A minister dies and is waiting in line at the Pearly Gates. Ahead of him is a big guy in a judogi with a worn black belt who has cauliflower ears and looks like he's been around the block a few times.
Saint Peter addresses this guy, "Who are you, so that I may know whether or not to admit you to the Kingdom of Heaven?"
The guy replies, "I'm Joe Johnson, Judo competitor and national champion for 17 years."
Saint Peter consults his list. He smiles and says to the Judo competitor, "Take this silken robe and golden staff and enter the Kingdom of Heaven."
The Judo man goes into Heaven with his robe and staff, and it's the minister's turn. He stands erect and booms out, "I am Joseph Snow, pastor of Saint Mary's for the last forty-three years."
Saint Peter consults his list. He says to the minister, "Take this cotton robe and wooden staff and enter the Kingdom of Heaven."
"Just a minute," says the minister. "That Judo man gets a silken robe and golden staff. How can this be when I have been preaching the gospel all my life?"
"Up here, we work by results," says Saint Peter. "While you preached, people slept; but when he entered the dojo, people prayed."
Well, I told you to expect a report on my first night in the new dojo. Here goes...
In a word... ouch. It has been quite a while since I've done any grappling, and my muscles are reminding me exactly which ones were used. Last night we focused on ne-waza (ground fighting for those of you who aren't judo players and don't speak Japanese). After warming up*, we proceeded to spend 40 minutes on chokes. So, for 40 minutes my partner and I took turns setting up and applying chokes using each other's gi's (uniforms) and forearms to squeeze shut carotid arteries. It. Was. Awesome! We followed the instruction time with several 2 minute randori (free rolling) rounds, and finished with some drills. It was a good first class, and I'm looking forward to getting back to it tonight. Hopefully we'll be working more throws and get into the stand-up grappling that is judo's trademark.
It occurs to me, that some of my fan base may be unfamiliar with judo. Well... I'll have to remedy that another time. While I would love to expound upon various martial arts for pages and pages, I expect I would lose what little readership I have amassed. In the not too distant future, I promise, I will write a (hopefully) not too boring compare and contrast that will let all of you understand my hobbies just a bit better. Until then, wikipedia has a pretty good article.
It appears today's post is big into brevity, as such, I'll leave you with some bonus material. Here are some quotes from my favorite president/judoka**. I'll stick his name at the bottom of the blog for those of you who may not know to whom I am referring.
Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure, than to rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy much nor suffer much, because they live in that grey twilight that knows neither victory nor defeat.
Don't hit at all if it is honorably possible to avoid hitting; but never hit soft.
It is not the critic who counts, not the man who points out how the strong man stumbled, or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by the dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions and spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best, knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who, at worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly; so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory or defeat.
A man who has never gone to school may steal from a freight car; but if he has a university education, he may steal the whole railroad.
A man who is good enough to shed his blood for his country is good enough to be given a square deal afterwards. More than that no man is entitled to, and less than that no man shall have.
I have always been fond of the West African proverb "Speak softly and carry a big stick; you will go far."
*read "warm" as "dripping with sweat"
** Give up? Teddy Roosevelt.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Sunday, May 16, 2010
All the world's a stage and all the men and women are merely players.
Two Eskimos sitting in a kayak were chilly. They lit a fire in the
craft, it sank, proving once and for all that you can't have your
kayak and heat it too.
Big weekend. I graduated on Saturday. Pretty cool huh? I can now add a Specialist in School Psychology degree to my Bachelor of Arts. The SSP sounds sooo much cooler. "What is an SSP?" you might ask. Is it like an MA? Is it a Phd? Does this mean you're a school counselor? The answer to all those questions are "Sort of, no, NO." An SSP is a 60 hour graduate degree that culminates in a one year, 1200 hour internship in the schools. (For comparison, most MA's are in the 30-ish hour range, and PhD's are somewhere in the neighborhood of 100 plus a dissertation, and sometimes an internship). The degree means that i eligible to be licensed as a school psychologist (Licensed Specialist in School Psychology in Texas), which means I can do psychological and learning disability assessments, deliver therapy, consult with teachers for behavior problems, as well as deliver other services and training in a public school setting.
