Still practicing the typing thing, but as it is, I just cant stand to do any real writing in the real typing mode, as it just feels too slow. Perhaps just a few more days of practice, and Ill be fast enough with my fingers to keep up with my brain.
So, its back to the index finger shuffle for now.
So whats on my mind today
***
I have this friend, see. Hes been a good buddy of mine since High school, I grew up a half a block away from him, and he and I gradually got to be friends in middle school, I think sort of through a mutual-outcast strength in numbers type of thing. Both being sort of ostracized and alienated from the cool kids in high school, we found ourselves in a tightly knit group of guys who for whatever reasons, were the recipients of a great deal of attention from the cool kids, who I thought of at the time as assholes.
Anyway. For purposes of anonymity, Ill call him Lou. Lou and I were, I believe, individually cast aside by the Gods of popularity for different reasons, myself being from that low income, bad clothes, in the gifted program class of maladapts; scrawny and thin by nature, fearful of confrontation through years of family training. My unaccepted condition was further emphasized by my general disregard for social norms and a willingness to vocalize my extremely inquisitive mind and ask a lot of questions no one else wanted to hear, with a kind of accidental trait of being just slow enough on the uptake to not notice what the general population thought of me until it was too late. I was, drum roll pleasea nerd.
Whether worse than mine or not, Lous reasons for his similar social status were, unfortunately, almost purely physical, by my estimation. His intellect and social graces and general behavior were no doubt sharp and well-meaning, but my dear friend Lou was also born to a stocky, barrel-like body, a metabolism that didnt quite keep up with his love of junk food, topped by a shock of the most intensely curly brown hair atop his head that was, for all intents and purposes, the closest thing to an afro ever sported by a white guy. Hair like that and a tendency toward what was often referred to in polite societies as a husky build left Lou open for some of the most intense High School torture that I think I have ever witnessed, for at that age, it seems, we are all a bit more blood thirsty, a bit more cruel. I know that I was on the receiving end of my own share of physical, mental, and verbal abuse, and I can only imagine what Lou got when he went to school.
In any case, we are still fast friends, still see each other regularly, and still share a fair number of similar interests. We both enjoy a good action movie, we both like the ideas and stylistic elements of the super-hero, and we both share a keen interest in martial arts. And on that subject, we have a slightly different take. For whatever reasons, which only he truly knows, Lou has never, to my knowledge, actively pursued or studied any kind of martial art or fighting style, whereas I have, and found it to be a hobby of wonderful benefit both physically and mentally.
And so, when I began the training which I am currently involved in, he and I shared many conversations regarding the styles that I studied, the things we did at my class, and all the while, as I told my stories, Lou looked at me with a keen eye, the gleam of intense curiosity twinkling in his gaze. Months passed.
He would always inquire, and I would tell him about training, about how good I felt after a particularly hard workout, about how cool my instructor was, about what a great deal it is, only ten bucks a lesson for private instruction, he trains the way Bruce Lee did, in his backyard, no frills, no belts, just training, pure and simple. And that gleam would wink in and out of Lous eye, and every time, I would tell him that he should come. He should start to train. And he would say that he would love to.
But then reasons would pop up, and he wouldnt be able to make it. Or he wouldnt be home when I called to finalize plans to train. They would be valid excuses always, tired from work, or sick, or whatever, but still, they were excuses. And I would offer, and he would say he wanted to, and he would come up with a reason to cancel at the last minute.
Then, finally, one day, I was supposed to call and wake him up to come and train. And before I even picked up the phone, I knew he wouldnt wake up, that Id get the machine, that I would leave a message, and not hear back from him until the next day. I could almost see him, making that decision in his mind, coming to the conclusion that his back hurt, or that hed rather sleep, or that he didnt even want to leave the house that night. And I would call, and say, you really should come tonight man, youll really dig it, I really want you to come. But I would say it to the machine, and he would half wake up and decide not to listen and he would ignore the message and delete it the next day, and feel the same as he did every other day.
