So I've been loving "His Dark Materials"--which is much more touching, moving, and sad epically than its other counterparts.

I went down to the main office of one of the consortia our school belongs to. So much hugging. Somehow I've become the school liaison. This was a tricky waza.

At the Thai restaurant tonight, one of the cute waiter-people asked Wifey, "I'm sorry to be asking this, but did I see you on the 6 train? Like maybe two weeks ago, or a month? I thought it was you, but I didn't want to say anything..." Which is all the odder given that he made a big point of having married into the family which owns the restaurant. You have your own Wifey! Leave mine alone.

It's an odd schedule this semester--I don't teach until Thursday, but I do feel a little jittery, somehow.

So Wifey says,

"I think it's ironic that a dog can kill a cat, but a tiger can kill a wolf."

I still think that wolves hunt in packs.

So I caught a decent glimpse of myself in the mirror today, but that was probably because all the vegetables I ate at teacher's group cleaned me out, so my stomach actually looked flat. But of course with the post-practice options (Vietnamese: grilled pork chop, lemongrass, pho; Malaysian: Green Curry, Penang Beef, Malaysian Brown Curry; Pakistani: earthy lamb, gloppy spinach, crisp spicy samosas), I'm still snacking away as Wifey finally dines, rather than abstaining.

Meanwhile, I've picked up a Philip Pullman habit.

So I don't know what's more ridiculous--the new AmEx card which "deposits money into a savings account" (at the rate of 1% of spending), or the fact that White Castle is currently plugging a special Valentine's Day dinner for you and your sweetheart, featuring hostess seating, private server, and a candlelit dinner. Of course, they may actually serve recipes based upon White Castles themselves...

So this takes care of kendo.

So I remember back when I used to think that Christopher Hitchens was the shit. I mean, Mother Teresa, not-so-saintly? The Clintons power-hungry opportunistic? Henry Kissinger a war-criminal? In Harpers? ! Who else would dare! Wear a trenchcoat, dangle a cigarette! Be a contrarian, just like me!

These days I'm somehow less impressed. I don't know whether this is because I've mellowed, as Alric has noted, from my rabid queer-Marxist days, or whether it's because Hitchens has gotten irrelevant, annoying.

So my plans to go into work and get some work done, some shelves organized, a personal statement written, some derivatives priced, and so on, have been thoroughly quashed by Wifey-snuggling, CUP-burgers, and PBS. I guess I still have practice to think of, as there'z

So somedays you feel like you're phoning it in, just attacking for the sake of attacking, not really controlling center, no seme to really speak of, and rudely (at least some would say) knocking down your opponent's shinai without even performing a real hiki-waza, or elsewise tapping a hiki-kote for contact only zanshin-less, kiai-less, fumikomi-less. And yet, you get decent reviews--as if it's okay, and as if you're getting stronger.

Also, the more you think about kote-nuki-men, the harder it is to do. It feels good, even if it's unhelpful, to hit straight delayed sashi-men but still score against newer beginners who hit men which are too big. I realize I should be a better sempai, but sometimes it feels like I'm too ynew to be giving any real advice. Better to just do good straight kendo. Or something.

With the semester winding down, my motivation has completely tanked. I can't even bring myself to finish writing this personal statement I'm supposed to have been working on the past few weeks. Thankfully I got the GRE out of the way with time to spare. Unfortunately, there are still the PRAXIS tests, the ATS-P, and my annual review to worry about. But all considered, that's not all that bad...

Two more days, and I can rest easy again.

So I must say the first two hours of the new Day of 24 is a little disappointing, mostly because Kim Bauer still lives, and she's the first person I'd shoot in the neck if I had a choice. Because if she's still alive, she'll probably still need to survive and run away from suvivalists, cougars, racist hicks, cars falling down cliffs, and the like The sad thing is that the anticipation had me so worked up I was even distracted during keiko today, although the night before I had my first dream set in the dojo, though i think I just needed to pee, hiking up my hakama so as not to dribble over everything, while not wanting to be late for the start and warmup. Rob Chin and I did our best to host our party, but it didn't really go that far, I'm afraid.