Sorry. That got long winded. Here's the short version. I'm graduated! Woot!* I can now begin my life as a productive member of society. I can changed my linkedln status to reflect my new degree. My C.V. no longer has an "expected" graduation date. Life is good.
On a separate (but still stage-related) note, my wife and I went to see our local theatre's presentation of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. It was awesome. Oompas Loompa-ed, Willy Wonka-ed, and Charlie rocked it out. Go support your local theater, unless, like us, you have a local theatre... in which case, support that one.
That's all for now. Expect another post after Tuesday, when I'll have my first night at the new dojo. Will I kick ass? Will I get my ass kicked? Tune in next time to find out!**
*I believe that is the appropriate exclamation.
** Is that a cliff-hanger or what!?!?
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Happy Mother's Day
Your momma so fat, all the restaurants in town have signs that say: "Maximum Occupancy: 240 Patrons OR Your Momma."
Happy mother's day everybody! If you haven't called your mom, then goodness sakes! What are you doing reading a blog? Today, instead of writing about bits of my life that you may or may not care about, I'm going to do one of those sweet poems where I spell a word vertically and write stuff with each letter.
M is for the multitude of boo-boos, fevers, and various owies that mom nursed me through.
O is for owe. To quote Lincoln "All that I am or ever hope to be, I owe to my angel Mother."
T is for teaching me... how to cook, count, read, laugh, and a million other things.
H is for hugs. Moms give the best.
E is for everything I'll never have the words or the time to thank her for.
R is for reading to me. Mom got me started with He-Man, Calvin and Hobbes, and Wayside School, and I never looked back.
Well there you are. Happy mother's day mom! I love you!
Happy mother's day everybody! If you haven't called your mom, then goodness sakes! What are you doing reading a blog? Today, instead of writing about bits of my life that you may or may not care about, I'm going to do one of those sweet poems where I spell a word vertically and write stuff with each letter.
M is for the multitude of boo-boos, fevers, and various owies that mom nursed me through.
O is for owe. To quote Lincoln "All that I am or ever hope to be, I owe to my angel Mother."
T is for teaching me... how to cook, count, read, laugh, and a million other things.
H is for hugs. Moms give the best.
E is for everything I'll never have the words or the time to thank her for.
R is for reading to me. Mom got me started with He-Man, Calvin and Hobbes, and Wayside School, and I never looked back.
Well there you are. Happy mother's day mom! I love you!
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
The Voices are Telling Me to Buy Toys
What does a ghost wear when it's snowing?
Boooooooooooooooooooots!
Here's the thing, sometimes... I hear voices. These aren't psychotic, "Oh no, Kyle's got schizophrenia!" voices. These voices are more like Jiminy Cricket voices. I've got the obvious mom and dad voices that tell me when I'm about to do something that isn't too smart (Thanks btw. I'm pretty sure I'm alive and able to function like a mostly normal human because of those). Those are pretty useful, but the voices that pop up the most lately appear to be coming from a younger version of me. It's like 8 year old Kyle and 21 year old Kyle (I call them Kyle-8 and Kyle-21 for short) are constantly looking over my shoulder and providing a running commentary on my life.
In a lot of ways, those voices are pretty proud of me. Kyle-8 is super psyched that I earned a black belt a couple years ago. He's just waiting for me to totally wail on the masked villain who's waiting to pop out from every bush and alley*. Kyle-21 is pretty excited with my little home brewery and my smokin' hot wife. Those are two of the major things he wanted to accomplish with his college education.
I fear, however, that every now and again, I am a disappointment for Kyles 8 and 21. In Kyle-8's imaginary mind, I don't spend nearly enough time with my X-box. By his way of thinking, I go to work everyday because someone needs to pay for food and video games, and while he sees me eat EVERY day, I'll sometimes go weeks without picking up a video game controller. Kyle-21 certainly agrees that I could be spending more time kicking virtual butt, though his concerns rest in other areas. Mainly time spent in bed. I thought I'd have a homunculus hari kari on my hands the other night when I crept into bed at 9:15 (that's pm). He still isn't talking to me for the two weeks I had to get up at 5am to start my morning at a particularly distant and early rising campus.
