Bruce Lee Had He Not Taken that Aspirin

This would be him. With his wife Marilyn. Czech artist Andrzej Dragan, a quantum physicist, made this outstanding Photoshops.

Tough

Jo Ellen Gryzb and Robin Chandler, authors of 'The Nice Factor: The Art of Saying No' want you to stop being too nice and start being tough. Here's their 10-step guide to getting tough

1. Don't smile Smiling gives someone permission to think you don't really mean what you say as you have this big grin on your face
2. Stand your ground Backing off is wishy-washy. Standing your ground gives weight to your intention. This means both physically and verbally
3. Tell the truth Let the other person know what you are feeling. Let them know you aren't comfortable with what they are doing
4. Agree when it's unexpected If someone tells you you're being silly, agree. They have no place to go after that. "You're a bit touchy." "You're right, I am." It takes the wind out of their sails
5. Don't point fingers If you intend to tell someone you don't like their behaviour, start sentences with how you feel, not what's wrong with them. Pointing an accusatory finger will only make them more defensive
6. Make up a list of handy excuses This will get you out of situations long enough to see clearly what's going on before you put yourself back in the fray
7. Change your mind whenever you want to You have the right to change your mind, whether it's two minutes, two hours or two months after the fact. There will be times when you don't want to honour your commitments
8. Keep things short and sweet Gabbling won't help, it just gives the other person rope to hang you with
9. Don't engage Never apologise or explain. Don't supply fuel for someone to use against you
10. Get your 'no' in quickly Set your marker right at the beginning of the discussion. You can always change your mind later, but if you say it fast, it's out on the table and can't be ignored

Yatta by the Green Leaves

This is a classic I thought I posted a long time ago but I didn't. Asia's answer to Full Monty and YMCA.

Fight Club Lessons for Writers

Carlo Rotella, author of Cut Time: An Education at the Fights, decided to just watch YouTube to find the art and poetry of streetfights. In his Slate article, Rotella even gave us lessons he got from watching websites of these fights. He gave us the basic lesson (Skip the preliminaries, strike first, and keep it coming) which makes Brad Pitt really a poseur. I mean, no more braggadocio in real fights. So goodbye to Filipino fight films, for that matter. I know this because I've seen this. One guy would start heaving for to his "300" scream and "Kappow" he's down before he can draw out his breath from his diaphragm.
There is very little you can draw from actual streetfighting with writing, or maybe there is. One, no more preparation for the big finish if you started bad. Maybe this is the lesson for writing leads. If your lead is bad, be sure to be knocked out by the reader.
Rotella's first lesson (If you're going to pick a fight, or consent to such an invitation, know what you're getting into and be prepared for a fast start and a quick finish). Most fights are a blur, even to the pugilists. One, you are either very drunk to be in a fight or blinded by rage. You can either be very dangerous at this state of mind or very stupid. Similarly, if you're very drunk and you are writing the editorial, forget it. You are picking a fight you would regret the next morning when it is published. It's either you picked the wrong guy (there are fight videos here where the picker get picked on very brutally) or you get into a fast fight and your body is in slo-o-ow motion. You die a slo-o-ow death. I hope, figuratively.
Second lesson: If people are standing around smiling mysteriously and pointing cell phones at you for no apparent reason, you should get ready to duck. Remember as a writer, you are also a target. Know these mysterious smiles. Beware of the sucker punch. Don't write as if there's no tomorrow because you will get it.
Third lesson from Rotella is: There's a thin line between doofus and genius, and people often fight with one foot planted on each side of it. Norman Mailer is one writer who liked to brawl. And he acknowledged that he was putting his feet in Nobel stage and doofusland when he did. Unless you have the arsenal of Mailer's books, don't follow suit.
Rotella's last lesson is more of the commentary side. It's the blow-by-blow from the people watching. No color commentaries. Just "he just beat you, man" and other obvious observations. Why? Because of the spontaneity of the fights, you just can't believe it. They're fighting in front of you. There's blood and then woof! it's over.
Poems should aspire for that, sometimes. Fight in front of the unknowing readers and make them think, Oh, it's a fight, while you are being read. Then it's over and the readers would think, What was that? And the poem will re-play like a YouTube in their minds.
Inspired by such, I decided to click on one of the websites Rotella recommended and randomly clip on one fo the videos:

After watching this, I was thinking, where's the genius? This is all doofus extravaganza. And the things they are doing to their family jewels are so awesome. Nice way to start the day.

