"Jits, bitch!"

I understand that some celebrities and other well-known personalities are often portrayed as targets for public aggression, but sometimes all that static is justified. I didn't need to see the entire video of a rapper trying to game some neighborhood kids to know that it's not right for a grown man to sucker punch a teenager, no matter how much a youngin' sasses back at you. Anyway, what the heck is he doin' trying to run a soccer game in their 'hood? He ain't from Atlanta. He's from Ohio (I checked), so why does he step up to manning their game? Is he a soccer pro? What's with the one-glove action?! 

What makes him qualified to step in and boss some kids around, kids who look like they're having a local game on their block, not some group team practice? Chill, mutha! And if you got grown-ass men actin' like children in your game, then do what this smart kid does: drop him in a tackle, take the back by holding your mount, then finish him with a reliable hold like the "rear naked choke". That's how you win without ever having to throw one single punch (might hurt your hand, yo!), and that is the magic of Jiu Jitsu, friends. Stay safe out there, kids. Urban jungles can be rough with the wrong crowd!  And have fun :)

http://www.afterschoolalliance.org/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brazilian_jiu-jitsu

Neck

http://fallout.wikia.com/wiki/Taboo_Tattoos

I met Jimmy at a bar down on Stone Street with the company receptionist from the small Jewish family business I worked for, during my last long-term office job. She was busy burning through the new people, places, and things that she could at this McDojo we signed with, which gave me the relative peace of having a training experience of my very own, without parenting her through it. She remains one of the most disturbed women I've ever met through other people's companies, following a typical pattern of hiring that's based on the myth that other mentally ill/disabled people make the odd family members stick out less, which never really works. Who builds businesses based on the backs of a bunch of sick people? Not really good ones, like the workflows I design as I was taught, through an impressive list of industry mentors.

So, chaining their rabid Israeli girl with the weird yellow hair to a front desk, watching her explode into deranged fireworks day after day, really didn't mean much to me. Who cares? I had the actual business of books to work on with my contacts and clients. I was an almost totally self-sufficient business within a business, which the best creative contractors can pull off in their sleep, under the false duress of other people's manias. I kept a strict schedule that would automatically cut out anyone who couldn't hack it, which meant most of their resident amateur weirdos ran out of the door in horror of our actual labors, and they were forced to hire real publishing executives with genuine credentials from big league New York publishing, like me.

Their fried dyed mess of a doggie was honing in on me gradually though, because she could feel me pull away as easily as if she was just another generically fucked-up Long Islander, and she was that. Most of her work friends were gone, like her supposed "best friend" who was fired and then group-texted a bunch of us while we were working that she might just off herself, which sent her high school buddy running back to see me. "Oh, Becky always does that." Huh...not in my world. What gives? I trained her not to interrupt my day with her trivial madness, seeing as we all drew a paycheck from my continued successful contact at Barnes & Noble, the largest book retailer in the country. No me + no work = no money. Even she could figure that out with her more corrupt cronies at the office who preferred email hacking over the small in-house network to actually working. Ew!

Spying on me occupied their free time, and even in that strange game, I had them hooked through my online comments on well-known media sites that caused a ruckus throughout the place. Haha! I LOVE corporate espionage! It's fun! After that, she had to step up her game at infiltrating my life with an ever more aggressive and open series of mind games that don't work on genius talents who create paychecks for them through their book sales. Sorryy....She awkwardly asked me to sign up for karate lessons at a cheap intro price one afternoon while I walked past the front desk, after I created another successful distance she could practically taste in her mouth, because she knew I quit smoking through their email readings and my Internet surfing; I was actively looking online for fitness programs, like fencing with an epee or foil (http://fencersclub.org/). Yuck!

Her brother was actively engaged in martial arts training, which cinched the deal for her as a coward. She couldn't walk down the block unless she was looped off secretive hits taken in the company bathroom from a big blue bottle of mouthwash. After an initial observation session with one of their instructors (I won that assessment, too, BTW. I know, I know...sigh...again), we signed up for the program and it was going great. She soon learned that I didn't need athletics to tame a raging case of violent bipolar addictive disorder with markedly psychotic features like she did, so she picked up on a lonely fat girl desperate for a friendly face in our aggressive fight training classes. She began sweeping into class at the last minute to avoid talking to me on the mat, and then developed a ridiculous crush on a kid who was 19 and a brown belt instructor at the time.

