dear john,
i know you've been gone a long time, but you haven't been forgotten. mostly because your songs tend to get STUCK in people's HEADS, which can be annoying, but are quite timeless, which is a good thing. i think "imagine" was an amazing contribution to music. thank you for that.
it's really quite beautiful, and lately i can't get it out of my effing head. i blame that cute little sissy, david archuleta. now the song just plays on repeat in my brain.
here's my attempt at getting it out of there. no offense. i still like it and stuff, i just... you know -- have other things to think about.
love,
m
Imagine there's no Heaven
It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today
Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace
Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world
You may say that I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will live as one.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Friday, March 21, 2008
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
love is a battlefield
i make my bed every day. if i don't have the energy to do it in the early morning, i make it when i get home from work. if i don't have the energy to make my bed when i get home from work, i do it right before bed... minutes before jumping under the covers and, in effect, un-making the bed.
why? because i have to. because my mother taught me to always make my bed. ALWAYS. it's the #1 way to make the room look more tidy and clean. and it simply should be made. if you're not going to bother making your bed, why bother buying expensive duvets and pillow shams for all over it? what's the use?
over the years, probably beginning in high school, i have learned to sleep in a bed without un-making it. despite my tossing and turning, i am conscientious enough to re-adjust covers and sheets throughout the night - even in my sleep - so as to avoid messing up or un-making the bed. when i wake up in the morning, i simply fold down the flap from whence i came, re-arrange my 7 pillows, and continue on with my day knowing my bed is beautiful and perfectly made behind me.
on those rare occasions when i am not alone in bed, all this goes out the window. the entire night is spent pulling covers back to my side, wrestling with sheets, and searching for my pillows. if any of you have slept with me (platonically or otherwise), you know this wrestling match well. it is a power struggle, and the prize is comfortable sleep.
lately, i have lost all control over my bed. i fight all night for pillows and sheets. sometimes the pillows disappear to the floor. and in the morning... dear lord, in the morning... where do i begin?
in the morning, my precious bed is such a mess that i have to pull everything off and start over. no turning-down of the flap. it's like cleaning up the battlefields of normandy in late july of 1944. no offense to those of you who are still upset about WWII... *cough* japanese *cough*. all my hard work throughout the night, all my years of learning to sleep without moving... all for naught.
but at the end of the day, as i'm making my bed before crawling back into it... i wouldn't trade having someone special to wake up with for all the perfectly made, throw-pillow-strewn, creased-sheet, nate berkus beds in the world.
why? because i have to. because my mother taught me to always make my bed. ALWAYS. it's the #1 way to make the room look more tidy and clean. and it simply should be made. if you're not going to bother making your bed, why bother buying expensive duvets and pillow shams for all over it? what's the use?
over the years, probably beginning in high school, i have learned to sleep in a bed without un-making it. despite my tossing and turning, i am conscientious enough to re-adjust covers and sheets throughout the night - even in my sleep - so as to avoid messing up or un-making the bed. when i wake up in the morning, i simply fold down the flap from whence i came, re-arrange my 7 pillows, and continue on with my day knowing my bed is beautiful and perfectly made behind me.
on those rare occasions when i am not alone in bed, all this goes out the window. the entire night is spent pulling covers back to my side, wrestling with sheets, and searching for my pillows. if any of you have slept with me (platonically or otherwise), you know this wrestling match well. it is a power struggle, and the prize is comfortable sleep.
lately, i have lost all control over my bed. i fight all night for pillows and sheets. sometimes the pillows disappear to the floor. and in the morning... dear lord, in the morning... where do i begin?
in the morning, my precious bed is such a mess that i have to pull everything off and start over. no turning-down of the flap. it's like cleaning up the battlefields of normandy in late july of 1944. no offense to those of you who are still upset about WWII... *cough* japanese *cough*. all my hard work throughout the night, all my years of learning to sleep without moving... all for naught.
but at the end of the day, as i'm making my bed before crawling back into it... i wouldn't trade having someone special to wake up with for all the perfectly made, throw-pillow-strewn, creased-sheet, nate berkus beds in the world.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
the alchemist says...
