Friday, December 16, 2005
New Year's Eve
Is here. Rager. Huge party here. Chez Ashworth. Need I say more?
Further bulletins as the hour draws apace.
Further bulletins as the hour draws apace.
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Hello, all
I have been exceptionally useless lately. I flamed out at BLT Steak, unfortunately, where I wasn't the right fit at all--dealing with the yuppie hordes of 57th and Park is a job which demands a certain tamped-down demeanor, a blandness which will take me more than a few years to fully cultivate. I filled out a questionnaire at Rain the other day (where they aren't hiring, but I'm first on the list as soon as they are) which asked first What is your best quality, and then What is your worst quality and I answered Volubility to both questions. It's my word of the month, volubility.
So the long and the short of it is I have no excuse for not writing. Except possibly the almost narcotic allure of the West Wing. It is a narcotic, really: for an hour, or forty-seven minutes on DVD, reality dissolves and is replaced by a delirious fantasy where truth and justice are in fact the American way and the President is a Nobel Laureate genius and the people around him are not only blazingly brilliant but good people, too, though not so saintly that they don't have their foibles, which they are only to willing to concede, and furthermore rectify, and so on. What happened was, I thought I'd only brought home the third and fourth seasons. So I finished the third season, and when I started the fourth, I discovered that those eight discs were, in fact, ALL FOUR SEASONS. So I blew through the fourth, having of course to continue the drama of the third, and am now a quarter of the way through one, which I never really saw. Also the package from Nepal, defying all odds, actually arrived. With nothing broken. Stunning. There are maybe a few unpleasant scratches on the disc with five Bruce Lee movies, but all the others seem fine. And my, there are a lot of them.
When I haven't been rapt in front of the West Wing (which unfortunately only seem to play on Jacob's computer, which is really the only check on my consumption), I've been going to or recovering from Tae Kwon Do. I went the other night, a Friday, and discovered that it was a sparring class, usually reserved for orange belts and above, and part of a program you have to pay extra for. I apologized, but the teacher asked that I stay on; he wanted to try me out in a sparring scenario against more advanced opponents. I was only too glad to do so, but there was one problem: everyone else had pads. Padded helmet, chest pads, armguards, foot and shinguards, gloves and cup. I borrowed a pair of gloves, which was really more for the protection of others than of myself. In the end I jammed a finger anyway blocking a kick from the teacher. But it was exhilarating. The teacher introduced me to the class (two blue belts, two brown, one red-black, and two black) by saying, This is Sam, and don't let that belt fool you. As nice an introduction as I've ever been given. And without expostulation, we began. Now, all of these other people had been sparring for a long time, years. This was my first time making contact. And you know what? It was phenomenal. I love it and can't wait to do it again. It was 45 minutes of uninterrupted (well, interrupted only by sporadic injury) ass-kicking. I acquitted myself very well, I think, the velocity and accuracy of my kicks provoking shocked reactions from my opponents, who were clearly not expecting quite so much so fast. Granted, my sparring technique sucks (the number of times I spun away and received a kick up the ass for turning my back...), but it'll get better. I left very pleased with myself. The next day, however, was different. Not only had I well jammed my middle finger, but my feet, unaccustomed to continual impact against hard targets (think fists, forearms, shins, chests), had humongous goose eggs on them. I could barely walk, much less put on shoes. I'd also done something to my leg which still hasn't healed all the way. I went to a regular class yesterday and ended up having to sit out for most of it. I need to be nicer to my body, rest it a few days...sounds like I need some West Wing.
So the long and the short of it is I have no excuse for not writing. Except possibly the almost narcotic allure of the West Wing. It is a narcotic, really: for an hour, or forty-seven minutes on DVD, reality dissolves and is replaced by a delirious fantasy where truth and justice are in fact the American way and the President is a Nobel Laureate genius and the people around him are not only blazingly brilliant but good people, too, though not so saintly that they don't have their foibles, which they are only to willing to concede, and furthermore rectify, and so on. What happened was, I thought I'd only brought home the third and fourth seasons. So I finished the third season, and when I started the fourth, I discovered that those eight discs were, in fact, ALL FOUR SEASONS. So I blew through the fourth, having of course to continue the drama of the third, and am now a quarter of the way through one, which I never really saw. Also the package from Nepal, defying all odds, actually arrived. With nothing broken. Stunning. There are maybe a few unpleasant scratches on the disc with five Bruce Lee movies, but all the others seem fine. And my, there are a lot of them.
When I haven't been rapt in front of the West Wing (which unfortunately only seem to play on Jacob's computer, which is really the only check on my consumption), I've been going to or recovering from Tae Kwon Do. I went the other night, a Friday, and discovered that it was a sparring class, usually reserved for orange belts and above, and part of a program you have to pay extra for. I apologized, but the teacher asked that I stay on; he wanted to try me out in a sparring scenario against more advanced opponents. I was only too glad to do so, but there was one problem: everyone else had pads. Padded helmet, chest pads, armguards, foot and shinguards, gloves and cup. I borrowed a pair of gloves, which was really more for the protection of others than of myself. In the end I jammed a finger anyway blocking a kick from the teacher. But it was exhilarating. The teacher introduced me to the class (two blue belts, two brown, one red-black, and two black) by saying, This is Sam, and don't let that belt fool you. As nice an introduction as I've ever been given. And without expostulation, we began. Now, all of these other people had been sparring for a long time, years. This was my first time making contact. And you know what? It was phenomenal. I love it and can't wait to do it again. It was 45 minutes of uninterrupted (well, interrupted only by sporadic injury) ass-kicking. I acquitted myself very well, I think, the velocity and accuracy of my kicks provoking shocked reactions from my opponents, who were clearly not expecting quite so much so fast. Granted, my sparring technique sucks (the number of times I spun away and received a kick up the ass for turning my back...), but it'll get better. I left very pleased with myself. The next day, however, was different. Not only had I well jammed my middle finger, but my feet, unaccustomed to continual impact against hard targets (think fists, forearms, shins, chests), had humongous goose eggs on them. I could barely walk, much less put on shoes. I'd also done something to my leg which still hasn't healed all the way. I went to a regular class yesterday and ended up having to sit out for most of it. I need to be nicer to my body, rest it a few days...sounds like I need some West Wing.
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