My Obsession with Ronda Rousey Continues

For those of you who do not know this (a) I declared my undying, evermore love for Ronda Rousey some five months ago, and (b) she appeared ‘naked’ in this past issue of ESPN’s 2012 Body Issue. Having never initially heard of this “Body Issue,” I went out and immediately bought every copy available in Austin, TX. With a whooping 3549 copies stockpiled throughout my house, I have 7098 photographs of a nude (but still tastefully covered) Rowdy Ronda Rousey.

Here they are on Cagepotato.

Rousey’s MMA Highlights:

 

Here are some limericks I wrote for her.  Why does The Jiu-Jitsu Wanderer write limericks for Ronda Rousey?  Love, my friends.  Love.  And because I was too, too long ago banned from getting within 300 feet of her.  You know, legally “banned.”  No person, however, can silence the might of the pen, or the heart of the poet — not even the California’s Code of Civil Procedures section 527.6.

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The Muses whisper the name Ronda

Whose butt I am kinda fond’a

The giant thing

Makes me sing

M’hands grasp it like a’anaconda

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Photographs of Ronda in the nude,

Impel me toward behavior quite lewd.

But what I won’t say

Or feign, or convey

To refrain from makin’ this limer’ck too crude

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Angel with the neck like a thick treetrunk,

Are you in search for a jiu-jitsu hunk?

Call me, write me, fax.

We both have broad backs.

Please don’t tell me my chances have now sunk!

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Alright, alright, alright, that’s enough of that. Back to your regularly scheduled programming next week, I promise. Thanks for reading. And I hope, with all the sincerity I can muster on the page, that your IQ did not drop too much reading what I just wrote.

Justin

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Digression From Jiu-Jitsu Topics

Or “In Which The Jiu-Jitsu Wanderer Shows Some Of His Non-Blog Writing Work”

Greetings, my audience. This week’s entry is not about Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, our Gentle Art. If you only come to this blog to read about my opinions regarding Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, you may turn around now. Please come back next week, though. ‘Cause I’ll miss you.

Those of you who know me a little better, know that I am an aspiring writer. I write about my life, the things that happen it, the strange, episodic adventures which happen in the lyrical night, under the holy moon. One of these episodes took place along the order of four months ago, or thereabouts. For some time, I had been kicking around the idea of writing a story about this particular episode, with this particular woman, but I hadn’t the faintest idea where it was supposed to go. Then this past Saturday, late at night, I was struck with inspiration. And while I don’t think I will post the whole story on the blog (it’s not done, anyway), I will share with you the very first page.1

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Working Title: The Portrait of a Woman

Blue eyes

Blue eyes, straight hair

Blue eyes burned into memory

Scene I: Tension

Delilah was standing at my doorstep, red wine on her breath. She was a vision, haloed by the streetlight behind her. Those sapphire eyes framed, hugged, surrounded as they were by that lukewarm auburn light pierced me all the more. Little black dress, big black boots, purple belt, my Midnight Angel had come to see me. She flew away from her boyfriend because I needed help with something, something important enough to change the trajectory of my life. The subtle points on grammar and the questions on word usage, however, both dissolved as soon as I opened the door.

“I’m not quite finished yet,” I said, as we walked to my room. I had written, read, rewritten, and reread the definitive report on Dwayne Johnson at least five times over a racking, frantic, near-sleepless seventy-two hours.

Running her hand down her olive thigh, Delilah sat down on my bed and took off one boot. I sighed in anguish, cursed to languish away as I forced myself to continue to hack away at the goddamn keyboard. This is what it is to be a writer. Other boot now off, she laid down on my bed and began to stretch the way a lifelong dancer would. I felt pangs. I felt longing. The months of longing. The months of oh-dear-god-please longing over drives home whist conversing in holy tones – fifteen minutes of peace shared together at the end of deafening, calamitous nights spent at the bar spilling whiskey and levying threats against The Obnoxiously Drunk. Fifteen minutes of porcelain sublimity shared a hundred times. And now there she was…within arms reach.

I finished, and we traded places. She jumped on the computer, and began to read what I had just written. A mile away, I was laying down on the bed, staring absently at the horizontal bars supporting the top bunk, hoping to Science some improbable accident would reduce the frame above to a twisted pile of flaming steel directly atop of me, wishing to just be put out of my misery. Life is so sad sometimes.

“Do you see anything wrong with it?” I asked. It was quiet in my house.

“No,” she replied. The half-reason, half-excuse we used to justify her visit had now expired.

