There are some stories that take a long time to find their natural conclusion.
That is, you have a piece of a story, something interesting to work with, but you don't get the fitting end until some as-yet-undetermined time later.
The nutria story was kind of like that. I knew something odd had happened on that night back in '91, but I didn't know what to do with it until years later when I got married and realized that the nutria had led in some way to the marriage.
***
I feel like the trip to Louisiana we just took is similar. Still, I'm going to march out what I've got thus far.
***
My sister and I had meant to make this trip for quite some time. Our grandmother Babbi moved to Hammond a few years ago. She has had some substantial health issues since then, and we feared we might never see her again.
So we'd thrown the idea around here and there, but the stars hadn't aligned correctly until now.
***
The flight was one of the best I've ever had. I didn't know we were landing until the wheels hit the runway.
I met Sis there in the Louis Armstrong International Airport, and we were on our way. I'd secured a good rate on a compact rental car, but as we arrived at the Alamo lot, the guy in front of us took the last one in our category.
The Alamo rep told us to just take a PT Cruiser. An off-white one and a yellow one were available. Naturally, Sis wanted the yellow one.
***
I'm a good driver, but my navigational skills are suspect at best. We got turned around for the first of many times, but finally headed north across Lake Ponchartrain to the Ponchatoula/Hammond area.
We talked a bit about cultural identity, and tried to put a label on ours.
We're from a Texas town that's not too small, but not big (about 25,000 when I left in '90 if I recall). I'm not a redneck, but here in the DFW area I still feel like a yokel sometimes. I'm comfortable in my cowboy boots, but I don't wear a cowboy hat. I've always fished just a bit, but never did anything resembling serious hunting. My radio classes taught me to lose my
accent, and though I'm proud when people tell me I sound like a broadcaster, I can slip back into it quite easily, thank you. I've had people in Ft. Worth joke about my redneck ways, and people from where I grew up joke about my city ways.
What am I? What are we, Sis and I? Suburbanites? Rednecks? Suburbanecks?
***
I hadn't been to see this wing of the family since 1975, best I can recall. Sis went there in the mid-80s.
We were starving, and stopped at a Wendy's in Ponchatoula for lunch. That proved to be a bit of a bad call, as our family members were awaiting our arrival and wanted to get lunch.
So we called them, and it was quite an emotional scene there at the Wendy's as we saw them for the first time in years. Babbi's eyes filled up with tears. She was ready to hop out of the car right there, but we told her we were going to go somewhere else for the family to eat.
We hit a family-owned buffet place. Sis and I had desserts while the family had their meals.
There we were joined by second cousin Stephen. He and I simply could not remember whether we'd ever met, but as it turned out, it didn't matter. He's a warm, jovial, really easy-to-spend-time-with sort of guy.
We stayed at the buffet until mid-afternoon, then headed to the hotel to rest a bit.
***
I won't keep laying out the moment-by-moment details of the trip. We had a lot of highlights for sure, many of which included food. I thought we'd hit a high point Friday night when we ate at a classy, really tasty Chinese place in town with Stephen and his girlfriend of 24 years, Gwen.
But not 24 hours later we were all outdoors, elbows-deep in a genuine crawfish boil. There cousin Stephanie (whom I DO recall seeing in '75) joined us. It had been a while since I'd been to a crawfish boil. My lips burned, my stomach stretched, and I was in Heaven, really felt in my element.
Bad weather threatened all weekend, and though it never really hit us, the wind started getting strong and cold at the crawfish meal. And I've gotta say, I think I'll always have in my mind a snapshot of Sis trying to warm up Babbi, holding her for a long time, rocking back and forth with eyes closed.
It was really a weekend full of simple, wholesome pleasures. Heck, even when I took a wrong turn and almost put us on a 24-mile bridge back to New Orleans it seemed perfect in a way. Sis was full of coffee, and I gather the idea of heading into the swamp for relief didn't appeal to her. We turned around in Manchac though.
***
We also took a tour of the Destrehan Plantation, which was a good way to spend a couple hours. Some of the plant life is just starting to bloom, just starting to fill the air with nice aromas. We marveled at how those folks lived. We saw a painting of a Destrehan family member who had died from the lead in the makeup she'd used.
***
We spent some time wandering Ponchatoula and Hammond, semi-lost, but always willing to stop someplace to check it out. So there I was, the Suburbaneck in a bright yellow PT Cruiser, feeling about as un-cowboy as I could in that car. But eating all those crawfish balanced that out nicely.
***
Six hours after eating the crawfish my right hand burned like it was on fire. My guts did just fine.
So fine, in fact, that at 9pm I hit a Tex Mex joint for chiles rellenos.
***
Sunday we had a few hours before our flight, so we regrouped at Beverly's house. It was a gorgeous day, really a revelation after the two grey, threatening days we'd had. Everyone sat outside, mostly, and chatted about whatever. There were Babbi ("Peeny" to her Hammond kin) and Beverly (what was her nickname again, Sis?), the oldest and youngest of three sisters
who'd had polio decades and decades before. Beverly told us how the family had been told she'd never walk again, and indeed, she spent a year unable to do so.
But an uncle visited once, and she announced that she'd walk for him. She got up, and with some help, took four steps. She's been walking ever since.
She was four years old.
***
The middle sister, Marian, passed a couple years ago in Tampa, and we fell into a couple moments of silent remembrance.
But we were all there together, visiting, very much alive and celebrating the fact. We shared our love of Babbi in words and embraces and pecks on the cheek. I don't know if I could have scripted it any better.
***
Stephen and Gwen were gregarious, terrific hosts, and really went far above and beyond to see that we had a good time. They were never short on ideas or inspiration, yet managed to be understanding when travel fatigue set in and we had to stop down to rest here and there.
Now I've gotta get MOBB out there to meet all those crazy-ass Cajuns!
***
By the way, Stephen assures me that nutria are good eatin'. Well, as long as you don't get one that's TOO big, or it'll be tough.
I'm just sayin'.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
I have a hiccup in my brain
I'll post about the trip later, maybe tonight at the earliest.
***
Today is THEGIRL's third birthday. Hooray! I'm told she's taking cupcakes to school. We won't have a proper celebration today, as I won't get home from school until afer 9pm. Tomorrow night we'll do it up right though, with cake and all.
***
I have a hiccup in my brain. I can't say... cupcakes. I mean, I CAN. But... every time see them, my brain goes, "Muffins!" So I usually call them muffins, until someone says something. Then I pause, squint, and eventually spit out the word "cupcakes." Even when writing this I had to pause to remember the word cupcakes. Well, the first time anyway.
***
I'm listening to Jason Falkner again. This is Can You Still Feel?, the CD I was listening to back in late '04 and early '05 that somehow played an instrumental role my decision to go back to school and leave the cesspool that is television behind. Man, those years in commercial TV were just like a bad dream.
This is still a brilliant, lush, gorgeous little CD. Falkner's finally releasing the followup--in Japan.
I'm sure it'll make its way over here.
***
And now for a survey, ganked from Whit:
1. Height?
5'-11"
2. Have you ever smoked heroin?
Noooo. My last name is Briscoe, not Burroughs.
3. Do you own a gun?
Yes, a 9mm
5. Do you get nervous before doctor appointments?
No. Why would I?
6. What do you think of hot dogs?
They're warm and brown, and sometimes they're a meal.
7. What's your favorite Christmas song?
Little Drummer Boy
8. What do you prefer to drink in the morning?
Orange Juice. Most mornings I'm also having hot tea now, and let me tell you, TEA AIN'T COFFEE.
9. Can you do push ups?
Sure. How many do you want? 50? 100?
10. Is your bathroom clean?
Not so much.
11. What's your favorite piece of jewelry?
Wedding band, though it no longer fits my crooked finger now that I've lost weight. Need to get it re-sized.
12. Do you like painkillers?
Anti-inflammatories? I don't take them much. My liver goes bananas for as-yet-undetermined reasons, and some of these can provoke that. As far as heavier stuff like opiates or benzodiazepines, well, yes I like them, but I no longer take them. That dance ended years ago.
13. Oregon or Maine?
Do what now?
14. Do you have A.D.D.?
No
15. What's your favorite State?
Texas!
