Last night, at the gym (NATCH), I was doing this ab machine when a personal trainer came over. “Hey man,” he said, “do you want to do something much more effective for your abdominals?”
So he sort of does this “come into the back room” hand motion and takes me over to the personal training station and shows me an ab exercise on the inflatable supertights powerball. So I’m trying this new exercise and he’s like “How does it feel?” and I’m like “It feels…good?” And he smiles and nods and walks away.
So I’m thinking, that is so nice of this personal trainer to give me some of his professional knowledge in order to carve my abdominals into a steel washboard made of pure aggression, when I look over and see him talking to whoever is now working out on the ab machine, asking them if they would like to know a much more effective exercise.
I realized he didn’t want to help me, HE JUST HATES THAT MACHINE SO MUCH. He wants that machine to never get used. He sits up at night being like, fucking hate that machine, I am not going to rest until everyone is using the stretchy moistball 3000 and is feeling the stretch in their abdominals, that is your starting position. That machine is totally going to eat it.
In other news, this happened as I was listening to the radio last night:
Radio: Remember when you almost volunteered at a soup kitchen?
Worker #3116: No.
Radio: Remember when you were going to give blood at the blood drive?
Worker #3116: No.
Radio: Remember when you were going to deliver a hot meal to your neighbor with AIDS?
Worker #3116: Hahaha. NO!
Radio: This year, make a promise–
Worker #3116: Wait! My neighbor has AIDS?
Radio: –to help others–
Worker #3116: Can we please go back to the part where my neighbor has AIDS?
Radio: “Smack that, all on the floor, smack that, till you get sore…”
Ladies, I love everything about you. When you get older you really come into your own and you have gross bodies but you don’t even care and stuff. I will fuck you in the bathroom. Here I am, I’m so great, what’s the deal? I just want to get married to a lady, but she has to be 25 years old and want babies in 74 months to 88 months. THAT IS MY TIMELINE MAYBE YOU NEED TO LOOK AT YOURSELF FOR WHAT IS THE MATTER. One time I will talk to you on the subway or anywhere, I don’t care. Beautiful women I’m always talking to. We talk about what’s wrong with us. That is as real as it gets. THIS IS CALLED REAL LIFE. What the thing is, men know what they want and you need to look in the mirror and WAKE UP. Don’t hate men because they don’t want to harvest babies from your body until they are ready. That is so obvious.
Here’s another thing, what is up with all the crying?
I got all excited to open my new six-pack of socks this weekend, only to discover that I’d bought those little ankle socks? Who buys those? Teenage girls and dudes with sore butts. That’s the thing about New York, though. If I had bought these socks back in [redacted], it would have been out of the question to keep these clown socks. I would have returned them immediately by driving to the store in my car like a human being. Here, I’m like “Well, now I wear gay tennis socks. That’s something I do. Because fuck you if you think I’m going all the way into the city to take these back to the store.”
But you can’t just wear these socks out in the open where anyone will see you. So they are my new gym socks? Which makes them even gayer? Now all the steroid guidos are going to know how delicate my ankles are!
In other news: what was up with that dinner? Am I right? Wobbly chairs and three wine lists and the mystical strains of a sitar? What?
A few weeks ago on the phone, Mom #3116 said “If you want to say hello to me in your blog (her word), you can.” Then last night I got a card in the mail telling me how great I was SIGNED MOM 3116. I can’t tell if this is the best or worst development in the world. It’s kind of like if your parents found out you were into S&M. You’d probably have to get over the embarrassment and make peace with it, even going so far as to appreciate the fact that you can have such an open and honest adult relationship with your parents, knowing that they truly love you for who you are.
But if they started using your safe word all the time? That would just be fucked up.
The noise level in the chamber seemed more muted, as Democrats exercised their new majority by sitting on their hands and staying off their feet during many applause lines. Republicans, who had promised to be “boisterous” to make up for their diminished numbers, greeted Mr. Bush with a series of “hoâ??s!”
(New York Times)
You and I serve our country/
in a time of great consequence/
During this session of Congress/
we have the duty/
to reform domestic programs/
vital to our country/
we have the opportunity/
to save millions of lives abroad/
from a terrible disease/
We will work for a prosperity that is broadly shared/
and we will answer/
every danger and every enemy/
that threatens the American people.
In all these days of promise and days of reckoning/
we can be confident/
In a whirlwind of change/
and hope and peril/
our faith is sure/our resolve is firm/
and our union is strong/
There has been a lot of buzz lately about NBC’s Heroes, almost all of it surely generated by NBC’s crack publicity department, but so be it. I never watch shows out of order, which is why this new thing of being able to watch shows on the internet is a great boon for the networks, at least when it comes to their target audience of adult males between the ages of 28 years, 5 months, and 6 days and 28 years, 5 months, and 7 days, who live in New York, and are me. Being able to watch an entire season allows me to start at the beginning as my neuroses demand, and thereby get sucked into a franchise and all that its advertisers have to offer.
