Y Do I Submit Myself To This?

I was at the YMCA recently, attending the class the I have affectionately dubbed "Cardio Hell".  The Y calls it "Cardio Mix" but I frankly think my title has a bit more panache.  


One of the instructors is a sadist quite enthusiastic about her job. It is hands-down the hardest class I have each week even though every session is a different format. Each time I walk in there I wonder what on earth is wrong with me.  But when I go in there and see that we're going to be using absolutely no equipment during the class, I generally want to tuck my tail under and get out.  


Quickly.  


I'm not the only who feels this way; no equipment inevitably emits collective groans from the victims suckers masochists people entering the room. Because no equipment means doing body-weight work and there's just no way to sugar coat it: that shit is HARD. Not to mention the fact that the next day I'm generally extra sore, so any kind of effort I have to exert, like picking up my shoes, is pure agony.    


No equipment exercises, for those may not know, involves things like planks. Tricep dips. Supermans. Push-ups. Mountain climbers. Burpees.  


Say you: What on earth is a burpee?  
Say me: Oh, they're this fabulous method of torture used by the US Marine Corps and exercise instructors around the country.  Take a gander (20 seconds): 


For the record I still possess some of my marbles and don't feel the need to add that big jump at the end.  I don't even add a little hop. Because it's just silly.  Besides I'm not in the Marines.  

This particular class we did what's called "Tabata Training", which means you do something active--anything--for 20 seconds and then you rest for 10 seconds, performing a total of four rounds of the activity.  For instance: 20 seconds of jumping rope (we pretend--there's no actual rope there), rest 10 seconds, 20 seconds of jumping rope, rest 10, 20 seconds rope, rest 10, 20 seconds rope, rest 10.  Move on to new activity.  


This sounds easy enough but go ahead.  Try it.  If you're not sweating buckets within 7 minutes you are, quite simply, an alien. It doesn't take me long to get angry with this format, and by the end of a 50 minute session all capacity for rational thought is gone and I'm nothing short of homicidal.  With all my rage directed mostly at the tyrant in the front of the room.  


Here's an abridged running commentary that was going through my head at various points in the workout:  


Minute one: Bring it! I'm ready!! Jumping jacks? Fine. Here we go! 1 (puff) 2 (puff) 3 (puff) Oh (puff) My (puff) God (puff) I (puff) Have (puff) To (puff) PEE (puff) KAY (puff) GUL (puff) KAY (puff) GUL (puff)


Minute 10:  No you did NOT just say "push ups".  


Minute 15: You need to STOP clapping those ever-loving hands in your futile effort to motivate me or you will NEVER use a pen again you got that? 


Minute 19:  Squats?  Squats! OK, I can handle squa....OWWW!!  Holy HELL there goes that big-ass thigh muscle I hurt a year ago that refuses to heal because you MAKE me come to this unholy workout.  This injury IS TOTALLY YOUR FAULT you hear me?  I'm SO SUING YOU.  


Minute 22: I swear to GOD if I hear you say 'don't give up' just one more time.....


Minute 28: Jump?  What, you want me to just JUMP? Like, up in the air? Let me get this straight: You want both my feet to leave the ground simultaneously? Like a jack rabbit or a flea? You're The Devil.   


Minute 33: Oh that's really cute.  You point and we run like little puppets in the direction you're pointing.  I'm EXHAUSTED.  Do you GET that??  And you have the NERVE to ask me to pay attention? Well what if I just stay right here and not run where you tell me to.  HUH?  Then what?  Oh. My neighbor bumps into me because she's following the rules. Way to run into me ASS-KISSING,  DRILL SERGEANT WANNABEE.  


Minute 39: What. The. HELL? You want me to jumping jacks AGAIN??  We DID those already you crazy psycho BITCH.  Were you not here at the beginning of this class? You're fucking FIRED. Got it? YOU'RE FIE-ERRRRD, SAIN-TIN!!


Minute 46: Go ahead. Tell me to do ab crunches. First I'm going to lie here in a pool of my own sweat and cry.  Then I'm going to find a tire iron and you had better run.   


I ran into the instructor at Homeland a few days ago, and she had the nerve to call that job her "fun" job. She's a physician's assistant in real life.  


Of course she is. 


My response to the "fun job" line?  


"It may be fun for you, but it's not fun for the rest of us."


She laughed.  


I wasn't kidding.  


Her obvious mental health issues are a blog entry in itself.->

Pions

Super Bowl tonight.  