16. Middle Name?
Douglas
17. Name 3 thoughts at this exact moment?
I don't want to go to cla ss tonight
I don't want to go to class tonight
I don't want to go to class tonight
18. Name the last 3 things you have bought?
A couple hoagies, a tank of gas, and some shrimp fried rice
19. Name 3 drinks you regularly drink:
Water, Orange Juice, and the tea
20. Favorite food?
Tex Mex or pho
21. Favorite way to unwind?
What is this "unwind" you speak of?
22. Current worry?
Nothing I'll get into here
23. Current hate?
I'm not so big on hate
24. Favorite place to be?
In the arms of any or every member of my family
25. How did you bring in the New Year?
I'm told I didn't snore
26. Where would you like to go?
Tokyo!
27. Do you own slippers?
Yes, some nice warm ones that MOBB got me for Christmas
28. What shirt are you wearing?
A blue Nike polo
29. Do you tan or burn
Tan mostly
30. Favorite color(s)?
Blue, maroon
31. Would you be a pirate?
For a little while. After the 10th consecutive time my wife molested me wearing that getup, I'd have to take it off and rest.
33. What songs do you sing in the shower?
"I Think I'll Just Stay Here and Drink" by Merle Haggard
34. What did you fear that w as going to get you at night as a child?
80s music
35. What's in your pockets right now?
Coins, hand sanitizer, moisturizer, cellphone, and a very angry looking tactical folding knife
36. Last thing that made you laugh?
Shekina's presentation in class last night was quite amusing.
37. Best bed sheets?
Flannel
38.Worst injury you've ever had?
I am impervious to injury.
40. How many TVs do you have in your house?
Three
41. Who is your loudest friend?
Dunno, though my son is the loudest human on the planet
42. Who is your most silent friend?
Again, dunno.
43. Does someone have a crush on you?
No way Jose
44. Do u wish on shooting stars?
No. When I see shooting stars they stop, do figure eights, zig-zag, then zip off across the sky while the pilot shoots me the bird with one of his 19 fingers.
45. What is your favorite book?
Cannery Row by John Steinbeck
47. What song do/did you want played at your wedding?
I don't recall what, if anything, got played. I hope it wasn't "It's Raining Men."
48. What song do you want played at your funeral?
"Jessica" by the Allman Brothers
49. What were you doing @ 12 AM last night?
Sleeping
50. What was the first thing you thought of when you woke up??
Must... pee...
Second thing was: Why didn't the alarm turn on???
***
Today is THEGIRL's third birthday. Hooray! I'm told she's taking cupcakes to school. We won't have a proper celebration today, as I won't get home from school until afer 9pm. Tomorrow night we'll do it up right though, with cake and all.
***
I have a hiccup in my brain. I can't say... cupcakes. I mean, I CAN. But... every time see them, my brain goes, "Muffins!" So I usually call them muffins, until someone says something. Then I pause, squint, and eventually spit out the word "cupcakes." Even when writing this I had to pause to remember the word cupcakes. Well, the first time anyway.
***
I'm listening to Jason Falkner again. This is Can You Still Feel?, the CD I was listening to back in late '04 and early '05 that somehow played an instrumental role my decision to go back to school and leave the cesspool that is television behind. Man, those years in commercial TV were just like a bad dream.
This is still a brilliant, lush, gorgeous little CD. Falkner's finally releasing the followup--in Japan.
I'm sure it'll make its way over here.
***
And now for a survey, ganked from Whit:
1. Height?
5'-11"
2. Have you ever smoked heroin?
Noooo. My last name is Briscoe, not Burroughs.
3. Do you own a gun?
Yes, a 9mm
5. Do you get nervous before doctor appointments?
No. Why would I?
6. What do you think of hot dogs?
They're warm and brown, and sometimes they're a meal.
7. What's your favorite Christmas song?
Little Drummer Boy
8. What do you prefer to drink in the morning?
Orange Juice. Most mornings I'm also having hot tea now, and let me tell you, TEA AIN'T COFFEE.
9. Can you do push ups?
Sure. How many do you want? 50? 100?
10. Is your bathroom clean?
Not so much.
11. What's your favorite piece of jewelry?
Wedding band, though it no longer fits my crooked finger now that I've lost weight. Need to get it re-sized.
12. Do you like painkillers?
Anti-inflammatories? I don't take them much. My liver goes bananas for as-yet-undetermined reasons, and some of these can provoke that. As far as heavier stuff like opiates or benzodiazepines, well, yes I like them, but I no longer take them. That dance ended years ago.
13. Oregon or Maine?
Do what now?
14. Do you have A.D.D.?
No
15. What's your favorite State?
Texas!
16. Middle Name?
Douglas
17. Name 3 thoughts at this exact moment?
I don't want to go to cla ss tonight
I don't want to go to class tonight
I don't want to go to class tonight
18. Name the last 3 things you have bought?
A couple hoagies, a tank of gas, and some shrimp fried rice
19. Name 3 drinks you regularly drink:
Water, Orange Juice, and the tea
20. Favorite food?
Tex Mex or pho
21. Favorite way to unwind?
What is this "unwind" you speak of?
22. Current worry?
Nothing I'll get into here
23. Current hate?
I'm not so big on hate
24. Favorite place to be?
In the arms of any or every member of my family
25. How did you bring in the New Year?
I'm told I didn't snore
26. Where would you like to go?
Tokyo!
27. Do you own slippers?
Yes, some nice warm ones that MOBB got me for Christmas
28. What shirt are you wearing?
A blue Nike polo
29. Do you tan or burn
Tan mostly
30. Favorite color(s)?
Blue, maroon
31. Would you be a pirate?
For a little while. After the 10th consecutive time my wife molested me wearing that getup, I'd have to take it off and rest.
33. What songs do you sing in the shower?
"I Think I'll Just Stay Here and Drink" by Merle Haggard
34. What did you fear that w as going to get you at night as a child?
80s music
35. What's in your pockets right now?
Coins, hand sanitizer, moisturizer, cellphone, and a very angry looking tactical folding knife
36. Last thing that made you laugh?
Shekina's presentation in class last night was quite amusing.
37. Best bed sheets?
Flannel
38.Worst injury you've ever had?
I am impervious to injury.
40. How many TVs do you have in your house?
Three
41. Who is your loudest friend?
Dunno, though my son is the loudest human on the planet
42. Who is your most silent friend?
Again, dunno.
43. Does someone have a crush on you?
No way Jose
44. Do u wish on shooting stars?
No. When I see shooting stars they stop, do figure eights, zig-zag, then zip off across the sky while the pilot shoots me the bird with one of his 19 fingers.
45. What is your favorite book?
Cannery Row by John Steinbeck
47. What song do/did you want played at your wedding?
I don't recall what, if anything, got played. I hope it wasn't "It's Raining Men."
48. What song do you want played at your funeral?
"Jessica" by the Allman Brothers
49. What were you doing @ 12 AM last night?
Sleeping
50. What was the first thing you thought of when you woke up??
Must... pee...
Second thing was: Why didn't the alarm turn on???
I have a hiccup in my brain
I'll post about the trip later, maybe tonight at the earliest.
***
Today is THEGIRL's third birthday. Hooray! I'm told she's taking cupcakes to school. We won't have a proper celebration today, as I won't get home from school until afer 9pm. Tomorrow night we'll do it up right though, with cake and all.
***
I have a hiccup in my brain. I can't say... cupcakes. I mean, I CAN. But... every time see them, my brain goes, "Muffins!" So I usually call them muffins, until someone says something. Then I pause, squint, and eventually spit out the word "cupcakes." Even when writing this I had to pause to remember the word cupcakes. Well, the first time anyway.
***
I'm listening to Jason Falkner again. This is Can You Still Feel?, the CD I was listening to back in late '04 and early '05 that somehow played an instrumental role my decision to go back to school and leave the cesspool that is television behind. Man, those years in commercial TV were just like a bad dream.
This is still a brilliant, lush, gorgeous little CD. Falkner's finally releasing the followup--in Japan.
I'm sure it'll make its way over here.
***
And now for a survey, ganked from Whit:
1. Height?
5'-11"
2. Have you ever smoked heroin?
Noooo. My last name is Briscoe, not Burroughs.
