Monday, October 1, 2012

My Dearest Gym,

I know. I know. It's been a while. But, let me start by saying, it's not like I'm seeing another gym. Or working out with free weights or getting off at an earlier stop at the subway and walking home. If I work out, I work out in you...ok. I need you to know that. I had great intentions. I was going to run 6 miles a day, maybe take a spin class, concentrate on a particular muscle group each day and really blast some...quads or...stems or something. But I have shitty great excuses every time. And here they are, in one giant can listen to the same song Im listening to as I write this. Sun Kil Moon's Sunshine in Chicago. Id give you the link but this blogspot has shut down everything except splchek. Oh, no there goes that too. I will wait...I promise. I had the tv on as I changed into my gym clothes and was watching what I thought was a long commercial for some drug that allows you to run on the beach while maintaining an erection, but it turned out to be a Burn Notice marathon, and I got sucked in. Nobody won that day Gym. Nobody. On my way out the door I saw a program on my desk from an improv show I did in Fallon Nevada, and started vomiting in my mouth remembering the good times we had there. It was no Vegas, and it sure was no Reno, and actually, it was barely a town, but they paid our management with a check, or sexual favors, or jewelry they made out of baby teeth, or feathers, or secrets or whatever they use for currency, so the show must go on. They put us up in what was less a hotel and more of a holding facility for mismatched smells and furniture. There was a nickel slots arcade attached to the Feuxtell we were staying at. I opened the door for an 80 year old woman with one foot ( I assume the other foot was in the grave) sitting in a homemade wheelchair holding a 7'11 cup of nickels, and as she passed by she said "I feel lucky!" How? Lucky in the way you only have to pay half price for shoes from now on? I was just thinking about a job I had selling knives door to door in Dallas Texas. I had that job for a week. I sold vacuum cleaners with a friend for about 3 days, and was a mover for one day and was fired for locking a family in a storage facility accidentally for 2 hours....ok, not the unit, ( ha...unit) but I locked the gate to the whole place and they were trapped. I hopped over the gate and walked to Taco Bell and waited for my boss. I was not going to stay in there with them, they were pissed. I wrote down "3D Life Experience" on a napkin and have been wracking my brain trying to figure out what I meant by that. ( Have you googled the Sun Kil Moon song yet? You should. Please do. Anyway) It's as nerve wracking as the time I found a matchbook cover with the words "Cheese Machine" scribbled on it in my hand writing. It's like the movie Memento...or Pimento in this case. If you have made it this far, turn to page 45 to meet the professor in the sand-crab cave. My lady and I sublet a place from a French artist in Queens for a month this summer. There was a scary fucking homeless gentleman we called Change, as all he said in a voice as smooth as aquarium gravel was change. Since then, we both lost jobs, I moved, got another new job, moved again, got sick, got better, gained weight, lost weight and watched the first episode of Mob Doctor and hated myself after. When we returned to that neighborhood in Queens, Change was still there. Doing the same thing. So the only thing that stays the same is change. Pretty deep from a guy who stands in a moat of his own saliva. "You cant put a limit on anything" -- Michael Phelps "Its puff puff pass bro" -- Michael Phelps

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