And some associated ramblings rather characteristic of this blog’s author.
I swear, I always have so much to say throughout the week. Then Wednesday comes along, and something happens. Blinking cursor, blinking cursor, blinking cursor, no writing.
There’s a tournament this weekend in Austin. The Texas State Championships 2012 is taking place this Saturday, April 21st. Not being able to stomach the idea of ‘being square,’ I will ‘be there.’ Actually, I just, only moments ago, finished registering for purple belt (170 through 184.9 lbs) and the purple belt absolute.1 That, I guess, is the good news.
The bad news? I spent all last week at home, some five-hour drive south of Austin, eating mountain upon mountain of garbage while simultaneously forgoing even the slightest bit of exercise. As a conservative estimate, I pegged my probability of dying from a goddamn acute myocardial infarction brought on by “Tuesday Class Overexertion” at approximately 13%.2 I mean, I obviously survived – otherwise I wouldn’t be here writing to you, my audience. But that particular probability really confounded matters further by perfectly playing into what the DSM would characterize as Stage IV triskadekaphobia. And for those of you who do not have an innate suspicion for the number thirteen, I have some bad news for you: 13s are the end result of a day-long surgery performed by “doctors,” who show up at your house unannounced and successfully manage to separate the freakish, conjoined twin, ‘B,’ that you keep behind a perimeter of electrified chicken-wire in your basement. Be suspicious of them. They deserve their revenge. And they are coming for it.
I…do not know where that came from.3 That was unusually dark, maybe even for me. Maybe. Today, I am just sore from yesterday’s class, and a little loathe to write anything that will require even mental exertion.
I’ll be sure to put the tape of my matches on the blog as soon as possible. Hopefully my record, since I began competing in the purple belt divisions, will remain unblemished (minus that one time I got strangled unconscious).
By the way, did anyone catch the match between Rodolfo Vieira and Rafael Lovato Jr. last year at the Mundials? I saw the match a week ago or so, and was completely flabbergasted. To the extent that I am qualified to judge, I am not sure if I have seen a more resounding expression of positively immaculate timing. It’s all the more daunting to realize that Vieira is doing this to some of the best in the world.
First, here’s a 90-second example:
And this is what happens when you stretch that out over ten minutes:
Thanks for reading. I’ll update about the tournament as soon as I can.