Not Martha Stewart

If you need to wrap a parcel for shipping, just cut up a brown paper bag.  Reduce, Reuse, Recycle.  It works.  This would also make you feel less bad about forgetting to bring your own shopping bag that one time and failing to get the 5-cent bag credit.

The box being re-used (and I insist on a hyphen here) once contained truffles from XOX, from a client, who, by virtue of having brung me said truffles, automatically upgraded himself to A-List status.  I had kept the box, which had been sitting around, until now, when proper etiquette dictates that I must return a watch that Mr. Army Ranger Dude from North Carolina had abandoned at the studio.  Men tend to leave their personal effects behind when they visit me.  But I don't blame them for being obedient.  As a rule of thumb, remove your watch before cleaning and pressing a kettlebell.  As a rule of the fourth digit, remove your ring because I don't like your jewelry scratching my kettlebell handles.  I don't have a rule for the middle finger.

What I don't get is why people keep forgetting their Sigg bottles.  Those things ain't cheap, and you buy them to be all eco and shit ... Perhaps Blue Bottle, not water, is what we all need more of.  Meanwhile, I can be the glorified version of the old Chinese lady digging through garbage for plastic bottles.  I will make a fortune re-selling the stuff that you people leave behind.  Mr. Army Ranger Dude got lucky this time because he's my muse for tonight.  However, I may not actually hit the post office until I see a comment below that says, "I shall not learn how to swing a kettlebell from watching YouTube videos."  

Posted via email from Mandarin Menace Lite

Slugfest

A year and a day later, I was finally back at Purisima Creek Redwoods Open Space Preserve, a truly lovely patch of awesome that is part of the Mid-peninsula Regional Open Space District.  Despite the overcast skies that often mystify tourists visiting "sunny California" - the drive down along Highway 1 was at once spectacular and subdued - the Day Star did break through the cloud cover to illuminate my eastward path along Purisima Creek Trail, brilliant sky blue above, brilliant jade green below.  It was like walking into a Miyazaki film. 

I was here on July 4th, 2009, with a friend.  It could be said that a puppy dog is a girl's best friend, and since I had neither a puppy dog nor a best friend, the guy that I dragged along would turn out to play that endearing role most fittingly; it is how I will always remember him.  This place holds memories and secrets - stuff that you just casually leave behind, and only revisit when you happen upon the same tree, hop over the same log, walk across the same bridge, and come to acknowledge, almost reluctantly, that time has slid under your nose like a slug.  What is memory but time resurrected?  As if on cue, I recalled how, a year prior, I had picked up a plastic bottle that someone had left on the trail; how we went down to the creek to touch the water; how, when we came upon a clearing, my friend had announced, with typical sarcasm, that the fresh air made him want to smoke a cigarette.  It was also at that same spot that he whipped out the shitty first-gen iPhone to see if the satellites could find us.  And the answer was, yes, GPS worked - one bar, no thanks to AT&T.  

At 1,600 ft I checked my modest Android phone, and thanks to Verizon, I also had a one-bar connection to the real world from the jungle.  On a whim, I decided to send a postcard to my friend.   During my 1,000-ft ascent, I had come across these bright and slimy objects called banana slugs.  They are compellingly, single-mindedly yellow.  For what evolutionary purpose I know not, for these guys do stand out and are quite easy to spot, and I'm not aware that their natural predators (raccoons, ducks, salamanders, according to Wikipedia) dislike bananas or yellow foods.  "But they roll the slugs in soil to bind the slime."  You know, like how you'd roll a mochi ball in shredded coconut to coat it.  Sort of.

Apparently the Pacific banana slug, being the second largest terrestrial slug, can grow up to 9.8 inches long.  That is longer than LONG.  And while we're on the same train of thought, I would also mention that Ariolimax columbianus "gnaws off its penis when disengaging from sex."        

The redwood forest in the preserve constitutes the southern tip of the Pacific coastal forest belt that is the banana slug's natural habitat.  I snapped a couple of pictures to show that I WUZ HERE!!! - one sent to my friend, the other to my mother, and both being shared here.   I thought about taking a video, but when creatures move at a glacial pace, staring at a still photo for five seconds will have pretty much the same effect.  Stare any longer though, and you will realize that this is really a yellow straightneck squash in camouflage, because some vegetables don't actually want to end up in your stir-fry, so they pretend to be a slug.

And that concludes my great adventure of July 5th.  

Gear: Vibram FiveFingers Sprints 

Distance: ~ 6.2 miles

Elevation Gain: ~ 1,000 feet

Pre-Snack: Three Twins Ice-Cream

Post-Snack: Straus soft-serve at New Leaf Community Market / Half Moon Bay

Warm-up: 1,776 kettlebell swings on Independence Day

Posted via email from Mandarin Menace Lite

Clear-Cutting For Portion Control

Ever seen a stump of an ice-cream pint? 

A pint is a single serving.  But sometimes, rationality gets the better of me and I decide that rationing is the way to go, just in case I get trapped under the rubble after an earthquake right next to the freezer.  While efficiency dictates that I eat straight out of the container, the undulating topography of the frozen surface, an inevitable result from eager scraping and scooping, never fails to throw me into deep anxiety, because it is messy, unfinished, undone.  I prefer the clean-cut look.  So I often find myself sculpting the ice-cream with my spoon, ironing out the creaminess and transferring the surface irregularities to my mouth.  Of course, it never looks perfect until you hit bottom.  Yes, it is flat there.

So here's a new tack.  Just chop the damn thing in half.  Use a sharp knife, make a quick, clean cut as in Kosher slaughtering, divide and conquer.  In one fell swoop, better storage aesthetics and multiple fell scoops are created.  Saran wrap is advised to protect the exposed ice-cream.     

Posted via email from Mandarin Menace Lite

It Pays To Not Shit Your Pants

The price of laundry in my building just went up by 100 percent.  Granted, I've lived here for over a decade and therefore have been spared the travails of going to a laundromat, but still, this "facility" is in the fucking garage, where the air is not particularly good, especially when Señora Building Manager (who is a nice enough lady) chooses to ignore - or perhaps she really doesn't understand English - the "No Smoking" sign.  

