he's a funny guy.

Exchange between my father and I after I told him my bike was stolen, m= me d=him:

d- well you know there's an instructional video on how to get your bike back if someone steals it.

m- yeah?

d- yeah. It's called "Pee-Wee's Big Adventure."

Funny thing about people is that they generally just look like ordinary people when you meet them.

I forget sometimes that the term "white belt" doesn't mean much to most people.

Let me weave you a tale about what it was like when I was a "white belt".

I am unable to erase certain parts of my memory-- and this is not a complaint. I like being able to recall in stunning technicolor detail, the events of the past.

The first time I met my Instructor we talked a little bit about what some of my goals were and why I wanted to train in Martial Arts. I told him that it was something I had always been interested in, I also remember implying that he would know immediately, with his superior and mystical knowledge, where I stood physically, and be able to determine a few things from there. I implied this information in a nervous kind of joking way.

ll- me

if-him

ll: You'll know, right? Like, you'll be able to tell what I can do, right? -nervous giggle-

if: Excuse me..? -his hands go behind his back, Wong Fei Hung style-

I had never met a real life martial artist before and didn't know how to behave around one- I believe at this point all I have gained is perspective. I still screw up sometimes, but now instead of feeling like I've been blind sided by a train, it's more like watching myself fall down the stairs.

At this point I know better.

At this point I try only to be honest.

Stern, he thinks I'm messing around with him, I'm sure. Little does he know, I'm serious and totally believe that this is possible-- I am not mocking him, but I think he thinks I am. Either way, with these two words, he is able to communicate to me that he is not one with which to fuck. I stammer over a serious explanation of what I was getting at, and he becomes pleasant again.

The above was to be the first in a long line of misinterpreted statements between the two of us- mostly involving me trying to joke with him, and he being unavailable for it. What can I say, my timing isn't always great. Many of these [failed] interactions are fondly recalled, if not all that fun to go through at the time they unfolded.

A late night phone call:

if: Hello, Assistant Instructor Lindsay, are you awake?

ll: Yes, are you?

Silence on the other line. I become alarmed..

I realize these failed jokes could be because I'm just not that funny..

Tra laaa..

All seemingly flip comments about my Instructor are made out of a familiar affection, by the way. A tiger is, in it's own way, cute- but it is still a tiger and must live it's way. Because he is an unrelentingly accomplished human being who takes himself very seriously, for whom I have nothing but love, admiration and respect, I must find some harmless way to pick on him, because that is my way. Thems the breaks.

I went through my first lesson pretty convinced that I had just entered a war-like environment, survival being at the forefront of my mind. I find that when talking to people about Martial Arts training, no matter when someone signs on, the training is always far more grueling, painful, and impossible a few years before the newbie shows up. Hard is hard is hard. Learning to walk isn't easy- what most people forget is that when they start in about how "hard things used to be" is that the time they are talking about is probably around when they were in a time of some heavy learning and development.. which is, duh, HARD. Of course it was harder then. If the teacher is worth their space in the classroom they'll be sure to make it hard again, because real goddamned martial arts training isn't easy.

I had initially intended to write about my very first test in this entry-- I suppose I still could.

I remember coming in late to the lesson having been across town without my bike on some lame 'date' with some lame 'guy' who my friend Jay nicknamed the 'windmachine'.

This is a hilarious nickname, by the way. The guy had long hair and rode his bike without a helmet, leaving his hair to drift along behind him, but the possibilities for further interpretation of said name are [almost] endless.

I had done very little 'studying' for said test, believing that I could leave it to chance and get the most accurate picture of what I knew if I didn't. I recall during the very beginning movements blowing something out of my nose that stayed on my upper lip a few moments before I was able to remove it. I remember lifting the wrong foot during a particular short form and heading incorrectly for the wall. I remember interpreting a 'side kick' as 'kicking to the side'.

