Bruised

"Pikachu," my boss looks concerned, "did you get in another bar fight?"

"Another? When did I get in a first bar fight?"

Crash brushes past the comment, still pointing to my face, "You have a black eye, and its not the same one you had last week."

***

"Badge?" the guard says, "ID?"

I show him both and he nods, "Have a nice day ma'am."

I lean to one side to put the wallet back in my pants pocket and get some leverage on my bicycle to kick off.

"Uh, ma'am?"

I look back at the guard who seems to be struggling to find a polite way to ask this, "Is your...eye alright?"

"Mosh pit."

***

"Holy shit," Playlist says, "what the hell happened to your arms?"

I look down at my forearms blearily the morning after karate practice. They are black and blue on more than half the surface area.

"Conditioning drills,"

"You look like a battered wife."

Its a standard karate drill. Everybody who I know who has taken any martial art seriously has gone through this drill. Shihan always says that if you do not get bruises from it you were not working hard enough. For at least 500 years this drill has been a part of the training of every practitioner, and yet suddenly now these same marks on my arms are a source of concern.

***

Pacem sits on the couch across from me. The chain on his bike caught and threw him, using the right side of his body as a brake. His ankle is wrapped, as is his wrist on the same side. Just below his knee is a long strip of skin worn red from the friction burn and the asphalt. His toes on the other foot are wrapped from a separate incident. He must have had to explain it six or seven times in about 45 minutes over dinner.

***

When did we, as a society, begin living in an environment where our body's natural healing abilities became sources of distress? A few small scrapes can be considered a natural part of an active life. I might take this to excess, but I'm still somewhat floored at the way some people treat every little scratch like an emergency.

***

"I fell today," the IM flips onto my screen from 3Stack.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, the EMS came and everything."

"What?"

"And the firetruck came too."

"The what?"

The injury was a friction burn in gravel, small enough to be covered by a single band-aid within a few days. I had broken two bones and a black eye the same weekend.

***

"She's pissed because you bruised her," he said.

I was baffled, "how did I?"

"You gripped her shoulder too hard for the throw."

"Its judo sparring...don't these things happen?"

My friend sighed, "She found it upsetting, she--"

"Should grow up," I snapped.

"You need to take good care of your sparring partner. Your partner is your best teacher."

***

"Hey Magpie, you scream like a girl!"

There wasn't a response.

"Hey Magpie!" I shouted, getting out of bed to walk to the doorway of my room, "Did you hear me? You sound like the three stooges!"

There's a spot of something red and slick on the floor. More lead me to the kitchen where I find Magpie standing with his head leaned against a cabinet. One finger is held high in the air. with the opposing hand wrapped around it. The blood runs through his fingers and down his forearms.

"I can see the bone," he says.

"Uhh..."

"I want to go to the hospital NOW."

Four hours later Magpie is sitting back in the living room with five fresh stitches.

"Two weeks," he says.

"Until what?"

"Until I take them out."

I'm a little baffled, "Until you have them taken out."

"No, I'm going to do it myself. I would have put them in myself but the cut was at an angle."

"You're...kidding right?"

"No I'm serious... I've done it before."

Trust Magpie to find a cultural shift and run the other way.

***

I'm amazed how protective parents are of their kids now. I remember elbow and knee pads being available for roller-blading but I remember all the kids taking them off as soon as they rounded a corner. Helmets on bikes were a struggle.

I saw a kid today clutching the handlebars of her bicycle, teetering from side to side on her training wheels. Her little pink helmet matched the elbow and knee pads she wore.

"Slow down!" she called to her brother, "I'm scared to go that fast!"

***

My childhood dog sits wagging her tail at the foot of the cherry table. Her ears point up and swivel forward as the stranger talks.

"Yellow lab?" insurance man asks.

"Ah, mostly German Shepard part yellow lab."

"She looks like a yellow lab to me."

The dog's ears swivel again on top of her head. Yellow labs have ears which flop at the sides of their heads. As a matter of fact, aside from her coat, she doesn't look like a lab at all.

"Owning a German Shepard might impact your insurance. Its lucky she's almost entirely a lab."

When did a dog safe enough for police work become a liability?

***

"So you want to learn?"

"Yeah."

He looks at me skeptically, "technically we don't do submission wrestling here if anybody asks. The administration considers it dangerous."

"A 500 year old sport is suddenly too dangerous?"

***

There is a commercial on my television paid for by the county. Its on the dangers of mosquito bites and why wearing bug repellent is important.

Honestly, I do not think there is anybody out there who wants mosquito bites. I'd also be hard pressed to believe that people don't know that bug repellent repels bugs. This commercial, however, pales in comparison to the media hype that turned swine flu, a disease less deadly than the normal flu, into what was suppose to be a worldwide pandemic doomsday scenario. The entire setup reeks of a whole society that is too hyped up over very small physical dangers.

***

My mind snaps back to the corridor. Crash is pointing to my eye still. He's told me stories about bar fights he was in, about being a national champion. I've watched him fight. Why is a little bruise such a big deal?

"What did you do?"

"It was just a mosh pit man..."