These washers are brand spanking new, Energy Star and all.  I am happy to support ultra-efficiency - pay a little more, no big fucking deal.  It's good to use less water and less electricity.  (By the way, I always use cold water.)  The landlord should save money in the long run, right?  So why did he not pass on the savings, but instead introduce this tiered pricing system based on Soil Level?  

It is not apparent to me that when there's only one price that people would automatically choose the heavy cycle.  I have always been a conscientious launderer, being the exemplary individual that I am.  Therefore these new machines are pissing me off big time, especially when there is no guidance on what Light, Medium, and Heavy soil-ness mean, except for what might be deduced from here.  Light day, medium day, heavy day for kettlebell workouts?  Light flow, medium flow, heavy flow?  Cat hair?  Dog fleas?  What???  
 
It's like 2 AM and I need some damn quarters.

By the way, some of you know that I have started this other blog, and I will keep using both, just so we can be schizophrenic about it.  Please leave comments and generously Share / Tweet / Like.  

Legacy

Yorat

oh jester, oh fool
behold! such enduring cranial structure
mandible jarringly articulate
temporally fused
with dirt
that foul mouth shuttered
shit! shit! shit!
impression unshattered
of teeth
reminiscent of smile
all in your head

Prey-lude To Roadkill

If you look closely, you will see that this bird is bleeding.  I was walking up Fillmore on my way to my favorite scoop shop, Three Twins Ice-Cream, when I saw a collared cat bounding down the street, bird in the grip of its teeth, obviously having a field day.  The cat reminds me of one sweet cat that I used to play with, but this one is trim, more athletic, a ready plunderer.  No wonder, considering it is being let out like a dog and allowed to hunt like a cat, with the proud owner in tow, who obviously was also having a field day.  The owner-dude chased the cat around the corner.  Trophy discarded.  The freed prey hobbled over to the wall for its photo op, contracting into its own huddle.

Now don't get me wrong.  I do not like pigeons.  Especially when they shit in front of my building, fueled by the bread crumbs that the building manager's wife likes to throw at them.  (I will never be caught dead feeding pigeons in the park, not now, not when I'm 90 and old and decrepit and crumbly.)  I also have no problem with how the food chain works.*  We shouldn't circumscribe the free expression of basic animal instincts, mine or yours or our companion friends'.  But we, as human beings, can do better.  If we're in the business of domesticating canines and felines and feigning civilized behavior, then the following applies: dog owners should pick up, scrape up, scoop up whatever consistency presents; and cat owners - if your toy-pet or pet-toy has halfway bitten through a bird, it is your responsibility to put the victim out of its misery.  It is the decent thing to do.  I would extend the same courtesy if I'd accidentally - or not so accidentally - run over your cat.  

*A tenuous tie-in to the health care debate (+ Darwin + Buddha), but I will attempt ... Compassion FTW, yes.  Universal health care?  Largely anti-evolutionary, if you ask me. We are getting very good at managing and eliminating physical pain, but until we confront and dissolve the root cause of suffering - attachment - we will stay on the same karmic wheel as the pigeon and the cat and the cat owner and the people of Congress.  Just so our little bird does not die in vain, I will make three points to send it off to its next incarnation: 1. An enlightened mind does not get attached to tax dollars, because the IRS will collect anyway; or to life, which will end anyway.  2.  Compassion is a trait of evolved human consciousness; it does not engender a "right" to health care, or to anything else, for that matter.  3.  I am totally okay with the idea that I may end up as roadkill someday; nobody owes me any expensive extraordinary measures to keep me alive.  Just clean up the mess afterwards and don't ruin another person's ice-cream appetite.  That's all.  C'est la vie.

Not A Fan Of Facebook

Since Google rolled out Buzz a couple days ago, anyone who is someone in the tech world seems to have an opinion on what, if any, impact Google's highly integrated social networking platform (integrated with Gmail that is) has on Facebook's valuation. In my mind, there are three types of observers: people who have a vested interest in the product (investors, employees), other "market analysts" and "thought leaders" in such matters, and finally, the users, of which a sub-category is, for no lack of a better word, LOSERS.  

This is my opinion of Facebook as an end-user of Web 2.0 applications.  I don't have bucks to make, nor numbers to crunch, but for sure I must be a data point in the company's monetization model, right? Or, is "my type" of users mostly irrelevant, the way I'm a bank customer getting free checking for life but my bank doesn't ever make a penny out of my three-figure balance?

FACEBOOK DEFAULTS TO ANNOYANCE
And each iteration more so.  Obviously Facebook's strategy is to grow its user-base by relentlessly streaming who's-friends-with-whom info on the News Feed.  It is Facebook's assumption that the typical user is so relentlessly mercenary that has been such a huge turn-off for me.  It is insulting.  I have no issue at all with networking and respectfully making use of connections.  It is entirely within Facebook's capacity to make it a powerful social networking engine without denigrating the meaning of friendship.  Restoring status updates as the default stream would be a great start.  I find it absolutely refreshing that I can hide the Buzz following-follower info from my public Google Profile.  It is not about privacy at all; rather, for once, we can regard ourselves not as part of a numbers game, but as individuals who perhaps have something to share during the day that is of interest or import to other connected beings.  

FACEBOOK IS A DISTRACTION FROM SOCIAL CHANGE
I put it this way because we all need distraction sometimes from life itself.  But if you really care about productivity and not wasting your time in front of the computer on pseudo-social causes or sedentary leisure, consider this:

As of 11:50 PM, Thursday, February 11, 2010, the number of fans belonging to the following Facebook groups:

• I Don't Care About Your Farm, Or Your Fish, Or Your Park, Or Your Mafia!!!  1,737,215
  
  
• I Bet We Can Find 1,000,000 People Who Support Same Sex Marriage  1,664,544
  
  
• I Bet Stanford Can Find 100,000 Fans Before Cal Can!  2,027
  
  
• I Bet Cal Can Find 100,000 Fans Before Stanford Can!  8,563

That there are so many haters of Facebook apps says less about the users of those apps than Facebook's presumptuous notion that their usage is anything remotely newsworthy.  In all likelihood Facebook does not even presume that; after all, it's run by very smart people.  It is blatantly forcing that information upon your News Feed to entice you to click on the brown baby calf.  There must be a certain demographic group or personality trait that is associated with susceptibility to the mooing of the brown baby calf - congratulations, Facebook, for that is your golden calf.  

