badness, humor, work

Haiku distraction: Murphy’s law

The kind of haikus I write are either spawned from boredom, disappointment, or a severe dislike of the situation in which I’ve (usually forcibly) been placed.  I went to another late-night meeting, and naturally another set of haikus resulted because everything that could have gone wrong during this meeting did go wrong.  The AV wasn’t set up like it was supposed to be, and when it was set up it buzzed the whole time, and then it stopped working.  The man in charge treated me like his own personal servant…again.  There weren’t enough chairs, so my coworkers and I had to sit outside and eat at the check-in table.  The meeting could have easily been half as long as it was, but the people in charge couldn’t stop plugging their shit to make money for their organization.

Unlease the haiku beast!

"i'm really excited about this year's numbers."

Cheshire cat lady,
smile and grin and never frown;
whose trust do you have?

The woman in charge never stops smiling, even when discussing unpleasant topics.  It’s super creepy.  My coworker noticed and made a comment about how she never knew what to think of what she was saying.

Poor athletics guy.
Your report encourages,
but why are you here?

The guy from athletics gave his update about how the university teams are doing really well and he kept it short.  Then he sat down and looked neglected and bored for the rest of the next hour and a half.  Poor bastard.

Little disasters
know me by name.  “Be our friend,”
they say.  No thank you.

My office was not in charge of this event, but when things went wrong, we were the ones who worked to make it right because the people in charge were too busy milling around feeling important, not realizing that hosting means making sure things go smoothly, and not acting like the lord and lady of the land, greeting subjects and making long-winded speeches.

Stop talking, ladies
and gentlemen.  Eight o’clock,
and I miss my boy.

Around eight I realized that I could be snuggled up on the couch in my pajamas with Boyfriend watching Star Trek: The Next Generation instead of hearing reports on adorable new merchandise the hosting organization hoped to overcharge the population for.  My poems broke out of their calm haiku exterior, and became more biting.

There once was a man who would speak.
His speech is what made our ears leak.
It started alright,
but later that night,
he kept speaking and made us all shriek!

When I get bored, I can literally feel some kind of invisible plasma slipping out of my ears, making me stupider somehow.  I’m not bored very often; I usually find some way to entertain myself, but my stamina drains away at these meetings, and I can only play in Imaginationland so long without looking like a space cadet.

Marching cult of the Fluffy Hat,
you’re crazier than my roommate’s cat.

It’s clear why you’re so proud of yourselves:
you make earplugs fly right off their shelves!
Your drums go ‘thump,’ your horns go ‘splat.’
You sound just like my roommate’s cat.

You prance around like little ponies,
and act like musicians, you little phonies.
You’re rude and untalented and smelly and fat,
you’re nowhere near as cute as my roommate’s cat.

My coworker loves my haikus and requested that I write about the band, which we all agree is like a creepy religious cult.  Diminutive Roommate has a pretty severe dislike of the band; I was so excited to show her this poem, I called her on my way home last night to recite it to her.

I don’t know anyone who thinks these four-hour meetings are helpful.  It’s like elevator music: If everyone hates it, why play it at all?

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humor, martial arts, work

These are our future leaders

pictured: a futile effort

Some kid openly farted in class last week.  We were just settling down in our quiet meditation circle when PPPHHHHHRHRRTT.  He sat on the floor, then leaned over and let it rip.

The girl next to him didn’t even react.  Literally, zero reaction.  I stared at him for a second and said, “Hey, that’s gross!  Don’t fart in here!”  He smiled, and as far as he was concerned, the conversation was over.  I had to force my disgusted adult brain to move on.  I realized I was the outsider, the only person bothered by what had just happened.

And that’s all I remember about that day.

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goodness, martial arts, work

Good traffic

Today was supposed to be day two of Carmageddon, the weekend when the 405 closed from the 10 to the 101 for construction.  Traffic was supposed to be ridiculous, but it was… not.

I did my second freelance job in Palos Verdes today, so I was worried that I’d have to bike 15 miles down there and be all tired and gross when it came time to teach the class.  It sounds like I’m going to book another one, too.  I’m not making huge money, but getting paid five-to-ten times more per hour than I usually do is pretty sweet.

"405 FREEWAY OPEN / THANK YOU LOS ANGELES"

On the drive home I saw this really nice message on a freeway sign:

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humor, life, work

Cats do what muppets can’t

I just found out that my hours are being cut at the dojo without gaining any days off.  How the hell does that happen?  I’m only teaching two classes on Mondays now.  Pointless.  And depressing, considering I have a new car coming, and my other job can’t afford to give me more hours.  I’m not feeling too hot about it.  They cut hours whenever we lose students, which sucks for the students that remain because they get fewer options for classes at the same price they were paying before!  It’s a fucked up system.

