Bally's Fitness - The K-Mart of Gyms

“The Atlantic was born today, and I’ll tell you how…”

So begins the song “Transatlanticism” by Death Cab for Cutie. The song makes my heart soft, which is nice sometimes. After a somewhat anxiety-laden afternoon yesterday, it’s good to feel like I have a softer heart.

On a previous post I used the colloquialism “getting the milk without buying the cow” when referring to trying to get every benefit from a “friendship with benefits” situation. I always forget how insulting that can be, subtly equating women with cows.

So, for all of those cow lovers, sorry.

I spent some time at the gym again last night (keeping with my Monday/ Wednesday/ Friday workout schedule). To be blunt, I’m not happy about looking like a pear. And when I launch my massive world tour in support of our new CD, I want to be able to run around the stage night after night. It’s like a playground to me.

Of course, I need to get picked up by a major label and sell millions of records first, but why get hung up on the details?

Anyway, back to my gym story. I work out at Ballys, the K-Mart of gyms. They even make announcements every 10 or 15 minutes about whatever special they’re running or to remind you to stop by the juice bar. I used to wear headphones to learn music and to push me in my workout. Now I wear them to drown out the annoying staff members on the intercom.

Yesterday, the announcement blared through the gym that the Laker Girls were coming at 6 to sign autographs. I only had one reaction to this.

WHO CARES?

First of all, have you seen the Lakers lately? I’ve seen Special Olympic basketball teams with more talent!

Secondly, why would I bother interrupting my workout just to meet the Laker Girls? They don’t do anything but look pretty. That’s a pretty silly job, if you ask me. And if their REAL job is to cheer the Lakers on to victory, they should probably all be fired. I know I’d be fired if my job performance was as lackluster as theirs. Then again, I don’t have the T&A that they have. Nor am I the correct gender. I suppose that makes a difference.

It all got me thinking, though. Who would the Bally’s staff have to mention is visiting to get me off my StairMaster? Here’s a list of 10 people I came up with.

1. Various rock stars. David Gilmour (Pink Floyd), Trent Reznor (Nine Inch Nails), Nick Bracegirdle (Chicane), David Grohl (Foo Fighters).
2. Jesus. He’d get me off my StairMaster.
3. The new Pope. I’m not Catholic, but I would have to go see him. Would he have headshots like the Laker Girls? I’d also have to ask him why on Earth was he at a Bally’s? Doesn’t the Vatican have a really top-notch workout facility? I bet they’d call it God’s Gym.
4. If they announced my best friend from college was here, who I haven’t seen for a year and a half, I’d definitely go see him. I’d jump extra-quickly if they announced he was also going to take me out for pizza and beer.
5. Bill Gates. I bet I could bench press more than he could. Heck, I might even be able to bench press him. He’s kind-of a beanpole.
6. Hitler. But I’d have to stand in line behind the Jewish Kickboxing Team. And I wouldn’t want his signature. I’d want to kick him in the junk.
7. Tiny Tim. I’m positive I could bench press him.
8. Arnold Schwarzenegger. I’m not his biggest fan, but I do think he’s turned out to be a pretty good leader of California. And while we’re bench pressing people, I’d probably let him bench press me. (No, I’m not gay).
9. Any of the bloggers I read regularly. Latigo Flint, Al, ChickyBabe, 1Glorious Conundrum, the Intern in New York, Jazzy. Since we’d be meeting for the first time, there would be an absence of people bench-pressing each other. Nothing makes meeting someone for the first time more awkward then trying to bench press them.
10. My future grown children. It would be fun to meet them. And take them for pizza and beer. Sort-of a “Back to the Future” moment (without the weird incest overtones).

Other quick updates:

I haven’t been in the studio this week. I’m thinking of spending most of the day Saturday recording and mixing. Incidently, I found out the DutchGirl (in my office) is married to a record producer. I’d get excited except that to mention that I write and record seems to me like a betrayal of our young working relationship. Maybe it will come up at some point in the future, but right now I don’t know how to broach the subject without killing all chances of ever getting heard by him.

Some of you* have asked where you can hear my music. Well, right now we don’t have a strong web presence. If you e-mail me and ask nicely I might e-mail you a song. We’re keeping a pretty tight lid on most of the stuff until it’s gone through the final mixing stage.

I just used my letter opener to bust apart a piece of chocolate. I knew it had a purpose.

Be good, play fair, share your toys.




*Actually, not one of you has expressed interest but I want to plug my music. Forgive me.