I support same-sex marriage, but I don't BET on anything to make a statement.  Unfortunately, many Facebook "Pages" and "Groups" only amount to virtual pheromones that give the impression that you're of a certain ilk, that may be of significance as a filter or deal-breaker if you're actually going to mate with someone, but are otherwise inconsequential as a force or even indicator of social change.  To the person who started "1,000,000 Strong Against Sarah Palin" but only hit 21 percent membership target - you're a loser picking on another loser.  GET A LIFE!  

PSA: If you really believe in marriage equality, follow the Prop 8 trial here and support Courage Campaign with your money and activism.  

The red and blue / "gold" comparison proves, definitively, that better Facebooking results do not translate to superiority in anything else.  

FACEBOOK ADS ARE DUMB
I have never minded the "Sponsored Links" that I see on Gmail's web portal.  And if Buzz must come with Google Ads, so be it - it would be a thousand times better than the dumb-ass targeted ads that Facebook advertisers generate with my birth date, gender, and other personal info.  Again, it's not a privacy issue for me; this is just bot-made nonsense.  But I find utterly yucky and icky and distasteful and insulting the language and tone of those ads.  "Are you an 18-year-old idiot?  If you are, we have free crap reserved for you if you qualify.  Hurry up!  Offer expires at midnight."  Really?  REALLY???  Just because an ad picked up on my age doesn't make it a smart ad.  People who click on those ads are fucking losers.  

I have been a disaffected Facebook user for a long while, so I welcome Google Buzz heartily as an alternative, and so far I have nothing bad to say about it.  The bugs will be fixed, and I am awaiting the mobile app for my phone.  If, as I suspect, Facebook's monetization strategy is to capitalize on losers doing what losers do, then my opinion is entirely irrelevant to the stakeholders, which is fine by me, because Buzz will pick it up regardless.  

How I Use Twitter - Or Why (Most Of) You Shouldn't Follow Me

I am @twiddlebells. I knew a couple of my clients were on Twitter and they were cool, hip people, so I signed up too. I wanted to know who their friends were, and whether they could help me spread some @twiddlebells goodness. I also have this narcissistic belief that I am wise and witty (which my Facebook friends will validate). I wanted to impress my tweeps, but soon I ran into a huge problem:

@twiddlebells hates everyone from Obama to God and therefore constantly offends people who are into Obama or God. Therefore you shouldn't follow me if you are easily offended. Chances are, I hate you too. Just because I also hate Bush doesn't make you follower-worthy to me.

@twiddlebells' likeness is represented by the picture of a kettlebell, the same one that everybody steals from Dragon Door. This, in my opinion, is slightly more interesting than the white tweetie bird in blue, green, or orange background. (How are the colors assigned anyway?) I'm sorry if the picture misleads, but I do not tweet about my fucking workouts. Therefore you shouldn't follow me if you're looking for workout ideas, or inspiration, or encouragement. I don't record, I don't track. I train, I enjoy, I do something else.

Fitness often comes hand-in-hand with nutrition. Those of you who read my tweets know that I write about cupcakes and ice-cream everyday. Ad nauseum. Cupcakes and ice-cream are an important part of my stream of consciousness, the recording of which is Twitter's purported raison d'être. Believe me, if you pay me I can show you how to eat five desserts a day (plus two square meals) and stay a Size 0, but you shouldn't follow me if you're looking for weightloss ideas, or inspiration, or encouragement, because you will hate me. I resolved on January 1, 2009 to eat one cupcake a day for the whole year. I have been outdoing myself. Yes, you hate me.

A lot of people follow each other for "networking," professional reciprocity, or whatever you'd like to call it. I respect that, if you are actually making good use of the information you read. If 500 people are following each other and pathologically tweeting and re-tweeting each other's workouts and blog links and the same fitness articles that everybody reads and writing Bravo! and Awesome! to each other - well, I have to say, WTF! I don't write about my own training, and have very little interest in yours. (I do swings and get-ups à la Enter The Kettlebell, end of story.) I appreciate the #followfriday, but really, no thank you. You shouldn't follow me if you keep tweeting about the same topic (workouts) and want me to follow you back. I won't. If you want penpals (and I like having online friends) let's do it on Facebook. (Hello my ex-Twitter-now-Facebook friends!)

I am humbled that some very accomplished professionals are following my Twitter stream. I am sorry I don't have much to add to the discourse, as I use Twitter as a private social vehicle, not for marketing or keeping up with the industry. I hate announcing my own classes and workshops on Twitter and Facebook (which is perhaps something that I should get over, but I am very much a purist). Yes, I did say I want to spread @twiddlebells goodness, but sometimes, you just want to ride the elevator without having a pitch!

I don't care about numbers, so I am not into reciprocal following. I don't use a private account because I want to make it easier for my stalkers and people in general to find me. I prune my follower list periodically. All bots, most businesses, britney.fucked.vids, and creepy people get eliminated. If you look relatively harmless, you stay. If you seem cool and different I may follow you back. Very few people make this cut. I only follow 20 entities - 3 food purveyors, 2 other businesses, 1 cartoon guy, and 14 real people (4 of whom I have not met, but would like to).