So I didnt leave that message. Instead I left a message that said something along the lines of: BEEP. Yo. Get up. Im calling back in five minutes and Im not taking any excuses this time. So wake the fuck up.
And I called back. BEEP. Wake the fuck up. Youre coming tonight. GET UP.
And I called back a third time. BEEP. Looooooouuu! Waaaaaake uuuuuuuup. Blaaahahaaaaaaaaaaarrghh.
And again. I think of the fifth call, he picked up. And I talked to him. And he gave in, and he came to class.
Afterwards, I could barely keep up with him. Gone was the usually lethargic, low-key Lou, who despite his physically massive build was surprisingly quiet and unobtrusive. Instead, here was this shining ball of energy, this glowing individual who had no qualms about who he was, or what anybody else thought of him, here was someone who was just happy to be alive, who felt good, and who was going to go out and conquer the world, and fuck em all if anyone doubted it. It was truly a beautiful sight to behold, and I watched him with joy in my guts and a strange sense of satisfaction and pride. But also worry, because I knew what would happen. Because old habits die hard, and its really fucking hard to unlearn what those cruel fuckers taught you in high school.
The next week, it was another excuse. This one thinner than before. And I wouldnt take no for an answer, and he went. Again, he was a glowing, shining version of his former self and again, I was happy to see my friend so happy. But somewhere, I was worried too.
And now he tells me again that his back hurts. He says he has to go to a chiropractor.
So now, what I have to decide is where to stop. When do I have to take my leave of holding his hand, of kicking his ass, of picking him up an hauling him there, should I continue to hound him until he relents, because I know, I know what its like to feel that way, I know what its like to make excuses, to come up with perfectly logical reasons why I couldnt do whatever it was that I was afraid of. And I know that just looking down the barrel of that thing and saying, Fuck it, I dont care what happens, I wanna try this. Is a really hard thing to do, but now, I also know that its the hardest thing. After you do that, no matter how terrifying it is, its all downhill, and the worst is out of the way.
But Im not gonna give up on Lou yet. Because Ive seen the potential hes got, and I think he can bring it out of himself, all itll take is a few more kicks in the slats.
So, its back to the index finger shuffle for now.
So whats on my mind today
***
I have this friend, see. Hes been a good buddy of mine since High school, I grew up a half a block away from him, and he and I gradually got to be friends in middle school, I think sort of through a mutual-outcast strength in numbers type of thing. Both being sort of ostracized and alienated from the cool kids in high school, we found ourselves in a tightly knit group of guys who for whatever reasons, were the recipients of a great deal of attention from the cool kids, who I thought of at the time as assholes.
Anyway. For purposes of anonymity, Ill call him Lou. Lou and I were, I believe, individually cast aside by the Gods of popularity for different reasons, myself being from that low income, bad clothes, in the gifted program class of maladapts; scrawny and thin by nature, fearful of confrontation through years of family training. My unaccepted condition was further emphasized by my general disregard for social norms and a willingness to vocalize my extremely inquisitive mind and ask a lot of questions no one else wanted to hear, with a kind of accidental trait of being just slow enough on the uptake to not notice what the general population thought of me until it was too late. I was, drum roll pleasea nerd.
Whether worse than mine or not, Lous reasons for his similar social status were, unfortunately, almost purely physical, by my estimation. His intellect and social graces and general behavior were no doubt sharp and well-meaning, but my dear friend Lou was also born to a stocky, barrel-like body, a metabolism that didnt quite keep up with his love of junk food, topped by a shock of the most intensely curly brown hair atop his head that was, for all intents and purposes, the closest thing to an afro ever sported by a white guy. Hair like that and a tendency toward what was often referred to in polite societies as a husky build left Lou open for some of the most intense High School torture that I think I have ever witnessed, for at that age, it seems, we are all a bit more blood thirsty, a bit more cruel. I know that I was on the receiving end of my own share of physical, mental, and verbal abuse, and I can only imagine what Lou got when he went to school.
