The other day just about the only thing I had to do for the entire day was put a baby crib together. How long could that really take? Well, little did you know I got a C- in Industrial Arts in Junior High, and I suck at this sort of thing. If there is anything that could have been done wrong, I did it wrong. Two different times I figured out way too late that I had put something on backwards and had to take apart just about everything to get it put on right. Believe it or not, I woke up all sore the next day from sitting on the floor in awkward positions screwing screws into stubborn bolts. 

This was my first real dad task, and I'm not going to say it was a complete failure. Sure, there were a lot of bumps in the road and a lot of swearing, but I stuck with it and got it done. I think it was a metaphor for what parenting is going to be like from what I hear from my friends: You have to figure it out as you go, you're going to suck at it at times, but you just stick with it and stay positive. And they'll be lots of extra parts. Okay, that makes no sense. I suck at carpentry and metaphors. 

I ran the Chicago Rock and Roll Half Marathon last weekend. I have figured out that halves are plenty for me. No more full ones because those destroy perfectly good bodies. My good buddy, Night Train, and I run around 10 miles once every weekend, and it's been great for keeping weight off and gives us time to recover. Also, that way you don't get sick of running when it's just once a week. The race went really well for us, and they had live music along the way. They also had rock impersonators, and I tested the Blues Brothers guys and said to them as I ran by "Orange whip . . . Orange whip . . .," I was very pleased and impressed that they both responded with "Three orange whips!" and did the proper hand motion. The Elvis impersonator looked very hot, sweaty, and hungover, so I didn't engage him with any fun pop quizzes. He looked busy concentrating on not throwing up on himself. 

Hot yoga has been a great way for me to recover from running way too far and taking entirely too long to assemble things with seemingly simple instructions. Usually I'm just about the worst yogi (that's what they call yoga participants) in the class, and that's fine. You have to be willing to be the suckiest guy in the room before you can get better at anything. I'll tell you right now that I'm in decent shape but can't touch my toes. Not even close. Slowly I'm getting more flexible, and I always leave feeling refreshed and thinking with a clear head. However, yesterday right when the class ended, some country music kicked in and continued for at least four songs while I was in the locker room. I would prefer they play any innocuous new age wind chime music music that just blends into the background. That's fine and expected. But, I can't relax when I'm listening to a song about some guys drinking a six pack of beer in the back of a pick-up truck. Unless I'm right there in the back of that truck with them. Country makes me angry, and I can't tune that crap out. 

Always good to have a spotter

When I was in high school I left my alarm clock-radio alarm (I'm old) on the other end of the room and had it set on the country station. That way I knew I wouldn't lie in bed and listen to the music because I knew I would have to run across the room to turn it off or slowly lose my mind. So, it's been a long history of hating country music. I was thinking of leaving a complaint with the yoga studio, but I'll just complain to you guys instead because that's what I've always done.

So running, volleyball, and yoga have been about it as far as exercise goes lately, and I have been losing some muscle tone. I have been avoiding doing any kind of weight training due to an elbow problem, but today the elbow felt pretty good so I pumped some (really light-weight) iron. You know that debate kids have on the playground where they say "My dad could beat up your dad?" Well, what I don't want is some kid saying that to Kenny Jr. and poor Kenny is left saying, "You're probably right. My dad has pipe cleaner arms and can't even screw together simple wooden structures with directions that even a chimp can follow. He's hardly a man at all, but he can do a downward facing dog in his hot yoga class that will make your head spin!" That won't score him any points at all out there on that playground. 

No segue at all here, but I was at work not too long ago, and a coworker said, "Kenneth, I saw on Facebook that we have a mutual friend." She said the friend's name, and the name meant nothing to me. I looked it up, and it is a blog buddy. She was saying what a great dude he is, and it made me happy to hear that. I said he is an excellent writer, and she said that he helped everyone write their term papers in college. This pleased me too for some reason. I was proud of this dude I have never met. Then I had to explain to this coworker that I had never met him, and I'm a grown-ass man with pen pals. 