Basically, if you're not a personal friend or client (or prospective friend or client), you should have very little interest in what I tweet about, except for the funny vids or pics that we all come across each day. "Following" requires both subject and object (as opposed to "status updates" which only need you) and tweets are what keep friends continuously apprised of each other's thoughts and exploits so a recap is not necessary when they meet again. Tweets are conversational, hence the @replies. If I appear to lopsidedly favor one or two people in my @replies, it's because these tweeps tweet more and thus evoke more responses. If I appear to write about completely random things, it's because in conversation with friends you don't need to repeatedly explain the context. If you think you know the context, don't be too sure. (If I order revenge on you, I won't announce it on Twitter!) I know when my tweeps go to bed because I am a vampire and I don't sleep. If you're up late too and your profile page is where the only action is, I may just go there and hit "refresh." Periodically I find out cool things about people that way. I also love real-time tweets from an airplane, especially at times when I have to stay up late for non-vampire reasons and need some twitteine*. (@virginamerica way cool!)

Admittedly, I am not using social media in a way that might make me more money. I don't want to act in ways that I myself find annoying. Mutual annoyance, mutual masturbation, bots following bots - not my thing, go away. I'm still learning how to navigate Web 2.0 to make it enhance my relationships, not botch them. Yeah, I still hate Obama and God, but I love and value my friends for their love and entertainment value.

*twitteine: an addictive substance, like caffeine, that makes you crave for more tweets; may induce stalking-like behavior. (And you read about it here first!)

PSA: October 17 Level 1 Kettlebell Workshop in San Francisco. I don't mind people tweeting about @twiddlebells goodness!

Back To The Playground

I stopped blogging at the end of January because I couldn't think of more random things to write about myself. Of course, to the unconcerned, everything is random. To someone who cares, this is a little window from which to view the inside workings of my convoluted mind. I'm still trying to figure it out. At this point, all I can say is I know more than you do about what's meaningful for me. No, this is not an exercise of sharing. Sometimes I want to say things that I'm too indifferent or afraid or lazy to say in person, for the sake of not getting into uncomfortable conversations that highlight the need for more uncomfortable conversations. Here, I can hide behind my own polished and uninterrupted eloquence. So here we go again!

25 Random Things

There's this thing going around on Facebook where you're supposed to write 25 random things about yourself, and tag 25 friends to make them go through the same exercise. I was absolutely determined to hate whoever tagged me, because I seriously do not need any homework. So there are already three strikes out there for the three people who have tagged me so far. But since one is a long-time friend, one is an awesome client, and one is an incredibly charming guy, all three are forgiven on account of One, and I relent. I may reveal myself to be arrogant and bitchy (as if you don't already know it), and narcissistic by nature of this very act of writing randomly about myself, but these "facts" that decorate my lifescape may well be considered incidental and inconsequential. I am a private person and my memoirs are not forthcoming. The one and only decade-long sob story of my life - oh so pathetic, melodramatic, and perchance a tad tragic - has been told, listened to, contemplated upon, accepted, embraced, and released. This is not a tell-all and I do hope this sentiment is reciprocated. I have enjoyed reading about my friends' eccentricities and odd experiences, and I hope mine can equally amuse and entertain. Just please don't tell me about your botched suicide attempt or the time you had sex with your horse via Facebook.

1. I am a vampire. I don't get anything done during the day. I like to work, train, eat, surf, and write after sundown. If I do Turkish get-ups in the daytime, I see all my hair and dirt on the carpet and I get depressed. In the evening I dim the lights and I don't see anything. I am wired biologically to sleep between 5 and 11 am. Since I endeavor to live, eat, sleep and die green, I have been thinking of getting an Ecopod for my bed. Too bad they don't make it queen or king size because I'd sure like to make out with another vampire.
   
   
2. I don't own a tv. When I first graduated from college, I bought one and had it for three years, during which time the only show I ever watched was ER. Since then, and before the age of Netflix, internet streaming, and DVD drive, I did not watch any television. (Okay, so I bought a little watchman with a 2" screen to watch World Cup Soccer and the Olympics when they came around every four years, but that was it.) The first series that I've watched since getting Netflix was Grey's Anatomy. I like medical dramas! McDreamy is sweet and McSteamy is hot - which one are you???
   
   
3. In high school, my friends and I used to steal the physics test the day before from the teacher's waste paper basket. I would then compile the answers for distribution. I always did my own homework and came up with my own solutions to problem sets (because I trusted nobody) but I freely circulated my science and math answers during exams for my friends to copy. Yes, I am ultra-competitive and I am not a team player, but as long as I come out on top (and I did graduate first in my class) I am actually quite generous. On the geek track it was hard to be bad any other way.
   
   
4. The summer after high school, I received an all-expenses paid scholarship to spend six weeks in Israel. When I first learned about this opportunity, I told my parents my intention to apply for it. They said, please don't, so I did. I secretly went to the interview (which was held on the Columbia University campus), and then of course I got the award. This was an international science program hosted by the Weizmann Institute of Science with about 80 students from all over the world. I was placed in a biophysics lab and did research on graft-vs-host disease in bone marrow transplants. They took us all over the country hiking and exploring, and we spent some days in the desert conducting field experiments. I swam in the Dead Sea and climbed the Masada. This was my first most excellent adventure!
   
   
5. The summer before that, between my junior and senior years, I got an NIH-funded scholarship to attend a science program at the University of Iowa. My connecting flight to the land of corn was on a propeller plane - scary! I landed in a lab with a graduate student whose first name was also Cecilia. My tasks: homogenize human eyeballs (donated from the deceased), put pureed eyeballs in the centrifuge to spin and separate, and perform chromatography assays on the resultant goo. I got really good at it, and practically ran the lab by myself when the other Cecilia was away for some days, and received a glowing review from the professor. We also did something terrible to a huge sad-looking rabbit, for which I deserved to be put on PETA's death list. But I have been a good vegan all these years and I gave money to SaveABunny.org - I know there are starving children in the world but this is Jill's pet project - so I hope I have sufficiently atoned for my complicity in this one atrocious act in the name of science.
   
   
6. I love to sing and grew up singing in school and church choirs. Classical or religious choral music is what I like the most. In college, I joined the Memorial Church Choir and went to service every Sunday just for the musical and aesthetic experience. I was their bible-reading girl too. I never saw any of my classmates who were real Christians. They preferred the bible-study group thing, but since I didn't believe in hell and had an immense aversion to sitting around and "share," I stuck with the stage and the podium. I know I am still hell-bound, at least according to my mother. But you're all going down with me, so I have no fear.
   