I don't live in either my past or my future. I'm interested only in the present. If you can concentrate always on the present, you'll be a happy man. Life will be a party for you, a grand festival, because life is the moment we're living now.
that's what eckhart tolle calls the power of now.
check back soon for more about this pilgrim's progress.
that's what eckhart tolle calls the power of now.
check back soon for more about this pilgrim's progress.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Hey... your eyes have a little green in them.
I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you cut your hair.
I hate the way you drive my car.
I hate it when you stare.
I hate your big dumb combat boots, and the way you read my mind.
I hate you so much it makes me sick; it even makes me rhyme.
I hate it, I hate the way you're always right.
I hate it when you lie.
I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry.
I hate it when you're not around, and the fact that you didn't call.
But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you.
Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.
Monday, March 10, 2008
outta my, outta my head
going out of my mind these days
it's like i'm walking around in a haze
i can't think straight, i can't concentrate
and i need a shave
i go to work and i look tired
the boss man says: son, you gonna get fired - this ain't your style
and behind my coffee cup i just smile.
what a beautiful mess
what a beautiful mess i'm in, spending all my time with you
theres nothing else i'd rather do.
what a sweet addiction that i'm caught up in, cause i cant get enough...
this morning put salt in my coffee
i put my shoes on the wrong feet
i'm losing my mind I swear
it might be the death of me, but i don't care.
Friday, February 29, 2008
lesbians make us laugh AND cry
dear ellen degeneres,
your heartfelt plea for understanding and change has brought tears to my eyes, the way your comedy occasionally does. today's tears are, of course, not laughing tears.
thanks for saying this on your show today. maybe fat dumb america will listen to you. maybe not. but i listened, and i respect your guts. ha. i didn't mean that as a play on "i hate your guts" but it works. I RESPECT YOUR GUTS!
love,-matthew
* * *
"On February 12th, an openly gay 15-year-old boy named Larry who was an eighth-grader in Oxnard, California was murdered by a fellow eighth-grader named Brandon. Larry was killed because he...was gay. Days before he was murdered, Larry asked his killer to be his Valentine. I don't want to be political.
This is not political, I'm not a political person, but this is personal to me. A boy has been killed and a number of lives have been ruined. And somewhere along the line the killer Brandon got the message that it's so threatening and so awful and so horrific that Larry would want to be his Valentine that killing Larry seemed to be the right thing to do. And when the message out there is so horrible that to be gay you can be killed for it, we need to change the message.
Larry was not a second class citizen. I am not a second class citizen. It is okay if you're gay.
I don't care what people say. I don't care what people think.
And I know there are entire groups of people who face discrimination every single day and we're a long way from treating each other equally. All of it is unacceptable. All of it.
But I would like you to start paying attention to how often being gay is the punchline of a monologue. Or how often gay jokes are in a movie. And that kind of message — laughing at someone because they're gay — is just the beginning. It starts with laughing at someone, then it's verbal abuse, then it's physical abuse, and then it's this kid Brandon killing a kid like Larry.
We must change our country and we can do it with our behavior, we can do it with the messages we send our children, we can do it with our vote. This is an election year and there's a lot of talk about change. I think one thing we can change is hate. Check on who you're voting for, and does that person really truly believe that we are all equal under the law? And if you're not sure, change your vote.
We deserve better. My heart goes out to everybody involved in this horrible, horrible incident."
your heartfelt plea for understanding and change has brought tears to my eyes, the way your comedy occasionally does. today's tears are, of course, not laughing tears.
thanks for saying this on your show today. maybe fat dumb america will listen to you. maybe not. but i listened, and i respect your guts. ha. i didn't mean that as a play on "i hate your guts" but it works. I RESPECT YOUR GUTS!
love,-matthew
* * *
"On February 12th, an openly gay 15-year-old boy named Larry who was an eighth-grader in Oxnard, California was murdered by a fellow eighth-grader named Brandon. Larry was killed because he...was gay. Days before he was murdered, Larry asked his killer to be his Valentine. I don't want to be political.
