Kisses from Tici

I didn’t go to Brazilian Jiu Jitsu class on Saturday morning because I am on a strict budget and needed to use the $45 I would save on gasoline (by not driving from Wimberley to Dripping Springs and back again) for a pedicure. And why, pray tell, did I find need to get a pedicure on this particular day? Well, didn’t you hear? We had a lovely fundraiser luncheon for Joao Crus Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu in the elegant upstairs loft of the Cedar Grove Steakhouse (at The Junction, where RR12 crosses RR32) and I wanted my toes to look dashing while hobnobbing with the local BJJ elite. The glitterati were all assembled there, Joao, looking handsome in his tuxedo sweats, Gracie Magazine Supermodel Tici, providing her erudite wisdom in all things healthy and fit…Ok, ok, I’m only kidding about my $45 pedicure and Tici. I slapped that toe polish on myself and promptly trashed it while hiking in flip flops to the top of Mt. Baldy with my kids, and Tici was otherwise engaged, probably sweating on the keyboard for a column deadline. Fortunately, it’s a lot cooler wearing only a G-string, but I digress. The point is, those of us who attended the luncheon greatly enjoyed the cuisine and hospitality of our fabulous hosts, Holly and Bruce Collie, and the attentive service and entertainment of the entire Collie Clan, as well as civilized chatting time with BJJ friends off of the mat. Those of you who didn’t attend, your absence was duly noted, logged, and widely gossiped about.

I don’t want to say that Joao was disappointed by the turnout, but I thought I heard him muttering something about doing nothing but hip-escapes in class for the next 12 weeks. But I’m probably wrong. On my part, I plan to practice this uber-cool technique on as many people as possible, wherein my opponent prevents my Kimura by grasping their own pant leg, so I throw my left leg over their right shoulder, hook their belt with my left arm and drag them onto their belly by sitting up, fold my legs tightly with my left knee over their right shoulder, get a two handed grip around their left shoulder, and lean close to whisper in their ear, “So, why didn’t YOU make it to the fundraising luncheon?”

What I found ironic was that, for a fundraiser ostensibly aimed at supporting the award-winning children’s program at Joao Crus Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu by enabling Joao to travel to California to accept an award and to attend Master classes on BJJ for children in Brazil, all the attendees were from the adult program with only two exceptions: Tracy, who coordinated the event, and the Collies. My children do not attend Joao’s BJJ class for purely selfish motives because I’m the one who needs the socialization here, ME, ME! To appease my motherly guilt, I bought Joao’s Brazilian Jiu Jitsu DVD for Kids (for the special low price of only $23.99 plus tax!) so that my rug rats can sit vapidly in front of the TV watching your rug rats cutting up the floor mats. All kidding aside, I think that everyone realizes how fortunate we are to have such an exemplary BJJ instructor and class, and is committed to supporting the program. Sometimes showing support is as simple as showing up.

As Anthony did, for a quick handshake and visit to the corner where DVDs, t-shirts, badges, and gis were displayed as part of the fundraising effort. Or Mason, who managed to arrive fashionably late, about 30 minutes after lunch ended (but he did come). Although neither was able to join in the delectable group luncheon, the rest of us consumed the hearty Tex-Mex fare from the Casa Loma kitchen with gusto. Lauren and Scott watched as Narya was hugged in quick succession by a team of doting Collie children. Gary and his wife Stacy chatted with Levi and Diana, while Chris asked Tracy’s daughter Gretchen how she liked BJJ. I debated the relative merits of which DVD to get, settling on the new kicka** Side Control DVD. I would have purchased one of the cool new blue gis because they were such a good price at $100 (kids) and $120 (adults), but I just spent $8,323.96 for the Lucky Gi pictured on page 49 of the April issue of Gracie Magazine. I kid you not, that was the price I paid for the gi as pictured:

• $23.96 for the belly ring
• $300 for the gi
• $8,000 for the plastic surgery

It’s my new BJJ secret technique—I’m going to smother all of my opponents into submission.

I kind of wish that I hadn’t been such a cheapskate and had brought my daughters to the lunch, $25 per head being a fair price to pay just to have them witness how helpful the 12 (ambulatory) Collie children were at setting and clearing the tableware, demonstrating napkin folding prowess, and (gasp) sitting and eating their lunches together with perfect manners a mother would cry over. In fact, I did. And then, because a mother’s guilt is only as effective as the guilt complex she can instill in her children, I nagged my kids all about it while feeding them the $0.94 cinnamon pretzels from Sam’s Club that I did deign to spend. I think I’ll be lucky to get a box of Q-tips for Mother’s Day.

