Let Not the Season Be Lost to Worry and Hurry
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We are now up to our knees in the Christmas Season. Next week it’ll be our hips and the following week, our ears. December is all-consuming.
Having no friends has its advantages. No Christmas shopping for me. I go to the mall, pull up a bench and watch the frantic shoppers stream by. Where do they come from? Where are they going? What is their purpose? At least they’re active. The whole scene appears to be very aerobic. If only they’d ditch the fast-food vendor’s complex, a chattering, sugar ‘n grease oasis amid the nonstop shops.
Here’s an idea -- healthy, energizing and bright: Set up a kiosk offering tuna ‘n water and jiggers of Bomber Blend and maybe bananas. Zoom Food. Wear your favorite tank top. You won’t make a million, but think of the people you’ll influence. Instead of tables and chairs, you could have a couple of benches and few dumbbells and a set of bars for chins and dips.
Franchise, anyone? Mall Muscle. Strength ‘n Shop. Get Gift -- Get Ripped.
There’s a golden opportunity out there for anyone with some muscle and half a brain. Knock, knock, or rather, jingle, jingle. Tis the season of good cheer.
Speaking of good cheer, I received a handful of current muscle mags from a favorite bud in the industry. He’s a regular guy, half my age (yeah, I know... he’s getting’ up there) who enjoys good health, a good workout and who, as an associate editor of one of the top three bodybuilding publications, knows everyone behind the scenes and on stage at the pro level.
The last big guy I remember meeting was Dorian Yates at an airport in the ‘90s.
“I doubt you’ve purchased any of these lately,” he said. The magazines were intended to show me what’s going on in the muscle world today. “My, my,” was my first reaction, “the guys and gals are getting quite large these days!!” Two exclamations were evident in my proclamation. “And look at the veins serving their muscular bodies!!” Another two exclamation points.
The next thing I noticed was the endless sling of ads for frightening stuff to develop frightening muscles with which to frighten people. I find myself using the word frighten because the whole presentation was frightening. Lifters were snarling and sneering, the pages hissed and snapped, the editorials growled and bit and the advertisements shouted and threatened.
Muscle on demand! Ripped now, or else! Power, or die! Gee.
I checked my hands for blood. There was none. I glanced behind me. There was no one there. I was safe for the moment.
I felt like an outsider looking in with his nose pressed against a clouded and smudged window. What the heck is going on in there; what are they doing and why? Am I old-fashioned, just plain old or is the world about to explode? Rhetorical questions, I felt no need to answer them. Good thing cuz I have no answers and my notions are not good.
I’m sure they’re super people, train hard, love what they do and I’m slightly jealous, but heavy metal and heavy muscle became heavy hell.
I dropped off the magazines at the front counter of the gym -- let them consider these things -- and knocked out a few sets of curls and presses to regain my sensibilities. Looking through the colorful picture-packed extravaganzas, I saw no new techniques or exercises to practice (I was stunned), so I did a few old favorites, but with exaggerated facial expressions and robust vocal accompaniments.
It was pathetic. I felt like a fool. Seeing my reflection in the mirror, I flinched and was about to offer an excuse to the stranger. The place was empty. No need. I understood and we nodded coolly. The lapse was between me and him, the rambunctious character in the looking glass. I’ll never do it again.
Bombers are the strong and silent types.
Speaking of the strong and silent type, Laree did a favor for a friend and was rewarded with a bucket of grilled KFC. I haven’t had a piece since 1970 and a bucket has never before seen the inside of our home. I place it in the donut category, next to soft drinks, fries and petty theft.
Well, there it was and there we were and it was late and we were hungry and we felt like poop and so we ate some. The bucket is gone. It was here 15 minutes ago and now it’s gone. I see how the fast-food thing works up-close and personal. Container on table, hands in face, gone.
It was a moment of weakness. Laree said it probably wasn’t all that bad for us and I fell for it, like Adam, Eve and the apple thing in the garden. One bite...
Very salty, greasy, fast, easy, cheap, gone and not exactly right.
She also brought home a box of fresh, hand-made chocolate-covered butter toffee from McKenzie’s Chocolates in Santa Cruz. Close your eyes and dream, chocolate lovers... more desirable than thick pecs and washboard abs and hunky diamond-shaped calves... at the time. The woman’s gonna drive me mad. Bad Laree.
December gets weird. A very unpredictable time of the year, anything can happen. Get this: A truck dropped off an oversize box under a redwood tree marked, This Side Up and Do Not Open Till Christmas. Further year-end trickery.
Hmmm... I nudged it with my foot. It was heavy. What could it be: A Weider 110-pound barbell set, a year’s supply of canned tuna ‘n water in a custom E-Z dispenser, a side of buffalo on ice, a plasma screen TV, a Great Dane?
Just as I was about to surgically dissect the carton without leaving a trace of pre-Christmas entry, an announcement echoed from Control Tower One, “You open it and it’s yours, Bucko.”
Two can play at this game. I opened it. No Great Dane. It’s an unassembled Lifecycle with my name inscribed on the side. And what am I gonna do with a Lifecycle? Nevermind...
And what am I gonna do with the 500 pound sack of Bow Wow All-Natural Doggie Chow?
High in protein... doesn’t taste bad... makes its own gravy...
Remember... God loves us... Dave
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Scoop the blend into a glass, stir and drink with pleasure and satisfaction, when you need to, want to or should. All the time.
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