(no subject)
I just took my first Jiu Jitsu class. Finding traditional Japanese Jiu Jitsu was really hard. Everything is Brazilian, with the UFC nuts and all that creating a market for hot man on man wrestling. I just wanted to learn a few basics and not have to wrestle.
It was a small, ridiculous little class. My partners were either a 14 year old boy with an afro or a 60 year old man who looked like he'd already been through a war. The teacher is a crazy Romanian physics professor who's had over 20 years experience. At first I was skeptical since he looked like a total bum and the class was somewhat of a joke.
Since I was the only guy in reasonable shape I became the default demonstration guy. So I got put through the paces, twisted up like a pretzel in an amazing array of different arm and wrist locks. I was afraid the whole display would put me off of martial arts again, but I actually enjoyed myself. Even the pain was sort of a challenge. I had to memorize what he was doing to me so I could do it to someone else. There weren't any other demonstrations for me to watch.
There's something arrogant and obnoxious about a martial arts teacher demonstrating holds on a student. I didn't get that feeling from this guy. He had a good sense of humor. After class I told him about how I was thinking of applying to become a police officer. He showed me a quick trick on the best way to disarm a knife wielding thug. I stabbed at him with a fake knife and after a quick grab on my wrists I ended up cutting my own throat instead. He had a good laugh over that, saying that wasn't proper police procedure.
The lesson learned is don't try to stab a Romanian. They'll use your own hands to slit your throat, and they'll laugh about it after. He gave me a bo staff to practice with. I thought that was funny. I've got no interest in bo staff skills. But after he gave me a quick demonstration of what a little stick practice can do, I figured it might be handy as an inconspicuous bed side weapon against intruders. I can bo staff those fucks right in the head.
I'm rewriting my history once again. I don't really feel like writing about why I've suddenly felt this burning urge to be a cop. It's not about being a cop so much as what you can be after a few years of police work. Life hasn't made sense to me in a long time. My motivation always makes sense to me, but sometimes I charge forward blindly. Some people think I'm having trouble making up my mind on what I want to be. I make up my mind frequently. It's the sticking to something that's hard. Especially when everything is a choice followed by years of sacrifice to get there. Sometimes I just change my mind. I need a purpose in this world and they've been a little sparse. I've been trying since high school to find my fit in life. If anyone has put in their hours ruling out options it's me. No stone unturned. If this doesn't work out I'll obsess about being a plumber next.
It was a small, ridiculous little class. My partners were either a 14 year old boy with an afro or a 60 year old man who looked like he'd already been through a war. The teacher is a crazy Romanian physics professor who's had over 20 years experience. At first I was skeptical since he looked like a total bum and the class was somewhat of a joke.
Since I was the only guy in reasonable shape I became the default demonstration guy. So I got put through the paces, twisted up like a pretzel in an amazing array of different arm and wrist locks. I was afraid the whole display would put me off of martial arts again, but I actually enjoyed myself. Even the pain was sort of a challenge. I had to memorize what he was doing to me so I could do it to someone else. There weren't any other demonstrations for me to watch.
There's something arrogant and obnoxious about a martial arts teacher demonstrating holds on a student. I didn't get that feeling from this guy. He had a good sense of humor. After class I told him about how I was thinking of applying to become a police officer. He showed me a quick trick on the best way to disarm a knife wielding thug. I stabbed at him with a fake knife and after a quick grab on my wrists I ended up cutting my own throat instead. He had a good laugh over that, saying that wasn't proper police procedure.
The lesson learned is don't try to stab a Romanian. They'll use your own hands to slit your throat, and they'll laugh about it after. He gave me a bo staff to practice with. I thought that was funny. I've got no interest in bo staff skills. But after he gave me a quick demonstration of what a little stick practice can do, I figured it might be handy as an inconspicuous bed side weapon against intruders. I can bo staff those fucks right in the head.
I'm rewriting my history once again. I don't really feel like writing about why I've suddenly felt this burning urge to be a cop. It's not about being a cop so much as what you can be after a few years of police work. Life hasn't made sense to me in a long time. My motivation always makes sense to me, but sometimes I charge forward blindly. Some people think I'm having trouble making up my mind on what I want to be. I make up my mind frequently. It's the sticking to something that's hard. Especially when everything is a choice followed by years of sacrifice to get there. Sometimes I just change my mind. I need a purpose in this world and they've been a little sparse. I've been trying since high school to find my fit in life. If anyone has put in their hours ruling out options it's me. No stone unturned. If this doesn't work out I'll obsess about being a plumber next.