Just when you start to think that people are mostly gross, something like this reminds you that there's still good in the world. Watch the whole video, all 2:45. It's worth every second.
-b
Friday, January 30, 2009
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Policy: Using Bells to Even Things Up
I've been 'worked' three times in the past five days. You all know what I mean. You're having a perfectly enjoyable, benign conversation about generalities and then without warning you realize the person has just been laying the groundwork to drop their sales pitch the whole time, and now they're trying to convince you to buy what they're selling--jewelry, herbal supplements, a new house, etc... You're blindsided, aren't you?
Am I an anomoly? Am I the only person who shuts down (behind the polite southern fake smile) when acquaintances start trying to sell me things in purely social situations?
Allow me to be clear, then. If I identify a need or a want, I'll seek out a provider. If I want some new jewelry and you sell it, I'll come get you. If I want some herbal supplements and you sell them, I'll come find you. Ask my Mary Kay representative, Jill Crabtree, who is awesome. She does not hound me, she does not try to wiggle in extra crap that I don't need, she just sells me what I ask for and introduces me to new things as they apply to what we've already established. Or, my Stamping Up person--Lisa Fairfax. She does not hound me with squirrely tricks, either. She just sends me the schedules and the information and lets me peruse at my will. This is why I'm strictly loyal to them. And, further, they are up front. They didn't spend all the time being underhanded. It was more like, "Hey, I'm selling ______ now. If you're ever interested in hearing more, let me know." WooHoo!!!!
I guess I'm saying all this to justify my new policy, when in reality, it's my policy and I really don't have to justify it. If I'm in a purely social situation and I realize that the entire reason we're conversing is because you've been hooking me in so that you can try to get me to pull out a debit card, I'm going to ring a cow bell and blow a whistle. This will happen every time, regardless of where we are or how inappropriate it seems, because the ringing of a cow bell and blowing of said whistle in any of my social conversations is equally as inappropriate as you turning into a sleazy salesperson in the name of 'potential friendship.'
And, therefore, we're even.
-b
Am I an anomoly? Am I the only person who shuts down (behind the polite southern fake smile) when acquaintances start trying to sell me things in purely social situations?
Allow me to be clear, then. If I identify a need or a want, I'll seek out a provider. If I want some new jewelry and you sell it, I'll come get you. If I want some herbal supplements and you sell them, I'll come find you. Ask my Mary Kay representative, Jill Crabtree, who is awesome. She does not hound me, she does not try to wiggle in extra crap that I don't need, she just sells me what I ask for and introduces me to new things as they apply to what we've already established. Or, my Stamping Up person--Lisa Fairfax. She does not hound me with squirrely tricks, either. She just sends me the schedules and the information and lets me peruse at my will. This is why I'm strictly loyal to them. And, further, they are up front. They didn't spend all the time being underhanded. It was more like, "Hey, I'm selling ______ now. If you're ever interested in hearing more, let me know." WooHoo!!!!
I guess I'm saying all this to justify my new policy, when in reality, it's my policy and I really don't have to justify it. If I'm in a purely social situation and I realize that the entire reason we're conversing is because you've been hooking me in so that you can try to get me to pull out a debit card, I'm going to ring a cow bell and blow a whistle. This will happen every time, regardless of where we are or how inappropriate it seems, because the ringing of a cow bell and blowing of said whistle in any of my social conversations is equally as inappropriate as you turning into a sleazy salesperson in the name of 'potential friendship.'
And, therefore, we're even.
-b
Monday, January 26, 2009
The Inappropriate Clanging of Cymbals
Several people I care about have lost loved ones in the past few weeks. I have fumbled about trying to make the appropriate donations and send the appropriate things. Death is hard. I told someone today that death seems a cruel way to end life, but I guess if we could see it from the other side, it probably wouldn't seem so bad. That's where my hope is, at least. And, as much as we want to say the most correct and soothing things, most of us walk away thinking, "Yeah, like they hadn't heard THAT one before." But, we still have to say the things...because we do mean them, and as trite as they may sound coming out of our mouths, it still matters somehow that the things are said.
And, then, there's what not to do.
