According to that Johnny Cash biopic Walk the Line, he was introduced to speed courtesy of Elvis Presley in none other than Calvert, Texas.
***
Now, I don’t know whether that’s based on accurate information or whether the filmmakers just picked that place at random. But I find it pretty amusing.
I spent a fair amount of time there as a child. Our grandmother, aka Babbi, lived there. It’s a very old, sort of forgotten place. It had seen substantial railroad activity at some point in the distant past, but the place just never took off, never had a boom or a growth spurt that changed the town much.
I always liked it there though. Quiet, and with some great cemeteries. Downtown had those old buildings. I remember the bank building on the corner where we turned to go to Babbi’s house. And I remember the mortuary where my sister and I were taken to see the corpse of Mr. Mojo.
***
There’s a patch of woods behind Calvert High School (“Home of the Fighting Trojans”) where I’d explore sometimes. A forgotten cemetery is back there in the overgrowth. It’s small, but the headstones are legible, with old dates.
Once while in those woods I experienced the panic of getting lost. Every direction I went seemed to lead me into denser, less-maneuverable places. I finally saw a clearing, stumbled into it and found I was on the highway about 50 yards from where I’d started.
***
A tornado ripped through town in the late 70s, causing great destruction. It ripped the big tree out of Babbi’s front yard and dropped it in her back yard, leaving her house untouched.
***
I was there about a decade later, and there were still piles of rubble where some buildings had been.
***
I collected beer cans for a stretch as a kid. Tiny Texas towns sometimes had the most offbeat, obscure beers. At some point I’d usually convince each of my grandmothers to buy a six-pack of, say, Pearl in a can I’d never seen before, or something with a weird Czech name maybe.
I can still see Babbi mid-morning once, doing me the favor of emptying some beer cans for me. That is, she polished off the six-pack before noon, woozily telling me she didn’t usually drink so much so early. I didn’t understand why she did that since I only needed the one can and I, but who was I to say anything?
I still chuckle thinking about it.
***
Babbi’s not doing so well right now. Won’t go into all that, but you know, she’s on my mind a lot at the moment.
***
The times I’m talking about, the times I was in Calvert, were in the 70s. Seems long ago to me, but to the generations ahead of me it must seem like only yesterday. I guess that’s how it works. The days when we make day-trips to Corsicana or the weekends we go to Brazoria County will be the source of nostalgia for my own kids I suppose.
And before I burst into “The Circle of Life” on ya’ll, I’ll sign off.
Had a decent evening. I fed the kids some pasta, then headed out for a kickboxing class.
It went… okay. After Saturday, when something clicked and my punch combinations were flowing, last night was like a step back. Everything was deliberate, didn’t get much faster, didn’t ever start feeling very natural. Phooey.
But I enjoyed the workout at least.
***
One guy asked me if I was enjoying kickboxing classes. They have a rep for being real endurance tests (and for good reason). I told him that I do, “because I’m a sweat junkie.”
***
I came home and watched some UFC Unleashed. Seems they’re chopping up/repackaging old broadcasts now, and that’s fine with me. I could stand the history lesson.
The one I watched last night featured Royce Gracie. Holy cow, no wonder that guy’s name is synonymous with UFC (and MMA in general I suppose). They had guy after guy with good credentials in there with him. These were guys with multiple black belts in Kung Fu, Karate, TKD… ranks that take YEARS of hard work to achieve… and he mostly went through them like a hot knife through butter. At some point he’d get them on the ground and then it was just a matter of time.
Kimo put up a good fight, and even though he was touted as being a “freestyle Jiu Jitsu” fighter, he was clearly reluctant to take it to the ground.
***
Just about to register for summer and fall. Looks like I’ve got to take a class this summer from the head of the program. I like him, as does everyone else, but this class has a reputation for being very difficult. You get put through the wringer in this one, but supposedly walk away very well-educated.
Taking a deep breath here.
***
Ya’ll have a good day.