Funnily enough Wifey ran into both Alric and Bess at the Brooklyn Museum today, so I sadly wasn't there for that first introduction. I feel as if Wifey deserves to have some business cards made with his friendster userid URL and a link to his blog. It's funny how he thinks he can avoid me by hissily turning around in bed. Let's see if I can convince him to come to my place tomorrow for hours 3 and 4, though it'll be distracting to watch without him squealing and criticizing the violence. Still.

So this dialogue is paraphrased from tonight's second syndicated episode of King of Queens

Arthur: A chair that folds into a bed? Now I've seen everything!
Kerry: It's a futon. It's Japanese.
Arthur: Those Japanese are clever. What I'll never understand is how we beat them in World War II.
Kerry: Well, we did destroy two of their cities.
Arthur: Mystery solved.



I've relatively little to report beyond that, however, having skipped kendo tonight that I might snuggle with Wifey and Indian food as he watches figure skating championships for the whole US. Too bad they don't televise championship kendo... He likes to squeal whenever anyone falls, and actually knows what a Tano is, though he thinks it's named after its inventor, Mike Tano.

So as nice as it is to wake up to an energetic, goofy, affectionate, and thoroughly awake Wifey in the morning, it's still a little sad to come home to a snoring and sleepy Wifey who's all grumpy when you try and show him the various Asian geek interviewees on the newest iteration of Beauty and Geek. I really should take this opportunity, this off week, to get some extra sleep in. But of course I should really focus on intensifying my non-practice workouts, which have fallen by the wayside totally--and it's not going to get any better any time soon, I'm afraid. Given that my last bench-based workout ended up with really sore pecs for a week, though, I should probably take it easy, or take up running now that the weather is turning. Fortunately, my newly found resolve to resist food has been going rather well, which means that the (lightly pan-)fried mandoo and japchae (both half-portions) sitting in front of me now remain untouched, though I pity any kimchee daikon pickles or oshinko that get in my way...

The return to practice has been everything I've expected, despite a rather bad blister on my ring-finger palm, but at least on the left-hand. It's been exhausting, and no-nonsense, but I do feel as if I'm ready to take it up another notch, although I feel as if my zanshin has been slipping of late, which could be said of my classroom practice as well. With my annual review coming up in just a couple months, this means more visitors and scrutiny in my classroom, which these days is a little discomfiting because things have slid rather far from where I'd rather. It's interesting though, the attitudes which we have toward criticism. Sure, we avoid it, but somehow I'm more comfortable on the dojo floor where the advice is sometimes even always the same (relax, put the power in your tanden, don't use your right hand so much, follow through) than at work. I think this is both some measure of arrogance, as well as the actual relation between kohai, sempai, sensei.

So some unacceptable ethnic moments--

Thursday, the horrible Chinese-orphanette adopting woman who also happened to get knocked up at the same time she was adopting so she's double happiness but her chinkette will surely end up lesbo or at best bi, asked me, "Drew, do you have any soy sauce?... I just thought I'd ask..."

Playing cards with the kiddos today, we were about to play Indian poker, but given the company, I was forced to call it "Forehead Poker" instead. Shit.

So we all know from the Doctor in Claudius the God just two things: never hold in a fart or belch, and never get up from the table without wanting to eat a little more. To this latter in particular I am now tring to adhere, even if it means denying myself Wifey's wonderful Broccoli-Chicken-Spinach-Fettuccine and Corn Cotijado. but all for the greater good.

So I'm quite impressed by how well-stocked the foreign section at the local ethnicky Blockbuster is, and not even with the crowd-pleasing Spanish selections (whatever that might be), but rather an eclectic mix of Strand-releasing-released coming-of-age/ethnic-soft-erotica/comedy-of-manners/gay-parade.

Meanwhile, it's encouraging to find blogs such as this one.

So having slept for but a few last night, I am dead-tired now, having taught another terrible Tuesday, amid a stock rally, mounting future tax bills, and no kendo practice (or even suburi energy), I should just take out my contacts, snuggle with Wifey and pass out.

I blame Wifey. We were up late last night, me out of jitters, and Wifey out of his commitment to avoiding daylight, or something, not that there was too much of that to go around today, though my students braved the weather and somehow made it, early even, on a day when they are normally late. But the point is we were up last night reading the early posts of his blog, back when he was inaccessible, and I combed those words for clues and hints and vague allusions. Not that the current reality is less desirable, but it was good to revisit those younger days...

So here I am, trying to write my personal statement at last for grad school, but somewhat at a loss.