This is not political, I'm not a political person, but this is personal to me. A boy has been killed and a number of lives have been ruined. And somewhere along the line the killer Brandon got the message that it's so threatening and so awful and so horrific that Larry would want to be his Valentine that killing Larry seemed to be the right thing to do. And when the message out there is so horrible that to be gay you can be killed for it, we need to change the message.
Larry was not a second class citizen. I am not a second class citizen. It is okay if you're gay.
I don't care what people say. I don't care what people think.
And I know there are entire groups of people who face discrimination every single day and we're a long way from treating each other equally. All of it is unacceptable. All of it.
But I would like you to start paying attention to how often being gay is the punchline of a monologue. Or how often gay jokes are in a movie. And that kind of message — laughing at someone because they're gay — is just the beginning. It starts with laughing at someone, then it's verbal abuse, then it's physical abuse, and then it's this kid Brandon killing a kid like Larry.
We must change our country and we can do it with our behavior, we can do it with the messages we send our children, we can do it with our vote. This is an election year and there's a lot of talk about change. I think one thing we can change is hate. Check on who you're voting for, and does that person really truly believe that we are all equal under the law? And if you're not sure, change your vote.
We deserve better. My heart goes out to everybody involved in this horrible, horrible incident."
Sunday, February 10, 2008
in God's kitchen.
as i dressed for brunch on this chilly sunday morning, i found myself wondering if i should be going to church instead. what was, for many years of my teenage and young adult life, a sunday morning ritual is now only a memory, much like the college dining hall or free time on weekends. too busy for God - that's me! i have far too much homework to sit in a pew and learn all morning.
but i'm not too busy to have brunch with my friends. it's a priority. it's soul food -- kinda like church used to be. has brunch replaced church? or are they actually quite similar?
i dress pretty much the same for brunch as i dress for church. button-down shirt and a cute sweater. the only difference is that i put on well-fitted jeans this morning, rather than slacks.
brunch is where we boys and girls go to confess what we did the night before, much like we used to do at church. "...but i really like him, so i don't feel guilty!"
also, both brunch and church end in "ch." okay, now it's becoming a stretch.
but i believe that God can be found not only before an altar, but anywhere we seek Him. in a heartfelt discussion between friends. on the train with you as you randomly chat with a very sweet old lady who's wearing too much perfume. in a late-night, emotional discussion with a friend who is suddenly alone after years in a relationship. and God can also be with us at brunch, in a bustling little cafe, over cafe au lait and a calorie-packed order of home fries. mmmmmm potatoes.
if you didn't go to brunch this weekend, don't feel guilty. God and breakfast burritos will still be there for you when you're ready to sit down and re-center with a little quiet time or a much-needed reunion with your closest friends.
wow, i totally feel better now about not going to church this morning!
but i'm not too busy to have brunch with my friends. it's a priority. it's soul food -- kinda like church used to be. has brunch replaced church? or are they actually quite similar?
i dress pretty much the same for brunch as i dress for church. button-down shirt and a cute sweater. the only difference is that i put on well-fitted jeans this morning, rather than slacks.
brunch is where we boys and girls go to confess what we did the night before, much like we used to do at church. "...but i really like him, so i don't feel guilty!"
also, both brunch and church end in "ch." okay, now it's becoming a stretch.
but i believe that God can be found not only before an altar, but anywhere we seek Him. in a heartfelt discussion between friends. on the train with you as you randomly chat with a very sweet old lady who's wearing too much perfume. in a late-night, emotional discussion with a friend who is suddenly alone after years in a relationship. and God can also be with us at brunch, in a bustling little cafe, over cafe au lait and a calorie-packed order of home fries. mmmmmm potatoes.
if you didn't go to brunch this weekend, don't feel guilty. God and breakfast burritos will still be there for you when you're ready to sit down and re-center with a little quiet time or a much-needed reunion with your closest friends.
wow, i totally feel better now about not going to church this morning!
