Here comes a rant

Sometimes the instability of life is the only true constant. Funny that, too, coming from a guy who took a graduate course on the holocaust and learned all about the banality of evil, the dull grinding of trauma. I’ve felt the awesome oppressive power of the mundane, believed it to be king, truthfully. But life these last months—6 months I think—has been a total denial of this. Then again, I can’t say this analogous to a kind of evil, good things have happened, but at a cost, a high cost, one that has required a forward looking stance. I am beset by both fear and elation, mania, joy, relief, regret, and the demand for sacrifice. I’m being vague today. I don’t care. I’m exhausted with specificity right now.

I love Shannon and I love Mariann. Writing that is…creepy, and knowing I must now seal myself off from M is frightening. But I have to do it in order to be happy with S, so that M can heal, so that I can heal. Peace of Mind. Dunno if I’ve ever had it. Reckon it is like being fine and dandy at the same time. As Carlin once noted, he was only both fine AND dandy for an hour, but no one was around to ask him how he was doing. I live in a state far more extreme: I am great and terrible at the same time.

I am completely certain and uncertain. And let’s face it, I tend to be wholly uncertain by nature, so this certainty thing? Damn, haven’t felt that way since college, maybe high school. And for a while I was completely certain, with no signs of uncertainty. Now they both battle for dominance and I am trying desperately to embrace the certainty that I embraced, drunkenly for three months. (Forgive the ranting pace of this entry)

I am laughing one moment with S, and crying the next as I think about Mariann or recollect the life we had together. I’ve wondered to myself, half-seriously, if things would be better if the three of us were polyamorous, and formed a gloriously immoral unit of shared love and support. But even if that were true, Jesus, the shared trauma among us, the concentrated nature of our suffering, that radioactive taint of mistrust and violation, would be…atomic in explosive potential. Guess that is why fantasy is fantasy, you can dream about it, without considering the stark curving of the lines, the logic that would hold that fantasy together.

Damnit, I’m never going to get that Vegas hooker am I? I swear to god if I ever break up with S, I am jumping on a fucking plane and going right there and BUYING a damn threesome (but nooooooooooooo I had to confront my feelings about a crush and send the world off kilter, dang nabbit)

Abandonment

Since the break up I've been forced to deal with a few unsavory issues: the trauma (always the trauma), my feelings for M, and its impact on my feelings for S.

I abandoned M. There's no other way to look at it. Granted, I was wounded and scared and didn't have a fucking clue what to do, but every time she says "you left me" what she really means is I abandoned her, that's a pretty rough revelation. It has put me off kilter. I made the mistake of telling M I still loved her (It's true, but I crossed a line, that I would always love her). This was as much news to me as it was to her. I didn't even think to stop myself; I just blurted it out in the middle of a tense, tear filled argument.

She's chided me for being selfish....and so has S, for different but related reasons. I feel lost and confused, torn between the two of them. Mind you, this is several months AFTER the break up, AFTER I spent so much time pursuing S, of sending her declaration after declaration of love...and being 100% certain of it.
S hurt me twice along the way, bringing me to tears, abandoning me in my weakest moment, to return a few weeks later after reconciliation and an ultimatum.

After all that goo-goo ga-ga, I write S a flippant letter asking for space, man, is it flippant. One of those "seemed like a good idea at the time" letters. I had in effect, S pointed out, abandoned HER. And she read love letter after love letter to illustrate the point. So now I'm back with her. And..and.. I could go on and on about this. There's a lot of details I'm leaving out simply because it's so damn exhausting.

And I told M I was breaking up with S, so on top of everything else, I think I lied to M! Ack!

I've been blasted for being selfish by all sides, and they're right. I just wish I could figure out a way to behave responsibly. In a way that isn't cravenly selfish.

Did I mention I wrote the letter on the advice of my therapist?

I'm not exactly batting a thousand here.

I...live...again

I'm back. And I just read the last entry. My god. How the status quo has changed. I am a creature of emotional extremes. Here is the long and short of it:

1. I broke up with G, who will now be called M.
2. I have entered into a relationship with S.
Who is S? S=the blackbelt, the Muy Thai striker.
3. I have acquired my blue belt in Judo
4. I have, finally, and with much effort, gained my blue belt in BJJ

It seems unfair, narratively speaking. For two years life was in a holding pattern of sorts. This blog represented the diary of an emotionally scarred white-belt, struggling to figure out where he stood with his girlfriend. Then when I return, everything has changed....well, I'm still emotionally scarred. I seem to be stuck with that. It's been an exhausting 6 months, and it would have made for great blog fodder! Alas, the record of that is hidden from the world, a flurry of epistolaries, texts, and posts, that is still going on today.

At one point I considered terminating this blog, ending it once and for all. I wasn't updating, and let's face it, I'm not exactly on google's top ten. But I didn't, the epistalaries represent a shared space, but this blog represents an exclusively private one, and I still need that, still want that. And with that in mind, I've come back.

I'm in an odd position, forging a new love as I mourn the loss of another. Yes, I see now that I did love M, but I FEARED not loving her, I feared lying to myself, I never lied to her the way I thought I might. How do I know I love/d her? The tears man, the tears. All the while S fills me with joy and exhiliaration. It's not a bipolar existence, but hot damn, I'm some kinda crazed pin ball machine looking for a little...equilibrium, balance. Damnit, I've got practice in an hour, and I'm fighting a headache, blech. Fear not, this represents a return to regularly scheduled blogging. (I think this helps me stay on task in respect to writing as a whole)

In JKD...

I'd have written about this much sooner but the tournament happened...then I got caught up in writing a poem about the crush, even though the event I wanted to relay is about her. What can I say? My need to express myself through the poem took over.

I was paired with her in JKD 1. We were practicing responses to the lead Now-Tek (hooking kick). Our legs touched. She scratched me with her big toe. It may have drawn blood. She didn't know it happened. I told her. She apologized. I didn't want her apology, I just wanted her acknowledgment that this moment happened, even if her understanding of it was drastically different than mine. I kept thinking this is the most physical contact we would ever have, and I savored it quietly. She's amiable and likes to laugh. I did not have to hide my smiles, just that goofy glazed over twinkle that effects both drunks and the lovestruck.

The sexual symbolism of her drawing my blood was immediate (to me). Here she is with a chastity ring (I still haven't pressed her if this is a promise ring or a purity right for the wedding) and I'm the one cut open. If I was the virgin in this situation, what was lost/gained? Certainly nothing so practical as my first time working with a girl in a martial context. I didn't reveal anything of import, nor did she. It is more primal than that; she pierced me, and I delight in the wound. I'm supposed to be bound to another and she cut through that carelessly, unknowingly. She barely broke skin, but the force caries on to the center. Hmph, none of that translates into a smooth lost/gained binary opposition. I've certainly lost, but what have I gained here? I do not know.

I'm reaching that point where sincerity turns saccharine. Sincerity, the genuine, is the hardest thing in the world to express, especially when it's connected to love and suffering.

And all the while I am a failure and traitor, try as I may, I have not served G well.

A curse

It's 2 am. In the middle of july, her air conditioner is broken. She's stripped to nothing and the bed cover sticks to her skin. At that moment, when she is alone with her chastity ring, I want her to think of me and thirst....

Starting with the tourney

I did okay. 2nd place finishes. In my "secret identity" I offered up regular updates, so I don't feel the need to really talk about it here. I was unable to pass the guard when I needed to, and I've got to work on half-guard defense and get more "live" take down practice

Measure for improvement

When BJJ is the simplest thing in your life, you ain't doin' something right! That being said, a new phenomena is taking place in my training which indicates that ever elusive and vaguely quantifiable rubric known as progress: I'm catching newbies in triangles. Yes, me with the stocky, muscular legs of a full-back fused to the body of a disney-fied fairy is catching dudes in triangles. I'm not hitting them on experienced guys--I never seem to hit much of anything on them--but it's a start.

Also, the brown belt taught me how to do a flying armbar, but more importantly, he showed me a way to SET-UP the flying armbar with the awesome power of deception.

So yeah, my personal life is a mess, and my professional life looks like the innards of a jelly fish, but my BJJ is goin' places.

Now if I could just clone myself and alter time I'd be set!

I need more radiaton therapy

Spent the weekend at the beach house with parents and G. My mom thinks we're soul mates, yet all I see is dusk; the sun setting on our relationship. If G gets this job, she will have no reason to leave Tallahassee. And I don't think I can bring myself to move back there. All the while, an unreciprocated crush has me feeling foolish and distant and alone. I haven't voiced any of my concerns to G, maybe I should.

BJJ Turbo

The tournament is less than a week away, Wed. will be my last crossfit workout, thursday my last bjj workout. I'm feelin' a little nervous, having all those little doubts and fears I enjoy vanquishing with a rear naked. Guard passing and armbar escapes will take most of my energy this week. Since the tournament is in Charlotte I've recruited a friend to come with me. Very thankful for him, known him since I was 6, because as much as I hate driving up to Charlotte at the ass crack of dawn, the idea of driving back, after several sustained beatings, makes me wanna cry. Just think, I win this, I get a samurai sword.

I've been trying to war game my opponents, get some idea of whom my the unknown opposition will be. It may be under 140, but I still may be on the small side of the scale. I should expect some guys to cut weight, possibly as high as from 160. I will probably see a smattering of high school wrestling converts (I think college wrestling experience pretty much equals intermediate group in the eyes of these judges). It's also plausible I will see guys smaller than me. It has been a over a year since I've grappled someone unconditionally smaller than me. Will have to watch my base, and shouldn't be surprised if a smaller guy turns out to be stronger/faster/smellier than me.
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I need to be ready for attacks primarily from the guard and take downs. I need to use my judo throws and sweeps, and if he's a wrestler, be ready to go for a sub off a failed sweep attempt.