Once again, I had no problem backing away from her, which once again backfired on her evil machinations, because the good-looking Puerto Rican kid from Spanish Harlem promptly announced his crush on "women in their 30s" made loudly in front of the both of us that drove her mad with envy, though Lord knows why, except she also has OCD. She used me as a lure to attract him into conversation that failed miserably, because she had absolutely nothing to say. Frothing at the mouth in anger, she told me to stay away from him as she tried her hand at 21st Century "cougaring", a sport she was bested at by a better-looking Spanish girl with a design degree and a great job with a famous cosmetics manufacturer doing package design for major retailers. Ohhh...that must have hurt badly!

As she went down in flames, her very last draw for a high-status female friendship were post-workout drinks with me, just like the after-work soirees she first invited me to without much success either, because crazy bitch games don't mean shit to me. And that's when I met Jimmy, a short good-looking Irish-American kid from Brooklyn working FDNY/limo driving. As soon as I bit into one of my first hot wings at the bar, I could sense him working a circuit around the joint, circling the place, looking for attractive pickings, and as soon as I looked up from my hot wing, he looked right at me. Ooops. Uh, this should go over badly. I quickly told her discreetly that he was coming over to hit on me, as a warning to her fragile ego. She immediately perked up during his harmless flirtations, doing a bunch of weird moves that baffled him, until he and I finally turned to each other for a real honest talk, the kind that only genuine New York city kids have with one another.

We knew the same Brooklyn neighborhoods, and sweet guy that he was, it was more than enough. He was like a lot of guys I grew up with, and he knew that. No harm, no foul. She made a quick plan to leave me alone with him as part of her punishment to me for turning away from her while she talked with his less-attractive friend, but as one co-worker had already observed in his email to me (hi Scooter!), my genetic attractions weren't my fault, nor his. She left me alone to whatever the fates had in store for me, which in this case meant hand-holding back to his parked SUV, and a nice drop-off at my Park Slope townhome with my little bag of drugstore products (like organic panti-liners) left in his truck by accident.

We made tentative plans for his returning them to me one evening after my work was done, ringing him on my cellphone from the Chelsea corner near my office, but it didn't work out. He was already out on a fare that wasn't near my subway stop in Manhattan. Oh, well. That was fine by me: the lad was far too young for me and besides, he'd never been to the real country of Ireland, just the commercial one he designed in his head that made for easy marketing in New York City, as part of the local color. Besides, as a master artist, taste means a lot to me and his quickly-rendered shamrock tat left much to be desired, as did it's placement in the middle of the back of his neck that he showed to me after shots. No thanks, mate. Sláinte to ya for the safe ride home, though. You were a sweet kid to me that night. Ta!

Acts of Creation

When I was in 7th grade biology lab at Felix V. Festa Junior High in West Nyack, New York (and, yes, I really DID walk 2.6 miles as a child uphill, every day for two years in the rain, sleet, or snow, like an unpaid postal worker carrying a load of heavy school books: https://www.google.com/maps/dir/3+Stegmeyer+Ln,+New+City,+NY+10956/Felix+Festa+Middle+School+Campus,+Parrott+Road,+West+Nyack,+NY/@41.1217371,-74.0001876,3203m/data=!3m1!1e3!4m13!4m12!1m5!1m1!1s0x89c2c29992dab085:0xbcdd2ab48bbf66e3!2m2!1d-74.0015367!2d41.1213911!1m5!1m1!1s0x89c2c288479eb5b9:0xfe59e4b7c9903e94!2m2!1d-73.982099!2d41.123044), my excellent science teacher instructed us to debate Creationism vs. Evolution.

I chose to debate the scientific principle that we know to be true. So, as we sat down on opposing sides, I knew I had it in the bag, but I was shocked to see kids who were considered rather good students choosing the other side, like the head cheerleader and the teacher's pet with the really good grades. What the....wait a minute....I know this kind of situation. It's called being a "Show Pony", and it's how ass-kissing students work the academic system instead of learning from it, for grades and appearances. Good! It means I can outthink the opposition.