So naturally I looked up that skit that the muppets did on Sesame Street singing along with “Don’t Worry Be Happy,” only to find that YOUTUBE AND I ARE NO LONGER FRIENDS.  I can’t believe it’s not on there.  And since the natural progression from muppets is cats, I watched this video instead.

I know how you feel, man

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humor, life, martial arts, work

Let me introduce Teen, Enthusiast, and Mouth

Three sisters came to try out classes at the dojo yesterday, all different age groups.  Each had their own very distinct personality, and each made the day very interesting, and at times very challenging.

The eldest sister (Teen) was relaxed and happy before class, but didn’t seem to realize she was going to have to sweat and run and generally get a workout, so I had to keep an eye on her to make sure she wasn’t walking instead of running during warm-ups.  After that though, she seemed to have a good time.  She seems smart and coordinated, so I’m excited to see her progress (and it always puts a smile on my face to see a teenage girl do some martial arts).

The middle child (Enthusiast) seems happy, energetic and ready to have fun.  She’s a listener and a doer.  She’s going to have a blast.  Can’t wait.

bipolar

she had two states: placated, and "mouth"

The youngest (Mouth) is very overweight, has trouble taking direction (I chatted with her mom about this; it’s because she speaks only Spanish at home, which isn’t uncommon with our Hispanic contingency, but kids learn fast so I think that will be a short-term issue), and is what’s generally known as a brat.  She screams “no” repeatedly every chance she gets, no matter what’s happening, accompanied by copious amounts of crocodile tears (see picture).  She cries and loses her mind at the drop of a hat (I saw her throw three separate tantrums).  But she got all the way through the class without a single outburst, mostly because her family did a great job of watching the class without interacting with her, just like I asked, and I didn’t give her any positive attention when she misbehaved, or comfort when she fell (which happened a lot, and she said “ouch!” every time, lol).  She’s adorable, overweight, and totally spoiled, but she didn’t have an outburst during class because I didn’t let her speak without raising her hand (which she refused to do), and demanded a level of independence from her that she enjoyed but is clearly not used to (her eldest sister, mother, and aunt seem to do everything for her).  My goal for her is to teach her respect for her classmates (I lost track of the number of times she said, “My turn now!” and cut in line), respect for her mother (who she defied at every turn, seemingly without consequence), and to instill a sense of healthy independence that doesn’t involve mouthing off, but rather enables her to do things like put her own shoes on, etc.  I think she could have a huge social growth spurt at the school.  I’m really looking forward to working as a team with the family to invoke a positive change in her approach to others and herself.  She is exactly the kind of child who should be in our program.  I’m glad she’s there, even if it makes my job harder.

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martial arts, work

Skip this one, I’m just blowing off steam

I have two jobs: Office Job and Karate Job.  Karate Job is unique in the sense that if I want any time off, I need to ask the other sensei’s to cover all my classes for me.  As a result, I have yet to take a vacation from this job (I’ve been there close to two years).  With the exception of two one-day occasions (one was Sister’s engagement the day after Thanksgiving why don’t we get that day off, the other was ComiCon), I have never asked for coverage for anything other than being deathly ill.  Having a job means showing up and doing that job every day, even if you don’t want to, even if you’re hung over or tired and want a vacation.  You suck it up, and do your job.

hey, wanna help me shirk my responsibilities? thaaaanks!!!! 🙂

Most of the sensei’s are actors, so they’ll ask for coverage at the drop of a hat (“I just landed this really big gig and I need to be on set for the next three days!!!”), but they won’t commit to cover for anyone else (read: me) if I want to make plans a month in advance (say, for something like a vacation) because what if their big break comes along and they’re stuck covering someone else’s classes omfg worst day ever.  So when a sensei who has never covered for me (even when I had that stabbing sensation in my intestines every fifteen minutes for two days) asks for coverage because his friends are in town and he wants to be a good host and show them around LA, guess what.  NO.  A thousand times, no.  Everyone wants to hang out with friends, but guess what.  You have a fucking job.  DO YOUR JOB.  When my cousin from Australia who I haven’t seen in a decade came into town, did I ask for time off?  No.  Because I have a job, and living my life shouldn’t stop other people from living theirs.  It’s just that simple.