Monday, January 28, 2008
the clinical diaries, day 5
people have very difficult, sad lives -- and not just old people, or ugly people, but real people. people like you and me, 22 year-olds whose stories make me want to cry, whose sobbing over the phone causes a lump to rise in my throat. it was a difficult day at work.
and it's tempting to be sad, but that's not the answer.
the answer is to be happy, to be grateful, and to spread the joy we have. the first step to that is to recognize how lucky we are, friends. we're so fortunate to feel safe inside our homes and neighborhoods, to have family members who love and support us, and to have one another.
today i'm grateful for:
-you, my friends, with whom i can share my joys and sorrows
-living in a city that, while filled with gun violence, is not generally hostile to unique people
-a family that allowed me to choose my own path in life and to travel and move wherever i desired
-my hair. i know that doesn't really fit with the theme of this journal entry, but it's been doing really good things lately.
"The daily practice of gratitude is one of the conduits by which your wealth will come to you."
Thursday, January 24, 2008
a not-so-funny thing happened on the way to class
i just witnessed a girl getting stabbed on the subway.
well, not actually "stabbed," like, in her body. just her dunkin donuts cup.
i was sitting a few rows away, quietly last-minute cramming/reading for class (i should be doing that now, but... this is more important, i feel) when suddenly a girl screams. coffee flies everywhere. with cream. sugar... maybe. the victim wasn't totally thin. cute, though.
everyone screams, runs to the next car. i get swept up in the mass of fleeing passengers, trying not to cry, my life and wardrobe flashing before my eyes...
the perp (as we call it in the law enforcement world) just sat there. head down. knife in his right hand. holding an open book in his left hand. the Bible, it was later confirmed.
and the crazy thing about it was, the girl totally did not deserve to be assaulted. i mean, she was very, very cute, with long curly hair covered by a cute little winter hat, and wearing a nice coat. i felt so bad as she stood among the mass of people (now in the adjacent train car) crying. i wanted to pull out her compact and powder over her tears.
needless to say, the train stopped. the perp just sat there, doing his daily devotional, and finally the septa police showed up to save the day, cuff the bad guy, and rescue us all from the insanity that is living in philadelphia -- if only for the day. who knows what will happen on the subway tomorrow.
and not to make it about me, but if i were that girl, i would have been so upset about my coffee. mostly because i'm exhausted. and i really need my coffee this week. not to make it about me... or anything.
well, not actually "stabbed," like, in her body. just her dunkin donuts cup.
i was sitting a few rows away, quietly last-minute cramming/reading for class (i should be doing that now, but... this is more important, i feel) when suddenly a girl screams. coffee flies everywhere. with cream. sugar... maybe. the victim wasn't totally thin. cute, though.
everyone screams, runs to the next car. i get swept up in the mass of fleeing passengers, trying not to cry, my life and wardrobe flashing before my eyes...
the perp (as we call it in the law enforcement world) just sat there. head down. knife in his right hand. holding an open book in his left hand. the Bible, it was later confirmed.
and the crazy thing about it was, the girl totally did not deserve to be assaulted. i mean, she was very, very cute, with long curly hair covered by a cute little winter hat, and wearing a nice coat. i felt so bad as she stood among the mass of people (now in the adjacent train car) crying. i wanted to pull out her compact and powder over her tears.
needless to say, the train stopped. the perp just sat there, doing his daily devotional, and finally the septa police showed up to save the day, cuff the bad guy, and rescue us all from the insanity that is living in philadelphia -- if only for the day. who knows what will happen on the subway tomorrow.