And I did, but thinking wasn't really the challenge for me. My main obstacle was keeping myself cool in the the heat of battle. When the spoiled, self-obsessed cheerleader, formerly of the big metal braces, thick glasses, and quick Spring Break nose job (Hi, Lauren!) shouted back to my carbon-dating rebuttal that "Scientists can do anything!", I knew it was a setup. There are days when my microbiologist mom can barely drag herself out of bed (then and now), let alone remake the world on a totally cellular level to be whatever she wants it to be like a magician pulling a hat trick, but this kid didn't seem to understand that. She didn't seem to actually KNOW anything. She was just yelling words back at me without any evidence to support her wild claims about the world we live in. A willfully protected ignorance like hers had eluded me. What was I supposed to do now?!

I colored, shocked and adrift for a moment in her fiercely childish anger at being outsmarted by me so easily, as I looked to my science teacher for help in controlling her student's temper tantrum. She stood behind the row of chairs on the Creationist side and nodded slowly at me, then gave me a silent, "cool it down" gesture. That was it. I took a deep breath, in reply: "But, why? Why would someone do that?" She sputtered, stalled, then failed the debate entirely. "Well, www-welll....I don't know!" You don't know. And she knew it, too. It was a profound victory for me that I never forgot, or that class. Thank you, "Mrs. Science Teacher", from the bottom of my heart, because this Rockland County girl was at least 2-4 years younger than all of her classmates in junior high school, as it was for me throughout my early academic life. I was only 12 years old the first time I tackled that particular fear. You'd be wise to remember that about me, readers. It will serve you well.

“I would say that all our sciences are the material that has to be mythologized. A mythology gives spiritual import - what one might call rather the psychological, inward import, of the world of nature round about us, as understood today. There's no real conflict between science and religion ... What is in conflict is the science of 2000 BC ... and the science of the 20th century AD.”
― Joseph Campbell

Genie Jeggings!

Oh, yeah! I saw an ad for these on t.v.

Ever wonder if those "As Seen on TV" products for sale at the local drugstore are worth the money? Me, too! I've been wearing a lot of leggings and jegging-type pants lately because I'm more muscular then ever, which means additional mass on a petite frame like mine, that's still rather recent for me (read: MMA training and other physical arts). 

Sounds miraculous and life-changing at $12.99 a pair!

It also means most rough, stiff jeans are so chafing to me as to be almost unbearable, and they really haven't ever been flattering on a woman. They're designed for a man's frame. I know I've always looked better in dresses and skirts, and that's a lot for an active former tomboy like me to admit, but it's the truth. I have a fully mature woman's body. So, what else is there to wear?

They're actually double layered leggings:grey tights over spandex.

Enter a t.v. ad for a certain type of leggings that look like jeans (called "jeggings"), but are way more comfortable than the tight fit of a denim waistband that also presses a large metal button deep into your body, leaving grooves all over your body, especially when you sit in them for long periods of time. Aha! Genie Jeggings! I saw the ad, and went online to investigate. Uh oh. 

Oh...that's rather low.

I found users complaining about shady "scammy" type of behavior, with bad reviews, and/or poor customer service, no product returns, or not answering product-related emails and phone calls. Not a good sign in business, and besides that, if it's a bad deal, I don't want three pairs of the same shoddy product! So when I saw them on sale locally at a drugstore chain packaged as a single pair, I figured I'd try them out. They'd either work or not, just like any other pair of leggings or tights at a similar price. 

Ugh: the dreaded plumber's crack. That's not good...

And they do, if you like really low-waisted, tight leggings. In other words, you gotta have the body for it. They are not "miracle slimmers" as advertised on t.v., but for the average gal running around town doing errands, they're just fine: just don't wear them like ordinary jeans, with a short t-shirt. Treat them like a double-layered pair of leggings with a long shirt, and you're done! Because the inner layer looks like grey flannel, I'd also wear them in the Fall and Winter with boots and a long sweater, not in the damp heat of Spring and Summer.

...and you have to be in good shape to pull them off as replacement jeans.

Good luck, gals! It's a jungle out there, so give yourself a break today during your daily fight for truth, justice, and the American way. 

Wear something comfortable! You totally deserve it.

Definitely not like the box or on t.v.: no high slimming indigo waistband.

Ah! Much better when worn with a longer shirt.

Yep, better with coverage. I won't be followed around town!

Small Town America: Walking to Town

Up the hill from the library...

One of the best aspects about having a defined town center with an actual main street is that it makes life easier for humans. You'd be surprised how many people do not know this simple, easy fact about their own existence. 