This the men's over 30 age bracket. I have no idea what to expect conditioning wise, and it wouldn't surprise me if the division was folded into another.

Could have been worse

Went to the first counseling session today. It was tolerable. Having been through therapy before I had an idea what to expect. The therapist was an outgoing guy, throwing out plenty of questions, but filled with personal anecdotes, unusual in my experience. My therapist always played the cipher, impassive, sparse, never mentioning his personal life.

He asked us why we were here, which I figured he would, so I answered first since I'd given it some thought. Much of what was said is stuff I've said here, minus MOST of the profanities. The one exception being when he asked me how I felt about my sister, "I fucking hate her."

If my parents commit to it, like I hope they will, they will be the ones seeing the therapist most of the time, then I'll be brought back in, or rotated with the babykicker, assuming she ever agrees to participate (not holding my breath)

Cough/Hack

Lord God, the last week was awful, just awful. If it wasn't all the damn fighting, it was the bacteria; largely due to the blinding sunshine and humidity of psychic distress, I was a pitree (sp???) dish of coughing, pink eye, insomnia, and laryngitis. Oh what fun the last week was, I meant to examine the relationship between me and G, but reality forced my gaze elsewhere.


So what now? I don't have a lot of time tonight for writing, so just gonna throw a few things out there:

1. Am having a lot second thoughts about a job in the insurance industry
but without the money, I may never get out of here.
2. Having second thoughts about the U of Phoenix position,
but without the money, I may never get out of here.
3. My sister scares me, don't think I've ever made that clear;
something is wrong with her be it psychopathy or some other related disorder
4. G and I had a fight over my friggin sister?? I would rather G say to me
"I just can't forgive you for leaving/the rape/whatever, goodbye" than to end it
because of the goddamn baby-kicker.
5. Tournament in 2 weeks, under 140 beginner divisions. I am gonna crush the
competition. I have A LOT of stuff to work out.
6. The one benefit to everything, is it's left too emotionally exhausted to
obsess over my JKD crush, I have just enough emotional energy for one
fantasy a day.

Ugh unpacked even further

Another golden moment.

My father rode in backwards on a white horse, late as usual, his interference kicking dust and shit and bad bad luck. The fighting commenced anew. It was all out movie time and babykicker wanted her Oscar. Papi said something--I don't remember what--and I retorted, viciously and unfairly, "shut-up, you don't mean anything to me." I am after all still brimming with anger at his misdeeds. Babykicker stepped in, exclaiming how I shouldn't talk that away about people who "put shelter over our heads" My eyes widened. This deserved instant mockery. The nasty little child who constantly calls mom a bitch, papi a motherfucker, who does nothing--NOTHING!!--except sleep and eat and scream. Yes,Babykicker, who behaves as if she does us all a favor by staying here, had found Jesus.

This was a craven attempt to woo my father, she's always manipulating him to get what she wants. This time though, my mockery was straight and acerbic and long with sarcasm, for a hemi-demi-semi moment, I think she actually felt foolish.

State of the dogs

This particular fight was largely facilitated by continued hygiene problems with the dogs: everyone shitting and peeing where they're not supposed to. Snuggles and Princeton have ALWAYS had issues, and Fern (babykicker's dog) is nuts (most likely the result of abuse). But Radar wasn't just house trained, I took him to a handler for weeks and weeks of clicker training. Moving back home has been a disaster on that front. One of the babykicker's favorite excuses is that all the other dogs have issues so why is Fern's behavior an issue? (She pees and shits in other people's rooms) This tactic is particularly irksome, considering the effort I've put into Radar's house training. For the record, last night I tried to say, "look, all the dogs have accidents, no one is denying that, but Fern is doing X,Y, and Z. Just put her in a crate when you leave and you will reduce the number of accidents" Babykicker wouldn't hear it. She seemed to be obstinate about that fact....I'm sorry I just fantasized about caving her face in MMA style....she seemed to be obstinate just to be obstinate.

Now I will confess to this, I think I called her a miserable cunt a little while before I said that, I don't remember, so things were already bad and probably past the point of reason. But that's part of why I called her a miserable cunt in the first place. Frustration. She NEVER listens to reasons, rejects all criticism as a personal act (and will turn around say I can't take criticism)....sorry fantasized about choking her out....Yeah, this is bad.
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For example, she called me anorexic. Huh??? I eat all the time. She's the one with eating problems.

I'm sorry, this was supposed to be about the dogs, and I'm back to talking about her. The point I was moving towards is I think a lot of the dog issues may be acting out. This is their way of handling all the negative energy, loving them isn't enough. I have to get out of this house. I have to get Radar out of this house. Someone in this house is going to snap big time, I'd rather it not be me.

Ugh revisited

Ok, I don't even know where to pick up from, since the whole thing got derailed when I called my girlfriend for a little support, little being the operative word. I was in tears over the epic fail that is moving back home. I'm worse off, She's worse off, Radar's worse off. Sigh, it wasn't really bad until the babykicker moved back in.

"That's the closest thing to an apology you offered,"
"Really? Are you kidding? I've spent the last year apologizing! I have to shave my beard" Yup. Like I said, the operative word is "little."

What's left for us?

When I speak do people listen? How vague am I?

I think my faith in US has been exhausted, broken.

Ugh

Have *YOU* had a knockdown drag-out fight with your family lately? Happy Father's Day!!!


How odd it is that this seems to be the only way I learn anything about the babykicker. I admit, sad and pathetic all around.

Soooooooooooooo, this time things began between mom and my "sister" over doggie behavior (poop, pee, etc.) Man, I don't even feel like going into the details. I got involved (Her dog pees and craps in my room), and it was a down hill thrill ride from there. Here are a few choice moments:

Me: "You're a miserable cunt." My personal favorite only because it was the truth. She is a miserable cunt. It's what I really believe. Hmm, that is only one moment. Please, cut me some slack, this fight isn't even 30 minutes old.

Ah, but I did say this is the time when I learn something new about the babykicker. I was quite astounded when she boasted of her talents. To which talents does she speak of? Once upon a time, she was a dancer, a very good one. Then she fucked her life up and did squat. Well, as I said, she boasted of her talents. She was such a good dancer she got accepted to Vanderbilt---she went to Cal Arts and failed out in a semester. And what was the other one? She was a good writer. Really? When did this happen? When does she even write??? She either sleeps or is with her boyfriend. Regardless, I'm not sure if she's even seen anything I've written so I don't know how she can make the comparison.

She's delusional. Seriously. She's trying to win a argument with talents she's thrown in the crapper?

That pretty much sums up my rebuttal too, except....my monitor keeps going on out me.....Was talking to G...I'll return to the fight later.

Radiation Therapy

So my crush is engaged, due to be married in a few months. I found this out last night during JKD. In about ten seconds, I knew what my next blog post would be be about, title included. I was given a huge dose of radiation therapy.

Knowing she will be married soon places another ethical roadblock in my way; it prevents me from cultivating any sort of relationship with her, which in turns prevents me from destroying my relationship with G. Stupidity is radioactive. One blunder becomes two, two becomes three, and then those around you begin to blunder and stumble. Stupidity spreads like the halo at the base of a mushroom cloud.

In this case though the treatment is radioactive too. It burns, god, does it burn. The school girl crazies giggling through my marrow are ground into Saharan dust. I'm sweating the butterfly fever through my hair; she is my first gray hair, my second, and my third. The bush and tangles clumped in my hand, as I stand in a hot shower. Old guilt, a stirring for someone not named G, is replaced by new guilt, fatigue from the crush itself, because I am still left to wonder: Can it still work between us? Is it too late? Am I still losing her? And the sad answer is an emaciated, forlorn yes.

In retrospect, the high school aspect to the experience is complete. Too often I fell for girls because of some intangible thing I saw, a talent, a dreamy kaleidoscope in the center of their chi. My first crush, my VERY first crush--I was 12 or 13 at the time--was a talented actress and an amazing singer. Forgive me for reducing her to a scale, but I honestly couldn't tell you if she were a 7 an 8 a 9 or a 10. I fell for her because of the way she sang: that dizzying, whirling, out of control barf ride at the State Fair, love, was not returned. She just didn't see me that way. It happened again in high school. In my senior year there was this one girl, smart, outgoing, ambitious, confident, brilliant blonde hair. One day, we were talking. It was inside a McDonalds; I was minding my own business, listening to her, impressed, by her focus, everything she wanted to do and be, and my heart started doing backflips and moonsaults, pirouttes and handstands. It was the Olympics, and my ventricles were doing the floor routine. I was surprised by the suddenness of the thing, its divine irrationality, and as before she was not interested.

There are two things she said to me I will never forget: "you treat me like a queen" (intoxicating even as it followed rejection), and "Tigr, honestly, sometimes talking to you is like talking to a brick wall."

I have been kicked in the nuts, I've been pegged in the nuts by a soccer ball, I've been tackled so hard it tingled from my chest through to my extremities. There's been the referred pain of the hips, and the searing, buckling numbness, of being wacked in a large nerve. What she said hurt more, it shamed me; but I couldn't tell her that, I was a wall, she was right.

And college? College. College. College. At this point a descriptive history of my un-love life becomes tedious, redundant, filled with excuses and cynicism. (In other words I don't feel like writing about it). For this crush, it was her boxing. I was impressed by how quickly she absorbed the boxing, she learned to turn with her hook, in comparison to me, a fraction of the time. (the porcelain, Victorian skin of her thighs didn't hurt either) It was off to the races.

To compare G to all of this???? I am stupefied; forget about doing anything, I don't even know what to make of it. I think this is enough for now. I'm sure I'll be revisiting this in the coming weeks.

