Tales from the Gym

The enemy:

The aftermath:

Kiki and I walked into Gold’s Gym and approached the desk to sign up. The woman looked up, on the phone. I was supposed to do all the talking, so as soon as she lays the receiver down, I let loose in my fast-talking style with a multitude of questions. Are there different plans, any special deals or discounts, what should we know in order to save money. She cut me off and said, “You can pay 79.98 up front for first and last months, and then 39.99 a month with that special.” I replied yes, that’s reasonable, and ask her to get out the proper paperwork but just then Kiki came around my flank and prodded, “THAT special? What’s the other special?”

“Or…” she said, “Or, you can pay 59.99 for first and last months, and 29.99 a month with the other special.” At this point Kiki smiled just a tiny bit and I started cracking up; the kind of laughter where a $100. bill couldn’t have persuaded me to stop. OR… you can save $300. a month. We asked if there was any difference between the two plans, and she said no. Okay… well I think I can afford the more expensive one, so I’ll take that. You think?!

Now I’ve been to Gold’s Gym twice in the past two days. Already I have worked off over 1400 calories in two fifty minute, five mile elliptical machine sessions and I feel great. Combining exercise of the body with six inch cheese-less turkey subs for the mind should have me Jared-thin, Jared-sexy, in about six weeks. Buddha say; exercise, eat fresh.

This morning I had a wild dream that I would like to document. The setting was on an island, at a wake organized by my father and his side of the family. The East Coast was catering the event, and my chefs were there with a Caja China pig-smoking box. All the guests went through the buffet line, and I went through last. There was no pig left for me from the first pig, and the second was ready but they weren’t carving it. As I went through the line, my cousin Clint said angrily to my face that he didn’t like homosexuals, and when I asked why, he said, “I guess I’m just homophobic,” with a sneer.

I became upset and decided to drive home, but my dad was insisting that I’d had too much too drink to drive. But everyone else was leaving, because it was 4AM in the morning. After all the cars had gone, I realized my car wasn’t even there. I thought my dad had taken it because he wanted to control if I could drive or not, or my cousins had stolen it. Somehow, I called my mom on the old number we had growing up, 644-3169, and she came and picked me up. Mr. Schlesinger came with my mom and I in her white Honda Passport, he sat in the back seat, as we drove around the tropical island to look for my car. At this point in the dream, I recalled a false memory of a Haitian coworker of mine telling me how in the islands the stores all open early, and reggae bands play as the sun comes up.

With my mom driving, and the owner of the restaurant I work at in the backseat, we drove around the Southern tip of the island as the sun came up. On a stage in a park in the warm morning light, a reggae band was warming up a slow jam, and people were going on with their lives…