   
7. I have to cover my ears when I sleep. My family came from tropical Hong Kong, where it was hot and humid in the summer, and mosquitoes grew like flies, and I always had a hard time falling asleep because as soon as I dozed off, one of those blood suckers would go "wung wung wung" by my ear. Have you ever seen a mosquito settle on your bare skin, and moments later it's transmogrified into a sinister little red balloon - and what do you do? Smash it? Spank yourself and splatter and smear your own flesh and blood all over? We lived on the first floor of a high-rise building, which didn't help. They chose me over my siblings and parents, no doubt because I tasted better. I had shown up in school covered in mosquito bites. My teachers asked me if I had chicken pox. One time, a mosquito got into my ear while I slept. It escaped, but I was traumatized. I haven't seen a Hong Kong-style mosquito for decades, but I still sleep under the covers, even in mid-summer nights. For some reason, when I'm on vacation, staying in a hotel or with someone, my compulsion temporarily releases me, and I feel safe to expose my sleepy head. Which tells me I probably should go sleep around more, anywhere but on my own bed.
   
   
8. There was a period in my life when I felt I needed some convincing that I was a good, unselfish human being, so I signed up to volunteer with San Francisco's Zen Hospice Project. For a year, I spent five hours every Sunday afternoon in the hospice ward of Laguna Honda Hospital, hanging out and helping out and trying to be all zen and mindful and embracing and spacious in my witnessing of those momentous end-of-life moments. What I learned about myself: (i) I was never really sad when someone passed on; perhaps I didn't care enough, or maybe I think death was just one big shrug. (ii) I had a morbid curiosity about the dying process, had read the Tibetan Book of Living and Dying from cover to cover, and often wondered about the bardos while still sincerely attempting to do tonglen practice for the "imminent" folks. (iii) I really hated it when little old ladies or men pinched my cheeks and said, "You're so cute!" In the end, it comes down to this: To die well one has to live well. I don't know if I'm a better person for having done this, but if I end up with a volunteer by my deathbed mucking around saying mantras, I promise not to pinch her cheeks.
   
   
9. I have only spent money at Starbucks once in my whole life. I was bored and hungry and rationalized my way into trying the Frappuccino which predictably turned into a cookie binge. My other three Starbucks visits were paid for by the people I was with. First time - t'was the day after my sister's wedding in the summer of 2002, in Louisville, Kentucky, a town which I had never heard of until a few months prior. My entire clan found the entire downtown deserted on a Sunday afternoon, so reluctantly we went to the airport early and sat at the Starbucks. Second time - I was visiting said sister in Washington, DC, last year. She has, since my first Starbucks encounter, begotten three offsprings and her kids apparently needed an outing, and it had to be Starbucks. Third time, and most recently - I was attending Pavel's strength stretching and super abs workshops in Sacramento in November. We managed to spend the entire lunch hour walking to the Starbucks and back. Pavel bought tea for us and nobody ate anything. I have observed that when the Chief's around, everybody automatically goes on the Warrior Diet.
   
   
10. I once was so broke that I answered a craigslist ad to "donate" 5 cc of blood to a UCSF research project for a $20 stipend. I parked my car at the bottom of the hill and walked up towards Parnassus, a cold sweat breaking out. The thought of needle penetration made me extremely squeamish, even though I generally have a high pain tolerance and don't mind blood and gore. I met the doctor, signed the release, and he proceeded to grope around for the vein on the inside of my left arm. For someone like me with a pulse so faint that I can't find it half the time, and blood pressure low enough to qualify some folks for a pace-maker, this was not easy. He had to poke a few times to get the needle in. I was trying to be very zen about all this, staying detached, and attempting to induce an out-of-body experience. Perhaps that was why the blood stopped flowing after a few drops. The doctor pulled the needle out and started to prep my right arm. The thought of Take 2 sent me reeling. I swooned and fainted and caught myself on the table. Orange juice and crackers appeared under my nose, but both he and I knew this had nothing to do with needing replenishment. We are talking about less than 2 cc of blood drawn. I lose way more than that during my periods, and I never miss a beat in my workouts and classes. Needle phobia. The doctor told me he'd taken over 250 samples and I was the first case he had to abort for that reason. I was mightily embarrassed. He gave me the $20 anyway "for showing up," but for his parting advise, he said, "Don't ever bother going to give blood."
    
    
11. Worst childhood trauma - I was once mistaken for a lamp post - by a dog. Enough said.
    
    
12. (This list will get done at some point, with divine or diabolic intervention!)

Stage Right

Back in September, our taiko school presented the Meigetsu (Harvest Moon) Taiko Fest at Dance Mission Theater in San Francisco. Rhythm is the pulse of life passionately articulated and fiercely expressed. I am immensely grateful to our sensei, Bruce "Mui" Ghent, for his faith that we could actually pull this off. Bruce had a vision for us when we couldn't see beyond our own drum sticks. That's the definition of a great coach. What a thrilling experience!

Here are a couple of clips from the show (courtesy of Babs). The AV quality may not be the best, but my mom said she watched them over and over, so I guess they're alright.

Matsuri


This was our opening song. The stage was darkened in the beginning and I hit the first note at 1:06. For those of you who've never met me in person, I (shortie with pigtails) was on stage right / house left - which turned out to be right in the middle of this screen, front row, in line with the head of a guy in the audience. We circled around twice, but I always ended up in the same spot.


Yamarashi



This was the grand finale. There were five of us on the front row, with our sensei in the center. Find me all the way to the left of the screen (at times cut off). At 1:50 my friend Anne Dunlap and I played a 4-bar duet.

Our 2009 show is scheduled for the weekend after Labor Day. Come see us live in action! It's way more exciting than watching YouTube!

KettleWorx

KettleWorx is for wussies. Enough said.

Pick Me, Call Me, Scam Me

Coz I'm all dark and twisty.

