[I'm on a drinking phase right now, when pretty much the only thing I want to do is drink. Lots. Not so much that I, hypothetically, wake up wearing ripped leather underwear, handcuffed to an amorous marsupial, with a large cooking implement jammed up my sphincter (those were the good ol' days), but at least a couple generous glasses of whiskey a night. Hey! I said a generous glass! More! Come on, don't cheap out on me. Oh for ... just leave the damn bottle. And take away the glass. Prick.]
But instead of drinking up a good buzz and enhancing it with some excellent chorizo quesadillas, what I'm going to do instead is drag my ass all the way up into Queens -- and not just Queens as in Astoria or Long Island City, which are just over the bridge from Manhattan, but all the fucking way to Jamaica. That's where my baguazhang/xingyiquan teacher runs classes every Tuesday and Friday evening, in a converted garage with no air conditioning. The no-AC thing is significant because I sweat at the drop of a hat, even in the middle of winter. It makes me disgustingly slimy, which means people tend to squirm when they see that they're going to drill with me. It also makes me miserable and gives me a rash.
Am I whining? You bet your ass I am. I may hate whiners in real life, but if you hate my whining, you can always close this window. So fuck off.
...
You didn't, did you? I knew you couldn't resist me.
...
To be fair, it's not like I even have the longest commute to class: those go to two students who regularly travel to class from Philadelphia and Montreal. That's just nuts. I might not live in the same borough, but at least I'm from the same fucking state. I have to admit, though my teacher is scary good, I don't think I'd put forth that much effort to study from anyone. At least, no one currently alive.
What's worse about this class is that drinking is discouraged. You see, xingyiquan and baguazhang are what are known as "internal" martial arts. They stress using the whole body -- even muscles that aren't normally under conscious control -- to generate power and mobility. For them to work and for you to improve, you should avoid alcohol because it interferes with balance and control.
That's one thing I miss about my old school, where the teacher told me upon the commencement of my training that, "We don't hold class on Fridays. On Fridays you should be out and about, drinking and doing stupid shit that makes people try to kick the crap out of you and forces you to see if what you learned during the week really works." Not only did my teacher approve of drinking, he encouraged it. Sometimes, we even trained drunk. The official reasoning was that a common factor in a lot of fights is alcohol, so you might as well get used to fighting with a buzz. The real reason is that we all loved to drink to excess, and we all loved to train to excess, and usually it seemed like a good idea at the time. A few occasions, we even went to a tittie bar, where -- I kid you not -- I got some of the most valuable martial-arts pointers ever -- key instructional tips that took my game to the next level. Also, I learned just how much I love watching strippers wearing (and taking off) Catholic schoolgirl uniforms. It's a pretty close decision as to which lesson was more useful. On the one hand, I never get into fights anymore, but on the other hand, I'm married, so I can't ogle strippers (at least not on a regular basis) anymore either.
So that's my Friday, now and for the foreseeable future: drag my ass into a cultural wasteland, sweat, grunt, and experience pain for 3-4 hours, and then drag my ass back.
And even though I hate this -- I also love it. Damn, I'm a sick fucker.
Enjoy your weekend.