Nothing specific

I don't have to say here, just felt like I should put forth the effort to file an entry to the readership of none.

Having a crush on someone, and being in a relationship with G doesn't exactly fill me with pride. I feel foolish. On one hand I am fighting to keep my existing relationship going, an ultra marathon through death valley, under the guffaws of a laughing sun; while at the same time, I feel like a goofy high school kid again because I've gone all ballerina twinkle toes for a girl I really don't know that well, who I speak to a couple times of week, who--and I can't emphasize this enough--probably leads an ideological existence in opposition to my own. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

Shouldn't love have a button? What about an emergency brake??? I'd settle for that! I try to remind myself that the shoe was on the other foot not to long ago, that G was the one crushing on someone else, and that I was understanding and believed things would work out for the best. Don't have that sort of faith right now. The human heart is savage in its fickleness, showing no mercy to the raped, the tortured, the humiliated, like God and HIV, it does not discriminate.

Random thought: The story of Job. The trials of Job, were a manifestation of God's love for Job, the whole "where were you when I made the stars" speech was because God didn't think Job would understand how much love could hurt. Probably not, but I'll wager I'm closer to the truth than I know.

The Job Front

I passed that damn insurance licensing examine. Hooray for me. Also, more U of Phoenix "boot camp" this week.

Radar got hosed, man!

My puppy dog has been on the short end of the stick this morning. He was stuck in the crate while I took my parents dogs to the vet for rabies shots. He was quite vocal in his protest. The injustice poured from his throat with all the eloquence of a fat man sitting on a set of bag pipes.

Afterwords, I came home, picked him up, and took all three dogs to the groomer's. I was informed that Petsmart policy stated that dogs had to wait 48 hrs after getting the rabies shots because blah blah blah, but since Radar was good to go I left him there: poor, poor puppy dog.

What I've been up to

Posting on this blog has been sparse, I know, I know, "he's always got an excuse" But in this case I've been trying to establish myself on dailykos, in the hopes of a) making a meaningful contribution to political debate and b)cultivate an audience, one that might be interested in my creative writing as well as my critical output. Dare to dream, I know.

Speaking of daring to dream, that friggin' nerve in my left leg is the in-law from hell. The good news is I can do most of the workouts and train at the dojo, but I can't run on the damn thing without feelin' pain. I will do my best to be patient. After the tournament on July 11, I will go into rehab mode.

Health Notes

Leg continues to improve s l o w l y. Fuckin' thing still hurts.

But on a positive note, I set new personal bests in my crossfit workout yesterday.
I did Lynne: 5 sets of max reps body-weight bench and max reps pull ups. ON the first set I achieved personal bests on both. 18 reps of 135 lbs bench press/25 pull ups.

I miss the drive-in: conspicuous consumption

Another thing, I've been thinking about texting in movie theaters. I've always hated it, never understood how anyone could be that inconsiderate, to be lacking in common sense and empathy to the degree which they couldn't understand how texting fucks up the movie going experience for other patrons. My answer came in the form of a question. Maybe they DO understand? Perhaps the point here is THEY WANT TO BE SEEN. It's another form of conspicuous consumption. It's blue toothed douche-baggery, a kind of asshole double jeopardy. If no one asks them to do anything then they get to enjoy the performance of texting AND being an unchecked dickhead. If someone does ask, then the texter wins acknowledgment that HE has a cellphone, that he knows how to text, that HE is technologically adept, and that he has the disposable income to afford texting. I think I'm on to something here, but I'm not sure if "asshole double jeopardy" is best descriptor (although I love the sound of it.) Yeah, yeah I'm sure someone else came to this revelation before I did, but god damn, I'm not the last, and if this is true, then the best way to handle these movie-molesting philistines can be extrapolated from the true cause. Fuck those guys. I want to make THEIR movie going experience as miserable as possible.

I miss the drive-in 2

So I've been thinking. You know, I was a bit scared to ask that guy to stop texting, and I was definitely scared when I was stuck with him for the rest of the movie. I felt guilty, not just because I hadn't meant for it to become a production. I felt guilty because I didn't ask him in the first place, even though I knew my past history in movie theaters made it a dangerous proposition. I feared losing control of both myself and the situation. And to a degree I DID lose control of the situation. I was stuck! I couldn't leave the theater, or at least I didn't feel as if I could leave the theater upon a perceived threat of violence. You'd think my training would instill confidence. It didn't, perhaps if the situation had turned violent I would have remained calm, but that is speculation. What my training did was make me aware of the potential for violence and the consequences of violence. So it's not as if my training failed, I kept myself out of a compromising position and yet I still felt COMPROMISED. I'm not sure what all this means. Sifu would say my avoidance of conflict was a victory in itself: I didn't get hit; I didn't get hurt; therefore, I didn't lose a fight. And I agree. It's just...I don't know. This incident pushed my buttons. Is it a gender thing? As a male there is pressure for me to solve conflicts aggressively? Maybe the trauma has created an extra incentive to solve my conflicts with the grace and skill of a caveman, but my movie theater blow ups happened before I was tortured and I've ALWAYS been a bit shy. Ugh!

I miss the drive-in

Had a sour movie going experience Friday. I went to see The Hangover with a friend....No, that's not why it sucked. THe movie itself was alright. I was caugt off guard by the Danzig song in the opening credits but that is neither here nor there.

The black guy to my left started texting during the trailers, that was annoying but I let it slide. Then the fucker kept doing it for a good 20 min straight into the movie. I'm not good with confrontation; I consider myself to be shy, but when it comes to movie theaters---how do I put this?--there were two occasions were I lost it. I mean I just flipped out and did some serious screaming. That's not how I want to conduct myself, I don't even want to risk it, so I left the theater and complained to a manager, who was SUPPOSED to wait and not follow me in immediately. He waited all of 5 seconds. Sigh. The texting stopped. Then the guy next to me said "You could have just asked me blah blah blah" to which I replied "I find there is no polite way to do it," which in my case has served as a true statement.

Then the usher asked the dude to leave. I hadn't anticipated that. He was gone for about 5 min, then he returned. During the interval, I was unsure if HIS friend had made a threat to me or was just talking at the screen.

I felt bad about the guy leaving. I wasn't trying to get him kicked out, but when he returned? Dude! Why even bother?? That just makes it really uncomfortable and awkward, and I was getting a little scared and started wargaming my best defense to a two on one assault. Grapple? Or go for the eyes. Best to keep it standing, avoid th throat if possible, cross fingers hope they didn't have weapons. Their being 2 black males in a dark room reminded me of the rape. I wasn't going PTSD, but this must have been one of the hundreds of hell dimensions from the Buffyverse.

If I had been sitting on the end I would have left. I was miserable, but actually leaving meant crossing between two men I didn't know or trust so I stayed put and hoped that when the lights went up they would just leave. Luckily, they did. My friend downplayed the incident, but said something to the manager about his lack of timing. I just wanted to go home and hug Radar and bask in his grunts and shovel-heads.

God damn, I miss that drive-in.

p.s--Could have asked him?? There was a sign outside saying texting was a no-no.

Whew!

Leg is improving. No longer hobbling like Peg-Leg Pete.

State of the body: dumb luck (?) edition

Monday night. Grapple time. Fun time. Happy time for all. Oh yeah, and I banged up my left leg. The damn thing was a magnet for damage. I didn't have my gi pants for judo. I took a fall. The landing kinda stung, but I got over it. Later, as we did a roll warm up in grappling, I was paired with a tenth grader, a 282 lbs tenth grader. Lots of energy. New. Enthusiastic. Reckless. He is the StayPuft Marshmallow Man of newbies. He's demonstrated a disturbing habit for improv, which is good for artists, but not good for young grapplers playing with LEGLOCKS. He was locking me with...his weight, I don't know how to describe it, reminiscent of the "Brock Lock" Lesnar used during his WWE run. I tapped fast, very fast. I thought I tapped before he did real damage. Truly, Staypuft is the most dangerous guy on the floor.

Despite a nasty bump and a goofy, but unpredictable neophyte, my leg appeared to be a-okay. It was time for someone safer. I was paired with another heavyweight, a guy with several MMA fights to his credit, to work some half-guard escapes. His ankle casually bumped the large nerve running past the knee.

And that was all she wrote. It's Wednesday and I'm still limping. Could take over a week before I'm walkin' right again. By which point I'm supposed to have a large, black eye style, bruise. Thank God I know how to swim.

Tristero Quote

"It is those of us who oppose the banning of abortion who always hold the moral high ground, and not only when one of the pro-coat hanger crowd murders a health provider."


Damn right.

In the land of baby killers (a rant)

So one Dr. Tiller of Wichita, Kansas was murdered yesterday. Assassinated inside the halls of his own church. His "crime" was providing late term abortions. If it isn't gun nuts it's anti-choice wackaloons. Notice how well they complement each other.

Again, maybe this is me speaking ignorantly on matters of the law, but I thought good laws were equal in distribution and impact. Good laws make life better for everyone, or at least the maximum number of people possible. That the unrestricted free-flow of guns greases the wheels of extremist behavior is neither shocking nor much of a revelation.; nevertheless. the continued inaction, the cowering at the feet of the aggressive ignorant sickens me. For years I've listened to assholes beat their chests: question the war effort? Traitor! Demand the return of our troops? Dirty fuckin'liberal! Decry torture in all its forms? Go to Canada you terrorist loving hippie!

Yet how quickly they change their tune. Not even a year into the term of President Moderate they are ready to secede, and commit terrorists attacks against follow citizens. But I'm not saying anything new, if you haven't heard these conclusions already you must be oblivious by nature.

