SICK SICK SICK

Some unusual things began to happen this week:  
1) I had sleep geography spanning a couple thousand miles.  In each locale (Chicago, Los Angeles, Orange County), my housemate was sick.  Obviously this was a test of my resistance system if there ever was one.
2) I Raided the medicine cabinet.  I was breaking out the Sudafed in no time, only to find it had a 2008 expiration date.  It had literally been years since I had sought it out.  (Expiration dates are almost always folly set up by pharmaceutical companies to motivate sales, so I had no hesitation to ingest my 12 hour magic tablet)
3)  Kleenex excavation occurred.  I searched for it until settling on a roll of T.P., woefully unprepared for the flow coming out of my face.  A thin roll of T.P. fits surprisingly nicely in the breast pocket of a suit, I discovered.


Yes, 'I got sick'.  I was 'under the weather', that is until I asked myself, 'Is It True?'  


It occurred to me that I had conditioned myself from an early age to think that something dreadful had occurred if I were ill.  Furthermore I had convinced myself that my singular "I hate being sick" resolution was the reason I had so muscularly avoided those pesky nose and throat infections that had spotted my childhood.  


Modern day friends who were coming down with something I was secretly judging how awful their experience must be  - that dreaded state of 'unhealthiness'.


As I felt my throat start to get sore a couple nites ago, then the flowface I mentioned, then the headache that asked me to do one simple thing (LAY DOWN), it occurred to me that the state of being I had shifted into was quite a graceful one.


Without any artificial or illegal substance, my perception and energy had undergone a transformation.  I experienced myself as more present, more directed (to the sofa) and simply more relaxed.
My palate of activity options had shrank considerably -- my brain was not dreaming the dream of umpteen accomplishments.  The focus was on honest physical relief -- assuring that the physical anomalies that were present in my system were gaining relief, affirming Myself through my own rest and self-care.  These are ALWAYS important, yet while ill the experience of them is present 10 fold. 'Sickness' is permission and inspiration to actively and mindfully engage the healing process.  It's a call to action.  


When I had mononucleosis in high school, I spent a lot of time laying in the sun in the backyard, soaking it in.  I was in a more present state than any other time in my youth I can recall, simply basking in my first meditative state.  I was not one to otherwise sit... not in the yard, not at the beach, not in any extended read of my thick social science textbooks.   The condition, mono 'the kissing disease', that I had somehow contracted without a kiss, had conveniently disengaged my brain and thought patterns.  It was a gift and I knew it.  


Taking the healing opportunity with the mono was a gift, a window to what a meditation could look like -- it was sunlit warm 'No Mind', just Presence.  There really was no other choice than to sit with it in the way that I did.  An amazingly powerful choice was made for me -- the choice to heal, be present and enjoy it all at a cellular level.


Flashing back to today (and thankfully it's not a throat so sore that I have to limit my food choices, nor a condition that prevents me from kissing), it was awesome to just sit in my sunwarmed car for extended minutes.  Just sitting there in a parking lot.  Soaking it in would not have been possible without this shifted state of being.  Who would call such a tool 'an illness' when it is giving me the gift  of a warm presence and a relaxed awareness?  How did this become a dis-ease when I feel so much more at ease?


The whole 'sick is bad' think is a sham.  I have watched others over the years not make a big deal out of sickness, but I was too busy seeing their condition through judging eyes, trying to keep them at a distance and fist bump them instead of shake hands.  


The funny thing is that arguing my wellness in a time of sniffles and coughs and Achoos runs against ears hard of hearing in most sectors.  Everyone wants to judge.  Bad Bad Bad.  Can't work work work.  Capitalism takes a plunge.  Look out.  So sick people show up to work to pass the gift to others.


The Cliff's Notes version of what I am saying here from my sneezing pedestal: 'Getting sick', which I have constantly deemed to be a miserable experience most of my life, something to fear, is simply a powerful shift in the state of being.  It opens windows to positive experiences in consciousness, ones more rare and essential to pay attention to, literal gifts.  


While I won't actively seek out this state or start kissing/licking sick people, I can embrace any state of being handed to me.  


