crouching tiger, aching dragon

Last week I wasn't able to make a single shaolin class, so I made damned sure I went to last night's 7:00 show. It's easier to arrive on time as most traffic has died down, and I can take Royal Lane all the way from Irving to 635.

Usually each class is scheduled for an hour, but continue for about 15 minutes longer than usual. Which is no big deal. We always spend the first 15 minutes warming up with pushups and other boot camp stuff.  But last night's class went on until almost 9:00 pm.

I don't think I'd feel quite so beat-up now if we hadn't been working on some of the more advanced stances. For example, we started learning the crouching tiger stance (yes, it exists), which requires shifting almost all your weight to one leg and then bending it so that your thigh's almost parallel to the floor. Getting into the stance is one thing, but holding it is what makes you want to cry.

We also practiced break falls, which is just what it sounds like. One version of a break fall requires doing a complete forward roll/flip before ending up back on your feet. I only got this right once.

When I finally got home, it was all I could do to stand in the shower for about 10 minutes before reaching for the Moisture Maniac shampoo and Miss Dior bath gel.

This morning, I found it difficult to walk up the one flight of stairs to my cube. I feel like a short piece of chewed string.

The return of Beaker

I got my hair cut Saturday afternoon. Real short. Real, real short.

Join the crowd (not)

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One latte and she's anyone's

My plans to embrace celibacy for the next few weeks have fallen quickly by the wayside. Ian* showed up early this morning with a vanilla latte, and one thing led to another, and it seemed like a pretty good idea at the time. I showed up at work slightly late, but in a better mood than usual.

Although my own workday hasn't gone downhill as yet, I'm rather worried about my friends in Jack County, as a large and fast-moving grass fire is headed their way. It's moving too quickly for anyone to attempt damage control by plowing a few rows with a tractor (this is called cutting a fire line; it sometimes but doesn't always stop a fire). I'm not sure they even own a tractor anyway.

All they have is a mess of rescued critters: cats, dogs, horses an elderly donkey and even a few pesky goats. My friend is always threatening to turn them into cabrito when they break into her cat food stash, but they never take her seriously.

* See Key to Characters at right.

Surrealism and Viking hordes

Even after a sleepless night due a severe and unexpected asthma attack, I seem to be coming out of my doldrums/ennui/SAD*/sulk. I forced myself back to shaolin class yesterday after work, which had the effect of renewing my interest in the new forms.

I also received two books I'd located at the Alibris Web site: Spanish director Luis Bunuel's autobiography, and a recent history of the Vikings.

I'm not sure why I wanted the Bunuel book. Although I've liked parts of some of his films, a couple of them have left me either bored or wondering what all the fuss was about. I think I was curious to find out how a surrealist spent his days when not working on confusing films. So far, the book's been quite enjoyable.

* Seasonal Affective Disorder, which bothered me quite a bit when living in the UK. Sometimes I contract a milder but still recognizable case of SAD here.