We had our cinnamon sugar in a much tastier form than Sam’s Club pretzels. Here’s a pop quiz for you. How do you respond when all 6 feet and 6 inches of Bruce Collie, former professional football player for the SF 49ers and Philadelphia Eagles, asks, “Do you like honey?”

a. Yes
b. Yes
c. Yes
d. Yes
e. All of the above

The correct answer is e. Like lightly blown beijinhos from Tici, we were treated to the house’s divine sopapillas, fried to healthy perfection in rice bran oil, dusted with powdered and cinnamon sugar, and drizzled with the honey in question. It was a sweet send-off for a wonderful meal with our BJJ family.

Science and Superstition

I woke up last Wednesday feeling as though I had been hit by a, if not a Mack truck, at least a slow moving Winnebago. Perhaps it may be a little more than my middle-aged mom’s body can take by going to the Monday evening BJJ class in Dripping Springs, staying up until 1 am on the computer, and then showing up again at 8:30 am for the Tuesday morning BJJ class in Dripping Springs.

I had attended Monday evening’s class in hopes of rolling with Lauren the Momminator, and to make up for missing the Saturday morning class. It was during this class that I had the august opportunity to roll with Joao, who in the aftermath explained that I needed to move my body more quickly and more often while sparring, instead of remaining frozen on my back in one spot.

“Mmmmpfh,” I noted understandingly, through a mouthful of gi.

Rolling with Joao was akin to wrestling a vat of non-Newtonian fluid. My original analogy was that it is akin to wrestling an octopus because it feels as though he has grown four extra sets of appendages while you weren’t paying attention. However, octopus tentacles are un-analogously squishy. In order to appreciate my analogy, understand that a non-Newtonian fluid is one that changes its viscosity based on the force that is applied to it. Think of how corn starch dissolved in water behaves, flowing when left on its own and instantly hardening when you attempt to compress it. Now immerse yourself in a vat of dissolved cornstarch and flail about, and the non-Newtonian fluid that is Joao is either flowing over you with multiple tendrils if you don’t move fast enough or hardening instantly to immobilize you as you attempt to muscle against it. After an exhausting struggle in quicksand (another non-Newtonian fluid), I eventually settled into a comfortably supine position as I floated buoyantly in hopes of getting submitted out of my predicament. But I just got the “You’ve Got to Move it Move it,” lecture from Joao.

To inflict injury (to my ego) upon insult (to my bleary-eyed, pre-caffeinated self), Tuesday morning class involved not the expected relaxing review of a sweep from the guard position, but a takedown that appeared to require Atlas-like shrugging abilities. Some essential component of the technique eluded me, and amid the triumphant thwacks of the successful takedowns that echoed around me, my partners sagged and flopped and slithered onto my head, definitely not the optimal landing pad for a takedown.

Thus, Tuesday evening found me in intense internal debate over whether to attend my regular BJJ class in Wimberley. On the one hand, my body ached and my bruises throbbed and I felt listless even after an extra dose of caffeine. On the other hand, if I didn’t stay on schedule and assert my opportunity to leave the house, my family would sense weakness and find devious ways to erode this sacrosanct “Mom’s Night Out.”

My gut intuition, the flabby center of my self-preservation instincts, told me I was concocting a recipe for injury by going. Whenever I have ignored my intuition, I have regretted it. However, that hard-bodied, soft-headed internal cheerleader of mine rallied me with the reminder that my reluctance to go to class wasn’t my intuition talking; it was just exercise inertia, a laziness barrier to overcome. I groaned my way into my gi. Then reached for my belt. Which wasn’t in the closet. Or the drawer. Or the car. Or the refrigerator. I had only just worn the belt that morning in Dripping Springs, so realized with a village idiot’s lightning intellect that I had likely left my belt in the studio. This could only mean one thing. It was a sign.

I told Joao as much when I decided on a coward’s compromise by observing class without wearing my gi, eliminating the potential for injury, and more importantly, exiting the house as per regularly scheduled programming.

