My old gym regime doesn’t not seem to have kick-started with the New Year. After a sloppy and indulgent December, I assured myself that I’d start a-fresh come January. It didn’t really go to plan, and sloppy indulgences have now slid past my self-promised New Year marker. This is bad news. As far as I am concerned, unless I go enough times per month that it is better value than paying for individual visits to the gym, then my membership is worthwhile. On average, since joining I am certainly up on the deal having made good use of the gym, but these saving are slowly being dripped away with my level of attendance in December and January. Today I even did the classic move of a de-motivated gym member, desperately clinging on to the idea that his membership is justifiable. Adamant to start a new regime, I went to the gym. Then I drove around the carpark, looking for a tenuous excuse to turn round and go home. This wasn’t too difficult because the car park was jammed, and as I peered through the window, the gym was packed. Not a single running machine free. I didn’t fancy all that hassle of waiting for lockers to become available, just so I can then stand around waiting for gym equipment to become available. I didn’t have that sort of time to spare. For starters, I needed to get back in time so I could write up this blog. Yes, that’s right, this blog about failing to go to the gym. This blog you are reading, about bypassing the gym to write a blog about bypassing the gym. It’s certainly been worthwhile, don’t you think? I reckon this is my most post-modern entry to date. We’re breaking brave new territory here folks. Let’s all take a collective gasp of astonishment.
The only reason the gym was so full is because everybody has resurrected their enthusiasm for exercise, or have signed up to appease post-Christmas guilt and New Year resolutions. Come the middle of February we’ll find out how dedicated these fair-weather gym cloggers really are. Then I’ll once again have a freer reign from the hoi palloy, and will soon get back into the swing of things. I am adamant that by driving round the car-park and going home, I am not showing a sign of failure. I was merely psyching myself up, preparing to get in ‘the zone’ ready for February. Yes, that’s definitely what I was doing. In fact, I am so confident of this psychological approach that next year, I intend to do exactly the same again. Except this time, I will show a bit more persistence through December then deliberately slow down in January to avoid the horrors of the ‘peak month’. From now on, in my world, February is the new January.
I suppose this highlights I’m not a social animal. I am even prepared to take such desperate measures as adjusting my own perception of time, just so I can avoid other people. Even so, I reckon this is actually a rather brilliantly conceived plan. I can honestly say I feel better about myself already. Perhaps this time-shift will even add another month on to my lifespan for every year that passes!
In which case, who needs the sodding gym anyway?
Wed 28th Jan 2009
My nerdy temperament is exponentially increasing by the day. I have now joined the world of podcasting. You can click here to download the first episode right now – providing I’ve done it right. You may feel a bit hesitant about downloading a random link from a random website for fear that it might contain virus or something. I know I would. For an increasing nerdy yet still essentially technophobic paranoid like me, downloading files is very much like inviting a stray dog into your home – in theory it should be rewarding, but you can never be too sure that the canine won’t end up biting your face off. There’s got to be a reason why no-one wants to house it. Let me assure you though, the file is perfectly fine. I have downloaded it myself and my computer still seems to be functioning well enough to be writing this blog to you now. But in case you are still worried, I have also been reassuringly vetted by iTunes, who also seem willing to house my stray dog of a podcast. Lots of people moan about the strangle-hold monopoly that the mighty iTunes has on the download market. You can be as cynical as you like, but at least with international corporations, you can’t but help feel a reassuring sense of trust with their products. Nestle may allegedly have dubious ethics as regards to powdered milk (and is often rightfully boycotted), but have you really ever had a bad glass of Nesquick?
At the risk of sounding like a naïve old uncle being shown this ‘new fangled interweb whatchamathing’ for the first time, I find it both mind-boggling and immensely amusing that my dour, monotonous West Midlands drone can now literally be heard anywhere in the world. Even more inexplicable is that one of my favourite songwriters offered to donate some ace compositions to my growing mid-life crisis vanity project - presumably an altruistic act for the good of mankind, making the listening experience miles less excruciating. And fortunately (for his reputation), I well imagine this unprecedented international audience of potential listeners are very much likely to remain in the category of potential listeners. Nevertheless, having one of your favourite ever songwriters offering their compositions is an immensely humbling privilege. Thankfully, I don’t think he’d seen the film ‘Misery’ at the time he politely humored my casual collaborative suggestion.
So let me emphasize - it’s worth downloading for the music alone. And who knows, maybe people out there might love hearing curmudgeonly grumblings of a pedantic neurotic, delivered straight to their ears in a dour, monotonous West Midlands drone. Time will tell. If you now happen to see ‘Days of Enlightenment’ unexpectedly hurtling up the iTunes chart, we’ll all realise just how big the market for this sort of thing actually is.
At the risk of sounding like a naïve old uncle being shown this ‘new fangled interweb whatchamathing’ for the first time, I find it both mind-boggling and immensely amusing that my dour, monotonous West Midlands drone can now literally be heard anywhere in the world. Even more inexplicable is that one of my favourite songwriters offered to donate some ace compositions to my growing mid-life crisis vanity project - presumably an altruistic act for the good of mankind, making the listening experience miles less excruciating. And fortunately (for his reputation), I well imagine this unprecedented international audience of potential listeners are very much likely to remain in the category of potential listeners. Nevertheless, having one of your favourite ever songwriters offering their compositions is an immensely humbling privilege. Thankfully, I don’t think he’d seen the film ‘Misery’ at the time he politely humored my casual collaborative suggestion.
