The Internet is broken, so I'm at my desk with nothing to do
Seeing that I cannot update the company's corporate homepage, grab copy off of our content management system, or surf other news or technology Web sites for research, I figured I'd just update this blog thing of mine. I haven't done so for way too long, and so much -- yet, strangely, so little -- has happened since I posted my last entries, when I was still getting over the death of my dog.
Go-Go's still gone, but I think of the bitch a lot.
Even so, I have moved on ...
With that said, the next few posts will be about what's been happening to me since last fall.
I guess the biggest news is that I just turned the big Three-Seven. And I think it was the first time I actually felt my age on the morning of a birthday: bones creaking; head numb; muscles tired; that quiet but nagging feeling that nothing around me seems new or interesting anymore -- and halfway not giving a shit about it.
Yeah, yeah, I know, it could have been that half- bottle of French vodka from the previous night busting out its morning-after can of whoop-ass on me, but deep down inside, I know that wasn't really the case.
I'm indeed getting old. I guess I just have to accept it.
I honestly don't know why this year's birthday should feel so different from the previous 36, but I would venture to guess that it's because I ain't kicking ass anymore. For most of my life, I felt much younger than I actually was. I always attributed it to the martial arts training. You know what they say about doing things you love keeps you looking young ... well, I've been doing what I loved for more than 3/4 of my life and I've always believed what they say!
You see, I figured martial arts training was like the fountain of youth. Most of the older people I train with look far younger than they really are. And those that don't, I always thought, just didn't train as much as they should. Since I was a kid, I thought that if I trained like a madman, I'd end up like one of those old kung-fu masters with the long white hair and wispy beards -- the ones you see all the time in 1970s Hong Kong movies. Despite the color of their beards, those guys always looked like they had the power and vitality of a 20-year-old young buck! (You think that may have been because they were played by 20-year-old actors in wigs?) I always imagined myself as a hundred-year-old badass motherfucker who could still get my dragon to whip its tail upside some young punk's head.
Unfortunately, I've never been able to grow a respectable moustache or beard -- and to my knowledge, because none of my Filipino ancestors had them, I doubt I'd be blessed with them either -- old or not.
Go-Go's still gone, but I think of the bitch a lot.
Even so, I have moved on ...
With that said, the next few posts will be about what's been happening to me since last fall.
I guess the biggest news is that I just turned the big Three-Seven. And I think it was the first time I actually felt my age on the morning of a birthday: bones creaking; head numb; muscles tired; that quiet but nagging feeling that nothing around me seems new or interesting anymore -- and halfway not giving a shit about it.
Yeah, yeah, I know, it could have been that half- bottle of French vodka from the previous night busting out its morning-after can of whoop-ass on me, but deep down inside, I know that wasn't really the case.
I'm indeed getting old. I guess I just have to accept it.
I honestly don't know why this year's birthday should feel so different from the previous 36, but I would venture to guess that it's because I ain't kicking ass anymore. For most of my life, I felt much younger than I actually was. I always attributed it to the martial arts training. You know what they say about doing things you love keeps you looking young ... well, I've been doing what I loved for more than 3/4 of my life and I've always believed what they say!
You see, I figured martial arts training was like the fountain of youth. Most of the older people I train with look far younger than they really are. And those that don't, I always thought, just didn't train as much as they should. Since I was a kid, I thought that if I trained like a madman, I'd end up like one of those old kung-fu masters with the long white hair and wispy beards -- the ones you see all the time in 1970s Hong Kong movies. Despite the color of their beards, those guys always looked like they had the power and vitality of a 20-year-old young buck! (You think that may have been because they were played by 20-year-old actors in wigs?) I always imagined myself as a hundred-year-old badass motherfucker who could still get my dragon to whip its tail upside some young punk's head.
Unfortunately, I've never been able to grow a respectable moustache or beard -- and to my knowledge, because none of my Filipino ancestors had them, I doubt I'd be blessed with them either -- old or not.
Moreover, not only have I not yet made a pilgrimage to the Shaolin Temple, another, non-violent, activity has recently ignited my passion ... and has started consuming a lot of my time. As I mentioned in earlier posts, I have started taking Argentine Tango lessons. Well now, six-seven months after I began, I have developed a full-fledged addiction. More on that later. But for now, my tango interest has become so entrenched in my life that it seems my aspirations of being the next Pai Mei seem but distant dreams now.
Oh well.
I still have my hopes up, however, that I can spend my geriatric years running around the world collectiing women's underwear ... like Happosai, that small and obnoxious dirty old man in Ranma ½.
I still have my hopes up, however, that I can spend my geriatric years running around the world collectiing women's underwear ... like Happosai, that small and obnoxious dirty old man in Ranma ½.
Pervert as he was, he was one badass mofo, too!
posted by Unknown at 3:29 PM
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