When I was younger, people told me things would change when I grew up. I fought that hard. Real hard. But here I am. I eat vegetables without complaining. I read books that don't have space ships OR wizards. I have dinner parties and think more about the quality of the beverage I am imbibing than I do about the quantity. I am, for better or worse, an adult**. And that's... OK. In fact, I think it's great. I spend more time working and less time playing than I envisioned when I was 8 and 21, but that's the way the world works sometimes. And because I work a little more, I have the opportunity to spoil my 8 and 21 year old selves a bit from time to time. I believe I mentioned the martial arts training, home brew, and smokin' hot wife. What I hadn't mentioned yet was my remote control helicopter, comic book collection, Great Dane puppy, or turkey deep fryer.
Some voices, like Mom's, you should listen to, and trust that they're probably right. Some voices, and I think you know who they are by now, you have to tell to be a little bit patient. They can play when we get home.
* So far, he's been pretty impressed with the way I sprung into action that time those butterflies came at me in San Antonio.
**Please read "adult" as Maynard G. Krebs would read "work".
Boooooooooooooooooooots!
Here's the thing, sometimes... I hear voices. These aren't psychotic, "Oh no, Kyle's got schizophrenia!" voices. These voices are more like Jiminy Cricket voices. I've got the obvious mom and dad voices that tell me when I'm about to do something that isn't too smart (Thanks btw. I'm pretty sure I'm alive and able to function like a mostly normal human because of those). Those are pretty useful, but the voices that pop up the most lately appear to be coming from a younger version of me. It's like 8 year old Kyle and 21 year old Kyle (I call them Kyle-8 and Kyle-21 for short) are constantly looking over my shoulder and providing a running commentary on my life.
In a lot of ways, those voices are pretty proud of me. Kyle-8 is super psyched that I earned a black belt a couple years ago. He's just waiting for me to totally wail on the masked villain who's waiting to pop out from every bush and alley*. Kyle-21 is pretty excited with my little home brewery and my smokin' hot wife. Those are two of the major things he wanted to accomplish with his college education.
I fear, however, that every now and again, I am a disappointment for Kyles 8 and 21. In Kyle-8's imaginary mind, I don't spend nearly enough time with my X-box. By his way of thinking, I go to work everyday because someone needs to pay for food and video games, and while he sees me eat EVERY day, I'll sometimes go weeks without picking up a video game controller. Kyle-21 certainly agrees that I could be spending more time kicking virtual butt, though his concerns rest in other areas. Mainly time spent in bed. I thought I'd have a homunculus hari kari on my hands the other night when I crept into bed at 9:15 (that's pm). He still isn't talking to me for the two weeks I had to get up at 5am to start my morning at a particularly distant and early rising campus.
When I was younger, people told me things would change when I grew up. I fought that hard. Real hard. But here I am. I eat vegetables without complaining. I read books that don't have space ships OR wizards. I have dinner parties and think more about the quality of the beverage I am imbibing than I do about the quantity. I am, for better or worse, an adult**. And that's... OK. In fact, I think it's great. I spend more time working and less time playing than I envisioned when I was 8 and 21, but that's the way the world works sometimes. And because I work a little more, I have the opportunity to spoil my 8 and 21 year old selves a bit from time to time. I believe I mentioned the martial arts training, home brew, and smokin' hot wife. What I hadn't mentioned yet was my remote control helicopter, comic book collection, Great Dane puppy, or turkey deep fryer.
Some voices, like Mom's, you should listen to, and trust that they're probably right. Some voices, and I think you know who they are by now, you have to tell to be a little bit patient. They can play when we get home.
* So far, he's been pretty impressed with the way I sprung into action that time those butterflies came at me in San Antonio.
**Please read "adult" as Maynard G. Krebs would read "work".
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