A few short hours before I turn 65. Better make this post overly offensive if I wanna find out the answer to that ageless(!) question of vital importance to us all . . .
Will you still love me, when I'm 64.
After midnight I'll have no way of knowing.
Incidentally, I'm writing this entry while standing on my head, because, as we all know, when your brains are in your asshole everything's upside down. A mild touch of self-deprecating humor. Just what the ditchdigger ordered!
Speaking indirectly of doctors, I was planning to post an article on "SUPERSETS" from the '80s, by a guy who was quite well known by his platform name. A much-loved compound lift preceded by "Doctor" is what it was, yes.
Well, and this gets me round to the title up there in a roundabout way, the article was short on info and long on words, charts, data and tables. While reading it I swear I could hear the sound of shuffling papers and smell the odor of shit being shoveled. Shuffling and Shoveling! The two S's to be avoided in training.
What's on paper can so often get in the way of what should be happening in the gym. And consider Bob Gibson, what a pitcher he was . . . No, consider all the shit that has to be shoveled to rationalize all that "on paper" crap created, especially when it's not working well.
Stop shuffling paper and shoveling shit. Just get in there and lift already. Clear your mind and gains will follow.
I mean . . .
The guy went on for pages lauding the merits of superset training. He rolled out the scientific data in a wheelbarrow, this ditchdigger guy, piled some charts and tables on top of it and didn't even have the courtesy to flush when done. Shoveling like a motherfucker, as they say in Burma and Bataan.
Look, if you wanna know why supersets are a great training tool (I'd go so far as to say splendid, gentlemen), just do four or five sets of benches paired with rows. If you're still not completely pitched on their efficacy, Mr. Gibson, do a few pairings of some kinda curl and a triceps thing. There. Now you UNDERSTAND the how and why of supersets 10 bloody times weller than any shuffling of papers can ever experlaine it in all its sciencitific lack of splendor.
At the end of this article there was another pile of it. This time, citations. Does anyone read this garbage? Not this blog and its changes of late, I mean the citations of research studies. I don't usually, but apparently in two of 'em here they got a bunch of white mice to stop screwing each other long enough to test out how supersets affect the strength and development of muscle tissue on the little buggers' drumsticks. They used rather small leg extension devices, I believe, and that's where I stopped reading. If these damned Bill Nye bastards don't have the brains to build little squat racks for the tiny mice used in research why should I believe anything they have to say. Needless to say, I paired tearing the article pages in half with tossing the scraps in the trash. One of the best supersets I've ever had the pleasure of performing. Did I neglect to mention my older daughter finding a mouse in the toilet at her place the other day? How insensitive of me. I mean, all life is sacred or some shit, and there the little gal was, paddling away in the crapper for all she was worth. She, the daughter that is, I'm not really sure of the mouse's gender to be honest, was on holiday for three days. When she gets back to house mouse was there. A long time mouse-paddling, a long time for any thing to keep swimming in circles. Now, I do know my daughter takes various supplements, and it dawned on me that our mouse may have first creepered up on the kitchen counter, gnawed through that plastic jar and chawed down a mouse sized fistful of desiccated liver tabs somehow. If it hadn't I imagine it wished it had once that cold toilet water hit. We tried flushing the living problem away, but it just kept on a-swimmin' against the current no matter. Finally, we put 'er in a smallish kind of plastic lunch type container, snapped the lid on, then proceeded to head outdoors, let 'er go and let run free back in wilds of city. If you truly love something you find in your toilet, as they say. All that swimming paid off! You realize, I'm sure, and agree with me when I state unequivocally that I believe this mouse was a Squat Mouse and not one-a them Leg Extension Type Mice. I rest my case. The research is in.
But "what the hell is that silly looking car up there about?"
Why, I'm glad you asked.
A week or so ago some dipshit on a motorcycle decided to try her luck beating a red light at an intersection I was left-turning at. Wound up with a couple dents on herself, as did my vehicle. Good times! There's nothing like watching some fool fly over the front end of your vehicle in the Friday rush. She limped a little going into the ambulance, but I think our young heroine is gonna be OOOO-KAY!
Yeah, the repair place gave me a Nissan Golf for a courtesy car. Surprisingly, even though I asked the guy behind the counter, this cartoon Flintstone-looking shitheap of a vehicle did not come with a complimentary dunce cap.
Once you get behind the wheel everything becomes comic. Cartoon-like. Surreal in a silly absurd way. Even more than usual. So that's a big bonus for me.
I took her for a spin up to the grocery store to pick up . . . wait for it . . . groceries. I'm checking out at the till and the cashier asks me
"Do you want the Deal of the Week?"
I look up from my wallet and she's holding a box of Band Aid brand Band-Aids.
As all truly faithful do, I managed to bring her into the flock, and soon we were singing
"I AM STUCK ON BAND-AIDS, 'CAUSE BAND-AIDS STUCK ON ME"
real nicelike in no time.
The deadbeat behind me in line did not share our joy, nor the depth of our faith in this song.
As we in the Ministry of Elation say, "Fuck 'Em."
All in all a good last day as a normal 64-year old.
Shuffling and Shoveling.
Avoid at all costs.
And keep working on your Sedaris sense of humor too.
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