badness, goodness

Sweet disaster

om nom nom

I saw the last Harry Potter film at the Howard Hughes Center last night with about a dozen friends, and I just couldn’t get into it because of all the fucking high schoolers who couldn’t shut up to save their lives.  And I don’t say that lightly; Diminutive Roommate looked like she was about to kill someone.  So frustrating, and just super ghetto.  We don’t all need to know what you think of every fucking line of dialog, kids.  Shut.  Up.

But before that a few of us got ice cream at Ben & Jerry’s, and the lady made this little creation for one of my pals.  I had to take a photo and give her some kudos; good for her for being a little creative and making an otherwise boring and thankless job kinda fun.

Standard
badness, life

Evolution, please come back

Scully, the religious scientist, disapproves of your lack of brainpower/faith

Atheists are the least trusted group in America, seemingly because of our lack of any moral compass.  This hurts my feelings (and my brain’s feelings) because it implies that no one can come up with their own sense of right and wrong; morals must come from a third party because observation and critical, independent thinking aren’t enough to create one’s own moral structure.

I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that what bothers people most about Atheists isn’t that they think we have no morals, it’s that we don’t have a unified set of morals.  Each Atheist must create her own idea of what it means to be a “good person.”  Free thought is encouraged, even demanded, and as a result, we inherently have no guidebook for what it means to be an Atheist.

Picard and Riker, a powerhouse atheist facepalming duo!

If there are no rules, it must be chaos!  Atheists must therefore be anarchists!  But no, of course we’re not.  We love logic and science, and welcome theory change through careful study and blahblahblah.  We don’t need answers to the big questions (which we can’t possibly know for sure).

As a result, however, there’s this bizarre attitude of, “I don’t know (or need to know) everything, and that makes me better than you.”  It’s a conundrum: I’m not so special that the supposed creator of the universe listens to my every thought, and therefore I’m super special.  I have no ego, therefore I’m the best; deal with it.  LOL

I’m guilty of this for sure, and I’m fully aware of the absurdity of it, so… I am an anarchist!  Crap!

it's MASH or something! and they are so, so disappointed.

No no, there’s an explanation, and here it is: I love what my brain is capable of discovering on its own, and I pity people who don’t feel the same about their own incredible thinking power.  The thought process is, “Look how awesome my brain is!  Hey guys, you have brains too!  Wait, what?  You don’t want to use them? *sigh* Guys…WTF.”  It’s not that I feel superior, I just don’t see why logic fails to pervade religious thought when it’s applied so readily in every other aspect of our lives.  Why does anyone swear on a bible in a courtroom when the rest of the proceedings are based on secular law?

I’m not mad, I’m just… disappointed.

Standard
badness, humor, life

Incoming: STREET JUSTICE

One of the great things about living with Diminutive Roommate is that when I need to exact some kind of revenge on someone, she can think of half a dozen ways to do so within the law.  She and I are just great ranting buddies.  We love and encourage each other this way instead of hugging and sharing meaningful experiences.  If one of us is annoyed about something, the other is immediately pissed.  If one of us is sad about something, the other is inconsolable.  If one of us has a problem, a solution must and will be reached now, and we will reach it together.  And when one of us is wronged, we become one unit moving toward justice.

Today marks the third time I’ve had a package stolen off my doorstep.  It’s infuriating, not because I just spent $30 on something I may never be refunded for, but because of what having something that’s obviously mine stolen from inside my building implies: I’m living among thieves.  Filthy fucking thieves.  I don’t feel safe with my neighbors (which, given what I’ve written about them before, actually makes perfect sense).  Maybe I should know better by now.  I guess I just keep expecting the people I live next to to STOP STEALING MY SHIT.

maybe if i told them i was a ninja, they'd leave my amazon.com packages alone

I told Diminutive Roommate about this, and she immediately got all fired up.  And thank god.  My first reaction is to be angry, then hurt that anyone (let alone my own [albeit horrible] neighbors) would do this to me.  Action was needed, and while I was wallowing in self-pity, Diminutive Roommate was already working on a plan.  Together we came up with a cheap, doable sting operation.

