I cancelled my gym membership yesterday. The sales guy acted like Hal in 2001 when Dave was trying to unplug him, trying all these little tricks to attempt to get me to reconsider. “If you rejoined, you’d be paying $30 a month more.” Fortunately I was tired and in a somewhat crappy mood, and I just wanted to get the damn thing cancelled. I focussed on his goal, acknowledging but not reacting to his tricks. Finally a piece of paper was signed and I walked away knowing that I had one more excuse to sit on the couch.
Another excuse to never leave the house is the BBC’s newly launched alternate reality game, Jamie Kane. Jamie Kane is a recently deceased pop star, but a small group of his fans suspect something suspicious is behind his death. You, or I, or anyone can join in an help figure out what’s going on in 14 daily instalments.
It’s a very impressive set up. As well as a bunch of websites covering all aspects of his career (embarrassing boy band past, serious solo artiste, “Top of the Pops” coverage, magazine covers, and so on) they’ve actually gone to the effort of producing three albums worth of songs, which are all available to listen to online.
The embarrassing boy band album actually sounds like boy bands did three years ago, the first solo album is complete with an opening track about how horrible his boy band life was, and his second, darker solo album has that melancholic Britpop sound. Some of the songs are really good, much better than a lot of the stuff that many pop artists release. Go, the BBC.
A few days ago, as I was arriving at the gym, I saw New Zealand’s Most Glamourous Ex-Coma Patient leaving. I suspect she may have been visiting the physiotherapist located inside the gym complex.
It’s strange. From the neck down she has a sort of fabulous thinness that, realistically, only 14-year-old girls can achieve with no effort but which thousands of adult woman around the Western world covet. But from the neck up she looks like Skeletor.
This proves that being in a coma may be a quick ‘n’ easy way to shed those pesky last few kilos, but the side effects (wasted muscles, cysts, looking like a skull-faced hag) are not worth the effort.
And today I was walking down Victoria Street when I saw The Guy Who Came Second. At first I couldn’t quite pick him. I recognised him from somewhere, like maybe he was a friend of a friend, some dude I’d briefly met at a get-together a few months ago.
He looked at me, like he recognised me, and then I realised who he was. He was The Guy Who Came Second. And he was walking down the street with The Girl Who Came Ninth. They’d just bought some lunch and were, I assume, walking somewhere to eat it.
Ironically, none of these spottings took place at my workplace, which is known for its higher-than-average number of famous and semi-famous people.
The shorts I wear to the gym are getting to be too big for me. It’s ok when I’m doing weights, but when I’m on the treadmill they start to slip down. First it was just down at the front a little, but now they’re starting to slip down over my arse. I know that one day soon I’ll be on the treadmill and my pants will fall down. I’ve been looking for some new shorts, scouring the athletic selections from the Warehouse to Dressmart to Farmers to Rebel Sports, to Game Dame and even to Nike, but I can not find any shorts that meet my needs. I think I will have to make use of a few strategically placed safety pins when I do Round The Bays.
On Sandringham Road, by the rail overbridge, someone has graffitied “Nitschkes” and “Unix Windows”. As a member of the N.O.T.O.R.I.O.U.S centralside crew, I do not take kindly to this geeky invasion of my territory.
I was in Whitcoulls today and noticed that a tie-in book for “Queer Eye” has been released. I briefly looked through it, and it looks like it’s full of really useful information, and not just for straight guys. But above all I was excited and delighted to finally get the spelling for that word. You know when Carson is talking about adding or doing something to an outfit to give it a little something extra? Well, that’s tszujing. He tszjues. It’s all very tszujy and most definitely all about the tszuj. I was spelling it zhoozh, but tszuj is so much better because it has three consonants in a row.
My cellphone is dying. Even when the battery is fully charged, it doesn’t even have enough power to stay on for a whole day. But even if I have it plugged into the charger, it randomly decides that it can’t pick up the network. It’s probably more inconvenient than not having a phone. I think I need to start, like pimping or dealing or something so I can buy a new phone. And some tszujy running shorts. Urgh. Modern life.
At the gym today I was reading a magazine and noticed someone had scribbled a note on one page. It said:
First draft – Write with my soul and heart. Don’t think – write.
Second draft – Write with my mind!
K’Lee goes to my gym, but she wasn’t the author.
My pectoral muscles hurt. It’s strange sensation because I don’t normally think of there being any muscles on my chest.
Yesterday I went to my old gym for the first time in two years. Since I left they moved into a new building. The old one had treadmills, bikes etc, circuit weight machines and various other weights. The new one has all that plus a pool, sauna, hot pool, steam room and an exercise room for stuff like Pilates. Thankfully there are no TVs or the kind of freaky maniacal aerobics classes that places like Les Mills have.
A friend of mine also went to the same gym as me. We used to email each other with the membership numbers of famous people whose workout cards we’d found in the card boxes. I was pleased that I was on heavier weights than a popular newsreader. Our former boss also went to that gym and my friend added a note on his hard under the injuries section saying that he’d suffered a rectal strain.
Ah, those were the good old days. Of course now my strength and fitness ain’t what it used to be. I want to be a lean, mean, LiveJournalling machine. Actually, I’d settle for human rather than machine.
Oh, it was horrible last night. The power supply for my computer stopped working! Arrgh! So once the battery was used up I didn’t know what to do with my evening. I watched TV but it felt so empty.
That reminds me, I should write something about “Extreme Makeover” which is now my new favourite TV show.
There’s a geeky girl who works at a coffee place I frequent. None of her co-workers like her and they’re always telling her to piss off if she tries to join in their conversations. But all the times I’ve seen this happen, she’s never got offended by their comments. She usually just goes back to the milk jug and steams some more milk, then tries to join in later. I would say that I admire her spirit, but she’s really annoying.
You know how sometimes you’ll be in a chatroom and you’ll be like “penis.jpg plz” and some hilarious person will send you a pic of an insect penis (-1 not hot), but then one day you say it and then the next thing you know, crikey, there’s a penis.jpg of an actual male human penis (+1 hot). And it’s not a porn star, it’s an ordinary-but-hot dude who’s snuck out into the stairwell at work with his digital camera. You ever had that happen? Nah, me neither.
I’m considering joining the old gym I used to go to. I went along there today and had a look around. It’s very nice. It didn’t used to be nice. There were no masseuses or lap pools back in the day. Just weights.