So let me emphasize - it’s worth downloading for the music alone. And who knows, maybe people out there might love hearing curmudgeonly grumblings of a pedantic neurotic, delivered straight to their ears in a dour, monotonous West Midlands drone. Time will tell. If you now happen to see ‘Days of Enlightenment’ unexpectedly hurtling up the iTunes chart, we’ll all realise just how big the market for this sort of thing actually is.
Tue 27th Jan 2009
Do you ever find yourself faced with a quandary over small change?
Picture being at a shop counter. You’re purchasing a 99p item, having just handed over a pound coin. The shopkeeper starts faffing around for your change. Although this fumble (like so many of my others) only lasts seconds, the time delay in this furrowing seems endless.
Maybe he’s having trouble opening the till? Or he’s going to punishing lengths to burrow round for the right coin? It doesn’t matter what the hold up is caused by. Automatically you can’t help feeling you’re putting the poor chap to great pains for the sake of a penny. Worse still, other customers in the queue stand behind you, impatiently waiting to be served. Your continued presence at the counter, anticipating this solitary coin, is going to portray you as incredibly mean to this audience. Especially when they spot you’ve been holding them all up over a penny. You are trapped, conscious of the venomous glares erupting behind you.
Or are you? Couldn’t you just walk off? I suppose you could. But what if the shop-keeper calls you back?
“Here’s your change sir.” He hollers across the aisles. And what are your options now?
You can turn around and trudge shamefully back to the counter, barging in front of a queue of irritated customers just to reclaim a tiny monetary piece of shrapnel. But you’d be damning your popularity further, wasting even more of their time than you would have done originally if you’d have just stayed at the counter in the first place.
Or you could return the holler and insist that the gentleman ‘keep the change’ for his kindly concern. This isn’t so bad for monetary value of ten pence or over, but telling him to keep a penny just makes you look arrogant. What is the poor man expected to say in response?
“Oh sir, is this for me? Really? You show such generosity to my shop, that this transcends a mere tip – oh what am I saying? - Tip?? - For you are surely now classed a benefactor! Oh but sir, how we both know I cannot keep this coin. It doesn’t seem right. It is too much. Please, allow me spend my day off dividing it with a saw, so I may share the wealth for the fortune of mankind. I must place at least half in this tin which I keep on the front counter to collect for Cancer Research. Oh thank you kind sir, you will be the savior of so many lives with your donation.”
This response would be fairly unlikely. In fact, if I were him, I’d pelt the measily coin straight back at your head, you condescending, tight-arsed little squirrel.
You make me sick.
Of course, you could opt to simply be dismissive the whole ordeal. When he calls you’d pretend not to hear and just leg it out of the shop. But this looks plain weird. Chances are you’ll be exuding the impression of guilt and a petty shop theft. You won’t get to the end of the street before you’ve been a victim of police brutality.
As you can see, each option is as unappealing as the next. My advice? Stay indoors at all costs. Why do you think God invented internet shopping?
Oh yeah, that’s right – to terrify us with the hanging paranoia of internet banking fraud.
Picture being at a shop counter. You’re purchasing a 99p item, having just handed over a pound coin. The shopkeeper starts faffing around for your change. Although this fumble (like so many of my others) only lasts seconds, the time delay in this furrowing seems endless.
Maybe he’s having trouble opening the till? Or he’s going to punishing lengths to burrow round for the right coin? It doesn’t matter what the hold up is caused by. Automatically you can’t help feeling you’re putting the poor chap to great pains for the sake of a penny. Worse still, other customers in the queue stand behind you, impatiently waiting to be served. Your continued presence at the counter, anticipating this solitary coin, is going to portray you as incredibly mean to this audience. Especially when they spot you’ve been holding them all up over a penny. You are trapped, conscious of the venomous glares erupting behind you.
Or are you? Couldn’t you just walk off? I suppose you could. But what if the shop-keeper calls you back?
“Here’s your change sir.” He hollers across the aisles. And what are your options now?
You can turn around and trudge shamefully back to the counter, barging in front of a queue of irritated customers just to reclaim a tiny monetary piece of shrapnel. But you’d be damning your popularity further, wasting even more of their time than you would have done originally if you’d have just stayed at the counter in the first place.
Or you could return the holler and insist that the gentleman ‘keep the change’ for his kindly concern. This isn’t so bad for monetary value of ten pence or over, but telling him to keep a penny just makes you look arrogant. What is the poor man expected to say in response?
“Oh sir, is this for me? Really? You show such generosity to my shop, that this transcends a mere tip – oh what am I saying? - Tip?? - For you are surely now classed a benefactor! Oh but sir, how we both know I cannot keep this coin. It doesn’t seem right. It is too much. Please, allow me spend my day off dividing it with a saw, so I may share the wealth for the fortune of mankind. I must place at least half in this tin which I keep on the front counter to collect for Cancer Research. Oh thank you kind sir, you will be the savior of so many lives with your donation.”
This response would be fairly unlikely. In fact, if I were him, I’d pelt the measily coin straight back at your head, you condescending, tight-arsed little squirrel.
You make me sick.
Of course, you could opt to simply be dismissive the whole ordeal. When he calls you’d pretend not to hear and just leg it out of the shop. But this looks plain weird. Chances are you’ll be exuding the impression of guilt and a petty shop theft. You won’t get to the end of the street before you’ve been a victim of police brutality.
As you can see, each option is as unappealing as the next. My advice? Stay indoors at all costs. Why do you think God invented internet shopping?
Oh yeah, that’s right – to terrify us with the hanging paranoia of internet banking fraud.
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