So I watched the first episode of Heroes last night. It was fine. I like super powers and I also like cheerleaders, so there is some natural appeal here. But in one of the opening scenes there is that Indian guy? Who is a professor of super power theory? He is giving this lecture to his students and he says something to the effect of:
Mankind thinks it is at the forefront of evolutionary progress, but I present you with the cockroach. It can survive for months without food, it can live for days without its head, and it is resistant to radiation. If God created any creature in its image, I would argue it is the cockroach.
Now, I am not a particularly spiritual person, but I just find it (even) hard(er) to believe in a God whose “image” is survival at all costs and living in sewers and streaming out from under the door of the Uruguayan dude who lives across the hall from me and lights incense in the hallway. And I know that that was kind of the point, like “oooh, this super powers professor is so provocative with his provocative ideas!” but here’s another thing: who wants to survive a nuclear holocaust? Do you know how shitty that is going to be? Even God doesn’t want to roam the barren Earth in tattered leather and homemade chainmail, fighting over gasoline and fertile wombs. Not to mention the wasteland will be swarming with fucking cockroaches.
Indian Super Powers Professor: Ridiculous
I was at the bodega last night buying one cucumber and a box of cereal because that is how I roll. While I was waiting in line, I noticed on the shelf behind the Russian salesgirl, mixed in with the imported chocolates and truffle oils, a box containing a candy g-string. This is a g-string made out of candy, the kind of candy they make candy necklaces out of. Not only is that like making a g-string out of those bead-massage chair coverings that cabbies use for their sciatica, it’s also disgusting candy. But I was looking at this thing and thinking about the “string” part of “g-string,” i.e. the thin branch of candy that goes up someone’s butt. Now I can’t get the image of that poop candy out of my head.
It also came in “bra.”
Since http://www.corporatecasual.gabedelahaye.com is the world’s leading resource for breaking Chris Brown Has AIDS news, I will continue to bring you the latest updates on this important story. And since http://www.corporatecasual.gabedelahaye.com also seems to be the only resource for breaking Chris Brown Has AIDS news, most of these updates will just be comments that black people have left on old posts, using the computers at the public library.
I’m not sure which part I like better: that she wrote her comments in ALL CAPS so that she is SCREAMING IN MY FACE, or that she only waited four minutes for an answer from an international R&B star for a response to the question of whether or not he had AIDS before getting kind of frustrated with him.
I watched Rambo: First Blood for the first time last night. Over the holidays, I watched Rocky for the first time. I’m fascinated by early Stallone and how his image has been reappropriated by popular culture. In both of these movies he plays a soft-spoken outcast who never had a chance. But my pre-conceived notion of him, based on a decontextualized collection of pop culture references, was of a steroidal half-tard with a bazooka. At the end of Rambo he is sobbing into his former commander’s chest, unable to get the nightmarish images of Vietnam out of his head (including the death of a friend that was basically the result of a Vietnamized version of a roadside IED…for my readers in Baghdad). I guess that doesn’t make as good of a Sega game.
A similar thing happened with James Dean, whose popular image is of the cool rebel. But his screen persona is altogether less cool. He is handsome, yes, but he cries in two of the three movies he made–and crying is not cool. His acting is tense and emotional. His saving grace is that he didn’t live long enough to make East of Eden 2: Cal Takes Tokyo.
It’s just interesting how as a culture we cannot have our heroes be vulnerable, so when it comes time to reduce them to a shared experience we erase that aspect of them, no matter how defining it was. Instead they lean against a car smoking a cigarette because they’re tough–not because they’re the new kid in school and no one will talk to them. They blow up a gas station with a bazooka because they’ve got 19-inch biceps, not because the government stripped him of his sanity and then left him in an unbending culture of intolerance and oppression.
I guess this post wasn’t that funny. FART! Is that better?
[Two guys talk to each other in the locker room at my gym. Shortly after the exchange they both head to the showers where they can continue the conversation, as well as bathe.]
Guy 1: So she’s helping me and I’m just like, Okay, if I’m going to buy something, today’s the day. Right?
Guy 2: Sure.
Guy 1: I’m like, Yeah, I need some shirts. So she helps me pick out some shirts and the total is 1400 dollars. And she’s like, How are you going to pay for this? And I pull out my black.
Guy 2: You pull out your black.
Guy 1: I couldn’t let this girl go! But then I go up to find Dana who’s on the third floor and she wants this pair of shoes so I switch for my green.
Guy 2: You need help.
Guy 1: I know.
Guy 2: She was that good?
Guy 1: Incredible.
[3 years later...]
Guy 2: When Brian told me him and Kayla were getting married, well, I couldn’t freakin’ believe it. If you had told me even two years ago that this guy was going to settle down, I would have said frick you! I’m keeping this one clean, Brian’s mom! Anyway, everyone knows how these two met, so I won’t bore you with the details, let’s just say someone had a very big, black credit limit! Ha! Brian, you’re one lucky dude. Kayla is amazing. And the two of you have the type of bond that can really endure because you each bring something different to the table. Brian, you have a lot of money, and Kayla, you know what colors compliment Brian’s skin tone. I love you guys, and I know that you two will be together for the rest of your lives because you’re just like me: fucking idiots.