SHAFTWAXER

And with that, the WGI Northeast Power Regional is done. In all, a good weekend. Here’s a tip. If you plan on going into Canada, even to just drive through it, you need your birth certificate or a passport now. Things have changed, and I completely missed the memo on that one. We did discover, however, in lieu of having either of those things, your drivers license and a Sam’s Club card might do in a pinch. Suffice it to say, I think I’m going to get a passport soon.

I met and talked with this beautiful girl from Sonnor, an independent world guard from Quebec. Liked their show as well, I was interested in seeing how to make a world class show work with only 8 members on the floor. But this girl was fascinating. Her command of English was extremely solid, especially coming from a part of Canada that really don’t care much for anything not in French. She did bring up a really interesting point, listening to an American speak French (i.e. me) has just the same effect as when we listen to people from Australia or the UK speak with their accent. To quote my new Canadian friend, “it’s exotic, almost erotic.” She’s completely right. I could have listened to her read to me from a Calculus text book all day and night and not gotten tired of it.

As an aside, guards from the East coast are for the most part unreceptive to groups that are not also from the East coast. They tend to have a slightly icy, almost disinterested disposition when a guard comes over from somewhere like… I don’t know… say… Michigan. When they were announcing the groups for the retreat in finals, Third Edition received quite a significant crowd response. They came in 2nd place and made block again, but to be able to come to slightly hostile territory and win over people with the quality and emotion of your show… In many ways, that’s better than hitting a block score. Sitting in the crowd during finals after we performed before the awards, it was cool to overhear other people talking about “that cool butterfly guard.”

So what have we learned from all of this? I think it is safe to say that I have a superior command of French. And German is a close second.

I went to a dance club last night for the first time in… uh… wow… a long ass time. Let us look at two exhibits.

Exhibit A: Break-dancing fool.
Clearly enjoying himself, and more importantly, drunk off his ass. There has to be somebody who will be “the first one” on the dance floor before all of the other shallow hulls of humanity will flock like lemmings to the bass driven slaughter. I think the thing that prevents Break-dancing fool from scoring with the ladies is the fact that coming anywhere near him or a 3 foot radius of him will result in blunt force trauma to yourself. And for those that think that I am choosing the phrase “break-dancing” as a way of heightening the irony of the situation, that he just might be some white guy with minimal rhythm flailing his appendages in every which direction… No. Dude was break-dancing. Just think about that for a little bit. OK, now stop thinking about it. It makes the mind blink.

Exhibit B: Miami Vice
Remember the image of somebody with minimal rhythm flailing his appendages in every which direction? Right. That guy. Now put him in a grey suit open with a black shirt under it. Reconnaissance teams informed us that our Don Johnson had been spotted at the same club before with the all white suit instead. Seemed to be an older guy, maybe late 20s to mid 30s. Danced with himself the whole night. Huge fucking club, decent sized dance floor, and he struck me as alone. I don’t want to say that he was trying way too hard… I don’t to NOT say he was trying way too hard either…

Now, after we get done making fun of our 2 friends, who is sadder? Break-dancing fool, Miami Vice, or the person way too self conscious to get on the dance floor in the first place?

…it begins… again…

It appears that I have developed a bit of a reputation as of late, especially in certain circles that I am in. I seem to be considered “the accountability guy”. I guess if you were going to be pigeon-holed as something, better that than “epic douchecock”. I think that a lot of this may stem from my sheer and utter frustration from “my old life” as a public school teacher.

I used to hate my job, not because of the kids, but because of what the kids were coming from. It seemed like the expectation was that the parents really had no reason to discipline their children, and if their child were to (supposedly) act up or do something stupid in class, it clearly wasn’t the fault of the child. No consequences. So that leaves me having to make a judgment call: do I teach the material I was hired to teach, or do I spend most of my time teaching them to be responsible human beings? I chose the later as it was plainly clear that their parents and the other teachers didn’t give a fuck to do it themselves.

I think that some of this has followed me into my new life. It seems that the adults are just as bad, if not worse, than the children were. Actions have consequences. When you do or say something, it will cause a ripple. If what you did was cool, then it will be a good ripple to those around you, sometimes making unforeseen positive changes in ways you probably never imagined. If you act like a stupid shit, don’t be surprised when it comes back to bite you in the ass.