We’ll put a package on the doorstep/mailbox clearly addressed to me.  Inside, we’ll put a really loud remote-controlled alarm.  When the package gets nabbed, we’ll go outside and set off the alarm, following the hideously loud ruckus to the guilty party, camera rolling, and demand our horribly ear-piercing property back.  The trick will be knowing when the package gets grabbed.  Maybe we can put a pressure sensor under the package that goes off when it gets picked up…  Either way, I’ll be delighted just knowing that we startled the culprit into peeing himself a little (if there is a god).

Batman Begins was on tonight, and I caught the first third or so where Bruce fails to kill his parents’ murderer, then gets all embroiled in the underbelly of the criminal world abroad, then trains with the Shadow Society, then returns to Gotham to become the embodiment of fear that allows him to control his own.  My situation is exactly like that; I’m taking a situation that pisses me the fuck off and makes me feel like a victim, and using it to strike fear into the heart of whatever fucktard has been stupid enough to steal my hard-earned crap.  I am so full of vengeance.  It’s on.

SIDE NOTE:
I’m feeling really, really good about other stuff.  Yeah, I’ve lost some hours at the dojo.  Yeah, my crap keeps getting lifted from my “secure building.”  But I have a new car on the way that I’m starting to get really fucking excited about.  I’m totally batshit crazy about Boyfriend and he seems to feel the same way.  I’m probably not going to have to move to another apartment, which will save me the hassle of… moving, which is a pain in the ass.  So things are looking up overall.

Standard
badness, martial arts

No one makes me bleed my own blood!!

As I’ve mentioned before, Saturday is the only day I have completely off.  On my other day off I spend four hours at the Kung Fu studio teaching, sweating, and learning ancient ways to become even more of a badass.  There weren’t many people around for Thursday night’s intermediate class, so it morphed into a wrestling/sparring class.  It was pretty fun.  I got roped into doing the Saturday sparring class.

Naruto knows exactly how I felt

When I mentioned to Diminutive Roommate that I’d be sparring for the first time in five years, she was confused.  She thought sparring took place during regular classes.  She couldn’t figure out how I’d been teaching all this time, and hadn’t sparred even once.  So let me take a moment to describe sparring the way it’s generally taught at martial arts schools.  Traditionally, sparring is when two trained martial artists throw on some gear (gloves, shin pads, head gear, mouth guard, chest padding, etc.), and exchange controlled hits to test their reflexes.  No one’s going for a knock out, or even attempting to injure their partner.  To do so would be disrespectful, and defeat the purpose of the exercise.

Or so I thought when I said I would be happy to attend a Saturday sparring match.  I was mistaken.  Before this class, I had never attended a sparring session where it was acceptable behavior to:
-intentionally and repeatedly aim strong punches to the head of an opponent not wearing head gear
-offer no apology for incurring even a simple injury like a bloody nose
-the majority of the class completely ignore instructions to use only 30% power
-a high-rank student is permitted to intentionally use more power than an equally-ranked partner (against that partner)

The instructor was very helpful and gave me some really excellent pointers.  He was very engaging and clearly interested in watching his students improve, which we did over the course of the class.  So I’m pretty heartbroken to say that there’s very little chance that I can go back to that class.  I have since learned that my partner of equal rank (who we’ll call Kris) is apparently known as “No Control” Kris.  Yikes.  Why is she allowed to spar?  Why intentionally injure your classmates?  Is your training really so important that things like restraint get lost in the process?

Maybe I’ve just gone soft.  It’s been five years since I sparred last, I’m not in my best shape, and I did well considering.  Frankly, I’m feeling good about my performance, but I have a lot to learn and a lot to improve, but… I won’t, because I can’t go back to that class if that’s what will be allowed from her and other students.

I don’t want an apology.  I want to train.  I don’t want a concussion, but I want to learn.  Gotta make this happen.

Standard
badness, goodness, life

The money issue

I’m feeling some pressure here.

