Day 66: Back and Bis

I walked out of my apartment this morning to a beautiful 20 degree Celsius summer breeze washing over my smiling face, people on their porches rocking back and forth pleasantly waving at whoever happens to pass by, a paper delivery boy perfectly arching today's news onto nearby driveways, birds chirping, kids playing, a 55' Ford Thunderbird peacefully rolling by, a picture-perfect day in the life of a good citizen. I was gently pulled from this comforting scene by a friendly lick of my hand, a neighbourhood dog was stopping by to say hello, as I looked down to give him a hearty pet, I was surpised to see I was wearing a baseball mitt, a perfectly pressed t-shirt and slacks, polished shoes, and the most startling of all, I was in black and white; everything was in black-and-white. This weird realization was interrupted by someone calling me for breakfast. But, here's the thing, no one makes me breakfast. "Beaverrrr, breakfast is ready!". It hit me like the Lombardi-led Green Bay Packers defensive line, I was in Leave it to Beaver. In fact, I was Beaver!

This was all very weird at first - indeed, the only thing that has ever happily licked my hand around my house was a homeless guy and we don't have paper-boys let alone driveways to throw the papers on. But, gee golly, I felt great. Not a care or worry in the world - everything was as it should be, the good guys had won the war, America was the benevolent super-power that would usher in a new era of peace, happiness, and rights, and I was an integral part of it; a young boy in the noble nuclear family. In short, the first day of good weather can have a profound affect on one's mental state. 

I had to turn away from this beautiful, simple, and weirdly perfect place, descending into my dungeon of damp degeneracy to lift heavy things. The colour came back, which was a relief, but so did everything else in all-too vivid technicolor - a teetering superpower divided in half by those that read and those that enjoy monster trucks and Hooters; an imminent, although never acknowledged, global water crisis; allowing your son to be an altar boy qualifying you as a bad-parent; Detroit making crime instead of cars; Arrested Development being cancelled...twice; 98% of a political movement named after a tax-revolution that demands tax-cuts not knowing that taxes have been cut in the last year; Sarah Palin; Sarah Palin supporters; Sarah Palin wrote a book; people actually believing Sarah Palin wrote a book; the Sarah Palin book becoming a national best-seller; Sarah Palin's family; Sarah Palin's tight fitting leather jackets; and worst of all, the guilt of wanting to fuck Sarah Palin. Cold, stark, brutal realism crashed into my consciousness like a brick through a congressman's window. It was clear that this world was much crappier than the soda-pop version outside, but, I had a job to do. 

Millard and I anted-up, bared down, and hummed through the workout like a perfectly fitted fan-belt on a 56' Buick Skylark. It sucked being couped up inside, but once we got our motors running and got out on the highway, we were looking for adventure and whatever came our w...this song is from 68', Leave it to Beaver was cancelled in 63', it makes no sense to force this in here and it sounds lame. You were looking for adventure and whatever came your way? Do you have any idea how gay that sounds? Two dudes, doing Yoga and lifting weights alone in a basement apartment, yelling things like "dooo it bro", "torque it guy, torque it", and "pump it broo, pump it", is bad enough and inches you eerily close to warp-speed gayness. Adding in the fact "you got your motors running and were looking for adventure" may actually break the gay barrier - if Einstein had a theory about the impossibility to reach maximal gayness because of the structure and limitations of the time-space continuum, you would have just disproven it. And, you clearly know nothing about cars - the humming of a fan-belt? Are you kidding me?

Well, what I was trying to say was that we did well and competently completed the workout routine. You raise some good-points and I would like to yield the rest of my time to the floor.

Highlights: Jam-packed with moments of motors-running, adventure-finding, liking smoke and lightning, and exploding into space. Yeah, fuck you.

State of Mind: The weather matches my mental state -- cheerful, breezy, refreshing, and a little cloudy (I'm still sort of sick).

Rating: Hit some failure and sort of wimped out on the final strip-set: P80X.