Thoughts:
There are two lines running together. They twist, turn, dive- near one another within reach.
The lines are people, their movements are time.
I was thinking about the term "letting someone down" and while it's origin probably has nothing to do with my idea, I've been wondering my way through the phrase.
One line is on top of the other, both lines have an opportunity to communicate about direction. If they communicate well, they will continue to run together, even if they don't interact or cross one another. They are still in some way with one another.
That, I think, is the responsible thing to do.
The other possibility is that one line will just drop off, sending the other on it's normal trajectory off into nowhere-land, eventually wondering where the other line went.
That's the confusing part- waking up in the middle of the abyss.
So "letting someone down" is maybe allowing them to know your plans, and gradually you move on. The phrase is kind of gentle, does not imply dropping. When you "let someone down" a cliff you have a rope tied to them and you keep them from hurting themselves on their way.
Though I guess "letting someone down" is also just disappearing.
Cutting the rope.
I don't get it.
Thursday, September 19, 2013
Sunday, September 1, 2013
holmes is where the heart is.
Seems like I waited forever for The Grandmaster. It was absolutely worth it. One of, if not THE best movie about Kung Fu I've ever seen. Sensitive, visceral and beautiful, all the best parts of practice.
I wrote this a while ago:
Yesterday I drank a Pumpkinhead and watched the Blair Witch Project. I am clearly ready for summer to be over.
People complain about the hair, the clothes, the drama, and the questionable music, but I happen to think that one of the worst things the 80's brought to us was the music montage.
Primarily because it isn't real.
Doc says I can ride a bike. Well, hot damn!
Today I biked 40 miles, and still managed not to get anywhere. Why 40 miles? Mainly because I couldn't figure out a good enough reason why not. Seemed like a good number.
I've rejoined a health club to do this as my cheery little bicycle has become a hellish wee death trap. They says the "de-railer" is bent (assuming that's a thing that exists and is real in the world, and I most certainly have spelled it wrong) and it would cost more than the value of the bike to fix it (and the brakes.. I know those exist and are real in the world, and probably spelled right). So I'll ride it every now and then until it falls apart underneath me. Wicked.
Additionally:
Foot situation means I can't train so much lately, and as it normally happens when I can't train/do anything for a long time, my sunshine glasses come off and I return to my normal state. This is to optimistically-and-playfully-but-sort-of-honestly-completely-and-hopelessly become disenchanted with everything and everyone, constantly. Seriously.
In this state I only like four things:
• Kung Fu
• British Comedies
• Music
• Puppies
That's it.
So I go to this club and stationary-bike my way back to endorphin high. It's boring. Boring as hell.
As a part of my joining this club, I got a free consultation with a personal trainer. I'd scheduled this meeting in the morning to get it out of the way. However, this particular morning happened to follow an evening of a couple celebratory beverages. These followed a relatively grim victory after a recent foray into trying to be romantically responsible.
Romantic responsibility: complete horseshit, by the way. So it goes.
Anyway, I'm sure I absolutely looked and felt my best for this encounter. Additionally, I have negative interest in this personal trainer stuff and had a rough time being nice at this guy (yes, GUY at ALL WOMEN's gym.. because PERSONAL TRAINER. gag) because all I want to do is ride the damn bike and listen to.. whatever I end up listening to.
Anyway, we eventually made it through awkward (him) and slightly hostile (me) conversation. Newsflash: I'm a jerk with some pretty fundamentally different opinions on how people should take care of themselves.. but whatever. I tried pretty hard to remain available to his information.
Remember: hung over, disenchanted, no sunshine glasses.
So we talked about what some of my "goals" are, and what he can "help" me with, and moved onto more evaluation stuff, i.e.. me doing things he didn't expect me to be able to do, and him making me feel uncomfortable about doing them. Normally, when people ask me to do physical things, I'm not used to hearing "Oh, that's great! Nice job!!" - I'm more of a fan of stoic information giving than the cheerleading that goes on at these places.
It's the cheerleading that makes me uncomfortable.
Go see The Grandmaster. Go see it. Go go go go go go go go.
I wrote this a while ago:
Yesterday I drank a Pumpkinhead and watched the Blair Witch Project. I am clearly ready for summer to be over.
People complain about the hair, the clothes, the drama, and the questionable music, but I happen to think that one of the worst things the 80's brought to us was the music montage.
Primarily because it isn't real.
Doc says I can ride a bike. Well, hot damn!
Today I biked 40 miles, and still managed not to get anywhere. Why 40 miles? Mainly because I couldn't figure out a good enough reason why not. Seemed like a good number.
I've rejoined a health club to do this as my cheery little bicycle has become a hellish wee death trap. They says the "de-railer" is bent (assuming that's a thing that exists and is real in the world, and I most certainly have spelled it wrong) and it would cost more than the value of the bike to fix it (and the brakes.. I know those exist and are real in the world, and probably spelled right). So I'll ride it every now and then until it falls apart underneath me. Wicked.
Additionally:
Foot situation means I can't train so much lately, and as it normally happens when I can't train/do anything for a long time, my sunshine glasses come off and I return to my normal state. This is to optimistically-and-playfully-but-sort-of-honestly-completely-and-hopelessly become disenchanted with everything and everyone, constantly. Seriously.
In this state I only like four things:
• Kung Fu
• British Comedies
• Music
• Puppies
That's it.
So I go to this club and stationary-bike my way back to endorphin high. It's boring. Boring as hell.
As a part of my joining this club, I got a free consultation with a personal trainer. I'd scheduled this meeting in the morning to get it out of the way. However, this particular morning happened to follow an evening of a couple celebratory beverages. These followed a relatively grim victory after a recent foray into trying to be romantically responsible.
Romantic responsibility: complete horseshit, by the way. So it goes.
Anyway, I'm sure I absolutely looked and felt my best for this encounter. Additionally, I have negative interest in this personal trainer stuff and had a rough time being nice at this guy (yes, GUY at ALL WOMEN's gym.. because PERSONAL TRAINER. gag) because all I want to do is ride the damn bike and listen to.. whatever I end up listening to.