I think this bothers me so much because I have two jobs, and if I cover for anyone, that automatically means that I will work two weeks without a day off.  Most of my time off is spent at the Kung Fu studio already, so the idea that someone would shoot me a quizzical look when I say “Sorry, I can’t cover for you that day,” makes my blood boil.  Especially the sensei’s who ask for coverage at the Valley or Near Valley locations.  They just don’t understand how not-worth it it is financially.  Let’s break it down:

Let’s say the sensei needs four classes covered.  At $25/hr, that’s $100; after taxes it’s around $66.  It’s 30 miles to and from Valley or Near Valley schools from my place on the Westside.  That’s about $16 worth of gas in my current death trap of a car.  That drops my pay to about $50, which means that I’m now getting paid just $13 per hour to teach kids who don’t know me in an unfamiliar school in the fucking Valley.

So no, sensei, I can’t cover for you up there.  I can never cover for you.

I’ve averaged one day of coverage per month since I started working there.  If someone would like to give karma a call and let her know that I’m due for a vacation, that’d be nice.  It would mean more if it didn’t come from me, y’know?  kthx!

not pictured: boss winding up for an undeserved sucker punch

Side rant: What is it that compels bosses to tell their employees that they’re doing a great job, the kids are happy, the parents are (literally) outraged when I’m not there when I’m sick, everything is great.  But hey, are you starting classes on time?  I heard you weren’t.  Yeah, last Friday I lost track of time and we started one of the classes a minute or two late.  Ok… Starting on time is important.  You need to start doing that.  Right, of course, it was an anomaly, my classes usually do start on time.  Ok great… it’s just that I heard that it was a thing with you… That’s odd, because it’s not.  Have the parents been complaining?  No, I just wanted to make sure you knew that-

*sigh*  Yeah.  Just keep reiterating your point.  That’ll help.  Because I’m a small mammal or a child, and I don’t understand English too good.  I was intelligent when you hired me, but being a subordinate has made me stupid as all hell, so yeah, please just keep repeating yourself.  Maybe I’ll crack under the pressure and tell you that you’re right and I’m wrong even if I’m not.  Go ahead; bully me into lying to you.  That’s a good work relationship, right?  Right?

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life, martial arts, work

Pity party

nectar of the gods

It occurred to me recently that I’ve become a very busy person.  I don’t particularly like being super busy; I’m not one of those people who has to be doing something all the time to feel useful.  I’d like to sleep in at Boyfriend’s house, read, have some eggs and tater tots with Cholula and ketchup, take a walk, lay out in the sun (finally finish that last LOTR book), maybe have some sex, take a nap, watch a few episodes of Buffy or The Office, try to cook a delicious meal from that recipe app I just got (go get phở after probable, massive failure) or go have dinner with friends, followed by 5-hour table-top gaming session.

THAT is a perfect day.  Here’s what I do instead:

Monday, Wednesday, Friday
Office Job: Alarm goes off at 7:21am, snooze until 7:45, get dressed, make PBJ sammiches, leave by 8:15, chastise self for being late so often.  Park car in giant parking structure, take tram to campus, walk to building, attempt to work until 1:30pm.  Drive to Redondo Beach to teach a few karate classes to kids who either:
a) Love it, and love me
b) Have a great attitude, even when I tell them to do something hard
c) Love having fun, but therefore must be entertained, lest the unhappy face make an appearance (I call it “The Crank”)
d) Didn’t get their nap, and are close to flopping on the floor and giving up every second of the class
e) Don’t want to be there at all.  Want to go home.  Now.  Home.  Home!  NOW!

pictured: option D

Fridays I go to Santa Monica to teach karate, where the kids tend to have nannies, a stronger sense of entitlement, and parent who tend not to want to hear anything that might resemble criticism.

Tuesday
Repeat above Office Job portion.  Go home to the Westside, eat ramen (or broccoli omfg I love it so much), relax for a few hours, change into Kung Fu clothes, leave by 5:15 to help with beginner’s class, take cardio class, take intermediate class.  Five hours after I left for the studio, I arrive home to eat something easy, shower, and go to bed by 11:30.

Thursday
SLEEP IN!  Repeat above Kung Fu portion.

Saturday
SLEEP IN!  This is the only day I truly have completely off.  I spend most of it sleeping, eating, gaming with friends (poker!), and generally not standing up.

Sunday
Alarm goes off at 9:21am.  Must leave by 9:45, but snooze until 9:39 most of the time.  Drive to Redondo Beach dojo, stop by McDonalds for two egg mcmuffins (eat both in car), park car at dojo, walk across PCH (scary!) to Starbucks (grande iced mocha with whip cream).  Teach four classes, and maybe a weapons workshop.  Done by 3 or 6.  Go home, repeat Saturday plan.