One blog buddy I have met is SO@24, and I was reminded recently of the time we first met in L.A., and for reasons I can't remember, we recreated the suggestive cover art from Hall and Oates' 1982 release, "H20." I thought of this because I went to an outdoor Hall & Oates show last night on a very hot and humid Chicago night with my sister, her boyfriend, and my very pregnant and sweaty wife. Believe it or not, we were actually just as sweaty as Daryl Hall and John Oates were in the picture! 

(Hall & Oates)

(Dr. Ken and SO@24. We should have got sweatier or just spritzed water on our faces. It will always be one of my biggest regrets.)

There has been no real rhyme or reason to where this post has been headed, and I'll just end it here. Go ahead and leave a comment related to any of the scatter shot of topics I have run down in this rambling stream of consciousness, or just say hello to your insane pen pal buddy from Chicago. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to admire the glorious crib that big daddy built with his own. bare. hands! 

Walmart: It's Sad In There

I had to go to Walmart for something, and I learned that Walmart is just about the saddest place in America.  I was looking for knee pads for volleyball, and no one seemed to know a damn thing about them.  They would stop other staff members and ask them, and each person knew nothing.  Then they called over the intercom for someone for sporting goods to come over, and no one came.  The more I think about it, all the people working there seemed to be just wandering sadly and aimlessly.  I didn't take it personally that no one gave a shit.  They just seem to have really crummy jobs.

"Anything I can help you with, or shall I flag someone else down who doesn't know anything about this dump?"

Anyway, while I was there I picked up a pair of pants to wear to work.  I left the newly purchased pants folded up as is and put them into my gym bag to wear the next day.  After the next morning's workout, I'm walking to my car and hear, "Hey, boss.  You get some new pants?"  I said, "I have tags on my pants don't I?"  To which he said with a chuckle, "All over, dude."

First off, he was very much a gym bro-type-guy, a little condescending, and I don't like being called boss by people who aren't my employees.*  However, it was nice of him to let me know so that I didn't walk into work with size 34 x 34 all up and down the back of my pants.  That's why I didn't notice the tags when I put them on - they were all on the back.  That's no excuse.  It was pretty stupid on my part.  Sometimes I think I might be dumb enough to work at Walmart.

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wI don't have any employees.

2 Snow Days!

I just had two snow days right after a two week vacation, so this is my sixteenth day off of work.  It has been below 20 degrees outside, many offices have shut down, and people on Facebook have been stepping outside to toss boiling water into the air to film it turn into ice-cold vapor instantly.  From what I have heard about what it's like out there, I decided to stay inside for these two days.  Here is what I have been doing.

1. Reading. I just finished the Johnny Carson biography and last night, during some awesome insomnia, I read almost all of "Juliet, Naked" by Nick Hornby.  I like using the kindle because I can click a word, and it instantly tells me what it means.  One word I don't use nearly enough is wont, as in "I'm wont to staying cooped up in my apartment for days at a time and steadily losing my mind."

2. Working out.  But not at the gym.  It's far to cold to go all the way over there.  I have weights and things at home and an application on my phone where I can search for workouts to do, it gives me instructions how to do each exercise, and then I get points when I'm done!  What do I get for these points?  I have no idea.  There is no winning, just more points - not unlike Donkey Kong.  I also like when the computerized voice chimes in to say "You can do it."  Thanks, robot fitness lady!

Hey, I just had a thought.  Why don't they have video game based workouts, like jumping over barrels thrown by donkey kong, or pedaling a bike that powers Pac-Man faster, and making turns somehow to get power pellets and ghosts?  Probably this has already been done in some variation, but I think the classic games would hook in the aging people who loved those games and need more work out motivation.  I know at least one guy that fits that description.

3. Actual work for my actual job.  I just did an hour or two of that.  I was desperately hoping that I couldn't get logged into the system and would have an excuse to blow it off, but alas, it bloody worked.  Anyone else hope for good excuses like that?