Anyway, we eventually made it through awkward (him) and slightly hostile (me) conversation. Newsflash: I'm a jerk with some pretty fundamentally different opinions on how people should take care of themselves.. but whatever. I tried pretty hard to remain available to his information.
Remember: hung over, disenchanted, no sunshine glasses.
So we talked about what some of my "goals" are, and what he can "help" me with, and moved onto more evaluation stuff, i.e.. me doing things he didn't expect me to be able to do, and him making me feel uncomfortable about doing them. Normally, when people ask me to do physical things, I'm not used to hearing "Oh, that's great! Nice job!!" - I'm more of a fan of stoic information giving than the cheerleading that goes on at these places.
It's the cheerleading that makes me uncomfortable.
Go see The Grandmaster. Go see it. Go go go go go go go go.
Sunday, July 21, 2013
zen and the art of pain management.
Dear Facebook,
I'm single, and have a BMI of 22. Stop telling me to lose weight for my fucking wedding.
I don't get angry all that often. (note: I'm not angry now, this isn't one of those posts)
I spent a few years in a near constant state of self-doubt and high anxiety, but I never really got angry. I don't know what to do when I get mad. Stereotypically people yell and hit things when they get mad. I yell and hit things all day long so that doesn't quite do it for me. Yeah.. anger's funny stuff. More fire than I'm used to- though I guess I'm happy to have it.
Happy about being angry, folks, you heard it here first. yes.. I know.. I KNOW.
Figured out I can handle about thirty hours of 17 screaming children before I want to curl up into a ball and die. Wound myself up to a near full blown rage-stroke Friday morning thanks to three screaming creatures on the bus- averted when Master Shifu laughed at me when I arrived at work spewing fire and brimstone. I'm an easy fix, seems. I guess things change.
I've recently had the chance to figure out that my most genuine response to pain is to get mad. This wasn't always the case, contrary to what some of you may think, and I find the evolution interesting. At some point I'd have shied away or become upset or sad or otherwise hurty feelingsy if I got hurt physically.. not anymore, guy. Now when I get hurt I want blood.
Another notable transformation: I got scared the other day (like jumped, like random-noise-in-the-apartment-when-I-get-home-jumped) and I didn't flinch like I usually do, I faced the noise and my guards snapped up. First time I did this I laughed out loud to no one. It wasn't voluntary- it just happened. I'm not saying I'm some killer assassin level million type ninja- this is the result of my lifestyle, and, if anything, I'm pleased to have acquired this kind of result after so long. In class, I am six to eight inches away from death or brain damage several times a week. My hands better come up if I need them.
Lets return to the noise thing for a minute, as I'm sure this is all related. I will commonly listen to music at brain numbing volumes (this, for example.. and later this, directly before walking into a starbucks.. because fuck everyone I wont do what you tell me), which doesn't bother me- it doesn't hurt, and it doesn't make me angry. With the kids it's probably all the erratic random crap, the whining, the brainless noises and the anxiety I still feel even as an adult because "gguuuyyyyssssssuuuggghhhh!!! you're going to get us trouble!!!!!" except I'm the one wagging my finger to calm the noise down.. this doesn't make any sense. (I KNOW.)
So Friday morning, sitting in my plastic bus seat, hiding behind my sunglasses I become a churning vortex of doom and animosity, and slowly lose my mind listening to these assholes shriek, unmanaged by their idiot parents. Read: Primed for teaching.
Yes. I get that kids make noise. HOWEVER. These three were the special kind, the kind you normally only get one of at any given bank, movie theatre, convenience store etc.. where all the normal people kinda back up and do the impolite stare/not stare thing.
MOVING ON.
I first noticed this wee transformation from an inward to outward directed pain reaction when I was in the dentists chair-- I spend so much time there, you see.
They took off a bunch of my back tooth because it cracked SOMEHOW after they fucked around back there on a few different occasions. Whatever. Their plan now is to drizzle every smelly, toxic substance on the planet slowly into my face and let me sit there for seven minutes in a sort of half-swallow/half-gag while it hardens around what's left of my tooth. They don't realize how close they've come to being covered in my morning coffee.. (yes.. I drink coffee now.. I KNOW).
They have further plans to replace this mess with a more favorable substance at some point, but I couldn't tell you when.
In order to do this magical exchange, they removed the protective temporary once, filled it with some putrid colder-than-room-temperature-material, and stuck it back in my mouth. Right on top of the sad, headless tooth.
I don't know if I have any intelligent words for how much it hurt, but here's what happened:
I couldn't sit still, everything got really hot, and I had to breathe very slowly. I also noticed my desire to cause great damage to things around me increased many fold.
I don't make (much) noise or faces when I get hurt. My pain face looks just like my normal face.. which looks just like my excited face, incidentally. It's a mechanism, not an affect defect- it's a choice. It didn't surprise me much to get the look the dentist gave me when I tapped him on the shoulder and said with relative calm, "thiff hurth, ah khan kepp eth ehn annemohr."
Like he didn't believe me.
Fucker.
Is this weird? I thought it was interesting- well.. not at the time.
Also my foot's on a slow break, turns out, so I get a pretty constant dose of low grade throb on a daily basis, though it's better now that I have this shoe-thing. It's probably good that I don't know many folks in the area who might run up to me and grab my arm in greeting, tap my head, poke my ribs, pick me up (don't ever pick me up from behind/at all, please, unless I know you're there/you're one of three people). I'd probably lay them out, I'm so prickly these days. It's getting better though.. so.. if I ever do run into anyone here, they should be safe in a week or two.
This morning I awoke with thoughts of a Polish girl who broke my heart.
Later in the day I got misty eyed at the Holocaust Memorial in the North End.. while wearing a Joy Division shirt.. because I'm an asshole.. (yes.. I know.. I KNOW.)
I need some puppy time.
I'm single, and have a BMI of 22. Stop telling me to lose weight for my fucking wedding.
