Archive for February, 2010
Learn Salsa Dancing : Club Style Hand Moves
This is a quick salsa dancing move that does some simple hand changes to make it look complex. More Salsa dancing video lessons for free : http://addicted2salsa.com
Duration : 0:4:28
Posted in JUGGLE | 
Tags: club, dance, dancing, hand, latin, learn, salsa, salsadancing | 
14 Comments »
What is the basic of juggling in soccer?
What is the basic of juggline pls explain me with a video. and can i learn juggling in one or two months if i do practice 1 to 2 hours daily i daily do kick ups by feet for 400 times by thowing it with my hands to feet and kick it up and 100 times with knees so can i learn juggling in one or two motnhs pls answer me and pls seprate the answers
i wanna learn juggline as soon as i can so pls tell a shortcut way
coz i have to go in a contest helding in saudia i know there people cant play soccer good coz i defeat many people here but now i wanna learn juggline as soon as i can
There are two ways of juggling the ball: with the instep or the base of the big toe. The former is done by striking the ball cleanly using the surface of your shoe laces. Stretch out your ankle (like a ballet dancer) and hit the ball as if you are volleying it upward. When executed properly, it should not make the ball spin. The latter is less difficult and is basically slicing the ball from the bottom so that it spins vertically towards you.
Experiment with both so that you’ll get a good feel of how they work. You should never be chasing after the ball or reaching violently for it. It is all about keeping your balance and making good contact. If you are having trouble keeping control of the ball, try hitting as soft as you can.
Try to remain on your toes instead of flatly planting your feet. This will give you better mobility in adjusting to slight deviations and miss-kicks. As you advance, try incorporating different surfaces of the body like the head, thighs and so on. Eventually you will become proficient enough to JUGGLE casually for as long as you like.
What would you do if you looked out the window one night and the devil was in a tree sticking his tongue out?
at ya?
He wouldn’t be in my yard or my tree,
My home and my property are prayed over.
There is a hedge of protection around it.
He would have never made it to the tree.
Greater is He that is in me than he that is in the world.
How many times can an average u13 soccer boy juggle the ball?
How many times can an average u13 RECREATIONAL soccer boy JUGGLE the ball?
How many times can an average u13 SELECT soccer boy juggle the ball?
idk i’m 14 and the highest i’ve ever done using just my right leg is 28
and if i would have used the rest of my body(head,chest,thigh left leg)
i would have at least done 50 or soo.
so the average for a 13 ear old would be 10-15
@the puto below me yeah and then you woke up
Needed (a bounce juggling video)
I had a bunch of practice clips laying around so, I thought I’d put together another bounce video. I tried to time it up with the music at the beginning but, as I went on, I sort of lost interest because it was too much of a pain in the ass. I was planning on making a 4MoB(4 months of bounce) video but forgot about it so, this is sort of like 4.75MoB. As usual, I thought of a bunch more tricks that I could’ve put in it, right after I finished editing it. Oh well, maybe next video.
The music, as usual, is my personal music project, Hydrophidian. The song is called “Needed”. I picked it because of the bouncy feel in the verses.
The video is mostly 4b and 5b tricks with one 3b trick. The siteswaps are given with the tricks.
I’m using Dube, 2.75″ silicone bounce balls.
Enjoy
Duration : 0:5:24
how hard can this 
me doing diabolo and Juggling Tutorial – 4 Ball Mills Mess
How to do the 4 ball version of the Mills Mess juggling trick. This trick may take months to learn – it is more difficult than the 5 ball cascade. (well, maybe…)
Music before Audioswap:
Blue Öyster Cult – “(Don’t Fear) The Reaper”
—–
12 July 08:
#19 – Most Discussed (Today) – Howto & Style – United Kingdom
#73 – Most Viewed (Today) – Howto & Style – Russia
#20 – Top Rated (Today) – Howto & Style – United Kingdom
17 July 08:
#35 – Top Favourites (This Week) – Howto & Style – United Kingdom
#35 – Top Rated (This Week) – Howto & Style – United Kingdom
19 July 08:
#36 – Most Discussed (This Week) – Howto & Style – United Kingdom
Duration : 0:5:21
juggling school with life?
ok, so i grew up on the city side and i often go to my beach house. a few years ago we moved to a mountains area AND I HATE IT.
i live on the other side of the city of where i used to live.
i feel like i dont belong here and i hate being here!! i hate this town, i hate the lifestyle here and i miss where i used to live.
exept theres this problem..
here where i live now, of course, i go to school here. i HATE the school so much. anyway last year i didnt go to school much but i managed to JUSSSTT pass year 8.
this year my teachers and parents want me to try more harder in school.
ITS HARD TO DO THAT WHEN I HATE IT THERE!!!!
ok more detail than you need to know now…
its holidays now. i spend as much time as i can out of this town. mainly staying at my beach house with my dad and bro, and spending some time at my friends house (who lives where i used to live.)
when schools on, i go absolutely crazy! coz i cant get out of town!!
i feel like here is a stuck little town and the city and my beach house place is the real world.
i feel like myself when im in my old town, and at my beach house.
here i feel like a differnt person AND I HATE THAT PERSON!!!!!
i have told my parents and they refuse to move, so i cant do that.
so school starts next month, and i need tips on how to spend as much time as possible out of town but still do ‘acceptable’ in school??!!!
my grandparents go to my beach house often on weekends, so i know i can get away then.
and im allowed to go to my friends house on weekends.
but theres noooo wayy i can last staying in town for more than 7 days in a row. I HATE MY SCHOOL AND MY AREA. i hate who i feel like i am here.
my life at the beach and city, and my life here in the town i live now, feel like seperate worlds, and i hate this world, cz its not who i am!!
so my question is. how do i feel like myself here? how do i spend as much time as possible out of town while not mssing out on school?
its a mind thing, coz nothing is happening in this town to MAKE me hate it. its the way i feel about it. i dnt feel like myself here.
help meh!! thanxxx
keep doing what your doing.
but when your in your new area, to feel like yourself, think of how u feel when you are at your old town/ beach house. be yourself.