4. I finally broke down and threw out all my old VHS tapes.  Considering I don't have a VCR and most everything can be replaced on DVD or laser disc and there is no space in this tiny apartment, they had to go.  But as some of you know, books and music and things are kind of like my little friends and so hard to part with.  Two that I didn't dump was a recording of Super Bowl XX when the Bears won (along with the victory parade) and the original Star Wars movies in widescreen format and before Lucas went back and put in the piss poor cartoons and things and ruined entire scenes.  But when am I seriously going to ever convert those things to DVD's?  Likely never.  They'll just sit in a corner somewhere being ancient and awesome and every day increasing the likelihood that if ever put into a VCR, the tape will shoot out like a ticker tape parade.  Kind of sad, really . ..

5. Listening to lots of music.  I have kept my iPod in the next room and have not allowed myself any skips.  You would be surprised with the stuff you own and like when you have tons of weird music and can't remember where it all came from, like me.  We can find value in a song when we don't immediately jump at the chance to skip it without giving it a fair chance.  I just heard this cover of the Flaming Lips by Postal Service that I didn't even know I had.



How about you, Seven Readers?  What have you been up to?  Has it been this cold out by you?  Did you miss any work as a result?

The Special Shower Convo's

We all nab the handicapped bathroom even when there are other vacant options because everyone likes a little more spacious area when you're doing your thing, and maybe even a couple of coat hooks to get really comfortable.  However, when I was in a hurry to shower up before a swim at the gym and the handicapped shower (the one with the chair) was the only one left, now that's one I can't do.  

A guy could really spend some QT in there.

This location of my gym has shower doors that only go up to your shoulders so you can see the busts of people showering across from you, and that is just weird.  What was even weirder was when two slightly overweight men saddle up next to each other in the handicapped shower, not to shower but to have a conversation, now that is just plain dumbfounding and kind of draws a crowd. I couldn't make out much of what was being said but they were both very serious and the word leadership was used more than once.  While I was getting out of the water after my swim, the same two guys went walking past me continuing to discuss their opinions about leadership, probably after taking a jacuzzi together.  

They were serious men.  I guess that's while I'll always be a follower and they'll be leaders.  And I'll be showering alone and they'll be showering each other.

"I don't always shower with men, but when I do, I drink Hamm's"

I'm Paying Someone To Show Me How To Lift Weights

Yes, it sounds a little stupid when phrased like that, but that's exactly what I'm doing.  I signed up for a new fancy gym membership right after the holidays because I wanted somewhere to swim and because I was starting to feel out of shape.  Then they showed me my body fat percentage and I felt even fatter.  Somehow at 6'2 and between 202 and 206 pounds, I am over 21% body fat.  Impressed?  I don't even have much fat showing anywhere so I really don't know how all that lard is swimming around beneath the surface of a seemingly slim man.  Either way, when the gym guys showed me that astounding number, they were able to talk me into getting some personal training sessions.

I like my trainer guy okay.  He is around my age and pretty much just sticks to business, which I like.  Jokes are no good to me because while this guy could probably snap me like a twig, there is no way in hell he's going to be funnier than me, right?  If he was, I would fire him instantly because I at least have to be better at something than him besides posting up my whopper fat percentage.

Today he told me that he was training a "big Black guy" who is training to be a professional body builder, yet the guy gives up all the time.  So, he yelled at him in front of the whole gym and asked him repeatedly, "Does your pussy hurt?"  After hearing that story I did whatever he asked and didn't complain about a thing.  Didn't even ask for water breaks.  Actually, I am a pretty good dude to train even without the brow beating because I respond well to someone telling me what to lift, push, throw, or whatever.  I hate having to come up with routines of my own and like pushing my limits, so I am all for the abuse, even on the days when my man-pussy is aching and throbbing.

You ever have a personal trainer, readers?  How are your New Year's Resolutions coming along?

Polar Playlist

I'm running a half marathon tomorrow in freezing Chicago weather in what is called the Polar Dash, and here is my playlist.

1. "The Final Countdown" by Europe: This song leads off every official race that I do.  Cheesy, yes, but it's good to have some rituals to calm your nerves.

2. "Nola" by Down, whole album.  I was a metal head in high school, and back then I could never admit that this album from the southern hard rock side project of Phil from Pantera is better than almost all of Pantera's stuff - but it is.

3. 6 fun songs, one of which somehow is "Wild World" by Cat Stevens.  I suppose for dynamics?

