| Let It Die |
[Dec. 2nd, 2007|09:41 pm] |
| [ | Feeling |
| |  thoughtful | ] |
| [ | Spinning |
| | Feist - One Evening | ] |
Before I get into the actual, thoughtful content, I have to confess that I was influenced by those Apple iPod Nano adverts to look up Leslie Feist's body of work. To my discredit, I first tried to pirate her music. Being unsuccessful in my pursuits I decided to actually purchase the albums Let It Die, and The Reminder. Personally, I don't think that corrects the initial wrong of attempting to steal her music and perhaps I should start evaluating whether or not I should be pirating music in the first place. That's a complex issue and I haven't even started talking about the complex issue that I initially intended to discuss.
There are two lines in Feist's song Let It Die that resonated with me: "The saddest part of a broken heart / Isn't the ending so much as the start". I don't think I'm the only person who believes that the end of a serious relationship can be brutally painful, often triggering the comforting emotion of bitter, bitter belief in the idea that pain is the platitude of existence possible for the rest of one's life (as an aside, that sort of self-righteousness is an intoxicating emotion).
After tears are shed and time has passed, life most certainly goes on (for most). I could talk about the trite idea of "we will always carry a part of that person with us", but most people such things already. The core of the matter I am attempting to get it is that the worst of it comes at the realization that happiness we thought could be has effectively been snuffed out. All of the precious illusions that we conjure up are lost and gone and that can hurt awfully terrible.
I think this is a lesson that can only be learned through experience. I also heartily believe that such pain can be avoided by not becoming carried away with oneself in the early stages of a relationship. Love is a powerful emotion and can certainly strike at any moment; however, that sort of passion should always be kept in check lest it be a catalyst for pain. The idea of emotional distance is a tricky, albeit necessary concept.
I believe this should lead to a discussion regarding how love should be coupled with logical reasons for two people to be together (financial being first and foremost on that list). |
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| Snap. Crackle. Pop. |
[Jun. 17th, 2007|08:36 pm] |
| [ | Feeling |
| | Relaxed | ] |
| [ | Spinning |
| | Yankees vs. Mets | ] |
I feel sorry for my ankles, I honestly do. Technically, my atlas is the weakest point on my body; however, from an anecdotal perspective, my ankles are apt to fail me at any given moment.
I would have thought that given moment would have been during one of the two Aikido Seminars I participated in this weekend. I spent Friday night with Yamada Sensei and 65 other Aikidoka tearing a dojo apart in Teaneck, New Jersey. Mind you, the goal was not to tear the dojo apart, it just so happened that the Aikido we were practicing made it a possibility. Two holes were created in the drywall and a banner was torn down.
The damage was a direct result of the teeming numbers in a finite space, as was the nearly unbearable heat. I say nearly unberable, because the next day I trained for a total of three and half hours (in 5 hours) in a small aircraft hangar-come dojo in upstate New York. My current Sensei (Eran Vardi Sensei) made the astute observation that it was "country Aikido". Such a statement is deceptively charming and does not get to the heart of the matter: unwashed masses who decided to stop following the Grateful Dead and decided to pick up Aikido. I had the distinct pleasure of training with a Quebecoise gentlemen who would have reminded me of Gandalf, had Gandalf brewed his own Hefferwiezen and brought it to an Aikido seminar in a jerry-rigged pony keg.
Having Gandalf at the seminar did not dissuade the Balrog-like heat from assaulting us. Outside of the hangar (I mean, dojo) the weather was fair. Inside, the heat hovered above, unmoving despite the multiple fans. After the first session my gi became like a hot wet towel, and I still had two hours of Aikido left. Despite the heat, the training was great from a physical exertion perspective, but mediocre from a learning perspective. Harvey Konigsberg Sensei's technique is extremely subtle and can be difficult to pick up on, especially when I still attempt to power through my techniques.
Despite my lack of comprehension, I had a good time training with the assorted aikidoka, save for one rather burly gentleman who decided he needed to correct my technique despite his being no better. Eventually, I grew weary of his tips and I simply muscled through my techniques and tore through him. Benjamin Pincus Sensei once said that gripes with people you train with have a way of sorting themselves out on the mat. I certainly settled some ill-will towards this tick wump by powering through him as hard as I could.
I'm quite off the beaten track when it comes to my ankle, so let me get back to it. I would have though that my ankle would have snapped at the tail-end of a physically exhausting seminar where I thought I might vomit / pass out / die. Instead, my ankle snapped when I attempted to pivot hard and dive towards second base after dodging a tag.
The pain was rather intense at first, but after it subsided, I was left wondering exactly what I did. I could bear weight on my ankle, but I could not walk on it. Had I not heard the snap, I would have said with one-hundred percent confidence that it was a high ankle sprain. The snap did scare me a great deal and I worried that it was broken. X-Rays turned out negative and my initial diagnosis was correct. High ankle sprain, so lots of RICE is in order.