Illness = Bliss, especially in the Sun

Karaoke in China

Recently I was seeking a Karaoke workout without having to go anywhere near the 405 and its Mulholland Bridge remodeling.  The Sawtelle Blvd corridor with it's sushi and strip malls was out of the question, or else Max Karaoke would be my destination of choice on the Westside.


I knew the San Gabriel Valley is home to an extensive Asian population, so there had to be a fine karaoke establishment in the vicinity.  Not just a restaurant or bar when you might have to endure some dour performances, I'm talking about a full scale deluxe song-after-song private room karaoke, the kind you're hoarse from the following day from goofing around and singing your guts out.


Before I knew it I had googled myself to Energy Karaoke in Alhambra.  After meeting my karaoke compadre Martha Quintanilla for fish tacos in El Monte at La Bufadora (another mecca of an establishment), we were off to Alhambra.


Soon we found ourselves as tourists in The Orient.  We were the only non-Asian folks for miles on this stretch of Valley Blvd (or at least in the filled-to-capacity parking lot of the deluxe 2 story strip mall)


When I go to sing, I want to belt out as many songs as I can, and 2 people in a private room can sing at least a dozen an hour with a little planning and playlist que-ing.


What we found was a hub of karaoke like none has seen before. It looms in the 2nd story of this Alhambra strip mall, hidden from street view.  After ascending a spiral staircase I thought I had ended up in the antechamber of Space Mountain for the futuristic look of the place.  Everything inside was white other than the 16y old black clad employees who practically swarmed to attend to our needs.  I had relinquished my ID and had two mics in my hand before I could say Kung Pao.


The trickiest part of the venture was learning how to use the touch screen features of song selection.  They had 8 main categories, 1 of which was "Western Bands" and another of which was "Western Singers".  The other 6 were the Asian stations, of which there was a surprising level of talent being broadcast in the lobby.


The sound was great. Everything was first class. This place is pretty brand spankin new.  Before we knew it Beyonce was singing Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh and the engagement was on.   A doubleshot of The Police, some Blondie, R.E.M. and we closed out fittingly with Tom Petty's Mary Jane's Last Dance, our last dance of the day.  


Latin fans won't find even Shakira in the jukebox here, but there was still plenty of roster to choose from.


The only catch I discovered is the $25/hr sounds like a great price, but with a per person 1 drink minimum averaging $5 each, plus the tax and tip they add (based on the whole bill, not just the drinks), it's more like $45/hour.  In this case I decided not to take offense to their tactics, and I wrote it off as the owners using their good if not slightly illegal business sense. I was impressed enough with their operation that I knew I'd be coming back for more and my wallet would be as prepared as my vocal chords.


--KW

Breakfast at Wimbledon

'Breakfast at Wimbledon' is the clever moniker NBC uses to give a savory appeal to their telecast of tennis' most prolific event that plays in the early morning hours on the West Coast.  

Apparently their marketing strategy works as I found myself captivated this year and awake at 6am with my bowl of Puffins and English breakfast tea, watching the matches broadcast from the most famous grass courts in the world.

For those less versed in tennis lore, "Wimbledon (20 June – 3 July in 2011), is the oldest tennis tournament in the world, considered by many to be the most prestigious.It has been held at the All England Club in the London suburb of Wimbledon since 1877. It is one of the four Grand Slam tennis tournaments, the other three Majors being the Australian Open, French Open and US Open. Wimbledon is the only Major still played on grass, the game's original surface.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Championships,_Wimbledon.

I took notes this year and this is what I came up with:

SKINNY GUYS CAN DO IT TOO

One of the many appeals of tennis to an everyday sports fan such as myself is that the tennis athletes' ability to serve the ball 130 mph is not proportionate to how bulging their muscles are.  Everytime I tuned in, another skinny guy was serving aces with miraculous speed and accuracy.  Skinny guys everywhere garner hope from this, that they too will attain such mastery in the metaphor of their own lives.