At the end of the test my Instructor asked me some questions about the school and why I train in it. He asked me what the most important thing I was learning was. When I hesitated he gave me a hint, said that there was a really famous song with the same name that started with an "R". I was tempted to say "Rapture", but instead went to the obvious "Respect" which is, you know, TRUE. He also asked me what my understanding of Kung Fu was, and I gave him some canned sass-pot answer that I had read off of the schools website, unsure what he was looking for and feeling that I wasn't in any position to free style with my limited exposure to the art. Did the same thing with Qi Gong, but I think I did slightly better with this question. He asked me what I thought of when I was holding positions-- I told him I thought of numbers, songs.. plans.. he started to shake his head. I asked him if he wanted what I actually thought of or what I should think of during holding- these being two different things at the time. I eventually gave him the better answer and we moved on.

I held a horse position while he graded the test in the office.

He came out and told me I had passed and gave me the scores, the self defense being the lowest.

I tested for 2nd Degree on August 31 2010.

I sat in a meditation position while both my Instructors graded the test in the office.

They came out and told me I had passed, but we would go over the actual scores at some later date-- I am sure the self defense will be the lowest.

My first section test was easily as hard and stressful as my 2nd Degree test, though naturally the circumstances had escalated appropriately. Instead of doing simple punch and kick combinations for a few seconds, I was doing forms while not actually attached to the ground (to be read any way the reader likes, I'm sure all interpretations are true). Also, there is much more hinging on my 2nd Degree than my first section.. obviously.

Maybe I'm a little more serious now, though I wonder if any more serious than I would be if I hadn't been training for the last 5 years.

5 years? September 2005 to September 2010?

That would be only 5, wouldn't it?

Not long at all.

Like it was yesterday, but also like that 'yesterday' was a million years ago.

That is 365 million days of gratitude.

Bend Your Front Knee.

I just tried and failed at making rice burgers.

Heres why:

A little while ago I bought 20 pounds of rice.

Heres why:

I've been trying to design and fabricate a durable and inexpensive 'weighted vest' for lack of a better term. I have also kind of failed at that. I came up with the exact design of this thing while on the bus back from New York after a conversation with Mr. F that left me inspired and unreasonably fired-up for the four hour long bus ride. As soon as I got home I measured the thing out and started to cut up some bed sheets in order to later sew and fill with, you guessed it, rice.

This object has now mutated into a sad pile of thick, rice filled, rope-like appendages. The one honest love of my life has decided to affectionately refer to this 'weighted vest' as my 'sock project.'

No socks have been used in this process.

The thing isn't heavy enough, when it's on- probably only like.. 7 pounds or something. Not really what I'm looking for at this juncture. It is, however, just floppy, long and awkward enough to cause a a great fuss when trying to put it on-- which is it's second strike. It's pretty much just a long strip of.. stuff.. with ribbons on either end and connecting two segments. It's meant to be wrapped over and around the shoulders and then around the waist and then retied in some boyscoutish fashion to keep it in place. The design isn't the problem. It was the execution. Mr. F tells me he used a fishing vest and put lead weights in the pockets. I ain't gut no fishin' vest. Or lead weights. Sock project, including the rice, cost me about.. 9 dollars to make. It gets expensive when you consider the amount of time sewing, stuffing, etc.. sock project required.

Which brings me to my failed rice burger attempt, which is cooking, at this moment, on ripped tin foil, because I can't get it together to buy a damned cookie sheet.

They wont stay together, the burgers, and I'm not all that upset about it. They smell ok. The continued adventure of trying to make ones that DO stay together will, I hope, eat up the 13 pounds of rice I have left over from sock project.

I have used bananas as a binding agent before, made some vegan banana bread using this method. I am reluctant to try them in this context. The bread that I made held it's shape for about three seconds once sliced. Beyond that it wasted no time redefining itself as a very small desert.

By the way I'm sure most of you are dying to know what DOESN'T stay together when it comes out of the oven, so I'll just go ahead and tell you: Ripped Tin Foil. Ain't no banana on the planet gonna keep that thing from falling apart. Only half of them hit the floor. Small comfort.

