Akting Out

We’ve been reading about the war in the Middle East for nearly twenty years. When you read the words on paper (or on a screen, as technology progresses), your mind paints a picture based on the description. Stimulating, but not entirely suitable for the ADHD (Attention-Deficit-Hey!-Dog!) generation.

For years, people have been looking for a way to accurately depict what’s happening in the world. Thanks to intrepid journalism and some pretty daring filmmakers, we’ve been on the ground floor for some of the Armed Forces skirmishes. We hear and see snippets of what they go through…but unless you’re there, chances are the memories don’t last.

So how do we create unforgettable, brutally real, yet relatively harmless experiences that accurately show what soldiers—and people—around the world are going through? How do we take what some would rather ignore and make it impossible to turn away from?

Infinity Ward found a way.
I don’t traditionally play first person shooters (Red Faction: Guerilla Warfare, which I found enjoyable, was my first one since Halo 2), but I try to investigate anything that generates as much hype as Modern Warfare 2 did. The outset of the game warns that some levels might be deemed offensive and wisely gives you the option of opting out of these missions. Figuring that I’m about to experience a bunch of racial slurs against Muslims and death-to-America propaganda, I choose to play through the offensive missions.

And I promise you, I’ll never forget what I played through. Neither will you.
I don’t want to spoil it, but if this title is even a hint of what soldiers (and people) are going through around the world, then I have a newfound respect for our armed forces and a great swell of sympathy for those who live in fear of this kind of thing—which happens almost every day, it seems.

This game is so intense that I often found myself pausing just to walk around and catch my breath—because I wasn’t breathing, during the game’s more intense moments. But beyond its stellar gameplay, Modern Warfare 2 is a shining example of what video games can do for storytelling when properly executed. In fact, I firmly believe that just as books were eventually translated to film, video games represent the next arc of storytelling, and perhaps the most potent medium of this generation.

The scene in question succeeds not just for flawless execution, not because the game gives you the option to bow out (you will not want your kids anywhere near this, I promise), but because the scene is horrific without being tasteless or exploitative. And following this scene presents a very realistic possibility of what might happen should episodes like this be allowed to continue in the real world.

What we experience on foreign soil in this game is nothing compared to what happens when the war comes home. And best believe, in this game, it does come home.

Why do we expose ourselves to stories? Why do we flock to heroes, villains, and everything in between? What is it about Batman, Superman, Wolverine, Harry Potter, Edward/Jacob/Bella, Link, Leon Kennedy, or Kain/Raziel (pretty good summary, I think) that causes us to return to the medium of our choice over and over again?

Personal opinion; these people, with their powers, wits, guns, magic or all of the above, involve themselves in danger and intrigue that we can only dream of. They deal with the same moral decisions we face but at much higher levels, with much more devastating consequences (Batman broke a moral code to assassinate Darkseid in DC’s Final Crisis). Most importantly, they do what we can’t; even if the cost is great, they get closure. They beat the bad guy. Justice wins, and in the end, I think that’s what a lot of us wants. The good guy wins, the bad guy goes to jail or hell or whatever.

But in books and movies, we only get to see and passively follow along. In Batman: Arkham Asylum, we got to be the Dark Knight and experience life from his point of view. No book or picture can rival that, although if it weren’t for those, we wouldn’t have the video game.

Reading and watching these soldiers in action is nothing compared to what Modern Warfare 2 accomplishes.

If we really love drama so much that we will sink millions of dollars into franchises just to keep them going, maybe video games can do what few other titles in other mediums have; as they immerse us in their stories and force to experience things we probably couldn’t handle in real life, maybe we can begin to prevent our own self-destruction. Instead of condemning video game violence, we should realize that a lot of this is inspired by real life. Maybe we could use the multi-million dollar video game business to learn from our mistakes, as well as tell better stories.

Cause zombies could rise up, and Skynet could take over the world. You just never know.