COAT AND TIE APPEAL

The sheer formality of the event makes Wimbledon one of the most classy events in all of sports.  In attendance are former Wimbledon champions, the Royal Couple and assorted other sharply dressed guests.  Where in sports is the equivalent of "The Royal Box" and its distinguished guests?  It sure isn't Jerry Jones and his cronies in their skybox at Cowboy Stadium.   Something of great importance is occurring when such a crowd congregates.  The only surprise was that sharply dressed Tea Vendors were not walking up and down the aisles selling cream tea and scones.

DRAMA

Only once in the last 9 tennis majors have had the #1 and #2 seeds face each other in the final.  The majors offer drama similar to the NCAA Basketball tournament, where lower seeded players, such as this year's huge-serving #12 seed Jo-Wilfried Tsonga made the "Final Four" better known as the Men's Semifinal Round.  

Not only that, but the international convergence of the event is World Cup-esque, with entire countries and regions uniting behind players, such as this year's champion Novak Djokovic and his entire  motherland Serbia attuned to his efforts.  Take all 8 semi-finalists for men and women and you have 8 different countries represented: Britain, France, Spain and Serbia on the men's side, and Czechoslovakia, Russia, Germany and Belarus for the women.  This is indeed an Olympic type event, and notice the absence of Americans.

DEAD SILENCE

Imagine dead silence and millions of eyes upon you.  While pro golfers experience an aspect of this as they make a critical shot, I would argue that the pre-serve silence at Centre Court is the most anticipatory silence in sports.  The meditative and reverent hush will lead not only to one ball strike like golf, but perhaps an electrifying 20-hit rallies with thrown bodies and oohs and ahs. 

TROPHY VERBIAGE

On the line is the hoisting of, for men, the "All England Lawn Tennis Club Single Handed Championship of the World" Trophy, simply the longest name of a sweet looking trophy in all of sports.  The Trophy for women is the 'Venus Rosewater Trophy', an even more poetic championship label.

CONVENTIONAL

Adding to the unified consciousness of the event & the simbiosis of respect between players and crowd/audience, the participants are required to wear all-white, with only slight colour accents allowed. The distractions are effectively minimized and all the more eye on the ball.  As far as I can tell, the sport is tattoo-less.  The most progressive expression I saw this year were the darkly painted fingernails of women's champion Petra Kvitova.  You go Petra!

SURFACES

Tennis as a sport plays on several major surfaces: Grass, clay, and different types of hard court.  Depending on what style of play you have, each court gives you distinct advantages.  It brought me to consider if a sport like basketball were also to be played on different surfaces, and different teams had distinct advantages on each surface.  The game would elevate to a whole new level and add a whole 'nother level to the odds-making.  You'd certainly see more flying bodies on a grass court at Staples Center.

THE RUNNER UP

The reverence and respect afforded the runner up in the mens and womens final is second to none in sports as far as I can see.  While the disappointment is palpable in runner ups such as this years Maria Sharapova and Rafael Nadal, both former champions, it doesn't deter the sheer sportsmanship and tradition of Wimbledon.  The runner up is interviewed on Centre Court for all the crowd to hear.   While in America we hear the losing coaches or players or interviewed, it's rarely over the loudspeaker, and it's usually accompanied by some sense of tragedy and hushed tone.  A defeated Wimbledon finalist has no less frustration for having lost, but the honoring accorded them is instructive for all sports.  I would say Wimbledon outdoes even the Olympics and its medal ceremony.  It is gracious, graceful, and it's just one more reason I look forward to 2012 Wimbledon.

Peace & Blessings & 138mph Serves,

Kevin aka SoopKev and SK's Adventures

READY FOR THE SWEET 16

This year I discovered the secret to March Madness:  Fill Out A Bracket.  Simply go online and plug and chug your tournament picks.  Gone are the days of penciling in your picks for the office pool with Bob the Accountant whipping out his slide rule to make the tabulations.  HERE are the days of ESPN.com where 4 million folks all compete with one another with the near mathematical impossibility of picking all the winners. 

The great thing is it’s not even a competition.  The more picks you get wrong, the greater the March Madness.

