Saturday, May 31, 2008
Something occurred to me yesterday as a hairy guy rubbed my back . . .
. . . and that is this: Once you zone out, the sex of the masseuse does not matter. Sure, the first few minutes of a dude lathering me up in lotion was a little off putting. Yes, when he'd really dig into my pressure points, he'd let out a heavy breath, and that was a little gross. However, he let me bring a CD, so by track three of Radiohead's The Bends, I was in my own little world.
I should explain. This was my Polish immigrant landlord giving me a rub down. Just kidding. Actually, it was a complimentary massage I got after my last session of physical therapy for my pinkie.
So, what else is going on with The Gancer besides deep tissue, homoerotic massages?
1. I'm teaching again, and loving it again.
2. I'm still trying to write whenever I can. I'm really pleased with how my Goofy Rock Names piece came out.
3. This summer I'm going to try to ride my bike and play volleyball* for more hours than I drink.
4. I've been dating the same gal for almost half a year.
5. I went to the Liar's Club last night. The Naked Guy was there, and I really wanted some friends, who were first-timers, to see him flop around for a bit. To get him to do the naked dance, one needs to request his song. It wasn't looking good, because there was some guest DJ who only played techno shit. I tried to put in a request with him, but he pretended not to notice me while he fiddled with his knobs and played shit song after shit song. My buddy said the music sounded like it was made by a robot who had to go to rehab for being a sucky robot. I said to Naked Guy, "Hey, Naked Guy. You going to get good and naked this evening?" To which he replied, "I don't think they have a techno version of my song," his song being It's Getting Hot in Herre by Nelly. Alas, there would be no nakedness.
*I had to offset the other picture with this one, so everyone can enjoy a butt, except Morrissey, who's asexual, but he doesn't read anymore. The picture reminds me of an Asian Indian gal who was always in the same league that my buddy, HLP, and I played in. When she'd get ready to return opposing serves, she'd bend over, and her rear end would pop up ever so slightly. HLP would say, "she's presenting." I swear we weren't perving on her, much, because everyone would notice this, boys and girls alike.