Dear Mrs. Cremas,

My friend and colleague the Iron Tamer really wanted to work with your daughter, and I am so glad you responded to his email with more details about Jullie's plans. Why don't we plan on having Jullie stay in San Francisco for two months and then go on to Nashville for two months? I am actually not sure what state Nashville is in, but neither do you, so that's okay.

You must be keeping track of so many letters, so I'll just include yours here to keep us all on the same page.

Hello ,

Thanks for your response,My daughter is 18 year old and she have little basic knowledge about these Kettlebell.And i want her to come down to your lesson in order to keep her busy during her staying.I will like you to understand that my Jullie will be coming from Singapore to stay with her friend in your location.But she will be staying for 2 months i will want you to teach her for 2 months (4 days training a week) .So kindly let me know the total amount i'm to pay for these 2 months (4 days training a week) plus any other expensives..Hope this is okay with you? If so kindly please advise back with the total amount i'm to pay,so that i can make the payment payable to you,including with your name and contact address including your phone number in which you will receive the cheque before her arrival next month November.

I will be glad to read from you soonest.

Best regards,

Mrs Christine Cremas

Wow, your family is from Singapore! I visited there when I was eight. I love Singapore fried rice! Do you know my friend Karen? She has curly hair, wears glasses, and we met at an international science camp the summer before college. She must still be about my age, quite possibly taller. Jullie has little basic knowledge about kettlebells? How about little advanced knowledge? No worries, I am a very patient teacher. And I have a job for Jullie. I will appoint her the Bubble Gum Monitor! She will make all my students spit out their gums before class. Gum-chewing is one of my biggest pet peeves. In fact, if Jullie trains hard enough she can become an RKC and go to our private forum and read my famous Bubble Gum Rant. And if I may ask, how much does she weigh? The new RKC snatch test is very difficult for over-weight girls. In fact, I need to lose a few pounds myself so maybe she and I can do the Warrior Diet together?

I think Jullie will find San Francisco a most welcoming city. In fact, we are known as a sanctuary. That means if she overstays her visa, it's perfectly legal for her to stay here as an illegal, and since she's 18, she can even drive a car! We have really pretty boys in town, but too bad most of them only like other pretty boys. But I do love 'em boys coz they all love to workout, and that's good for business. Of course, you can expect to get postcards of her posing on our beautiful Golden Gate Bridge. A new safety net will soon be built to turn the world's most scenic exit into the world's most scenic no-way-out. It only costs $50 million to install, and I'm sure you're glad that our city spares no expenses when it comes to our well-being and mental health.

Regarding my fees, upon further thought, can you put me on your payroll and do the federal tax withholding for me? I am ridding my life of administrative baloney. We must be in compliance with FUTA - the F. U. Tax Act. To keep things simple, I will only ask for $200,000 in wages.

Since I am extremely busy, I have assigned all scheduling and client communication duties to my pimp. Please direct any future correspondence to:

Mr. Esef Peedee
Hall of Justice
850 Bryant Street, Room 419
San Francisco, CA 94103
(415) 553-1521

One last note here. Please have Jullie arrive on Tuesday, November 4. An apocalypse that happens only once every four years is not to be missed. Here's how Obumma vs. McPain will play out in Northern California. Either you will see a massive exodus to Canada on Wednesday morning, or the Dow will again free fall and I will raise my rates by 300% to make up for my generous handouts, and Jullie can do my plumbing. (But she must join the union first.)

Respectfully,

Cecilia Tom, RKC

P.S. Since Mr. Smith Grand is your husband, Mr. Rhodes Cremas must be your brother. I understand that he contacted a dojo in Mississippi back in March to inquire about aikido and judo lessons for his daughter Jullie. So your niece's name is also Jullie? Ah, I get it now. You slept with your brother. Angels and insects, birds and bees, they all do it. No problem.

An Open Letter To Mrs. Cremas

Dear Mrs. Cremas,

Since you so kindly sent an email to me this morning, I am going to so kindly respond to you on my very popular blog, because I believe that many of your fellow Nigerians may have similar questions, and I'd like to address all of them here to help keep the global internet bandwidth free from detritus.

First, here's a faithful reproduction of your email inquiry. I am disabling my Blogger spell-check for the moment.

Hello,

I am Mrs Christine Cremas.I contact you on KettlebellTraining.Well my Daughter (Jullie) is coming to stay with her freindfor 2 months and she love Kettlebell. I want her to be coming to yourtraining during her staying ok.

So Note: My Daughter Jullie is just a beginner, so please kindly teachher well. Also kindly let me know your charges cost of thetraining,inorder for me to arrange for her payment before her travel.

Please Advise back on
1. The cost for the training within these 2 months
2. Let me know your mode of payment either by cheque.
3. And your contact Name and address and including your phone numberfor the payment.

I will be glad to read from you soonest.

Best regards,

Mrs Christine Cremas.

Mrs. Cremas, is the "e" pronounced like in cremate or is it more like crème brûlée, and do you emphasize the second syllable as in ass? Sorry for all these questions. I do want to address you correctly.

I would love to work with your daughter Jullie. Since I live in San Francisco, and today is the 19th anniversary of the Loma Prieta Earthquake, I'd like to inform you that I am raising my rates to include a special earthquake surcharge. So, to answer your questions -

1. A two-month luxury one-on-one package would cost you $10,000 + 19% earthquake insurance = $11,900. A two-on-one package with myself and another male RKC trainer specializing in the PTTP Bear Program would cost double. A gang bang package can be arranged, but you will have to pay the City of San Francisco for a special permit.

2. I only take cash. I know it's not safe for a young lady to travel with so much money. I would suggest that she put the cash in a plastic bag and shove it up her ass.

3. Regarding my name, address and phone number, please be informed that it is common law in the United States to require businesses to operate under fictitious names. If you're seeking to make contact with deep-pocketed individuals and service providers, your best bet is to data-mine the ACORN voter registration files in Ohio.

I suppose Jullie is touring our country and not only staying in San Francisco, so I'd like to recommend other enormously popular kettlebell instructors who can guarantee her sissification. For example, Ryan "Sgt." Shanahan specializes in "ripitude" using hollowed-out kettlebells. Then there's Michelle Khai, who sells affordable 4 lb. kettlebells that can double as paper weights.