Which is about American as apple pie and Black Friday. (The NFL is a multi-billion dollar industry, but I won't rant about that now.)

So what better picture than trying to capture the essence of the watch party, right?  

It wasn't so easy.   I tried for a TV screen shot, which ended in disaster.  I thought about a food shot, but tacos aren't really photogenic. Many in the crowd were adorned in cheese heads, but I just didn't think those would photograph well, so I opted for another route. I ended up taking a picture of my nephew's shirt more times than he would like to count, to his complete bewilderment.  

I didn't watch one commercial in its entirety.* But  I did managed to see the half-time show, which was entertaining.  Right up until Fergie tried to channel Axl Rose, at which point I was just baffled.  (I'm sorry, but when I think of the Black Eyed Peas doing a cover, I envision them doing for a nice rendition of Everyday People as opposed to rocking out with a dude called "Slash".)  And honestly, once I saw those two on stage,  I was really, really hoping for a wardrobe malfunction.  Alas.  No love. 

At any rate, I'm happy for my father-n-law, who was born and raised in northern Wisconsin, lived for a time in Madison, and has been a Packer fan his entire life.  

Final score: 

Green Bay Packers: 31

Pittsburgh Steelers: 25

(Yeah.  I had to Google that.)  -> 

*I didn't hear the National Anthem last night and didn't hear about the mishap until this morning. 

2010

Picture of the Day

I was driving home from the busy, almost Christmas-eve bustle of downtown Norman today, and in an effort to avoid the traffic on Main Street, I took a turn down a nearby residential street.  

It was the best decision I made all month.

I thought I had my Pic 'O the Day when I saw the Hummer on Main Street.  I was going to write about my being a stealth photographer and pride myself on being all subversive blah blah blah.  

And this I saw this: 

And I thank my lucky stars that no one was driving behind me because I quite literally slammed on my breaks and backed up in the middle of the street so I could 1) take a closer look and 2) find a parking place.  

This truck is the most glorious thing I've seen in months.  Naturally the owner caught me red-handed snapping pictures and I simply did not care.  Besides, if you're driving this thing around, not only are you begging for people to take pictures of it, you're begging to be featured on some whimsical HGTV show.  

Poor man.  All he gets is my obscure blog.  

William Patterson is his name.  He was so nice and obviously proud of his project. He coached high school baseball for years and now is a plumber.  Obviously, he's a huge fan of the game and he's visited every major league stadium in North America. He had a Dodger Stadium sign bolted to the (other) side of the truck and many of the baseballs displayed on the dashboard were from games he attended.  

The truck used to belong to his brother but they both had mobile museums.  Then his brother died, so Mr. Patterson took over the truck and combined the memorabilia from both.  He has no plans of letting this one go.  

Here's the best part:  

Yes.  All of that paraphernalia is BOLTED to the hood.  See the gloves on either side? One belong to his son and one belonged to a grandchild.  The catcher's vest?  That was his son's.  Interspersed among all the hard hats are figurines:  

 

He said he had thousands of them.  I counted a baker's dozen on the hood, but I've no doubt I missed some.  

The range of stuff he displayed was amazing.  Everything from kitsch to genuine antiques to objects that held sentimental value, obviously the most precious to him. See the bat and the ball?  He had them all over the truck and most were either from his offspring or his coaching days.  

I love this:  

And the inside of the truck was not spared.  Observe: 

That's right, folks.  The grandkids have free reign in that vehicle, and the ceiling was covered as well, with drawings and phone numbers and buttons of the kids and grandkids in their uniforms. 

So here he is...Mr. William Patterson.  Who, by the way, doesn't even have an email address so I can't send this entry to him.  He gave me permission to post, though, and said other people have put pictures of his masterpiece "on the computer".  

Best of all, this truck in not only in good working order, he takes it on road trips.  


Fabulous.  -> 

Sock it to Me

   

You know how some specific places remind you of a specific person? 

Hospital gift shops do that for me.  LONG ago, a friend of the family came to see me right after I birthed my eldest, AKA "The Boy".  And when I say "friend of the family" she was, indeed, a friend of the family.  Her son and my brother were quite tight as kids; in fact  he was an usher in my wedding because he was practically another member of the family.  She and my mother were dear friends for many years and my dad and her husband were thick as thieves.  

Anyway, she came and saw me 24 hours after TJ arrived,  bearing all kinds of gifts, and they were all from the hospital's gift shop.  When I commented on the surprises a few weeks later, I found out that she adored hospital gift shops and never failed to shop in them when she had to visit friends or family for any reason.  It was an interesting nugget about her, and I've always kept it with me. 