But they are terrorists, domestic terrorists, who've gotten away with, literally, murder. So when do we call them on it? When do we point our fingers and call a spade a spade? I've already started. You shoot up a high school you're a terrorist. You assassinate doctors , you're a terrorist.

In the case of the latter they love to run their mouths about God and morals and hellfire.

Tiller. Murdered in a church. There is no holy ground. Only convenience.

What is it like to live this way? To hate modernity, to spit at the words "absolute relativism" yet become absolutely relative when it comes to the big ten? Relativism in support of absolutism, terrorism, authoritarianism.

I am disgusted, because this will happen all over again.

General State of Things

Did some side-control drills last night. I managed to recover guard on everyone, and all but one---I believe--was unable to recover on me. Not bad.

God, as much as I hate work, I'll be pleased to be generating income again. I need to move out of this house. Away from my father, away from the babykicker, and away from my neat freak mom (the only member of the family whom I have a good relationship with).

I'm sleeping in a little too long most days, and any behavior that is even vaguely comparable to the babykicker's makes me a bit neurotic and self-conscious.

I just returned from a lifting and swimming workout. I feel good, energized...I also have too much Endorush in my system. I may go to the dojo later and get another crossfit workout in. I really don't want to be up all night because of some damn energy drink.

I submitted a few poems to an online lit mag, I know the ed. in chief, although we haven't talked in a few years. I'm hoping that, even if rejected, she can give me some advice on what to do with the material. (I've been toying with showing these poems to my girlfriend for the last few months, but I've been reticent to do so because they are about our shared trauma, and how I/we've been affected. I'm scared of her response. I showed her a PS statement I wrote a couple years ago and, er. she took it the wrong way. This is a trust thing. And I wonder if, in order to--and I feel like a self-help book saying this--work through the trauma I need to do this, consequences be damned. This strikes me as peculiarly analogous do the decision people make after they've cheated on a lover. Do you confess or do you bury it? There's no telling what will happen, there isn't even a guarantee that it will be beneficial on an individual if you tell the truth. Hmm, that's interesting. Do I believe I am engaging in a deception by not showing her the poems?)

I'll say this for Endorush, it ain't a bad motivator for writing, but don't tell anyone it can focus the left brain, that's the purview of evil S L O W drugs like pot. Then again, maybe it's a good idea most writer's DON'T try Endorush for creative purposes. That's all the world needs, a bunch of writers hopped up on uppers. So instead of dealing with a bunch who are largely prone to suicide and drink, you'd have a bunch prone to suicide and pep. They'd get around to killing themselves much faster cutting their work out put in half, that or they'd merely do the same work in half the time.

JKD curriculum

Had a discussion with Sifu about the path beyond yellow belt. Didn't say much I didn't expect. From a pedagogical stand point, JKD is a bitch to teach because it favors breadth of knowledge over specialization. This includes street and weapons applications; moreover, it is concerned about the interactions amongst various strategies grappling, sparring, striking, and the previously mentioned. For green this can be broken down into ratios, but the higher you go, supposedly, the trickier it gets. Personally, I think the system should have majors and minors ala academia. Sifu fears this will lead to over-specialization. I don't because the JKD base skill set is striking, as long as attendance in phase 1 is compounded by regular/semi regular attendance in phase 2, as well as the study of a third strategy there is little fear of over-specialization. Not to mention, anyone willing to do all of this in the first place is committed to the long haul.

What is problematic for me currently is juggling all the damn classes. Grappling is now 7:30 on tues/thurs This is the same time JKD 2 meets. Jumping between the 2 classes is wacky enough, but what happens come Dec and I decide to pull the trigger on MMA? --The MMA classes btw, are also tues/thurs at 7:30. Argh! And I don't even wanna think about Wing Chung. IF that stands as a JKD req I am gonna be pretty fucked. Grrr.

As an addendum to our discussion I'm gonna ask him about making the triple punch part of the 1 curriculum.

Side note: Last night we ran the gauntlet in grappling. It was strange none of the pros or more experienced guys were there, except Sihing. I was the smallest, followed by that promising wrestler in the 140s, another guy was in the 150s, Sihing is 170, and then a 282 lbs-er built like a squat version of the Stay-pufft Marshmallow Man. I went first and thought those 2 min rounds were gonna kill me (Taking the now ultra hard fitness kb class probably didn't help. It's funny, the rounds are shorter in a gauntlet, and the over all time isn't significantly different from standard rolls, but there's just something about taking on a fresh person coupled with the fact you are being watched. Yes, I think there is a strong psychological motivator involved.

Brain Mush

Was studying for an insurance licensure exam. My brain is mush. It's frustrating, sometimes a meer two hours of this stuff does me in.

Officially passed JKD test. I'm a 2 stripe yellow belt. Sifu indicated 2 stripe yellow belts have seen the breadth of the level 1 course. I thought it was supposed to take us to green (?) Have to ask him about what the deal is with the curriculum.

Bad news, Good news

I'm not pleased with the spotty posting. Seems every proclamation to regularly scheduled program guarantees 5 to 7 days of silence. So no more proclamations, just determination.

Sigh, so where to begin. Bad News first of course. My father has--
I don't even know what to write. No, I know what to write, but I am enervated. Drained of the energy to write about his whiz bang cherry-banana split of hubris, stupidity, and what is either stubbornness or senility.

He had to send a letter to Federal Court in Texas. He doesn't mention this to anyone, doesn't write the letter, until he's eating dinner with mom the night before it's due. There's more to arc of the story. It isn't worth reciting. The letter didn't make it. Not even close.

More bad news: still seem to be nursing a crush. This has exacerbated a sense of impending doom. That my relationship with G is in waning moments. When I'm with my girlfriend I feel more sad than happy, more agitated and angry than excited. We spent memorial day weekend at the beach house. We had fun. Visited a few of her friends. Spent time on the beach, even went to a drive-in (holy ground as far as I'm concerned). But I snapped at her a few times. Once I even felt the need lash out at her physically. I cannot endure our relationship this way, regardless of whether we're living together or long distance. The only thing worse than the fear of hitting her, is actually hitting her. What would I do then? That rabbit hole is not worth the tumble.

There's been talk of her getting a promotion again. One she richly deserves, but I'm afraid it will be our death knell. She will have no incentive to move, regardless of when she finishes her M.A. I can't go back there, I can't live in Florida, the town of our prime years is tinted by rape and anger and stasis.
As I say this I want to make it clear I have no indication that Chastity likes me; in fact I highly doubt it, even if she did I balk at the potential incompatibilities. She's probably evangelical, I'm coo-coo bananas, and a horny, low tolerance for organized religion coo-coo bananas.

Good news:
I've unlocked the secret of the upper-cut. I won't go so far as to say I've MASTERED the damn thing, but I'm finally punching with my whole body. Not just my arms, not just my legs, not my arms and legs, but my arms legs and CORE.
Drop with the legs, twist the core on a descending diagonal, rise up with legs and core,let the arm poke up just a bit past nose level. Also I took my 2-stripe yellow belt test Thursday, unless I really botched the vocab section, I should have passed.

Money lost, trust destroyed

Remember that legal settlement? The one that put money into my anemic bank account?
(I haven't written about this because I've been too damn angry) It went poof. All of it (that was in checking and savings) As did all the money in my personal accounts. As did all the money in my mom's personal accounts.

I have my father to thank for this. The Practice was involved with an Infusion Company, and papi has gone out of his way to make grossly stupid decisions made with astonishing hubris and aggressive ignorance--he was told repeatedly these were horrible decisions/actions and did them nonetheless. In list form because a narrative would take me a week:

1. Signed a contract without having a lawyer read it: shockingly, they screwed the practice out of money.
2. Resigned contract.
3. When practice was in financial trouble, money was borrowed from Infusion company,
shortly after, he broke ties, all hell breaks loose.
4. Refuses to mediate. Even though he is in a position of weakness (through his legal bungling) and has the resources to meet a settlement that is LESS than 6 figures.
5. Infusion company's legal rep sent letter. The good doctor responded to it personally, instead of handing it over to a lawyer and letting him deal with it.
6. Even though he transferred some of his money into my NEW accounts, (a process that took 8 days) he has shown little interest in mediation to retrieve our money.
Nor does he seem particularly concerned that the Infusion Company is beating its chest about sending mom to jail. He would rather try and sue them for what he believes he is owed (ethically he might have had a point, but he SIGNED CONTRACTS..see point 1. Yes, there are ways out of contracts, but legal advice procured after the fact showed that document was ironclad then, doubtful it would have changed).

I am appalled by this serious violation of trust, I remain unconvinced that he feels any way responsible for this. In fact, I'm worried he'll turn around and try to sue HIS lawyer. In his mind this is about HIM, not the practice, not me, not mom, not the employees. Stupidity is radioactive, and my father is fuckin' Chernobyl.

PS. --how can such astute physician be so goddamned self destructive when it comes to everything else??

PSS--the process by which said Infusion Company pulled off this vicious little shit-ball coo is called "piercing the corporate veil". When personal assets are closely tied to business assets, a corp can petition to go after 'em.

Unhappy with general state of things

I feel a seething rage, pre-verbal, sneering. It flails on a straight line.

The word "fantasy" makes me cringe

I delight in the idea of convincing her to remove the chastity ring and hand it to me. I would gloat, "I've taken your chastity," yes, even though its just symbolic.
I'd give the ring back of course, that would be, at best, bitter sweet.

