Thursday, May 3, 2012
Secondhand Rants will return on Tuesday, May 08.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
“Practice is at 12:45, right?” I asked the coordinator on Saturday, supremely pleased that our crew was first to arrive on the waterfront.
“It’s actually at 1:15,” she replied with a laugh. “I had to plan for Asian Time, you know?”
“That’s why I’m here now,” I told her, although I don’t think she fully appreciated the subtext.
Asian Time, for the uninitiated, is the stereotypical phenomenon of arriving 15 minutes late to any given appointment. When the appointment in question is practice for an Asian festival, well, you can be damn sure I’ll do all I can to avoid being the punchline.
That’s why I got there at 12:35–and, sure enough, I was the only Asian dude on the boat, which catered perfectly to my favorite ratio. Originally, I was led to believe it would be kayaking, but in truth, it was more like a long canoe. Next weekend, these boats would be decorated to–heaven help me–look like dragons.
The rowing motion itself was foreign and tough to learn. The proper form felt primal, almost as if I were spearing the water, and it was a fantastic workout. The sunshine was welcome, too, and I believe I’ve darkened to a deep, rich hue of off-white now. “This is what they call ‘Chinese water torture,'” I said to a buddy as we walked back to the car. He snickered.
It was a welcome torture, though, and I even returned for more sun and practice. But one of the main draws of the event, I imagine, will be a shared sense of solidarity and culture. Even though I was surrounded, on a hot Sunday afternoon, by people who looked like me, that sense of community was missing. I remember looking around and feeling nothing–and it was freeing.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Revelatory. This was the word that came to mind yesterday afternoon, when I reached my first significant milestone on the driving range. Do you remember when you learned to ride a bike, how everything clicked in one glorious instant? It was just like that, only this time, I had discovered the basics of golf: namely, how to get the ball off the ground with a reliable frequency.
When I took up the irons again last weekend, I sought to answer a question. How can I swing my clubs and have them deviate as little as possible from their arcs? The goal was reproducibility, and to this end I rebuilt my stance to be more relaxed–and easier to remember. The final piece was something I’ve been told to do before, repeatedly, but it never resonated until now. Keep my noggin completely still.
And just like that, my wormburners suddenly became the exception, rather than the norm. Those effortless hits, which previously had to be divined, now flowed freely. Not every shot was perfect, of course, and there were a few flubs. On the whole, though, it was like night and day. I even hit a duck! By mistake and not directly, obviously, but it was great to have another sentient being confirm my newfound competency. It feels like I’ve been admitted to a secret society, and I’m finally on my way. I can’t wait to kvetch about bad habits I’ve developed. I just need to develop them first.