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A party ain't a party unless...(More Yan Ming fabrications?)

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  • A party ain't a party unless...(More Yan Ming fabrications?)

    It's a Yan Ming Party


    http://www.newyorker.com/talk/conten...alk_goldwasser
    practice wu de

  • #2
    You know its a good party when even dave chappelle is having trouble getting in.
    Show me a man who has forgotten words, so that I can have a word with him.

    Comment


    • #3
      Chappellllllllllllllllleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!! But really, you New Yorkers and your socialite gatherings are the envy of the civilized world.

      NY: The only place in the world where Shaolin monks and Comedians share the same bottle of liquor.
      Becoming what I've dreamed about.

      Comment


      • #4
        Did you actually read this story?

        LOL....
        Experienced Community organizer. Yeah, let's choose him to run the free world. It will be historic. What could possibly go wrong...

        "You're just a jaded cynical mother****er...." Jeffpeg

        (more comments in my User Profile)
        russbo.com


        Comment


        • #5
          Merry Christmas




          Happy New Year
          practice wu de

          Comment


          • #6
            A few things here.

            First, I've got to move the thread to a more appropriate section.
            Two, you should copy and paste the article into the forum, these links usually disappear with time.

            And third, where's XingJian 108 when you need him. A tenacious, intelligent, probing individual, who should be spending more time getting at the truth instead of using his precious time and energy fighting off attacks.

            Go get him XJ. There's lots to this to rip apart.
            Experienced Community organizer. Yeah, let's choose him to run the free world. It will be historic. What could possibly go wrong...

            "You're just a jaded cynical mother****er...." Jeffpeg

            (more comments in my User Profile)
            russbo.com


            Comment


            • #7
              DEPT. OF CELEBRATION
              DRUNK MONK
              Issue of 2005-05-02
              Posted 2005-04-25


              There are only so many birthday-party venues where you wait around for the guest of honor in your socks. One of them is a Buddhist kung-fu temple. One night not long ago, about two hundred people left their shoes outside the door of the U.S.A. Shaolin Temple, on lower Broadway, and shuffled inside to await the arrival of Sifu Shi Yan Ming, a thirty-fourth-generation Shaolin fighting monk, whose forty-first birthday they intended to celebrate by drinking vast quantities of beer—or “special water,” as Yan Ming likes to say.

              The celebrants spanned an easy range of age, race, profession, and style: deli clerk, baby, Wesley Snipes, sociology professor, Masta Killa. The RZA, of the Wu-Tang Clan, who spent much of his childhood skipping school to watch kung-fu movies in Times Square, was there, wearing a Staten Island baseball jacket and cap. In a room where hair was fairly unpopular, you could spot Jim Jarmusch’s tall, fluffy white head.

              The students, dozens of whom were planning to stage a performance for their master (or sifu), were wearing orange or navy monk’s robes. As they waited, they blithely performed amazing feats.Two women rolled over each other’s back; another cartwheeled, no hands; a young man with long dreadlocks doodled in the air with a broadsword; another, head shaved, did a standing flip. The d.j., whose booth was in front of the sword rack, was wearing a yellow T-shirt bearing the temple’s slogan in red: “More Chi! Train Harder!”

              This is something Yan Ming yells all the time—along with “Merry Christmas!” and “Happy New Year!” In his view, every day is a cause for celebration, and everybody is “handsome.” Before he was born, two brothers and one sister died of starvation. When Yan Ming fell extremely ill as a young child, his parents took him to the Shaolin Temple, in Henan Province, the birthplace of Ch’an Buddhism, and left him there, in the hope that Buddha might save his life. Under the monks’ tutelage, the boy became a master of Shaolin kung fu. By the time he was seventeen, he had been trained to withstand a full-force strike to the groin. He can lick red-hot iron shovels, break bricks with his skull, fly aboveground upside down in full splits, and sleep standing on one leg. In 1992, in San Francisco, while on the first Shaolin Temple monks’ tour of the United States, he defected and made his way to New York.