I don't get angry all that often. (note: I'm not angry now, this isn't one of those posts)
I spent a few years in a near constant state of self-doubt and high anxiety, but I never really got angry. I don't know what to do when I get mad. Stereotypically people yell and hit things when they get mad. I yell and hit things all day long so that doesn't quite do it for me. Yeah.. anger's funny stuff. More fire than I'm used to- though I guess I'm happy to have it.
Happy about being angry, folks, you heard it here first. yes.. I know.. I KNOW.
Figured out I can handle about thirty hours of 17 screaming children before I want to curl up into a ball and die. Wound myself up to a near full blown rage-stroke Friday morning thanks to three screaming creatures on the bus- averted when Master Shifu laughed at me when I arrived at work spewing fire and brimstone. I'm an easy fix, seems. I guess things change.
I've recently had the chance to figure out that my most genuine response to pain is to get mad. This wasn't always the case, contrary to what some of you may think, and I find the evolution interesting. At some point I'd have shied away or become upset or sad or otherwise hurty feelingsy if I got hurt physically.. not anymore, guy. Now when I get hurt I want blood.
Another notable transformation: I got scared the other day (like jumped, like random-noise-in-the-apartment-when-I-get-home-jumped) and I didn't flinch like I usually do, I faced the noise and my guards snapped up. First time I did this I laughed out loud to no one. It wasn't voluntary- it just happened. I'm not saying I'm some killer assassin level million type ninja- this is the result of my lifestyle, and, if anything, I'm pleased to have acquired this kind of result after so long. In class, I am six to eight inches away from death or brain damage several times a week. My hands better come up if I need them.
Lets return to the noise thing for a minute, as I'm sure this is all related. I will commonly listen to music at brain numbing volumes (this, for example.. and later this, directly before walking into a starbucks.. because fuck everyone I wont do what you tell me), which doesn't bother me- it doesn't hurt, and it doesn't make me angry. With the kids it's probably all the erratic random crap, the whining, the brainless noises and the anxiety I still feel even as an adult because "gguuuyyyyssssssuuuggghhhh!!! you're going to get us trouble!!!!!" except I'm the one wagging my finger to calm the noise down.. this doesn't make any sense. (I KNOW.)
So Friday morning, sitting in my plastic bus seat, hiding behind my sunglasses I become a churning vortex of doom and animosity, and slowly lose my mind listening to these assholes shriek, unmanaged by their idiot parents. Read: Primed for teaching.
Yes. I get that kids make noise. HOWEVER. These three were the special kind, the kind you normally only get one of at any given bank, movie theatre, convenience store etc.. where all the normal people kinda back up and do the impolite stare/not stare thing.
MOVING ON.
I first noticed this wee transformation from an inward to outward directed pain reaction when I was in the dentists chair-- I spend so much time there, you see.
They took off a bunch of my back tooth because it cracked SOMEHOW after they fucked around back there on a few different occasions. Whatever. Their plan now is to drizzle every smelly, toxic substance on the planet slowly into my face and let me sit there for seven minutes in a sort of half-swallow/half-gag while it hardens around what's left of my tooth. They don't realize how close they've come to being covered in my morning coffee.. (yes.. I drink coffee now.. I KNOW).
They have further plans to replace this mess with a more favorable substance at some point, but I couldn't tell you when.
In order to do this magical exchange, they removed the protective temporary once, filled it with some putrid colder-than-room-temperature-material, and stuck it back in my mouth. Right on top of the sad, headless tooth.
I don't know if I have any intelligent words for how much it hurt, but here's what happened:
I couldn't sit still, everything got really hot, and I had to breathe very slowly. I also noticed my desire to cause great damage to things around me increased many fold.
I don't make (much) noise or faces when I get hurt. My pain face looks just like my normal face.. which looks just like my excited face, incidentally. It's a mechanism, not an affect defect- it's a choice. It didn't surprise me much to get the look the dentist gave me when I tapped him on the shoulder and said with relative calm, "thiff hurth, ah khan kepp eth ehn annemohr."
Like he didn't believe me.
Fucker.
Is this weird? I thought it was interesting- well.. not at the time.
Also my foot's on a slow break, turns out, so I get a pretty constant dose of low grade throb on a daily basis, though it's better now that I have this shoe-thing. It's probably good that I don't know many folks in the area who might run up to me and grab my arm in greeting, tap my head, poke my ribs, pick me up (don't ever pick me up from behind/at all, please, unless I know you're there/you're one of three people). I'd probably lay them out, I'm so prickly these days. It's getting better though.. so.. if I ever do run into anyone here, they should be safe in a week or two.
This morning I awoke with thoughts of a Polish girl who broke my heart.
Later in the day I got misty eyed at the Holocaust Memorial in the North End.. while wearing a Joy Division shirt.. because I'm an asshole.. (yes.. I know.. I KNOW.)
I need some puppy time.
Friday, July 5, 2013
Sometimes I talk to my computer. By accident.
or "why is the internet so hard?"
"what.
"whaat.
"wat.
"well..
"maybe..?
"waaaaat?!
"really.
"really?
"really?!
"are you serious?
"ew.
"wat?
"you. have. got. to be kidding me.
"no.
"uuuaahhhh!!??
"no.
"no..
"your eyes are too close together.
"no.
"really?
"honestly.
"jesus.
"so you actually think that's a good idea?
"what?!
"ugh.
"uuuuugh.
"oh!
"well..?
"ahh..
"no.
"no.
"no.
"WAT?!?
"excuse me?
"inbred.
"clearly.
"stupid.
"stupid.
"STOOPID.
"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT.
".. well?
"mommydrank.
"no.
"No.
"NO.
"'ugly
"stick'
".. naaaggh.
"jimhensoncreature
"someoneicouldgoasforhalloween
"absolutelyliveswithparents.
"dudeyouarenotstraight.
"ohthat'scute.
"areyouserious?
"youcan'texpectmetobelievethatyouknowhowtocount.
"oops.
"pretty.
"prettyDUMB.
"kungfuteacherdoesnotmeanwhatyouthinkitmeans.
"idont'wanttohearaboutit. (ha ha.. "tit.")