Take this year’s Sweet 16 (for the uninitiated-  the 16 teams that remain after the main pool of 64).  I picked only 6 of the 16 teams.  Pitiful, right?  No!  This is the whole point.  The more you suck, the better.  And the more random the upset you predict, the more brilliant your reputation becomes.  Suddenly you are an intuitive sage who knew Florida State (seeded 10^th out of 16), Virginia Commonwealth (11) and Richmond (12) would be joining Kansas as the 4 teams remaining in the Southwest region.

In the SE Regional, I didn’t pick Butler to advance, yet their controversial last second win over #1 seed Pitt was the biggest jump-off-the-sofa moment of the tourney. After all, it was a rare bracket that didn’t have Pitt in its Final Four. It was Pitt aka Goliath had guys who looked like professional wrestlers and/or hitmen, and Butler’s tallest player might have been 6’4”*. Butler’s best player from last year’s national runner up team is long gone & playing for the Utah Jazz. No one expected more than a rebuilding year for their 34y old coach who looks 24.  Although their Sweet 16 game against Wisconsin might elicit snoozes, how great would it be to see Butler back in the Elite Eight against Florida or BYU.

Speaking of BYU, if you haven’t seen Jimmer Fredette catch and shoot the ball, the kid actually levitates.  Can’t wait to see him in the NBA as he redefines the word sharpshooter.  I expect him to start draining shots consistently from halfcourt.  He may look about 5’8” out there on the court, but as Doug Flutie, Drew Breese and John Stockton can all attest, more inches are not mandatory for success in professional sports.

Other Blips on the Sweet 16 Radar: 

• Hopefully Ohio State got their insane 3 Pt shot % out of their system. 
• Hopefully Duke and UNC (the greatest rivalry in all of college sports) will meet in the Final Four.
• Maybe even San Diego State will swagger into the Elite Eight (I doubt it guys, Huskies devour Aztecs, but hey, go for it). 
• Will Virginia Commonwealth actually upset Kansas if they can get through Florida State without multiple player hospitalizations from that backbreaking Seminole Defense?

These are but a mere smattering of larger universal questions of the Basketball Gods that will be answered by this week’s 12 games, starting TH with UConn/SDSU in Anaheim.

Onward.

--Reported by SK

*Butler’s tallest player is the highly skilled Matt Howard at 6’8”, I was just making a dramatic point about the overmatched Butler Bulldogs.

Musing on the Excitement of Day 1 of March Madness

I was about to email someone who loves the NCAA Tournament as much as I do (my life coach Steve Chandler), then realized that my new blog here is a great place to plop down my reflections.

I was 11-5 today in my picks.  It ranked me 2,643,235th on ESPN.com.  Maybe after tomorrow I can move up to 1,976,987th place for that dream vacation they're offering.

As for my 5 losers, I picked:

Princeton over Kentucky.  Oops.  Great shot off the glass last second by Kentucky wins it. It was perfectly defended by Princeton but a perfect shot is a perfect shot. That's part of what makes this game great -- no matter how well defended, there is always possible victory over the resistance (aka defender in your face with very long arms).

Penn State over Temple.  Temple wins with a Kobe Bryant style duck and pop shot.  This was after a HUGE 3-pointer by PSU from well past NBA depth.  In my opinion there will be no prettier shot in this tourny than this 3-pointer -- arc, depth and confidence...  Unfortunately for my bracket, no matter how impressive and thunderous this shot was, I still lost.

Louisville over Morehead State.  Who would guessed Morehead State to be so talented?  They Dredlock Dunked all over Rick Pitino's soldiers.  And to think some authority figures in the sports world had Louisville going to the Final Four...

Old Dominion over Butler.  I should have known that Butler would continue its momentum that took it to last year's championship game against Duke.  No domination by the Dominion.

Utah State over Kansas State.  Close but no cigar.  KSU's Jacob Pullen, man with the best beard in college basketball, was sick.  Apparently not sick enough to lose.

My 2 upset winners:

Kudos to Richmond for their victory over Vanderbuilt.  One look at the Vandy bench in the last 2 minutes showed that they were destined for a loss.  Those guys were sleepy and not fired up.

Well done by Gonzaga for their uptempo and athletic win over St. Johns.  Gonzaga is carrying some great momentum. Watch out BYU.  That'll be a great game on Saturday.