and not to make it about me, but if i were that girl, i would have been so upset about my coffee. mostly because i'm exhausted. and i really need my coffee this week. not to make it about me... or anything.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
his heart grew two sizes that day.
sitting in starbucks.
staring out the window.
suddenly smiling as i watch a lovely little family walking down the street.
two well-dressed dads, one on each end. both caucasian and graying. and in the middle, a small asian boy and a small black boy. all holding hands. all smiling against the cold wind.
i wonder what they were all up to today... maybe a show at the merriam. maybe out to get pizza for lunch.
i wonder how old i have to be to adopt...
maybe i'll just find a way to impregnate carey without any physical contact.
hmmm...
staring out the window.
suddenly smiling as i watch a lovely little family walking down the street.
two well-dressed dads, one on each end. both caucasian and graying. and in the middle, a small asian boy and a small black boy. all holding hands. all smiling against the cold wind.
i wonder what they were all up to today... maybe a show at the merriam. maybe out to get pizza for lunch.
i wonder how old i have to be to adopt...
maybe i'll just find a way to impregnate carey without any physical contact.
hmmm...
Thursday, January 17, 2008
and i know that it's not a party...
if it happens every night
* * *
burn it down till the embers smoke on the ground
and start new when your heart is an empty room, with walls of the deepest blue
spring blooms and you find the love that's true, but you don't know what now to do, 'cause the chase is all you know, and she stopped running months ago
and all you see is where else you could be when you're at home
out on the street are so many possibilities to not be alone
the flames and smoke climbed out of every window and disappeared with everything that you held dear
and you shed not a single tear for the things that you didn't need
'cause you knew you were finally free
* * *
burn it down till the embers smoke on the ground
and start new when your heart is an empty room, with walls of the deepest blue
spring blooms and you find the love that's true, but you don't know what now to do, 'cause the chase is all you know, and she stopped running months ago
and all you see is where else you could be when you're at home
out on the street are so many possibilities to not be alone
the flames and smoke climbed out of every window and disappeared with everything that you held dear
and you shed not a single tear for the things that you didn't need
'cause you knew you were finally free
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
*POOF!* you’re poor but happy.
today was my first day working at my clinical -- a type of public interest internship, for those of you nonlegisparlantes. i will be working 10 hours a week at a center for gay and lesbian civil rights. i'm excited about it; i think it will be a fantastic experience. i guess i think it wil be beneficial in that "this will be good for you" sort of way. "this is going to really open your eyes."
it already has, but not in the way you might imagine. not yet, at least.
today i was introduced to a new type of lawyer. over the past few years, i've met a LOT of lawyers. a lllotttt. impatient, stressed out, hurriedly friendly, overpaid, often well-dressed lawyers. that's not the kind of lawyer that i'll be working with through my clinical.
the men and women i spent my day with were not the best-dressed professionals you might meet. in fact, they were all in jeans. not even expensive jeans! just...jeans. the office isn't nice. they're remodeling, but i doubt the final product will be very posh. the carpet is NOT pretty. no one there gets paid much, as you might imagine at an organization funded by donations from the public and government grants. our government isn't extremely generous with the lgbt community.
and these people deal with real problems -- life and death, losing my home, harrassed at work, victim of domestic violence, losing custody of my children kind of problems. real problems. real stress.
and i have to say i've never met a happier group of people. they are fun -- and funny! they make real jokes and don't worry about offending anyone. they talk about their lesbian lovers and adopted children as if they've known you for years, but really it's been a few hours. they were all very welcoming, and very normal. most of all, though, like i said: they were happy.
i'm not sure how this will affect my goal of becoming luxuriously wealthy and outfitting myself in only the finest threads and real estate investments.
i just don't know what to do with this epiphany.
don't tell anyone. i don't want to appear vulnerable.
it already has, but not in the way you might imagine. not yet, at least.