3. Do you own a gun?
Yes, a 9mm
5. Do you get nervous before doctor appointments?
No. Why would I?
6. What do you think of hot dogs?
They're warm and brown, and sometimes they're a meal.
7. What's your favorite Christmas song?
Little Drummer Boy
8. What do you prefer to drink in the morning?
Orange Juice. Most mornings I'm also having hot tea now, and let me tell you, TEA AIN'T COFFEE.
9. Can you do push ups?
Sure. How many do you want? 50? 100?
10. Is your bathroom clean?
Not so much.
11. What's your favorite piece of jewelry?
Wedding band, though it no longer fits my crooked finger now that I've lost weight. Need to get it re-sized.
12. Do you like painkillers?
Anti-inflammatories? I don't take them much. My liver goes bananas for as-yet-undetermined reasons, and some of these can provoke that. As far as heavier stuff like opiates or benzodiazepines, well, yes I like them, but I no longer take them. That dance ended years ago.
13. Oregon or
Do what now?
14. Do you have A.D.D.?
No
15. What's your favorite State?
16. Middle Name?
Douglas
17. Name 3 thoughts at this exact moment?
I don't want to go to class tonight
I don't want to go to class tonight
18. Name the last 3 things you have bought?
A couple hoagies, a tank of gas, and some shrimp fried rice
19. Name 3 drinks you regularly drink:
Water, Orange Juice, and the tea
20. Favorite food?
Tex Mex or pho
21. Favorite way to unwind?
What is this "unwind" you speak of?
22. Current worry?
Nothing I'll get into here
23. Current hate?
I'm not so big on hate
24. Favorite place to be?
In the arms of any or every member of my family
25. How did you bring in the New Year?
I'm told I didn't snore
26. Where would you like to go?
Tokyo!
27. Do you own slippers?
Yes, some nice warm ones that MOBB got me for Christmas
28. What shirt are you wearing?
A blue Nike polo
29. Do you tan or burn
Tan mostly
30. Favorite color(s)?
Blue, maroon
31. Would you be a pirate?
For a little while. After the 10th consecutive time my wife molested me wearing that getup, I'd have to take it off and rest.
33. What songs do you sing in the shower?
"I Think I'll Just Stay Here and Drink" by Merle Haggard
34. What did you fear that w as going to get you at night as a child?
80s music
35. What's in your pockets right now?
Coins, hand sanitizer, moisturizer, cellphone, and a very angry looking tactical folding knife
36. Last thing that made you laugh?
Shekina's presentation in class last night was quite amusing.
37. Best bed sheets?
Flannel
38.Worst injury you've ever had?
I am impervious to injury.
40. How many TVs do you have in your house?
Three
41. Who is your loudest friend?
Dunno, though my son is the loudest human on the planet
42. Who is your most silent friend?
Again, dunno.
43. Does someone have a crush on you?
No way Jose
44. Do u wish on shooting stars?
No. When I see shooting stars they stop, do figure eights, zig-zag, then zip off across the sky while the pilot shoots me the bird with one of his 19 fingers.
45. What is your favorite book?
Cannery Row by John Steinbeck
47. What song do/did you want played at your wedding?
I don't recall what, if anything, got played. I hope it wasn't "It's Raining Men."
48. What song do you want played at your funeral?
"Jessica" by the Allman Brothers
49. What were you doing @ 12 AM last night?
Sleeping
50. What was the first thing you thought of when you woke up??
Must... pee...
Second thing was: Why didn't the alarm turn on???
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Where is BB?
I'm north of New Orleans, hanging out with a bunch of crazy-ass Cajuns.
It's been a good trip.
Will update when I can.
Be good.
It's been a good trip.
Will update when I can.
Be good.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Confessions of a Bootleg Barney
It's true. Sometime in 1991 I was Barney. Well, a bootleg Barney, and by "bootleg" I'm referring to the fact that this costume wasn't licensed or approved of in any way by the actual Barney folks. It was a big, purple dinosaur costume, and my job was to wear it for a few hours at the grand opening of a CD store.
Let me just say that if you ever agree to do such a thing, take the first shift. Don't be a fool like me and take second shift. At that point the costume is soaked with sweat, and the smell's no walk in the park either.
The kids loved it though. Visibility through that giant headpiece is poor, so I could really only pick up limited movement. I had very little warning when kids ran full speed into my crotch. Luckily, Bootleg Barney had a padded crotch.
(And you thought BB stood for "Brian Briscoe")
***
The family is, finally, healthy. MOBB went to her new job Tuesday, daring to drive for only the second time since last week's episode that sent her to the ER. She's steadily improving, regaining her balance, but she's not at 100% yet.
THEBOY returned to school as well. He's bouncing off the walls, acting like his usual self.
***
I think I have a couple new readers poking around here, so let me just run through a few things some of ya'll may already be familiar with:
BB, that's me. Purveyor of fine blogitude.
MOBB, that's my wife, Kelli. Her nickname was MOB, which stood for "Mail-Order Bride" after she spent a chunk of last summer in Italy. Then she broke her wrist, and all the cool pins sticking out of it prompted me to add a word, making her Mail-Order Bionic Bride.
I refer to my kids as THEBOY and THEGIRL. I wish to play it safe and keep their names and some specifics about them off of this little site.
I think that covers all the names.
***
My sister and I are going to Louisiana this weekend to see some family. Cool! It's a long overdue trip, and I think we'll be glad we did it. Many thanks to our respective spouses for giving us the green light on this.
***
I had two presentations to make in my classes this week. The first one was with a group, and we were pretty well prepared. But on the day we did our group presentation I realized I had to have a pair of journal article presentations for class the next day. That was no fun, as I was at work when I realized this, and was going straight from there to my 6-9pm class. But I believe I pulled it off fairly well.
***
Not sure when I'll get to post next. Ya'll take care in any case.
Let me just say that if you ever agree to do such a thing, take the first shift. Don't be a fool like me and take second shift. At that point the costume is soaked with sweat, and the smell's no walk in the park either.
The kids loved it though. Visibility through that giant headpiece is poor, so I could really only pick up limited movement. I had very little warning when kids ran full speed into my crotch. Luckily, Bootleg Barney had a padded crotch.
(And you thought BB stood for "Brian Briscoe")
***
The family is, finally, healthy. MOBB went to her new job Tuesday, daring to drive for only the second time since last week's episode that sent her to the ER. She's steadily improving, regaining her balance, but she's not at 100% yet.
THEBOY returned to school as well. He's bouncing off the walls, acting like his usual self.
***
I think I have a couple new readers poking around here, so let me just run through a few things some of ya'll may already be familiar with:
BB, that's me. Purveyor of fine blogitude.
MOBB, that's my wife, Kelli. Her nickname was MOB, which stood for "Mail-Order Bride" after she spent a chunk of last summer in Italy. Then she broke her wrist, and all the cool pins sticking out of it prompted me to add a word, making her Mail-Order Bionic Bride.
I refer to my kids as THEBOY and THEGIRL. I wish to play it safe and keep their names and some specifics about them off of this little site.
I think that covers all the names.
***
My sister and I are going to Louisiana this weekend to see some family. Cool! It's a long overdue trip, and I think we'll be glad we did it. Many thanks to our respective spouses for giving us the green light on this.
***
I had two presentations to make in my classes this week. The first one was with a group, and we were pretty well prepared. But on the day we did our group presentation I realized I had to have a pair of journal article presentations for class the next day. That was no fun, as I was at work when I realized this, and was going straight from there to my 6-9pm class. But I believe I pulled it off fairly well.
***
Not sure when I'll get to post next. Ya'll take care in any case.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
If You Don't Like Krav Maga I'll Kick You in the Jibblies
Current music: "Candy" by Cameo
***
Yeah, 24 hours later my outlook has greatly improved. THEBOY is on the mend, starting to bop around like his usual self, lecturing us constantly on the ins and outs of various games, comic books, and all sorts of other things that leave us wondering exactly what the hell he's talking about.
MOBB reports small, steady progress. She can't drive yet. She is supposed to start a new job Tuesday, and she's hopeful that by then she'll be well enough to.
***
We watched Batman Begins tonight. How many years did they screw around with Batman movies before getting it right? More than 15 I think. Crazy.
