...and then...

What in the world is pun jap surapt? I’m sure I’ve butchered the name of the specialty martial art, but what is it? Rather, why is it? I mean, wasn’t tae kwon do exotic enough? Hell, the wax-on/wax-off folks hadn’t even used karate all the way up yet before venturing deeper into the martial arts beyond. Now, they’ve explored themselves into a strict prawn-and-prune diet and cracking cinder blocks with their ear lobes in preparation for a much-anticipated training retreat in a remote mountaintop compound with sprightly yet ancient guru whose tutelage is certain to secure victory in becoming the unified belt champion of both the feather weight and black jellybean divisions of the Snap Dragon Wah Chu League. Good grief. I mean, how many ways are there to kick somebody in the face? But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. This is what we do, isn’t it? Twist and fold ourselves like origami paper until our situations are unique and special? You know, how there’s no other heartbreak like...

To be sure that it happens, I want to apologize in advance. Abundantly, humbly, tenderly and with tears streaming slick across my face, I a-p-o-l-o-g-i-z-e to anyone with the misfortunate of being stranded with me in the icy dimple of an artic incline, deep in the sinister thick of jungle extremes, clutching the rails on a hijacked passenger train, racing from an underworld hit man, or navigating shark infested waters in a raft we've made from Red Bull cans and waxed dental floss. I'm sorry --particularly to the people whom I treasure and love fiercely—but I will not be your sidekick of choice in times of epic crisis. And this sobering thought is what eventually swells in my mind while watching action flicks and thrillers. With every heroic leap atop high rise rooftops, every slug and gecko gobbled down for replenishing sustenance, with every half mile of sprinting (sprinting, for goodness' sake!), I shake my head at how utterly useless I would be in any of the cited situ...