"WHYYOUTHINKTHISMAKEGOODIDEA?!?!?!??!?!
"put it away.
"UHM.
"what the hell kind of question is that?
"EXCUSE ME.
"no.
"no.
"NO.
"um.
"What?
"you can't wait to tell me about how cool you are.
"HANG ON.
"did I miss something?
"you sure?
"WAT?!
"...
"honestly.
"you're kidding.
"you can't be serious.
"PLEASE BE KIDDING.
"why would I want to look at that.
"okay.
"so.
"okay..?
"man.
"wow.
"WOW.
"ah.
"yeah.
"whatever.
**
They have the internet in the frozen north- for better or worse.
I have a very real fear that this little fan thing will blow a bunch of terrifying bugs into this room.
I am also very concerned that they might remake the Ghostbusters movie.
VERY concerned.
**
McCain Philips took a day to build this city. He plans on building a bridge- as it turns out he cannot fill the chasm.
"what.
"whaat.
"wat.
"well..
"maybe..?
"waaaaat?!
"really.
"really?
"really?!
"are you serious?
"ew.
"wat?
"you. have. got. to be kidding me.
"no.
"uuuaahhhh!!??
"no.
"no..
"your eyes are too close together.
"no.
"really?
"honestly.
"jesus.
"so you actually think that's a good idea?
"what?!
"ugh.
"uuuuugh.
"oh!
"well..?
"ahh..
"no.
"no.
"no.
"WAT?!?
"excuse me?
"inbred.
"clearly.
"stupid.
"stupid.
"STOOPID.
"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT.
".. well?
"mommydrank.
"no.
"No.
"NO.
"'ugly
"stick'
".. naaaggh.
"jimhensoncreature
"someoneicouldgoasforhalloween
"absolutelyliveswithparents.
"dudeyouarenotstraight.
"ohthat'scute.
"areyouserious?
"youcan'texpectmetobelievethatyouknowhowtocount.
"oops.
"pretty.
"prettyDUMB.
"kungfuteacherdoesnotmeanwhatyouthinkitmeans.
"idont'wanttohearaboutit. (ha ha.. "tit.")
"WHYYOUTHINKTHISMAKEGOODIDEA?!?!?!??!?!
"put it away.
"UHM.
"what the hell kind of question is that?
"EXCUSE ME.
"no.
"no.
"NO.
"um.
"What?
"you can't wait to tell me about how cool you are.
"HANG ON.
"did I miss something?
"you sure?
"WAT?!
"...
"honestly.
"you're kidding.
"you can't be serious.
"PLEASE BE KIDDING.
"why would I want to look at that.
"okay.
"so.
"okay..?
"man.
"wow.
"WOW.
"ah.
"yeah.
"whatever.
**
They have the internet in the frozen north- for better or worse.
I have a very real fear that this little fan thing will blow a bunch of terrifying bugs into this room.
I am also very concerned that they might remake the Ghostbusters movie.
VERY concerned.
**
McCain Philips took a day to build this city. He plans on building a bridge- as it turns out he cannot fill the chasm.
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
inferior people need a steeple to climb and shout their views about.*
Here's a rant I wrote a long time ago after attending an adult gymnastics class at MIT, thrown together quite possibly after glass or two of wine (fun fact: I'm bad at drinking):
Dear The Man Who Thinks Kung Fu Is Useless But Was Nice Enough To Teach Me Butterfly Kicks,
You don't need to apologize to me for your opinions- I wont be apologizing to you for mine. And: just because I'm respectfully not arguing with you about Wu Shu, Ballet, Mixed Martial Arts, and The Chinese Government, doesn't mean that I agree with you.
Silence is not acceptance- it is a timid and fearful lot who believes that. (Silence is, apparently, bitching on the internet. But seriously.. I have thoughts.. So.. Onward!)
Have you considered, The Man Who Thinks Kung Fu Is Useless But Was Nice Enough To Teach Me Butterfly Kicks, that the example you gave to me, of the one time you had to use your Kung Fu in a street situation and it worked, didn't support your argument? You see the example you gave to me, in relation to your real life experience, gives Kung Fu a %100 success rate?
PERHAPS this is because relating the story as a failure MAY have painted you in a bad light, do you think?
Let's be honest here, as long as YOU look good, Kung Fu can suck it, right?
It's really easy to say something that is notoriously hard to understand and difficult to do well is useless.
Lets assume for a bit that I am an insecure and small minded person (this, dear reader, is a horribly arrogant statement) to me, in my small minded insecure head-bone, all things I can't do are useless.
Singing? Useless.
Mini Golf? Completely irrelevant. (..mini golf kinda is irrelevant.. )
Tennis? ZOMG who does that shit anymore?
You see this makes me fine. Perfect even. Because all the skills I have, all the simple tasks I have approached in my little life I have immediately gained Universe-Conqueror Level status at. I am amazing. And those things I'm not good at? Or take more than one or two tries? Irrelevant. Those people who dedicate their lives to getting good at these things? These "Crafts"?? They are fools. They know nothing. They are out there to lie to you and take your money- they don't actually know anything. How do I know this? Well, in all of my Universe-Conquering, I have gained ALL THE KNOWLEDGE. All of it. I can replace anyone or surpass them with my completely shallow understanding of very simple AND very complicated things (I mean seriously I READ WIKIPEDIA. GOD.) These "learned" people are useless. Except the cable people or netflix fairies, 'cause you know what skill I have in spades, among all my countless others? Sitting and staring. Boy howdy I can do that like it's going out of style, so it is clearly a useful task which makes me amazing, desirable, and charismatic.
**Maybe you get the idea? I'll stop pretending like I'm someone else. Not like I'm NOT entirely secure and massively wizened and perspective laden, but let's just go back to normal? I think I just confused myself.. maybe the other me confused me? wait.. (remember: bad at drinking)..
Anyway.
I'm bummed out by these people. I'm further bummed out when they want to talk to me about something I'm excited about and throw their nasty, woolen, heavy, stifling, pee stained wet blanket on my stuff. So stop it.