Random Stuff

So this girl, the one with the chastity ring, the one that gives me the school girl crazies, the big bad butterfly fever, the puppy dog mumbles--all of which are symptoms of the hyperbolic verbosity disorder--I noticed she wears stud earrings (I think that's what they are called: simple metal rods with a silver bead at each end. This strikes me as funny, subversive, and possibly grounds for a paradox in the time space continuum. I associate such baubles with pierced lips, prince alberts, and other kinds of genital, heavy metal accessories. In short, they're tools of the bad girl trade, not a demarcation of the Fine Upstanding Evangelical (I have no idea what moral/ethical code she follows, but a chastity or promise ring usually indicates evangelical christian). I don't have much else to say about the issue, other than I hope my girlfriend NEVER EVER reads these entries. And if she does, I hope she remembers the patience and understanding I showed her when the tables were reversed 0:)
(Is that first sentence even close to being grammatically correct??)

Speaking of JKD, Tuesday, Sifu informed the class of my grappling success, praised my development, and stated that if they need help with the grappling portion of the level 2 test I was the one to ask for help. Oh, he also said my grappling was "good" I appreciated the praise and recognition, but I wouldn't call my grappling good...not yet.

Tournament

Saturday's grappling tournament went...well. Despite fears over not winning anything, I had six matches and won three. In the 149 lbs and under no-gi I won my first match in over time (standard time is 6 min) by way of superior position (5 sec rule). I lost the 2nd match to a friggin' teen who was good off his back. (I still should have won it, I got jump guarded for christ's sakes) and then I beat a team mate--a wrestler with no submission exp--for third place. I then wandered over to the Master's No-Gi and fought a couple of ogres. (They outweighed my by at least 40 lbs). I won the first by modified rear naked and lost the 2nd. Both matches were just brutal, my conditioning is good, but apparently still has a ways to go. I placed 2nd in 149 lbs and under. I was tired and made mental errors, I didn't focus, I didn't really want to be there, I was thinking about, ironically, the Master's Gi division I would miss because I was coaching kids. Oh well.

Conditioning

Will be reevaluating my conditioning after the tournament. I feel tired, more so than I should be in my opinion. The now progressively challenging fitness kickboxing has something to do with it. Need to change the days and timing of my crossfit sessions.

Yellow Belt, 1 stripe

I officially passed the test or "progress check" as Sifu ruefully calls them. I noted it was ironic that our belts were imports, straight off the back of a boat from china, and our stripes were just generic black tape. Then again, generic black tape probably comes from China anyway.


Sifu stated would become more comprehensive in nature, which I take to mean longer and more involved. Since we will be learning more Thai concepts--basic thai kick, knees, clinch--this is unsurprising. We can also expect thai-like test components, 60kicks/45knees in a given time frame kinda thing.

The Job Front

My teaching days may be over. I thought the advantage of adjuncts for the machine was that we were cheap and disposable. Apparently I was only half right, we're certainly disposable. I subbed a few weeks this semester. My one section in the summer was yanked for low enrollment. Meanwhile, faculty are seeing a 20% increase in their course loads.

My decision to take a sales job appears timely, but first I have the distinct misfortune of paying $315 take a week long insurance licensing course. That starts next week. I'm really hoping this pans out. I'd like to say, for once, that I'm not struggling financially and I'm being paid what I'm worth. We'll see.

I'm a fickle 12 year old girl

I've spent the last few weeks having doubts about my relationship with G. It never seems like I give enough, sometimes I feel like I'm stuck in a love triangle; she sees the martial arts as competition. This isn't counting all the ways I feel guilty, all the ways I think I'm failing at the relationship. How can she feel needed/loved when we spend most of the time apart? It's a fair complaint.

So with all this going on I've found myself, er, infatuated by a couple of girls in the dojo. I haven't flirted; I haven't done anything out of the ordinary (that I know of). Thinking about them makes me a little goo goo ga ga. But I experience the attraction differently for both. For one, the attraction feels intellectual, the ole "Ah, this person could understand me" She has traveled further down the martial path than I have, and has born the sacrifices of that decision.

The other is a neophyte, but impressed me with the alacrity she picked up the basic boxing techniques. She is a music teacher, classical guitar.

Sound like a 12 year old girl yet? If I don't I'd love to hear your definition of a fickle teenager.

After JKD, I asked her about a ring she was wearing. I felt foolish enough having a crush on this girl, so much so the idea of having the puppy dog syndrome over a married woman a bit embarrassing. Simultaneously, I HOPED it was a wedding band, that a cold hard smack of reality would whiplash me of the daze.
She showed me the ring. It had engravings.
"It's a chastity ring"
The cold hard smack of reality by way of a wet towel across my bare ass.
My infatuation was muted, but still there.

Anti-Climax 2

The Judo Tournament. I didn't have out sized expectations going in. Having a very small training pool has been a detriment and a reason for competing in the first place.
That being said, there was a lot of bad, some crazy, and a faint glimmer of hope.

The bad: I haven't been to a lot of tournaments, but as far as management and structure are concerned this was clearly the worst. The refs were fine (if maybe a bit too generous with the iponns (sp?)). It was those damn tables. There were a whole lotta kids and plenty of adults. The kids got both rings for the first hour or two. But a disturbing pattern began here and carried right through all the adult divisions. They never announced the brackets by age, weight, or belt, or beginner/advanced. Nope, why do that when you can just shout out names in a noisy hanger crowded with parents and kids? I found this particularly irritating with the adults because no one established any order at all to the adult divisions and when which was going. Fuck that! We don't want to give anyone time to warm up; in fact, it is a time honored tradition in judo to keep you cold AND punish you with the boredom of waiting. I waited around 6 hrs to have my first match...in a two person division. They coulda had us go first or early or ..something, anything. Instead,

The crazy: so I wait 6 hrs and notice my opponent is wearing a black belt. I thought "there's no way he's a black belt, surely, this must be a fatal flaw in the judo game of Different gis/Change belt colors Dance Dance Revolution. (My judo instructor would later say "If he was wearing a black belt, that means he's a black belt). I got SMOKED. As in the match couldn't have been more than 10 seconds SMOKED. Lucky for me this was a double elimination tournament, in which I'd fight the very same black belt all over again. But before I did that, I somehow wound up in an entirely different bracket, the light middleweight bracket (170 lbs). The result was the same: SMOKED. Slap a no smoking sign on my gi before I die of cancer.

I was determined to last more than 10 seconds. When I got my rematch with the black belt I made a crummy attempt at a sacrifice throw and turned it into a grappling contest/ I lasted significantly longer but he still managed to beat me with a throw. Honestly, I think I could have taken him in a straight grappling match. I feel the same way against my other opponent, who I AGAIN lost to by way of double elimination.

the good: Uh...Shallow learning curve? adapted after rough losses and left the building with my ego intact. I know what skills I have to work on. Turns out its astonishingly easy to grab the legs of someone whose 5 ft 4 and a half/135 lbs and slam him. SO yeah, slamming defense will be a biggie in judo.

PS the 170 expressed guilt about our matches, didn't think it was fair. I told him it was ok. I'm used to unfair matches.

Anti-Climax

So the long winding path to this spring's submission grappling tournament seem to be lacking in momentum: no drama or melodrama because I've been busy trying to secure work, coupled with the banality of training, no that it hasn't had its moments (this is also why my return to blogging was short lived.) How anticlimactic is it? The tournament is this Saturday, and I haven't said one thing about it in weeks. I've been much more concerned with

a) Getting the aforementioned job
b) Making actual progress in JKD--we had a yellow sash (1 stripe) "progress check"
c) the judo tournament yesterday (Sunday)
d) behaving like a fickle 12 year old girl (getting its own post)

BJJ itself is going fine, I suppose. We've started implementing the Carlos Machado curriculum, and I know 3 ways to do a basic sweep, and quite frankly, I wouldn't mind knowing two more.

JKD Make up Test

Was baffling in it's laid back easy going tone, such is the way of Saturday mornings I suppose. I'm not complaining. (I see the fitness requirements as nuisances, not goals.) Sifu even said we passed the test, which he would never do during the week. He'd make us wait. I'm officially a yellow belt now.

Afterwords I had the opportunity to jaw bone with the Thai black belt. She's an administrator for a children's home. I asked her about her job and its unique hardships. Once, she held a meeting where a mother told the child that she couldn't be her mother anymore and was signing the child over to the state. Thai had to restrain the child.

Another story: As Thai was heading to her car one day she saw a teen who appeared to be making a break for it. Thai chased her down. There was a struggle, and Thai believed the teen was trying to throw herself in traffic. Help arrived. Later, when asked why she was trying to kill herself the teen replied "But I wasn't, I was trying to kill you, Thai." "Why?" "To see how much you loved me.".........................................................................................................................
.............Now that is some serious bat-shit crazy. My head blew a fuse when she said that.

Performing the job she has takes both tremendous empathy and ..a..a..a kind of discipline I don't have a word for, "resolve" perhaps?
And she's divorced. And she has twins. Me? Ask me where my car keys are? If I get that on a first try then I am having one tremendously yellow brick road musical of a day.

Note: Thai has to depend on orderlies in many confrontational situations. Ethical codes of her profession prevent her from using most of her techniques or she'll risk losing her license.

Yeah Yeah Yeah

Posting not quite so regular as intended, been trying to get a job, train, etc....

Fitness Kickboxing...to the death!

Most of the time in Fitness Kickboxing and JKD 1, I'm one of the more advanced students when it comes to basic boxing. I spend a lot of time working on THEIR form and their feeding technique. But not last night.