Time goes by.  Things change.  Her son and my brother eventually had a fallen out and haven't spoken in years.  She and her husband divorced and thus the friendship with my folks floated away as will happen in those circumstances.  And tragically, a few years ago on her way home from work she was killed in a car accident.  

I was in a hospital today--not one where I work--due to The Boy having an appointment with a specialist.  I stopped in the gift shop afterwards (to much groaning and eye-rolling from him as he's seen me in action with this project, ie, I take a lot of shots before I find one I like) and the sock monkey caught my attention. And I thought of our old friend as I always do when I see such botiques.    

The Boy liked the extreme close-up so that's what I chose.  Mr. Monkey looks a bit sinister doesn't he?  

On another note, is it me or are these monkeys in a compromising position?   -> 

Game Day IV

Tailgate Fallout *

      

Game time: T-minus 60 minutes.  This is one trashcan in one parking lot of the university.  I was wondering as I was uploading this how many trashcans are on the property.  My guess is 250.  (Surely I can dig and get a real number?) They're all overflowing on game days, as you can well imagine.    


As you can see, almost all of this stuff can be recycled.  The university does have recycling receptacles close to the stadium, but I haven't seen any in the parking lots around campus, which is where all the tailgating happens.   ->  


*I had a couple of other shots that I tossed today...I'm still not sure this is the right one.  It tells a story, though, which is what made it the winner. 

Related articles: 

• Panthers tailgaters recycle tons of trash (charlotte.news14.com)
• Buffalo Bills tailgater convinced to stay (dailycaller.com)

Game Day II

   

As you may or may not know, I live 1/2 mile from a major university with a major football team.  It takes no effort for me to saunter down there and capture the pre-game hype.    

Quote of the day: "I'm getting pregnant in December so I won't miss any games next year."  

  

Song of the day:  MmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmBop, which was blasting from a house during pre-game festivities. 

Say you: No one voluntarily plays that song.  

Say Me: Seriously, do you think I can make this shit up?  

On another note, I have this plugin that "reads" my entries, trolls the net, and then pops up recommendations of related articles that I can embed.  Here are a few examples of today's suggestions:

• All 50 Playboy Centerfolds Of Mafia II [Nsfw] (kotaku.com)
• iFixit goes beige with RCA Studio II teardown (engadget.com)
• StarCraft II offline authentication issues to be fixed in upcoming patch (news.bigdownload.com)  ->

Bel Air (Game Day I)

     

OK, even I couldn't be blase about this particular souped up ride when I saw it.  I specifically planned to go to campus today as there was a home game and tailgating activities are consumption fodder.  I  had walked only about 10 minutes when I saw this little gem out of the corner of my eye.   

It's a 1957 Chevy Bel Air station wagon, red and white naturally, and the dentist in charge has completely tricked it out for home games.  

Under the hood?  A grill.  

Where the windows used to be?  Fold down shelving--the other side had a nicely supplied open bar.  

The spare tire nook?  An ice chest.  

The gas tank?*  A keg.  


(The beer choice?  Really. Bad.  But you can't have everything, right?)  

In the station wagon section in the back?  A 36 inch flat screen TV.  

Up front by the grill?  Another TV mounted to the frame.  The guy said he got tired of not being able to watch other games while he was flipping burgers.  

It was completely over-the-top.  If I tail gated all the time I would totally want one.  -> 

*The tanks were inside the car back then.  Who knew? 

Related articles by Zemanta

• Chevrolet Bel Air 1957: The Collectors'favorite (athingforcars.com)
• Custom 1957 Chevy Bel Air worth $150,000 reported stolen from auto shop (latimesblogs.latimes.com)

Midwest Religion

               

So, yeah.  Football season is right around the corner.  And when you live in a college town as I do--a town that's inundated with tens of thousands of people six Saturdays a year to attend The Church of College Football--AND (this is crucial, I think) you could care less, I think you are able to see the logo of your entertainment center university for what it really is.  

A brand. 

A brand that in the past twenty years or so has made a lot of people a ton of money simply from merchandising that goes way beyond t-shirts and baseball hats.  When I was a kid, I certainly don't recall there being branded Zippo lighters do you (I mean, beyond the brand "Zippo")?  I'm not even talking about ticket sales and TV deals and play off games and what our sports-insane country has done to athletics at the high school level and younger. 

Say you: You cynic. College sports are fun! 

Say me:  Read Beer and Circus and then get back to me.  -> 

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