Rock-climbing rock-star. I only miss a whiskey on the rocks to make things perfect. But then again it will make me feel I am turning alcoholic, so let me leave it where it is. I was climbing walls today (another interesting use of words...) with two friends - I often contemplate on the propriety of reference to people's real names on a blog. It was my first time next to a natural talent's second time and an experienced zen-climber's Nth. It is quite challenging and it is one of the few things where I see myself rising from my non-A type male slouch posture and truly become competitive. I cannot say I am good at it. Who knows what I am. It was, however, a good way to interact with friends and test this body's limits. And the body speaks to you. Oh yes, it explains a few things you never thought would ever be uttered. Now I know:

i. My left arms is significantly weaker than my right arm (is it the car accident 23 years ago? Who knows).
ii. I am not that afraid of heights. Once I know that I am tied and, come what may, someone is holding me, I will go up.
iii. I am risking developing a fetish for climbing equipment and a liking for chicks in climbing gear.
iv. I like being able to afford more expensive hobbies.
v. My sweaty hands are a problem. It takes too much energy to keep them dry with chalk (that is not an excuse for my failures).
vi. I want to do it again.
vii. I am not a rock-star (Rory Gallagher on the stereo was one).

Let me use my weary hand to correct a paper before I go to the movies. I do not even remember what I will see. I know who my companion will be though, at least that is something. Boy, I feel tired.