              By 1995, Yan Ming had opened a temple on the Bowery, a cramped space without heat or electricity. That same year, he met Sophia Chang, a Korean-Canadian who was the manager of Ol’ Dirty Bastard, a member of the Wu-Tang Clan. (Yan Ming and Chang have two children. Shaolin monks have an exemption, granted by an emperor whom they protected during the Tang dynasty, that effectively permits meat, alcohol, and sex.) She introduced him to the RZA at a record-release party. The Wu-Tang Clan’s delight at meeting a real Shaolin monk lent Yan Ming some hip-hop cred, and before long he had moved to a bigger space, where he began training the Wu and many others in the Shaolin way.

              His arrival at the birthday party was signalled by a burst of applause and shouts of the Buddhist greeting “Amituofo!” He entered from the stairwell wearing Comme des Garçons street clothes: navy shirt with an oversized black zipper and black pants. He took a seat front and center. The d.j. started a break beat, and the performance began. The students spun through choreographed fight sets, animal forms (eagle, snake, tiger, praying mantis), palm strikes, flying and spinning kicks, cartwheels, splits. When it was over, Yan Ming stood and said wholeheartedly, “I’m the luckiest sifu in the whole world!” Then he grinned. “Now, are you ready to train harder with the special water?”

              The students took turns manning the bar—beer, sake, champagne (“very special water”). Nearby, friends made introductions to Yan Ming: “Yo yo, this is Pink,” and, “This is my sexy bodyguard.” The Shaolin tradition is to salute with the right hand, but, since Yan Ming was holding a bottle of champagne with that one, he raised his left. He filled people’s paper cups: “Merry Christmas!” Chang, whose head was shaved, called out, “Dave Chappelle’s been down there buzzing! Can someone go down and let him in? Amituofo.”

              Out on the dance floor, Yan Ming moved, with almost any-guy imprecision, to the strains of “Motha****a, what’s wrong with you?” and “Can I kick it?” A dance circle formed, the monk staying clear of the center, and the kung-fu battles—like nonverbal rap battles—escalated to the point where one man jumped clear over the head of another.

              Around midnight, the birthday cake came out, decorated with the words “Happy Birthday Handsome.” By this time, Yan Ming had begun to lose his English. “Cut the cake! Cut the cake!” everyone chanted. A Wu-Tang Shaolin song played. Sifu Shi Yan Ming raised his left arm and, with full concentration, sliced the cake down the middle with a split-second kung-fu chop.

              A few of the last guests to leave, hours later, found Yan Ming out in the rain on Broadway, buzzing to get back in. Bits of cake were stuck to his cheek. “Happy New Year!” he called out, as they held the door for him. “You are so handsome. Happy Birthday!”







              COMMENT

              REVENUE DEPT.

              DEPT. OF CELEBRATION

              THE WRITING WIFE

              THE FINANCIAL PAGE




              — Amy Goldwasser
              practice wu de

              Comment


              • #8
                From The New Yorker:

                DEPT. OF CELEBRATION
                DRUNK MONK
                Issue of 2005-05-02
                Posted 2005-04-25

                There are only so many birthday-party venues where you wait around for the guest of honor in your socks. One of them is a Buddhist kung-fu temple. One night not long ago, about two hundred people left their shoes outside the door of the U.S.A. Shaolin Temple, on lower Broadway, and shuffled inside to await the arrival of Sifu Shi Yan Ming, a thirty-fourth-generation Shaolin fighting monk, whose forty-first birthday they intended to celebrate by drinking vast quantities of beer—or “special water,” as Yan Ming likes to say.

                The celebrants spanned an easy range of age, race, profession, and style: deli clerk, baby, Wesley Snipes, sociology professor, Masta Killa. The RZA, of the Wu-Tang Clan, who spent much of his childhood skipping school to watch kung-fu movies in Times Square, was there, wearing a Staten Island baseball jacket and cap. In a room where hair was fairly unpopular, you could spot Jim Jarmusch’s tall, fluffy white head.

                The students, dozens of whom were planning to stage a performance for their master (or sifu), were wearing orange or navy monk’s robes. As they waited, they blithely performed amazing feats.Two women rolled over each other’s back; another cartwheeled, no hands; a young man with long dreadlocks doodled in the air with a broadsword; another, head shaved, did a standing flip. The d.j., whose booth was in front of the sword rack, was wearing a yellow T-shirt bearing the temple’s slogan in red: “More Chi! Train Harder!”