Dr. Crook went to a small private college in northern Minnesota, St. John’s. It’s an all-male Benedictine school, complete with monks, of course. He went on a football scholarship, and finds it funny that he got the chance to do something “wise” because he was good at hitting other people.
The football program there is quite good, he says, and their coach has won more games than any other college coach. I believe the current total is 439 games. The man who coached Jon Crook in the 60s is still there.
So the alumni are a fairly tight-knit bunch, especially the football players.
***
Dr. Crook received a letter from the university president 14 days after the 9/11 attacks. As it turns out, a St. John’s alumnus, a football player, was on US flight 93, the one that crashed before reaching its apparent target. He hadn’t played with Dr. Crook, but “he was one of ours,” he said. And he began to break down right there in class.
He went on to tell us that he’d contacted the man’s wife. This player had called her from the flight after the terrorists took over. She told him what was going on in New York, and asked him what he was going to do.
“I’ve still got my plastic fork from breakfast, and I’m not going down without a fight,” he said.
And that was the last time they spoke.
***
Sharing this story with us prompted some emotional moments in class. It started because someone brought up the movie that’s coming out about this. Almost all of us said we’re not going to see it.
***
It was a fine evening. Class was good. I didn’t get to present my project, but that’s okay. Seeing what the others presented bolstered my confidence a bit. I wasn’t nervous. I just mean that I felt that my choice of topics was somewhat validated, right in line with what Dr. Crook was looking for. I mean, he only gave us one primary criterion: Learn something and communicate it.
***
Today Kelli intends to take THEKIDS to some sort of party/festival/wingding for her own school. THEBOY is pretty pumped up about it.
***
I’ve had (some of) my coffee, had my scone… I hope it’s a good day for you and for me.
“Christine Sixteen” by Kiss is one sick song, man.
And I like it anyway.
***
Had a decent evening at home. I got the kitchen cleaned up nicely. You know, as long as the dishes are done and the floor is vacuumed I can get by. If those two things need attention it bugs me.
***
Kelli went to Krav Maga, learned a couple of knife disarms. This is so much doggone fun!
We’re both crazy sore, and in strange places (in my case at least; I caught a mitt to the nose the other night). She had trouble sleep due to it (the soreness, not my nose).
***
I more or less wrapped up my cultural identity project. It’s going to be an oral presentation, so the written component is mainly for the prof to have something to grade. I feel like I learned a lot, and got some great information from you guys (thank you again to those of you who participated). I was tired when typing and didn’t feel sharp or very insightful, but if I present this tonight (we’re chosen randomly) I feel I can do a good job.
***
And how about that crazy storm that blew through overnight? Wow. Tree limbs are down, everything’s soaked…
I’m pretty surprised that we never lost power. At one point I heard a crack that I was sure was a big tree falling over.
***
Say… did anyone else notice that Andrei Arlovsky was suddenly lacking that carpet of chest hair he’d had before? I guess he had it lasered or something. An improvement for sure.
Wow. I’ve just commented on the appearance of another man’s chest.
Hmm… nope, still straight.
***
Happy Thursday.
You know, having a beard is like having a motorcycle: It prompts people to give you their unsolicited opinions about them, even if it’s something really awful and offensive.
I successfully burned not one but TWO breakfasts this morning.
For starters I put my biscuits in the oven (and not that’s not a euphemism for anything) at 475 instead of 375. That’d explain why they came out, you know, black on the bottom and all.
And then THEBOY’s waffles burned because something had knocked the temperature slider to the far right.
Strange coincidence.
***
Last night was pretty good. I was tired, but having had a look at this week’s scheduled I figured it’d be best to go ahead and hit Tiger Klay for a kickboxing class. This leaves me the option of staying home Wednesday night, and I imagine I’ll want that time to do more work on the ethnic identity project.
So I went in rather tired from the get-go, having had only a banana and some Gatorade.