But in the meantime, I applaud Infinity Ward for their courage and execution and hope to see others follow suit. Titles like this not only justify the sixty dollar price tag but advance the interactive medium.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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I’ve been studying martial arts for more than twenty years, and yet, I can’t find the words to articulate everything it’s done for me.  I’ve used it in every aspect of my life, and continue to do so. It’s the purest and most complete system I’ve ever encountered.

I’m not someone who bullshits or plays games with people, something that often gets me into trouble. Martial arts is the same way. You have no excuses. You’re either skilled or you’re not, and if you’re not, then it’s plainly your fault, and you know it. In the end, you’re the practitioner, and you decide how far you go.

I think the world works better when there are no excuses.

I also find martial arts incredibly addictive. You never stop learning or improving. At the same time, the more you learn, the deadlier you become. Knowing that you have the ability to take a life with your bare hands is both intoxicating and humbling. And yet, knowing this, you ask yourself every time you raise your hands, and you bring that deadly power to bear; is this worth it?

To me, this is why the emotional impact of martial arts is far greater than the physical one; we do not train to fight, we train to reign in our emotions and diffuse situations in which we might become violent. We do this because violence is a last resort; if we must become violent, someone could quickly be crippled or worse.

In one fluent motion, you exhale. You thrust your right arm forward. At the last second, you tighten your hand into a fist, shifting your right hip into the blow for extra power. You crash your fist upwards into someone’s ribs. The ribs give beneath your blow, splintering upwards. The lungs and heart are shredded. The person dies painfully, slowly, at your feet.

Or you can just walk away.

And yet, the only way to test ourselves is by challenging each other. This is what I’ve always enjoyed the most of.

I have a couple of good friends in the area that I can do this with. Every so often, we get together, and we fight.

There’s a huge amount of trust involved, yet another reason why I gravitate towards the martial arts; I do not trust easy. Sparring requires a tremendous amount of control and trust, knowing that your ‘opponent’ is as skilled as you are, but will not lose their temper and elevate it to bloodlust if you get a lucky strike in. Sparring requires more trust than almost anything else I’ve ever done.

Getting tagged (hit) means that your defense is not good enough, and it gives you something to work on. If you are taken down easily, then your center of balance is off. If blocking his/her moves begins to wear you down, you should shift to dodging rather than blocking until you can condition your arms (kickboxing is good for that). Always something new to learn, and I enjoy that too.

There is a style for every occasion. If you want to learn how to defend yourself non-violently, there’s judo and aikido, which specialize in throwing your opponent off balance without doing too much damage. If you want to learn flexibility, grace, and offense, tae kwon do is for you. If you want to learn all of these, plus rhythm and dance, look into Capoeira. If you want to learn to regulate your breathing and gain better control over your body, Tai Chi and Kung Fu are for you. I have found that Chinese styles are better for mental and spiritual development (although styles like Tai Chi Chuan are both beautiful and offensive) while Japanese and Thai styles are more suited for people who want to learn straight out fighting.

What I take form the martial arts is a way to keep my type two in check. It gives me a constructive way to deal with rage. It allows me to feed my creative side (anyone read Universal Warrior yet? Shameless plug inserted). It allows me to see people a little differently (body language is everything) and it gives me something I can never stop learning.

Every time I thought I learned all there was to know about a style, I found a new level. I’ll never keep getting stronger, and there is no limit to how far I can take my skills.

This excites me. This is why I’d rather be fighting.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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The middle of last week was a low point. So low, in fact, that I wound up going to the hospital. I learned that I was under a lot of stress; it was raising my blood pressure. I’m fine now, though…

The clinic I get examined at is student-run, and adjacent to the hospital; I had never gotten the results of my recent blood work, and I figured that I might as well kill two birds with one stone. After filling the doctor in, he stepped out for a few minutes.

He returned with my open chart in his hands, studying it carefully. “Mr. Tingle,” he begins, “What’re you doing to yourself?”
My heart bottoms into my stomach. “Nothing out of the ordinary, why?” Just what the hell are you about to tell me?!
“Whatever you’re doing,” he looks up, smiling, “Keep it up.”

My A1C is down; my blood sugar stays pretty even. Although he couldn’t authorize it himself, he was going to recommend that medication no longer be necessary in the management of my type two diabetes.

