Behind the Curve
Monday, May 31, 2004
I do lead a dull life, don't I
Had a long chat with M. last night about the state of my martial arts. As expected, she had lots of encouraging things to say, but I'm not sure how much to listen to or to believe. But I do feel better now, oddly enough.
Lay around in Central Park most of yesterday afternoon and got some sun. I don't even like the sun, but M. loves it. This is funny, because I tan very easily, and she, as your typical pale blonde type, tends to burn to a crisp in about 5 seconds. L. joined us in the Sheeps' Meadow for crackers and chips. After it got too cold to be out, we hung out at the Pretty Kitties' and played Scattergories...because, apparently, all my friends are HUGE DORKS.
Saturday, May 29, 2004
Killing time...
..before I leave the do jang. Taught class today. Just two black belts and two blue belts, so it was easy to have them pair off and practice patterns and drills while I kept watch.
Lifted some weights on the universal machine. Hope I did the exercises right. Now I'm contemplating doing Pilates before meeting the parental units for lunch uptown (yay sushi!)
Note on the back kick: maybe I need to lift my knee higher, and concentrate harder on hitting the target with the flat of the foot (emphasis on heel strike).
Saw Voice of a Secret at the Acme Underground last night. They're as loud as ever, those crazy kids. I wasn't going to go to the show at first, but then I remembered that I'm not 80. It felt good to be out at 2 am. Rock and omelettes for everyone*!
* who isn't a vegan.
Friday, May 28, 2004
A light in the middle of the tunnel
At the gym last night, my personal trainer had me doing some stretching/bending exercises that absolutely, completely confounded me. Keep back straight, extend hips back, bend knees (all at once). Apparently, my body has never done that, ever. He claims that my pelvis is very stiff. OOH. That explains EVERYTHING.*
* About the martial arts, you pervs.
My back kick has gone straight to hell over the past few of months. No real rhyme or reason as to why it suddenly sucked, though I can cite a painful back, inflexible hips, bad ankle, and a lack of torso length with which to generate sufficient torque all as contributing factors. Yes, I can still break the 3 boards with a back kick, but it's definitely not as strong as it used to be. I can buy pelvic stiffness as the culprit, no problem.
Oddly enough, the jumping kicks are getting a little bit easier. They aren't any good, mind you, and still the most unusable kicks ever, but at least there's been a little bit of improvement somewhere.
Gah. To quote Jhonen Vasquez, "I hurt. I hurt with pain."
Thursday, May 27, 2004
Whuffie
The New York Times ran an article on the addictiveness of blogging. They seemed unable to pinpoint the motivation behind it. But I've been lurking (wow, that's such a 90s term, isn't it?) - or reading my friends' blogs for years now, without bothering to comment on them or maintain one of my own. My thought: blogs are good because they allow you to keep up with people's lives without having to endure all that pesky facetime. For those times when you're too socially unmotivated for actual personal contact, one-on-one e-mailing, or (shudder) picking up a phone and really talking to someone.
Blogs - When being a pen pal is too emotionally demanding, but still a step up from Virtual Friends™.
Finally
Read the Shaenon-recommended comic strip Fleep by Jason Shiga. Inspiring. Heartbreaking. And, yes, kind of brilliant.
Wednesday, May 26, 2004
As the hills
I think my gym has a definite Diet Pepsi culture. By this I mean that the trainers all seem to drink Diet Pepsi, the choice of a new generation. I myself have taken to brewing my own French Roast coffee, which at times is stronger than what you get at Starbucks. This just proves that I am very, very old.
That awkward stage...
I am now corresponding via e-mail with one of the 20-year-old kids from the University of Delaware TaeKwon-Do Club (they visited us last Saturday). He keeps saying that he is "old for his age" and that I should tell him more about my life. I hope he doesn't expect anything to happen. I really, really hope he doesn't expect anything to happen. Because even if the 37-year-old divorced father of 2 was too old for me, a college student is just too young.
He's a nice kid, though, and giving me some solid martial arts advice, along the lines of "always be happy, but never be satisfied." Easy to say, hard to implement. Wax on, wax off, Number One Son.
Tuesday, May 25, 2004
AKA Driver
At the risk of becoming pathetically addicted to over-the-counter-anything, I would really, really like some more cough syrup.
Hmm...ouch.
The 3rd toe on my left foot kind of hurts. Not that I really mind, but it's an odd thing to have suddenly hurt for no apparent reason, isn't it?
