I go to the gym. I’m a gym goer. I’m not a gym guy, though. I’m not one of those guys that wears a gym tank top, drinks power mega ultra amino shakes, or yells, “booyah” after every bench press. I’ve been going to the gym steadily throughout my life, give or take a brief hiatus from 18 to 28 or so, and have been going regularly for a year or so. I work out a little, talk in a German accent a little, kiss the mirror a little, and feel good. I like feeling good, so I go.

Ok, the guys will back me up on this. Ladies, the gym for a guy is different than it is for a girl. I didn’t really know this until they were working on something in the boys locker room when I was a teen, and we had to cut through the women’s locker room to get out to the pool. I was completely amazed at the difference. The girls had individual changing spaces, individual little shower stalls, a bunch of sinks, and a couch. Where the hell was the giant changing room, and the giant prison-style shower room like we had? Where was our couch? I thought it was pretty unfair, and I never really could figure out why girls got all that stuff, while the boys lived like inmates. The only explanation that I could get out of anyone was that guys don’t need that stuff. I guess that because I got testicles, I lost a couch, and well, I wouldn’t really want to trade, if it’s all the same to everyone.

So, throughout the years, I have noticed 2 things:

1. Guys under 49 generally, guys go in, change, shower, and get the fuck out of there without making much eye contact
2. Guys over 49 years of age go in, get naked, shower, hang around, and eventually grudgingly get dressed and go home.

I think that something must snap loose in your brain one morning in those later years where you say to yourself, “Wait a minute! What have I been doing all these years? Wearing clothes, keeping my junk in check? Screw that. How can I have been so blind? The world wants to see my big hairy nuts! Scratch that. They need to see my big hairy nuts!”

That’s the day you stop bringing a towel to the gym. I mean, you’ll air dry by the time that you finish shaving or talking to the other old guys, right? So why waste a towel? Plus, it is your feeling that you may have the best looking nuts in town, and you think that they are wasting their beauty cramped up in those tighty whities. You can’t really be a pervert and show them off in the street, but the guys at the gym will appreciate them. I mean look at them. They’re beautiful. You’re just doing your part to beautify the world.

Plus, you’re doing your part by keeping the young guys out of the locker room, so you and the other old guys can hang out more. There is nothing like shaving your head in the mirror with a bic, buck naked in the middle of the gym to keep those goddamned young guys away from the sink, you know? And if they try to wash their hands or something, just talk to them, scratch your nuts, talk some more, examine your nuts, talk more while examining your nuts…well you know the procedure.

My response is A. They’re just nuts. Most of us have some, and most of us don’t care about yours. Show them to someone who cares. B. Strap yours to something before someone accidentally steps on them, or better yet, do us all a favor and put them away.

Happy Birthday!

…To my beard. It’s 3 months old today, and it’s showing its age. I can’t wait until it’s old enough to get me a Santa gig, or to tuck into my belt.

Games, Baby

Can you name that tune in 3 notes? Some are German songs, so this can be tricky. I don’t know how it is on slow connections.

Back when video games were called arcade games, one of my favorites was a game called Tempest You swirled around the outside of a web shooting stuff in to the middle. One of my recent favorites of online games involves making groups of three or more marbles, rubber balls, apples, whatever, to make them disappear before the time runs out. (See Bounce Out for an example). Well, I just came across a game that combines the Tempest and Bounce out, called W.R.A.X. It’s not too hard, and a real time waster.

And Finally…
When trying to explain to a Protestant coworker who Martin Luther was (You know, the FOUNDER of Protestantism?), I came across Martin Luther’s final words to his wife as he lay dying,

“I am fed up with the world, and it with me. I am like a ripe stool, and the world is like a gigantic anus, and so we’re about to let go of each other.”
-Martin Luther