Jadxia

For those of you who know me, you know I've been considering going into security services, specifically personal protection i.e. bodyguarding. It was something I've wanted to do since before I got sick. I went to the one day seminar then, started to get into shape for the week-long training, and then came down with this mystery ailment (which my doctor insists could be fibromyalgia, a disorder I still don't believe is real). I'm not saying people with fibromyalgia don't have pain or symptoms, I just think there are other underlying causes that maybe aren't being looked at closely enough. To me, fibromyalgia is where they lump you when they aren't sure what it wrong, and it probably covers more than one actual ailment.

I spent the next year being sick and not getting better. The more I rested, the less energy I seemed to have. In the spring, I decided I'd simply had enough. If I could not get myself better and live something close to the life I desired, than life simply wasn't worth it. Being a disabled lump unable to do anything isn't really living, and if I followed all the doctors' instructions that is exactly what I'd be. So through all the pain, I spent the summer getting myself into shape for fall bodyguard training.

I entered my first 5K and beat my goal of completing it in under 40 minutes. In fact, my time was 35 minutes. Training was a bitch, months of painful walking and then jogging. I found out that jogging was no more painful on my joints than walking or any other exercise.

I started a new medication that seems to be working, but makes me so tired I literally fall unconscious. I ate more vegetables and became religious about taking my vitamins. I played CNN in the background all the time and read newspapers online. I found a martial arts instructor, after experiment with things like acupuncture, yoga, and qigong. I willed myself better.

In the meantime, AgtOrange and I scrimped and saved for my tuition. I worked my first security gig, a street festival, that tested my abilities to stay awake and focused without sleep. I had worked it out that I could quit anytime I needed, but I made it where others who weren't sick failed. In the end, I worked 22 hours straight through and figured I was ready for school.

What was school like? It was like the longest powerpoint presentation of your life coupled with a sleep deprivation experiment. Practical exercises came later in the week. What did they teach? If you really want to know, take the damn class yourself. It's a good school.

What did I learn? Well, as I told the instructor at the end, I only learned one thing, and that was the breadth and scope of everything I didn't know. Now there is a list of all the things that come next if I really want to work as a personal protection specialist. I also learned (in prepping for school) that I am capable of grasping all the fundamentals of one thing if I spend 3 months of my life doing nothing else. That means I can properly learn only 4 skills a year.

In three months I took my body from near-bedridden to my first 5K. In three months I can grasp conversational ability in just about any language. In three months I can touch base with every concept I need to learn to work security. In three months I can gain proficiency with just about any job I work. I sure as hell won't be an expert, but the foundation will be solidly laid.

Why didn't I blog about it every step of the way? Because it was no one else's business. Because some things are private. Because, while I will happily tell you anything about myself, including things that most people would consider secrets, I don't blog stories that don't belong to me. The things I learned at school are not things you can commit to ether; there is no proper way to explain an abstract.

What comes next? AgtOrange and I have plans to visit my family sometime closer to Christmas. He will probably meet my mother, whom I haven't seen in almost a decade. This is not a reconciliation; I feel it is important he grasp my background. Since she is a native Vietnamese speaker, from now until then I am teaching myself that language. It will be a surprise when I go visit. (I'm not worried she'll find out by reading this blog because she doesn't read English.) Maybe someday I will visit my family in Vietnam. Either way, I have a pool of native speakers at my disposal to help me with a second language, not to mention all the Vietnamese speakers I live near. So far, this is proving to be the only language I have absolutely no aptitude for learning. It must be a mental block, but I will overcome it.

In the spring I will start running again, even though I detest running. I want a better time on the 5K and I want to maintain my body. At that point, I will begin training in Shaolin kungfu in earnest and maybe go back to capoeira (which I haven't done since I got sick). The skill after that will be Spanish, a language I've dabbled in for years but never seriously applied myself to learning. In the fall we'll be vacationing in a Spanish-speaking country and I'll get to put my skills to use. I'm not sure what I should do after that, but it falls along the lines of getting my EMT-B and maybe working as an EMT (even if I have to volunteer) for at least six months. I will dabble in other skills that may or may not prove useful, such as crowd surveillance and how to spot a fake ID (some of my friends are bouncers). Maybe I'll take a computer class. I might also start doing that clinic escort work if I can. It will give me practice for real bodyguarding later.

I am hopeful that in two years I will be ready to look for work as a protection specialist. If that happens, I'll probably stop blogging entirely.

Video from CNN's American Morning, broadcast July 7, 2008 -- See InfoWars.com

Congress is forking over $100 million for security expenses, and many of the funds are going toward non-lethal top-secret weapons. The ACLU is suing to find out just what these weapons will be. Rumors abound, the pepper-ball gun (which shoots powdered pepper spray) was confirmed, but what about high-tech goodies such as the 'goo-gun' or the one that emits an ear-piercing noise? The security experts say not to worry about it, only the miscreants should be scared.

