I love martial arts. LOVE. So much that if given the choice between internet porn and kung fu movie clips, I will chose kung fu. Yes, you freaks, I do know that there are videos that include both, but I will leave that blog to other, more twisted folks.
And I love martial arts in all its forms. I love the real, urban-military styles being used by soldiers around the world. I love the mystic KungFu! of fiction, complete with glowing fists and Sinanju masters. I even love the little precious-moment-like children at tae kwon do tournaments with their giant headgear tagging each other for points. I love the slow, grounding, and potentially healing properties of Qigong and Tai Chi.
So why am I not a martial artist? The truth: I'm lazy. It would require me to cut out time and money in my life that I don't want to part with. And I'm afraid of my back. Loading the dishes wrong can leave me limping for months. I'm afraid of what trying to kick above my own waist would do at this point. I'm not afraid of the pain of being punched or kicked or thrown. But living with the deep senseless pain of bad discs is something else.
I miss it. I miss the quiet minded feeling of bunkai fighting drills... The immediate reward of a well executed move as an opponent is stopped... The immediate lesson of a dropped guard or a raised elbow...
It is a transformation of a person. A growth from fat, lazy, anxious people to confident, strong, alert warriors. A balance of quick and calm that I don't feel in other places of life. It is not that I imagine myself ever being Jet Li or Bruce Lee. But it would be nice to feel... more solid?
Friday, February 20, 2009
Thursday, February 19, 2009
HULK SMASH!!!
Do you want to know what pisses me off? Think about it. You may have seen me sad, upset, irritated, annoyed, happy, ecstatic, jubilint, and sleepy. Or any other number of dwarf-names/emotions.
But have you ever seen me flip out? Lose control and throw shit? Punch something never intended to be punched? Or even scream insults at someone? Not just ordinary insults, either, but those deep down, I-can-see-into-your-soul's-weak-spot-and-stab-it insults? Have you seen me lash out with a blind and unreasoning rage as if Cops is being filmed live on my location? Probably not.
It is a rare thing. And when it does happen, I tend to flee the scene before the filters that normally block it all back are blown apart. Even that can be dangerous now that I am big and coordinated. As a fat little kid, it might have been a funny sight to see me storm off mid-scream with tiny fists. But I'm 6'2", 200 pounds, and have no fear of other people's punches. Doors wouldn't open fast enough.
So let's say, for argument's sake, that you needed to piss me off. Outside of truly comic book scenarios, I can't imagine a situation in which you would need this. But let's say it occurred. How would you trigger it?
Money. Having it taken away. Being billed for random reasons. Not being able to talk to a person who has the power or information to resolve or explain the issue.
Now I don't mean the daily occurance stuff. A messed up bill at a restaurant? I would probably just pay it and not worry about it. Rung up wrong at the local book store? No problem, just an excuse to laugh with a new salesperson-buddy. And the monthly bill-paying? Just part of the routine.
But when a billion dollar company tries to send ME to collection for a bill that they cannot justify or explain? When after two hours and five customer service employees representing three different languages they cannot explain the bill and I am STILL being penalized?!
I had to stop writing this for a minute and walk away. Even picturing the scenario was making me sick... You see, this happened to me this morning. I know, you're surprised. And it took every bit of control I had to calm down.
Every.
Ounce.
Of.
Control.
I had to channel my inner Bruce Banner...
I WANT TO SNAP YOUR SOULS IN HALF!!!!
I am a pebble in a stream...
I DO NOT FAIL MY FAMILY LIKE THIS BECAUSE YOU ARE A BLOATED CORPORATION THAT IS WRITHING IN THE FESTERING PILE OF YOUR LIES!!!
My coffee is warm, and that is good...
PRAY TO YOUR BASTARD GOD THAT I NEVER FIND WHERE YOU LIVE BECAUSE I WILL ENTER YOUR HOME AND BURN IT TO THE GROUND AROUND US!!!
Language barriers, international phone delays, and bloated billing systems are not the fault of this man on the phone...
I AM BECOME DEATH!!! I WILL THROW A COUCH INTO YOUR FACE!!!
Say thank you, hang up the phone, lower my shoulders out of my ears...
Really, I was good. Stern, to the point, insistent, but not rude or yelling. But sweet-mighty-Kevin-Bacon I was in a tempest of raw rage on the inside. It was close, but for now, the beast was contained.
Where does this anger come from?! How does it hide within me? Really, not much else can bring it out. Slap me? I'll make a joke. Spit in my food? You'll get a stern reprimand. Fat joke? I make worse to myself most days, I'm sure.
If only I could harness this power for good. Or at least superhuman abilities and superhero physique...
But have you ever seen me flip out? Lose control and throw shit? Punch something never intended to be punched? Or even scream insults at someone? Not just ordinary insults, either, but those deep down, I-can-see-into-your-soul's-weak-spot-and-stab-it insults? Have you seen me lash out with a blind and unreasoning rage as if Cops is being filmed live on my location? Probably not.
It is a rare thing. And when it does happen, I tend to flee the scene before the filters that normally block it all back are blown apart. Even that can be dangerous now that I am big and coordinated. As a fat little kid, it might have been a funny sight to see me storm off mid-scream with tiny fists. But I'm 6'2", 200 pounds, and have no fear of other people's punches. Doors wouldn't open fast enough.
