As some of you may know, about a month and a half ago I severely banged up my knees. This resulted in my inability to run, which itself resulted in me going to the gym pretty regularly to get in some cardio on the machines. Without the running I was going crazy and getting fatter, which is totally unacceptable. Now either A) Getting Fatter or B) Going Crazier is fine, but both at the same time is right out. By the time I could run again it was way too damn cold here. -8 is fine on a ski slope, all bundled up and ready to hit the powder, but for running it’s where I draw the line. As such, I’m still stuck in the gym on an elliptical machine.
There are two gyms I like to go to, three if you count the one I only use for their pool. In the first’s cardio room they have only one TV which is easily ignorable. They do play the top 40s radio, which is less ignorable, and it was here that I was first exposed to some annoying chick blathering on about if she were a boy. First of all, I was impressed she correctly used the subjunctive case (were) instead of past or perfect (was). Secondly, the song doesn’t have any yodeling. I hate the yodeling. Much to my surprise I find out that the song is by Beyonce who A) has never impressed me with her command of the English language and B) usually yodels a lot. All the time. She’s yodeling like it’s going out of style, and I hope to god it is. The song itself, musically, is no better or worse than any other needy wench with Daddy issues whining about the jerk she’s dating but won’t dump due to the aforementioned Daddy issues. Lady, your boyfriend’s a jerk. It’s not a man thing. (Yes, I know, all men are jerks, right. Got that. Moving on.)
Anyway, that one gym is only open in the mornings, so in the evenings I hit another one down the street. In this one’s cardio room, they’ve got four TVs and are also blaring annoying music. The weight room has more music, no TVs, and is generally less annoying, save for the grunters, but those are the subject of a different rant. (But really, what’s the need of all that grunting? Do deafening bellows of “Rrrrrgg!” and “Hnnnggrklrrrrggg!” help build muscle tissue? The soft sound off the muscle bound grunter next to me apparently passing kidney stones with the help of a pair of 80 pounders is the music I lift too. Listen, I understand breathing hard, or the occasional hiss. If you’re pushing yourself it happens. Cool. But does every rep have to have a soundtrack that brings to mind the death throws of a Australian whooping crane in the grip of a python? I mean, these guys are huge, so it must do something. Perhaps it’s a subtle nuance of human physiology that my physics background hasn’t prepared me for. I’ve got to start bringing ear plugs.) Anyway, the cardio room is set up so the TV on the left plays CNN, the next one is either Fox News or the Weather Channel, then there’s UPN/BET/NBC or whatever, and finally the last one seems to be on a VH1 marathon. The ellipticals are all the way to the right, so I can watch either of the latter two.
This has exposed me to the seedy underbelly of prime time TV. I’ve seen Rock of Love (the rock of retarded), Rock of Love: Charm School (Is there a point to this show? At all?), Dancing with the Stars (Does anyone actually care? Seriously?), The Biggest Loser (Insipid), and the Fifty Best Moments from Reality TV in 2008 (Now this program actually makes sense in a gym. I got through two minutes of it and started violently hurling up everything I’d eaten previously, which had been BK, so clearly I lowered my caloric intake. Still, it strikes me as a little odd that a gym is clearly supporting bulimia. But the ancient Romans did it, so I guess it’s just tradition.) I also the video to dear Beyonce’s opus of self indulgent whining about her jerk boyfriend. Now, the video is no better or worse than any other pop starlet’s. Actually, I take that back. The cinematography was pretty interesting. It was shot in black and white, which is a automatic step up. Beyonce takes on the role of the jerk for most of it, as she acts in a slutty and whorish manner to represent how she perceives the alleged assholicness of the BF. The thing I liked about this (well, perhaps not so much liked as just was interested by) was that the video used role reversal instead of the starlet either continuously wailing directly at the camera or prancing about symbolizing her sexual desirability and wiggling what God, her momma, and a plastic surgeon gave her. For a hip hop video (Or R&B or whatever she’s branding herself as these days) this was pretty sophisticated. We’re not talking about The Wall, Part Deuce here, but clearly someone in the production of the video had two brain cells to rub together. Also, nothing in the title was misspelled. Apparently, misspelling your name makes you “hard” in the rap world. Chris Rock said it best. They’re keeping it real. Real dumb. Beyonce, I’ll never buy your album, but I don’t think you should be sterilized as a public service.
You’ll notice I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this. Elliptical machines are boring. Very. You stand in one place, flailing arms and legs in circular patterns, while trying desperately to ignore the people around you and hideously garbled mutters of radio. The only salvation is completely spacing out, something I have some talent at. I spent a good twenty minutes lost to the world while I contemplated the grammatical ramifications of her title to begin with. Running is vastly better, because as the scenery passes you have something to pay attention too. Also, since there’s no sound but traffic and wind, it’s much more soothing. I know I could get an MP3 player and try to tune the world out with that, but then I’d have music, albeit music I like, blaring in my ears louder than the distractions. Can’t we all embrace the delicate sound of silence? Or at least no grunting. Please, stop the grunting.