I have been off medication for about five days; it’s been an adjustment. I won’t say it’s been easy. My energy level has dropped off a bit, and my blood sugar peaked out a few days ago at 138. It consistently remains at around 98-112.

I still get up and work out every morning. I still eat a lot of fruit, I still remain very active, and I still take the necessary steps to keep my body going.

But you can officially take it from me.

You can beat this thing back.

Thanks for reading.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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About two years ago, I was walking home from work. I was a rentacop, in uniform, finishing up a night shift on the East Side of Jefferson City, Missouri. No do-rag, no gloves, nothing that could construe me as shady.

Less than a block away from my site, a cop pulls up alongside me and cordially asks me what I’m doing. Walking home, I explain. He asks me where I’m coming from. I exercise my right to remain silent and point to the two towers behind me. He asks me my business there, and I slowly pull back my jacket to reveal a badge. He’s then kind enough to tell me that he ‘guesses that it’s okay’ and then pulls away.

I was angry. Not just at the situation, but it was one of the only times I remember feeling powerless…

Today, I check my news feed and the first story I see is about a woman who reported her child missing. She’s now been charged with filing a false police report, prostitution, and there’s a suspicion of human trafficking.

Police still can’t find the girl.

The second story I find tells of the Mohler family, six in total, being charged with sexual abuse allegations that go all the way back to the mid-eighties. According to CNN Justice, their victims “came to law enforcement authorities with stories of sexual performances, mock weddings, rape with various objects and a forced abortion during their childhoods.”

Forced abortions.

This means they…
Thinking about it made me want to put my fist through something…someone.
Say what you will about the street, but one of the things I enjoyed about it was that these kinds of things didn’t happen. They call it street justice for a reason. Acts such as these got you killed, plain and simple.

Here, prosecutions take years and drag the victims right back through the act. They’re never the same again. And the kids…well, they’re lucky if they’re ever found again.

Coming from a life where I used to fight literally, and directly, against things like this, it’s very difficult to accept that there’s nothing I can do anymore.

No one should ever be a victim. No one, especially a child, should ever live in fear.

And so I’m left to ask why. Paralyzed and powerless, I want to know why things are this way?

How does anyone possibly justify raping a child? A woman? Anyone?
Isn’t there something in your mind that’s telling you this is wrong? Especially when it comes to kids?

Rape is primarily about power, not pleasure, and the sick fucks who do this kind of thing are almost always cowards (although I’ve met a few genuinely evil people in my life). Exposing them is easy; beating the hell out of them in front of everyone takes their power away, shows that they are just as vulnerable as everyone else.

But I still want to know why it’s allowed to happen…

How does anyone justify mass killing with religion?
If you’re going to kill a bunch of people, do me a favor, have the balls to do it because you want to, and not because you think God (Allah, Jesus, Buddha, whoever you believe in) is okay with it. Stop using God as a crutch for your evil. Stop using God as a crutch for your fucking shortcomings and stand on your own two feet.

Maybe this is just me going through a crisis of faith. I’m a Christian, not a zealot, and God knows I understand why atheists choose their paths. I look…I’ve experienced…a lot of the bad things in the world and in my darker moments, I wonder if God really did throw in the towel, and maybe we’re just out here on our own. If we’re so determined to self-destruct, then who’s He to stand in our way?

Honestly, baring my soul a little bit…this is why I tend not to get close to a lot of people.
I know I’ll never get answers to these questions. I’ll maintain my faith and my principles and trust in the grand design just as I always have.

But I want answers.
And I wish I could do more.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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Hello, dear and faithful readers. I know that I missed last week’s post, but I wasn’t quite ready to confess. But…I can no longer keep the secret, that which may cost me readers, but I can no longer live a lie…

I am a type two diabetic…with an unconquerable addiction to junk food. Yes, I needs my Snickers and my Reese’s. If you put strawberry cheesecake in front of me, then I’ll follow you anywhere.

