

Click on maps to manoeuvre around:



But first, you need to take a ferry from the mainland coast (we live closer to Tsawwassen terminal), to Nanaimo on Vancouver Island.



Hubby had a service call on Gabriola Island today, which meant he was up at 5am to catch the 7am ferry to Nanaimo to then enable him to catch the 10:35am ferry to Gabriola. He called at noon to say the customer had just arrived home and hopefully won't have to stay long because he has to do the whole ferry routine in reverse to get home. And he took Brandon with him.

The B.C. Ferry fleet is made up of all kinds of ships. There are now 36 of them, representing a wide range of sizes and classes. At the grandest end of the spectrum are the S-Class twins, Spirit of British Columbia and Spirit of Vancouver Island. Measuring 560 feet long (picture two football fields back-to-back), these vessels can accommodate up to 2,100 people and 470 vehicles. Compare those figures with the 111-foot Nimpkish, which carries 133 people and 16 vehicles, and you get some idea of the diversity of the fleet.

Over the next 15 years, approximately $2 billion will be required to upgrade and modernize the aging ferry fleet and ensure that terminals keep pace with traffic demands.

News release Oct 26/07
FIRST NEW SUPER C-CLASS VESSEL SETS SAIL FOR B.C. TOMORROW
VICTORIA – BC Ferries’ Coastal Renaissance, the first of three new Super C-class vessels is on its way. The vessel will depart Flensburg, Germany on Saturday, October 27, bound for its new home in British Columbia.

News release Oct 25/07
BC FERRIES TO INCREASE FARES ON NOVEMBER 1
VICTORIA – BC Ferries is reminding customers that passenger and vehicle fares will increase effective November 1, 2007. Fares will increase by an average of 2.8 per cent on the three major routes connecting Vancouver Island to the Lower Mainland and an average of 4.4 per cent on the remaining routes.

Suppose we all saw that coming!

Not only are we now being sucked into paying higher fees, the greatest insult of all is that these new super class ferries were built outside of Canada...outside of British Columbia! It's a bit of a sore spot for me because I once worked at a thriving shipyard in North Vancouver (operations ceased in 1992). But like everything else the government or crown corporations flog us with, it's you and me who get the kickin' up the arse.

And what about those catamarans in the 90's....my bum's still sore!

The construction of the three vessels doubled from $210 million ($70 million/vessel) to almost $460 million ($150 million/vessel) and final delivery was almost 3 years behind schedule. A large part of the delay was due to the fact that the shipyards commissioned to construct the vessels had very little experience working with aluminum. Also design changes during construction caused delays and more costs.

The ferries also had the following problems during their brief tenure:

-High fuel consumption. The four 8,375 brake horsepower (6.2 MW) engines driving their waterjets required an inordinate amount of diesel fuel and had to be used at 90% power for cruise speed, making them prone to breakdown. This was largely due to BC Ferries' insistence on using diesel engines rather than the more efficient gas turbines that were originally planned.

-Due to an unusually wet and windy winter, there was a higher than normal amount of flotsam in the waters along the route, some of which was sucked into impellers for the ferries' engines, causing breakdowns and sailing cancellations.

-When operated at full speed, the Pacificat fleet created a wake which was reported to have damaged waterfront wharves and property in coastal areas near the two terminals. This required that the ferries reduce speed in certain areas and alter course in others, reducing their speed advantage.

-The air on vehicle decks became uncomfortably warm, either from the heat of the vessel engines or lack of air circulation. This made some people wary of bringing pets aboard the FastCats; however, the ferries had kennels with improved air circulation at the bow and stern of the vehicle decks.

-There was little outside deck space for passengers. The existing ferries had large decks, and it was common for passengers to spend the entire sailing circling the decks of the ship or sunbathing on the lifejacket containers. The ships had a more modern, European-style interior which was perceived by passengers as being cramped compared to the existing ferries.

-Loading took longer than the older ferries due to balancing issues. This further negated the ships' speed advantage.

After such blunders and a change in leadership, the new Premier of B.C . placed the ferries up for sale and were auctioned off the PacifiCat fleet for $19.4 million ($6.5 million/vessel). Further controversy erupted when it was revealed that the same company had offered $60 million for the vessels prior to the auction.

June 30, 2005

Don't Forget the Lyrics

This is my room...

Find Nutcase's House and BOMB IT !

I've got 2,020,000 hits. Ya, me.
Son has only 259,000.
Daughter has 91,300.