4. "Welcome To Sky Valley" by Kyuss.  One of the heaviest, most amazing records ever.  Work out with this on your headphones and maybe try to lift a car.  Not my fault if you break your back.  

5. 6 more fun songs, I think one by Too Short.

"Aenima" by Tool, whole album.  It is aptly named because it is such an intense and incredible piece of music that you feel like your insides are flushed out along with all the crummy music in your head all week long, like that new diamond crap song by Rhianna.

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Hope you enjoyed the music.  Any of you want to share stuff from your workout playlists or cleaning the bathroom mix, or whatever the fuck?

Post Thanksgiving Work Outs

Anyone else having trouble getting back into good workout habits?  Get a look at this video.  I like that 2 different idiots yell for their moms to help them out, and then I like the big fat guy squatting so much that hew spews vomit in the middle of it and then passes out right into his puke.  Also, I have always been scared of losing my footing on a treadmill, and after this video, I'm even more scared.

What you don't want to do when you're picking up some wine at the store is go for the jumbo bottle where there are like three bottles worth in one.  It seems to make a lot of sense: easier to carry than three bottles, a better price than three bottles.  The down side is you end up knocking down loads of it, and it barely looks like you made a dent.  So, with so much to spare, you gladly pour yourself another until you're where I'm at - too buzzed up to want to leave the house, which is actually good from a saving money standpoint.

I figured since I'm pleasantly buzzed with nowhere to go or a willingness to go there, this would be a good time to tell you all a story.

I was working out to the Insanity DVD, mummy-kicking and sweating buckets, when a morbidly obese Latino kid who looked to be around 11-years-old struck up a conversation with me.  "Is that how you got skinny?" he asked.  I told him not specifically, but that I do like people telling me what to do or I get lazy.  Undeterred by the fact that I was looking straight at the screen (never directly at him) and doing flipping burpies, or whatever, he then asked if I could tell him what exercises to do.  He tried to do what I was doing, but I got the feeling that he was self-conscious about the way his body looked when jumping up and down, which I get.  He looks like a young man who never works out, so there was no need to force him out of his comfort zone when getting any kind of work out of him is probably a success.

So when I would get breaks in the action on the DVD, I would hurry up and give him things to do, like riding the eliptical for a mile or so, and doing a set of curls, bench press, and push-downs.  I gave him realistic reps to shoot for, enough to challenge him, but not so much where he was going to either puke or get so incredibly sore he would never come back.  After a few cycles of those activities, he seemed quite pleased with himself, and he was pushing himself surprisingly hard.

He wanted to switch discs on my workout to play the dancing game on the xbox, but I told him that as long as he stayed active for the remaining 37 minutes of the TV workout, I would set it up and dance away with him.  And he actually did steadily work out for the duration.  At one point he smiled and pointed out how much he was sweating.  Then our sweaty asses did "Promiscuous" on the dance game together.  It was funny because in the top corner it shows your own body above the dancer to show where you are in relation to the sensor, and his body was absolutely huge.  However, that didn't matter because this young man was putting me to shame, racking up perfect scores on the majority of his moves while I was thrilled with a "good" of my own.



He was ready to work out again tomorrow, but I told him I have to fly out to L.A. right after work and Monday was no good, but I could meet him at the same time and place on Tuesday.

This whole episode could be my repents for my negative feelings I have had for overweight people over the years (like the previous post, for instance).  Here is a kid who may have the odds stacked against him: maybe a poor home life, nothing but junk food ever in the house, childhood depression, being the victim of constant teasing.  And here he is looking to push himself to "get skinny," taking the initiative to ask for help.

Well, I hope I can help this fella, and not to make myself feel less guilty or like a decent person, but because he seems like a really sweet kid who seems to already feel a little better about himself. 

So, You've Decided To Go To the Gym Drunk . . .

Here are some things to keep in mind . . .

1. Don't attempt as much weight as you ordinarily would, as you'll find your equillibrium will be slightly off, or really off, depending on how many "pops" you have had.  I damn near tipped over tonight attempting some decline dumbbell presses.  I am a bit of a dumbbell.  Drunkbell, as it were.