But it’s a cool class! We worked on defensive maneuvers, then combinations of roundhouse kicks and punches. And when we weren’t working on strikes we were on the ground, doing pushups or crunches. Sensei had a good laugh walking around, drinking some water and enjoying it for our benefit.
And some new folks were there. Lots of new folks lately. I’m pleased to report that I’ve finally encountered a student older than I. There were a couple, in fact, one of whom surely has a decade on me. But he looks trim, fit, and didn’t embarrass himself.
***
THEBOY came along again. He played his video game for part of the class, but by the end he was standing at the mat, kicking and punching the air. Sensei had the introductory video playing, so THEBOY also got a chance to watch some weapon disarms.
***
Kelli had a big presentation that went fairly well yesterday. She’s entering a real crunch time. I am too, but man, they pile the work on her.
And because of all that it looks like I can’t head to Houston this weekend to attend the fights I talked about. Well, hopefully I’ll get another chance.
***
Ya’ll be good.
That’s from Veggie Tales, for you non-parents. I sang it for THEGIRL last night as she clutched her new stuffed rabbit, and in the middle of the song she thrust it at me and made a “RRROOOOOOWWWWR!” sound like he was the most ferocious bunny I’d ever seen. And maybe he was.
***
So yeah, Easter was good! The kids and the in-laws behaved. I thought the weather was gorgeous (though I’m told it was rather hot). It was nice seeing Kelli’s uncle and cousins. One of those days where some of the moments seem like you’ll remember them for a long time.
***
Backing up a bit, it was a good weekend, largely. Saturday TX Wesleyan and Tiger Klay were closed for the holiday, so that freed up my schedule a bit. Kelli slept in, THEBOY and I got haircuts, and we just generally went about things at a rather relaxed pace.
I disappeared late that afternoon to work a few hours on the ethnic identity project I have due Thursday. To those of you who have participated I wish to say thank you. I’ve learned a lot. I still have much work to do, and I now think a big re-write will occur one night this week.
***
That night was a nice chunk of BB time. I went to another damn Hooters so I could see UFC 59. The one in Grapevine wasn’t quite as packed. It only took me half an hour to get seated. And I had enough bimbo waitresses called me honey and sweetie and touch me way too damn much to remind me just why in the hell I hate having my wallet targeted through my libido.
But they seated me at the end of an atrium with a TV of my own right above the table. I faced away from all the other diners and to take in the bouts.
A few thoughts:
Forrest Griffin was robbed. Yes, Tito beat him silly in the first round. Those elbows were hard to watch. I thought it’d end quickly, but Forrest had enough heart to keep him going when his ground game wouldn’t. After that round he did what a skilled athlete does: He adapted. He knew he was outmatched on the ground, so he very skillfully avoided the takedowns. Tito and Forrest mostly fought standing up for the remainder of the fight, and I’d give the edge to Forrest there. He landed more shots, was more aggressive.
And when they did return to the ground, Forrest was elbowing Tito from the bottom! Tremendous display of willpower there. I thought Forrest took rounds two and three. (You out there Geoff? Did you see this? Please chime in if so. You too, Whit.) I was disappointed that he lost the decision.
Nick Diaz, tsk tsk. Out-striking Robbie Lawler way back when is probably the worst thing that ever happened to him, as he now feels he’s more well-rounded than he is. So he and Sean Sherk, who is also no puncher (despite his incredible physique), went toe-to-toe much of the time for what looked like three rounds of mildly agitated slapping between two sisters. Holy crap guys, take it to the ground! Diaz is an artist on the ground, and I gather Sherk is no slouch either. Sherk did deserve the decision he got.
I used to like Diaz, but I’m growing tired of his bad-boy crap.