A friend's father was hospitalized last week, and so on Thursday I went to the hospital to visit. I already had gotten the head's up that it wasn't looking good so I was prepared. What I wasn't prepared for, however, was walking into the room to find the deceased's body. My friend was long gone from the hospital and they hadn't moved her father from the room yet. He was tucked in, though, and the room was silent. Peaceful, even. So, it was FAN-tastic that I came knocking on the half-opened door and bounding in, my big purse with the can of Progresso French Onion soup in it accidentally crashing a metal tray off the food table that was parked by the bathroom door right into this other metal tray from the edge of a another table, sending them tumbling to the cold tile, banging and clanging all the way down the wall, clapping the side of the metal trash can just before they finally landed just under the bed. You would've thought the drum section of the marching band had arrived. The poor guy was 93. He was probably enjoying the 'crossing over' till some noisy stranger piled in and interrupted the whole thing. I'm thinking they should put signs on the doors when the patient is no longer needing visitors, you know? Or at least move all the potentially noisy items from the tables...
So, I apologize, Mr. Elder. I took the can of soup out of my purse in hopes that unfortunate noise-makings may be avoided in the future.
--------------------------
As an aside, I worked in public service with widows and widowers for years and one thing we noticed, oddly, is how many people die in the same month they were born. It was disconcerting enough that I'm always a little extra careful every October. Just a head's up. ;-p
-b
And, then, there's what not to do.
A friend's father was hospitalized last week, and so on Thursday I went to the hospital to visit. I already had gotten the head's up that it wasn't looking good so I was prepared. What I wasn't prepared for, however, was walking into the room to find the deceased's body. My friend was long gone from the hospital and they hadn't moved her father from the room yet. He was tucked in, though, and the room was silent. Peaceful, even. So, it was FAN-tastic that I came knocking on the half-opened door and bounding in, my big purse with the can of Progresso French Onion soup in it accidentally crashing a metal tray off the food table that was parked by the bathroom door right into this other metal tray from the edge of a another table, sending them tumbling to the cold tile, banging and clanging all the way down the wall, clapping the side of the metal trash can just before they finally landed just under the bed. You would've thought the drum section of the marching band had arrived. The poor guy was 93. He was probably enjoying the 'crossing over' till some noisy stranger piled in and interrupted the whole thing. I'm thinking they should put signs on the doors when the patient is no longer needing visitors, you know? Or at least move all the potentially noisy items from the tables...
So, I apologize, Mr. Elder. I took the can of soup out of my purse in hopes that unfortunate noise-makings may be avoided in the future.
--------------------------
As an aside, I worked in public service with widows and widowers for years and one thing we noticed, oddly, is how many people die in the same month they were born. It was disconcerting enough that I'm always a little extra careful every October. Just a head's up. ;-p
-b
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Today
I thought today was a good day. Regardless of your political side, when you watch footage of segregation and the fights that took place for equality alongside footage of a black man being sworn in as President of the United States of America, it's pretty powerful.
Aside from the historical significance, though, allow me to say what so many of us were thinking: Poor Aretha. In my house, it didn't even sound like she was giving it much of a try--just sing a little, repeat a few words randomly, blah, blah, blah, get me out of here. Maybe I'm just used to entertainers being a little more present and trying a little harder to create a moment. Or maybe she was sick. Or cold. Or in a bad mood. Maybe I was just hearing a bad feed, but my how I was wishing for Patty LaBelle around 11:55 this morning...
I didn't mind the hat, though. At least it was a distraction from what I thought was a really lacking performance.
Aside from the historical significance, though, allow me to say what so many of us were thinking: Poor Aretha. In my house, it didn't even sound like she was giving it much of a try--just sing a little, repeat a few words randomly, blah, blah, blah, get me out of here. Maybe I'm just used to entertainers being a little more present and trying a little harder to create a moment. Or maybe she was sick. Or cold. Or in a bad mood. Maybe I was just hearing a bad feed, but my how I was wishing for Patty LaBelle around 11:55 this morning...
I didn't mind the hat, though. At least it was a distraction from what I thought was a really lacking performance.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Tattletale or Telemarketer...or some variation thereof
I got a letter addressed to me in handwriting, but the name on the envelope was my father's instead of mine. The letter's return address was literally one number lower than mine. Obviously I'm not giving you my street address, but let's say I live at 721 Main St. The letter was from 720 Main St.
