|This is how I looked in 1994; I'm the one in the white shirt. That's not an earring; it's a spot of light.|
And the level of dislike I feel is in direct proportion to your proximity to me, or to where I want to be.
I for some reason thought that the health club, at 6 a.m., would be relatively empty; I had envisioned more or less having the place to myself the way Sweetie I and used to when we'd go work out on Friday evenings before grocery shopping. (We are party animals, Sweetie and I -- we used to come home from work on Fridays, go work out, go grocery shopping, and then spend the evening reading magazines, watching "Reba" on TV, and sitting quietly.)
But it wasn't empty; it was full of people who were in my way and/or doing annoying things like "being near me" or "existing."
In some cases, the fact that they were annoying was patently obvious, even if they weren't directly, but only indirectly, annoying me, like the lady at the front desk who was talking to the worker as I walked in.
"Blather blather blah blah the meeting and other stuff you don't care about," she was saying, essentially, and the guy at the desk was nodding and looking at his computer and he said and I quote:
"Mmm hmmm" at which point she went into another tale of inanity as I scanned my card and headed past the seething throngs of people up to where the recumbent bikes are.
I ride the recumbent bikes because real bikes are bad for you; sitting on a real bike seat for any length of time, if you are a guy, can result in numbness in your guy-ereal regions, which is not something anyone wants, especially people who are guys. Our health club has only four recumbent bikes, and they are located off in a corner of the second floor, surrounded by "real" stationary bikes and by those things that look kind of like stair climbers only they're not and people on them appear to be engaged in a mixture of cross-country skiing, rhythmic gymnastics, and imitations of Ripley fighting the alien mother.
|These things, as demonstrated by Mr F and Mr Bunches|
When I got to the recumbent bikes, there were about 9 people crowded around them, people on regular bikes and people on the Ripleys and people just being annoying by existing too close to me, and I had to work my way through them and get to the bike I wanted.
I was able to do so, though, and so I have worked out for two consecutive days for the first time in years. Plus, since it was a recumbent bike, I was able to read the morning comics and news while I worked out, and that's win-win.
Today's workout: Recumbent bike, 25 minutes, level 1.
Latest weight: 254 pounds.
Today's inspirational song I listened to while working out: C Moon, by Paul McCartney.
What is that song about? It mostly consists of Paul just saying C Moon over and over and over and I have no idea what a C Moon is.
But Mr Bunches might.
True story: Mr Bunches has a bunch of Alphabet Sets -- collections of alphabet letters, in foam and magnetic plastic and wood and other media, because Mr Bunches is way into the alphabet, and he likes to spell out words he knows with them. The words Mr Bunches knows and likes to spell are not so much in the "cat" or "frog" variety, although he can spell those. Instead, Mr Bunches likes to spell out words he learns watching movies in his room, so at any given moment, you might walk into Mr Bunches' room and find, on his chalkboard or just laid across the floor, words like:
or the latest,
Back to the Future
which is a set of words he learned from previews on another show, and then he made us go buy the movie Back to the Future, but he gets scared when he watches the part where Marty McFly ends up in the barn and the simple folk of the 50s try to shoot Marty with a shotgun, so he won't watch that part.
Anyway, another word Mr Bunches likes to spell is:
which is seen at the beginning of Kung Fu Panda and Kung Fu Panda 2 (a movie Mr Bunches has conquered his fears of) and which is always pictured with a little crescent moon above it:
Mr Bunches faithfully recreates that, using as the crescent moon a backwards letter "C", by which I conclude that Paul McCartney's song C Moon was foretelling a future in which a young boy would solve the problem of how to make his own major film studio logos on his bedroom floor.