I’ve known for a long time that I love to teach.  Teaching has always come naturally to me, much to the chagrin of Boyfriend who has gently hinted on more than one occasion, “Ok, you’re not at work, you can stop teaching now.”  It’s also common knowledge that teachers don’t make the cover of Forbes.  I will never be rich.  I will never make as much money as my parents do.  My sister will almost certainly out-earn me by a significant margin.

This never bothered me because I was going after (and I now do for a living) what I love.  I love to teach; I can’t help it.  And for that I will be not-wealthy (and potentially poor) for the rest of my life.  It’s not the worst thing in the world by a lot, but it is a shame, and it’s starting to bother me.  Discussing finances with friends recently has painted a depressing picture for me.  Suddenly I am not the one with the healthiest savings account.  In three or so years, I have become the lowest earner.  I’m at the bottom of the heap of people I love.  I’m genuinely excited for them, but their fortunes cast my own financial situation in sharp relief.  Starting today, I will always be poor compared to them.  That’s a depressing thought.

aaaaand there's the problem

I’ve made just one really fatal flaw in my life so far: I should have gone straight to graduate school after college, but I listened to other people who said, “You should try out the working world, you can always go back to school.”  I’ve spent the past four years in jobs I disliked (and occasionally hated), slowly clawing my way back toward academia until grad school is back within reach.  I regret not going straight to grad school.  I regret listening to others instead of listening to myself.  I knew what I wanted, and I let it get away.  It’s going to take a lot of work to get it back.

I need to get over it, though.  I have everything I want (except more spare time, one less job, and one more degree).  Things are good.  I’m about to get a new car.  I’m happy.  My friends are good.  My family… a bit of a mess right now, but that will change with time.  I need to focus on my future, and get where I’m going.  Focus.  Focus.  Focus.

Standard
badness, family, martial arts, work

Fat, not “FAT”

My mom’s mom was a model, and not just any model, an Adrian model.  Adrian Adolph Greenberg was a huge designer of women’s gowns used commonly in big Hollywood movies during the 1930s and 40s.  My mom used to be a clothing model for tailors and designers; “I was a perfect size four,” she would say.  My dad’s family has a history of natural athleticism, from college basketball, hurdles, swimming, etc.  My folks were both quite handsome in their hay-day.

Adrian made some classy shit

My sister and I have turned out to be what I’m going to call pretty good looking athletes.  I’m pleased with my looks (but wouldn’t call myself beautiful); Sister, on the other hand, is pretty much a knockout when she’s all dressed up (if she stands up straight).  It was a given that every year in school, we would do some sport, and excel in it.  I was captain of my middle school soccer (we lost almost every game) and volleyball (we made it to state!) teams.  Sister kicked everyone’s ass at cross country, and was so competitive (about everything, in truth) that she threw up before half of her races, most of which she won.  I’m a talented martial artist, a quick learner with a sharp eye for form.  I ran a mile the other night no problem; Sister could run three before her knees start to hurt.

I’m not saying all this to stroke my own ego.  Athleticism and good looks are my family legacy.  So when a mother approached me asking, “Why do you think it is that my child is so fat?” I’m thrown for a bit of a loop.  What do I say?  Should I be honest and say that her child has demonstrated that she has a propensity to be lazy, probably due to all the extra weight she carries around, which, in turn, causes her to be lazy?  That being fat is a cycle that’s tough to break out of, and that she did the right thing to sign her up for a martial arts class?

if Elvis did it, it must be awesome

Well, that’s what I did.  I was kind, and honest, and encouraging.  The mom smiled and nodded, and agreed with me at every turn.  Then she left, and apparently wrote a scathing email about how I called her child fat, and that she and her child will not be returning to the school because she feels judged and unwelcome.

Where do I begin?

No one wants to be fat, but some people are.  Fat is an adjective, like blue.  It applies to things (and people) that are fat.  Fat was a noun that became an adjective.  It happens all the time within many languages.  It’s not a sin.