today i was introduced to a new type of lawyer. over the past few years, i've met a LOT of lawyers. a lllotttt. impatient, stressed out, hurriedly friendly, overpaid, often well-dressed lawyers. that's not the kind of lawyer that i'll be working with through my clinical.
the men and women i spent my day with were not the best-dressed professionals you might meet. in fact, they were all in jeans. not even expensive jeans! just...jeans. the office isn't nice. they're remodeling, but i doubt the final product will be very posh. the carpet is NOT pretty. no one there gets paid much, as you might imagine at an organization funded by donations from the public and government grants. our government isn't extremely generous with the lgbt community.
and these people deal with real problems -- life and death, losing my home, harrassed at work, victim of domestic violence, losing custody of my children kind of problems. real problems. real stress.
and i have to say i've never met a happier group of people. they are fun -- and funny! they make real jokes and don't worry about offending anyone. they talk about their lesbian lovers and adopted children as if they've known you for years, but really it's been a few hours. they were all very welcoming, and very normal. most of all, though, like i said: they were happy.
i'm not sure how this will affect my goal of becoming luxuriously wealthy and outfitting myself in only the finest threads and real estate investments.
i just don't know what to do with this epiphany.
don't tell anyone. i don't want to appear vulnerable.
Friday, January 11, 2008
please apply within
a full-time position has opened up at our organization, and applications are being accepted.
qualifications:
the ideal candidate is, above all, socially awkward: hates saying hello to people around the office, refuses to chat about anything except complaints about the work, dislikes attending social events when there is other work to be done, would rather use extra time to double-check research and re-dot all i's and re-cross all t's. the ideal candidate is "book smart" while being generally clueless about the important things in life, such as friendship and weekends and sleep. the ideal candidate will hate his or her personal life so much that all weekends and holidays will be spent in the office doing work.
requirements:
to be considered, one must meet an academic performance threshold , and he or she must be able to both write sentences and understand how to robotically conform citations to a step-by-step manual which describes how to create citations. no other requirements will be expected of you.
work environment:
all work will take place in a poorly-ventilated and extremely warm allergen hot-bed in the far corners of the law building. while work could be done from any location using the unstable medium called "the world-wide web," such behavior is explicitly prohibited, as everything on the internet is new and, ipso facto, should be distrusted.
opportunity for advancement:
if, after one year of what most mentally healthy individuals would consider to be frustrating, thankless hell, you are interested, for some reason beyond sane comprehension, in continuing with this organization, you may apply for an even more torturous position overseeing new recruits. that anyone would desire one of these positions (and the prolonged suffering attendant thereto) is baffling.
how to apply:
the application process has been thoughtfully designed to be as painful as possible. it is purposefully scheduled to occur at the end of what will likely be the worst two or three weeks of applicants' entire year. the application process lasts for ten (10) long days and nights, culminating in a written work product based upon which applicants will be judged, scrutinized, and potentially mocked.
please apply within. if you have any questions or comments, please contact us at the law review. we look forward to ruining your second (and potentially your third) year of law school. buh-bye now.
qualifications:
the ideal candidate is, above all, socially awkward: hates saying hello to people around the office, refuses to chat about anything except complaints about the work, dislikes attending social events when there is other work to be done, would rather use extra time to double-check research and re-dot all i's and re-cross all t's. the ideal candidate is "book smart" while being generally clueless about the important things in life, such as friendship and weekends and sleep. the ideal candidate will hate his or her personal life so much that all weekends and holidays will be spent in the office doing work.
requirements:
to be considered, one must meet an academic performance threshold , and he or she must be able to both write sentences and understand how to robotically conform citations to a step-by-step manual which describes how to create citations. no other requirements will be expected of you.
work environment:
all work will take place in a poorly-ventilated and extremely warm allergen hot-bed in the far corners of the law building. while work could be done from any location using the unstable medium called "the world-wide web," such behavior is explicitly prohibited, as everything on the internet is new and, ipso facto, should be distrusted.