So, basically what we've got here is a letter from my neighbor across the street to my Dad. Does she think I'm seriously going to pass a letter along to my father who lives 7 hours away? Aren't I too old to be told on my neighbors?
Or, it could instead be that she bought a list of addresses? She hasn't taken the time to learn my name in the 9 years I've lived across the street. I think we've spoken maybe 3 times that I can remember and, as it turns out, she wants to solicit money from me for her fundraiser. My father signed for a credit card for me once when I was in college. That's apparently the address list she bought. Am I really going to give money to a woman who writes letters to my father and doesn't know my name after she's lived across the street from me for 9 years?????? Really?????
-b
So, basically what we've got here is a letter from my neighbor across the street to my Dad. Does she think I'm seriously going to pass a letter along to my father who lives 7 hours away? Aren't I too old to be told on my neighbors?
Or, it could instead be that she bought a list of addresses? She hasn't taken the time to learn my name in the 9 years I've lived across the street. I think we've spoken maybe 3 times that I can remember and, as it turns out, she wants to solicit money from me for her fundraiser. My father signed for a credit card for me once when I was in college. That's apparently the address list she bought. Am I really going to give money to a woman who writes letters to my father and doesn't know my name after she's lived across the street from me for 9 years?????? Really?????
-b
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
How Many Fingers Make a Grape?
So the other morning I went to my class at the gym, the hour long class which really kicks my rear, without having eaten breakfast first. I had overslept and didn't want to miss the class so I just went on figuring I would eat afterward.
I made it through class, even though I'm convinced our instructor was trying to kill us that day, and decided I'd make a quick stop in Kroger on the way home since its on the way. About the time I got into the store, I knew I'd made a bad decision. My blood sugar was dropping and I was feeling really dizzy and weird. I was standing in the produce section, so out of complete necessity I grabbed a bunch of grapes and put them in my cart. I immediately started eating them as I walked. I had to get rid of that awful feeling and I wasn't about to leave and come back later. "Just hurry," I thought. Halfway through the store, though, it occurs to me that I'm eating these grapes and I haven't paid for them. Even worse, they charge by weight for the grapes and I've INHALED them!! Oh. My. Goodness. I'm stealing grapes.
I never intended to not pay for them. I just needed sugar fast and that's all I was thinking.
I got to the self checkout line and proceeded. I scanned the items in my basket and then I put my hand on the little glass piece where I would normally have weighed the grapes and began to press down. In my head, my plan was to pretend that my hand was the bunch of grapes and I was going to try to put enough weight on the scanner to make it register $3, a price I had already determined was more than what I actually owed for the grapes.
As I'm standing there pressing my hand down, I hear the attendants voice behind me. The attendant is a young man probably 23 or 24. He's the 'against the establishment' kind of guy with the tatoos and piercings and black hair that we all find in places like Kroger--you know him. The one that reminds us all of the irony that the guy like him works in a place like Kroger?
Him (awkwardly): Umm...Ma'am? What are we trying to do here?
Me (still a little out of sorts from the blood sugar plunge): I'm trying to pay for grapes.
**(He sees no grapes, of course. He only sees a glazed-eyed chic trying to put weight on the scanner.)
Him: Did you want to buy grapes?
Me: Yes, that's what I'm trying to do.
Him (getting a little nervous, now): Ma'am, do you see grapes?
Me: No, I don't see grapes! I'm trying to pay for what the grapes would've cost.
**(You and I both know that I wasn't making sense to him, but I was making perfect sense to myself in the moment. I even had the nerve to get irritated with him.)
Him (talking to me now like I'm an elementary child): Okay, then. If there were grapes there, how much do you think they would cost?
Me: Three dollars. I think that's more than fair.
Him: How about if I go over to my station and just add $3 to your bill? Would that make us even?
Me: Well, I think that's for you to decide ultimately, but I would think it would be okay.
Him: I think that's more than fair. (Here's his jab...) If you think the grapes that aren't there are worth $3 and if you insist on paying for them, then I think it's more than fair. If I do that, will you stop trying to scan your hand?
Me: Okay, then. Fine.
And, now, I probably live on in his stories as 'the freak who was trying to see how much her left hand was worth!!!'
But, I didn't steal the grapes.
