The difference between.....

There's a fundamental difference, I realized last night, between showing an art, and marketing it.

And make no mistake about this one, there's a reason why they're called the martial arts. How someone can watch our SiFu go through one of his weapons forms and not describe it as an art form is beyond me. It's like a dance. Poetry in motion.

But that's not what I want to talk about, really.

We did a Kung Fu demonstration last night at the Devonian Gardens in Calgary. Lots and lots of fun was had, and we had a great opportunity to show the art.

We were not, however, the only martial arts group there. One of the local Hap Ki Do schools was also doing a demonstration, so we got to see a little bit of their show.

Now, don't get me wrong, these people (a lot of young kids in their group, by the way; they looked to have an average age of about 16) were remarkable athletes; but somewhere along the line they'd lost the art, and were basically trying to sell it to the people watching. Flashy music, staged fight sequences, kicking demonstrations; all very impressive looking, but at the end of the day, that's not what the art is about.

Now, granted, when we demonstrate our forms, we do have Chinese drums, gongs, and cymbals playing; but that's because that's how it's traditionally done. I think it has something to do with the idea that if you can focus enough to do your form with a really loud racket distracting you (and believe me, those drums can be pretty damned distracting), you can use these skills when you need them. Or at least, that's the explanation that makes the most sense to me; I mean there has to be some reason it's been done that way for 500 years. The bottom line is that we were showing what the art is. We weren't trying to sell it. If people approached us afterwards, we had some business cards to offer them, whereas the other school had pamphlets that they handed out to every one in attendance. We took this opportunity to show our skills, they took it to sell their school.

Of course, I commented to my Daai Si Ying that I felt horribly undisciplined as I watched these 16-year-olds going through their warmup in perfect unison. We, by contrast, were sitting on the bench he was about to use to break some rocks, leaning casually against the railing behind us. Some of our school was out there doing some situps, doing an impromptu warmup, or running through a form. Every once in a while one of our school members would smack another and they'd start sparring; but really, there was no real rhyme or reason to it. They had sixteen students there, standing in a perfect 4 x 4 square, throwing a series of punches in perfect unison; doing a series of push-ups and sit-ups on one count, throwing a series of kicks right together.

Yeah, we don't do that.

But it works just fine for us.

A world of hurt.

I've been taking Kung Fu now for about two years; and that's a pretty hefty workout regimen. Three nights a week, I spend three hours working out with the school; on nights when I'm not in the school, I spend an hour working out alone (beating the snot out of a heavy bag, practicing forms, etc.); and as if all that wasn't enough, a buddy of mine comes over once a week and we spar for about an hour.

Suffice it to say that until this weekend, I thought I had a reasonable idea of what pain is.

My mistake.

My Daai Si Ying brought some of his best and brightest (and me) in for a private lesson on Sunday wherein we learned some of the deeper secrets of Kung Fu; and believe me, there is quite a bit of depth there. The great thing about this is you learn so much by doing it; the unfortunate thing is that you come to realize just how much you don't know.

Suffice it to say that in terms of workout intensity, this we're sitting in an entirely new ballpark.

In hindsight, it probably wasn't the smartest idea for me to do a long day hike (a little over 13 km) the day before, followed by a three-hour Kung Fu class that night, followed by a three-hour private session the following morning.

In short, I hurt. A lot.

Dances with Lions

So, we did another lion dance this weekend.

One of my office mates was gettin' hitched. I wasn't actually invited to the wedding, but I ended up crashing it 'cause my Kung Fu Studio was hired to do a lion dance at the reception.

So, as of right now, I'm officially the only bachelor in my office. Kinda scary considering that one of the people I share an office with looks about 16. I think he's mormon; although in fairness, I don't actually know exactly how old he is.

I do know that there's no way in hell he's over 20, though.

An old high school pal of mine is about to pop out her first kid, another just announced his engagement, another former acquaintance of mine (I don't really talk to her much 'cause, frankly, she's a bitch) had twins a few months back, and now I have an office mate who just got himself Ball-and-chained.

Wow.

When the hell did I get all grownupy!?

It kinda sneaked up on me. I'm thinking career, home, life, family. What happened to the day when the biggest concern I had was when the latest Transformers toy would be on sale? And, yes, I am aware of how much that dates me.

Not that I'm feeling any particular pressure to change my current marital/familial status. Things are going very well (amazingly well, considering the jackass April has to put up with) right now, and at the moment, as far as I can tell, neither of us really feels the need to change anything. Granted, things may change in the next few years, but for the moment, what's the rush?