I'm somewhat discouraged that I have a bad wheel. My kyu test is coming in July and I won't be able to help out Mercurial with his move as I had promised a while a go. I'm also at the lightest I've been (in terms of weight) since Junior year in high-school and I would like to keep that momentum going. I will say that your feet up on the coffee table with a bag of ice on your right ankle is much easier to take when A-Rod is jacking two-run dingers against the Amazins. |
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| Roots |
[Apr. 9th, 2007|12:02 am] |
| [ | Feeling |
| |  tired | ] |
| [ | Spinning |
| | 2002 - Dance With A Princess | ] |
I spent Easter Weekend at home, which turned out to be a blessing and a curse. 'Twas a blessing due to the sheer volume of sleep I engaged in, which was a welcome change from 4:00 AM trips to various Diners after copious amounts of alcohol had been imbibed. I find myself cursing the visit on Saturday night when none of my friends were picking up the phone and I found myself watching The Ten Commandments with my father, who thought the special effects were so the shit.
In an act of self preservation, I took to the intarweb on my laptop, in search of something that might hold my attention before I had to chaffeur my brother from New Haven back to the family villa, because he couldn't get Saturday night off. I'm not sure what exactly led me to start googling Rhy'Din, but before I knew it, I found myself at a site that was started by a few castaways from the Red Dragon Inn, a popular free-form gaming chat room on AOL, back when it was actually useful. Please note: I found it delicious that the very activity that kept me occupied and away from my parents in middle school / high school was now keeping me from jumping out the first story window due to sheer boredom.
I'm finding it difficult to find a place to start when describing my experiences with FFGF. I remember the progression very well. I made a few friends playing FFGF which lead me into Mage / Vampire, and I played until the middle of my Sophomore year in College when a huge drama-bomb went off and just vaporized the entire community I was involved in. Regardless, the RP scene assisted me in developing my shitty writing style, and taught me more than a couple lessons about life. The site is tanking right now, but it's definitely something I'm going to check out in the future and see if I can't devine any inspiration from settling myself into a character and simply going at it. |
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| Tristan & Isolde |
[Jan. 15th, 2007|12:21 am] |
| [ | Feeling |
| | tired | ] |
| [ | Spinning |
| | Relative Silence | ] |
I'm sitting down to watch Love Me If You Dare, but before I begin, I wanted to comment that Clive Owen is everywhere lately, which isn't a bad thing. I'm hoping to see him in Children of Man this week, in what will prove to be my frist jaunte to the cinemas in a long time. Hopefully the Jersey crowd will not be an uncivilized mob.
So, I watched Tristan & Isolde this weekend. After watching King Arthur I was worried that this film was going to be another piece of period crap. King Arthur had a lot of potential and failed to deliver on many levels and I really feared that Tristan & Isolde was going to suffer the same shortcomings.
I was pleasantly surprised by Tristan & Isolde and I definitely thought it was a good film, one of the better Western films I have seen a while. I had numerous amounts of anachronistic nits to pick; however, the film moved well and the cinematography was gorgeous (and I mean gorgeous).
I think if I was still in my "Braveheart is the best fucking film ever" phase, I would have been calling up all of my friends and telling them how much they need to see this film; however, I'll simply say that if you enjoy a good period romp (yeah, that sounds terrible) once in a while, check out Tristan & Isolde, it's a competent film. |
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| Review: Extra Virgin |
[Jan. 14th, 2007|02:29 pm] |
| [ | Feeling |
| |  hungry | ] |
| [ | Spinning |
| | Bears vs. Seahawks | ] |
259 West 4th Street (Between Charles and Perry)
New York, NY 10014
212-691-9359
www.extravirginrestaurant.com
I reserve Monday nights for rest and relaxation as my sleep schedule is often out of sorts after the weekend; however, this particular Monday night, I found myself barreling down the West Side Highway in Dre's WRX Sti at eighty miles an hour, attempting to make a 7:30 reservation when it was already 7:45. We found parking a few blocks from the restaurant (if you're driving, there are no convenient garages, it's all side streets) and did not have much of a problem seating a party of six despite our tardiness.
Extra Virgin draws a young crowd who dress in a casual, but trendy style. More mature eyes would call the restaurant dark and the low drone of the chillout electronic music could be a touch lower. The space is very tight, with small chairs, and found myself shuffling a bit to get out of the way of the wait staff; however despite the size of the restaurant, there are a fair amount of tables and a full bar.
Only knowing the name of the restaurant, I would have assumed the restaurant was Italian; however, the menu is very much Mediterranean with quite a few fish choices. The menu seems to change regularly, as I ate there on Monday and looking at the menu today it is completely different. The two choices I tried were the farafel pasta and the falafel encrusted salmon, on top of eggplant. I found the farafel to be excellent, the sauce was chock full of tomatoes and basil with a slight, spicy kick to it. I did not find the falafel encrusted salmon to be all that tasty; however, the eggplant was extremely tender.
My only criticisms regarding the food was that I found the olive oil to be "off". I cannot explain it, but it just did not taste like olive oil should. Furthermore, I found the Pinot Grigio (Sydney Ann, Italy) to be very light and watery.
An entrée, two glasses of wine, and dessert came to $50, which I found completely reasonable. I would certainly recommend this restaurant for a romantic night out; however, for a group of friends, I would find a more comfortable venue. |
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