Rhymes with Cow

Current music: Up the Downstair by Porcupine Tree.

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Had some fun venting yesterday, but I decided to take out the vicious bit at the end. Not for fear of repercussions from past associations, mind you, but merely out of caution regarding potential future associations.

I should take up a career writing legalese.

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It was a good weekend! Whit arrived Friday and we got to be boys together again. We hit two (2) of my favorite local eateries: Miss Saigon (for a fine bowl of pho) and Mi Pueblo (for fine everything). I'm always proud to show off the things I like. Aren't we all?

He had a couple students competing in the Taiji Legacy Tournament up in Plano. They did well too! Wish I could quote you the specifics, but I know there were first and second place awards between the two of them.

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And he got to meet Sensei L'Onis, which meant a lot to me. It wasn't like it was some overly memorable encounter. Handshakes, couple pleasantries. But you know, those two guys are the reason I have, for the first time in my life, actually gotten into martial arts and stuck with it.

It was only a quick impression, but I'm sure Whit could get a sense that Tiger Klay is a good place, run by a good guy.

Mission accomplished.

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Saturday evening we mostly hung out, catching up. We were both pretty worn out, but stayed up too late anyway.

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Sunday I managed to scare up a babysitter and headed to Plano with Whit to catch a few hours of San Shou fights.

San Shou (shou rhymes with cow) is basically kickboxing with takedowns. You wear headgear, boxing gloves, chest protectors, shin pads, and you go to town on the other guy. Some strikes aren't allowed, of course (like knees to the head), but let me tell you, those punches and kicks are real.

Some fighters did elect to allow "chin na" (or chi na or something), which amounted to joint locks. This appeared to be the only time groundfighting of any sort was allowed; you could throw a neck crank or arm bar on a guy you'd sent to the mat if you wanted.

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I thought there were some terrifically well-rounded fighters, many of whom came from a school Whit once attended. It's interesting to see training like I'm getting put to use. You can sense the guys who have a knack for really putting together a combination. I liked seeing their techniques and making a checklist of which tools of theirs I also have.

(Yep, that kick, that punch, that kick too, OH, but not THAT kick...)

Some fights were one-sided, some were quite close. I saw a couple fighters I didn't think were all that great. Halfway made me want to give it a crack.

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Speaking of cracks, one fighter dislocated his shoulder there. You should have seen the paramedics yanking on his arm, trying to pop it back in. For something that must have hurt like hell, he tolerated it admirably, not yelling too much. I'd say it took them a half hour or more to re-set it.

And he stayed the rest of the day, his arm in a sling.

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Bumped into Danny, another Tiger Klay student, and we watched the matches together. Good guy I've always enjoyed talking to. He's competed in San Shou before. It was interesting to solicit the input of Danny and Whit during the fights.

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The highlight of the weekend, though, was probably watching my son wrestle with Whit. THEBOY has always had this knack for wholeheartedly accepting the people who are important to me. Hours earlier he'd been shaking his hand, getting re-introduced since THEBOY didn't remember their last encounter 18 months ago.

Then he was all over Whit, even taking some pointers on a stranglehold at one point.

(I can already hear the call from the daycare coming)

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THEBOY, in fact, did something that really impressed me.

See, as you probably know, there are lots of titles in martial arts. Sifu, Sensei, Master this or that... I'm not all that well-versed in the differences, but it's probably safe to say that the different titles are for similar jobs/positions in many cases.

THEBOY has always known my Sensei by his title. I'd assumed he thinks it's the man's name, and that's fine.

But I'd made clear to THEBOY that our guest is an expert, a martial arts teacher the likes of whom he would rarely encounter. I'd only instructed him to call him "Uncle Whit."

Twice, though, he slipped and called him "Sensei." Now, Whit's title is actually Sifu, but I must say I'm impressed that THEBOY put together what he knows about martial arts and assumed that Sensei was the correct thing to call Whit. It's quite a sharp little piece of reasoning he did on his own, and I'm quite pleasantly surprised.

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So it was a good weekend. Since then the only really interesting thing to happen was when the heating element in the oven burned through yesterday morning, shooting sparks everywhere. Yikes. My biscuits got done though. Gotta get out this morning and get a replacement.

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Kelli is doing fine, headed to Rome this weekend. I've been trying to scare up a hotel for her.

Check this out: On the Rick Steves website, he advises to watch your butt on the Rome bus #64. Yep. It's such a famous pickpocket haven that Steves can identify it by number online. It's one of the buses that hits some of the biggest tourist attractions in Rome. Men in suits slip their hands into purses and pockets, deftly removing the contents. Steves said he rides that bus just to watch the thieves in action.

I think I oughta load up a bunch of the baddest mofos I know so we can take a ride on the #64 bus. I'm gonna just drop a few grand on some plane tickets so Whit and a bunch of elbow-throwing, crotch-kicking Krav Maga students can cross the ocean and the language barrier and share how we feel about freakin' Europe and their aggressive thievery.

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Sorry to ramble. Gotta go get some stuff done now. Be good.