Out of 16 games today there were 6 games that came down to the last shot and 3 upsets.  That's a helluva day.  I'm ready for Day 2.

--Reported by SK

FLYPOET

Welcome to my blog!  Thank You for checking out this new expression of mine.

My first entry is on the Flypoet event I attended in Inglewood, CA this week.  This monthly event has poets, some comedy and usually at least one live music act.

I am impressed with the production and the Flypoet founder John Hensley.  To put on an event like this that lasts on a monthly basis for several years is an impressive feat.  Pure poetry or spoken word by itself unfortunately does not appeal to the masses.  What John has created is an actual scene, and with enough variety and enough talent to attract the folks willing to invest $15 & the $8 valet. 

John is a white dude catering to a mostly black audience.  He fit right in which impressed me, as I am someone who keeps my afrocentricity more private.

A VIP booth would have been $80 which I thought was outlandish, but again, John has created a scene where people want to be.  It was unfortunate that some of these booths were vacant as the show started, but because they were prepaid, they were not accessible & a number of guests were relegated to standing room only.

The most annoying thing about the show for me were the waitresses periodically passing thru.  They obscured my view of the stage and their whispered conversations did not add to my experience of the poetry.  The only solution I could think of were to have mute dwarf waitresses, but I’m not sure how that would go over.

The opening performer did some comedy, sang and rapped.  Her rapping was the best part.  Her humor was mostly good but unfortunately inappropriate when she was doing her impersonation of Latino kids sharing Black History Month which happened at her daughter’s school.

The 2^nd performer was Steve Connell.  This guy got on stage and goofed around with the audience & musicians for the first 5-10 minutes.  He was the worst dressed guy in the place with his skanky flannel.  He was also hilarious & has his own one-man show.  He was the only white performer this evening.

Watching him goof around gave me no idea he would unleash explosive and inspiring poetry with expression that was simply all-out, channeled and executed with exquisite skill. Steve completely rocked the house.

Next was Ahmad, a musician who had the single ‘Back in the Day’ sell over 500,000 copies.  As I was a first time Flypoet attendee, I did not understand he was a music only act, so my poetry compadre Marie and I were waiting for him to do some straight up poetry.

Ahmad’s songs were catchy but his stage performance was a little sketchy and uneven in my eyes.  He seemed to have some kind of discomfort or shadow over him.  His final song was a cover of Florence and the Machine which was an interesting choice given the audience.  He didn’t acknowledge its source which Marie and I found to be unprofessional.

The next poet, Paul Mabon, was half comedy, and I perceived him to be the most easygoing performer of the evening.  He had Sinbad type moments as a big jovial presence onstage.

He executed the most vulnerable poem of the evening about a pastor committing child abuse with a presentation that made it seem like it was his own experience.  The crowd didn’t seem to know what to do with the subject matter as nervous chatter popped up here and there.

Mabon’s poetry was clearly not at the level of Connell or the final performer, Sekou the Misfit, but as the happiest and calmest stage presence he was the most memorable to me.  He wasn’t trying to impress anyone, he was just comfortably and naturally up there doing his thing. 

His closing interactive piece of “You Ain’t Got No Man” had the crowd rollicking more than any other piece of the night, as he listed myriad ways to spot single women.

Sekou the Misfit closed the evening.  He was advertised as “one of the most gifted and accomplished spoken word artists in the world”.  After seeing him perform, I do understand this titling.

Marie and I nicknamed him “The Narcissist”.  His poetry and intricate and incredible. This guy is a pro.

At the same time it was tough to not experience him as far away if not slightly ‘off’. He seemed extremely proud of himself.

I experienced his poems as deeply ingrained in Victim Ideology. Yes they impressed but to me they seemed to be saying what a victim he was to love, sex & life, and how it’s possible to perceive it that way.

I have conflicting thoughts and feelings about this cat.  He certainly delivers with almost a vengeance.  He’s fluid, his poems are long, interesting and even captivating at times with his visual language.

Yet when said and done it was a momentary experience.  There was not much to carry forward other than being impressed with what he did onstage.  This is not a guy I would want to hang out with.

--Reported by Super Kev