Boring, Boring Me

I realized I only post about three things: my stupid house, my job, and the gym. I must be boring as hell. I must have intuited that, which explains all the naked pictures. I gotta keep you coming back somehow.

Me, shaving

Back in the day, when I moved to San Francisco with Renee and Christopher, I spent a lot of time listening to Dream Theater. They were a new-to-me band, and they captured the hell out of my attention. Though I've never stopped listening to them (in fact, they're the official band of my bike shop), I've decided to call a spade a spade, and I put their entire catalogue, including live albums, official bootlegs, and their best of, on my iPod. As I write this, I'm listening to and watching a live official bootleg DVD called Santiago, Chile. The vocalist looks embarrassing: too-pale jeans, no belt, paunch, tank top, black leather vest, and his arms prove he doesn't move his own equipment. He sounds great, which is arguably all that matters, but still.

Not wanting to be like that when I'm forty-five, today, Thursday, I took the opportunity to talk to a personal trainer at the Y. His name is Steve, he's sixty-five, and in incredible shape. I'd be willing to bet my slugging him in the stomach would hurt me more than it'd hurt him. He teaches the ab/core class Monday and Wednesdays, which I'll be attending. I think I mentioned I want to look like Brad Pitt, right?

Oh, that reminds me. I'm broke, and can really only buy frozen food and fruit since I don't trust the kitchen enough to cook in it. As such, I haven't been eating much lately. Frozen food just isn't delicious, and delicious food, like that served in restaurants, is far too expensive. I'm losing weight as a result. My Dickies have never fit so loose.

I thought about making a joke about me weighing less than Cassandra when she finally makes it out here, but then I remembered her oral surgery, liquid diet, and flu. I think she's probably got me beat. ☺

Anyway, Steve taught me some good posture for most of the machines I use, and showed me some freeweight alternatives to a few of the machines. The freeweights feel better, especially for doing bicep curls.

Could I get any cornier? Well, maybe. That sounds like a challenge!

Only thing about the freeweights is I've got to get a pair of gloves. I'll be happy to accept your REI or Big5 gift cards. I'll give you full credit, and your voice will carry extra weight when it comes to which pictures I should post.

After gymming today, I came home and the house smelled bad. Shocking. There's some kind of congealed, cold crap on the stove, stinking a lot. I did my dishes, grabbed some orange juice, and headed back into my room to write this and take care of some other stuff.

Now, here's where things get bad. John Myung, a New Yorker of Korean ancestry, plays bass for Dream Theater, and is featured prominently in the DVD I was watching. Well, I was sitting there, enjoying my OJ, writing this, and there, up on the screen, is John. New Yorker of Korean ancestry John. And I had a quick, sharp racist moment, where I just knew he was lame. Why? Because my gross Asian roommates are gross and Asian, so John Myung must be, too.

John Myung, Dream Theater bassist

I don't want to be like that. I don't think of myself as hateful or as racist, and it makes me sad my living situation is changing the way I think.

Dear Landlord:

What does it say for you as a man, you as a human, that your habits and general grossness are fostering racism in your renters? It says you're gross and need to take lessons on being not gross. Hear me, and evolve. 

Love Creig

As long as I'm insulting people of cultures I don't understand, I think I'll mention the old man roommate down the hall watches some kind of Asian TV a lot, and it's exactly as you imagine. The weird Asian dying cat music, the weird-sounding spoken language, and sheer volume is amazing.

Also, he surprised me the other day when he sneezed so loud, I nearly jumped out of my skin. And you should hear his phlegmy, chest-destroying cough every day. It's like a sitcom character: the Chinese TV watching, hacking lung, no-English weird-ass roommate with nine bottles of lotion in the bathroom, and a handful of chewed up toothbrushes.

Think it's time for some more OJ and maybe a movie. Oh, that reminds me: I saw Species last night, and for a cult film, it was terrible. Sure, the hot blonde was hot and blonde, but the characters, story, and plot devices were all shockingly stupid. I wish I could unsee it.

This is way too long, so I'm quitting now. Thanks for reading, sorry it's so long-winded.