opportunity for advancement:
if, after one year of what most mentally healthy individuals would consider to be frustrating, thankless hell, you are interested, for some reason beyond sane comprehension, in continuing with this organization, you may apply for an even more torturous position overseeing new recruits. that anyone would desire one of these positions (and the prolonged suffering attendant thereto) is baffling.
how to apply:
the application process has been thoughtfully designed to be as painful as possible. it is purposefully scheduled to occur at the end of what will likely be the worst two or three weeks of applicants' entire year. the application process lasts for ten (10) long days and nights, culminating in a written work product based upon which applicants will be judged, scrutinized, and potentially mocked.
please apply within. if you have any questions or comments, please contact us at the law review. we look forward to ruining your second (and potentially your third) year of law school. buh-bye now.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
i'm mister bad gym karma
another day, another drama
when i'm in the weight room and i sense that a potential bencher needs a spot, i will go to great lengths to avoid helping, such as:
a) generally refusing to make eye contact with anyone working on or near a bench
b) if i see someone potentially approaching me to ask for a spot, by walking away (to the water fountain or otherwise) while looking down at my iPod
or
c) if, to my chagrin, i have failed to dodge a spotter's request for aid, and i spot someone - which occasionally happens, such as when i am distracted and someone asks me before i can run away - then after the first set, i disappear. i will even cut short my own workout just to avoid being asked to spot another set.
this occurred last night. before i could escape his eye contact, some skinny indian (like, from india... because that confuses some people. i'm not naming names, but a few weeks ago, a friend asked me, "what else would you call indians like the navajo?" and i replied, "they're native americans." i'm not naming names, because i don't want to embarrass anyone.) was up in my face asking if i could spot him. i sighed heavily, followed him to his breath, and had to stand over his bad breath for almost a whole minute while he heaved up what looked to be about 20 pounds. then i ran away and never came back. considering that there weren't many people in the gym, that indian boy with no one to spot him may have had to cut his workout short as well. i genuinely do not care.
i realize this is poor gym etiquette.
even worse, it is poor karmic behavior. and, ladies and gentlemen, i do believe in karma.
that is why i refuse to do any exercise for which i could potentially need a spotter. so no one can ever treat me the way i treated the little indian boy and anyone else who has EVER asked me for help in the gym.
HA! take THAT, karma!
when i'm in the weight room and i sense that a potential bencher needs a spot, i will go to great lengths to avoid helping, such as:
a) generally refusing to make eye contact with anyone working on or near a bench
b) if i see someone potentially approaching me to ask for a spot, by walking away (to the water fountain or otherwise) while looking down at my iPod
or
c) if, to my chagrin, i have failed to dodge a spotter's request for aid, and i spot someone - which occasionally happens, such as when i am distracted and someone asks me before i can run away - then after the first set, i disappear. i will even cut short my own workout just to avoid being asked to spot another set.
this occurred last night. before i could escape his eye contact, some skinny indian (like, from india... because that confuses some people. i'm not naming names, but a few weeks ago, a friend asked me, "what else would you call indians like the navajo?" and i replied, "they're native americans." i'm not naming names, because i don't want to embarrass anyone.) was up in my face asking if i could spot him. i sighed heavily, followed him to his breath, and had to stand over his bad breath for almost a whole minute while he heaved up what looked to be about 20 pounds. then i ran away and never came back. considering that there weren't many people in the gym, that indian boy with no one to spot him may have had to cut his workout short as well. i genuinely do not care.
i realize this is poor gym etiquette.
even worse, it is poor karmic behavior. and, ladies and gentlemen, i do believe in karma.
that is why i refuse to do any exercise for which i could potentially need a spotter. so no one can ever treat me the way i treated the little indian boy and anyone else who has EVER asked me for help in the gym.
HA! take THAT, karma!
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