On the subject of not wanting to grow up, April and I went out to see the latest (and, I'm hoping, the last) installation of the Star Wars franchise. Actually, this one wasn't so bad. The first two "prequels" were, let's face it, lousy in a way matched only by the Lord of the Rings trilogy (although, I must confess that watching Yoda hop around like a green monkey on speed almost makes Episode II worth watching in and of itself... almost.); so I walked into this one with my expectations low. Maybe it's because my expectations were so low that I enjoyed it, I dunno. That's a philosophical debate for another time.

Episode III will likely not go down in history as a masterpiece of cinematographic work. It's well-done to be sure, the special effects are spectacular and very nearly make up for the (many) shotcomings in the script; frankly, a lot of the dialogue needed some work. Ewan McGregor and Natalie Portman; both very talented actors; were noticeably struggling with this movie, and many of their lines came off as forced and/or hoaky. Not through any fault of theirs, the script was just a litle weak in some places. And Hayden Christensen spent most of the movie pretending to act. But, one could forgive his stony, semi-emotionless exterior in this film; he's turning evil, after all. He almost managed to pull off cold, obsessed and emotionless in this film. Of course, that's not too different from his performance in Episode II when cold, obsessed and emotionless wasn't quite called for, but here, it actually worked.

So, without spoiling the movie, I suppose I can offer the following critiques:

Ian McDiarmid plays "creepy" better than any actor in the universe.

Natalie Portman: easily the most talented performer in the entire movie, pity the script wasn't good enough for her.

Ewan McGregor: Manages to accomplish what can only be described as a miracle, considering the aforementioned weakness of the script

Hayden Christensen: One day, he will learn to act, I just know it.

Samuel L. Jackson: Who's the black private dick That's a sex machine to all the chicks? Shaft!

Yoda: Easily the best-acted character in the entire film, and he's entirely computer-animated.

Okay, that's me signin' off for now.

Smooth, Drew, real smooth.

On the subject of Gravity, let's deal with something I learned the hard way today.

Gravity+absentmindedness+flight of stairs=ouch.

I took a bit of a tumble down the stairs today. Long flight of stairs too, the height difference between the first and ground floors is about 25-30 feet on that particular stairwell (the U of C med school was basically made of three buildings patched together, and sometimes they don't quite fit perfectly, so in some places, the stairwells have more stairs than others), but fortunately, I only had to drop half that distance.

'Course, it probably would have been a little easier if I had just dropped, instead of having to roll my way down the stairs, slamming rather undignified into the brick wall on the opposite end of the first landing.

So, just so you know, the next time you watch a movie where one of stuntmen has to roll down a flight of stairs; that hurts.

Would've been nice if they had carpeted stairwells, but nooooo, they had to have these hard linoleum tiles. 'Course, you can't have carpeting in a hospital. That's bad. But still....

Did I mention ouch?

Theory of Intelligent Falling

I think it's about time we did away with this whole outdated "gravity" idea, don't you?

Seriously, what kind of moron actually believes that there's some kind of magical, invisible pulling force between any two massive objects? Why only two? What idiot came up with the idea that massive bodies warp spacetime in their vicinity, creating a greater potential as you get closer to the mass in question? Come on, has anyone ever actually seen a four-dimensional space!?

Let's be candid: Gravity is a theory, not a fact; and we shouldn't be teaching it to young children as such. Most students in science class have never even heard of Intelligent Faller theory; much less studied it. They're taught that some mystical "gravitational" force (whose origin, by the way, we have not determined) pulls objects downwards with a force proportional to the product of their masses, and inversely proportional to the square of the distance between them. What jackass came up with that theory!?

This so-called "Gravity" fails to explain the notable absence of "transitional fallers." Instead, all objects fall into one of two classifications: fallers or non-fallers. Gravity fails to explain why a helium-filled balloon, possessing mass, fails to fall. Furthermore, it fails to explain one of the glaring errors of its own theory; the fact that all objects fall at the same rate. If the force is proportional to the mass of one of the objects, a object twice as massive should fall twice as fast; in direct contradiction to observed data.

Come on, people, this isn't how science is done! Science deals with facts and proof, not theories and evidence.

No, clearly, the only explanation which completely describes falling objects is that G-, I mean, an Intelligent Faller makes them fall.

This is really the only explanation that makes sense. Really, how dumb would we all have to be to believe that objects fall automatically, when the Bib-, I mean, when it's obvious that ther's a devi-, I mean, an ultra-intelligent invisible hand pushing objects into the ground?

