"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.