-b
I made it through class, even though I'm convinced our instructor was trying to kill us that day, and decided I'd make a quick stop in Kroger on the way home since its on the way. About the time I got into the store, I knew I'd made a bad decision. My blood sugar was dropping and I was feeling really dizzy and weird. I was standing in the produce section, so out of complete necessity I grabbed a bunch of grapes and put them in my cart. I immediately started eating them as I walked. I had to get rid of that awful feeling and I wasn't about to leave and come back later. "Just hurry," I thought. Halfway through the store, though, it occurs to me that I'm eating these grapes and I haven't paid for them. Even worse, they charge by weight for the grapes and I've INHALED them!! Oh. My. Goodness. I'm stealing grapes.
I never intended to not pay for them. I just needed sugar fast and that's all I was thinking.
I got to the self checkout line and proceeded. I scanned the items in my basket and then I put my hand on the little glass piece where I would normally have weighed the grapes and began to press down. In my head, my plan was to pretend that my hand was the bunch of grapes and I was going to try to put enough weight on the scanner to make it register $3, a price I had already determined was more than what I actually owed for the grapes.
As I'm standing there pressing my hand down, I hear the attendants voice behind me. The attendant is a young man probably 23 or 24. He's the 'against the establishment' kind of guy with the tatoos and piercings and black hair that we all find in places like Kroger--you know him. The one that reminds us all of the irony that the guy like him works in a place like Kroger?
Him (awkwardly): Umm...Ma'am? What are we trying to do here?
Me (still a little out of sorts from the blood sugar plunge): I'm trying to pay for grapes.
**(He sees no grapes, of course. He only sees a glazed-eyed chic trying to put weight on the scanner.)
Him: Did you want to buy grapes?
Me: Yes, that's what I'm trying to do.
Him (getting a little nervous, now): Ma'am, do you see grapes?
Me: No, I don't see grapes! I'm trying to pay for what the grapes would've cost.
**(You and I both know that I wasn't making sense to him, but I was making perfect sense to myself in the moment. I even had the nerve to get irritated with him.)
Him (talking to me now like I'm an elementary child): Okay, then. If there were grapes there, how much do you think they would cost?
Me: Three dollars. I think that's more than fair.
Him: How about if I go over to my station and just add $3 to your bill? Would that make us even?
Me: Well, I think that's for you to decide ultimately, but I would think it would be okay.
Him: I think that's more than fair. (Here's his jab...) If you think the grapes that aren't there are worth $3 and if you insist on paying for them, then I think it's more than fair. If I do that, will you stop trying to scan your hand?
Me: Okay, then. Fine.
And, now, I probably live on in his stories as 'the freak who was trying to see how much her left hand was worth!!!'
But, I didn't steal the grapes.
-b
Sunday, January 11, 2009
I've Got to Get Off the Drive Through
This is my brother's story. It makes me laugh till I cry. I don't know why. I can't help but share it.
So, he's living in a small town right now. A very, very small town where he is a professor of English at a lovely college. Every now and then while living in a small town, one wants McDonald's.
Yesterday, he went to the drive-thru and ordered a #13 plus a hamburger. The voice over the intercom said, "That will be $6.66."
He drives around to the window and she says to him, "That will be $5.99." When he points out to her that she told him the total was $6.66 before she says, "That's Satan's number. I gave you a discount to get rid of that." (I can't even type this without laughing out loud.)
My brother being the stinker he is now calls our friend, another professor at the college. He tells our friend T about the incident and insists that T go to McDonald's and order the exact same thing. T does. Over the intercom, she tells him that his total is $6.66.
He gets around to the window and the following conversation takes place:
Her: That'll be $5.99.
T: But you said it was $6.66?
Her: I gave you a discount.
T: Why?
Her: That's Satan's number and I got it off there. That's the second time this has happened today. (Sigh...) I've got to get off the drive through.
Needless to say, my brother and T called two other English professors and tried to get them to go, too. I told you, he's a stinker.
-b
So, he's living in a small town right now. A very, very small town where he is a professor of English at a lovely college. Every now and then while living in a small town, one wants McDonald's.
Yesterday, he went to the drive-thru and ordered a #13 plus a hamburger. The voice over the intercom said, "That will be $6.66."