As you well know, I am also a certified Z Health practitioner, and through the grapevine I heard that your son Jullian may need the services of trainers in the Z Health network. Since I am so kindly kind, I took the initiative to compose an introduction letter for you, similar to the one you sent me. I think it will bring you many usable leads, and I'm really glad to have the opportunity to help you out.

Here it is :-)

Hello,

I am Mrs Christine Cremas.I contact you on Rehab,Reeducate,Restore, my sons hip.Well my Son (Jullian) is hit by car two months back and the doctor said he will only hop on crutch.We sued driver and thanks God the court awards us damage EUROS 6,9 mil (6,900,000).so I am asking you please teach him pelvis tilt. I want him to be coming to yourtherapy ok.

So Note: My Son Jullian is in much hurt, so please kindly cure him better. Also kindly let me know your charges cost of thetreatment,inorder for me to arrange for the payment of your healing.

Please Advise back on
1. The cost for the treatment for my Son Jullian to no more hop
2. Let me know your mode of payment either by cheque.
3. And your contact Name and address and including your Bank Account number for the payment.

I will be glad to read from you soonest.

Best regards,

Mrs Christine Cremas.

Mrs. Cremas, I must warn you. There are unkindly people out there who will give you garbage information. You must disregard all financial institution accounts unless it says "Lehman Brothers" - then you know it's for real.

Finally, I know your husband is Mr. Smith Grand. He sends me many emails about the herbs he takes for his penis. He says he makes his wife ecstatic. You must be such a happy, horny woman. I congratulate you on your most excellent family, and I look forward to meeting your lovely children, Jullie and Jullian.

Going For Broke

(I am still not done with my Potty Training piece below, but a PR takes precedence.)

Who: Me, 108 lb. (previous) + 7 lb. (excess), measured at 1 pm
What: 82 sets of VO2-max snatches, 15:15 protocol,
7 reps per set, 8 kg kettlebell
When: Wednesday, October 15, 2008, 8:45 pm - 9:26 pm
Where: @ EBM Kung Fu in Oakland (in the back room)
How: Just do it!

Last week at the same time, I did 40 sets, 20 minutes. That was the plan. I felt a little fatigued towards the end, no doubt from the expectation that the end was near. I executed. I earned my dessert. I ate my cupcake.

The overall game plan was to add 8 sets per week, so it would take me five more sessions to hit 80. Tonight I set the Gymboss in 15-second intervals, so 48 sets = 96 rounds. It is actually kind of cool that the Gymboss rounds decrease by 4 per minute - it seems to approach zero at a faster pace :-) I was running high on qi from the tai chi class (with some bagua to boot), so I just went for it. I was mentally counting each set and focusing on form. I am still not happy with how my left arm is snatching. So I was tweaking this, tweaking that, but always making sure that I completed 7 reps before the beep. At T = 16 minutes, I started counting down. Eight more minutes and I'd be done with 48 sets. At T = 20 minutes, I looked down at my hands for the first time and I saw blood. I was wearing fingerless cloth glove-liners and there's a bright red patch oozing from right below the left pinky. I perked up like a hungry vampire. Quick mental calculation - if I finished 56 sets instead of 48 today, I will have one less week of this hand-shredding nonsense to endure.

As soon as the Gymboss flatlined, I restarted the clock. Four more minutes! Four more minutes! Four more minutes! No term limits! And so it went. I lost count and my body went into auto-pilot. I didn't feel tired. I could feel the irritation from the bloody blister, but by that time I was going for broke and nothing could have stopped me. I became confused as to how many 15-second rounds should remain on the Gymboss by the end of 80 sets. By the time I figured it out - the answer is 32, since I restarted at 96 - I had six more minutes to go. I rallied. ROOOH AAAH! I began to compose this blog post in my head. When 80 came around, I felt like the Energizer Bunny. Why don't I let the clock run down? So I snatched two more sets. Okay, enough is enough. I should be practicing something else. I had the Viking Push Press on my to-do list.

By that time, people were coming into the room to change. (They were taking sanshou class in the main studio.) The extra Danish torture will have to happen on another day.

I will try the 36:36 protocol when my hands are all healed up, and then cycle back to the 15:15. Right now, I don't think I can increase my snatch cadence to 8 and still finish within 15 seconds, so my next goal is to use a slightly heavier weight. I am going to buy a 20 lb. kettlebell.

So, in summation, or multiplication, 82 x 7 = 574 snatches.
Or, in summary, or multiplicity, 1 snatch, 574 times. (And acknowledging W2 for first putting it this way, so poignantly.)

Potty-Training

I am not a personal trainer. I never played sports. I have never taken an anatomy class in school. Before I studied pilates in 2002, I didn't know what patella meant or what ACL stood for, let alone what could possibly go wrong with the knee. I was blessed with ignorance - and bliss - because I could move any way I wanted with reckless abandon. I knew diddly-squat about squatting, but squat I did. Quite fortuitously, when I gave my bed away in 1999, I had set myself up for a daily regimen that has kept my legs and joints in superb condition.

The first piece of furniture that I bought as an adult was a bed. For a year after college, I slept on a twin-sized futon, the thing I sat on to study when I was still in school. Then I bought a real wood-framed bed with a firm futon mattress. Luxury! Later, I quit the corporate job and had to downsize, which meant moving in with a roommate. She was a vivacious, passionate Italian woman, a great soul with bad knees (and some other health challenges). When we eventually parted ways, I left her my bed, as she had a hard time getting out of her own.