                This is something Yan Ming yells all the time—along with “Merry Christmas!” and “Happy New Year!” In his view, every day is a cause for celebration, and everybody is “handsome.” Before he was born, two brothers and one sister died of starvation. When Yan Ming fell extremely ill as a young child, his parents took him to the Shaolin Temple, in Henan Province, the birthplace of Ch’an Buddhism, and left him there, in the hope that Buddha might save his life. Under the monks’ tutelage, the boy became a master of Shaolin kung fu. By the time he was seventeen, he had been trained to withstand a full-force strike to the groin. He can lick red-hot iron shovels, break bricks with his skull, fly aboveground upside down in full splits, and sleep standing on one leg. In 1992, in San Francisco, while on the first Shaolin Temple monks’ tour of the United States, he defected and made his way to New York.

                By 1995, Yan Ming had opened a temple on the Bowery, a cramped space without heat or electricity. That same year, he met Sophia Chang, a Korean-Canadian who was the manager of Ol’ Dirty Bastard, a member of the Wu-Tang Clan. (Yan Ming and Chang have two children. Shaolin monks have an exemption, granted by an emperor whom they protected during the Tang dynasty, that effectively permits meat, alcohol, and sex.) She introduced him to the RZA at a record-release party. The Wu-Tang Clan’s delight at meeting a real Shaolin monk lent Yan Ming some hip-hop cred, and before long he had moved to a bigger space, where he began training the Wu and many others in the Shaolin way.

                His arrival at the birthday party was signalled by a burst of applause and shouts of the Buddhist greeting “Amituofo!” He entered from the stairwell wearing Comme des Garçons street clothes: navy shirt with an oversized black zipper and black pants. He took a seat front and center. The d.j. started a break beat, and the performance began. The students spun through choreographed fight sets, animal forms (eagle, snake, tiger, praying mantis), palm strikes, flying and spinning kicks, cartwheels, splits. When it was over, Yan Ming stood and said wholeheartedly, “I’m the luckiest sifu in the whole world!” Then he grinned. “Now, are you ready to train harder with the special water?”

                The students took turns manning the bar—beer, sake, champagne (“very special water”). Nearby, friends made introductions to Yan Ming: “Yo yo, this is Pink,” and, “This is my sexy bodyguard.” The Shaolin tradition is to salute with the right hand, but, since Yan Ming was holding a bottle of champagne with that one, he raised his left. He filled people’s paper cups: “Merry Christmas!” Chang, whose head was shaved, called out, “Dave Chappelle’s been down there buzzing! Can someone go down and let him in? Amituofo.”

                Out on the dance floor, Yan Ming moved, with almost any-guy imprecision, to the strains of “Motha****a, what’s wrong with you?” and “Can I kick it?” A dance circle formed, the monk staying clear of the center, and the kung-fu battles—like nonverbal rap battles—escalated to the point where one man jumped clear over the head of another.

                Around midnight, the birthday cake came out, decorated with the words “Happy Birthday Handsome.” By this time, Yan Ming had begun to lose his English. “Cut the cake! Cut the cake!” everyone chanted. A Wu-Tang Shaolin song played. Sifu Shi Yan Ming raised his left arm and, with full concentration, sliced the cake down the middle with a split-second kung-fu chop.

                A few of the last guests to leave, hours later, found Yan Ming out in the rain on Broadway, buzzing to get back in. Bits of cake were stuck to his cheek. “Happy New Year!” he called out, as they held the door for him. “You are so handsome. Happy Birthday!”


                — Amy Goldwasserg
                Experienced Community organizer. Yeah, let's choose him to run the free world. It will be historic. What could possibly go wrong...

                "You're just a jaded cynical mother****er...." Jeffpeg

                (more comments in my User Profile)
                russbo.com


                Comment


                • #9
                  Wow, thanks for posting the same thing three times.

                  And I posted before I read it. And my post was still right on the money. Right on brotha, right on.
                  Becoming what I've dreamed about.