Returning to the bed, she laid down and looked toward me, this time with a sigh of her own. Sad brown eyes touched ocean eyes. More. Sleepy eyes washed, pained, lingered over her olive skin, skin rent and broken and laid bare a thousand times by Life’s too-raw hammer blows. She hid these scars with a seamstress’s touch, and a smile simply too immaculate to be believed by any thinking person. But you could still see them, these scars, if you knew where to look.

Long, thin hair was splashed on the pillow and blankets between us, a little spilled on my arm. Her hands were shaking. Her hands always shook when I was around. My tongue and intestines were knotted by churning, emotive tidal forces, but my brain was racing. How is this supposed to start, then? How were any of these fucking endless complications even relevant when life, precious life, our single warm moment before cold rest, is too short to spend it not kissing someone with the courage to look at you the way you looked at them? And what? If not now, then when?

“Not tonight, Justin.”

“What?” I asked with honest confusion. I worked up enough courage to lean in, only to be met with rejection?

“You can have me tomorrow.”

Okay. But life is so sad sometimes.

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There are at least two more scenes. Maybe one more after that. Well, my audience, that’s a glimpse into the kind of writing I do while not yammering away about “cucumbers tasting better pickled” on the blog…and while not putting people in kimuras. Thanks for reading.

1. This, I believe, is what I did with the last short story I wrote, as well.

Joe Rogan Receives Black Belt in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu

Joe Rogan On Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu

After eight years of training on his brown belt alone, Joe Rogan was promoted recently.  In his subsequent speech, he gave some honest, informed thoughts about Our Gentle Art.

“This is, seriously, one of the proudest moments of my life. Out of all the shit I’ve ever done, this – you know, becoming really good at jiu-jitsu – is probably one of the most difficult things a person can do. And I think it helps me with everything I do. I think the more I train, and the more I meet people who are in jiu-jitsu – and Eddie and I talk about this shit all the time – People who are in jiu-jitsu and train on a regular basis, they’re healthier people. Their egos are healthier, especially men. They’re easier to talk to. They’re easier to hang out with. Because they’re facing reality on a regular basis. It’s something my tae-kwon-do teacher told me when I was a little kid that I never forgot was that martial arts are a vehicle for developing your human potential. And nothing in my life has ever put me in the face of reality better than jiu-jitsu. ‘Cause I think, you know, in life we can all distort our perception of things in order to make ourselves more comfortable, in order to make ourselves accept where we are. And there’s a lot of people running around in life who are running around full of shit. You can’t be full of shit when you do jiu-jitsu. When you do jiu-jitsu, it’s impossible for you to be full of shit because reality comes at you in the purest form possible: a life or death struggle, using your determination, your focus, your techniques, your mind, and your training, and over and over and over again. And it’s reality. If you fuck up and you get caught in a triangle, you gotta tap. That is the end of story. It’s as real as it can get. That has made me a better person. It’s made me a better man. It’s made me understand myself, my weaknesses, my strengths, the shit I need to work on. Jiu-jitsu has been one of the most valuable tools I’ve ever had in my life.”

-Joe Rogan

While admittedly a little crass, I think he articulated on those points very well.

But that’s not all he’s had to say. Here are some more videos articulating his thoughts.

Benefits of Learning Jiu-Jitsu pt.1:

Benefits of Learning Jiu-Jitsu pt. 2:

Benefits of Learning Jiu-Jitsu pt. 31

I hope you left with some things to think about on this Fourth of July. Thanks for reading.

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1. There are a few digressions in this third video. Also, I’m not sure the extent to which I would have identically worded some of their assertions – just to note, I only thought that maybe once or twice.

HOWEVER, I should say that starting around 5:57, he poignantly articulates one of the reasons I train, and his surrounding observations are very well thought-out and supported by evidence. One of the reasons I train is to take the possibility of getting injured off the table, should some altercation turn physical. There is a certain inner-peace, a stoic calm, I have from not having to worry about what is going to happen if I have a sufficiently heated disagreement with some random stranger, or if someone decides to become violent with me. And I really like that the more I train, the less I have to worry. Those two variables scale with one another. That is to say this: as a proportion of any given population, fewer and fewer people will be qualified to pose a legitimate threat to me as I continue to get better and better at Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. And as I continue to train, I’m going to become progressively more qualified, more competent at protecting someone else – a family member, friend, loved one, or perhaps a stranger like in the Geek vs. Goon Incident – from those who, in their tyranny, have no compunction using their power (whether it be strength, youth, physical aggression and prowess, martial arts and/or sports training, et cetera) to forcibly impose their will on others. Joe spoke to that point, and I wholeheartedly agree.