I saw the new Karate Kid movie yesterday. Another letter:

Dear The Kung Fu Camera Man:

There is no need, The Kung Fu Camera Man, to move the camera so fast as to make the viewer sick. No need. Because, you know what? Those cats? Are fast as lightening. In fact it was really annoying, all of the blurring, the weird flipping, the shaky crap. Look, The Kung Fu Camera Man, cut the shiz, yo. If I'm going to watch Jackie Chan beat up a bunch of 12 year olds, it'd better not be all fuzzy.

Also, I thought that Ralph Macchio was far more sympathetic, hopping around the ring, at the end of the movie.

Loosely related to sock project; I did an internet search for some appropriate training t shirts to wear around the school so I don't funk up my uniform, but so I can also come off as respectable enough to sign someone up. I became confused and alarmed when I checked my top right search box and it read "under armor dicks," right there, unashamed.

Le sigh.

On my way to the school yesterday I was almost ended by a cab driver. He was dropping someone off, and I was.. you know.. riding my bike to school, you can see where our interests clashed. He didn't really think it was necessary to signal or anything when he was pulling over, or to give me enough room/time to clear his outside edge and let him go about his business. My right handle bar clipped some parked cars' mirror, thankfully I was going slow enough to not be much affected by this. I made angry Johnny 5 noises at him for a moment while he decided what he was going to do- speed up or stop or whatever. I also left a trail of rubber on the road where he decided to just STOP right in front of me. What a kidder.

My recent facebook activity, I realize has been particularly daffy. Here is more evidence to support that state of mind.

I have adopted a cucumber plant, it lives on my porch with it's adopted friend the squash plant, some chives, and until recently, a jade plant. The cucumber plant has produced two large, lovely cucumbers over the last month, and has, beyond that, decided to use it's energy to take over the balcony. The squash plant has taken to leaning WAY out of it's pot and throwing flowers at the cucumber plant in protest. The jade plant, situated between the two, wasn't doing so well, so I brought it inside away from the conflict. At first I was suspicious of the squash plant, and favored the cucumber who had yielded such fine produce. Now I question my preference. The second cucumber stabbed me (yes.) (stabbed.) and though I used to find it amusing to watch it's vines creep around the porch to follow the sun, the death gip it now has on the railing is nothing short of unsettling.

And of course, there is so much more going on, but none of it so domestic and useless. I will, maybe, tell you sometime.

Until then,

Zhenren.

Copycat.

A while ago I came up with a really good analogy involving Hyrule and A Link to the Past. I don't remember what the analogy was specifically, though understand that every time I make an analogy in conversation, there is part of my brain that remains dedicated to that particular instance. Every time I draw that seemingly unrelated but clarifying parallel, part of me is charging my sword and hunting for rupees..

Back to the flies, because I'm sure you are dying to know.

When I got home a few days ago my window was basically covered in very large houseflies. The proper term for buggies like this is "filth flies" and (as my sister researched, having run into a similar situation living above me) they live in dead things and are used to declare the time of death based on their arrival-- also called "flesh flies". I spent a good amount of time separating the ones that were merely caught between my screen and window from the ones who were actually in my room. These more urgent situations were caught under cups and flung outside-- the others left to hang out in limbo until they either found a way back out or bellied up on the windowsill. The critters had discovered a third option, which was to shimmy their way into my room.

2am EST, the killing began. More detailed accounts of how this is done can be found here at my sisters blog. I was not so impassioned with my delivery, but you get the idea.

I have an interval timer.

I use it sometimes.

Yesterday I was going to use it to do a 5 minute paylgae.

I had made the emotional, spiritual, and mental commitment to do this early in the day. I went through some preliminary movement to cause some heat that would carry me through to the afternoon. Started the adventure about 2..

I got to the fourth position, starting to feel out the best way to breath and relax, and who should come around the corner but some old guy and his gas powered push mower, ready to spend the next hour mowing the small yard I was standing on. A man came out from the building across the way, and actually started to try to have a conversation with the guy mowing the lawn OVER the noise of the lawnmower. They remained stationary at one end of the yard, screaming at each other while I weighed my options. In spite of my drive to conquer time and space that afternoon, I decided to heed the direction given to me not twelve hours earlier, and find a healthier environment in which to practice.

