Yep, we had a fashion shoot at West Side. We flew world famous photographer Niki Tonks down from the Netherlands to shoot some pics for the website and other projects that West Side is involved in.

All joking aside, we really did have a fashion shoot and it was actually pretty fun. Niki keeps talking to me about marketing the school and although the photos will be used for marketing, I think the photo shoot in-it-self was an event. Chris Lee couldn’t keep a straight face and Rich Cesena was doing flying armbars and some of the Logan guys came down and participated with some shirtless punching and slam throws, and Miles was climbing fences and Grayson was doing some weird poses that I’m sure his girlfriend would like—but probably no one else. It was very enjoyable.

If you missed out, don’t worry, you can be part of the BJJ fashion show we’re hosting on the 21st (I’m not kidding, I need some models, I don’t care what you look like as long as you love West Side and you can sashay down the cat walk).

West Side grand opening (Ogden) will be all-day on Saturday, August 21st everyone is invited.

1) I’m reading a book on surfing and suddenly the author talks about a party he goes to that is at the house of some guy named Relson Gracie. He goes on to talk about BJJ (in a book about surfing).

2) Driving in San Francisco, I see the logo for the Academy of Art University painted on a building; it’s almost ridiculously similar to a version of the Gracie triangle I’ve seen somewhere.

3) Today, driving home from the school, I saw two kids play fighting. They weren’t slap fighting—which was one of the things we used to do as a kid—these kids were trying to choke each other. Fortunately for them, the guillotine wasn’t being applied correctly.

Anyway, the signs are all around, jiu-jitsu is something I will do ‘til death, there is no escape—the signs are everywhere.

Watching the kids play Red Rover, I noticed the similarities to what we do in jiu-jitsu. Finding the weakest link and using our whole body against it. That is what we do. The arm lock for example is nothing more than a principle of Red Rover. A kid is called; he surmises the situation; he runs full speed across an expanse of grass and he hurls his entire being at two kids holding hands—usually the scrawniest kids. That’s how joint locks work—we attack the weakest link using our entire body.

Red Rover! Red Rover! Send arm lock right over!

Who knew we were learning about jiu-jitsu at such an early age?

Saturday, Aug 21 (Everything will be FREE)
9:00 am-9:00 pm

9:00-10:00
Women’s Self-Defense Seminar

10:00-11:30
BJJ Seminar

12:00-1:00
Lunch

1:30-3:00
MMA Seminar

3:30-5:00
Art Show (MMA and BJJ focus)
Local artists and tattoo guys

5:30-6:30
BJJ & MMA Fashion Show

7:00-9:00
MMA Exhibition Fights

I would like some suggestions on this skeleton of an outline. I’m not sure who’s doing the seminars, so if you have any suggestions I’d love to hear them. Anyway, keep your calendar open on the 21st of August. If anyone is interested in helping I’ll take any and all volunteers as well.

We watched, it was beautiful and smooth and I felt like this dude wasn’t fretting or worried about when the bus was going to arrive. He wasn’t half way in the street trying to see how far down the number 89 was. He was doing his art while he waited—it was very Taoist–you can’t control the universe or bus drivers or traffic, so might as well get some Tai chi in.

On my trip to Cali, my family did a lot of waiting. Anytime you get a big group of people together you’re bound to have to wait for someone, that’s just how it goes. After watching the Tai-chi-bus-stop-man I decided to make the best of it. Before making a trip to, ironically, China Town in San Francisco, my family and I waited while my other family members got ready. I was ready, my family was ready and instead of fretting, I sat down and read from a book; it was very relaxing and before I knew it, everyone was ready and I got a chapter read.

Tai chi at the bust stop was a reminder about controlling what you can, and not worrying about the things you can’t control—like bus drivers, traffic, or the universe.

Yesterday my wife and I took our kids to an amusement park called Great America; it was the place to be in my youth–a great paradise of adolescent joy. Yesterday it seemed small and expensive, but my kids really liked it. My son and daughter conquered their first real roller coaster–The Grizzly.

I was proud of them–I’ve known the Grizzly from my past; I never road it. I remember when I was in high school, they had just added it to the roller coaster lineup at the park. My friends and I all went to give it a try–the line was like an infinite centipede of teenage-roller-coaster angst. Two hours later we made it to the ride. I get into a car by my self, reach for the strap–nope–suck in–nope–too much ass and thigh.