Farewell Sensei

Given a choice many summers ago between Japanese Karate Association and Fine Arts Men Sphinx Karate Club, is there a choice for a would-be writer? Also FAMSKC has cool posters of all those Shaolin fists, blocks, stances and kicks. So there we were, with my neighbour Cristilin, facing Col. Manny De Leon teaching us the proper stances. There is something wrong with him, the way we pictured the fearsome sifus of those Chinese martial arts movies. He was patient, winsome and dashing. Cristilin and me became masters of the kata in birthday parties and a few times, I used my karate skills even a masterful chop that rendered my playmate unconscious. And then his father would go to our house wanting to see me and I would be hiding under the bed listening to the crybaby, his father and my father who never confronted me later. That happened many times (when I hit an "enemy" with a slingshot right on the forehead, for example) that I began to fear the fathers more than the sons. Why is it when I got hurt, I was even afraid to go home and bear the nagging of my mother and instead hie off to my best friend? Anyway, dear Sensei. After four years I left his fold but I still keep my little notebook of his lessons. The last time I really got to him was when Nestor Fernandez from the U.S., one of the masters of martial arts there, came home and we had lunch together. He has retired as a police officer but still was this gentle and smiling sensei. He died last November 12. Maybe someday like Peter Bacho I will write a long essay about my Martial Arts Years but not now. Right now, I will keep my pain private. As Willi would say again and again, here goes Mr. Flagellant.

Bruce Lee

Waht else do you know about Bruce Lee that I don't know? Ha ha ha. Don't call you child "Phoenix." Because Bruce, who's partly German also, was named "Sai Fon" or "Little Phoenix." Chinese sometimes name their sons with a girls name like Little Phoenix and their daughters with a man's name like "Phoenix Suns" to confuse the Devil but they end up confusing themselves and the Civil Registry. So like River Phoenix, Bruce Lee died like a comet and will live again. He was the Cha Cha champion of Hong Kong and has a notbook of the different combinations of cha cha moves. He never lost a fight but Trobador Ramos had been telling us that he did beat him. Tsing Tsong Tsai said he beat Trobador but I should not write about that. Bruce Lee is also a boxing champion. More on him later. You know what i used to crave? His yellow tracksuit (some said jumpers) until Uma Thurman used her won in Kill Bill. I said to myself, Sa iyo na. She can have it. What can we do? She owned us with that one. Now I wish I can own her.

Yes, This is The Peach That The Monkey Stole

And I will do this to you for not answering my quiz two nights ago.

What is Monkey Steals the Peach?

Ask the Jedi squirrels

Noong Bata Tayo

Katatapos lang ang interview ko kay Tsing Tsong Tsai tungkol kay Ramon Zamora, FPJ, Erap (nagbigay ng break niya sa "Dragnet"), Mon del Rosario, Wengweng at Trobador Ramos. Siyempre nasa 50s Diner kami at pinapakinggan namin ang mga 50s at 60s music. Sabi niya, pag wala daw siya pinapalitan ng crew niya noong una ng hiphop yung music. Pinagalitan niya ang mga ito kasi nga dapat kasama iyan sa ambyans. At marami ding kustomer na iyan lang ang hangad. Yung bumabalik sa panahon nila. May mga bata rin na binabalikan ang tugtog ng mga magulang nila. Naalala ko tuloy noong bata ako. Noon akala ko ang fog (oo, kami lang sa Baguio ang nag-iisip niyan) ay ulap. Ang lupa at bundok ang umaangat para humalik sa alapaap.

Meron kaming kapitbahay na hippie, bigla siyang nawala. Martial Law noon. Sabi ng kalaro ko, sa dami ng kuto tinangay siya ng mga uwak.

Noong una akong nakita ang giraffe, unang pumasok sa utak ko: Paano ka naman kaya mananalo sa hide-and-seek dito?

Pork Chopsuey

Ramon Zamora R.I.P.