***
Did a Krav workout this morning with one of our very good, very aggressive students. I don't think I'm stretching it too far when I say, "He crazy." Very physical, but this ain't a knitting class now is it?
***
It was, in fact, a strange combination of Batman and Krav Maga that started this whole martial arts-related thought that's been stuck in my craw.
If you enter Batman+Krav+Maga in Google, you get lots of results. Seems that someone, somewhere along the way wrote or purported that it's a component of his fighting style. An amusing idea, and I'd tell you more if I'd spent much time pursuing it.
***
But while poking around in the search results last night, I found an old thread on a message board about Krav Maga. It started innocently enough: Someone asked if anyone was familiar with it, had maybe trained it.
And as always happens on such things, the tone of the responses gradually changed from "I hear good things about it" to "I'm not impressed with what I've seen" to "I've got a cousin who does Judo who whipped a Krav guy in sparring."
Sigh.
***
I'm not training for sport. I'm not training to spar, not training to get into a cage and beat someone up for 15 minutes or submit them.
(We train a little ground, by the way. No submissions; we're not there to get anyone to tap. We're there to cause damage and get back up, as we are standup fighters.)
I'm not training to face another martial artist. I'm training to deal with some thug in a parking lot who wants my wallet, or some punk-ass bitch in a bar who thought swinging at me was a good idea.
What we learn is explosive and brief. We've been told that if one of our encounters lasts more than about eight seconds we've done something terribly wrong.
***
Next month I'll have been training for a year. When I began I was fit from jogging, but knew nothing about proper striking mechanics. I had to get instruction from the ground up on becoming a fighter.
If I'd done nothing but spend a year doing heavy bag work 3-5 times a week, don't you think I'd have gained something even from that?
In that time I've done bag work and more. I've been trained on:
*Long, medium, and short-range strikes
*Jabs, crosses, hooks, uppercuts, liver shots
*Knees
*Multiple kicks, including front kicks, side kicks, back kicks, round house kicks, a kick with a built-in fake, and this bitchin' thing without a name I'm dying to try on Whit
*Elbows from seven angles
*360 degree defenses against strikes
*Inside defenses against strikes
*Groin strikes, eye gouges, cavaliers, carotid strikes
*Takedowns
*Multiple front, side, and rear choke defenses
*Escaping from an attacker who has the full mount
*Escaping from a bear hug
*Joint locks
*Getting out of the guard and back to the feet
*Diverting a kick to my head from a ground position
*Defending against a standing attacker from my back
*Defenses against weapons, including handguns from multiple angles, sticks/bats, and knives
(I HATE knife work; at this point my plan against a knife remains "shriek and run")
I'm probably forgetting to mention a few.
***
I am an injury-prone 38-year-old man. I was not blessed with grace or strength.
I am not Bruce Lee or Chuck Norris. Or Whit. I'm a man who has occasionally managed to get into a pinch. I've always managed to get out too, though I don't think I'd be wise to rely on luck and smarts the rest of my life. I will still go with smarts first, but how smart would I be not to have a good backup plan?
We've often been told that if we end up on the ground with a true ground fighter, we're screwed. Fine. Last March as I spat expletives at some teenager in a parking lot, I didn't figure he'd want to scrap on the asphalt.
Not knocking ground at all, btw. I'll take all I can get. If my school brings in a BJJ teacher (as has been discussed), I'll be there.
***
I hope this doesn't all come off as a startling lack of humility. I'm just saying that I am learning to defend myself and my family using techniques based on instinctive reactions and gross motor skills. None of this is meant to make me capable of licking any sonofabitch in the room. It's meant for self-preservation.
I simply get a bit frustrated at the martial art bashing that's part of the student culture, you know?
***
I love Judo, btw. It didn't work out for me, but part of me still yearns to try it again someday, maybe in a different environment. I love watching Karo Parisyan send someone ass over teakettle to the floor.
***
I welcome comments, dissenting opinions and "yo mama" jokes.
***
Yeah, 24 hours later my outlook has greatly improved. THEBOY is on the mend, starting to bop around like his usual self, lecturing us constantly on the ins and outs of various games, comic books, and all sorts of other things that leave us wondering exactly what the hell he's talking about.
MOBB reports small, steady progress. She can't drive yet. She is supposed to start a new job Tuesday, and she's hopeful that by then she'll be well enough to.
***
We watched Batman Begins tonight. How many years did they screw around with Batman movies before getting it right? More than 15 I think. Crazy.
***
Did a Krav workout this morning with one of our very good, very aggressive students. I don't think I'm stretching it too far when I say, "He crazy." Very physical, but this ain't a knitting class now is it?
***
It was, in fact, a strange combination of Batman and Krav Maga that started this whole martial arts-related thought that's been stuck in my craw.
If you enter Batman+Krav+Maga in Google, you get lots of results. Seems that someone, somewhere along the way wrote or purported that it's a component of his fighting style. An amusing idea, and I'd tell you more if I'd spent much time pursuing it.
***
But while poking around in the search results last night, I found an old thread on a message board about Krav Maga. It started innocently enough: Someone asked if anyone was familiar with it, had maybe trained it.
And as always happens on such things, the tone of the responses gradually changed from "I hear good things about it" to "I'm not impressed with what I've seen" to "I've got a cousin who does Judo who whipped a Krav guy in sparring."
Sigh.
***
I'm not training for sport. I'm not training to spar, not training to get into a cage and beat someone up for 15 minutes or submit them.
(We train a little ground, by the way. No submissions; we're not there to get anyone to tap. We're there to cause damage and get back up, as we are standup fighters.)
I'm not training to face another martial artist. I'm training to deal with some thug in a parking lot who wants my wallet, or some punk-ass bitch in a bar who thought swinging at me was a good idea.
What we learn is explosive and brief. We've been told that if one of our encounters lasts more than about eight seconds we've done something terribly wrong.
***
Next month I'll have been training for a year. When I began I was fit from jogging, but knew nothing about proper striking mechanics. I had to get instruction from the ground up on becoming a fighter.
If I'd done nothing but spend a year doing heavy bag work 3-5 times a week, don't you think I'd have gained something even from that?
In that time I've done bag work and more. I've been trained on:
*Long, medium, and short-range strikes
*Jabs, crosses, hooks, uppercuts, liver shots
*Knees
*Multiple kicks, including front kicks, side kicks, back kicks, round house kicks, a kick with a built-in fake, and this bitchin' thing without a name I'm dying to try on Whit
*Elbows from seven angles
*360 degree defenses against strikes
*Inside defenses against strikes
*Groin strikes, eye gouges, cavaliers, carotid strikes
*Takedowns
*Multiple front, side, and rear choke defenses
*Escaping from an attacker who has the full mount
*Escaping from a bear hug
*Joint locks
*Getting out of the guard and back to the feet
*Diverting a kick to my head from a ground position
*Defending against a standing attacker from my back
*Defenses against weapons, including handguns from multiple angles, sticks/bats, and knives
(I HATE knife work; at this point my plan against a knife remains "shriek and run")
I'm probably forgetting to mention a few.
***
I am an injury-prone 38-year-old man. I was not blessed with grace or strength.
I am not Bruce Lee or Chuck Norris. Or Whit. I'm a man who has occasionally managed to get into a pinch. I've always managed to get out too, though I don't think I'd be wise to rely on luck and smarts the rest of my life. I will still go with smarts first, but how smart would I be not to have a good backup plan?
We've often been told that if we end up on the ground with a true ground fighter, we're screwed. Fine. Last March as I spat expletives at some teenager in a parking lot, I didn't figure he'd want to scrap on the asphalt.
Not knocking ground at all, btw. I'll take all I can get. If my school brings in a BJJ teacher (as has been discussed), I'll be there.
***
I hope this doesn't all come off as a startling lack of humility. I'm just saying that I am learning to defend myself and my family using techniques based on instinctive reactions and gross motor skills. None of this is meant to make me capable of licking any sonofabitch in the room. It's meant for self-preservation.
I simply get a bit frustrated at the martial art bashing that's part of the student culture, you know?
***
I love Judo, btw. It didn't work out for me, but part of me still yearns to try it again someday, maybe in a different environment. I love watching Karo Parisyan send someone ass over teakettle to the floor.