Almost a decade later, my mattress is still on the floor. Since I live in a tiny studio apartment, the room looks more spacious without a big chunk of bed, but I've always thought that one day, when the bank will take my kettlebells as collateral and give me a mortgage, I will purchase a one-bedroom condo and a bed. Well, I don't even have half a down payment, and I live in San Francisco, but at least I took the bed off the list, so I'm actually closer to my goal :-) Ever since I became aware of the pervasive fear of squatting among certain quarters of the training community, I relish more than ever the act of getting up in the morning. Planting my feet firmly on the floor, feeling the carpet (and wishing for hardwood), shifting my weight slightly, pushing off - voila, I'm up. Look Ma, no hands! A bodyweight get-up + squat, RKC HardStyle. Needless to say, it gives me immense satisfaction to get up in the middle of the night to go to the loo. I hereby issue a challenge to my hard-living comrades: pistol up from your mattress if you need to go pee. Beds are for sissies.

The Japanese got it right - when you sleep on a tatami-style bed all your life, standing up from a rock-bottom squat becomes an autonomous function, and you maintain resilient knees and strong legs without having to think about it. I said "maintain" because we're born with that natural ability to squat. In Athletic Body in Balance, a must-have for anyone serious about identifying and overcoming functional weaknesses, FMS guru Gray Cook writes:

A child does not learn to squat from the top down - in other words, he does not suddenly make a conscious decision one day to squat. Actually, he is squatting one day and makes the conscious decision to stand. Squatting precedes standing in the developmental sequence ... Therefore, a child is probably crawling, rocks back into a squatting position with the back completely relaxed and the hips completely flexed, and stands when he has enough hip strength. This approach makes a lot of sense and can be applied to relearning the deep squat movement if it is lost.

Note that it is completely natural for the back to be "completely relaxed" in a deep squat, i.e. flexion in the spine is a-okay.


(To be continued ... )

Preview: The RKC front squat will not fuck up your knees, but in fact will help restore mobility and function relinquished by toddlers in "civilized" countries with the evolution of the modern toilet. The full squat position is good for business.

Taiko Festival!

I'd like to invite everyone to my taiko group's upcoming Meigetsu (Harvest Moon) Taiko Fest to be held on September 12th, 13th, and 14th at Dance Mission Theater in San Francisco. As some of you know, my journey in rhythm began at the Ali Akbar College of Music in San Rafael, where I studied tabla (North Indian drums) with Pt. Swapan Chaudhuri for many years. I took a break when I transitioned to a career in movement instruction, and I also spent a couple of years with two Chinese classical dance groups. Last summer, I got smitten by kettlebells and decided to prioritize my training for the RKC certification. That meant I had very little time left to devote to martial arts and kung fu, yet I missed that warrior energy that had been part and parcel of my being ever since I learned that immensely satisfying round-house kick way back in 1996. But, the Universe always provides what is needed at the moment. By happenstance, I discovered that Sensei Bruce “Mui” Ghent was offering an introductory taiko class in September 2007 at Dance Mission, and it took me less time than Usain Bolt’s 100-meter dash to decide to sign up.

Taiko turned out to be exactly what I needed. It’s got rhythm, kung fu stances, rousing dynamics, fat-burning mechanics, and great spirit – of the peaceful warrior. Taiko drumming is a group endeavor. It is constructive, creative, communal. While I still love to watch bloody UFC fights, kickboxing class has long since ceased to stir my soul, and in any case who wants to fight with guys who never wash their hand-wraps?! And by the way, the kettlebell snatch is the best GPP training I could have done for taiko class. Arm strength, shoulder ROM, cardio endurance – HardStyle provides. Folks in class are taping their hands for blisters, and to help with the grip. I think Pavel would say, “Comrades, soap up the drum sticks, smoke the grip!” Here’s to you, sir -

I wear my well worn RKC calluses with pride,
and take my sweaty RKC palms in stride.

So, come see the taiko get pwned.

Meigetsu (Harvest Moon) Taiko Fest
A Benefit for the Maikaze (Dancing Wind) Taiko School

The performance will feature many renowned taiko artists and ensembles as well as the Maikaze students. Most of us have studied taiko for only about a year, and we’d love to have your support! I will be in two pieces – the first and the last.

Friday, September 12, 8 PM
Saturday, September 13, 8 PM
Sunday, September 14, 6 PM

Dance Mission Theater
3316 24th Street (@ Mission)
San Francisco, CA 94110

The venue is directly across the street from the 24th / Mission BART station. Parking is available at the Mission Bartlett Garage, 90 Bartlett Street - enter on 21st Street.

Tickets
$14 pre-paid, $17 at the door
T-Shirts
$15 pre-paid, $20 at the door
Fundraiser Package
A donation of $30-50 (sliding scale) for one ticket and one t-shirt to benefit the Maikaze Taiko School, with priority seating.

The pictures above show the front and back designs of the t-shirt. To purchase tickets and / or t-shirts, please email me or leave a comment here.

Barely Legal

Much has been said about the prepubescent Chinese girls who tried - and succeeded, with the complicity of an entire nation chasing Olympic glory and that international emblem of corruption, the IOC - to pass off as 16 to compete in the gymnastics competition at the Beijing Olympics. Notwithstanding the fact that they are indeed terrific gymnasts and athletes, there is something hugely unsatisfying about watching little girls compete against adult women. The playing field is not level - body proportions are different, and that affects the strength requirements of the different routines - and aesthetically, it's just not the same. The best way that I can put it is this - Would you rather see Angelina Jolie naked, or do you prefer kiddie porn? Enough said.

Hole In One

I want to congratulate my client Ian for hitting a hole-in-one on Wednesday - 220 yards, he said. Ian has been doing pilates for 4 1/2 years, 2-3 times a week, and recently added kettlebells to his workout. This is the WTH ("What The Hell") Effect in glorious display. If you swing kettlebells, crazy things can happen. Ian is your IPO go-to guy. If you have a cool company (alternative energy, solar) that needs some financing, call him up for a game of golf.

Mystery Meat

Mike Adams' NaturalNews.com is a terrific site with tons of useful information about leading a natural, healthy life. A picture is worth a thousand words, and last night I stumbled upon this photo tour that really says it all. While my dear clients and students have all been able to withstand my puker workouts, I had a hard time keeping down my organic romaine lettuce while viewing Mystery Meat Macrophotography.

A picture is worth a thousand swings. Go do it. Let it all out.