But there's a devious little internet rumor on a few bulletin boards which states something a little more sinister toward the average peaceful protester. This rumor is completely unverified in any way and probably cooked up by a conspiracy theorist, but it was twisted enough I had to share. Supposedly, there are plans to test these weapons out on unsuspecting demonstrators who are said to have gotten out of hand. Only the unruly ones, the rioters and vandals, are really government agents disguised as ordinary protesters. They purposefully create a little havoc, which gives an excuse for the official security to run a test of their newfangled weapons on the entire crowd. Bloody genius.

REFERENCES:
InfoWars

Ostrich -- It's what's for dinner. Photo sourced from National Geographic.com



Seems like thieves are everywhere and with today's economy it is hard not to empathize a little. With all the talk of high oil prices hurting adult entertainment industries, has anyone wondered if the panhandlers are also taking a hit? I guess naked girls are more interesting news fodder than strung-out, crazy hobos.

These are pro-thieves, however, the kind that have a modus operandi, like the ones who managed to hit my laundry room not so long ago and stole the machine which puts money onto cards. Most new laundry rooms in apartment complexes have switched to these systems because it's easier for a maintenance person to empty one machine rather than several dozen washers and dryers. Not to mention if you lose a card or simply move out, you generally don't get a refund for whatever is left on the card. The thieves hit a bunch of machines in neighboring blocks, even getting into secured buildings (such as mine) and disabling the security cameras before breaking open the machines. I had no idea several hundred dollars in cash could be stored in one tiny machine. They weren't as smart as they could have been, however, on account they left behind some fingerprints. Still, you have to have a suspect before you can be convicted, and I think the police were really stumped for leads.

Another new set of thieves steals the catalytic converters from your car. They generally use a hacksaw to cut the whole piece off, then sell the scrap metal. The theft has become so rampant, an Ohio company has developed a device to protect your converter. There's only one problem. The device costs around $300, and I'm not sure if that includes installation. Most catalytic converters run from $100-$300, although that doesn't take into account the repair work necessary once your car has been hit with a saw. If the device were $100 cheaper, I'd probably recommend it. Then again, the most robbed car is a 4-Runner, and in my opinion anyone still hanging onto a gas guzzler in high-crime urban areas probably gets what they deserve. (The crooks are mostly hitting parking lots and garages, where they can get to several cars all at once.)

For home valuables, In.Security has created a strong room for your home or business which can easily be installed in a pre-existing structure. It can stand up to a .50-cal or rocket-propelled grenade. No word on price, but then if you have to ask....

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One thing more important than our cars or our jewelry is our health. In an effort get in shape, manage my blood sugar, feel better, and look great, I've started reading up on all kinds of health foods. This effort has been ramped up since some idiot at a Five Guys congrulated me on my upcoming kid. (I am not pregnant.) I gain weight like an Asian, around the waist in the middle, hence the phrase "Buddha-belly". This effectively ruined all pleasure in eating my just-ordered, forbidden double bacon-burger. I didn't know whether to laugh at his stupidity, cry about my body image, or get angry because he ruined my meal. It's been months since I've allowed myself a hamburger (I'm not supposed to have any beef or dairy at all, on account of a food intolerance) and when I finally decide to go all out and chow-down, something like that happened.

So last night I made a dish using ostrich for the first time, instead of beef. Once I had the meat properly spiced, it tasted close enough that someone who didn't know better might mistake it for beef. Admittedly, I was a little leary about eating it so I spiced it a bit more than I would have if it had come from a cow. Finally, a healthier alternative that doesn't taste like crap! The meat is lower in calories, with less fat, and more eco-friendly. (Ostrich has the greatest feed to weight gain ratio of any commercially raised land animal.) Cow in almost every form has left my diet for good, with the exception of tiny quantities of butter or the occasional ice cream treat. Next to go? Processed white flour and refined starches, which can have almost as bad an impact on blood sugar as candy.

DIRECTIONS FOR COOKING BROWN/WHITE RICE MIX:
I detest brown rice, in much the same way I dislike popcorn. It's not the flavor I object to, it's the tiny husks which always seem to stick in my teeth. But my doctor says, NO WHITE RICE, on account of my reactive hypoglycemia. Now, how's an Amer-Asian girl supposed to give up her primary grain staple just like that? By mixing! Now we just have to adjust the cooking times accordingly, because brown rice takes twice as long to cook.

This is for a 1:1 ratio of white to brown rice.
1 cup brown rice
1 cup white rice
water

1. Boil the water for the brown rice, which should be about 2 1/2 cups.
   
2. Add brown rice to boiling water. Cover and simmer for 20 minutes. (The only good thing about this recipe is you can pretty much walk away.)
   