***
I welcome comments, dissenting opinions and "yo mama" jokes.
Friday, February 16, 2007
drainage caused the scene from Scooby Doo
I've been in the same clothes for two days.
I smell like popcorn.
Have I ever mentioned that I don't like popcorn?
***
MOBB went via ambulance to the ER yesterday. I was nearly at work when she summoned me with a cryptic phone call: "Brian... I need your help. I'm dizzy. Come home please." Click.
I made a 20 minute drive in 12.
***
Every move made her heave. She had that feels-like-I'm-dyin' sort of room-spinning dizzyness.
THEBOY was already at school, but not THEGIRL, who was awake when the EMTs pulled up. I meant to keep her from watching the strange men come in and haul her mother away, so I shuffled her into her room with Pop Tarts and juice and closed the door. It worked.
After MOBB was gone, I took THEGIRL to her daycare and headed to the hospital. It's a serious inner ear problem of some sort, possibly viral, possibly calcium deposits, possibly neither.
MOBB got four scrips, each of which would fell a mastodon.
She's improved slightly and slowly, but she's nowhere near ready to drive. No one will say how long this will last.
***
On the way home from the ER I got a call from THEBOY's school: He had a fever and felt dizzy.
***
So I brought him home too. He kept having these fever spikes, getting as high as 103.5. I slept in his bed with him last night, and at 3:30am he got up, miserable at 103.1 degrees. We sat on the bathroom floor for a half hour as he shuddered under a blanket, waiting for the ibuprofen to ease that hot/cold sensation.
***
He didn't get a fever over 99 again until 1:30pm, and I thought that was a good sign. I decided not to take him to the doctor.
I chose poorly.
***
A little before 7pm he started what amounted to a two-hour coughing fit. I was furious with myself for having decided against seeing his pediatrician. So at about 8pm we hit the urgent care center.
He put on quite a coughing workshop in there, though some older girl across the room from us sounded much worse. She had that kind of cough that made everyone turn there heads and stare. WOW.
***
We did get a little comic relief, finally, when he looked up from his video game and gave me this wordless gaze I recognize from years of parenting.
I burst into the nurse's station: "Where's the bathroom? He's gonna blow!"
He made it. Mostly.
***
And right after that he was comparing his experience to the sight of some monster in a Scooby Doo movie spitting up green slime. Ah, to be six and find projectile vomiting amusing.
***
He got some good meds and a diagnosis: Sinusitis. Yeah, that's what caused the fever. His reactive airways kicked in and caused the coughing, and drainage caused the scene from Scooby Doo.
***
Right now I'm missing Cheap Trick, whom I was supposed to see with the mighty Bruiser Boone. Blue Oyster Cult and Mini-KISS are also on the bill. I'm disappointed to miss seeing my friend, but you play the hand you're dealt. No way I could/should have gone. At least I made one correct decision today.
***
I'm tired, beat down... I bet in 24 hours my outlook will be better.
***
Coming soon... maybe: A martial arts rant. I've just heard a little too much tougher-than-thou trash talk lately. Basically, if you don't train BJJ, Muay Thai, Judo or Boxing, someone's out there dissing you.
It's like Whit once said: You think my shit don't work? Try me.
But that's for later. Be good. Stay healthy.
I smell like popcorn.
Have I ever mentioned that I don't like popcorn?
***
MOBB went via ambulance to the ER yesterday. I was nearly at work when she summoned me with a cryptic phone call: "Brian... I need your help. I'm dizzy. Come home please." Click.
I made a 20 minute drive in 12.
***
Every move made her heave. She had that feels-like-I'm-dyin' sort of room-spinning dizzyness.
THEBOY was already at school, but not THEGIRL, who was awake when the EMTs pulled up. I meant to keep her from watching the strange men come in and haul her mother away, so I shuffled her into her room with Pop Tarts and juice and closed the door. It worked.
After MOBB was gone, I took THEGIRL to her daycare and headed to the hospital. It's a serious inner ear problem of some sort, possibly viral, possibly calcium deposits, possibly neither.
MOBB got four scrips, each of which would fell a mastodon.
She's improved slightly and slowly, but she's nowhere near ready to drive. No one will say how long this will last.
***
On the way home from the ER I got a call from THEBOY's school: He had a fever and felt dizzy.
***
So I brought him home too. He kept having these fever spikes, getting as high as 103.5. I slept in his bed with him last night, and at 3:30am he got up, miserable at 103.1 degrees. We sat on the bathroom floor for a half hour as he shuddered under a blanket, waiting for the ibuprofen to ease that hot/cold sensation.
***
He didn't get a fever over 99 again until 1:30pm, and I thought that was a good sign. I decided not to take him to the doctor.
I chose poorly.
***
A little before 7pm he started what amounted to a two-hour coughing fit. I was furious with myself for having decided against seeing his pediatrician. So at about 8pm we hit the urgent care center.
He put on quite a coughing workshop in there, though some older girl across the room from us sounded much worse. She had that kind of cough that made everyone turn there heads and stare. WOW.
***
We did get a little comic relief, finally, when he looked up from his video game and gave me this wordless gaze I recognize from years of parenting.
I burst into the nurse's station: "Where's the bathroom? He's gonna blow!"
He made it. Mostly.
***
And right after that he was comparing his experience to the sight of some monster in a Scooby Doo movie spitting up green slime. Ah, to be six and find projectile vomiting amusing.
***
He got some good meds and a diagnosis: Sinusitis. Yeah, that's what caused the fever. His reactive airways kicked in and caused the coughing, and drainage caused the scene from Scooby Doo.
***
Right now I'm missing Cheap Trick, whom I was supposed to see with the mighty Bruiser Boone. Blue Oyster Cult and Mini-KISS are also on the bill. I'm disappointed to miss seeing my friend, but you play the hand you're dealt. No way I could/should have gone. At least I made one correct decision today.
***
I'm tired, beat down... I bet in 24 hours my outlook will be better.
***
Coming soon... maybe: A martial arts rant. I've just heard a little too much tougher-than-thou trash talk lately. Basically, if you don't train BJJ, Muay Thai, Judo or Boxing, someone's out there dissing you.
It's like Whit once said: You think my shit don't work? Try me.
But that's for later. Be good. Stay healthy.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Yo No Soy Chismoso. Soy el "Leader"
I was reading Avengers #2 to THEBOY the other night. The bad guy was the Leader, a green guy with a 19-inch cranium who has some strange fixation on the Hulk.
THEBOY has figured out that I can do a few voices, so as we read it he kept instructing me to change the voices. Sometimes he'd give me instructions.
First, for the Leader, he told me to "make him sound like a Mexican."
Wow. I had no idea this was a distinction THEBOY was familiar with. So I went into a bad Cheech Marin, which probably wasn't a PC thing to do, but it was funny.
Then he told me to "make him sound like a guy with a mustache who drinks tea."
I had no idea what that meant, but I just put together something really drawn out and nasally, and he laughed like mad.
My voice coach always did say I took direction well.
***
I have had, I believe, six Spanish classes in my life (two in high school, four in college). I have been to Mexico and Spain, and I believe the ability to speak to one's neighbors is essential. I've practiced on my own for years, thrown myself into a few "sink or swim" situations... I do okay.
Sometimes, though, I have to explain work-related things that are a bit complex.
I was on the phone with the client today, in fact, when I realized I wasn't sure how to say "counselor." Turns out I got it right ("consejero").
But afterwards I ran it past a native speaker, who told me that was fine, or that I could go with "chismoso."
Earnestly I told her I wasn't familiar with the word, but thanks for the info.
And she laughed and realized I needed it for work, then admitted she'd been messing with me; chismoso, see, is Spanish for someone who is a gossip.
Yes, I could have advised a client that he'd soon get a chance to speak to one of our well-trained staff gossips.
***
Message to MOBB: "Syyyyyyyyrinx!"
***
Valentine's Day is here, and we've got big fistfuls of nothing planned. Yep. We exchanged cards, but otherwise this looks to be a pretty straightforward day. Maybe we'll get to celebrate a bit this weekend.
***
And now Llorca's over here giving me grief about the movie Y Tu Mama Tambien.