There is a girl--she has twins, is "girl" a wee bit condescending??--who comes to the dojo in spurts. She happens to have great legs, a friendly disposition, and a black belt in Muy Thai. Her smile is arresting. Big and honest, she has one tooth in the front row that juts at a precarious angle. Is it a simple renegade tooth making trouble for her brothers and sisters or the result of something vicious, a punch she had for breakfast early in her training or an oopsie, a clutsy mistake we all make, like walking into a pole or it could be the scar of her own personal trauma. The smart money is on the knuckle sandwich.
She-- Oh that's right, she's not JUST a black belt, she passed an instructor level examination. Regardless, I haven't worked with her in at least nine months. When it comes to feeding, it's pretty easy to sit on your heels, get a little too comfortable with beginners. Not with her, I was fighting for my life. She wasn't out to kill me, she's just that good. She has speed, she has intent, and she seemed to lean forward a little.
I couldn't tell if that's what she was doing or the way she carried her head, I was too preoccupied with not getting hit! In fact, during one of the two other times I've fed for her she whacked me twice, once in the eye, once in the mouth. This made me feel tentative. I grabbed my mouth guard at the first opportunity.
"Mouth-guard? You don't trust me?"
"No." And no disrespect was intended, just the opposite. Her punches are straight, and if you ain't ready you will get popped. Despite being a little scared--scared of a girl yes, I admit it--I want to work with her again. She pushed me from both directions, and offered the occasional constructive criticism.
"When you bob and weave, look at my chest." Now there's something you won't hear a woman say very often. I kept this observation to myself.

They go boom 3

I find it interesting that most of the perps in this month's rage-a-palooza had gun permits. What is the procedure for the renewal of a gun permit. How often does one need to renew it? Have these permits helped law enforcement in anyway? (after the fact at least, they've proven impotent as preventative measures)

There are a whole lotta tough questions to ask and no one wants to ask 'em. There isn't a gun debate. There's only a sideshow of horrors followed by mass disavowal, a few tepid calls for reason, and then nothing. Nothing at all until the next heartbreak.

Someone please make the badman stop.

PS--
there are two books on school shootings I'd really love to read:
Columbine (written over a 10 year period by a journalist with roots in Littleton)
and Why They Kill, a text heavy on criminology and the patterns and aberrations that propel someone to think of mass murder as the logical thing to do.

The puppy takes no prisoners

Poor Radar. A demon has crawled up his anus with the goal of turning his butt into an honest to God environmental disaster. He''s had--I believe the phrase is---the squirts most of the day, punctuated with a puke, about an hour ago. Radar barf is particularly troublesome, not because it's super chunky or hard to clean, just that it usually reminds me of the Orange Julius drinks I had as a child. A fuzzy childhood memory turned into dog vomit. Yum!

Poor guy even whined a little when he puked. This is the 2nd time in two weeks he's had tummy trouble. As far as I know he's only eating dog food....as far as I know.

They go boom 2

In the end, after most of the shoddy rhetoric has been kicked to the cub, you're left with the 2nd Amendment. I'm not gonna bother quoting it, but the debate itself revolves who the amendment says has the right to bear arms, the nature of the arms, and how that right is fulfilled. I'm sure there's more, much more, than those three issues, but these are ubiquitous.

How you read the 2nd Amendment is often determined by judicial philosophy--at least for judges and lawyer types. As for me, when it comes down to it, I just don't see how regulation infringes upon one's 2nd Amendment rights. Nor do I see how banning particular kinds of guns does this, when citizens still can make a purchase from a wide variety of legal fire arms. I don't understand why the process of owning a gun isn't like the process of acquiring a driver's license. You begin to learn, then you get a permit, you learn some more, then you get a license. This would foster responsible gun ownership and emphasize the point that a gun isn't magic, it's a powerful tool, and owning one means understanding what it can do. Yet, if I suggested this on a right wing blog I'd be tarred and feathered. I'm a genuine survivor of sexual violence and torture, which was facilitated by the fact our attackers were armed with guns, and I STILL can't relate to the paranoia some gun owners feel about home invasions and robbers and blah blah blah. It doesn't matter how many lives are ruined, snuffed out all hail the holy gun. Sigh.

They go boom

Nasty weekend. Not for me personally, but there were several mas murders this weekend. Several. As in more than one.

I hate guns. I really do. Before the incident I vacillated between frustration and surrender with gun laws. Then the West Virginia massacre happened...then the rape, torture, assault extravaganza of G and Me pretty much entrenched the idea of gun control within my own system of ethics.

I spent a chunk of time this weekend reading articles about the different mass murders: the Asian immigrant who lost his shit, the death of several police officers by a Neo Nazi twat, and the suicide/homicide of a man who shot his children and himself after discovering his wife was leaving him. This is the slow burn of sudden madness. Each case was really a culmination of disturbing behavior and hard economic times.

These incidents have renewed debate over the efficacy and necessity of gun laws. I've looked at dailykos blogs and comments, the comment section of whatever article I'd read, and I tried to take a step back from the articles themselves, look for patterns of...whatever meme, myth, or political stripe.

Just a few observations about the "pro-gun" rhetoric. These are paraphrases:

1. Guns don't kill people. Poeple kill people.
2. Guns are a tool
3. Cars kill more people than guns.
4. It's mostly gangs killing each other (haven't heard this one in a while)
5. 2nd Ammendment. Nanny nanny boo boo.

I'm sure there are more but I wanted to focus on these in particular. Within the rhetorical matrix, a major strategy by NRA types (and some moderates) is to diminish the role of the gun. After all there are lots of things that kill more people than guns" cars, planes, cancer, AIDs, cancer of the AIDs, and AIDs cancer. (In respect to cars I'm not convinced, but for the sake of argument I'll accept it). All of this might be true. It is also true that guns are a tool, if one says guns are inherently evil you could be construed as engaging in puritanical evil: objects, have no souls or intellects, cannot make decisions, etc. And gangs?? I think that's racist b.s nonetheless the function is to diminish the role of the gun.

So here's my problem with this line of reasoning. A gun has one function: to kill.
The sloganeering of the NRA is specious at best. A gun isn't designed to make donuts or change the tv channel from ESPN to Bravo. Nor is it intended as a nonlethal deterrent, that is at best a secondary, and more realistically a tertiary ability, once you factor in the fragility of human flesh and the unpredictable nature of bullets. (The real secondary attribute is intimidation, fear of death).
Yes, there are things that take more lives than guns, this is because a) they are simply more effective at killing (nuclear bomb, AIDs) or b) their ability to kill is the ole law of unintended consequences (cars).

Cars may kill a lot of people, but we have preventative measures ranging from seat belts and airbags, to that magical thing called a driver's license, which certifies a base level of competency--physical and mental-- while assisting law enforcement in holding drivers accountable.

And yet guns remain a highly effective means of killing with no real system of checks and balances behind them. 50% of all guns sales occur at gun shows which manage to circumvent all federal regulation---more than one high school shooter has purchased firearms at these events.

Getting close to dojo time, think the next time I write about guns the topic will be the 2nd Amendment.

Back to normal

Regular posting to commence tomorrow.

Light Posting

for the next few days, decided to take care of a few things, like read.

You know what I haven't done in a while...

Read a book. My brain is saying I have to read one right NOW. Seriously

Not pleased

Tentative Summer teaching schedule is one ten week course that meets in the evening, finishing just late enough to completely wreck two nights of dojo training. Grrrr. Turning my request form in early apparently counted for sweet fuck all. Better start looking for an employment plan B. Excuse me while I go brood in a corner.

Facing facts

If I don’t get accepted into am MFA program this year, then what? One of my recommenders is retired, out of the teaching game, out of the recommending game. And I begin to bore with this dance. I have to confess, renewed interest in pursuing an MFA has not wiped away old misgivings. The stuffiness of the ivory tower and the strange authoritarian disposition of some workshops makes me leary. My portfolio is essentially superhero poetry, fanboy inspired trauma writing. The academy tolerates biographic writing, autobiography, semi-autobiography, “literary” fiction, and “magical” realism. Those quotations connotate dubious skepticism: magical realism means something can appear to evoke fantasy without being fantasy—that or a fairy tale. In such case it must evoke a fairy tale rhythm, while maintaining a Marquez-ian posture. (I’m not knocking him as a writer, just sayin’) And literary fiction? I still don’t know what that means? Anti-genre? Whatever a selection committee likes so they may maintain a highbrow aesthetic? In the end, whatever it is, literary fiction is just another genre, one that is supposed to place a high emphasis on technical skill as supposed to plot driven story-telling…or something like that. As I said, I’m not 100% certain what it is anymore, but I think it’s become more vice than virtue.

Yup, I wrote about superheroes, and I crammed that thing with all kind of allusions that most committee members are not going to get. So much so that I decided to add footnotes! Shit, I look at the lit mags and e-zines, and I don’t have the faintest clue where I’d send this stuff. Does Patton Oswalt read poetry?? Because when I try to conjure up a receptive audience, one that might like what I’ve written, he’s what comes to mind.

Practice

Lately, I've felt impervious, I mean my ego has been impervious, to the tap-outs and the fuck ups and the overwhelming weight and strength and speed of my contemporaries, just another day at the office. This isn't to say I've burned out or don't care anymore, far from it, I'm handling defeat better. I haven't needed to feed off little victories the way I used to. They are still there, a slow improvement in movement,near competency with a couple of sweeps (basic, kimora), and a sense of...flow is beginning to emerge. Now if we had a true technique class I think it would emerge faster, but hey, I'm making the best of what I've got.

Off to JKD soon.

Verbal haymaker in the middle of the night

We were IMing. Things were going fine. We were talking of ice cream cakes and the beach house, the upcoming summer. This conversation made sense, I was happy, I thought she was happy. "It really hurts when I visit and you brush me off for the martial arts. You do a lot of that hurt me sometimes" I did not how to respond, I would not do so for several hours. Every possible answer sounded snide and cruel.

So I emailed her around 3 am. I asked the thing that scares me, the trigger that could end us, the question I didn't dare ask even here:

"If I cause you such constant pain and suffering, why are you still with me?"