Trekked out to the 58th St. library, which is on the East side and no easier to get to than the Donnell branch at 53rd St. Pedestrian road rage all the way! It's nice to have options, though. Took out Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister and Bloodsucking Fiends, which I shall read when I'm done with Eastern Standard Tribe (download the author-posted version here. -- Thanks muppetk!!) Cory Doctorow is a kind of happy-ish non-pretentious geek cynic sci-fi guy. Not cyberpunk like William Gibson, but vaguely of that ilk... William Gibson by way of Douglas Coupland, maybe. Er, with a Vonnegut sense of the absurd. (Anxious sweating at bald-faced self-indulgent blabber-fest)
Mom likes William Gibson but not Neal Stephenson in much the same way she prefers Haagen Dazs to Ben & Jerry's. She admits that she wants her vices to come with some pretension so they don't seem silly.
I don't think I have the bone structure to back up pretension, so I'll keep on eating New York Super Fudge Chunk, OK?
Monday, May 24, 2004
An unquiet soul
You know you’re too much of a New Yorker when you suffer from pedestrian road rage. And, God help me, I quite often do.
On a positive note
It’s been a while since I read Ali Smith’s Hotel World, but I think the opening and closing went something like:
Remember you must die
Remember you most love
Remainder you mist leaf
Possibly meaning for the reader to think for himself the words "Remember you must leave" and "Remember you must live."
Also one of my favorite lines, spoken by a dead girl’s Earthly self to her spirit self: "I fell in love. I fell hard."
Focus and Discipline? Anyone?
Think I made Taylor sick. I am full of guilt about this, so I keep giving him medication.
Cooked a chicken curry over the weekend, using the half recipe I got from Syeda combined with half a recipe I got from one of Jen’s cookbooks. I think it turned out well, but could have used more chili powder, or possibly cayenne. Made muffins too.
The uptown school had its Grand Opening! on Saturday. Again, I am full of guilt that I didn’t actually do any demonstrating…but I did help videotape. I wonder how many people signed up. Ooh! Matt showed up. Said he might be back soon. This would be good, because I need the inspiration.
Basically, I have next to no confidence in my martial arts. Was I really better at this when I was a red belt? Impossible to say. Back then, I think I had more spirit. As a lifelong fatalist and pessimist, this whole moving into action "with sureness and with hope" just may be beyond me. But since I am a cynic, which means "frustrated romantic," at least I have some pretensions of desire of having hope.
Right. Not good enough. When John Meany asked us if we wanted to win, I couldn’t honestly say yes. I’m not sure if, deep down, I do. I don’t want to waste everyone’s time, but I feel like I have an obligation to be in competition classes, setting a good example for diligence and stoicism, if nothing else. Are these all the wrong reasons?
On half my normal weekdays, I take a 6:30 class in midtown, commute to the uptown school to take the 8:00 class there, then go to the gym to run 3 miles on a treadmill. I’m not really sure if this is helping me, or just fracturing my focus.
Friday, May 21, 2004
It is not my dream...
...to have children, not really. The fact remains that if I ever want to have them, I should start laying the financial groundwork for them now. How much of yourself can you devote to your kids when you spend 9-10 hours at the office, 2 more on the commute to and from work (you can't expect to be able to afford a place close to your job, really), and you still need at least 5-6 hours a night to sleep? Is 7 hours (and let's face it, it will always be less) enough facetime to bring up viable offspring?
I am too self-centered, and no part of me has ever wanted to have kids. But I may regret it for the rest of my life if I don't.
Is this a good enough reason?
Thursday, May 20, 2004
I'm feeling much better now
Was kind of sick over the weekend. Slept a lot. Lost 3 pounds in 4 days and was truly pathetic when I tried to lift weights later.
D. just set his foil-wrapped breakfast aflame in the office microwave. Window wide open, air conditioning on. He managed to rescue the food from the fire and is actually eating it.
Looks like a martial arts filled weekend. I don’t even know if I still have the ability to kick. Ah well, sometimes we surprise ourselves.
Saturday, May 15, 2004
I can't decide
What to do with my life today... THe incredibly painful sore throat I had yesterday is better, but I still really don't feel up to running or working out.
I don't psychologically feel strong enough to watch the 3rd Matrix movie either, although my roommate says I should.
Don't feel up to fighting off the crowds of tweens watching Mean Girls. Don't wanna see Troy.
Taught TaeKwon-Do this morning. Think S. was disappointed as the only other black belt there (I'm about 40 lbs too light to be any kind of suitable partner for him, but what can I do?). Everyone else seemed okay, and the yellow belts really did seem to be making progress with their forms.
Tuesday, May 11, 2004
I think it will rain
I wonder if M. can feel it in her eye socket since the orbital blowout. That's a pretty sad superpower.
Ow.
Monday, May 10, 2004
Iron Chef Would Kick My Butt
I steamed some mussels on Saturday, because my supervisor at work told me it would be easy. It was easy, as manual labor goes. What I didn’t count on was how ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTING it would be, and how scared I would be that one of those slimy little monsters would move. Shudder.