And Sylvia and Arlovsky—what a freakin’ disappointment! These guys have met twice and still haven’t managed to have a proper scrap. This time they each seemed intimidated. After a couple minutes of sizing each other up, Arlovsky caught Sylvia flush in the face, and Sylvia nearly took a nap right then. He recovered somehow, then sent Arlovsky almost immediately to the mat with his own perfect punch. From there it was all over as Sylvia pummeled him in the ear half a dozen times before Herb Dean stopped the fight.
(Side note: If you gave me 100 random photos of guys and asked me which one was named Herb Dean, I’d have picked 99 of the photos incorrectly before figuring HE was the one. That man does NOT look like a “Herb.”)
***
Whit wants me to come down and be a cornerman for a couple of fights he’s got on a San Shou card this weekend. I find the idea really interesting and cool, though I don’t know if I can get down there. Kelli’s slammed with big projects, and it’s entirely possible she’s got a big one due a few days later. Or is it a week later? Will see.
***
Have a good afternoon.
I’m alive! Yes, for what it’s worth I’m here, alive and kicking. Between my sister and my friends, man, I feel like my family is the only household that’s healthy on the planet right now.
***
My own cold is steadily going away.
Had a good KM workout last night. I keep working out with a much more experienced guy, and it’s not easy! He pushes me, hits hard, doesn’t just roll over during our drills. I’m taking some lessons from him in really being a good partner, you know? Learning that’s important not to release the weapon simply because the other guy’s working on a disarming move. He’s got to really DO it.
Met a new guy there last night, one almost exactly my size. I was hoping I’d get a chance to pair off with him to train, but we were at opposite ends of the room when that time came. Dang.
***
Came home and watched some UFC stuff on TV. I like Ken Shamrock, but you know, he’s got some genuine jerks on his team.
But, like Mike Llorca said: He’s got a bunch of testosterone-fueled fighters—go figure that some aren’t so nice, right?
***
THEBOY is so into superheroes at the moment… he’s always asking me to draw them for him, and I’m a so-so artist at best.
This morning I had to leave before he was awake. I stopped, and right there during my foggy pre-coffee moments I whipped out a drawing of two new guys I’d made up: Iron Panther (good guy) fighting the Meanest Martian.
Iron Panther is what you get when you don’t know who/what you’re going to draw even as you put pen to paper, and you realize that you’ve drawn a guy who looks like a really blocky Black Panther who spent all winter eating at Pancho’s Mexican Buffet.
You know, like Roger Clemens…
(Badoom!)
And the Meanest Martian was really my knockoff of the Vision.
Did I mention I hadn’t had my coffee yet?
***
We’ve been reading Fantastic Four comic books at bedtime each night. Like I’ve mentioned, voicing all the characters is a challenge, but I tinker around with it. If I don’t do a character voice he points it out.
A few of them:
Ben Grimm (aka the Thing): Gruff and deep, of course. On the one hand, this cold has helped me do that voice. On the other, it also gives me coughing fits when I do it for a while.
Reed Richards: Deep and clear, a scientific guy who is still the boss.
Johnny Storm: Higher, as he looks like he’s younger, with sort of a rocker mentality.
Sue Richards: This is the one that might be most amusing to a bystander. I think I sound like Nathan Lane in the Birdcage when I do this one.
The Black Panther: I don’t know what sort of accent a Wakandan should have, so I just pepper in a vaguely UK crispness that’s enunciated clearly and boldly.
Sometimes the random characters get the best laughs from THEBOY though. Thugs on the dock, whom I just do as “dumb,” or maybe a random taxi driver, whom I do with what is probably an awfully un-PC accent, just bust him up.
***
Lunch. Be good.
This short play features three characters:
THEDADDY, aka me, BB, Brian. Befuddled, dazed, grad student, parent, martial arts wannabe who recently tried to tally how many diapers he’s changed in his life but gave up. Age: 37
THEBOY, formerly known as Wooga Wooga, aka the Gatorade Thief. Age: Five
THEGIRL, aka the Queen, the Boss, or She Who Must Be Fed. Age: Two
***
Scene: THEBOY’s bedroom, where THEDADDY and THEGIRL are playing peacefully with THEBOY’s cool new Batman race car thing.