Do NOT see it. Really. You will feel ripped off, and you'll want to take a shower.
***
Syyyyyyyyyyyyrinx!
***
Pitchers and catchers report Friday. Life is good. Not sure I'll have another epic poem about baseball in me this year.
Someone should write an epic poem about the marriage of salsa and cheese though. I'm not kidding.
***
Ya'll have a good day. Go kiss someone.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Mr. Holland's Beautiful Boy
Did you see Mr. Holland's Opus? We watched a clip from it last night in class.
Mr. Holland has a deaf teenage son, and they have a tense exchange on the day after John Lennon was killed. Mr. Holland tells Cole he wouldn't understand, and Cole angrily replies to his father that he DOES know who Lennon was, and the Beatles, and that his dad's an asshole for thinking him incapable of understanding.
Mr. Holland realizes that his son can appreciate music, so he arranges for a performance at Cole's school. He's got his little orchestra (which consists of kids; I haven't seen the whole thing, but I'm guessing he teaches middle school or something), and they do a couple numbers. A big, multi-colored light on stage flashes along to the sounds, and the crowd loves it.
Then Mr. Holland sings (in a flawed but touchingly vulnerable voice) John Lennon's "Beautiful Boy (Darling Boy)" for his son, signing the words to him.
And I'm glad it was dark in the classroom, because the tears just ran down my face.
***
THEBOY likes the Beatles, and listens to the White Album in his room.
So I went home and made him a new Beatles CD. He'd not heard much of Revolver or Rubber Soul (glaring omissions, and surely a sign of my ineptitude as a parent), so I put songs from those, mostly, on a CD.
I also sprinkled in some solo Lennon stuff, and kicked off the CD with "Beautiful Boy."
I hope he likes it.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Minute by Minute with BB
7:53am
I've set the alarm for 8am since I need to see the chiropractor today, and 7:53 is when my eyes pop open.
Life can be cruel sometimes.
***
11:00am
I'm in THEBOY's room, watching a Superman video with THEGIRL (hey, she picked it).
I'm doing this because THEBOY is watching Batman vs. Dracula in the living room, and it's just too scary for us to let her see.
***
11:15am
I make an early lunch, a favorite noodle/veggie/chicken concoction I often eat before a workout.
Today it's going to be a belt test, which promises to be hours of grueling exertion. I'm five days removed from a stomach bug that had me talkin' to Jesus, but I feel I'm up to the test.
***
12:47pm
I walk into the Addison school, where the belt test for all three Krav Maga schools will be held today. Maybe half a dozen Bedford school folks are there, and I'm glad. There are a couple good candidates for partners for this thing.
***
1:00pm
It's pretty packed in the school. I counted 18 people on the mat. We warm up with shadow boxing, and the sweat begins to flow.
***
1:11pm
I'm separated from my Bedford boys--damn. We're told to find a partner, and everyone I know has picked someone else.
A stranger approaches, asks if I need a partner. He is almost exactly my height, weight and build.
God is good.
So I go through the review with this gentleman, whose name is John. He's a little older than I, but nice. We beat each other up pretty well. The "360" defenses are repetetive clashes of bony forearms against bony forearms. Clang clang clang. He hits a nerve in my left arm that feels like electricity.
Until 3:13pm we work out together. During that time we drip buckets of sweat. I accidentally knee him in the balls, hit him upside his head with an elbow, and perfectly nail that nerve in the side of the thigh that gets caught between two muscles when you kick it right.
***
3:16pm
I'm called into the owner's office and told I passed.
Not everyone did.
***
3:45pm
I'm driving home, listening to Size Matters by Helmet for the third time in a row. "Your aaaaaaaim is off... just boys in here, and they're soft."
***
5:30pm
I'm in the bathtub, counting seconds as I hold my breath underwater. I do what I figure is a minute, and that's good enough.
***
6:30pm
I'm at the Vietnamese noodle place, getting some takeout. I've always had difficulty with server's accent.
Two days ago she got braces, and now she's trying to tell me that when she was pregnant she looked like a character from Shrek.
I'm doing a fine job of simply nodding and smiling during the extended stretches when I have no idea what the hell she's saying. Finally the food comes.
***
9:00pm
I'm watching X-Men with MOBB. Hugh Jackman is shirtless in about 92% of the film. MOBB is not complaining.
We're watching it but listening to an audio commentary recorded by Mike Nelson of Mystery Science Theater 3000 fame. He's got this new gig at a place called Rifftrax. It's similar to MST3K, and quite damn funny.
***
11-something pm
I'm on the phone with Whit, and he puts me on speakerphone so I can share details of the belt test with him and Larry. Those two have forgotten more about martial arts than I'll ever know.
My bruises are starting to show up in nice shades of dark pink and purple.
Tonight THEBOY, who has been under the weather, was granted a rare opportunity: we let him fall asleep in his room watching a movie.
We discovered that when his movie ended he turned off the TV, turned on a Beatles CD, and went to sleep.
That's a neat little guy.
***
It was a pretty good day. Hope you had a good one too.
I've set the alarm for 8am since I need to see the chiropractor today, and 7:53 is when my eyes pop open.
Life can be cruel sometimes.
***
11:00am
I'm in THEBOY's room, watching a Superman video with THEGIRL (hey, she picked it).
I'm doing this because THEBOY is watching Batman vs. Dracula in the living room, and it's just too scary for us to let her see.
***
11:15am
I make an early lunch, a favorite noodle/veggie/chicken concoction I often eat before a workout.
Today it's going to be a belt test, which promises to be hours of grueling exertion. I'm five days removed from a stomach bug that had me talkin' to Jesus, but I feel I'm up to the test.
***
12:47pm
I walk into the Addison school, where the belt test for all three Krav Maga schools will be held today. Maybe half a dozen Bedford school folks are there, and I'm glad. There are a couple good candidates for partners for this thing.
***
1:00pm
It's pretty packed in the school. I counted 18 people on the mat. We warm up with shadow boxing, and the sweat begins to flow.
***
1:11pm
I'm separated from my Bedford boys--damn. We're told to find a partner, and everyone I know has picked someone else.
A stranger approaches, asks if I need a partner. He is almost exactly my height, weight and build.
God is good.
So I go through the review with this gentleman, whose name is John. He's a little older than I, but nice. We beat each other up pretty well. The "360" defenses are repetetive clashes of bony forearms against bony forearms. Clang clang clang. He hits a nerve in my left arm that feels like electricity.
Until 3:13pm we work out together. During that time we drip buckets of sweat. I accidentally knee him in the balls, hit him upside his head with an elbow, and perfectly nail that nerve in the side of the thigh that gets caught between two muscles when you kick it right.
***
3:16pm
I'm called into the owner's office and told I passed.
Not everyone did.
***
3:45pm
I'm driving home, listening to Size Matters by Helmet for the third time in a row. "Your aaaaaaaim is off... just boys in here, and they're soft."
***
5:30pm
I'm in the bathtub, counting seconds as I hold my breath underwater. I do what I figure is a minute, and that's good enough.
***
6:30pm
I'm at the Vietnamese noodle place, getting some takeout. I've always had difficulty with server's accent.
Two days ago she got braces, and now she's trying to tell me that when she was pregnant she looked like a character from Shrek.
I'm doing a fine job of simply nodding and smiling during the extended stretches when I have no idea what the hell she's saying. Finally the food comes.
***
9:00pm
I'm watching X-Men with MOBB. Hugh Jackman is shirtless in about 92% of the film. MOBB is not complaining.
We're watching it but listening to an audio commentary recorded by Mike Nelson of Mystery Science Theater 3000 fame. He's got this new gig at a place called Rifftrax. It's similar to MST3K, and quite damn funny.
***
11-something pm
I'm on the phone with Whit, and he puts me on speakerphone so I can share details of the belt test with him and Larry. Those two have forgotten more about martial arts than I'll ever know.
My bruises are starting to show up in nice shades of dark pink and purple.
Tonight THEBOY, who has been under the weather, was granted a rare opportunity: we let him fall asleep in his room watching a movie.
We discovered that when his movie ended he turned off the TV, turned on a Beatles CD, and went to sleep.
That's a neat little guy.