I understand that it’s a hot-button word.  Coming from a thin, athletic person, I understand that it may come off as an insult.  But let’s be clear: calling someone fat within the context of a discussion regarding health and fitness is not the same as calling someone a fatty.  It’s simply vocabulary that states a fact: some people are fat, and should lose that extra fat in order to no longer be fat.  It’s very, very simple.  There is no extra meaning attached to the word ‘fat’ coming from me.  Any and all baggage attached to that word originates solely on the receiving end of that word.

At what point did the word ‘fat’ cease to be an acceptable adjective for overweight people?  What do they think all that weight consists of?  Hint: It’s FAT, not overweight-ness, not big-boned-ness.  It’s the noun that became an adjective.  That’s it.

Jessica Simpson is not fat, she's just not a skeleton anymore

This mother was right to worry about her child, who is seriously overweight (also known as fat).  When the child stands up after sitting on the floor, the motions resemble exactly what an old football coach with no knees left does when he breaks a huddle.  At age 5, that’s just unreal, and totally unhealthy.  I hope she gets her child checked out by a doctor to make sure it’s not a thyroid problem or something.

Bottom line: I care about this child’s health because this child is fat.  Not a fatty or any other mean name, just fat, and that’s not healthy.  If a mother (who is also overweight) asks me about her overweight child’s health, but doesn’t want to hear that her child is fat, she needs to ask different questions, or talk to someone who:

A) Doesn’t give a shit about her child’s well-being.

B) Will lie to her face, and tell her that her child is healthy, normal, and has nothing to worry about health-wise.

C) Doesn’t have a clue about what a normal child’s body should look like.

So why did I bother mentioning my totally awesome pedigree, all those handsome, athletic people in my family tree?  Because the underlying problem here is that I don’t know what it’s like to be fat.  I mean, I was a fat kid until around age 4, but I was totally unaware of it.  As a result, I’m on the outside of a discussion that I will never be welcomed into because I “don’t know what it’s like.”  Similar to a whites’ opinion on black issues, a thin person who has never been fat apparently has no right to talk about fat people–even when prompted.

UPDATE: August 29th, 1:14pm
I read an article in the LA Times today entitled “Does Obesity Qualify as Child Abuse?”  Yikes.  So that’s pretty extreme.  But kids don’t control what they eat, parents do.

It occurs to me now that the mother in question wasn’t only insulted in a protective-parent way, but was also probably harboring some guilt.  A child doesn’t get fat because she’s eating three square meals a day and getting plenty of exercise, it’s because the parents are potentially not doing a stellar job with her food intake, and making sure she’s active enough.  When she mentioned that her child took swim classes, I asked, “Does she do all the exercises?”
mom: I don’t know, I don’t stay to watch.
me: I noticed that I had to encourage her constantly just to keep her from slowing down in the middle of an activity.  That happened a lot during class today, so she may not be participating in every activity in swim class either.  She may not be getting as much exercise as you think.”

This woman was not abusing her child.  She was trying to get her to do athletic activities, and asked me for some (apparently unwanted) advice.  She wants her child to be healthy, but she could lost 40lbs and be healthier herself, so what kind of lifestyle change does she really expect from a child if she can’t do it herself?

Standard
badness, goodness, life

Obama, Osama, O-Lama

The Dalai Lama visited Los Angeles yesterday; I wish I could have attended his talk.  As much as I’d like to feel that every life is precious, I have to say that Osama bin Laden’s death feels like progress.  I’ve read that he had declared that his goal was to “wage war on the West.”  That’s it?  Fighting?  What a terrible goal!  How do you know when you’ve succeeded?  When bearded men marrying women half their age and treating them like property is the norm in the “west?”  I don’t get it.  Bad plan, Osama.

shit just got real

Standard
badness

C’mon, cars

I’ve been doing some online research on cars, and I can’t get over how deceptive the photos are.  Every photo shows a car with loads of expensive options.  Show me the car I would actually get, not the one with the spoiler and racing kit that makes it impossible to go over speed bumps.

in that case, why not throw an inflatable pig in there?

Tell the truth!

Standard