                  Comment


                  • #10
                    From shaolinwolf.com, supposedly, in Yan Ming's own words:

                    Shi Yan Ming

                    In his own words:

                    "Before there are branches, there are roots. Therefore, to tell the story of my life I must start by talking about my parents. My father grew up in an extremely poor family. They were basically homeless; they had to go door to door and beg for food and he never went to school. He had to sleep under a wood burning stove or burrow a hole in a stack of wheat to keep warm.

                    Despite the hardship he was self-taught; he was extremely literate and a great writer and excellent calligrapher. My mother's family was better off, but not much. She, like most other girls in China at the time, was not educated and raised solely to be a mother and housewife. She also had her feet bound, as was the common practice of the time. My parents eventually got jobs for the Chinese government under Mao Tse Tung. They worked underground as telex operators.

                    I was the seventh child of nine. Before I was born two of my older brothers and one older sister died of starvation in Mao's "Great Leap Forward" in the late 1950's. This is when everybody said "everything is great, there is lot's of food" but it wasn't true. Yes, it's sad but it's like the weather: you can't change it. That's why everybody has to try to be better and understand and help others.

                    I was born in Zhumadian Village in Henan Province in the center of China on Chinese New Year's in 1964, the year of the Dragon. Very Lucky! But when I was two or three I was very, very sick - I almost died. My parents thought they were going to lose their fourth child and spent all their money on numerous doctors to try and save my life. My father even had to sell his special calligraphy pen.

                    When none of the doctors could help me they finally had to give up. My body was cold and my eyes could not open, everybody took me for dead. My parents wrapped me in blankets to throw me away (they were too poor to provide me with a proper burial). On their way to go throw me away outside the village they were stopped by a man who asked them why they were so unhappy and crying. They told him that their son was dead. The man said that he was an acupuncturist and that he wanted to try and save me. Right there in the street he unwrapped me from my blankets, pulled out his needles and performed acupuncture on me. He brought me right back to life. I believe he was a Boddhisattva sent by Buddha to save my life.


                    When I was five my parents, being Buddhists, took me to the Shaolin Temple because they were worried that I had been so sick. It wasn't anything like the movies or what you imagine. It was right in the middle of the Cultural Revolution and Mao had outlawed all religion. There was no abbot wearing the red and yellow robes with the shaved head and the long white beard. Nobody wore the monk's uniform until around 1980 after the end of the Cultural Revolution.

                    The Temple had been destroyed not only by the current government but also throughout history by many warring dynasties. Only the foundation and some walls survived - but it was never completely demolished! The Temple as we see it now has been largely reconstructed in the last ten years.

                    They took me to see the head monk, Shi Shing Jen. At that time there hadn't been an abbot in three hundred years. He was eventually appointed abbot in 1986 but died only seven months later and there has not been on since his death. I called him Sigong, my Grandmaster; he was my Sifu's Sifu (master's master). It was he who accepted me. I didn't have to do any Kung Fu, he just had a look at me and he knew. When you are at a very high spiritual level you can read people's faces and know them immediately. The Chinese say "yuan fen"; in English you say "destiny". My parents were very happy to leave me in the hands of Buddha.

                    My name was changed as soon as I entered the Temple. My name at birth was "Duan Gen Shan". Once I entered the Temple my Grandmaster and masters renamed me Shi Yan Ming. All Buddhist monks take the family name "Shi" as in Shakyamuni, the founder of Buddhism, because we follow Buddha. "Yan" means "34th generation" at Shaolin Temple. "Ming" means "perpetual" like the cycle of the sun or moon, or infinite, like the Dharma wheel, which never stops.

                    There were only 16 or 17 monks at the Temple at the time and I was by far the youngest monk there. Most of the other monks were in their seventies. Five is very young for some people to be away from their parents but not everybody is the same. My grandmaster, masters, and kung fu uncles took care of me like parents. They loved me very much and I loved them very much. Also, it was not safe to stay at the Temple all the time because Mao's Red Guard had absolute power and they could do anything they wanted anywhere at anytime. Therefore none of the monks could live there all the time and I got to see my parents quite often even though they lived about 200 miles (approx. 300 km) from the Temple. Sometimes I even had to go back and live with them because the Temple was so dangerous.