“I’m sorry Sir,” The ride operator no older than me said, “you’ll have to exit the ride.” Oh shit, too big to ride–man, I was embarrassed. Some people snickered, my boys were pissed, and threatened to boycott the ride (that’s why I loved them). I got off. I told them to stay–and life went on.

The reason I’m writing about this is because while I was waiting for my kids to ride (I’m still too big to ride; I didn’t even try this time, but I’m too old to ride now anyway, wasn’t even interested in it, honestly), but while I was waiting, a group of kids all wearing the same T-shirts , single-filed their way past the “too short to ride” sign. Three of them were too short and had to wait with their counselor while everyone one else rode.

I felt bad for the kids. It wasn’t like they lacked the courage to ride; they only lacked the height.

Of course this story has ties to jiu-jitsu and what I realized at that moment was that jiu-jitsu wasn’t like this roller coaster; it wasn’t like any of the rides that had restrictions based on size. Jiu-jitsu is all-inclusive. Anyone can ride if they have the courage–too big, too small, one leg or none. That’s the beauty of my art–that’s the beauty of jiu-jitsu–all you have to do is have the desire to ride and you can.

(Before I continue, I want to make it clear that I love my wife very much). My wife is a master eye-roller; if I added up all the seconds of eye-rolling she’s done since we’ve been married she’d have about forty-eight hours of looking at her own brain. She is a master in the art.

Anyway, I plan on writing while I am away. It’s just become something I do—something I enjoy. I can’t promise any consistency but I’ll do my best. I would take my gi with me, but my wife’s rolling eyes would turn to daggers of death, and death is something I want to avoid for as long as I can. I think writing will suffice—I need some family time, and my wife has been more than patient while I work on West Side. I’ll be back in a week. One Love.

John Lobaido enhanced his gi this week with a West Side Octopatch; it’s time we all did. I am the worst offender. My own gis are patchless. The problem is, even though I have two gis, I’m constantly using them–there is no down time–no time for the seamstress.

I like the patch though, and out of respect for the school, when I get back from Cali, my first priority is to get those octopatches sewn on my gi. You can’t represent without one. I know a lot of you have those patches–sew them on–do it, or I’ll curse you with stubbed toes until you do. I mean it.

After the parade, we went to the local farmers’ market where I saw the tail end of destiny. It was actually a butt—a dog’s butt. I asked the guy in front of us what kind of dog it was and he said a Gargoyle Bulldog. It had the head of a bulldog, but the body of a pitbull—it was cool.

When I got home this afternoon I looked up Gargoyle or Renascence Bulldogges and this is the recipe I found for making one:

The 5 foundation breeds used to create the Gargoyle line of
Renascence Bulldogges are:

1) American Bulldog
2) Hermes Bulldogge
3) English Bulldog
4) Bullmastiff
5) Bandogge (Old Family Red Nosed Pitbull/English Mastiff cross)

I think the dogs look cool—I want one—could this be the dog to represent jiu-jitsu? I wonder if it can grapple. It sure is good-looking enough to represent BJJ.

I remember when I was twelve years old; I had a chance to go to Hawaii with my boy scout troop. I don’t remember what island we were on or what beach, but I had decided to venture into the waves. I’m a Cali boy, I’ve been to the ocean, but the waves at Santa Cruz Beach and Boardwalk are not the same waves that crash on the islands. It took about a millisecond for an enormous wave to scoop me up and slam me on my head. I swear I heard the waves laughing as another wave repeated the cycle—up then down, up then down slammed to the ocean floor. I remember finally escaping, salt water shooting out of my nose, knees wobbly, punch drunk and confused. I lied on the beach and I thought, “The ocean just kicked my ass.”

Sometimes we have to get our ass kicked by something before we respect it; that’s how I came to respect jiu-jitsu—a good ass whipping gets our attention. I’ve chosen to get my “cosmic convergence” on the mat instead of the ocean—I’ll become one with the universe in a gi instead of on a surfboard, but I do respect both the wave and its riders, and I haven’t forgotten the lesson I learned about respect.