Growing up in Baton Rouge there were three big things that I remember. LSU, the Chemical Plants, and Jimmy Swaggart Ministries. My parents were not much into church, but they sent me to Catholic schools up until 9th grade. I always thought that religion was a bunch of crap because of the way the the nuns and priest treated us kids in school. They hated us. I went to Redemtorist Jr. High and High School until I was later transfered to Zachary due to my parent's divorce. Anyway, I remember a time when I was struggling with wether or not to believe god. I was always hearing about men in our church that were getting divorced because of cheating on their wives, etc. even though they were prominate members of the catholic church, etc. Suddenly these men that were always doing the readings at mass, etc. would just dissappear. Not to get into a big religious discussion or anything, but I eventually chose not to believe for many reasons, but I can clearly recall this one time when I was about 14 years old, driving down Essen Lane by Jimmy Swaggart ministries, around the time that he had been busted for his second time with a prostitute but forgiven by God and his people, and someone had tagged the front of his building with the words, "JE$U$ $AVE$" with dollar signs. I laughed my ass off and my parents told me that it was not funny. I have no idea why I posted this memory, but the recent shit with David Vitter getting busted with the DC and New Orleans madams made me remember this. Vitter says that everything is ok now because he talked with God and has been forgiven. I guess I can go and cheat and have sex with prostitutes and everything will be ok as long as I go to church when I get caught and ask for forgiveness.

I'm 33 and have been a size 32 and eaten whatever the hell I want since I was 18. All of a sudden I am growing a belly. I haven't changed anything in my diet or physical activity. What in the hell is going on? My jeans don't fit. I've weighed 173 pounds for the past 16 years. I weighed myself at the gym the other day because I've noticed my stomach getting bigger and son of a bitch if I didn't weigh 182 pounds. What the hell? Is this happening to anyone else?

I've been having weird, revelatory dreams lately. At the start of the week there was the one where I was dating a woman with an intense violence fetish, and though she was beautiful and the sex was fantastic, I realized it was drawing me further into a pattern of valuing hurtful behavior. I awoke with the realization that I am ready to let go of pursuing relationships with people that enable my own flaws.

Mid-week I dreamt about an award ceremony filled with pomp and hyperbole, honoring some old guard of the Black political cadre in Oakland. My father was given a token award of some kind, or I found out he was later, after I had made a token appearance and left. I didn't have a good place to stand and couldn't see much point in being there except to "show the flag" so I left, and felt a mix of regret at missing my dad and embarrassment that he would be dragged into such an event. This had a lot to do with my role at my job, as the only white guy in an organization with a lot of history of good work and also hyperbole.

Then last night or the night before, I dreamt I was at a park, with an old friend, and we were talking about the importance of pursuing what is wanted and being sincere. Then she kissed me and told me I was what she wanted. I was instantly in love. I sort of know what this is about but I'm not sure why I picked that old friend (who's happy in Guatemala and nearly about to be engaged) as the proxy for the person I attach those feelings to right now.

I tell myself things, through dreams, and I believe that God speaks to me there too, though maybe just through murmurs and sighs. That's the god of my own conception, either a coyote, or a wizened mischievous harlot with piercing eyes, or an irascible misanthrope with a penchant for whimsy and a soft spot for cruelty.

How do you send messages to yourself? And what else speaks to you in those ways?

Rest area in Maryland:



Record store in Princeton, NJ:

I haven't made a front page post in a while. Nor a journal entry really. Other than that one I made when I was drunk and don't even really rememeber making much less what it was about. So I thought I'd make one today.

This weekend I did a savate seminar and tested for rank at the end. Savate is a French form of kickboxing. It's pretty neat. I probably burned 50,000 calories this weekend. The weekend was made a little more rough for me due to the fact that I fractured my fibula six weeks ago and was up for a promotion on Wednesday (that I didn't get) and so got SEVERELY roughed up, including three thai kicks to my left thigh and a bruised up nose and upper lip. I was very pretty. So I had to wrap my left thigh and left ankle for the whole seminar.

Friday night went from 6:30pm to 9pm. We were all pretty tired after two hours of drills. Then Saturday went from 10am to 6:30pm with a two hour break for lunch. We all thought we were going to die. Then Sunday started at 10am with drills and then testing started at noon.

I didn't really know what to test for as I've only really been doing savate since January and until today was unranked. The ranks go blue glove, green glove, red glove, white glove, yellow glove and silver glove. I just filled out my form, which included some ... interesting questions like "How do you promote the French culture?" I left it blank. But I should have put "I know this chick Myriam, she like, speaks French and I'm totally down with that."

By the time the testing came around I was like "I never want to do any more savate ever in my life." Everything hurt and I was tired and achy and cranky and another couple hours of jumping kicks and blocking punches didn't sound fun to me. I expressed this thought to my friend Greg who was doing drills with me and he said "You're testing. Suck it up." So they put me in the white glove group and I ended up being the only girl and thus, the shortest and also partnered with my friend Mike who is like, nine feet tall and all leg.

The whole premise of savate testing I really like, because not only are you trying to show your skills and technique, you are also trying to make your partner look good. So you don't go at it just to beat the crap out of your partner. You're both trying to help the other one pass and show off your best stuff also.



Mike and I both passed. So obviously the one foot height disparity worked for us. We were also told we were the best in our group and probably could have gone for a higher rank. But we have our White Glove. I guess the fact that I skipped to the fourth rank is pretty cool. My friend Dana tested for Silver with three other people. Only she and one other dude passed. The dude had a metal rod in one of his legs from a motorcycle accident and was doing like... these flying spinning kicks. It was pretty amazing.

So now I have a brown belt in martial arts blend and a white glove in savate. (Which means, I could officially compete in savate competitions ... if I were so inclined.)