Nutcase and the Swimming Pool Pump

Just like clockwork. Every summer we have to go through the same bullshit with nutcase, fucking dweeb of a communist neighbour. I hate her face when she talks. I just want to rip it off her and stuff it in her blow hole. At least that would stop me from hearing her equally annoying voice.

Last night she spied hubby cleaning the pool. Not the simple vacuum job, but the wheelbarrel one that gets full of pine needles and branches and crud, which has now fermented into a slimey pea soup. This meant he had to walk in front of her house towards the creek to dump the stuff.

Cue nutcase. "I don't like your pump. Turn it off at night, or I get Julian to build a box cover, or I get legal".

"Not right now, I'm busy", hubby blurts, trying to avoid eye contact. Eye contact means at least a 5 minute conversation of 'yes, no, yes, no, yes, no, fuck you'.

"You say for four years you build a box, you not have one. It is noisy for me". Here is a short video (cam shot) of the SOUND of the pump, there is a noticeable HUMMM, but just barely.



*snicker, snicker* my body shivers in a sort of mellow chi as a recollect the heat of last night's slumber. But what squishy faced Romanian doesn't understand is that it costs a fortune to maintain the pool with all the chemicals and water treatments it needs to keep it clean.

Right now hubby is trimming, then he'll cut the grass. He's allowing the shock treatment to flush the green crud to the bottom of the pool to enable him to vacuum it away without clogging pipes, etc. The pump needs to circulate the water, it needs to be filtered constantly.

It's July 5th and the pool should have been cleaned up in May. But it has rained here in Vancouver every fucking weekend, or we've gone camping. We turned on the pump about a week ago for pete's sake, and she's right there in hubby's face, dictating.

We've mastered the "we're ignoring you" dance, after eight years we've come to know nutcase freakshow and all her little nuances, gestures and spy tactics. This year we plan to keep the pool pumping 24 FUCKING 7, straight through to Labour Day. Huh!

So let's guess, what has retard planned up her sleeve. Well, for one, I know she enlists the help of squishy faced Romanian daughter's boyfriend. Look what they did when we were camping on the long weekend, as was our buddy Norm across the street.



The City of Surrey has a fabulous "tree protection" law, and holy-moly, are they gonna get it. You just don't go cutting down huge tree branches off of park land. No, not ever, ever....and they did it so sneaky, like communists, grease balls they are. They cut off eight huge branches, now the tree looks bald. We could never see the trunk.

If I ever, ever, ever, catch faggotty Ann-Andrew on my property attempting to turn my pump off, it'll be the last time. Oh, the nickname, by the way, is because apparently nutcase fucktard's daughters (20 and 21) are christian v-i-r-g-i-n-s, good girls she brags and postures, they're beautiful, they go universityyyyy. Okay, you know what, commie, it's "they go TO university" okay, and quit telling me to "fuck on you"....it's "FUCK OFF". Okay, refuck.

So now I enjoy myself by telling faggotty Andrew to get laid, which probably pisses him off immensely, since he can't really defend himself by saying he get's laid all the time, right. So he just has to saunter off down nutcase's driveway, death rays shooting out of his eyes towards my huge grin and the flipped bird.

I hate 20 year boys who think they are men and know everything about everything. He tries to get into fist fight with hubby, except hubby can't participate, not that he'd LOVE to kick virgin ass, it's that he can't show up to work with black eyes, or scratches, or any signs of struggle. We have about $100,000 worth of toys. Faggotty-Andrew has nothing to lose.

We finished the yard work, watered all the hanging baskets and the lawn looks great. Our watering days are Wednesday and Saturday, but fucktard waters her grass nearly every day. I think I'll call the city, again, and get the By-law officers after them. Hmmm, what else can I do to make their miserable lives more memorable of me and my revenge.

Hey, I know, let the kidlens ride their ATV's in the street, get really close to her precious p-r-o-p-e-r-t-y, then yell out, "how'd ya sleep last night"?

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

Just another day at the office....

Capoeira - Cool Martial Arts

I've noticed I post many of Sabrina's activities. My son, Brandon, has many interests as well. He "loves" Capoeira and is currently enrolled in Kikara Kickboxing. He'd like to switch, but I'd much rather keep him in something safer, where they only learn to break opponents arms and legs and such, and not their necks. Capoeira seems to be more like martial-gymnastics-art, sort of like kickboxing, but with style.

Family Guy Meets Randy Newman

For some reason, my YouTube videos have not been loading on my Blog. I have had to re-post alternate videos. Hopefully, I can paste the original, intended ones back later. Until then, for your enjoyment, I present: