E would say that I need to be kinder to myself. I did, after all, slightly injure myself at work three days ago, twisting some ligament that connects the left thigh bone to the hip bone, I believe. What do I know? I'm not a doctor nor do I play one on TV. All I know is muay Thai drills didn't seem the thing to be doing. Heck, my 30-year-old @$$ is still feeling the after-effects of repeated takedown drills from two weeks ago.
So needless to say I didn't attend MMAC last Tuesday. Instead, I relaxed (sort of) at a coffee shop and was just about to get up and leave when they started the open mike poetry. Ah, yes, as you can imagine in a town such as Athens, OH you had just about one of every open mike poetry stereotype you know. The black-clad beatnik, head to toe. Only in traditional Athens-non-comformist style, her beret was a shade of deep purple. A couple of high-schoolers, one an "old pro" of sorts. You could tell she'd been here before, reciting tales of love with stylistic cliches. And I don't mean that to be harsh at all. Hell, she was up there reading -- props to her. She brought a friend, a nervous fellow up there for the first time. He sounded just as you'd expect for someone doing this for the first time.
All in all, some were good, some were bad. I admit to being far from qualified to give a deeper assessment. All I know is that while I certainly wouldn't go out of my way to avoid that again, I probably won't be rushing back there every Tuesday night. Hell, this time next week when I'm (hopefully) at Club again, I won't even remember the open-mike-night exists.
I suppose that makes me sound like a bit of a troglodyte choosing martial arts over poetry. But then again, martial arts are arts, too, right? I'm just pissed that I missed the knife fighting. I'll be there tonight and there'll be two straight hours of it, so that'll be cool.
So needless to say I didn't attend MMAC last Tuesday. Instead, I relaxed (sort of) at a coffee shop and was just about to get up and leave when they started the open mike poetry. Ah, yes, as you can imagine in a town such as Athens, OH you had just about one of every open mike poetry stereotype you know. The black-clad beatnik, head to toe. Only in traditional Athens-non-comformist style, her beret was a shade of deep purple. A couple of high-schoolers, one an "old pro" of sorts. You could tell she'd been here before, reciting tales of love with stylistic cliches. And I don't mean that to be harsh at all. Hell, she was up there reading -- props to her. She brought a friend, a nervous fellow up there for the first time. He sounded just as you'd expect for someone doing this for the first time.
All in all, some were good, some were bad. I admit to being far from qualified to give a deeper assessment. All I know is that while I certainly wouldn't go out of my way to avoid that again, I probably won't be rushing back there every Tuesday night. Hell, this time next week when I'm (hopefully) at Club again, I won't even remember the open-mike-night exists.
I suppose that makes me sound like a bit of a troglodyte choosing martial arts over poetry. But then again, martial arts are arts, too, right? I'm just pissed that I missed the knife fighting. I'll be there tonight and there'll be two straight hours of it, so that'll be cool.
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