“It’s not a sign!” he scoffed good naturedly. “Where’s your gi?”

“It’s in the car, but I’m not participating without my belt,” I insisted.

Fortunately, Joao remembered seeing my belt, rolled up with a hair band around it, but he hadn’t known whose it was.

By calling it a sign, I didn’t mean it in the sense that losing my belt was some heaven-sent message to absolve me from class. The interruption caused by searching for it did make me reconsider whether I was just being lazy or whether I was legitimately tired. Forgetting my belt at Dripping Springs that morning indicated to me that I was fatigued beyond my norm, because usually, the thought of going to BJJ class supercharges me with verve.

I didn’t add that I had actually tied another belt on at home to see if it would work. The pink flowers on that fuzzy terry cloth just didn’t do the outfit justice, though--like wearing a tiara with combat fatigues.

The New Small Talk

The form of address that I receive from teenagers here is first, and foremost, ma'am. I am still not used to it outside of the grocery check-out line (in which existed the sole adherents of this convention in California), so it continues to feel like a little poke to the vanity nerve that doesn't want to be constantly reminded that I'm old enough to be a ma'am. So now, one of the young men in my BJJ class, a junior (I believe) in high school, has taken to calling me Miss I-Pei and, of course, ma'am. This wasn't the case when I first began class, but I think I must have raised the matron flag one too many times in class (i.e., joking about wanting a separate women's age category in the tournaments, etc.) so this is the consequence. On the one hand it just sounds so cute to be called Miss I-Pei by this strapping young Adonis, but on the other hand, I feel like his nursery school teacher. And how in the heck can I become a hard-assed Brazilian hardwood BJJ fighter when my WWF moniker is Miss I-Pei?

You can imagine me in class as I'm pouring sweat, getting hair ripped out of a bedraggled ponytail, and straining as much muscle as I can muster in serious combat against a male student (who is trying very hard not to squash me by accident), when I hear cheering on the sideline in the form of, "Go Miss I-Pei!" That just lacks something in the bloodlust infusion department.

After class today, our polite Mr. Ma'am said, "How is it to be the only woman in class, throwing the guys around? It's like, you're our pimp."

I had to check if I heard this correctly.

"Did you just call me a pimp?!!"

"Yes...(seeing my expression)...maybe it means something different now?"

"I hope so. What does it mean now? Watch where you put your foot..."

He looked at his fellow student for some assistance and they hemmed and hmmmed and came up with, "Pimp means, like, being a player."

"PLAYER?" This was, as far as I was concerned, going from bad to worse. "And what does player mean nowdays?"

"Like, an athlete. Popular. Well, you have to be an athlete to be a player. Almost always." His fellow student shook his head in disagreement and muttered, "No you don't. A pimp is like someone who has prostitutes who work for him and he collects all the money."

"Er, yes, that's the definition of pimp that I know about. That's not how you're using the word, though," I prodded.

Mr. Ma'am shook his head, "No, you call someone a pimp if they're popular with the opposite sex."

My expression remained scrunched in doubt, and he added, with the sincerest puppy dog expression you ever did witness, "Being called pimp is a good thing, really."

"If you say so," I grunted grudgingly.

All these Texanisms were starting to confuse me. Maybe that's why when I left the studio I called out, "Goodnight, y'all!"

Dripping Springs Today, Vegas Tomorrow

Coming soon to a YouTube link near you: Brazilian Hardwood Stump I-Pei vs. Lauren the Momminator in BJJ Women Gone Wild...

NOT!!! that there were any surprises in my tournament last Saturday. My friend Joanna emailed early last week to ask how it went and I responded that the match wasn't until Saturday, but due to my acute powers of prognostication, I could already give her the synopsis:

1. Get thrown.

2. Get sat on.

3. Get choked.

As it turned out, I was one for three in the divination category, since I didn't get thrown but did attempt a throw right away (which failed), so nobody was scored points for a successful takedown. I didn't get sat on, and I was able to put her in my guard twice (meaning to wrap my legs around her waist and lock my ankles, which is considered the dominant position, but does not earn any points). However, I did get choked, but more about that in the bitter end.

I suspected that I would be sparring with Lauren that day because we are about the same height and weight (she actually looks skinnier than me) and frankly, I dreaded it. I had only encountered her previously during a "no gi" weekend seminar and she was a bit scary. Really fast and intense, and while I was partnered with her to practice the new techniques, she sometimes went too quickly and with a hair more force than necessary.