Anyway. I've planted the seed. I will do it-- probably more than once. Just not sure when.

We've been having some scrummy lightening storms lately. I'd just as soon be out in one of those.. .. .. than not..

I get to be a real jerk when I get bored, by the way. Mostly in an educational environment, where I don't think I'm being challenged, I don't feel welcome, or more specifically, I feel that my time is being wasted.

I had a professor at MECA who was probably much dumber than a bag of hammers, who taught a Generic World History class. He kicked off the semester with the information that the US Constitution and the Bill of Rights were the FIRST and ONLY documents that outlines the rights and responsibilities of the people at that time. Bullshit, says I. I'm not going to give loads of examples here to illustrate what kind of smarty pants I am-- it doesn't really matter what I know about this. What does matter is that statement is SO not correct. He earned my distain pretty early on by being slightly racist and classist in his lectures, so I rewarded him with snarky hand raising and ironic (but frustratingly correct, over achieved and always polite) test answers. I recall one test at the end of the whole affair that had a bunch of true/false, essay, and multiple choice questions of which we only had to answer 50%. Because I'm an ass, I answered 100% of the questions in 50% of the time it took the rest of the class (art school), some of the answers were as described above. For the vocabulary part of the exam, in the "Synchronicity" slot I wrote down "a connecting principle linked to the invisible" (a là The Police-- which is.. a right answer, kind of) and for "Umma" I wrote down "the first side of a Pink Floyd record". Because it is.

I am only slightly less juvenile about these things at this point in my life. Though usually I don't put myself in a position to have my time wasted. The mind boggles for a while, and then it wonders. If it is not led to boggle at first it merely wonders.. I can't help but daydream sometimes that certain acronyms must be really good at doing the robot, or certain others may enjoy singing karaoke, wearing funny hats, playing the.. tuba? poker..? ddr..?

I was told once (jokingly?) while running the school in Portland that spies from down south were a possibility. Because I am completely irreverent about such tremendously useless, dishonest, and disrespectful activities, all I could do was picture a HB, full uniform, leaning on a street lamp reading a newspaper. He would be well equipped with false facial hair (placed over already established facial hair of similar form but probably of different color), possessed of dark glasses, a sombrero, probably leading an elaborately saddled donkey from stake out to stake out. All this in downtown Portland.

Who does your life belong to?

Today, May 10, marks the one year anniversary of when I started to really understand what it really means to be a warrior.

I've been making paper kites at work. I've spent the last three shifts cutting things out, gluing them together, and placing copious amounts of ribbon around them in order to make tails. My first few attempts were a little.. weird. One of them looks like a paisley tinted bottom feeder, another like a misdirected chair caning project. I am amazed that they still let me near the craft table. I still haven't figured my manager out. He appears to be genuine, though reminds me of a particularly bitchy gentleman I used to work with a million years ago in another life time. He's always fairly chill about things, usually puts a good spin on stuff-- it's consistent.. I can't yet tell if it's real or not. As with many of the things I encounter that are pretty good, I usually assume they are too good.. and, in their goodness, unreal. I keep expecting him to turn around and say something snarky.. hasn't yet. It could be that he is (gasp!) just a nice person!! Weird!!

Anyway.

We were going to go to the beach, but, alas one NI decided that another two hours of my life was to be taken and wasted on mostly useless or overkill/overload information, we did not. My idea in order to recover, after I retrieved myself from the funk I had allowed myself to sink into, was as follows:

"So tell me if you like this idea: we stay here, play video games? later get some beer? Saute those boneless spare ribs with some onions? Maybe throw them on a pizza? Hang out? Maybe watch a movie?"

"Am I awake?" He pinches himself.

Yes. It's true. It only occurred to me after I got through the confusion surrounding his question that I am actually a dude, parading around in a short girl body. Video games. Beer. Pizza. Ribs. Movie. Dude.