We hereby propose that Intelligent Faller theory be immediately included in the science curriculum to be taught side-by-side with the so-called theory of "gravity." Students should be taught how holes in the theory of gravity can be filled simply by invoking a dei-, um, assuming the existence of an Intelligent Faller. We suggest that students become familiar with the Intelligent Faller theory, and how data published in approximately 300 CE clearly supports the existence of an Intelligent Faller.

As final proof of the existence of an Intelligent Faller; one who can make objects fall or not fall for those of True Fai-, um, those who understand his theory, we hereby propose that all students who study Intelligent Falling Theory be required immediately to jump off the nearest tall structure.

Mother Nature is a Bitch

I don't know who first said it, but they were right. If you look at the weather forcaster on the left (at least for the next little while) you will find that it is actually snowing in Calgary right now.

On May 10th.

Over a month after the first day of spring.

All I can say is that it damn well better clear up by this weekend. April and I have been frantically trying to get out to the backcountry, but the weather's always trumped us.

I think we have an okay chance this weekend tho. Temperature's supposed to get up to 20 above this weekend.

Ponderings of a Radical Left-winger.

I've always considered myself sort of apolitical. Entirely apolitical, actually. Conservative, Liberal, whatever. I didn't vote in the last Canadian federal election because it was basically a choice between moran A or moron B. Although, I confess, my opinion of my MP has gone up a few points since he decided to come down in favor of gay marriage, against the official position of his party; and the bulk of his riding. Good for him.

I did, however, vote in the US election last year. Although, admittedly, neither candidate was a particularly good choice; it was pretty clear to me that Bush was a bad one. Not to put too fine a point on it or anything, but Bush frankly scares me. I didn't vote Democrat because I have any particular love of the Democratic party. I didn't vote Democrat because I hate the Republican party. I voted for Kerry because I hate Bush. There's a difference. There's something really scary about the single most powerful man in the world thinking that he owes God for getting him out of alcoholism and a couple of DUI indictments. Bush, who came in under the label of "compassionate conservative" has shifted significantly to the point of being a "Right Wing Freak of Nature."

Actually, come to think of it, the whole political spectrum has shifted to the right in the US. As I mentioned before, I consider myself to be a middle-of-the-road political type; but by many people's standards (I'm related to quite a few of them), I'm a frothing, radical, left-winger.

How did it happen (and, not to put too fine a point on it, it has happened) that you could shift as far as you want to the right of the political spectrum; to the point of blatant homophobia, extreme protectionism, arduous Bible-thumping, and barely-veiled racism; and still be part of the mainstream; when if you shift to the left of Alan Keyes, you're a radical left-winger.

Seriously, let's take a look a what I, apparently a radical leftist, believe in: I believe in providing health care for our citizens, especially children; I believe in allowing two people of the same gender to have legal recognition of their relationship; I belive in allowing women the medical option of teminating their pregnancy; I believe that it's abhorrent that in order to be a serious candidate for presidency in a country which is supposed to have separation of church and state, you have to be a religious person; I believe in fairness and equality for all citizens, regardless of race, religion, age, gender or orientation; I believe in not allowing the elderly to rot after they retire, in providing them with some help in their declining years; I believe in my right to cry when I watch Bambi without being called a pansy; I believe in my right to do what makes me happy, provided that I harm nobody else; I believe in the right of someone else to announce at the top of their lungs that they think that everything I believe is stupid; and most of all, I believe that the purpose of law is to protect one's rights, not to limit them. If these things make me a radical left-winger by someone's very warped standards, so be it; I also believe in their right to slap that kind of a label on me.

Hello, and welcome to Masterpiece Peeler.

Apparently, watching naked chicks gyrating on stage is now considered studying art.

A court in Oslo Norway has ruled that striptease lies in the same category as opera, live plays, and performance art.

How long, do you think, it'll be before universities everywhere are offering "introduction to Striptease" and "the Socioeconomics of Lap Dancing" courses, complete with field trips?

Don't get me wrong, I'm as much a fan of the female form as the next guy (and select few gals), but does anybody seriously think that someone going to a strip club is going there for its artistic merits?