                    My masters were Liu Shin Yi and Shen Ping An. They taught me different styles - kung fu and acupuncture. They were Shaolin disciples, not monks, that lived outside the Temple. At that time because there were no walls, the Temple was completely open - many people came and went. I lived at the Temple but all my masters didn't always live with us. I had other masters outside the Temple that taught me how to read faces and palms.

                    Inside the Temple I began learning forms, fighting, and Chan Buddhism right away because I was living there. It's very normal: you are there, you just do it. It's like you're here in America; you have to speak English. We all practiced together, me and the older monks. There are no rules, you just learn everything naturally. I developed everything early.

                    The Chinese say if you are poor, like Shaolin Temple and my family were poor, you develop everything early. I started to understand a lot and all masters recognized that I was so smart but so bad. I was like a little monkey, I always played tricks on people. For instance, I would dig a hole in the ground, put something on top of it and stay and wait for someone to walk on it and fall in. I even played tricks on my masters but I don't have to tell you about that.

                    They almost always knew it was me. If I got caught I would have to do horse stance until my legs were numb and swollen or I would have to do headstands until all the blood went to my head and I felt like my eyes were going to pop out. Or my masters would hit me, which is very normal for China, not like America.

                    I also used to give my brothers a lot of trouble. If they talked while we were practicing it made me mad. I used to say,"We're practicing, why are you talking?" If they would keep talking, once, twice, I would hit them with a staff very often. I started doing this very young, when I was maybe 7 or 8 years old and I kept doing it when I was older. I wish I could do the same to my students now!

                    Even when I was a child I never wanted to lose; I was very competitive. My brothers and I would be doing Chin Na or fighting and when we would fall down at the same time I had to be on top of them. Even if we were tired after hours and hours of fighting I didn't want to stop. Sometimes I went too far and hurt my brothers and of course they would get mad at me but it's always like that when you practice martial arts. They would only be mad for a short time - we were family.

                    I also used to get into fights with people outside the Temple. We might go to eat outside and people would say bad things about the Temple or my brothers. I would kick them and made my disciples kick them too. And here in America I feel the same; if you want to say something bad about Shaolin Temple or Shi Yan Ming, buy a ticket, go to China or come to New York. You know who I am and where I am. Sometime you have to use different language to teach people, like action language. Buddha said:"There are millions of different doors for millions of different people."

                    I met my Buddhism Sifu, Shi Yong Chen, almost immediately after I entered the Temple but didn't begin seriously studying with him until I was about 14 or 15. Learning the sutras was natural. Everybody was praying and you hear it a lot and you learn it. I understood Chan and reached enlightenment very early. I don't remember it being a sudden moment but it was very early. Things became so clear, everything was deep but simple.

                    Daily Routine

                    Just like life at the Temple, it sounds like a hard life but it was so simple. You have to love what you do. We got up at 4:30am in the morning and practiced for two hours. At 6:30am we ate breakfast - mostly steamed tofu and vegetables. Since I can remember I ate a lot. Still eat a lot. From 7 to 8am we would pray, read, meditate, or relax. From 8:00 to 11:30am practice again, pray, or study Buddhism, clean, or do work for the Temple. At 11:30am we ate lunch, sometimes noodles, rice, mantau. Most monks don't eat past noon but Shaolin Temple monks are different. But many monks would visit from other temples so out of respect we would have lunch at 11:30am so they could eat. From noon to 1:00pm we would relax. From 1 to 5:30pm we would practice, pray. From 5:30 to 6:00pm we would have dinner; noodles, rice, soup. From 6 to 7pm relax. From 7 to 10pm practice or pray again. From 10pm to 1am some brothers walk around the Temple and check the incense and make sure it's still burning. From 1 to 4am they switch and another shift walks around.


                    We slept on a piece of wood with a blanket on it. Sometimes we would use our clothes for a pillow. It was very comfortable and very good for your back. In America beds are too soft. In 1996 when my kung fu brother, Master Shi De Yang came to visit me he stayed at my house. I let him sleep in the bedroom so that he could have the privacy and the comfortable bed. The morning after the first night when I went in to wake him up I found him sleeping on the floor, he too found the bed too soft!