2. Keep your small talk with staff and other patrons to a minimum.  I didn't have my gym card on me, so he had to pull me up in the system with my driver's license.  He pointed out that it says I was born in 1901 in their system, to which I said, "Yeah, that Civil War was a bitch."  He pointed out that I would have been born after that, so I said, "Right, World War 2.  Would have been too young for the first one."  Good recovery!  Did I ever tell you that I majored in history in undergrad?

3. Now, I know you're lubed up, but really try hard not to start singing along to your iPod.  Even if you let a little eek out, it will quickly turn to belting it out like Whitney Houston at the Super Bowl if you're not careful.

That's all I can think of tonight.  It's been a long night of drinking and lifting stuff, trying not to drop weight on my nuts.  Can you think of any more tips, readers?

Unusual Playlist Titles

I have one of those iPod shuffles with no buttons on it where you hold down a button on the headphones for a voice to tell you the names of the song or playlist.  It's a robotic white guy voice, but every once in a while it's a woman robot.  And for some reason all my stuff by Tool is read by a German speaking robot.

I like to get a workout in around 5 days a week, so I do anything to motivate myself, including naming playlists funny things to make the white guy robot say funny things.  Here are the names of the playlists currently on the little green foul-mouthed shuffle:

1. "A Gym Triathlon.  Put It In My Pooper."  One day I thought I would make up goals for three different exercise machines (treadmill, upright bike, sitting down bike) for a little triathlon I could do with no rest in between.  I'm a weirdo.  Put it in my pooper was just for laughs - not part of the triathlon. 


2. "A Shed Aquarium, Muthafucka!"  You will notice I put the letter "A" to get the new list at the beginning of the queue so I don't have to cycle all the way through.  Shed Aquarium is the place to see all kinds of aquatic animals in Chicago, and it was a milestone for building up miles for my latest marathon.  Muthafucka was just funny because Mr. Robot is just so very white.  He says it nothing like Samuel L. Jackson.

3. "Arm Day for Pussies." This was an attempt to employ some tough love on myself to get me to work harder on my scrawny girl arms.  I wish Mr. Robot had yelled it at me like an asshole high school football coach, but he did a pretty good job all things considered.


4. "Beach Workout Bonanza."  I'm not crazy about this title.  I just needed some Megadeth and the like to get me through a bunch of workout stations in the park near the beach.  Should have threw a damn swear into that title.  Damn it. 

5. "Chest Rockwell."  Those of you who are fans of "Boogie Nights," my favorite film of all time, know that this name is the character John C. Riley invents to be the crime fighting sidekick to Dirk Diggler's Brock Landers.  Inspiration for this one came on a day when I was trying to engorge my concave, awful excuse for chest muscles.

6.  "McCormick Place, My Niggas."  McCormick place is the giant convention center in Chicago and the spot I run to and from to know I'm ready for a marathon - do believe it's around an 18 mile trip.  "My Niggas" was just to, again, make a white robot say goofy ass hoodrat stuff.  Wait, "Goofy Ass Hoodrat Stuff" is not an all together bad playlist title . . .

7. "Oh Yeah!  Time To Run Around This Big Ass God Damn Lake."  This was the perfect title for running around Lake Geneva.  You got a better name for it?


8. "Pull Over 'Dat Ass Too Fat.  Woot Woot!"  On the way back from Wisconsin, Dr. Ken and his lady were singing this one all through out the cheese castle, so when I got home I just had to hear White Robot sing it for me too. 

9. "Quadzilla Day"  I figured this was a good title for when you're lifting weights with your legs, which is an incredibly boring muscle group with which to lift things. 

Okay, that's all I got.  My muscles are still weak, but I had a few good laughs.

I'm halfway, okay, maybe a third-way, through a short story, and I just had to get a break from it and update the old blog. I'll probably post the finished product on here tomorrow.

I'm in the Starbucks, and some woman came in here with the two nuttiest little boys ever, like 2 and 3 years old respectively. She went to the counter and let them terrorize the place, begging for some of the orange soda from the guy across from me and then reaching for my hot coffee. I told them, "No, boys. That's hot." The guy across from me was laughing and smiling and so was I. The mom at the counter didn't even turn around to see what her kids were doing.