***
It was a pretty good day. Hope you had a good one too.
Friday, February 09, 2007
"Excuse me... excuse me."
Friday night, Friday night.
I'm tired, probably won't be as long-winded as usual. Well, you can hope I won't be, at least...
***
Secret message to MOBB: "Syrinx!"
***
Three students I've worked out with lately:
1. New Guy #1 on Thursday was just trying the place out. Looked fit, picked up the techniques well, made some mention of coming from Tae Kwon Do (hey, not everyone's perfect...). And in five minutes he was gassed, just gassed. He would breathe for a couple minutes, then get back into the thick of things. He was a real champ.
2. New Guy #2 is interesting. He's signed up, not just doing the trial period visits anymore. A little taller than I, 20 pounds more muscle. It's clear that he comes from martial arts training, as his movements are smooth, and he's breathtakingly strong. He's interesting, because he's so skilled and serious, yet so humble; he can correct my techniques without coming off like a jerk. He's also murder to work out with. One of our biggest guys is maybe 6'3" and 240 or so, and he tells me that NG2's kicks move him with no problem. Working out with NG2 leaves a mark. Wednesday night he hammer-fisted me in the ribs, punched me in the nose, and hyper-extended three of my fingers. I asked him point blank, again, what his background is. I said that I respect the skills he brings, that's all. He said he wishes to respect his new school by not talking about his old one. Fair enough. That's where my business ends and his starts.
3. Old Guy is a bit of a puzzle. He's well past AARP age. I've seen some of those guys do remarkable stuff in class (we used to have a 77-year-old). But with Old Guy I found myself holding back, not letting my techniques fly at full speed. That's not how they want us to do it. I hemmed and hawed, and certainly left a few workouts feeling like I'd cheated both of us. Finally I decided that hell, Old Guy signed the waiver, and no thug on the street would take it easy on him. If he wants to train, let's train. I'm not the strongest guy, but I went all out. I beat the hell out of the pads he held, sometimes having to stalk him as I sent him stumbling backwards.
I never had any idea this hobby of mine would entail beating up old people.
***
I test for yellow belt tomorrow. I was on the verge of green in the old system, but... long story. I'm fine with it. Wish me luck.
***
BB's current therapy: Boxriff by the Atomic Bitchwax
***
I dreamed a few days ago that I was on a small college campus and word got out that a drug dealer was there. People dropped what they were doing and RAN to go to him, to buy drugs.
I was with two people who did the same. One is someone I once knew in real life, a cleaned-up needle drug user. The other was a woman who was pure fiction.
So I'm running after them, and trying to use a technique called Solution-Focused Brief Therapy on him.
Yes, I dreamed I was doing therapy in a dream.
It didn't seem to be stopping him anyway.
***
Today on Magnolia Street I walked past a street hustler. He looked at me, I looked at him, and we sized each other up. Naturally, when I got 10 feet past him he started saying, "Excuse me... excuse me."
I had to laugh, but I actually turned around.
He gave me a quick story about needing bus fair or something, then reached into his pocket and pulled something out.
"You wanna buy some deodorant?" he asked.
I told him I didn't need any, then gave him a buck.
***
Tired. Have a good weekend.
I'm tired, probably won't be as long-winded as usual. Well, you can hope I won't be, at least...
***
Secret message to MOBB: "Syrinx!"
***
Three students I've worked out with lately:
1. New Guy #1 on Thursday was just trying the place out. Looked fit, picked up the techniques well, made some mention of coming from Tae Kwon Do (hey, not everyone's perfect...). And in five minutes he was gassed, just gassed. He would breathe for a couple minutes, then get back into the thick of things. He was a real champ.
2. New Guy #2 is interesting. He's signed up, not just doing the trial period visits anymore. A little taller than I, 20 pounds more muscle. It's clear that he comes from martial arts training, as his movements are smooth, and he's breathtakingly strong. He's interesting, because he's so skilled and serious, yet so humble; he can correct my techniques without coming off like a jerk. He's also murder to work out with. One of our biggest guys is maybe 6'3" and 240 or so, and he tells me that NG2's kicks move him with no problem. Working out with NG2 leaves a mark. Wednesday night he hammer-fisted me in the ribs, punched me in the nose, and hyper-extended three of my fingers. I asked him point blank, again, what his background is. I said that I respect the skills he brings, that's all. He said he wishes to respect his new school by not talking about his old one. Fair enough. That's where my business ends and his starts.
3. Old Guy is a bit of a puzzle. He's well past AARP age. I've seen some of those guys do remarkable stuff in class (we used to have a 77-year-old). But with Old Guy I found myself holding back, not letting my techniques fly at full speed. That's not how they want us to do it. I hemmed and hawed, and certainly left a few workouts feeling like I'd cheated both of us. Finally I decided that hell, Old Guy signed the waiver, and no thug on the street would take it easy on him. If he wants to train, let's train. I'm not the strongest guy, but I went all out. I beat the hell out of the pads he held, sometimes having to stalk him as I sent him stumbling backwards.
I never had any idea this hobby of mine would entail beating up old people.
***
I test for yellow belt tomorrow. I was on the verge of green in the old system, but... long story. I'm fine with it. Wish me luck.
***
BB's current therapy: Boxriff by the Atomic Bitchwax
***
I dreamed a few days ago that I was on a small college campus and word got out that a drug dealer was there. People dropped what they were doing and RAN to go to him, to buy drugs.
I was with two people who did the same. One is someone I once knew in real life, a cleaned-up needle drug user. The other was a woman who was pure fiction.
So I'm running after them, and trying to use a technique called Solution-Focused Brief Therapy on him.
Yes, I dreamed I was doing therapy in a dream.
It didn't seem to be stopping him anyway.
***
Today on Magnolia Street I walked past a street hustler. He looked at me, I looked at him, and we sized each other up. Naturally, when I got 10 feet past him he started saying, "Excuse me... excuse me."
I had to laugh, but I actually turned around.
He gave me a quick story about needing bus fair or something, then reached into his pocket and pulled something out.
"You wanna buy some deodorant?" he asked.
I told him I didn't need any, then gave him a buck.
***
Tired. Have a good weekend.
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Quickly
I'm well aware of the fact that I haven't posted in a while. It's been a busy week, with its share of ups and downs.
It was a good weekend I'd say. Krav went well Saturday. We did yard work Sunday. MOBB can really move some leaves when she wants to! We'd needed to do the leaves a month or more ago, but it kept raining on the weekends. So... it's done now.
And let me tell you, the greatest time in the world to buy groceries is during the Superbowl. Maaaaan. No waiting at the Wal Mart.
***
Monday I woke up with a nasty stomach bug. Not the worst I've ever had, but nasty enough to make me miss work and class.
I'm fine now though.
***
I'll get back in the swing of things soon, get to posting about...something I'm sure.
Be good.
Friday, February 02, 2007
Elephant Squeezin's
I just read that Travis Lutter didn't make weight, so tomorrow night's fight against Anderson Silva won't be a title fight--damn! Lutter was 1.5 pounds over. I can't believe there's no wiggle room.
***
Lots of changes at work this week, and a real break in the routine. We got to visit Austin, as I mentioned, and that was a good trip. I'd like to do more of that.
Soon I'll be the only person in the office, the only person reporting to my boss. I find it a bit scary, but a bit energizing as well.
***
I heard George Burns say once that he never asked senior citizens "how ya doing?" when he met them, because he learned the hard way that they'd tell him, and in great detail. He decided he'd just say, "It's good to see you."
So bearing that in mind, I'm sorry that you don't have the latter option as, again, I go into health-related blather. Eh, I'll have the usual nonsense about nutria and burrito stuffings (the same? different? debate amongst yourselves...) soon.
*
Saw the podiatrist this afternoon, and the news was better than was expected. The new MRI showed that yeah, I've got all these tiny fractures in my left tibia. I'm not getting a boot/cast as he'd once ventured to guess, and certainly no steroids.
The treatment:
1. Rest. That is, no jogging. Fine, I haven't managed to jog in many months.
2. Physical therapy (again--ugh). The good thing, though, is that the extremely effective treatment I received from my great chiropractor, Dr. Randy Wonderlich, may actually suffice as therapy. The podiatrist and I discussed this briefly, and he brought up the idea. Gotta hammer out the details with all concerned parties, if possible.