In any case, we are still fast friends, still see each other regularly, and still share a fair number of similar interests. We both enjoy a good action movie, we both like the ideas and stylistic elements of the super-hero, and we both share a keen interest in martial arts. And on that subject, we have a slightly different take. For whatever reasons, which only he truly knows, Lou has never, to my knowledge, actively pursued or studied any kind of martial art or fighting style, whereas I have, and found it to be a hobby of wonderful benefit both physically and mentally.
And so, when I began the training which I am currently involved in, he and I shared many conversations regarding the styles that I studied, the things we did at my class, and all the while, as I told my stories, Lou looked at me with a keen eye, the gleam of intense curiosity twinkling in his gaze. Months passed.
He would always inquire, and I would tell him about training, about how good I felt after a particularly hard workout, about how cool my instructor was, about what a great deal it is, only ten bucks a lesson for private instruction, he trains the way Bruce Lee did, in his backyard, no frills, no belts, just training, pure and simple. And that gleam would wink in and out of Lous eye, and every time, I would tell him that he should come. He should start to train. And he would say that he would love to.
But then reasons would pop up, and he wouldnt be able to make it. Or he wouldnt be home when I called to finalize plans to train. They would be valid excuses always, tired from work, or sick, or whatever, but still, they were excuses. And I would offer, and he would say he wanted to, and he would come up with a reason to cancel at the last minute.
Then, finally, one day, I was supposed to call and wake him up to come and train. And before I even picked up the phone, I knew he wouldnt wake up, that Id get the machine, that I would leave a message, and not hear back from him until the next day. I could almost see him, making that decision in his mind, coming to the conclusion that his back hurt, or that hed rather sleep, or that he didnt even want to leave the house that night. And I would call, and say, you really should come tonight man, youll really dig it, I really want you to come. But I would say it to the machine, and he would half wake up and decide not to listen and he would ignore the message and delete it the next day, and feel the same as he did every other day.
So I didnt leave that message. Instead I left a message that said something along the lines of: BEEP. Yo. Get up. Im calling back in five minutes and Im not taking any excuses this time. So wake the fuck up.
And I called back. BEEP. Wake the fuck up. Youre coming tonight. GET UP.
And I called back a third time. BEEP. Looooooouuu! Waaaaaake uuuuuuuup. Blaaahahaaaaaaaaaaarrghh.
And again. I think of the fifth call, he picked up. And I talked to him. And he gave in, and he came to class.
Afterwards, I could barely keep up with him. Gone was the usually lethargic, low-key Lou, who despite his physically massive build was surprisingly quiet and unobtrusive. Instead, here was this shining ball of energy, this glowing individual who had no qualms about who he was, or what anybody else thought of him, here was someone who was just happy to be alive, who felt good, and who was going to go out and conquer the world, and fuck em all if anyone doubted it. It was truly a beautiful sight to behold, and I watched him with joy in my guts and a strange sense of satisfaction and pride. But also worry, because I knew what would happen. Because old habits die hard, and its really fucking hard to unlearn what those cruel fuckers taught you in high school.
The next week, it was another excuse. This one thinner than before. And I wouldnt take no for an answer, and he went. Again, he was a glowing, shining version of his former self and again, I was happy to see my friend so happy. But somewhere, I was worried too.
And now he tells me again that his back hurts. He says he has to go to a chiropractor.
So now, what I have to decide is where to stop. When do I have to take my leave of holding his hand, of kicking his ass, of picking him up an hauling him there, should I continue to hound him until he relents, because I know, I know what its like to feel that way, I know what its like to make excuses, to come up with perfectly logical reasons why I couldnt do whatever it was that I was afraid of. And I know that just looking down the barrel of that thing and saying, Fuck it, I dont care what happens, I wanna try this. Is a really hard thing to do, but now, I also know that its the hardest thing. After you do that, no matter how terrifying it is, its all downhill, and the worst is out of the way.
But Im not gonna give up on Lou yet. Because Ive seen the potential hes got, and I think he can bring it out of himself, all itll take is a few more kicks in the slats.