.. AND ANOTHER THING, TMWTKFIUBWNETTMBK, what do you think the duty of these kung fooey teacherly folk really is? To teach ballet? To teach fakkin' head kickin', mo-fuh?? One of the reasons Kung Fu is so fucking awesome is because it's truth inevitably lies in the spirit and the heart of the practitioner.
...CAN I GET AN AMEN??
Mr. Miyagi was totally dead on when he told Daniel-San that "Karate here, (head) Karate here (heart) Karate never here (belt)."
Clearly, along the path of teaching volatile creatures volatile material, from a volatile platform, mistakes will be made, dogma created, and the biggest, loudest, and dumbest will end up responsible for far too much.
Unfortunately for martial arts, MANY mistakes have been made and there's a lot of bad teachers, bad students and stupid movements (read:poorly interpreted movements over long periods of time which turn into.. oh.. who the hell knows what) which reign supreme at the helm of ye olde kunge foo shippe.
So. How do we fix it? We google it. OBVIOUSLY.
*cm kornbluth
Dear The Man Who Thinks Kung Fu Is Useless But Was Nice Enough To Teach Me Butterfly Kicks,
You don't need to apologize to me for your opinions- I wont be apologizing to you for mine. And: just because I'm respectfully not arguing with you about Wu Shu, Ballet, Mixed Martial Arts, and The Chinese Government, doesn't mean that I agree with you.
Silence is not acceptance- it is a timid and fearful lot who believes that. (Silence is, apparently, bitching on the internet. But seriously.. I have thoughts.. So.. Onward!)
Have you considered, The Man Who Thinks Kung Fu Is Useless But Was Nice Enough To Teach Me Butterfly Kicks, that the example you gave to me, of the one time you had to use your Kung Fu in a street situation and it worked, didn't support your argument? You see the example you gave to me, in relation to your real life experience, gives Kung Fu a %100 success rate?
PERHAPS this is because relating the story as a failure MAY have painted you in a bad light, do you think?
Let's be honest here, as long as YOU look good, Kung Fu can suck it, right?
It's really easy to say something that is notoriously hard to understand and difficult to do well is useless.
Lets assume for a bit that I am an insecure and small minded person (this, dear reader, is a horribly arrogant statement) to me, in my small minded insecure head-bone, all things I can't do are useless.
Singing? Useless.
Mini Golf? Completely irrelevant. (..mini golf kinda is irrelevant.. )
Tennis? ZOMG who does that shit anymore?
You see this makes me fine. Perfect even. Because all the skills I have, all the simple tasks I have approached in my little life I have immediately gained Universe-Conqueror Level status at. I am amazing. And those things I'm not good at? Or take more than one or two tries? Irrelevant. Those people who dedicate their lives to getting good at these things? These "Crafts"?? They are fools. They know nothing. They are out there to lie to you and take your money- they don't actually know anything. How do I know this? Well, in all of my Universe-Conquering, I have gained ALL THE KNOWLEDGE. All of it. I can replace anyone or surpass them with my completely shallow understanding of very simple AND very complicated things (I mean seriously I READ WIKIPEDIA. GOD.) These "learned" people are useless. Except the cable people or netflix fairies, 'cause you know what skill I have in spades, among all my countless others? Sitting and staring. Boy howdy I can do that like it's going out of style, so it is clearly a useful task which makes me amazing, desirable, and charismatic.
**Maybe you get the idea? I'll stop pretending like I'm someone else. Not like I'm NOT entirely secure and massively wizened and perspective laden, but let's just go back to normal? I think I just confused myself.. maybe the other me confused me? wait.. (remember: bad at drinking)..
Anyway.
I'm bummed out by these people. I'm further bummed out when they want to talk to me about something I'm excited about and throw their nasty, woolen, heavy, stifling, pee stained wet blanket on my stuff. So stop it.
.. AND ANOTHER THING, TMWTKFIUBWNETTMBK, what do you think the duty of these kung fooey teacherly folk really is? To teach ballet? To teach fakkin' head kickin', mo-fuh?? One of the reasons Kung Fu is so fucking awesome is because it's truth inevitably lies in the spirit and the heart of the practitioner.
...CAN I GET AN AMEN??
Mr. Miyagi was totally dead on when he told Daniel-San that "Karate here, (head) Karate here (heart) Karate never here (belt)."
Clearly, along the path of teaching volatile creatures volatile material, from a volatile platform, mistakes will be made, dogma created, and the biggest, loudest, and dumbest will end up responsible for far too much.
Unfortunately for martial arts, MANY mistakes have been made and there's a lot of bad teachers, bad students and stupid movements (read:poorly interpreted movements over long periods of time which turn into.. oh.. who the hell knows what) which reign supreme at the helm of ye olde kunge foo shippe.
So. How do we fix it? We google it. OBVIOUSLY.
*cm kornbluth
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Pull tab marked "Tab"
Yesterday I exercised a herculean amount of self restraint so as not to leap up from the dentists chair after one of the technicians accidentally dumped a full cup of water squarely into my lap. They are very brave when they've got all those power tools in your mouth, I'll tell you.
Back on the Tufts Dental Clinic Diet again. So much for having a pair of pants that fit me.
Memory:
Study hall with Madame Ward, high school. I am sitting at my desk, the afternoon sun is coming through the window behind the head of a typical Hampden-football guy. I think his name starts with a "B" and he looks like a composite of every asshole school bully you could imagine. He keeps saying something, over and over again, dropping the same phrase randomly and mostly to himself. It takes me a minute to figure out what it is. He is saying it in a slightly menacing way, again and again, to himself while holding a conversation with a few other students:
"I don't know your Christ." over and over again. There is something familiar about it. I finally realize he is quoting something I know, but incorrectly. I believe he is confused. At length I decide it would be in poor taste to interrupt the footballer and his friends to inform him of the correct lyric. Quiet art students generally don't plow into football-conversation with "Fuck your God, your Lord, and your Christ."