I was in so much better shape before I discovered that I like the Whopper. Damn you, Burger King. I used to sit down and eat four whoppers—heavy ketchup—in one sitting. Want to know how I became diabetic? Now you know.

Now, blessedly, with age comes wisdom (in some things), and I’ve learned to temper my love of most things chocolate. I ration myself to maybe one piece of junk food in a week, and cheese cake once every two weeks. Again, blessedly, thanks to medication and an active lifestyle, my AIC stays in check.

Oh, the active lifestyle? Yes, that’s what this blog is about.
If there’s any one weapon you have in the fight against diabetes (and obesity, and other health issues), it’s your body’s ability to move. I mean, let’s be straight; you can take all the vitamins and medication and supplements you want, but they won’t do much unless you’re keeping your metabolism moving. Point blank; living actively keeps your blood sugar down, and it also promotes heart and circulatory health. It also keeps your energy through the roof (I’ve often had my energy level compared to that of a seven-year-old’s. Maybe that’s my attitude. I don’t know. Anyway…)

Now, say you’re a diabetic, but you hate exercise (better learn to like it). Say you want to start a little slowly and work into something more challenging. There are several ways you can be active around the house, or during the day, without busting a sweat to remixes of old eighties tunes.

1). Use the commercials.
They put those commercials there for a reason. Use the time; knock off fifty jumping jacks. If you find that too strenuous, just bounce from one foot to another. Knock off twenty crunches, ten pushups, anything. Just don’t sit on the couch while the Geico cavemen are continuously insulted. You’ll be surprised how much you’ve done during an hour-long show.

2). Use your office space.
You have a chair and a desk, and you probably have to do something while you’re on the clock. There’s no rule saying that you have to be sitting to do it (and if there is, disregard this). Get up, out of your chair, and walk around. Pace. Keep your legs moving. You don’t have to do this all day, but I promise, enough walking at the end of eight hours, you’ll feel it in your legs—and your heart.

3). Use your neighborhood.
Almost all of us have to go outside to check the mail. No one said you had to walk to the mailbox. Challenge yourself by sprinting out and back. Once you have an average time, try to beat it. You may find yourself working up a sweat in two minutes…and it helps.

I suppose I should say that I’m not a doctor (can’t you tell?) , and none of this should be construed as medical advice. Check with your doctor before beginning any kind of physical routine.

This is just me, and what I do.

Until next week. Best of luck, God bless, and be safe!

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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The dictionary defines humility as “the quality or condition of being humble; modest opinion or estimate of one’s own importance, rank, etc”. Please note that the definition includes the word condition as well as quality.

Synonyms include “lowliness” and “submissiveness”.
The Bible, specifically Proverbs 16:18, says “Pride goes before destruction and haughtiness before a fall.”

Hm.
Yeah…that’s not me.
In fact, I think the whole idea of humility is, as Dr. Manhattan would say, “a highly overrated phenomenon.”

Here’s the thing; I believe in humility before God. I believe in humility when assessing oneself. I don’t believe in humility before men (or women). Meaning, I don’t believe in being lowly or submitting to anyone. I believe you should show respect to those you care about. I believe you should be willing to compromise in your relationship/marriage. I do not believe you should submit, or capitulate, to any human being.

What prompted this is a situation at work. Without going into too many details, I, like millions of other people in the world, feel that the job doesn’t treat us fairly. Humility would dictate that I shut my mouth and accept this. I believe, based on my experiences, that a status quo only becomes so when enough people accept it.

I’ve also learned, through my background, that those who challenge the system alone are usually dealt with harshly.

But I’ve also seen one person make a difference.

Humility is the ability to accurately assess yourself, and I know…I probably can’t make a difference here. It’s not pride that tells me I have to try; it’s that I believe in doing what is right, no matter what it costs.

It’s not humility that tells you to accept a situation just because you think you can’t change it, it’s humiliation, and there’s a big difference. You can’t expect other people to do something if you expect change; you have to take the chance yourself.

To me, the truest definition of humility is to know yourself and what you’re capable of. It’s to fully submit to whatever it is you worship (God, in my case), and it’s the courage to admit that you’re wrong, and you don’t know everything.