She responded with an apology and stress over her thesis, but is that a true answer or a generalized response, an unmeaning evasion?

I cannot escape the accusation of betrayal and failure. I try to offer what I can, but it is never enough. The more I give, the less, it seems, it's worth.

Angst Overload

I am going to die alone, unpublished, insignificant.

Desire with teeth

The way we fuck is changing. It’s because of the rape, the torture, because of the strain of seeing each other 72 hours out of a month. I fear we are hurtling towards some grandiose rape fantasy where I where a black mask and break into the house and she screams and begs as I pretend to rape her. This is not unexpected; we’re not entirely unprepared. Fear is sexualized, traumas are sexualized. It’s a coping mechanism.

Rape victims developing rape fantasies or people in fear of rape, in awe of rape, needing the power of rape, cluster in little fetish subcultures where they play the rape game, the mighty magic safe word game. But I resent this coping mechanism. It has been thrust upon us. We had no say.
There are all sorts of maxims concerning the things people have no power over. "The two certainties in life are death and taxes". "You can choose your friends, but you can’t choose your family". "Life is a bitch, and the bitch is in heat". So now, to this list, do I have to add rape as sexual fetish. "All sex after rape is a desire for rape"??
Great wonderful, I’m sure the six year old version of me will be ecstatic to know he will graduate from the playground world of Transformers, He-Man, and other assorted branded kids’ fantasies to the wonderful world of Let’s Rape Julie! I have to explain rape to him first, which means I have to explain sex, but since the universe momentarily implodes to eliminate the paradox of meeting oneself at a different point in time this is all moot, or we’re trapped in a time bubble, a Donnie Darko scenario, and I’m perfoming this Moebius song and dance for the rest of eternity

It feels like I already have.

Future Sifu?

On Friday one of the Sifus--call him Sifu Shellshock--approached me about becoming an instructor, noting my pursuit of a broad based skill set and a short handed staff (I'm sure my teaching experience also makes me an attractive candidate). I'd love to teach for the dojo, but since my current status is King of the White Belts, there's not much I'm really qualified to teach. Guess I'd be playing junior instructor for quite some time. (But I do daydream a lot about establishing a true bjj technique class. Then again, I don't see why I couldn't teach a fitness kickboxing class or get a Crossfit cert and teach a straight conditioning class.

Would I be paid? Any extra cash is good cash.

King of the Whitebelts Forever

There was a test, an actual by god test, in JKD last week. New Year, new system, actual monthly tests. I didn't feel any real pressure for most of the test (except when Sifu did the feeding, mostly because it didn't even test up to the yellow belt level, so once again I am a two striped white belt in JKD, but I'm clearly the best boxer of all the white belts. Presumably, I'll be doing a yellow belt test at the end of this month. There is a good chance, I may make green belt by end of the year.

In Judo I'm moving towards my blue belt (white>>green>>blue). I'm in no rush right now to test; I think a lack of randori has hurt my development, and only having one guy who is over 6 ft has given me a few bad habits I have to correct. The good news here is we;re now trying to get in an hour of judo on Mondays and Fridays (I have this dream where one day practice will consists of more than me and the judo brown belt). I'm going to attend a judo camp in the summer, where I should get plenty of randori experience. After that, I'll test for the blue belt (am also hoping to do a judo tournament before that too)

BJJ? Who knows? I like the incorporation of wrestling, but we need more high rep drills, stuff like armbars from the bottom. I did a few in the beginners class and my legs felt like jelly after 10 reps, unacceptable. Are there any solitary drills for practicing those armbars? Would go a long way in developing the strength of my guard too (physically and tactically).

Oh while I'm thinking of it, Monday, the BJJ brown belt had us doing some scramble drills, and really opened up how to approach the mount. If no locks are available or if the person is about to escape, switch to knee to belly, side, back to mount, hell at one point he--how do I describe this?--it was a mount but he monetarily faced the other direction, weight near the chest (not the same as reverse mount in sambo, at least it didn't appear that way)

Coming clean?

I've been toying with the idea of outing myself. Looking at my internet foot print if you will, it wouldn't take much to figure out who I am. Then I had a second revelation, virtually no one reads this blog! What would I be doing? Outing myself to myself? I'm pretty sure I can handle the shock, but fuck it, why make things easier for the rest of the world?---the one that isn't paying attention anyway.

My not so secret admirer

...is only 17. A little surprised--no, more like disappointed--not that I ever intended to do anything about it; but you know a person still has a way to mature, when she can't answer truthfully about her age. Although, one could make the argument, seriously or facetiously, that women in particular only tell the truth about their ages from 18 to 25.

I had a really bad bad bad experience dating a girl who lied about her age, lied about everything actually. I met her on the internet in the wild west days of the aol chatrooms. She was pretending to be someone else, yeah it was downhill from there. Hmm, guess this one warrants it's own post at a later date.

I declare victory

Over the mysterious hip ailment, whatever it is, reclining has proven to be the best therapy.

While I'm thinking about it

Can't believe I'm saying this, but AvP:Requiem is entertaining in a shameless exploitation film way, and that's a good thing. It was almost, but not quite, Planet Terror-esque. It didn't pause to delight in ironic mischief the way PT did (not using ironic in a pejorative fashion here). We need more genre films willing to kill children and pregnant women.

Certainly better than the frustrating borefest of the first AvP. Sigh, it needed to be a Space Opera, an all or nothing war. Instead we got a watered down Chariot of the Gods Scenario (which sounds much cooler than it is.)

That Sinking Feeling

I feigned protest. Was supposed to wait and see Watchmen with Girlfriend, instead of in town with various nerdic brethren, but I was quite happy to see it with her, would be worth the wait.
My conscription has been waived. It scares me.

This isn't the Girlfriend thing to do; it isn't even the generic girlfriend thing to do. Something is rotten in Denmark.

On the phone she seems distant. Is this it? Is she giving up?
This is how the world ends....?

About that Cold

It wasn't the cold that did me in the following Monday, rather this mighty equation
(Maximun Strength Mucinex + Endorush)x Empty Stomach = Barf


And has been recorded before, I think, Radar detests the sound of me puking. I rushed home from Judo, as soon as I started he ran to Mom
s room and jumped on a pillow. Later, as I was puking in the kitchen sink, I could hear him barking his rebuke from my room. As far as barfing fits go this one was kinda tame. I puled mostly water. There was a a sensation of a demon buried deep with the trans-realities of the mystical digestive gradient swirling at the epicenter of the uber-tummy*

That wasn't as thrilling as the next equation.
(((Barf+Suppository){raised to Indignity Squared})X babykicker fit+papi fit+mom fit/Alien V Predator: Requiem)))-4 am Gatorade= Passed out for most of Tuesday

Really, why write at all when you can construct sloppy short hand equations with excessive verbiage?? Oh, by the way, that demon was brown.

*My Grant Morrison impression

Smote!

Caught a cold from girlfriend,am supposed to do Judo tonight and go to a birthday party. Will need crystal me--I javascript:void(0)mean Endorush.

On bowing and wrestling

This is done for a variety of reasons: entering the dojo, stepping on the mat, leaving the dojo, the beginning of class. All of which can be tied to respect, for the dojo for the instructor, for a philosophy. There are also more practical motivations at work. You bow, but you do not take your eyes off an opponent because he could be sneaky, wack you with your head down.
On occasion a Sifu will interrupt a drill between you and a partner, he corrects you, you bow. The bow in this case signals the teacher believes you are worthy of correction to not bow could be construed as a grave insult.

The Wednesday evening class is mutating into a greco-roman/bjj laboratory. More attention to stand up, take-downs, sprawl, cultivating the swim, etc. Then a bjj technique or two and then we roll.
College boy and I started rolling from a standing position. I came close to taking him down. I hit an inside the leg reap but...nothing. The energy was gone, and he got the best of me as always/ The ending though was different.
"You didn't commit. you didn't put your hips into it"
I've been training for a year; this is the first time he's ever given me constructive criticism.

Idle hands

One downside to crossfit, it can really fuck up your hands. I hate callouses, and with these workouts I can't just randomly start picking at them lest I find a blister surprise.

In the end, I did nothing

G's brother helped out, and only G's mom had surgery anyway (sounds like surgery is some sort of party game), so in the end I did nothing

Nothing Really

Biopsy came back negative. But I got drafted into helping 2 middle aged women out of the hospital tomorrow (outpatient surgery). I really hate when my mother (either parent really) oversteps boundaries like that--and how did it end up being TWO women? Have no idea how much time this will take, but looks like I have a round trip ticket upstate tomorrow. Will I be back in time for practice??

G in town

Spent the weekend with girlfriend. We've eaten way too much food. She's going home (her parents' home) tomorrow and SHOULD be back with me this Sat. Her mom is scheduled for an operation tomorrow, provided a biopsy turns up clean (knock wood).

Strawberries part 2 (draft 1)

I interjected, “You know what you should do S? Get a shoebox, decorate it, cut out a slit, make it a Valentine’s box, just like in grade school”. If people wanna ask you out, they can do it this way. No anonymous cards obviously."

“Are you gonna make me a box?” Wrong direction, do not want to go that way. My strategy ? Ignore the comment, press forward, like a double leg take down. You shoot, you commit to the move, don’t aim for the legs, aim for the other side of the room, don’t stop for anything. I watched Sean Sherk take big fat thai knee while shooting for a double leg, his head absorbed everything, but he still shot through, he was going to china, so the force went through the body, didn’t stop at the head, and he scored the take-down, granted, he took five years off his life in the process. My variation didn’t require Alzheimer's. Where was I?

“Are you gonna make me a box?” double leg take-down. Shoot for the other side of the room.