Most of my fellow Sensei’s are actors, so they all need time off at the drop of a hat, and refuse to cover for anyone else too far into the future for fear of double-booking on the day of their yet-unbooked big break.  I’ve been covering a bunch recently because of the incoming car purchase, meaning I haven’t had a full day off in almost three weeks.  I drive almost 200 miles per week just to get to my jobs on my own shifts (not counting Kung Fu which adds 20mi).  Monday comes zooming up on me since Sunday is a work day, then I’m sleep-deprived until three days later when I get to sleep in on Thursday.  I look forward to sleep more than I look forward to food at this point.  Which is sad.  Maybe that’ll change if I make one of those amazing pumpkin dishes!  🙂

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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?

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humor, work

Haiku distraction: le food

My coworker (let’s call her Lisa) is really good at talking, and I don’t mean that insultingly.  It’s what makes her good at her job.  She’s a networker.  She can hold thousands of tiny details in the front of her mind, and uses a hundred words to get a simple idea across.  It wears down the other guy, and makes whatever she’s talking about sound more convincing.

I went to a  meeting yesterday with Lisa and our boss (let’s call her Ruth) regarding food for a big event we have coming up.  Lisa said this meeting would consist of Ruth and our contact (the Manager and Chef) discussing pricing, etc., and Lisa would spend the meeting listening and taking notes.  I thought, There’s no way you’re not going to say anything.  No.  Way.

Lisa said she would
sit and listen.  I think we
both knew that was false.

Lisa will not stop talking unless she hears what she wants to hear.  She can be pretty pushy, but again, we depend on that side of her to get her job done better than anyone else in the office could.  Having said that, there are some words that are such an affront to the English language (on which, as you know, I have a pretty serious crush) that infuriate me to the point of spontaneous haiku.

“Guestimate” might be
worse than the manager-chef
dynamic.  Awkward!

When we sat down for the meeting, Chef was AWOL.  Manager was very professional, and clearly quite experienced with the price points and practicalities of each dish for the location of the meal, the number of people we wanted to feed, etc.  He’s the right man for the job.  Very professional and reserved.  Then Chef joined us.  Chef is a hulking, overweight, laid-back possibly German man with a thick accent and some good ideas, all of which were shot down by Manager.  Manager had trouble hiding his displeasure for Chef.  At the end of the meeting, Chef wanted to go back to the kitchen while Manager finished up with us.  Manager disapproved.  He asked Chef to wait.  Chef did not wait, lol.

He’s so straight-forward.
I really like this chef.  I
bet he spreche Deutsch.

Chef came to the table eating a brownie, then got up and brought us a plate of them.  Score!

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goodness, humor, martial arts, work

That girlish figure

Now and then I’m reminded that kids have no idea what the world is about at all.

One of them laid down on the floor after I asked everyone to stand up, so I told him that I’d once accidentally stepped on a student because he didn’t stand up when I told him to (true) and that he had cried (false) because it had hurt him (true).  He didn’t look convinced, so I asked the kids how much they weighed.

“60 pounds!  51!  55!  62!”  Wow, I said, that’s pretty good.  How much do you guys think Sensei weighs?

Here’s what I got:

stylish!

108 pounds!  80% of my body weight.  Just enough to make me look like I would neglect my health if it meant a modeling contract.  Look at how fashionable I’d be!

.

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rockstar!

120 pounds!  89% of my body weight.  This just below my ideal training weight.  I’m about 125 when I’m nothing but solid muscle.  Awesome!

.

.

..

.

.

um... winner?

340 pounds!  252% of my body weight.  What?!  This kid was dead serious.  This was his best guess.  At this weight, I like to think I’d be a little bit proud, like I’d just won a really shitty contest.

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clueless!

90 pounds!  67% of my body weight.  Yeah, maybe if I was 12, lol!  I don’t have a whole lot of good memories of being 90lbs (6th grade).  I had just experienced the fifth of five deaths that happened between ages 9 and 12.  I wasn’t unhappy, but I was very alone, and in hindsight, a little lost.  I’m happy to be an adult.

.

.

.

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censored!

1,698 pounds!  1,258% of my body weight.  That’s twelve Me’s.  Yeah, this kid was joking.  If he wasn’t, he’d still be doing pushups right now.  There isn’t a clothing size that would fit twelve Me’s.  Plus, droopy boobs!  Gross!

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.

.

stinky!

61 pounds!  45% of my body weight.  This was another serious guess.  Bear in mind that these kids had just told me  they weigh about that much, and you’ll stop thinking it’s a cute mis-guided guess, and start worrying about their super-short goldfish memories.  I would have to have been dead for a good month or so before I lost this much weight due to decomposition.

bitter and alone!

1057 pounds!  783% of my body weight.  At this point, I would have to make a choice: Aim for 1,698 pounds, or remain pissed off for being stuck in some fuck-ugly muu muu for the rest of my joint-crippling, asexual, two-seats-on-the-bus, stray cat attracting life.

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