Memory:
I am walking through a parking lot, watching a man in a large pick-up squeeze his truck into a too-small space. He ends up mostly crooked. As he comes out of the vehicle he eyeballs his work, slams the door and says to himself but loud enough for me to hear: "Ah! Good enough!"
I look at the side of his truck, which is from landscaping company. It reads: "Joe's Landscaping: Where Details Count!"
Conversation with McTruckerton:
Me:know anything about high hamstring tendonitis?
Trev:
inflammation of the tendons
rest and releasing the tight muscles around the affected area
usually at the area of insertion or Orgin
(of the muscle)
Me:like wolverine.oh.not like wolverine.
Trev:yes
always like wolverine
Me:ah. mostly like wolverine.
Trev:a more accurate assessment
Me:agreed.
Trev:what happens to be the deal?
I am a bit drunk so
fair warning
Me:i expect to get the clearest information out of you when you're drunk. I'm not concerned.
Trev:you are wise to think this
Me:Have you seen this fucking gangnam style video?!?!??!?!??!?
Trev:several times
did it hurt you?
Me:i saw it when I was on an airplane.
the volume was down.
Trev:did it hurt you in the stringy hams?
Me:
i was SO CONFUSED.
no. I don't want you to say that anymore.
Trev:
I make no promises
Me:
target just assaulted me with the information that it is selling furbies
Trev:
have you watched it with volume
The key board is like a labyrinth full of napalm
Me:
uh. once.. because my mom and sister were talking about this nuts korean video they'd seen.. and it was the same one.
Trev:
hard to navigate safely
it's a fun video
Me:
think of it like whack-a-mole.
.. the keyboard.
Trev:
what if my hamer is missing?
Me:
you use your crazy sausage fingers.
Trev:
I have fine fingers
like a 17th century pianist.
or a refined lady
or a dwarf
Me:
a refined lady with meat-hooks for hands.
Trev:
that is a really distressing image
my dreams are in dire jeopardy.
What is happening?
in the hamstrings?
Me:
you'll be fine.. just DON'T think of Alex Trebek dressed like a 17th century lady with meat hooks for hands..
oh.. i don't know. they hurt.
Trev:
why....why would you do that
Me:
sharing is caring.
Trev:
I have showed you the rolling out?
the myofasical release?
spelled wronf
Me:
I've ordered a foam roller. for other things.
Trev:
g
good, get a soft ball
Me:
you mean tennis ball.
Trev:
want to skype tomorrow, I can show you a secret
nope
big ball
ladies use it
Me:
STOP RIGHT THERE
Trev:
to play "liars base ball"perfect timing
and I meant "secrets"
Me:
uh sure. 2pm? I'm busy earlier in the day.
Trev:
there are several for healthy happy hamstringssounds good
Me:
so you meant to say "I can show you a secrets"
Trev:
send me a message when you get up.
as a reminder
.....
yes
Me:
sounds good to me. I will send you reminders.
Trev:
great!
I should probably sleep...
Me:
yes. go be drunk with Alex and his broken piano.
Trev:
from the horrible meat hook hands
Me:
certainly not from the skirts.
Trev:
why do you do these things?
I can see it in my head
yet
Alex seems happy
Me:
it's better this way.
Trev:
I can't wait to tell you my dreams tomorrow. Good night my friend!
Me:
niiigghhtt!!!
Back on the Tufts Dental Clinic Diet again. So much for having a pair of pants that fit me.
Memory:
Study hall with Madame Ward, high school. I am sitting at my desk, the afternoon sun is coming through the window behind the head of a typical Hampden-football guy. I think his name starts with a "B" and he looks like a composite of every asshole school bully you could imagine. He keeps saying something, over and over again, dropping the same phrase randomly and mostly to himself. It takes me a minute to figure out what it is. He is saying it in a slightly menacing way, again and again, to himself while holding a conversation with a few other students:
"I don't know your Christ." over and over again. There is something familiar about it. I finally realize he is quoting something I know, but incorrectly. I believe he is confused. At length I decide it would be in poor taste to interrupt the footballer and his friends to inform him of the correct lyric. Quiet art students generally don't plow into football-conversation with "Fuck your God, your Lord, and your Christ."
Memory:
I am walking through a parking lot, watching a man in a large pick-up squeeze his truck into a too-small space. He ends up mostly crooked. As he comes out of the vehicle he eyeballs his work, slams the door and says to himself but loud enough for me to hear: "Ah! Good enough!"
I look at the side of his truck, which is from landscaping company. It reads: "Joe's Landscaping: Where Details Count!"
Conversation with McTruckerton:
Me:know anything about high hamstring tendonitis?
Trev:
inflammation of the tendons
rest and releasing the tight muscles around the affected area
usually at the area of insertion or Orgin
(of the muscle)
Me:like wolverine.oh.not like wolverine.
Trev:yes
always like wolverine
Me:ah. mostly like wolverine.
Trev:a more accurate assessment
Me:agreed.
Trev:what happens to be the deal?
I am a bit drunk so
fair warning
Me:i expect to get the clearest information out of you when you're drunk. I'm not concerned.
Trev:you are wise to think this
Me:Have you seen this fucking gangnam style video?!?!??!?!??!?
Trev:several times
did it hurt you?
Me:i saw it when I was on an airplane.
the volume was down.
Trev:did it hurt you in the stringy hams?
Me:
i was SO CONFUSED.
no. I don't want you to say that anymore.
Trev:
I make no promises
Me:
target just assaulted me with the information that it is selling furbies
Trev:
have you watched it with volume
The key board is like a labyrinth full of napalm
Me:
uh. once.. because my mom and sister were talking about this nuts korean video they'd seen.. and it was the same one.
Trev:
hard to navigate safely
it's a fun video
Me:
think of it like whack-a-mole.
.. the keyboard.
Trev:
what if my hamer is missing?
Me:
you use your crazy sausage fingers.
Trev:
I have fine fingers
like a 17th century pianist.
or a refined lady
or a dwarf
Me:
a refined lady with meat-hooks for hands.
Trev:
that is a really distressing image
my dreams are in dire jeopardy.
What is happening?
in the hamstrings?