Then she sat right by us, and there was something really off about these kids but more in the parenting. She kept saying please when asking them to do things, and it was with this nicey-nice tone. I'm critical of shitty parents in public places, which probably means I'll be worse at it than all of them some day, bribing my kids with cookies like this lady.

In other news, I'm reading "Rules of Attraction" by Bret Easton Ellis, and it's outstanding. Anyone ever read it? It sort of inspired the idea for this short story, the notion that people are always falling for the wrong people.

Also, tomorrow I'm going to a Chicago Cubs game with HLP, James Douglas, and Captain Jack. You know what's funny? I recently had someone tell me that she wanted to get into the blog and get a blog nickname. Anyone else have people requesting that?

Also, I'm not quite ready for this marathon in a couple months, but I may be filling in for LSD in a half-marathon this weekend. My workouts inspired this Facebook update:

Lately, when I work out, I need heavy metal, and when I work out a lot, I eat healthier, buying and enjoying more produce. As a result, I'm going through a simultaneous heavy metal and produce revolution. I call it: Megadeth and Mangos.

I think that the eating healthy thing is great, but the metal thing is really strange because I haven't been this into metal since I was in high school, over 15 years ago. No other type of music can push me in the way that a good and heavy song can. I need that aggressive pace and angry vocals to help me wince through the pain. The ultimate band for this is called Kyuss, and if you haven't heard of them, go buy either "Blues for the Red Sun," "Welcome To Sky Valley," or "And the Circus Leaves Town," all of which are perfect heavy records, not necessarily metal, but heavy, sludgy, progressive, and addictive.

Okay, I'm going to finish this book, hang out with LSD for a bit, and then when she meets some friends for a drink, I'll try to finish this story. Take it easy, Seven Readers.

Had Another Weird Team Workout . . .

. . . at the same gym as my other post, and this time it was doing a series of exercises with what can only be described an over-sized, weighted, foam billy club with a knob on the end. The instructor had what you expect in an aerobics lady: She was athletic and spunky. But then I started getting glimpses again of why this gym is super weird.

The other four in the group were regulars, so they all evidently get weekly updates about the instructor's upcoming wedding as she leads us. Here are the details from today's session:

- She can't wear her mother's dress as planned because, as it turns out, her mother was 93 pounds when she got married (Instructor can't weight a whole lot more than 100, but she has muscles and a big, muscley butt.

- Also, the dress was losing its luster. However! Not to fear because she's going to surprise her wedding party with mom wedding dress handbags and use it to make her garter. That's actually kind of an awesome idea.

- She's taking a picture in front of Wrigley Field wither her husband to give to her mentally challenged sister who is a savant about Chicago Cubs facts. That's actually kind of sweet.

Okay, I guess I'm not really making fun of this chick. Sorry. I'm just used to that approach on this blog, but I'm more tolerant of people these days. I just find what's fun or interesting about them even if it's a little weird or annoying.

For instance . . .

At one point she told us that at the gym she used to work out at, there was Sexual Harassment Fridays, where all verbal harassment (no touchy!) was fair game. Apparently, even the customers knew about this, and Friday, despite usually being one of their slower days, became one of the busiest!

That's actually a terrific idea - if you had the right staff who knew how to be sleazy funny in a tongue-in-cheek way, like Larry on Three's Company. Come to think of it, most personal trainers kind of have a Larry vibe.

Anyway, I'm kind of thinking about signing up for a membership at this joint after all my free sessions, if for no better reasons than the funny stories and the potential harassment.

"Where the F#c@ is the relationship?"

I'm sorry that it's been so long since I've posted. I have had this great post I have wanted to do, and I've been putting off writing it because I want it to be really good. Ultimately, I feared that it wouldn't be as good as it would have been a few years ago, but the more I thought about it, if posts were better back then, it's because I had so much less going on in my life. So, I'm just going to let this one rip, and if it's not as funny as it should be, so be it.

Here it is.