[Enter: THEBOY, clutching a half-full bottle of Gatorade]
THEBOY: Say Daddy, are you going to finish your drink?
THEDADDY: Yes I AM. Where did you get that?
THEBOY: It was on the kitchen table.
THEDADDY: Just put it down here beside me. You’ve had enough to drink you little mooch.
[THEBOY puts down the drink and sits down to play the game too. THEGIRL gets up and leaves the room for a moment as play continues. She returns after a moment, carrying her mug full of Gatorade. Play continues.]
THEGIRL: Mess! Daddy, mess! Napkin!
THEDADDY [seeing a little spilled Gatorade on the rug]: Oh, okay baby girl. Did you make a mess? It’s no big deal. Just a minute.
[THEDADDY ducks into the restroom and fetches an old wash rag from the back corner of the cabinet, then returns to THEBOY’s room]
THEDADDY [to THEGIRL]: Here you go, darlin’.
[THEGIRL takes the rag and vigorously scrubs the spill, doing a surprisingly thorough job]
THEDADDY: Thank you.
[THEGIRL stands up and leaves the room, unnoticed by THEDADDY, who is wrapped up in using the Batmobile to blow up spinning Joker heads. Really.]
THEDADDY: Good one! That was great!
[Sound of a flush from the restroom. THEDADDY stops what he’s doing]
THEDADDY [thinking]: Did she just… wait…
[Time slows down as THEDADDY leaps up and runs to the restroom. THEGIRL is standing by, watching the swirling water as THEDADDY arrives. He considers plunging his arm into the toilet but knows it’s too late. The wash rag is gone]
THEDADDY: What… what did you do? Did you flush the wash rag?
[THEGIRL grabs the handle, flushes again]
***
At least it was an old “headed for the garage” rag, and it didn’t seem to clog the pipes, somehow. It was rather small.
***
Lunch soon.
Who insisted on being called “Ice Money.” Yeah, he was a white rap wannabe. Still laughing about that.
Who liked to smoke dope and watch midget documentaries for fun.
Who was the host of a morning TV show who told viewers (several times) that her guest that morning specialized in finding homes for retired racing groundhogs. They were actually greyhounds.
Who was once a male roadie for Jimi Hendrix, then became a woman named Sandy.
Who could keep his eyes open while sneezing. (Try it)
Who stole a Motley Crue CD by stashing it in his baby’s stroller.
Who was a weatherman in Austin who told us he’d been on “one of those outings where you’re naked in the woods with a bunch of guys and you’re shooting guns” and he therefore had sunburned privates.
Who thought Michelle Shocked was a Satanist.
Who wrote a song called “Living with a Invalid” (sic)
Whose bedroom was a tool shed in his parents’ yard. And that probably wasn’t the strangest thing about him.
Who was an editor on Leave It to Beaver
Who used to be Lyle Lovett’s manager
Whose parents kept a bottle of moonshine in their fridge and a Tupperware tub full of marijuana in their bedroom.
Who was a different weatherman in Austin who told viewers with a smile that if anyone laid a hand on his dog they’d pull back a stump.
Who was hired to hang around with Gary Busey for 48 hours for the sole purpose of keeping him out of trouble. He failed.
Happy Thursday.
***
It’s been a busy couple of days. Rewinding a bit…
Tuesday evening I went to Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu class at the school. Seems Sensei ran out of gas and everything ran late. I was there with folks who normally stay for BJJ anyway, so the decision was made that we’d roll.
BJJ ain’t easy, lemme tell you. But I had some fun, and really, sitting around before Sensei arrived and getting to know some of the other guys a bit was enjoyable.
***
I was off yesterday. I’d planned to hit some nurseries, maybe work in the yard a bit.
But I started taking my time, trying to put together a plan, started comparing plants and their characteristics… I really indulged myself, just going from place to place… I spent about six hours shopping for plants. Yep.
