Chapter 286

Another day in paradise. I taught my classes, went home to eat a tomato sandwich and chunks of meat for lunch, rinse and repeat in the afternoon. The dog had chewed on a plastic bag during my absence, and as soon as I walked in his body language was one of a little animal who knew he’d done fucked up. I wish he’d realize it before doing something illegal and refrain, but he’s after the instant gratification from chewing that piece of cellophane, I guess. There are lessons to be learned from that, we should fight our basic instincts, do what’s right and abstain from doing wrong acts. If only it was that easy, we’d be in the year 100 000 now and Earth would be a massive utopia.

In the afternoon I was scheduled to teach Catatonic Class, but only three students were present. Two were in such a deep slumber that I imagine even an earthquake wouldn’t wake them up, I ask the other what’s up. “They went to take the English listening exam”, he replied, and when I asked why he didn’t go, he said he already got a good grade the first time around. He can actually string three words of English together, and the only reason he’s in Catatonic Class is because he’s a recent transfer from a public school. That means that though he’s quite bright, he didn’t take Cambridge grade 10 chemistry and has a bit of difficulty with what I’m teaching, and I helped him review. Part of me hopes he doesn’t ace the midterm exam and gets transfered to a higher class.

(Of course I’m semi-joking here, and I hope he succeeds, like every student I teach. Just saying that having a few capable and motivated students in a group like that doesn’t just make me more sane, but elevates everyone’s level)

Between classes, I listened to music. I’ve been re-reading parts of this diary, and seeing mentions of bands I liked and haven’t listened much since. So I revisited Ferriterium and Thermohaline and their two powerful black metal releases, then I blind-clicked on the link to an album by a French metal band named Karne, knowing that nearly everything published on Black Metal Promotions makes my head bob and fills my darkened soul with evil and delicious feelings. And it didn’t disappoint.

I got home and kicked back a bit. I watched videos about MMA, there are quite a few current and former UFC fighters who got in trouble for domestic violence this month, including the biggest name in the sport from 15 years ago, Chuck Liddell, and arguably the best fighter ever, Jon Jones, in what must be his 537^th fuck-up (after DUIs, failed drug tests, car accidents, and other pathetic displays of lowlifeness). Let’s see what the UFC does, maybe they’ll give him two slaps on the wrist this time. Domestic violence is disgusting, and it’s another sad truth about combat sports, not only it attracts violent individuals, but it might also make them even more violent, with the effects of CTE and other forms of brain damage.

Then I watched a few fights from King of the Streets, the gritty, creepy underground org pitting soccer hooligans in brutal brawls. It’s weirdly fascinating and scratches an itch that MMA and other more polished combat sports don’t always scratch. I must be a sick fuck of some sort, but aren’t we all?

But the only way I’ll scratch the itch stemming from my own desire to fight is through grappling. I’m too old to exchange strikes, and the consequences are too dire, I like my brain the way it is, not turned into scrambled eggs. So I headed to the gym, and trained with my two regular partners. The Italian showed us moves from the X-guard, then we rolled a few rounds. The fact that I can hold my own more than before turns the intensity up a notch or two, and after a few unsuccessful submission attempts or even a setback caused by my spazzy white belt ass sweeping them or improving my position, they get angry and crush me like a beetle. Still, it’s all done safely and in good spirits, and that’s another reason to like BJJ, you can go full pin in a way you can’t do in boxing or kickboxing sparring, unless you like walking around like a cowboy, waking up with headaches and go to work with bruises on your face.

I got home and took the dog out for a walk around the block. When I came back, the girlfriend had heated my dinner and I ate it while watching Dark Side Of The Ring. It was about a guy named Johnny K9, a huge scary motherfucker who was by all accounts not only an excellent worker, but also always friendly and respectful and cheerful to his fellow wrestlers, however he led a life of crime out of the ring, getting involved with biker gangs and going to jail for planting a bomb near a police station, drug offenses and an accusation of murder. Then I read a bit in bed and crashed.