3. Uncover. Add white rice and another 1 1/2 cups of water. Stir and bring to a boil.
   
4. Cover and simmer for another 20 minutes until done.
   

Neither AgtOrange nor I could really tell this version from regular white rice when we ate it. The same technique lends itself well to mixing wild rice with white, as wild rice takes even longer than brown to cook.

REFERENCES:
Gone in 60 Seconds
CatClamp can guard coveted catalytic converters
High Tech Modular Strong Rooms
The 29 Healthiest Foods
Ostrich Meat vs. Other Meat

I guess it started with the minor fight, and I suppose that really started with my silly idea to clear the Tivo by watching everything and deleting nothing. Too much flash rots your brain, makes you restless and willing to believe. I don't watch movies with gang violence, I don't watch movies about druggies, or that depict horror scenes or anything set during the Vietnam War. If I wanted to see such things, I'd just close my eyes and remember. Okay, maybe I don't remember the war before my birth, but I know it spirals down into my DNA like a slow-blooming cancer virus.

AgtOrange wasn't really thinking when he suggested I see Strange Days. So about the time I'm drawn into a violent death-rape-taser scene I look down in shock and see my hands have begun to shake all on their own. I can't think other than fight or flight, and I have enough sense left to know there is nothing but smoke and mirrored textures left to pummel, that nothing of my trauma-past remains other than a few minor twitches of the hands and a distinguished lack of breath. I stack clothes over my plastic skin and rush out the door.

"I wouldn't sit a war vet down to watch Platoon," I tell him later for an example, even though I've never been able to watch the movie myself to see if it's really as graphic as I think. I don't have to watch it. Just the cut scenes of choppers flying low over wet-flapping jungle is enough to vapor suck the air from the room.

I take a long walk until the shakes stop, until I can calmly discuss the blue television glow still burned into the backs of my eyelids, which will be there still for a few days every time I think back to it. I dreamed that night about the BatCave, about a robber breaking in with a knife yet somehow I surprise him. Turning the tables in that dead instant of reaction time and holding him at knifepoint. Only AgtOrange wasn't in the dream, in the dream it was Pretty living there, and Pretty who says he'll hold the robber so I can call the police from my cellphone, Pretty who understands how little I know about knifing anyone, how I am only holding the thief with the thief's own shallow fear.

When I return to the room, having phoned for help, I find that Pretty is torturing the criminal with that knife, holding him down to the ground in a painful armbreak and shallowly stabbing him from point to point. I am horrified. I wake up. It's the kind of thing Pretty would do in real life, something I didn't know when I'd first met him.

In the black nothing, my eyes bolt open and I try to pull AgtOrange up from sleeping, to sit with me until the nightmare fades. He doesn't wake, murmurs something meant to be comforting and falls back into sleep. In the dark, my eyes are opened. I see how the night has fallen from me, how once inside me the anger resided so burning I would have dreamed of myself, stabbing and torturing some hapless villain. How in waking hours I would have woke to a dissimilar horror, one in which I fought my own dark impulses never voiced, one in which I was horrified to discover such sadism living in my subconscious. Now, the only awful segment was in my failure to protect, for no matter how awful his person, I could never torture a helpless victim. Somewhere in the night, I changed sides. I slept.

Last night I dreamed as deep as an ocean trench. I am still fighting the effect of the burned-light images, every touch by human hands I fight down the recoil, the involuntary tremor that makes me want to slap out and scream. I am winning. I will win.

Today was gun class, my introduction to handguns and pistols. I went in serious, studious, and focusing. I learned, I quieted -- I did really rather well. The instructor helped me correct the one problem screwing up my aim and afterward I could shoot any of the handguns within a three-inch center circle from seven yards away, including a double-action .38 special. This is only the second time I've fired a handgun in my life. The first time was will no meaningful instruction and then I failed to even hit the target at first. Now I have a target with a single bullet hole, dead center, done with a double-action revolver .22 caliber from five yards -- a combination of talent and beginner's luck.

I had wanted to learn to box, to fight, on account I had this feeling of reclaiming my power. I wasn't sure if it would work at the time, but now I know I was right. The more I learn to defend myself, the more I improve my physical prowess through vigorous training and self-discipline, the less I feel that rage which at one point used to gnaw at my powers of self-mastery. Not only do I not want to hurt anyone, but I feel almost defeated at the idea of not being able to defend someone. I shoot, I am power. I fight, I am power. I run, I heal, I love, I play, I dance, I command, I am... I am... I am.

I am going to be the best bodyguard ever.

Intern sent me this little blurb about the death of Russia's most famous bodyguard.

Dailymail UK

In other news, I have purple hair. I have also (thanks to you wonderful voters) made the finalist round in the DC101 contest. Yay me!