I just wrote the most useless-to-an-outsider-e-mail known to man. I maintain that it's important. About as important as how I feel about the next huge life jump I make.

So. There you go.

Also, last shift at work I was supposed to make clothes for little paper dolls. The one I made? Straight out of Boogie Nights..

'You better WALK down them stairs..'

I killed an ant the other day in the kitchen. I felt bad about it for a solid twenty minutes. I clearly haven't forgotten about it- still wish I had just flung him outside somewhere.

Whenever I ride my bike to the school it is as though the universe has decided to make even that task unbearable. It is a 3.5 mile straight shot from my place to the school on Mass Ave. A straight shot full of unbelievable wind, terrible bike lane conditions, dangerous drivers, miserable tailbone pummeling, and my messenger bag rattling bruises into my spine. After two weeks I can mostly sit on my bike without wincing, in spite of my complete lack of ass, and in spite of the bike lanes resemblance to the strips of skin along the scarred jawlines of acne ridden teens. Also, I discovered that the wind is so bad sometimes that if you stop peddling, no matter how high your gear, or how impressive your velocity, you will slow to a crawl and then a stop.

Sometimes I like to pretend that things that suck are awesome. Like how I pretend that all the small and infuriating challenges I come upon are awesome learning experiences, and well! thank great Zombie Jesus for that horrible inconvenience!! As a result I don't get really frustrated all that often, and when I am completely at the end of my rope I usually smile a lot. And laugh.

This bike ride though, it is not awesome. It sucks.

I had a job interview at an undisclosed location. To avoid sounding slanderous or complainy I will refrain from using their real name here-- though if you were so inclined to look up this place on the web you would find nothing but slanderous complaints. I know this because before I went to the interview that's exactly what I did.

I will call them 'Pulsar, In Great Shape'.. P.I.G.S. This particular particulate universal bit is a 'Judgement Free Zone'. It says so on all their pens (one of which I stole from the place after I had the interview.. hee hee! Judgement free! Pen for me!!) Part of the interview involved the tired, permed, and hair-gelled 20-something informing me that if, during my shift as front-desk-person, I hear anyone doing any unnecessary (or necessary, seems), grunting, I am supposed to say to them that such behavior is prohibited. If they are brazen enough to grunt a second time, their membership is to be be suspended forever and they will then be escorted from the gym. During the second offense, a blinking blue light goes off, a big fuss is made. P.I.G.S. be intolerant of grunters, yo. I level a brown eye at her, taking all this in.

".. grunting?" I ask.

I didn't get the job.

It has been long enough between posts now that I am proud to mention that I have finally found gainful employment. I work at a fancy stationary store and get paid to make mothers day cards and paper flowers-- this activity nestled between arranging stamps unpacking boxes and adjusting many things to visually adhere to my obsessive need for neatness in the workplace. I can't tell if my manager has the capability to be as two-faced and bitchy as he would immediately seem. He appears to like me, and I believe it is only a matter of time before he begins to show his true colors.

Yesterday was 'Leave-the-new-girl-at-the-register-by-herself-during-a-rush' day. I lived through that okay. At the school when I am left to my own devises, at least I can rely on my own resourcefulness to pull myself out of (or closer to) whatever disaster I may be headed towards, In the prepackaged land of computers and retail, I have no such luxury. I can't just make up whatever button will allow me to do a return, or invent a process that will stop a barcode from coming up with nothing no matter how many times I scan it.. grrr..

It is shocking to me that when people know someone is having a hard time they will retreat-- keep their distance and not want to 'be a bother'. My sister just recently read a book about Catherine Lord, a woman who was diagnosed with cancer (she was a bunch of other things, Harvard professor, archivist, artist, etc.. sister wrote a speech for John Lithgow and the president of Harvard to read at the Harvard Arts Medal thing held in her honor.. look her up.. ) and GUESS WHAT!?! When people found out she had cancer there weren't many folks who like.. supported her. People she worked with, people she had known forever just kind of retreated.. didn't want to 'bug' her. Or some bullshit. I like to think that I'm not one of those people-- the ones who wouldn't lend a hand to someone they knew was going through one of the hardest things they could possibly go through.. ever.. In fact, I'd say that I'm the opposite.. more likely to unwittingly, out of concern, try to help out people I'm not all that close to, or really shouldn't.