After the din of shrieking cheers that accompanied the children's tournament, the room was much quieter as the adult competitors geared up for their event. I had just pulled out my camcorder when the instructor announced the first women's bout between Lauren and my friend Michelle, which made me breath a sigh of relief that I wasn't up. Then the instructor amended himself and announced that I would be up against Lauren first, so I sighed again, but in resignation, and handed the camcorder to Michelle.

I decided to surprise Lauren by attempting to go on the offensive first, and she said later that she had been surprised, but it didn't take long for her additional experience and superior technique to make their impact. Pretty much the only thing I could do after my failed takedown, a failed choke attempt, and a failed arm bar, was to play defense and try not to get submitted before the 5 minute match was over. I became a slot machine: once she pulled my arm down, the scoreboard started rolling up the numbers like she had hit the jackpot.

Lauren ended up scoring a baker's dozen points against my great big round glazed raised doughnut of a zero. Oh dang, I'm mixing my metaphors--time to get the apple fritters off of the poker table. Fortunately, I wasn't aware of the score during the match, or that really would have been demoralizing. I've had practice sessions where I've been flattened and basically immobilized, so the match actually felt pretty good to me, by being able to continue moving around the mat.

It wasn't until just before they called out 1 minute remaining that I made a serious error, which was to allow her to take my back and get her ankles hooked in between my thighs (major point losses here). Once that happened, it was just a game of Russian Roulette to try and avoid an inevitable choke from behind for as long as possible. I evaded one choke, but the second one closed in and I did just as I thought I would, which was to resist the tap. The referee was on his hands and knees, head near the mat to watch closely, and I heard him say, "OK tap, stop, stop!" I assumed that he was telling me to tap out and I remember thinking, "You're right, gaaaaack!" I tapped. I was still lightheaded when I got up and saw the scoreboard, but most of my disappointment came from not making it to the end of the match.

Only later, when I was able to watch the video that Michelle had recorded for me did I realize that what I heard as "Tap!" was actually the timekeeper calling "Time!" So even though there doesn't appear to be much difference between losing a match by a score of zero to 13, versus losing by submission, it was a minor and hair splitting triumph for me to have lasted the full round. After all, when I paid my entry fee of $30, I was thinking that it was going to cost me $1 per second of competition. As it was single elimination, I was free to just watch for the rest of the competition.

Michelle won her first round and then beat Lauren in the second round by two points and ended up placing second. Lauren won her third round and placed third. Ari, of course, defeated everyone handily and placed first.

Afterward, during Ari's farewell luncheon, my instructor said that he thought I had done well.

"Really?" I asked hopefully.

"Yes, really," he replied firmly. "But you cost me money. I bet $100 on you."

"Wow, I'm worth $100?" I responded with mock astonishment.

"Yes, I lost $100 because you didn't win your match," he continued mischievously.

"Well," I sighed, "I actually knew that, so that's why I threw the fight."

Brazilian jiu jitsu is one thing, but when it comes to verbal sparring, I always have the last word.

Ari-Mazing

In Greek mythology, Ariadne is a princess of Crete who provides Theseus with the means and method to slay the Minotaur, a bull-headed monster imprisoned in a labyrinth. The Minotaur had been chowing down on young Athenians sent as sacrificial tribute to King Minos on a quarterly basis (although technically, classical texts list the frequency of sacrifices anywhere from annually to every nine years). Ariadne gives Theseus, Athenian homeboy and on the menu for that evening, a skein of red yarn, which he uses to trace his way into the labyrinth, and a sword, which comes in handy to hack off the head of the snoozing Minotaur. Ancient Greek texts do not describe if the Athenians had beef stew for dinner.

Fast forward about 35 centuries and we meet our modern day Ariadne, whom all of us in Joao Crus’ BJJ class know as Ari. Roll with Ari in BJJ practice and you will understand that she is a one-woman labyrinth, ensnaring your arms, legs, and other random appendages (like your head?) in the complex twists and turns of her form. No Minotaur lies waiting in Ari’s labyrinth, but many of us have blundered into her lurking [insert your favorite submission technique here]—sometimes sequentially, in close succession.