Got home, finally, with a variety of things: hydrangeas, gardenias, holly shrubs, some cool ground cover… Still gotta do the work and plant this stuff, but hopefully this is a good first step towards making the yard look great.
***
So THEBOY and I met Erik and Vicky at the ballpark last night to take in Rangers/Red Sox. It was a good time! Good weather, good company, and a real nailbiter of a game that Texas lost 2-1.
Kam Loe held that team to 2 runs over 7 innings. Shoot, I’ll take a start like that any day of the week.
Vicky was in full Sox regalia, and you know, there was quite a Boston contingent there. You should have heard the alternating chants in the crowd. I don’t think I’ve ever heard more spirit out of a crowd in Arlington.
***
I’ve got a cold now, which I felt coming on last night. Drainage, voice bottoming out… it’s not bad.
***
Almost lunch. Ya’ll have a good afternoon.
Good afternoon, good evening, all that good stuff.
Hope you all had a fine weekend. Ours was good. Let’s see…
Saturday morning we got back our stats test. As I said not long ago, it was one of the hardest tests I’ve ever taken. I was pretty anxious as he handed them back.
The grade: 94!
I was pleased for sure. Heck, I was ready to do a backflip. He started talking to us about how many folks knocked their averages for a loop because of the test, and were below a B now. So it kicked some folks’ butts for sure.
Oh, and the prof said he thought the test was “about five percent harder than” our licensing exam would be. Good to know.
***
After that it was home for a quick lunch before gearing up for Krav Maga.
You know, it occurred to me that I may have found what I’ve been looking for. I’ve often lamented the fact that I can’t attend Whit’s school in Katy. I know they teach a good variety of stuff, have personable, skilled instructors, a good facility… After my experience in a grim-faced Judo class (where I wrenched my back and dislocated a toe), I thought maybe it just wasn’t meant to be.
But the KM school really fits the bill. There’s a good variety, it’s close, and the attitude is positive. Pretty much everyone there manages to work hard while having a laugh where appropriate.
***
I ended up training with a guy easily 100 pounds (and four inches) bigger than I. Hoo boy. He’s new too. He’s as strong as a bear, but not exactly a gracefully coordinated fellow. Every punch he threw to the bag just felt like DEATH knocking on door. If you know who Tank Abbot is, I’d say that’s a good comparison.
So we worked on some combinations. We both progressed steadily, going from slow and awkward to more fluid, faster. But this man’s aim was a bit lacking, and at the end he caught me with a knee to the crotch three times in a row.
Thank GOD for cups.
***
Saturday evening I hit the Rangers/Marlins exhibition game. I’d scored freebie tix in the home run porch. It was okay and all, but I’m not fond of sitting out there. I’m one of those rare folks, I guess, who DON’T care to catch a home run ball. I couldn’t see much of the action anyway, so I bailed out after about seven innings and hit Forever Young records in Arlington.
There I scored Deadwing by Porcupine Tree, a Sea of Green CD (forget the name), and Townes Van Zandt.
I heard a student once describe Gabriel Garcia-Marquez’s Love in the Time of Cholera as “beautiful and badass,” and that’s how I’d describe Deadwing. That’s a rather unique brand of metal/pop/cerebral/ethereal/heavy craftsmanship at work there.
The Sea of Green I haven’t heard enough of to form an opinion yet, and I haven’t cracked the Townes CD at all.
***
I bought THEBOY this great air-powered rocket gizmo Saturday too. One Sunday I took him, his sleepover buddy, and THEGIRL to a soccer field to let it rip. It’ll go well over 100 feet straight up. It’s a hoot! Lots of fun for sure.
***
Having discovered that kickboxing is just too doggone much at the moment, Kelli is headed to KM herself tonight. It’s no walk in the park, but I think she’s got a better shot at handling the pace in there.
30 minutes ‘til quitting time. Ya’ll have a good one.