...past the stone wall...

If you can walk to everything you need, you'll be healthier, feel better, and waste less time on weekends running errands and shopping because stores are accessible to you, but don't take it just from me. Try it for yourself.

...and the Methodist Church.

Osu!

Over the years, I've trained in martial arts, and because of that, I've collected a nice set of belts in different forms. Years ago I started it off proper with Taoist Tai Chi, but I didn't receive any belt rankings.

Fast forward years later, and I began a fitness course towards kickboxing and then grappling that became MMA, which got me into Jiu Jitsu. It was fun, but the injuries suck when you aren't getting paid to be hurt and the bills keep coming in, so I took time off.

Recently I've gotten back into Tai Chi, in a shorter form that incorporates animal styles, Wushu, and Qi Gong. It's a blast, and its actually hard for me, because it's the exact opposite of MMA. Whereas one style needs twitchy muscles and quick explosive action, the other strives for precise, carefully considered hand-and-foot placement, slowed down to an almost inhumanly graceful art form. It's the "Yang" to the "Yin"—the total opposite—and I'm finding muscle control and limb placement as challenging as the very first time I threw a punching combo. 

But none of these forms would amount to any kind of sense for me if I hadn't undergone some serious ballet training as a girl. I liked it, but I didn't love it as passionately as an artist has to, in order to make a living from it. I left it behind, not looking back, to continue wrestling and fighting with my bro. We loved martial arts, but none of the strip mall places around our town appealed to us at the time, in the more common dojo forms of Judo and Tae Kwon Do. My middle bro would go on to belt in TKD, BJJ (twice), and even Krav Maga, but it wasn't until we put everything together in an MMA class that it finally made sense to us as a fight form.

I hope I go back to it at some point, but for now, I'm belting in Tai Chi Ch'uan, and staying in the moment, enjoying an art form that I didn't know had masters who gave out belt rankings in service to it. Here's my tally so far:

Taoist Tai Chi: 1 year, no belts
Tiger Schulmann's: 2 years, 6 belts
BJJ: 10 mos, 1 belt
Tai Chi Ch'uan: a month's reintroduction, 1 belt. I have 2 belts.
UPDATE: got a 2nd belt in tai chi ch'uan at the end of the summer
-----------------
Total: 8 belts   Make that 9. Nope! Make that 10!

And I want more.

Cooking with Gas

Springtime Salad

What better way to celebrate spring than with the freshness of a green salad? Made even better for those who train by adding eggs, for that much needed protein boost. 

This composition courtesy of: Boston Bibb lettuce, Italian parsley, organic tomatoes, oil and vinegar, salt and pepper, topped with two fried eggs. Go get 'em!

Cooking with (No) Gas

Endive and pear salad

Lately my weight is more than I am used to. I've incorporated weight lifting into a routine that alternates elliptical workouts with bag training and swimming. I like the added muscle, because it gives my joints a feeling of stability and solidity, but I can't help feeling bulky, which I am unused to. This new part of my training has also fired up my appetite and given me some powerful food cravings. 

So it's scale back time, with lots of fruit, veggies, and popcorn, for the extra fiber content, which imparts a feeling of fullness. And since I'm a hardcore foodie, it must be done well. Yesterdays' lunch was an endive and organic D'anjou pear salad, with sliced onions and chopped Applegate Farms roasted turkey breast, a drizzle of honey, salt and pepper, and a dash of fat free Italian dressing. Next time I'll skip the dressings, so I can simply relish the freshness of the ingredients. Nothing else is required, really. Bon appetit!

Workin' it at 40+

Talk to the hands, 'cause the feet don't lie! Wearing sporty socks with an appropriate message helps me get into the right mindset at a ridiculously early time of day.

The elliptical likes to adopt a mocking tone with me, first thing in the morning. At the end of the time I plugged into it, a screen message automatically pop ups "Congratulations! Workout has ended!", like I just ran a friggin' marathon. What's next? Balloons pop out of the top, for using the damn equipment? It's so childish and annoying. I enjoy getting angry at it, and I've even given it the finger a few times: "F.U. machine. It never ends." Eases me right into bag training.

Do what you do.

Workin' it at 40+

Early. Really early.

http://blog.jayparkinsonmd.com/

 The proof is in your muscles,

so get out there and get moving!