Me:
you'll be fine.. just DON'T think of Alex Trebek dressed like a 17th century lady with meat hooks for hands..
oh.. i don't know. they hurt.
Trev:
why....why would you do that
Me:
sharing is caring.
Trev:
I have showed you the rolling out?
the myofasical release?
spelled wronf
Me:
I've ordered a foam roller. for other things.
Trev:
g
good, get a soft ball
Me:
you mean tennis ball.
Trev:
want to skype tomorrow, I can show you a secret
nope
big ball
ladies use it
Me:
STOP RIGHT THERE
Trev:
to play "liars base ball"perfect timing
and I meant "secrets"
Me:
uh sure. 2pm? I'm busy earlier in the day.
Trev:
there are several for healthy happy hamstringssounds good
Me:
so you meant to say "I can show you a secrets"
Trev:
send me a message when you get up.
as a reminder
.....
yes
Me:
sounds good to me. I will send you reminders.
Trev:
great!
I should probably sleep...
Me:
yes. go be drunk with Alex and his broken piano.
Trev:
from the horrible meat hook hands
Me:
certainly not from the skirts.
Trev:
why do you do these things?
I can see it in my head
yet
Alex seems happy
Me:
it's better this way.
Trev:
I can't wait to tell you my dreams tomorrow. Good night my friend!
Me:
niiigghhtt!!!
Monday, May 20, 2013
she will remember your heart when men are fairy tales in books written by rabbits.
Sidewalk stories.
I have never been so happy to have stepped in dog shit, let me tell you.
It seemed particularly dark on my way home this evening. Though the moon was out, I didn't see many stars through the low cloud coverage. I decided to walk home, because I wanted to do some listening and thinking without dealing with public transportation. I also think I have to put money on my Chahlee Cahd and I don't want to.
As a result of the darkness, I made it a point to keep an eye on the trail/dark bushes/woodsy area/bike trail off to my right because why the hell not? I was fiddling with my ipod (yes, in spite of the fact that I think about things like looking into bushes or window refections to see if there are people around me, I still walk around at night with headphones on. I'm an idiot. I know. I'm glad we agree.) and keeping watch to my right when I placed my left foot squarely in.. something.
Unwilling to pause to examine what I may or may not have trod upon, I kept moving, scraping the bottom of my shoe against the ground at all kinds of funny angles and hoping I didn't get anything on my pants. This continued for a bit before I got to a slightly better lit part of the trail. At this point I saw there on the ground a dead bird, and recalled I had seen a few of them on this stretch of road on my way in.
Panic.
Remember that time I said I killed an ant in the kitchen and felt bad about it for a stupid amount of time afterwards? Well, I wasn't making that shit up. Today I fiddled around with a spider until I could get him on a piece of paper and relocate his ass to the little patch of green under the sign at school. I did the same with an ant, (though the jerk was carrying another ant in his mouth) and have done similar things with houseflies. The idea that I may have just set foot IN THE REMAINS OF A DEAD FUCKING BIRD really bugged me. Like a whooooole bunch.
Thankfully, though I had managed to get most of it off by limping around like an r-tard for a block or so, it was only poo.
Other adventures:
I was having the most fun with my umbrella until it flew down the sidewalk. I figured out how to spin it horizontally, like, superfast, guy, and then spin it the OTHER way additionally. NO JOKE. I got it going so fast this one time that I didn't even bother to change direction. Eventually the string broke and there it went! No one was hurt.
In fact, as I chased the thing down the road, I realized this was the second such incident I had while dicking (seriously spell check, "dicking" is clearly a word and I am totally spelling it right) around with an umbrella. The other one was when I was doing the thing where you extend it like a baton with a flick of your wrist. Apparently I'd over done this game in the past and the first time I tried it during this particular outing, the top of it shot down the sidewalk like a Churchill Downs thoroughbred.
You guys, this blog is really exciting.
***you can probably skip the next part***
This OTHER time I was out when it was raining HARD and raining HORIZONTALLY. I was trying to keep my already dog eared and useless metal pile of crap umbrella from turning inside out/impaling my eyeballs on it's spidery metal asshole tines when one bright red/half dead one came clattering down the street at me, motivated by wind and freedom. I ran to catch up with it. Forgetting my own feisty, futile mess for a moment, I grabbed the little guy and escorted him to a trash can. While doing this I realized I was being watched by an older bearded guy in a leather jacket. "Now I have two!" I told him, holding them up before shoving the red one in the bin.
He gave me a look, I went back to my stuff.
As an aside, it's hilarious to watch people fight with umbrellas. I understand this and am fine with occasionally being that person trying to reason with one while not getting hit by cars/rain/people/the umbrella and maintain composure. Try this next time while watching this dance: pretend the umbrella isn't there.
***THIRD UMBRELLA STORY ENDS NOW, you can start reading again, but it probably wont get any better***
Final sidewalk story:
I was out with my mom and my sister about a year ago while Mom was visiting over the weekend. It was still early, and I feel the need to mention we had not yet had anything to drink. We passed a bus stop on the corner of my (at the time "our") street where a few people were waiting. Almost immediately I noticed a mostly undamaged double level square shelf thing, unfinished, sitting there on the sidewalk apparently unattended. Understand that a good amount of furniture I've let into my apartment since living here has been items I've found on the sidewalk and deemed worthy of adoption. I live in Cambridge, so it's usually not much a of a stretch.
While my mother and sister continued on, I ambled up to the thing and picked it up. Within seconds a guy leapt from the line of waiting bus people and also picked it up. There we were, holding the thing between us, eyeballing each other warily. I wasn't exactly sure what was happening until he offered the following information: "That's mine."
Oh.
I have no idea why I did what I did next.
"Oh! It's beautiful!" I said, sounding probably more than a little insane. It absolutely was not beautiful, it was as boring a piece of furniture as has ever been made by human or machine in the history of furniture design, and for the next few minutes I tried so very hard to appear like I was simply taken with the objects natural charisma and HAD to find out more about it. NOT that I was about to make off with what I didn't REALIZE was someone else's stuff.