The maze is ever changing when we train with Ari, a perpetual mental and physical puzzle, and we always learn something new. While everyone has benefited from training with Ari, she has been a particular source of inspiration and helpful instruction to the women in class.

Ari returns the sentiment and says, “I’m really happy to train with you guys and I hope you do continue; it’s been an honor. Also teaching you, I’ve learned a lot about myself. It’s been my first experience really teaching people. It helped me with my patience immensely, because I get to see your game change. I get to see you changing your movements and learning more. That gives me all kinds of patience that I don’t have with myself.”

Unlike her Greek namesake, Ari spins yarns not made of wool, but of words, in her poetry, her rashly funny and insightful blog prose, and as an author of several comic books, including 21 People Revealed, Please Excuse My Girlfriend, and Velvet. Ari collaborates closely with the comic book artists in each work, penning not only the script and dialogue, but also envisioning the artwork style, panel layout, size and placement of dialogue bubbles, and the attention grabbing cover.

Also unlike the mythology of yore, Ari does not require the services of some Homeric hero, as this woman can not only wield her own blade as a fencer, but is on the path to crafting her own swords as an apprentice sword maker. Her interest in sword making is as a craftsperson controlling the metallurgy that controls the balance, hardness, sharpness, and flexibility of a working blade, not as a visual artist pattern welding together an objet d’arte.

“A blade is always a tool,” Ari says. “You can do more than that, but if it loses its functionality, it is no longer a blade. It is a pretty blade shaped thing.”

Hailing not from Crete but from Australia, Ari’s sojourns inscribe a global labyrinth. “Australia, Kenya, Australia, Texas, Hong Kong, Australia, Texas, Sri Lanka, Australia, Texas, New Mexico, Texas,” this daughter of an oil man lists. And now, we are soon to be bereft without her, as Ari is set to return to New Mexico.

When asked how many of the places she’s lived she remembers, Ari is circumspect.

“I have a really good memory because if I don’t remember, so many people have come through my life and I haven’t been able to meet them again. I had to remember it or else I have no history.”

“I came here for my job as an apprentice sword maker and the real reason that I thought about staying was because of Joao’s school. I’ve trained in a lot of martial arts here and there and I’ve found that learning from Joao, not just the style, [has] been the most effective learning experience and just a wonderful personal experience; I’ve been able to grow a lot outside of class because of what we do in class and because of how we’re treated.”

While training with Joao Crus, Ari has competed in several in-house tournaments and two of Carlos Machado’s open tournaments in Dallas, Texas. Her domination at the women’s white belt level in the Dallas tournament last year earned her the promotion to the blue belt level from Joao. This past February, Ari competed in her first open competition as a blue belt in Carlos Machado’s Winter Wars tournament. Many of the women competitors were substantially heavier than Ari, by 20 to 30 pounds, but she declined the opportunity to compete in a smaller split division.

“I was there to get the most experience out of it and I would get that from rolling with people rather than having a smaller group where maybe I would have a better chance of getting a medal,” Ari explains.

In the first bout, her own nervous energy caused her to change positions so rapidly that the final score was 25 to zero, in Ari’s favor. Her second bout was lost by one point, which Ari attributes to an error in her own patience when she abandoned a position in which she had her opponent locked for nearly 2 minutes in a triangle choke from mount. Ari decided that her side control needed strengthening during her third bout with a much larger competitor, lost also by one point.

Ari attributes much of her ability to hold her own against the larger competitors in the blue belt tournament with the training she has gained with men in class.

“I don’t have to worry about when I’m going against someone stronger. It really does help, like when I was in the blue belt competition. Those women were a lot heavier than me. Some of the guys that I roll with are substantially heavier, 70 or more pounds on me, so it’s been great training. And none of them have wanted to beat me up or needed to prove themselves, which has been really great because you can get hurt easily with someone with that kind of attitude.”

As Ari continues unwinding the thread of her experiences through new challenges and opportunities, new places and faces, we wish her only the best and hope that she may follow her trail back to us again sometime in the future.

Like a Rolling Cube

Although I have been owner and operator of this body for several decades, the kinesiology of how to most efficiently move it eludes me. My travails in BJJ class are a constant reminder of how very little "body sense" I possess.