I had also forgotten how shocked I was the very first time I ever saw a cooked mussel out of its shell and was forced to face its overwhelming ICKINESS.
That said, they were quite tasty in the wine sauce. And they are a cheap, easily prepared source of protein. It is still hard to look at them directly.
It is not hard to look at cheeseburgers.
It is very easy to look at ice cream.
This is, no doubt, why many Americans are obese.
I had the most awesome cake in the world at Alison's boyfriend Terry's birthday party on Friday. It was a chocolate cake with fudge frosting and delicious fresh berries throughout the cake part. Best cake EVER.
Krispy Kreme and Dunkin Donuts are trying to invent low-carb doughnuts. Coke is trying to invent low-carb Coke (because Diet Coke isn't low-carb enough, for some strange reason).
Friday, May 07, 2004
In desperation and hunger…
I find myself drinking powered milk at the office. It’s not too bad. Ah, who am I kidding?
Now I am out of powdered milk.
I am torn between not seeing Van Helsing, because everyone I know says it's really, really bad, and seeing it, because that guy who played Faramir in LOTR is dreamy.
Nope. Just kidding. I couldn't even make myself watch the final Matrix movie.
Or Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, which I actually did want to see.
Maybe I need Prozac.
Prozac should be made into a candy.
Like Dots.
Or snortable Pixie Sticks.
It would sell!
Wednesday, May 05, 2004
I wish I could handle this better
I think I did all right teaching M. her new blue belt pattern yesterday. I do have good days, you know, and she seemed to be grasping the subtle shifts. The concept behind them, anyway.
I miss Matt and John. For all that I am easily intimidated, they were inspirational in what they could do.
Wonder if I'll make it to the gym today after martial arts class. I don't want to socialize on a Wednesday, even if I haven't seen all of you in a week.
I want to run.
I need some space.
Fads
My roommate has started the South Beach diet in an attempt to lose 30 pounds.
The South Beach Diet by Arthur Agatston is a boring book.
Tuesday, May 04, 2004
To My Biological Mother
You are small, but strong. You dislike the feel of jewelry against your skin, so you go without. It’s strange to think that I may be taller than you.
You are thirteen hours in the future and twenty-seven years in the past.
Every footstep I make is an echo of yours.
My only message to you is this: Don’t regret it. It was a good decision.
I’m fine.
Oooh
Now I have nice new flat shoelaces in my running shoes instead of those round ones that always come untied. What's the purpose of round shoelaces, anyway? What's the point of laces that won't stay laced? I mean, on shoes, anyway.
Maybe it's time...to say good-bye now
Still can't get the push front kick, but the reverse crescent kick was a bit of a revelation. Maybe it will be useful some day.
Somehow, I can't get the rest of my body to add power to anything my limbs do. And yet I know it's all connected.
I don't think I have that much potential left to explore. At this point, I really need to work on my own to fix whatever can be fixed, and I don't know if I have any time left on any given day. What would I have to give up to do this thing?
But we'll see.
Monday, May 03, 2004
I don't know you, and I'm sorry
So I have one aunt who was diagnosed with MS and another who was diagnosed with breast cancer, who goes for a mastectomy sometime this week. Both women are mothers to three very young blonde children.
It’s got to be hard for Aunt J., being diagnosed with the same disease that killed Uncle D. last year. She knows what’s in store for her. Although he was diagnosed back in the early 80’s, and medical technology must have improved since then.
Uncle P. is going crazy about Aunt S. having cancer. He’s saying things like "I’ll have to be both father and mother to my children." Of course, there is a good chance she might survive. Either way it’s hard.
So, my cousin’s first holy Communion…
Her parents rented a room in a restaurant for the party. There was a bar and a DJ and the electric slide; a whole floorful of small children doing the Macarena. It was exactly like every bar mitzvah I’ve ever been to, except the guest of honor was just a little bit shorter.
I like her. She is Uncle P’s adopted daughter from Russia. She is eight, and dark, and big for her age, and right now, fearless. She is different from Aunt J’s three children, who are blonde and catalogue-perfect, and also from Uncle R’s three children, cut from the same mold.
M’s parents wanted me (as a fellow martial arts student) to suggest to her that she keep up her karate classes. I think she should, because she’s very pushy and life-loving and outspoken now, but I have a fear that she, child of suburbia, is going to be a prime target for developing eating disorders when she gets older. Martial arts might help her keep a positive body image.
As for the entire generation of little blonde suburbanite cousins, all aged from 2-9…yes, it’s incredibly mean and uncharitable of me to say, but before this weekend, I had no idea that anybody could be so white. They look like the families in the placeholder pictures you get with frames, for God’s sake.