Now, I don't spend a lot of time in strip clubs; partly because I have a girlfriend whom I love dearly, who I think would likely kick my ass if she found out about it. Two stag parties, and a birthday celebration that I couldn't get out of in Quebec (I would direct you downward a couple of postings where I discuss my view on birthdays), accounts for my entire experience with striptease. But I have no trouble admitting that I wasn't there to listen to the music. Although, I admit that at one of the aforementioned stag parties, I was seated in the front row next to the soon-to-be groom, while we were busily drinking ourselves into unconsciousness. Everybody else was driving, so I was elected to be the one who matched him drink for drink. Friends don't let friends get blasted alone. It's a guy thing. At any rate, the groom-to-be is actually something of a math buff, and we ended up having a rather intelligent conversation (or maybe it just seemed intelligent at the time.... we'd had a lot to drink) on which of the dancers' various curves we found to be most mathematically elegant. Actually, now that I think of it, we were doing that before we'd had much to drink; but those who know me have no-doubt realized that much of what I do is very strange. That which does not kill me makes me stranger.

It's also under those circumstances that I made one of the fundamental discoveries of the universe; something which I suspect women have known for a long time.

Men are stupid.

Seriously. You get a group of people where the number of X chromosomes exactly balances the number of Y chromosomes, and the average IQ in the room must plummet to somewhere in the vicinity of room temperature (if the room were really, really cold). The extent of our vocabulary consists of the phrase "more beer," and a select few grunts and whistles. I honestly have no clue how women put up with us. I mean, we're ugly, we're hairy, we smell bad; and let's be honest, guys; we're pigs. Frankly, I see it as a collosal cosmic joke that the women of this planet are forced to work with us to guarantee propagation of the species. In Darwinian terms, I'm at a complete loss to explain how the human race has possibly survived. How we managed to not kill ourselves when men have been largely the dominant gender for a fair chunk of our history is also something I'm at a complete loss to explain (see above, re: men are stupid). But, hell, if we can elect Bush as leader of the free world... Actually, come to think of it, the fact that Bush possesses a Y chromosome actually explains quite a lot.

Anyhow, coming back to my original point, the fact of the matter is that no male who goes to a strip club is there to judge the dancers upon their artistic merits. No male in a strip club has the cognitive ability to judge the dancers on their artisitic talents; simply because very little blood is flowing in the direction of their brain. It's like comparing a 1-900 line to a poetry recital.

That said, I truly believe that there is some artistic merit to striptease. A friend of mine dances at the French Maid to work her way through her undergraduate degree. She does some more (ahem) conventional dancing and I've seen her perform on a couple of occasions. I've never actually seen her at her, um, other job 'cause that would just freak the hell out of me; but if she dances half as well there as she did in the two shows I saw her in; then there's definitely an artisitic element to it. It just strikes me as odd to place a strip club on the same footing as an auditorium. Maybe I would feel differently about it if she were stripping in the Jubilee; I don't know.

Livejournal

So, I got offered a Livejournal account.

I logged on just long enough to delete the account for a couple of reasons: 1) I don't really like the guy who sent me the offer, and would really rather not give him another way to contact me; and 2) I really don't want a Livejournal account.

To the best of my ability to tell, nobody ever has written something worth reading in a livejournal account. Don't believe me? Here's a link to their Random Journal function. I mean, to the best of my ability to determine, they range from pointless to, um, freaky to boring to pure, everyday eyesores.

Now, admittedly, a similar argument could probably be made for Blogger.com, but at least there is a reasonably high number of people who occasionally write something worth reading. Not me, admittedly, but occasionally, someone much, much smarter than me manages to find something to say and uses this place as a place to say it. Those types of people seem to exist in much larger numbers here.

On Birthdays.

So, I turned twentysomething+1 on Sunday.

Actually, my birthday ended up being somewhat just-another-day-ish; partly by coincidence, partly by design. It just so happened that we had a Lion Dance and Kung Fu demonstration on Sunday, and a housewarming party to attend. So there wasn't really time for birthdayness; so I sorta skipped it.

Not that it would have made any difference if I'd had time to arrange some kind of birthdayish event. Birthdays aren't exactly something I see as terribly important. It's not exactly as if the fact that I managed to make another trip around the sun is a huge accomplishment on my part. Isaac Newton had a lot more to do with that than I did. Furthermore, I really don't see the fact that I was born as something that needs celebration either. I had very little to do with the whens, wheres and hows of my being born. The credit (or, depending on how you look at it, the blame) falls on my parents for that one. In other words, on the day that happens to coincide with the anniversary of the day I was born, I've really accomplished nothing that's worth celebrating.

And I really don't get why people don't seem to understand this. My Candidacy exam, on the other hand, I had a huge fricking celebration for. That's a big deal. That's an accomplishment.

Birthdays? Not so much.