Don't ask me to explain it.
2002-08-02 11:31 a.m.

Just in case you ever had the desire to dress your small dog up in a kimono. Don't ask me to explain it.

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Post Traumatic Seafood Disorder (PTSD)
2002-08-01 10:35 a.m.

I'm not sure if I wrote about this in the Meat Chronicles or not, but I don't really care for seafood. I grew up on the Puget Sound on a small island where we could walk across the street and dig up our own clams. We had a boat where we could float out and catch fish. If we were lucky we'd see a seal or otter. My entire family loves sea food and cooks it regularly. I can eat a little bit of salmon, I like sushi and I will even eat very raw ahi on occasion. And calamari. But hey, I'll eat anything if you bread it and fry it in oil first. I think my aversion to seafood is my father's fault. Let's go back in time.

I'm eight years old. We're in a cabin at the coast. My father wakes me up at 5:00am so we can catch the outgoing tide and dig razor clams. Dad digs furiously as the tide goes in an out. I vainly attempt to remain in an upright position as the waves crash around me filling my boots with sandy water. After he digs enough to fill my bag he hands me the bag, a shovel and my clam digging license. He says: "Now if a ranger stops you on the way back to the cabin, you tell him you dug all these clams yourself." With teeth chattering I start walking back to the cabin clutching my clam license to my chest. I am terrified that a ranger is going to jump out from behind a sand dune and arrest me. He'll ask me if I dug these clams myself and I'll say yes and he'll know that I'm lying and I'll get thrown in jail.

It's summer time. We're at East Lake in Bend, Oregon. It's 5:00am. My dad wakes me up and takes me out in a small motor boat to go trolling for trout. My dad catches fish using Velveeta cheese covered with shrimp oil. My dad catches a bunch of fish. He drops me off at shore and hands me a fishing license and a chain full of dying hyperventilating fish. He says: "Now if a ranger stops you on the way back to the cabin, you tell him you caught all these fish yourself." Again, I'm horrified that there's a park ranger hiding behind each tree waiting to bust me.

I remember eating a lot of soup and crackers on these trips.

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Mangoes. I like mangoes.
2002-07-31 9:11 a.m.

Have I mentioned recently how much I freaking hate public transportation? There was a fight on my bus yesterday, yes an all out brawl. I was sitting near the back of the bus by the rear exit. A nice middle aged Asian woman was sitting next to me. When she sat down she gave me the nod ~ the unspoken communication between two women who like to read on the bus. I'll read my book and you read yours. No need for frivolous conversation. So I was trying to read my Anne McCaffrey sci-fi short stories when I hear some punk in the back of the bus going on and on and on about how he killed three cops yesterday and was on the run. Blah, blah, blah. He kept going on how he was a murderer and a bad ass. Apparently a couple of men took exception to his harangue and when they got off the bus at 39th ave, let their gym bag smack him in the back of the head as they walked down the aisle. Then everything went out of control. The boaster freaked out and jumped out of his seat swinging. The two guys started swinging back. This was all happening right by my seat. I was pinned up against the window and the only thing I could think of doing was to wrap my arms around the Asian woman to keep her from getting smacked in the melee. I nearly pulled her into my lap. I didn't care if my arms got hit but I wasn't going to let these posturing buffoons hit her. See, I'm a superhero in training. Or I'm just an idiot, take your pick. Eventually they figured it would be best to take the fight outside. The two guys got off the bus and the punk just stands on the stairs and proceeds to scream racial slurs at the two guys until the bus driver finally shuts the doors and drives off. Then I had to listen to him for 20 more blocks talking about how he had to murder more people. When I finally got home the adrenaline had worn off and I was left with a splitting headache. Gack. Sometimes the idea of selling my house and living in a hut on a beach in Costa Rica sound's all right. Mangoes. I like mangoes.

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Kentucky "Fried" Chicken?
2002-07-30 9:04 a.m.

This guy is a complete moron. He's suing Wendy's, McDonald's, Kentucky Fried Chicken and Burger King because their food is unhealthy and made him Obese. Ok, maybe I'm hypersensitive because I've been a professional dieter since age 13 but don't you think the word "fried" in Kentucky Fried Chicken would have clued him in?

I did something strange to my shoulders last night in kung fu. I'm not sure what as last night wasn't particularly shoulder intensive. I tossed and turned until 2:00am when I finally broke down and took a gigantic ibuprofen. Maybe yoga will help today. And a nap, why does work always conflict with my napping schedule?

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Chi Sao, Yoga, Motorcycles.
2002-07-25 3:01 p.m.

At kung fu last night we spent the whole time working on chi sao (literally translates into sticky hands). My chi sao game improved dramatically by the end of the night. I just have to remember the following things: keep the chin down, hands and arms loose, move the feet, keep intent forward not backward, remember to twist from the waist instead of leaning backward. If I do all that I start looking pretty good.

I started yoga classes at work this month. Every Tuesday and Thursday during lunch time we have a wonderful young woman come in and teach us how to contort our bodies into exciting pretzel like positions. We're even working one some more advanced poses like headstands and backbends. I was pretty excited to learn that I can still do "wheel" which is a full backbend. I also have a nice camel if I do say so myself.

Simon is still unemployed but is keeping himself busy with a motorcycle endorsement course this week. By this afternoon he'll be able to legally drive his free BMW motorcycle all over town. Lord help us.

It seems that some of my kung fu buddies have found this site and figured out who KFK is. ~waves at fellow Mo Duk Pai-ers~ Actually if I wanted to be authentic I'd engage in some slow motion mock fighting which seems to be the way kung fu people say hi when they haven't seen each other in a while.

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