My roommate and I signed up for a gym package through an email coupon thing where we get 10 private/team training sessions for $48 total, and our first one was a mixed martial arts (MMA) class. This was exciting because I know that it's some of the toughest training in the world. Ex football players have started doing it and have said that what they did for pro football was nowhere near as demanding as MMA stuff. I also thought I'd be learning how to break arms, choke people, flying knees, spinning back kicks, liver punches, kidney punches, and all kinds of stuff. I did learn some things, but more about personality disorders than fighting.

The instructor came out, and he was immediately weird. If you met him at a party, you would know right away that he was a harmless guy, but he would get on your nerves, so you had better find another room to be in. That type of guy.

We started out with a lot of yoga poses that were actually really tough, and it was the hardest part of the class. Then he had us acting like various kinds of animals, circling around the mat. At this point, I had an open mind, thinking maybe it was like Mr. Miyagi, where you're painting the guy's fence and house, finishing his deck, but you just had to trust him that it would make you a karate master. That's where I was at until I was acting like my tenth animal, the class was nearly over, and I hadn't punched, kicked, or wrestled anyone.

It was a lot of sitting on the mat and learning stuff, which sucked because I wanted a workout. It was a lot of spiritual crappola and life lessons and lectures from a guy who looked to be five or six years younger than me. Yes, he was in really good shape, I'll say that for him. He could slowly move into a handstand and hold it, which is really tough, but while he would do things like that, he'd make really nerdy noises, like "zip, zip, zip!" He was totally socially awkward. At one point, while we're lying on the mat learning stuff, he says, "Would if I were to suddenly get Jenny into a full mount?" And as he says this, he rolls over and mounts my female roommate just above her waist as she's lying down. This was about 15 minutes into the session. He just met her a few minutes prior. He was also always making jokes that weren't at all funny and saying, "You guys need to lighten up!" I was doing a lot of smiling to make him feel better because he was zooming around the room making intense eye contact with everyone. He may have been on blow . . .

Finally, he has us on the floor doing some grappling, and I remember thinking it odd that he wasn't even watching us while we were doing it to tell us if we were doing things right. It turns out he was off chewing out two of his regular students. When he gets back from that, he puts them in front of everyone and says, "Everyone, I have a big problem today. I told Ron and Bill here to stop going so rough, kicking one another in a drill like this, and I tell you two to stop (Now looking right at these two. And yelling at them) and then I turn around, and you're doing it again! If you want to act like that, you can find another studio! You guys are supposed to be brothers! What have I told you is the whole theme of this month? Relationships. Where's the fucking relationship? You know what? That's it. I'm too upset. We're done for the day. Let's wrap it up."

We then did his bowing ritual thingy, and when he opens his eyes again, he's eerily calm . . .

"I'm sorry I let my temper get the better of me, and I'm sorry that I cursed. You just have to understand, this is my life." (I believed him) "And when I see shit like that" (cursing again) "it just upsets me greatly. Ken, Jenny, I'm sorry you had to see that . . ."

He then apologized and lectured for ten minutes, he cut the session that we all paid for by another ten minutes, and I feel like only the uncomfortableness gave me any kind of workout, somehow. Actually, I believe it was the chimpanzee movements that really hurt my ass for the next couple of days. So, I got an ass workout and a great story that would have been told greater a few years ago.

I've been trying to bulk up because I've always been kind of on the skinny side. Yeah, it's good to hear that I'm in good shape compared to some other people who are 33-years-old, but that's just not that great to hear, actually. So, I bought a bunch of weights on Craig's List from some German dude who had to go back to Germany, perhaps for the Scorpions farewell concert.

The funny thing about lifting weights is that you feel buff, so you're walking around all day like a hard ass, and then you look in the mirror, and you're the same scrawny puke you were before working out. It's frustrating. It also doesn't help (or maybe it does depending on how you look at it) that Gancey Girlfriend works out religiously along with Billy Blanks, and with her 5'10" long leg kicks and increasing muscle tone, it kind of looks like she could kick my ass if she needed to. That's not okay.

Because I watch so much mixed martial arts, I decided to use those guys as a model for how I want to look, because that's so realistic, so I found a guy who's my height (6'2"), and a reasonable weight to achieve (185). Here's the problem: Look at this guy!! I don't get how I can be so thin and weight 190, while Michael Bisping is five pounds lighter and totally ripped. I thought muscle weighed more than fat? If that's true, then this guy must have zero fat, and I'm like 70% body fat. This could be quite an uphill battle . . .