I met a guy last night who was in recovery of some kind of cancer. I know this because he was wearing his cancer meds in a small vial around his neck- so I asked him what it was.. lucky I didn't go with my first path of inquiry, which was to ask if it was a vial of Billy Bob Thortons blood. He seemed really gentle, really fragile, and really grateful, I wanted to give him a hug. I've been going back and forth about why he may be wearing it around his neck-- seemed a little weird. Of course people are going to ask about it, of course that will give him the opportunity to talk about it, maybe good, maybe bad, maybe a little self indulgent, maybe I should give the guy a break. He's 24, living with cancer. Maybe he enjoys that every time he feels the weight of his little canister, every time someone asks him what's in it, he is reminded that he is going to live.

These are the people in your neighborhood.

Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, I have fought my way here to update my blog.

I don't know how long it just took me to get this page to work-- but in terms of musictime, it has taken 3/4 of a trance cd. 3/4!!

I probably should have given up.. I don't really have that much to say..

Last week a Darknight went on a quest to save a Dumbass in distress. That sounds a little harsh, but to know the Darknight, and to know the Dumbass, one would understand there there could be nothing else the Darknight would rather do.

I learned all kinds of groovy things. Like if you come upon a burning meth lab, and the rider has been thrown 30 yards from his automobile without his helmet, you should administer 400mg of charcoal.. immobilize the leg above and below the joint.. and make sure you put the childs head in a 'sniffing' position to clear the airway.. so you can properly call for ALS.. place them on the fatperson-tray.. begin 2 minutes of CPR.. do not try to AED the frozen homeless persons K-hole, in spite of his central line.. be mindful of axial loading footballers-throw them a rope if listing, inert, in the deep end.. if there is an empty container of pills next to a rabid fox, be sure to get SAMPLE data from spectators BEFORE trying your ABCs, directing movement from the head, or clearing snow away from his airways.. recognize that C-spines are the worst thing in the world.. safely dispose of yours while doing all of the following EXCEPT keeping your promise to the hypothermic teen who wants you to get her a blanket before you stick black, yellow and red tags to all 'surviving' almond scented victims of cyanide poisoning.

I had my own kind of warped Easter Egg hunt this year. Saturday, while walking down the street my nose ran afoul of a teensy fly. Easter Sunday the teensy fly preformed a velocitous exodus from foul-nose-home during a morning nose-blow, he, unlike The Jesus, still dead on Easter.

Alarm.

When 'The Hatching' does actually occur, I will be sure to inform anyone who is interested. I am considering tea with Mr. F soon. Wouldn't that be dandy, if, during a peaceful conversation, *things* began to happen. I imagine my nose would start to weep, there may be a rumble, and then lo! The air would be full of teensy flies! The source narrowing at my nose.. it would be not unlike a plague.. muaha.

Conversation while conducting a tour through the guilty pleasure section of my itunes. The Black Eyed Peas comes on, 'My Humps':

- Really?

- Yeah?! Have you seen the video? It's *AMAZING*.

- Are there camels in it?

My roommate goes to the bathroom roughly every twenty minutes. This is how I can tell he is home/alive.

I found my passport, by the way. Thank you for asking. Finally got freecare.. I think.. that will potentially be an expensive question to answer.

I miss playing softball.

Had a good coffee with a great guy this afternoon. Sat in the sun. Watched people.

Insistent Destructor Lindsay got out 250 fliers on Saturday. I met a pretty orange cat and saw a lot of really cool doorknobs. Whoot.

It is now my job twice a week to be at the front of the adult classes-- to lead by example, keeping the energy up, the movement crisp and the standards high. Means I get to yell a lot, and for the first time in a long time I am sore. This is exactly what I had hoped for at this point.

Exactly.

If only I could stop it with these phone-tarded things. If only.