Little Dog Syndrome

I hate little dogs. As far as I'm concerned nothing under 25 pounds is actually a dog, its simply an overgrown rat with a bad attitude.

I'm standing on the grass outside one of Gamma unit and one is being walked past. If it was a real dog and behaving that way it would be in fact walking the owner. It snarls and leaps at every available opportunity, and half way through each leap the leash stops it short with a jerk. As forcing individuals to learn from the consequences of their actions is completely out of style the leash is even a non-choke shoulder harness for the dog, leaving it free to repeat this behavior every few steps.

"Don't come near," the owner says, "He doesn't like people."

Yes, because that's the appropriate solution to the fact that your dog would tear my throat out if it could, just ask me not to go near it. Telling people to "just not go near it" wouldn't fly with OSHA, any zoning ordinance and most courts of law...but somehow it is ok for your dog. You're willing to walk around and pick up your dog's shit every few feet but you won't teach it manners?

***

I seem to be specializing in the white trash ambiance these days. Couches and chairs line grass between the units in front of Gamma and a half dozen college students pick their way among them. A different lady walks by, but the only reason I can tell is because this one has two dogs in tow instead of one. The border collie walks relatively calmly while the little dog is still jerking like a crash test dummy against the impact of his harness.

"May I pet him?" I ask pointing to the larger dog.

The lady nods through chomps of bubble gum, "yeah but not the little one, he doesn't like people."

As I approach the little dog makes a dash for my shins and the owner wordlessly scoops him up. The larger one temporarily rocks back onto his hind legs like it might put his front paws on my stomach.

"GINGER!" The word from the owner is sharp an angry as she flicks the leash. Its a real leash as well, not a chest harness, and the flick puts a small amount of tension on the animal's neck. Ginger sits meekly and waits to be petted. The smaller dog in the owner's arms is still going ballistic.

I think this is a pretty good representation of what is happening in general. The owner could teach both of her dogs self-control, good manners and discipline, or she could simply control the small dog from doing any sort of significant damage. The border collie, however, was probably too big to be brute forced by a small woman into behaving and so she took the time to teach it proper manners.

***

When I was a small child I remember being told to walk close to my mother, and, in circumstances which included extreme shininess, told to walk holding her hand. This was sufficient to keep me from getting lost or being run over by a car.

I'm walking through the farmer's market now. A small child keeps letting go of his mother's hand in front of me and dashing at various stands.

"Ugh," the mother sighs, "that's it! You're going in the stroller."

I find it odd that physically restraining a small child is an acceptable substitute for teaching him manners, but our society has somehow decided it is. In addition to strollers I have also witnessed a variety of leash products for children. Most of these are backpacks with a long handy string on them but a few are complete harnesses which are designed to be difficult for a child to remove.

I wonder what will become of these children when they grow too large for physical restraints to be a feasible control tactic.

***

I had wanted to take karate for a long time but my mother considered it far too violent. However, with the number of kids who were attempting to beat up my brother it was becoming increasingly clear that he needed a way to take care of himself. In 6th grade I was permitted to go to Taekwando lessons with the explicit understanding that I was there for the purpose of taking care of my brother until he was able to take care of himself, and that nothing I learned was to be ever used except to stop bullies from hurting me.

I was forbidden to ever spar under any circumstances by my mother, even in the dojo under sensei's supervision.

About two months later my mother was very angry with me. I have no memory of why she was mad, only that she was, and that she was going to slap me across the face for it. I remember watching her wind up and realizing I did not feel like being hit at that moment, and that furthermore I did not have to let her. I found myself standing with my arm extended in an upper block, her face speechless and red as she found her hand was harmlessly a good foot above my head. I don't think I have ever seen my mother so angry. I backed down at this point and silently let her hit me a few times because I was far more afraid of the anger than her hand. I think she mostly did it to prove that she could. After that she never hit me again.

This is the problem of raising your children by physical intimidation and control. Even if you have no ethical qualms around it whatsoever it is grossly impractical. Your child will eventually grow to be as strong as you.

***

I'm sitting on a bench on the edge of a street amid a large cluster of cafes. I see parents jogging by with children in the strollers. Is it just me or are children staying in strollers until older ages now? I think I have seen some rather industrial models with children as old as seven or eight in them. Was my parent's generation raised like this?

***

The small child bellowed unintelligibly through heaving sobs and tears. The whole restaurant was completely silent and aghast, and alternating between staring at the family and trying not to stare.

I sat there, across from my coworkers, and realized that I was going on my 10th week or so in Hong Kong and that this was the first time I had heard a child throw a screaming tantrum in a public place since I arrived.

I only spent 2 hours on the Newark layover but I witnessed 3 meltdowns.

***

I suppose when it all boils down I don't hate little dogs at all. I hate their owners.

Respect for a dog

So I was riding the train this morning to the subway to the bus to the airport to my interview. God, the flight is two hours and covers several hundred miles, but the first 60 miles or so takes 5.5. Nobody else finds that funny?

If it makes it better it was technically more since I got a ride early from a friend when it was convenient for him then waited instead of walking a few miles to the first station.