Unorthodox Workout Planners and the Roommates Who Love Them

One of my roommates is out of shape, and he has a hard time motivating himself to exercise after working hard all day. Today he called me up on his way home from work and asked me if I’d like to accompany him on an exercising excursion. I really didn’t want to, but because he so rarely gets the gumption to propose such a thing, I got the feeling that if I said no he wouldn’t go at all. However, while his plan on the phone involved taking a long walk to a basketball court and shooting some hoops, his plan upon arriving home was almost identical except we were to end up at a bar somehow. Oh well, I wasn’t going to argue with him, because whatever it takes to get him exercising is okay by me.

So the brisk walk there goes well. Then we do a rapid paced shooting around with one guy rebounding and giving the shooter his lay-up when he misses, and then switching roles. If this is done fast, it can be a decent workout. If you’re horribly out of shape like my dear roomy, sorry if you’re reading big fella, this is enough to make you sweat like a whore on Nickel Night.

I was hoping he had forgotten the bar portion of the exercise plan or maybe after such a good workout it would dawn on him how counterintuitive that part of the plan was, but no such luck. He was intent on going to the bar. Well, if I was going to go to a bar on a Monday, I figure we should at least try out some new ones, so my dumb ass suggests we should hit all 3 new bars on Ashland that we hadn’t been to, since they were all on the way home. Here’s our results.

The Foundation: This bar was a little bit too classy for us. They were playing Postal Service, which is encouraging, but we felt out of place wearing gym shorts and carrying a basketball. We asked for a menu and left. I think I’d go there, but there’s a similar place a little closer to me, so it’s not very likely.

Four Shadows: As I walked in, an a-hole knocked the basketball out of my hand with a big shit-eating grin on his face. He meant well, but I still wanted to punch him in the ear. I have this thing about people doing stuff like that. Whenever someone knocked my hat off my head I really wanted to go ape shit on them. It’s weird because I’m not at all an angry guy, nor do ordinarily have a fiery temper. I think in a former life I may have been an Old West guy who shot people for doing that. I hope that past life guy was careful about who he told his pet peeve to, because in my experience it only makes people do it more, which for him would have meant budgeting for more bullets.

Sorry, about the tangent. When we asked for specials she named a few so-so ones and then she said they $6 pitchers of Stella. Now I don’t think it’s good for two people to drink pitchers on a Monday, but you have to understand how good a deal that is. You can’t get pitchers of CRAP beer for fewer than 7 bucks in Chicago, and Stella is a damn tasty libation. As we sipped our frothy brews we chatted up our rock-hard body, yoga-obsessed, female bartender who was planning a trip to China to study yoga under the Shao Lin monks. We both really wanted stay there and hear more off-the-wall shit from this gal, and there was plenty of it to be heard, but we HAD to make it to our third and final bar.

The Ashland: This bar looked exactly like it did when it was the Skylight, which is the bar we had our New Years party at in which we had over 150 of our closest friends. It was a smashing success. Anyway, the only new element in this incarnation is that you can play beanbags, or corn-holing if you’re from Indiana, there on Sundays, and you can play video games at the bar. I wowed the bartender and my roomy at my ability to rapidly flap my ostrich’s wings to jump on my opponents’ eggs before being killed by other ostrich riders and the dreaded Lava Troll in the game of Joust, and then we were on our way. We thought about going back to the previous fun bar, but opted to go home. Well, roomy opted to stop off for a bottle of jack, which I think he’s still working on, and then we went home.

I think if I accompany him on another exercise trip, I’m going to have to insist that his regiment is not capped off with copious amounts of alcohol, but I’m glad I got out there to explore these new establishments. You HAVE to know all your local watering holes. Anyone want to share his or her favorite spot and why he or she prefers to spend his or her money at said bar? I think some of you know that my loyalty lies with The Liar’s Club, but I also like this dive around the corner called Cody’s which has a bocce ball court out back. I haven’t played yet, but when I start throwing some bocce balls around regularly my blog entries may be even more inconsistent. Good night.