"Did you make it!?" I asked. There was no way he made it. He wasn't letting go of it, so after turning it a little and examining it from a few angles to complete the facade of my interest, I did. I stuck my hands in my pockets and made a stupid attempt at small talk, which consisted of my asking squeaky, rapid fire questions about where he got it, what it could be used for, what it was made out of and then bolting to catch up with Mom and Sis. They didn't ask why I was cackling like a lunatic when I came up behind them. I don't know how I feel about that.
This poor guy probably has a great story now, about how he was almost robbed by some crazy woman on speed.
**
Dear Trader Joes,
By the time the bananas you sell are able to be eaten, I have forgotten I have purchased one.
**
Let the insane tan-lines begin!!
I have never been so happy to have stepped in dog shit, let me tell you.
It seemed particularly dark on my way home this evening. Though the moon was out, I didn't see many stars through the low cloud coverage. I decided to walk home, because I wanted to do some listening and thinking without dealing with public transportation. I also think I have to put money on my Chahlee Cahd and I don't want to.
As a result of the darkness, I made it a point to keep an eye on the trail/dark bushes/woodsy area/bike trail off to my right because why the hell not? I was fiddling with my ipod (yes, in spite of the fact that I think about things like looking into bushes or window refections to see if there are people around me, I still walk around at night with headphones on. I'm an idiot. I know. I'm glad we agree.) and keeping watch to my right when I placed my left foot squarely in.. something.
Unwilling to pause to examine what I may or may not have trod upon, I kept moving, scraping the bottom of my shoe against the ground at all kinds of funny angles and hoping I didn't get anything on my pants. This continued for a bit before I got to a slightly better lit part of the trail. At this point I saw there on the ground a dead bird, and recalled I had seen a few of them on this stretch of road on my way in.
Panic.
Remember that time I said I killed an ant in the kitchen and felt bad about it for a stupid amount of time afterwards? Well, I wasn't making that shit up. Today I fiddled around with a spider until I could get him on a piece of paper and relocate his ass to the little patch of green under the sign at school. I did the same with an ant, (though the jerk was carrying another ant in his mouth) and have done similar things with houseflies. The idea that I may have just set foot IN THE REMAINS OF A DEAD FUCKING BIRD really bugged me. Like a whooooole bunch.
Thankfully, though I had managed to get most of it off by limping around like an r-tard for a block or so, it was only poo.
Other adventures:
I was having the most fun with my umbrella until it flew down the sidewalk. I figured out how to spin it horizontally, like, superfast, guy, and then spin it the OTHER way additionally. NO JOKE. I got it going so fast this one time that I didn't even bother to change direction. Eventually the string broke and there it went! No one was hurt.
In fact, as I chased the thing down the road, I realized this was the second such incident I had while dicking (seriously spell check, "dicking" is clearly a word and I am totally spelling it right) around with an umbrella. The other one was when I was doing the thing where you extend it like a baton with a flick of your wrist. Apparently I'd over done this game in the past and the first time I tried it during this particular outing, the top of it shot down the sidewalk like a Churchill Downs thoroughbred.
You guys, this blog is really exciting.
***you can probably skip the next part***
This OTHER time I was out when it was raining HARD and raining HORIZONTALLY. I was trying to keep my already dog eared and useless metal pile of crap umbrella from turning inside out/impaling my eyeballs on it's spidery metal asshole tines when one bright red/half dead one came clattering down the street at me, motivated by wind and freedom. I ran to catch up with it. Forgetting my own feisty, futile mess for a moment, I grabbed the little guy and escorted him to a trash can. While doing this I realized I was being watched by an older bearded guy in a leather jacket. "Now I have two!" I told him, holding them up before shoving the red one in the bin.
He gave me a look, I went back to my stuff.
As an aside, it's hilarious to watch people fight with umbrellas. I understand this and am fine with occasionally being that person trying to reason with one while not getting hit by cars/rain/people/the umbrella and maintain composure. Try this next time while watching this dance: pretend the umbrella isn't there.
***THIRD UMBRELLA STORY ENDS NOW, you can start reading again, but it probably wont get any better***
Final sidewalk story:
I was out with my mom and my sister about a year ago while Mom was visiting over the weekend. It was still early, and I feel the need to mention we had not yet had anything to drink. We passed a bus stop on the corner of my (at the time "our") street where a few people were waiting. Almost immediately I noticed a mostly undamaged double level square shelf thing, unfinished, sitting there on the sidewalk apparently unattended. Understand that a good amount of furniture I've let into my apartment since living here has been items I've found on the sidewalk and deemed worthy of adoption. I live in Cambridge, so it's usually not much a of a stretch.
While my mother and sister continued on, I ambled up to the thing and picked it up. Within seconds a guy leapt from the line of waiting bus people and also picked it up. There we were, holding the thing between us, eyeballing each other warily. I wasn't exactly sure what was happening until he offered the following information: "That's mine."
Oh.
I have no idea why I did what I did next.
"Oh! It's beautiful!" I said, sounding probably more than a little insane. It absolutely was not beautiful, it was as boring a piece of furniture as has ever been made by human or machine in the history of furniture design, and for the next few minutes I tried so very hard to appear like I was simply taken with the objects natural charisma and HAD to find out more about it. NOT that I was about to make off with what I didn't REALIZE was someone else's stuff.
"Did you make it!?" I asked. There was no way he made it. He wasn't letting go of it, so after turning it a little and examining it from a few angles to complete the facade of my interest, I did. I stuck my hands in my pockets and made a stupid attempt at small talk, which consisted of my asking squeaky, rapid fire questions about where he got it, what it could be used for, what it was made out of and then bolting to catch up with Mom and Sis. They didn't ask why I was cackling like a lunatic when I came up behind them. I don't know how I feel about that.
This poor guy probably has a great story now, about how he was almost robbed by some crazy woman on speed.
**
Dear Trader Joes,
By the time the bananas you sell are able to be eaten, I have forgotten I have purchased one.
**
Let the insane tan-lines begin!!
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