It's not that I am graceless or prone to pratfalls, but there is definitely a disconnect between the motion that my mind consciously requests my body and limbs to perform, and the actual physical motion that occurs. I understand the sequence of motions that are required and can list the line items, but then I end up performing the movements like a stop motion camera, each step performed incrementally so that the technique loses its momentum and flow. Granted, my grasp of the technique will improve by repeating the motions over and over, correctly, so that my body retains some muscle memory of the desired position and timing. The tricky part is in performing the motion correctly, because even apparently minor deviations in positioning--the grip of one's hand on the gi, the alignment of the opponent's thumb in an armbar, sitting on the sole of my foot instead of propped up on my heel in a takedown--make a difference in whether my body can successfully oppose or defend against my opponent.

I am confident that I can learn and improve in technique. Already my stamina is better, and I comprehend the theoretical motions for various escapes (although successfully applying them is still in the works). But like a baby who hasn't figured out that her left elbow placed akimbo is preventing her from rolling to some much desired belly time, I find myself attempting motions that don't make sense physically. Take for example, the simple act of rolling. A major milestone in a baby's development. A childhood pastime on grassy slopes. I know that I have accomplished both of these rolling milestones in my life. Yet during one class, when we were shown a move that required a simple roll from a kneeling position, I just couldn't get the momentum to complete the roll. I kept trying, until Joao came over and recognized my obvious error.

"No, I-Pei, look, you wouldn't prop your right knee up when you are rolling in that direction? You would do this," he demonstrated.

I stood flummoxed to realize that I had been trying to roll OVER my own knee, when all I needed to do was to extend that leg and bend the OPPOSITE knee. But my body (non)sense continued to tell me otherwise, that I should still bend the incorrect leg and heave myself into the roll. It was the wrong thing to do, but felt like the right thing to do (volumes of books and several country songs have been written about this phenomenon). Even when I did the motion correctly, it felt awkward, although I could recognize immediately that it worked better.

Back at home, I was still in disbelief that my intuitive movements were so lacking in physical logic. I attempted the roll a few times on the floor and had to admit to myself that my body awareness definitely ran a counter-intuitive streak. Although I may never have discovered this without participating in BJJ, now that I am aware of it, I realize that this is exactly the type of training that will counter my body insurgency.

To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

My thighs are in agony today from a particularly rigorous Brazilian Jiu Jitsu workout on Saturday morning. Tournament day is April 5, and I'm in the throes of some last ditch training in hopes of not embarrassing myself, my family, and all my descendants by overconsuming the mat. If I ate 500 percent of my equivalent surface area of mat, how many calories would that be? I'd just settle for not being submitted in 15 seconds, fighting the entire 5 minute match, and losing by points and not by submission. Preferably with a score greater than zero. Does this make me a glutton for punishment?

My children, with their wise mommy-preservation instincts, have already counseled me, "Remember, Mommy, if someone is choking you, TAP OUT!"

Honestly, I could see myself being stubborn and resisting the tap because at my beginner's level, the choke holds tend to be slow and incremental constrictions, leaving a wisp of hope at the receiving end of the stranglehold. Against the opponents I can currently spar, the uncontested pain of a joint lock on my arm is more likely to induce me to tap out rapidly. More experienced practitioners could no doubt apply a choke hold in such a fashion that it feels like a joint lock--of my neck [insert frantic hand tapping here].

If I do happen to win the first match, it would be a fluke and expend every ounce of my stamina. Then I'd really be in trouble because I'd have to fight a second match with an unknown opponent. My competitive side secretly wishes that would happen, but Self Preservation has the upper hand and is trouncing Competition with a rear naked choke. The trouble ensues when Competition refuses to acknowledge defeat.

Self Preservation: I have you now, mwah-hah-hah!

Competition: Never! I will never submit! Gaack!

Self Preservation: Oh really? Perhaps if you were any better at this you wouldn't have found yourself in this position, giving up your back like that, letting me sink my hooks in...

Competition: Totally lucky passing of the guard on your part. I can still get out- aaaakkkpth!

Self Preservation: Resistance is futile. You'd best tap out while you can.

Competition: Tap out? Hah! I can barely feel your scrawny instincts around my victorious spirit(gurgle). I...can...still...

Self Preservation: Tap out or pass out, buddy.

Competition: Urrck! If I could just move my winner's edge a little to the left...zzzzzzzz.

Self Preservation: Sigh. Live and learn and fight another day. Sweet dreams of future victory be with you.