I'm not opposed to walking. I walked three and a half each way to volunteer coach earlier this year (in the snow in the cold up hill both ways, blahblahblah). Given the chance though, I'm definitely happy to be lazy. Besides, I'm pretty wiped from karate yesterday.

Karate in a full uniform in 90 degree weather isn't my favourite thing. Karate when you have to wear a second shirt under your top because the gi wasn't designed with women in mind and is prone to wardrobe malfunctions isn't quite as much fun in 90 degree weather. Karate in a full uniform plus another layer underneath in 90 degree weather in a gymnasium where the heater on and can't be turned off due to a system error is remarkably unpleasant. I also forgot my water bottle yesterday.

Whoever installed the water fountain in the back of the gym is my new personal hero. It will make an great essay on whatever bullshit job app or grad school application I fill out next. They are probably tired of reading Lincoln essays anyway.

Anyway, so I was on the train this morning when a woman came in with a dog. It was a big beautiful golden retriever lab mix wearing a guide dog harness. Touching a dog wearing one of these harnesses isn't allowed, it messes up the absolute training they receive that says when they are in the harness they are on the job. Normally I when I see one I just ask if I can pet the dog, the owner removes the harness, and then get to play with an adorable dog. This woman shook her head at my request and spoke to an imaginary person a few feet to my left. "You can't touch him. He's working right now. He is my guide."

I nodded and then thought better of it and responded "Ok." There was a brief awkward silence before I tried to start the conversation again. "He's beautiful. What's his name?"

"I don't give out his name. It distracts him. He's working right now."

I took this as a sign to shut up and went back to work. A few minutes later another lady with a pet dog walked up and said "Does he like playing with other dogs?"

"He can't play with other dogs," said the blind woman, "He needs to work now. He needs to know he's not a dog right now, that he is working."

"But there is another man with a guide German Shepard and she plays with..."

"This dog saves my life every day! Their training is vital! You can not compromise it!" the blind lady was visibly upset by now.

"Yeah, I know," I said trying to appease the situation, "I have wanted to train one of those forever, but my current apartment can't have dogs."

The woman's whole attitude totally changed, "You should."

"I think it would be kind of hard to give it back at the end."

"Oh I imagine it would be," the woman agreed, "I'm so grateful to the people who trained my dog for me. This dog is my eyes. The people who trained this dog gave me my life back."

I chatted a little with the pet owner after that. The blind woman, however, withdrew from the conversation and was totally silent. Her dog, seeming concerned, first sat up on the train seat. When that didn't get a response he put a paw on the blind lady's shoulder, and finally nuzzled her face. The blind lady responded by rubbing the dog's ears and kissing the dog on the forehead.

I can't quite explain how this was different from the millions of dog owners who do this every day, but normally you witness this feeling of the human condescending to the dog with this action. The action fits the words "who is a good puppy huh? Yeaaaaaaaaah you're a good puppy!"

The blind lady's behavior was different. She was quiet and contemplative. At first I thought we had deeply offended her to make her tune us out, but that did not seem to be what was going on. For lack of a better word it seemed the blind woman's way of displaying respect for her dog.

I don't think your average person really stops to respect animals as peers. I'm not saying people should or shouldn't, I'm just saying people who do are rare in our culture. In most old religions mankind is the keeper of the rest of (insert relevant deity's name here)'s creations. You see respect for the animal's needs, or instincts, or space, but it is not often that you witness a human paying respect to the existence of an animal as a peer.

...and yet there it was. Somehow this was an action of overwhelming respect and gratitude. The woman honestly looked almost like she was going to cry.

Quiet raw displays of emotion are rare things to witness in strangers, but they afford these brief few seconds into the lives of that person. This was a very powerful image to witness. I almost took a photograph, but the woman seemed like she wouldn't appreciate such a request, and I didn't want to take advantage of the fact that a person is blind to get a fantastic photograph.

I suppose I had always cognitively comprehended that a blind person could live a far better life with a seeing eye dog than without one, but I guess I had never actually understood previously what a difference it makes.

So, I've made up my mind. When I move out of my current apartment at the end of May I'm going to try to become a foster parent for a seeing eye dog to assist in its training. Hope its a German Shepard or a lab...but more importantly...I hope its housebroken by the time I get it...

Whatever, it will be an adventure.

Edit: people have been asking me about what this involves so here are some links to information I found about it.

Lots of the USA: http://www.guidedog.org/Pupprog/pupprog.htm
CA and WA USA: http://www.guidedogsofamerica.org/raising.html
Mid-Atlantic USA: http://www.seeingeye.org/aboutus/default.aspx?M_ID=123
Lots of the West (as far east as AZ and CO): http://www.guidedogs.com/site/PageServer?pagename=programs_dog_puppy
Maine to Ohio to Carolinas (all states in triangle) USA: http://volunteer.guidingeyes.org/bin/manpage?0+3
Indiana Michigan and Ohio USA: http://www.leaderdog.org/volunteer/puppyraiser/index.php
California: http://www.guidedogsofthedesert.org/volunteer.html

Just google it. The term is "puppy raiser" normally. These are just a few of the results I got. The some of the Australian programs seem to call it "puppy foster parents."

And yeah, looks like housebreaking it is my problem. Joy.