3. Corrective shoes. Yes, one of the great hallmarks of a nerd! Eh, the left leg is 12mm longer than the right. He feels that the tibia problem is due to this length discrepancy, so I'll have some shoes modified with lifts to even me out. It's built into the shoe, so I'm really hoping like hell it's not awfully visible.
I'll go back and see the podiatrist in a month, and from there we'll determine whether we're on the right track, and whether I have a realistic shot of ever being a jogger again.
(Regarding Krav Maga, the doc says it's fine, and to "keep kicking ass." I like this guy.)
There is the matter of the bone spur in my ankle, which has now been confirmed on two MRIs. It's something we'll consider after getting the calf/tibia healed up. He assures me he's not knife happy, though there is a possibility that this thing is damaging a ligament.
There you go. More than you or I wanted to know.
***
Watched Man vs. Wild with THEBOY tonight. He was going to bed, saw me watching it, and was hooked. In this episode he was in Kenya, and successfully cheesed off lions, hippos, rhinos, and a puff adder. It was pretty gripping stuff. He also ate raw meat from a zebra carcass and drank some elephant dung squeezin's (again, I'd rather die). I knew that last bit had a profound effect on THEBOY, as he was rendered speechless. He put his hand over his mouth and stared at the TV like... like... well, like some crazy Englishman was drinking elephant dung squeezin's.
And as the Englishman used a rope to climb out of a ravine, THEBOY turned to me and said, "This is GREAT!"
He's all boy, that one.
***
And THEGIRL is all girl. She's in a new, super daycare, doing well. I'm told that a couple days ago she took her "high heels" to school and wore them all day, even when offered the sneakers we put in her backpack.
***
OH, and... sigh.
The podiatrist suggested I throw away my favorite lace-up boots, the black Rugged ones I got at a clearance sale for $12.50 in 1997. I love these boots, but I've gotta say that they're probably long past their pitch-by date, and in fact, they smell like elephant squeezin's. Well, I'm just making an educated guess there, as I've not often smelled elephant squeezin's (we have an entry title, eh?).
Perhaps they smell more like yak entrails.
Rancid popcorn?
David Wells' jock strap?
Beer farts?
Troll detritus?
(I crack me up)
***
11pm and I'm getting sleepy... I'm such a damn light weight.
***
Lots of changes at work this week, and a real break in the routine. We got to visit Austin, as I mentioned, and that was a good trip. I'd like to do more of that.
Soon I'll be the only person in the office, the only person reporting to my boss. I find it a bit scary, but a bit energizing as well.
***
I heard George Burns say once that he never asked senior citizens "how ya doing?" when he met them, because he learned the hard way that they'd tell him, and in great detail. He decided he'd just say, "It's good to see you."
So bearing that in mind, I'm sorry that you don't have the latter option as, again, I go into health-related blather. Eh, I'll have the usual nonsense about nutria and burrito stuffings (the same? different? debate amongst yourselves...) soon.
*
Saw the podiatrist this afternoon, and the news was better than was expected. The new MRI showed that yeah, I've got all these tiny fractures in my left tibia. I'm not getting a boot/cast as he'd once ventured to guess, and certainly no steroids.
The treatment:
1. Rest. That is, no jogging. Fine, I haven't managed to jog in many months.
2. Physical therapy (again--ugh). The good thing, though, is that the extremely effective treatment I received from my great chiropractor, Dr. Randy Wonderlich, may actually suffice as therapy. The podiatrist and I discussed this briefly, and he brought up the idea. Gotta hammer out the details with all concerned parties, if possible.
3. Corrective shoes. Yes, one of the great hallmarks of a nerd! Eh, the left leg is 12mm longer than the right. He feels that the tibia problem is due to this length discrepancy, so I'll have some shoes modified with lifts to even me out. It's built into the shoe, so I'm really hoping like hell it's not awfully visible.
I'll go back and see the podiatrist in a month, and from there we'll determine whether we're on the right track, and whether I have a realistic shot of ever being a jogger again.
(Regarding Krav Maga, the doc says it's fine, and to "keep kicking ass." I like this guy.)
There is the matter of the bone spur in my ankle, which has now been confirmed on two MRIs. It's something we'll consider after getting the calf/tibia healed up. He assures me he's not knife happy, though there is a possibility that this thing is damaging a ligament.
There you go. More than you or I wanted to know.
***
Watched Man vs. Wild with THEBOY tonight. He was going to bed, saw me watching it, and was hooked. In this episode he was in Kenya, and successfully cheesed off lions, hippos, rhinos, and a puff adder. It was pretty gripping stuff. He also ate raw meat from a zebra carcass and drank some elephant dung squeezin's (again, I'd rather die). I knew that last bit had a profound effect on THEBOY, as he was rendered speechless. He put his hand over his mouth and stared at the TV like... like... well, like some crazy Englishman was drinking elephant dung squeezin's.
And as the Englishman used a rope to climb out of a ravine, THEBOY turned to me and said, "This is GREAT!"
He's all boy, that one.
***
And THEGIRL is all girl. She's in a new, super daycare, doing well. I'm told that a couple days ago she took her "high heels" to school and wore them all day, even when offered the sneakers we put in her backpack.
***
OH, and... sigh.
The podiatrist suggested I throw away my favorite lace-up boots, the black Rugged ones I got at a clearance sale for $12.50 in 1997. I love these boots, but I've gotta say that they're probably long past their pitch-by date, and in fact, they smell like elephant squeezin's. Well, I'm just making an educated guess there, as I've not often smelled elephant squeezin's (we have an entry title, eh?).
Perhaps they smell more like yak entrails.
Rancid popcorn?
David Wells' jock strap?
Beer farts?
Troll detritus?
(I crack me up)
***
11pm and I'm getting sleepy... I'm such a damn light weight.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Bzzzzzzzz
I've been on the road for two days, traveling for work-related stuff. Each morning I jumped out of bed and just kept moving, all day.
Today it was a road trip to Austin that went well. It was great to get down to KLRU, even briefly, to see Toland and some of the folks I used to work with. I hadn't set foot in Studio 6A in way too many years.
But my whole body seems to be... humming. Buzzing. I'm a little out of my mind. Probably goes without saying.
***
Passing thoughts from the road:
We're born okay, then spend the rest of our days disintegrating.
I love you sweet leaf, though you can't hear.
This is where Shep and I watched that kid roll his Jeep that time. Amazing that he wasn't hurt. It was raining like hell though. We called the cops and split.
Rundberg, yeah, that was my exit. $295 a month for that apartment.
Welcome to the realm of the pirate kings.
We are the marauders, the guardians at the gates. We are less than the sum of our parts, though sometimes we're more.
When you say "pit bull" I think of this knife right here.
I don't remember who I sold that amp to. I don't remember selling that amp. Why did I sell that amp?
An uppercut that had "hospital" written all over it.
"When you were a younger man," yeah.
Slack-jawed mouth breathers with bad skin and teeth they could use to eat corn on the cob through a picket fence
Normal feels so damn strange.
Today it was a road trip to Austin that went well. It was great to get down to KLRU, even briefly, to see Toland and some of the folks I used to work with. I hadn't set foot in Studio 6A in way too many years.
But my whole body seems to be... humming. Buzzing. I'm a little out of my mind. Probably goes without saying.
***
Passing thoughts from the road:
We're born okay, then spend the rest of our days disintegrating.
I love you sweet leaf, though you can't hear.
This is where Shep and I watched that kid roll his Jeep that time. Amazing that he wasn't hurt. It was raining like hell though. We called the cops and split.
Rundberg, yeah, that was my exit. $295 a month for that apartment.
Welcome to the realm of the pirate kings.
We are the marauders, the guardians at the gates. We are less than the sum of our parts, though sometimes we're more.
When you say "pit bull" I think of this knife right here.
I don't remember who I sold that amp to. I don't remember selling that amp. Why did I sell that amp?
An uppercut that had "hospital" written all over it.
"When you were a younger man," yeah.
Slack-jawed mouth breathers with bad skin and teeth they could use to eat corn on the cob through a picket fence
Normal feels so damn strange.
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