So let's say, for argument's sake, that you needed to piss me off. Outside of truly comic book scenarios, I can't imagine a situation in which you would need this. But let's say it occurred. How would you trigger it?
Money. Having it taken away. Being billed for random reasons. Not being able to talk to a person who has the power or information to resolve or explain the issue.
Now I don't mean the daily occurance stuff. A messed up bill at a restaurant? I would probably just pay it and not worry about it. Rung up wrong at the local book store? No problem, just an excuse to laugh with a new salesperson-buddy. And the monthly bill-paying? Just part of the routine.
But when a billion dollar company tries to send ME to collection for a bill that they cannot justify or explain? When after two hours and five customer service employees representing three different languages they cannot explain the bill and I am STILL being penalized?!
I had to stop writing this for a minute and walk away. Even picturing the scenario was making me sick... You see, this happened to me this morning. I know, you're surprised. And it took every bit of control I had to calm down.
Every.
Ounce.
Of.
Control.
I had to channel my inner Bruce Banner...
I WANT TO SNAP YOUR SOULS IN HALF!!!!
I am a pebble in a stream...
I DO NOT FAIL MY FAMILY LIKE THIS BECAUSE YOU ARE A BLOATED CORPORATION THAT IS WRITHING IN THE FESTERING PILE OF YOUR LIES!!!
My coffee is warm, and that is good...
PRAY TO YOUR BASTARD GOD THAT I NEVER FIND WHERE YOU LIVE BECAUSE I WILL ENTER YOUR HOME AND BURN IT TO THE GROUND AROUND US!!!
Language barriers, international phone delays, and bloated billing systems are not the fault of this man on the phone...
I AM BECOME DEATH!!! I WILL THROW A COUCH INTO YOUR FACE!!!
Say thank you, hang up the phone, lower my shoulders out of my ears...
Really, I was good. Stern, to the point, insistent, but not rude or yelling. But sweet-mighty-Kevin-Bacon I was in a tempest of raw rage on the inside. It was close, but for now, the beast was contained.
Where does this anger come from?! How does it hide within me? Really, not much else can bring it out. Slap me? I'll make a joke. Spit in my food? You'll get a stern reprimand. Fat joke? I make worse to myself most days, I'm sure.
If only I could harness this power for good. Or at least superhuman abilities and superhero physique...
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
More cowbell?
I went to the doctor today. I am one of the many people who totally fail at the whole "preventative care" thing. But thanks to many, many people nagging me to get a new doc in this town, I decided to give it a go. Another back spasm was pretty good encouragement, though thankfully it has faded away.
My body and I go waaaay back. And it's a pretty adversarial relationship. It tries to get fatter, I eat more veggies. It gets depressed, I crank up funky tunes. It ruptures discs randomly, I have them removed.
In fairness, I don't always treat it well. God knows I have tried at times to drown it in beer. And I do pretend to be athletic, despite the blatantly obvious evidence to the contrary. It likes sunshine and heat, and I'm living in Kalamazoo.
Can we get along, this oafish tower of flesh and I? Must we continue this cycle of pain? Oh, the huge manatee!
Sorry, melodramatic there...
So, I'm calling a bit of a truce. Body, I promise to regularly visit physicians to check up on you, rather than waiting for you to cripple me with pain. In return, please only turn me into a whimpering lump of agony with good reason. I promise to continue the regular exercise and a reasonably healthy diet (you may still have cookies). In exchange, let's get into those 34 waist jeans a bit more comfortably, ok?
This could work. Maybe this is a dawn of a bike-riding, beer-tasting, child-chasing, bass-playing power team of The Rover and His Body.
Now, body, I just have one question... What are we going to do about the strip of industrial strength adhesive tape holding that damn cotton ball on our elbow? Really, we're fuzzy and it's gonna hurt.
My body and I go waaaay back. And it's a pretty adversarial relationship. It tries to get fatter, I eat more veggies. It gets depressed, I crank up funky tunes. It ruptures discs randomly, I have them removed.
In fairness, I don't always treat it well. God knows I have tried at times to drown it in beer. And I do pretend to be athletic, despite the blatantly obvious evidence to the contrary. It likes sunshine and heat, and I'm living in Kalamazoo.
Can we get along, this oafish tower of flesh and I? Must we continue this cycle of pain? Oh, the huge manatee!
Sorry, melodramatic there...
So, I'm calling a bit of a truce. Body, I promise to regularly visit physicians to check up on you, rather than waiting for you to cripple me with pain. In return, please only turn me into a whimpering lump of agony with good reason. I promise to continue the regular exercise and a reasonably healthy diet (you may still have cookies). In exchange, let's get into those 34 waist jeans a bit more comfortably, ok?
This could work. Maybe this is a dawn of a bike-riding, beer-tasting, child-chasing, bass-playing power team of The Rover and His Body.
Now, body, I just have one question... What are we going to do about the strip of industrial strength adhesive tape holding that damn cotton ball on our elbow? Really, we're fuzzy and it's gonna hurt.
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