But the illusion of humility is to refuse to try to change the rules because you think you can’t.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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Just past my twentieth birthday, I’m coming out of a depression; major surgery on my knee has torpedoed any chances of a professional career in football. The doctors keep telling me how I’m lucky just to be able to walk without limping; the fact that I can still do martial arts is proof of God’s existence, one of them says.

My oldest son is an infant at the time. Aside from finally graduating high school, he’s the only reason I’m smiling anymore.
Until a friend of mine (we’ll call him Ced) approaches me after work one night…asks me if I’m interested in fighting again. Of course, I say, but it’s not like any reputable commission will sanction me. That’s the catch, he says, No sanctions, no rules, no guarantees that you’ll walk out of there. But the money…

When Ced drops the dollar amount on me, there’s not a lot I won’t do. You’re gonna have to leave your son behind for a little while, Ced tells me, piquing my curiosity. Why? I ask, Where’re we going?

You’ve never heard of it, I promise. Little town called Sunburst.

Where the hell is Sunburst? We heading back across the bridge?

Ced chuckles. I’ll never forget that. Nah. We’re going way further than that.

Ced…where the hell is this place? Where’re we going?

It’s a little rinkydink town near the Canadian border…in Montana.

We drove–he drove, I slept–to Montana. I had never been, and I haven’t been back since that fateful morning where we were bound by conflict and the need to get out of there alive.

I kept asking myself, what’s he doing this for? He has money (gophers always get a cut) it’s not like he needs to be putting himself out there like this. Hell, I’ve never even seen him fight. I don’t want to get caught up in something and then have to babysit his ass…

I wasn’t the nicest person back then…
Montana has the most gloriously crimson skies I’ve ever seen. Dusk sets in early and quickly, the skies change colors fast and clouds take their time as they head towards the setting sun.

Sunburst is small, one of the small towns I’ve ever been in. Back then, I thought it was a suburb of a larger city. I didn’t want to be there long.
The fight was to take place at this exceptionally small bar, where the fights were the talk of the town. Ced was cool with the owner (who makes the best steaks I’ve ever had), and he bartered room and board for the night in exchange for a percentage of my winnings. (God help us if I lost). Turned out the guy I was taking on had run through most of the local competition, so someone coming in from California was a big deal.

The fight was rather lackluster. I was proud of myself for doing away with him so quickly, but a lot of people lost money that night…

The owner gets paid, he has no complaints. I don’t sleep well that night; never do in unfamiliar places.
The following morning, Ced and I have to answer for what we’ve done.
It begins as we descend the dark-wood staircase, bags packed, ready to return to our native land. We hear grumbling, and it’s angry. Who comes to a bar at ten in the morning?!

You ever walk into a room where everyone is arguing, and then they become silent the second you arrive? It was that type of tension. And there were sixteen people between us and the door…

I recognized a few faces from the night before. I wondered if they had been there all night. One of them complains that he lost his whole paycheck thanks to me. He’s the first to get up and start walking towards us. Shit.

Soon, everyone feels like they have something to prove, and they back him up. Suddenly, I really want to go home and hold my son.
Go right. Ced whispers to me.
What?
You go right. I’ll go left.
…Okay.
You ready?
Yup.

Ced lunged first. I had no idea he was so bloodthirsty. Before then , Ced was someone I had known less than a year, an on-again-off-again nerd/hustler who worked near the Embarcadero. I knew him through a mutual friend, but we had never gotten to know one another…not until that morning.

Now, suddenly, I’m fighting side-by-side against this person I hardly know, and I’m counting on him to watch my back just as he’s counting on me to watch his. Our survival depends on our cooperation; take a moment to distrust one another or ask questions, and we don’t go home.
I don’t know how long the fight went on, but we tore up the bar and beat it out of there at high speed. As we drove away, we passed three squad cars heading back towards the bar. Both of us laughed and enjoyed the sensation of passing adrenaline.

Ced and I remained tight for nearly five years beyond that, until our lives took us in separate directions.

But the friendship, forged from necessity, is strong today.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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