Please critique this memoir I’m writing?
Thank you. Just read a bit and say what you think…(C.R.)
Creative Memoir
(October 10 1998)
There were the five of us, fresh from drab, rain-washed London, and overwhelmed by our sudden arrival on Australia’s east coast. My parents, harassed by their attempt to JUGGLE three young children and a car full of luggage. My brothers – Freddie aged four and Alex only 18 months, both half asleep and bewildered; then me, the eldest, suddenly wide awake as we leave the car. In my mind I can picture the family, as a passerby would have seen us, clustered together by the high metal gate; surrounded by overflowing holiday bags and silent in the sticky night air. The only sounds are Dad struggling with the house keys, and the cicadas’ constant whirring in the background. At six, I have never heard this strange, scratchy tune before and I’m at a loss as to what it could be, yet too tired to bother guessing. Mosquitoes glide effortlessly over our heads, gently brushing our faces. The humidity makes it hard to breathe. Ahead, the house looms out of the dark and in my imagination its bright yellow face glows slightly in welcome. The cloying scent of dying flowers, sand and paint all mixed together hits me in the face as an afterthought, as we each step cautiously inside. Though we don’t know it, this single visit will be the first of countless others.
When I woke up the next morning, strips of glaring light were poking through the gaps in the worn blue shutters, and a new noise had merged with the droning cicadas – the sea! My room had lemon-coloured walls, and the floor’s terracotta tiles felt rough and unfamiliar on my bare feet. It smelt of salt water and sand, as though you were already outside, and I ran out to wake the others up – as though it were Christmas. Upstairs there was a narrow balcony, that jutted out to give a view of the beach that was beyond the cracked road, just outside the house. Peering out from between the rungs of the balcony, it was completely deserted. If I squinted I could see flecks of spray flying up over the rocks – the sea’s irresistable appeal. Beyond the road outside the house there was a rocky cliff that led to the shore. That first day, we recklessly tumbled down the rocks to land on fine sand, which was as yellow as a rubber duck and so soft your feet sunk right into it and left deep prints – proper sand, worthy of any travel brochure advert. As we stood there, the sea gently lapped the shore, tugging at your toes as if teasing, hissing playfully like an old cat.
Palm Beach seemed enormous; our whole world existed within boundaries that were actually very narrow. The corners of our territory were the Beach, the Lighthouse, the Pier and the Park, as in our minds they were the most important places. The beach was to become our second home over the next few years, but it still managed to retain its novelty. Our daily trips there were executed with military precision, as though we were on an important mission somewhere far away. In reality, the walk took two minutes, but when you are six that seems forever. We three children would trudge doggedly through the stifling heat, sandals stirring up dust, dragging so much equipment we looked part of a strange circus act – surf boards, buckets, spades, a multicoloured cascade of arm bands. The kookaburras would be laughing derisively at us, always out of sight yet rarely silent. Our parents languidly followed with the sun-cream and towels. Once there, everything was immediately dumped at the high-tide mark and Freddie and I would race into the sea. Alex, the chubby toddler, would waddle after us calling plaintively, wearing so many floats he could hardly move, his pink skin coated in a thick layer of cream.
We would swim as far out as we dared, out to touch the side of one of the moored boats tethered to a carrot coloured buoy. I would swim until my eyes stung with salt, and fingers went apricot-wrinkly. Or perhaps we would go beach-combing, and find unconventional treasures: bleached bones of driftwood; cuttlefish; tangled masses of rope and tiny intricate shells, the size of fingertips. Or instead we could try digging back to England, through the damp sand with plastic spades. I always believed it would be possible, if only we dug long enough – but before long the sea would cheat us and sneak up to obscure our work. Instead, we could run races up the beach to stay dry, up to the storm-water drain and back. A trail of prints in the white-powder sand at hight-tide marked our paths in these races. I always tied with Dad. By the time I was old enough to win, we’d be back in England.
There was so much for us to do, and every day was full of new possibilities. A couple of times we went to sit on the rocks when the tide was high up, to try ‘proper’ fishing, Alex inevitably getting tangled up in the line or dropping bait in the water. The fish we caught were never worth keeping, but the
Once again I am startled and impressed by the quality of your writing. Were I you I would staunchly ignore that Stephen King nonsense that someone was trying to chide you with. There are a million ways to write and King’s is surely among the least of the forms, in artistry if not in volume or marketablity. It is clear, to me at least, that you are aiming for something very different and you have gone a long way toward achieving it.
Details:
The last line of the first paragraph reads awkwardly.
The phrase ‘the sea’ is repeated once too often in the second, I would probably change the last.
The first sentence of the third paragraph seems contradictory, to no particular purpose that I can see. Perhaps starting it differently with, maybe, something like ‘Even though Palm Beach…’ would be less jarring to the ear.
Small things, certainly. This is very nicely executed and beautifully evocative prose. Good work.