                    There was no electricity at the Temple until 1981 or '82 and no running water until 1986. Before we got running water we had to get it from the rivers in the mountains just outside the Temple, or we collected rainwater or drew it from a well. Most of the monks were unhappy when they brought in the running water because the Chinese believe in Feng Shui and digging up the ground and putting pipes underground is like cutting your veins out.

                    During the summer we would shower often because the cold water was no problem in the heat, but in winter sometimes it would be a couple of months between showers. We would wash our face and our underarms but we wouldn't jump completely under the cold water. Sometimes we would even use our sweat to wash ourselves. Even now in China most places don't have showers available. You have to know somebody or pay somebody. Still today there is only cold running water at the Temple.

                    Before the Temple opened up in the early 80's we could eat meat inside. After it was reconstructed there were other monks visiting so we didn't eat meat indoors. Shaolin Temple monks are different from other Buddhist monks, we are allowed to eat meat and drink alcohol. During the Tang Dynasty the Shaolin monks helped the Emperor Li Shi Min. He decreed thereafter that they could eat meat and drink alcohol. This is the story depicted in Jet Li's first movie Shaolin Temple.

                    Shaolin Temple was the movie that changed everything. After that movie came out many tourist started visiting the Temple. Our daily routine changed because we had to take time to take care of the tourists. It might seem bad but it was good too. More people visit the Temple, more people know about the Shaolin Temple Martial Arts, Chan Buddhism, and China. You have to be happy for that.


                    Right around the same time Shaolin Temple came out both of my parents died of lung cancer within 6 months of each other. Their jobs were very stressful and they were heavy smokers. I was 16. Even when my parents died, I don't think they died. I think they are still with me all the time.

                    After they passed away I took care of my younger brother and my older brothers took care of the younger siblings. I still keep in contact with them. They can call me, I can call them.

                    People have to appreciate and understand now. A hundred years ago you had to take a boat from America to China, now you can take a plane. You have to understand yourself and love and appreciate everything we have right now; you have to bring yourself to a higher level.

                    I hope this article helps people learn more about Shaolin Temple and China. Shaolin Temple Martial Arts and Chan Buddhism are very powerful. They helped me through hard times and can help anybody. I encourage anybody who is interested to go visit the Temple in China or come see me here in New York. If you get to the Temple in China and see all the tourists and see all the things for sale, or if you come here to New York and I do not have a Temple surrounded by mountains and a forest, don't be surprised or disappointed.

                    Open your mind and your heart. Believe in yourself, trust yourself and you will find all the answers to all your questions."

                    Amitabha (Buddha Bless You)
                    Experienced Community organizer. Yeah, let's choose him to run the free world. It will be historic. What could possibly go wrong...

                    "You're just a jaded cynical mother****er...." Jeffpeg

                    (more comments in my User Profile)
                    russbo.com


                    Comment


                    • #11
                      Wonderful insight. Good stuff.
                      Becoming what I've dreamed about.

                      Comment


                      • #12
                        well I have mixed feelings about it.

                        I was the DJ, and the party ROCKED. We train real hard, so we also celebrate real hard. You could say we relish life.

                        The problem is, he is very open about what he does whereas others do the same shit on the DL, and the god's honest truth is we do a lot of really awesome stuff that never sees the light of day, but the characterizations that are out there. I mean I guess it is a good hook and all and this is what media does, but sometimes I feel like he is always portrayed as this drunk, meat eating wild man when that really is not the case.
                        "Arhat, I am your father..."
                        -the Dark Lord Cod

                        Comment


                        • #13
                          "sometimes I feel like he is always portrayed as this drunk, meat eating wild man"

                          id rather have my monk be a drunken meat eater, just as long as he isnt rapeing the choir boys its all good
                          "did you ask me to consider dick with you??" blooming tianshi lotus

                          Comment


                          • #14
                            oh great, pop culture shaolin in new york, now gangsters wont need guns to rob liquor stores anymore.

                            hopefully this truly changes people character wise. im so jealous...
                            "Life is a run. In attack we run, in defense we run. When you can no longer run, time to die" - Shichiroji "Seven samurai"

                            Comment


                            • #15
                              Speaking of Chapelle.. heard he's in S. Africa....

                              Seeking some psychiatric care.
                              practice wu de

                              Comment

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