“Oh! You know what else we can get you? Cupcakes! They give you a card, and they leave a cupcake. I tell ya, no valentine’s day I spent as an adult tops the ones in grade school. Love and cupcakes, a few pieces of candy, and more cupcakes!

The Alien Language

College boy noted my wrestling was improving. I thanked him for taking the time to show the class a few moves.

Reverse Lead

I arrived at the dojo feeling good. Even though I’d done Cindy that morning I had the energy for a three hour session at the dojo. I decided to to take the fitness kickboxing class. Over the past few weeks my boxing has broken through a learning plateau. My hook looks like a hook, my cross looks like a cross. My stance itself is better. I’m better at controlling weight distribution through my feet; the legs are turning with the punches. When I want to emphasize power I can do so (with the kickboxing not so much, although I’ve gotten better at using my hips and turning my head off the line). I asked Sifu if he thought I was ready to work in reverse lead, and how to go about doing so. He thought I was ready, suggesting I remind him from time to time on boxing days (work with leftys, work with experienced folks who themselves needed to work reverse leads)

He decided now was as good a time as any so he paired me up with H, who had just passed her first Thai test.

Working reverse lead is like hitting the reset button, as you simply don’t have the muscle memory. To have a solid right lead hook, you must practice the right lead hook, likewise for the left. Knowing one doesn’t mean you know the other, it’s not a transferable skill, but the JKD ethic (and our curriculum demands you learn both). Even though it might be a couple years before I actually have to test this stuff there’s no time like the present (and if it takes as long as my right side I may need these two years).

H didn’t share my enthusiasm for working the left side. As the class progressed she became progressively upset, she wasn’t getting the workout she wanted. We were both equally clumsy, but I was trying to be patient, to look at the big picture. She blamed me for ruining her hour, at least that’s how I was taking it, and I just about had enough. I was being blamed for learning and adaptation, for being challenged. Can’t have that in a dojo. She got cattier and cattier, had we not switched to kickboxing (and leads) there would have been a blow up. Luckily, I didn’t say what was on my mind

“Have you ever been raped? Ever had a gun to your head? How about tortured?

No? Then shut the fuck up and work the combination.” Yeah, sayin’ that would have been bad. I don’t know what the long term result would have been, but suffice to say I think the class might have come to a dead stop.

I stayed for grappling. H didn’t stay for the Thai class.

Strawberries part 1 (draft 1)

I'm waiting for her to make my shake. Strawberry shake with strawberries. I need the fruit. I need the glycogen.

A girl, a former student, walks up to her from the side of the shake counter.
"My brother wanted to ask you something."
"Ok, what?"
"--but he wants to do it on Valentine's Day"
Squirm! Squirm! My admirer was caught flat-footed. I was not, hiding a very large smirk behind my palm. My delight isn't sadistic. It just isn't everyday I watch a proxy clumsily ask a lady out, publicly, while the real object of her affection is a foot away. How would this play out? Would she deftly pirouette around the question, shifting the topic to something more comfortable like sports or clothes? I find this can work if you create a bridge topic, something transitional like in one of those mostly useless five paragraph essays they teach kids in school.
Go completely physical, fire up the heat vision and blast her with a silent rebuke and clenched teeth? Effective, but not exactly the best tactic where stealth is concerned. People (me, me glorious me) are watching.
She could go kitchen sink, cram the air with verbage, until messenger did...something, most likely leave. It's neurotic, but sometimes you gotta scramble for position, take what you can get.
"--wants to do it on Valentines day?"
Fumble!
Rewind. The playback function. It's a sturdy all around listening skill, and a time tested convention of english majors shaken by an essay question on a final exam, usually said question will be pertain to the one and only fact she didn't cover in her epic 3 hour cram session.
So yeah, good all around.
But not here.
She was ambushed, verbally breached in a no no place. (There's a certain psychological protection granted by a high counter and control over money). There are many ways to squash a bad moment, a situation on the downward spiral.
Repeating the phrase that got you there doesn't finish, it only extends the debacle.....

There's this girl....

She's short. Shorter than me, and that's saying a lot, must be 5'2 tops. Can't be older than 19. Pretty smile, has this "face like a silvery moon" thing going on.

Cruel joke 1: She has a crush on me. The same me that's a teacher, the same me that's 30 years--wait, sorry--31 years old. The me that has a girlfriend, and enough emotional baggage to fill a Boeing 747.

I'm her "favorite person" at the gym. She even tried to ask me out, obliquely. I pretended to miss the invitation, obliquely.

I told my girlfriend about her; we've talked about doing a threesome, but this would be like juggling fine crystal, so nothing has come of it.

And 19? Still has growing up to do. I still have growing up to do. Yikes.

Oh Cruel Joke 2: Same name as my sister.
That's about as close as you can get to incest and stay out of jail. Hell, that's creepier than having someone dress up. In other words, eeeewwwww.

Armageddon: hurry it up already!

Funny thing about a blog, unless it's overtly political--and it's the only thing you read--you might not have noticed the world teetering on the the edge of the abyss. The headlines just get worse and worse. Republicans are replete with horrible ideas and obstructionism. Democrats are still pussies bending over backwards to please Republicans at the cost of genuine progress. And the world--or at least the American left--is learning that Obama's "bipartisanship" may not be all it's cracked up to be.

I don't think of myself as a cynic, but I feel like I'm the only one not surprised by these events. Well, Naomi Klein and Paul Krugman saw this coming a mile away, but no one I really know. It's easy to play back seat driver, but given the circumstances Obama's Modus Operandi should have been straightforward: go to the people who were right, fill your cabinet with people who got it right, endorse the allies who got it right, extend your hand to the outsiders who got it right.
Right, btw, means predict the housing crisis, the economic crisis writ large, were a driving force behind the higly successful 50 state strategy, or pegged the Iraq debacle for the clusterfuck it was destined to become." In the current Administration I don't see anyone who did that, in the house and senate leadership, I don't see anyone who did that. All I see is wrong Wrong WRONG.

I haven't seen strong leadership, I haven't seen a media shift from the imbecile talking heads to the public intellectuals (again, Klein and Krugman) who voiced their dissent. Is this it? Is this the best we can do? If that's the case, I'm tired of the teetering, please someone just punt America into the darkness. Let's just go through the fire and brimstone headfirst. Let the chips fall where they may. I'm keen to see what happens to Comcast, ATT, and the like, when folks can't afford cable, digital cable, their phone service, etc. Who will the publc vote for when they realize they have been betrayed by the entire system? Hope is peachy but results still win out in the end. We will witness a war of memes, the most rugged ideas, the ones best suited for the environment will become the victor because, as I said no one will be able to afford cable sooooooooooo no one will be polluted with bs strawmen, lies, and misdirection. Shit, I should just put what meager savings I have in a box in my room and I'll be good to go.

Stop the world I wanna get off!!!

Tuesday

In a few days I'll know if there are any open ten week sessions, but it doesn't look likely. Meanwhile, my parents' practice is hanging by a thread. Heck, even there I'm only needed on a semiregular basis. That Texas twit and his free market yahoos really fucked things up.

So in the meantime, I've been applying to grad programs, working on applications, portfolios, statements, possible extortion targets, etc. and that's pretty much it.

It's a good thing I've got a little money saved up or I'd be up shit creek right now.

Oh yeah, Valentine's Day is coming. Girlfriend should be coming up to visit, although there is a small chance work might prevent her coming. Luckily, V Day is on a Saturday so worst case scenario is I find way down to see her instead.

Have practice in a couple hours and not much energy for writing.

Monday

The next body part to make my life a livin' hel is an oldie but goodie. My left pec has an achey/cramped sensation. As of now it's not impeding mobility but rotating my neck at odd angles seems to aggrivate it.

In order to blog one needs things to happen in life. I am in the midst of my own slowdown economic and otherwise. The job front is bleak, and I continue to apply to grad programs. I remain in that precarious holding pattern with my girlfriend. Radar is still a Scottish terrier. The criminals responsable for our rape and torture remain at large, closer to us in the echoes of a heartbeat than the physical world. My family is still crazy. My family is still crazy. My family is still crazy. And I am a leaky faucet of mucus.

The banality of evil is still alive and well.

Busy Week

Had to lone mom 2,000.00. Never thought I'd be doing that. Practice is on the ropes.

Very busy week: writing/revising personal statements, helping at office, and all the other crazy ga ga I do...and I may get up tomorrow to do a Muy Thai seminar.

Oh, discovered there is a tourney in GA with an open weight white belt division, making it exactly the same as the average practice for yours truly. Will see if I can interest a few people in going.

Travelogue

Trip went alright. Radar met a new cat. There was whining, hissing, barking, careful steps, and a single lucky sniff.

Radar is a connoisseur of the cat butt. When Crookshanks was in range for the inhale it was like watching a foodie having a religious experience over a fine glass of Chateau blah blah frenchie blah.
Radar was Alton Brown at his most beatific. There was a to the bone reverence, a bright shiny smile for that feline anus.

There was minimal drama between me and girlfriend. I find it's usually my visits to her (as supposed to vice versa) that crying and shouting are likely to occur, but most theatrics were relegated to Super Smash Bros. Brawl.

My knees are voicing a little displeasure, but so far the consequences have been minimal.

Hangovers without the fun

Every once in a while, which is far too often, I wake up with a nasty headache, each it's own little snowflake. This once was shaped like a sledgehammer driving a large nail into the left side of the temple. Considering I don't smoke and rarely drink--and never to get drunk--where do these vicious pseudo-hangovers come from?

Ice cream cake.

Watch out world, Coldstone makes a delicious frosty treat but they don't tell you about the slow burning brain freeze which crawls across the grooves of your brain like a careful tarantula and then it bites

down.