09-24-2008, 10:40 AM
So the next iss is the shaolin special (shh, don't tell, that's a doom-only insider's scoop). Dm needs to take care of his shaolin family in this issue. He's been training with a former monk and needed to find a way to include him in the issue. A few months ago, Dm hit upon the idea of having him do a broom form, a simple form that Dm knew he knew, never before seen in print. Dm made a big search for a traditional broom (basically a stick with some straw attached) in Chinatown a few weeks ago to no avail. It's surely there, but Dm got distracted (such is Chinatown) and ran out of time. Dm decided to make one. After all, he used to make swords. How hard can it be? Turns out, not hard at all, thanks to the wondrous invention of the hot glue gun.
GM Tu (aka iron-crotch-dad-of-jackie-chan's-disciple) is here this week teaching special workshops to a handful of students. He was very amused at dm's project and noticed his cough (Dm is recovering from a slight cold), so he quickly brewed up some chinese herbs to increase dm's qi. GM T's wife served up some fresh soy milk, as GM T goes off to burn moxa on a piece of cactus on dm's boss's knee as some sort of arcane voodoo curative. Dm sips his soy milk (which was unflavored, but really fresh and tasty) along with the sidecar shot of herb brew (which wasn't that bad, sort of cough syrupy) and continues to work on his broom while pondering the fact that, yes, he is on the clock for this and, yes, this is how he makes his living and provides for his family. An odd moment of surreal contentedness settles over dm's ever-worried brow, mostly because it gives him a sense of that ol' dead lyric 'ain't no place I'd rather be'.
GM Tu (aka iron-crotch-dad-of-jackie-chan's-disciple) is here this week teaching special workshops to a handful of students. He was very amused at dm's project and noticed his cough (Dm is recovering from a slight cold), so he quickly brewed up some chinese herbs to increase dm's qi. GM T's wife served up some fresh soy milk, as GM T goes off to burn moxa on a piece of cactus on dm's boss's knee as some sort of arcane voodoo curative. Dm sips his soy milk (which was unflavored, but really fresh and tasty) along with the sidecar shot of herb brew (which wasn't that bad, sort of cough syrupy) and continues to work on his broom while pondering the fact that, yes, he is on the clock for this and, yes, this is how he makes his living and provides for his family. An odd moment of surreal contentedness settles over dm's ever-worried brow, mostly because it gives him a sense of that ol' dead lyric 'ain't no place I'd rather be'.
Shadow boxing the apocalypse