Lion Dancin', Beer Drinkin', Stuff breakin'

I'm starting to wonder if I have some inherent desire to hurt myself. Wouldn't surprise me, 'cause right now, I hurt like a sonuvabitch, and all of it is voluntary (if not self-inflicted).

We did another lion dance yesterday. It went very well. We ended up doing what's called a "bridge dance;" which, believe it or not, is actually kinda tricky. It involves dancing back and forth on a rather narrow (about 10 inches wide) bench, doing some impressive acrobatic maneuvers, and making it all look good. Rather difficult, actually.

So, when we actually get on the bench, my partner and I need to do some rather impressive maneuvering. It's not traditionally part of the dance, but we have to do it 'cause my partner's short and she can't quite pull off the mount. Dismount she's fine with; 'cause gravity does most of the work; but the mount is a little finicky. Since nobody really pays attention to the Lion's tail, she uses her hands to help her get onto the bridge (it's about a three-foot hop that she can't quite make).

Now, things get tricky. Do do most of what we need to do on the bridge, she now needs to be controlling the lion's head, and I need to be the tail for the simple reason that most of the maneuvers we need to work our way through involve the person controlling the tail lifting the person controlling the head in the spinning them around a few times, and depositing them back on the bridge (I would like to take this opportunity to reiterate that the bridge is very, very narrow). So, as she climbs onto the bench, I duck and cover as she leapfrogs over me, grabs the lion's head and takes over.

As I dropped, my left foot slipped, and my shin slammed hard into the edge of the bench.

I don't think anybody noticed, but it hurt like a sonuvabitch. This would be the first of several injuries I would be subjected to that night. The rest of the dance went without incident (which my lion dancing partner greatly appreciated, since a screw-up in this part of the dance usually involves her faceplanting on the bench; it's a small miracle that she hasn't broken her nose yet).
Then came the Kung Fu demonstrations.

Now, Bak Mei is generally not a flashy art (nobody will ever make a movie where the protagonist uses Bak Mei); but the demonstration I was doing was a form called Daai Sek Sze (directly translated: Big Stone Lion), which involves the one flying kick that exists in this particular martial arts style.

One unfortunate detail: you have to both push off and land on the leg that I'd just whacked against the edge of a wooden bench (and which, I hasten to add, now has a bruise roughly the size of a large orange, or a small grapefruit, on it). Walking on this thing hurt. Imagine what landing on it must've felt like.

And this kick is performed twice in the form.

Ouch.

The first one went well, relatively speaking. I don't think anyone in the audience saw me wince as I hit the ground. The second one didn't go so well. I think I new what was coming and I braced myself for it. But when I hit the ground, my leg buckled, and my ankle rolled over.

Ouch.

I finished the form; but I was pretty much limping off the stage at the end of it.

So we finish the demo (I had another form I was supposed to do, but I had to hand it off to my Daai Si Ying; the top student; largely 'cause I could barely walk, much less hop around looking like I was beating the crap out of someone).

So, the night ends, we all take a bow. We weren't required to do another lion dance (Thank God), but I was hurting pretty bad at this point.

And the night had barely started.

One of my fellow students was having a housewarming party. Lots o' fun.

I mentioned in an earlier posting that Kung Fu practicioners like to break stuff. Not necessarily in huge quantities; but we do like to break things. Usually after consuming a beer or four, because alcohol allows Chi to flow more freely. Or so they tell me. Either that or it's just an excuse to get drunk and break stuff.

Anyhow, after everyone's had a couple of beers (or more), we start breaking things. We start easy: beer bottles. Hell, we had a bunch of 'em anyway; so we might as well, right?

The only hard part of a beer bottle break is not ending up with a bunch of shards of broken glass in your hand at the end of it. The object of the exercise is to strike the lip of the bottle, and make the bottom of the bottle burst outward. You start easy: filling up most of the bottle with water, and as you get better, you progressively remove about an inch of water from the bottle. I've seen people do a beer bottle break on completely dry bottles. I can't do that. The people who do it with dry bottles are the ones who can break rocks with their pinky fingers (which, by the way, I also cannot do). I can do it at about 2/3rds full, but it takes me a couple of tries.

So, my Daai Si Ying is getting somewhat impressed. We decided to proceed to chair lifting. This consists of grasping one of the legs of a chair where it meets the ground, and lifting it off the ground.

Try it; it's a lot more difficult then it sounds. You have to manage to shove that leg under the chair's center of gravity, then lift it straight up. All with one hand.

And as if all that wasn't enough; my Daai Si Ying decided to put some weight on it. He found a box of somethingorother (I think it was books), and told me to lift it.

So I tried.

I failed miserably; twice. At which point he handed me his half-empty beer and said "drink this, and try again." So I hammer it back, next attempt is successful.

I'm starting to get slightly ripped at this point. And the Chopsticks come out.

Chopstick breaks are kinda fun. The object of this exercise is to punch into the air, holding a chopstick in the punching hand, and the force of your punch combined with the inertia of the chopstick makes it snap. We use plastic chopsticks; but I've seen it done with Bamboo; again, by people who break rocks with their pinky fingers. So, Daai Si Ying hands me a chopstick, and says "break."

It takes me a couple of tries, but the chopstick breaks.

So, he hands me two chopsticks, and tells me again: "break."

This one took me a little while. These were thicker chopsticks than I'm used to; but they broke nicely.

So, he hands me three chopsticks.

I can do three on a good day. And these ones were just being damned stubborn.

"Does anybody," Daai Si Ying asked, "have a beer they can loan this gentleman?"

Immediately, six people are thrusting half-empty beer bottles in my direction.

Not that I'm complaining, mind you, but at this point I'm starting to think I have to work tomorrow and I really don't wanna be hungover. Fortunately, I took the train to the party, so I didn't need to worry about that; but a hangover was really the last thing I needed.

And lo' and behold, they break.

So I'd had enough of chopsticks, so I sat down.

You'd think I'd have quit while I was ahead, right?

No; my Daai Si Ying had one last thing he wanted to show me. He stands me up and he shows me a series of joint locks; which is basically the ultimate in mercy fighting. The basic principle is that if you force the wrist to the point where it can't bend any farther, the elbow bends to copensate. If you force the elbow, the shoulder takes over. You force the shoulder, and the hip takes over. Once you've got the hip, they're screwed. You can basically force them to the ground by shifting the position of their arm very slightly (the farthest he had to move my hand was about eight inches). So this exercise meant that I spent a disproportionate amount of time saying something to the effect of "Okay, you can stop right there; I like my arm in one piece thank you very much," or "pray, dear sir, could you see your way clear to not breaking my wrist?"

Just 'cause I'm in pain is no reason to be rude.

So, my wrist is now the size of a canteloupe; or at least it feels that way.

Yeah, I'm starting to wonder if I'm a glutton for punishment.