He drives around to the window and she says to him, "That will be $5.99." When he points out to her that she told him the total was $6.66 before she says, "That's Satan's number. I gave you a discount to get rid of that." (I can't even type this without laughing out loud.)
My brother being the stinker he is now calls our friend, another professor at the college. He tells our friend T about the incident and insists that T go to McDonald's and order the exact same thing. T does. Over the intercom, she tells him that his total is $6.66.
He gets around to the window and the following conversation takes place:
Her: That'll be $5.99.
T: But you said it was $6.66?
Her: I gave you a discount.
T: Why?
Her: That's Satan's number and I got it off there. That's the second time this has happened today. (Sigh...) I've got to get off the drive through.
Needless to say, my brother and T called two other English professors and tried to get them to go, too. I told you, he's a stinker.
-b
One of My Walls...
...made a publication! Here's the online version: http://hernashville.com/her/headbored
Yes, I realize my work is just there for eye candy, but it's fun to have it in print (or online, for you.)
Thanks for your indulgence.
-b
Yes, I realize my work is just there for eye candy, but it's fun to have it in print (or online, for you.)
Thanks for your indulgence.
-b
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Mesmerizingly Awkward Ms. Womack
I got a machine at the gym this morning. Things are looking up. I don't have cable at home and so I usually try to catch something on TV that I wouldn't have access to while on the machines. Hence, GAC country music videos.
Talk about a train wreck--that thing that you know you shouldn't look at because it is so uncomfortable, but you just can't help being mesmerized by it... Enter Lee Ann Womack's video for "Last Call." Oh. My. Goodness. Hello, Mrs. Robinson! As I watched it, I started remembering that someone had mentioned this video and the problem to me already, so I submit that as evidence that it's not just me.
The song and video are based on the premise that the only time the woman hears from the guy she loves is when he is drunk (last call) and this time she's not going to answer the phone. (I like the song enough.) Gang, the age difference between Ms. Womack and the kid who we are supposed to think is her ex in the video is staggering. To the extent that I almost thought I had it wrong and that she was actually his mother and she was giving him tough love by not coming to his rescue anymore. Actually, I'm still not 100% convinced that's not the real story, but I'm just not sure his mother would be dressed like that walking around downtown Nashville (with NYC skylines randomly peppered about).
I don't know where the blame falls in this kind of misstep, but someone should've (and hopefully did) pointed out the problem. Selfishly, I'm glad no one listened, though, because I haven't been that mesmerized by awkwardness in ages.
I think you can see it here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GBGZrljOm-Y
Enjoy.
-b
Talk about a train wreck--that thing that you know you shouldn't look at because it is so uncomfortable, but you just can't help being mesmerized by it... Enter Lee Ann Womack's video for "Last Call." Oh. My. Goodness. Hello, Mrs. Robinson! As I watched it, I started remembering that someone had mentioned this video and the problem to me already, so I submit that as evidence that it's not just me.
The song and video are based on the premise that the only time the woman hears from the guy she loves is when he is drunk (last call) and this time she's not going to answer the phone. (I like the song enough.) Gang, the age difference between Ms. Womack and the kid who we are supposed to think is her ex in the video is staggering. To the extent that I almost thought I had it wrong and that she was actually his mother and she was giving him tough love by not coming to his rescue anymore. Actually, I'm still not 100% convinced that's not the real story, but I'm just not sure his mother would be dressed like that walking around downtown Nashville (with NYC skylines randomly peppered about).
I don't know where the blame falls in this kind of misstep, but someone should've (and hopefully did) pointed out the problem. Selfishly, I'm glad no one listened, though, because I haven't been that mesmerized by awkwardness in ages.
I think you can see it here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GBGZrljOm-Y
Enjoy.
-b
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Faith, or the Lack Thereof
I emailed my brother today and said I have no faith in humanity anymore.
He responded with, "That's smart. It's less disappointing that way."
It's nice not being cynical.
-b
He responded with, "That's smart. It's less disappointing that way."
It's nice not being cynical.
-b
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Stream of Conciousness Post
I got a machine at the gym today. I was there at 10:40 A.M. So allow me to say it--WHO can go to the gym regularly at 10:40 A.M.?!?!?!?!? I could only go because I didn't have a writing session this morning. My how I loathe the New Year's Resolution people. But, I digress...
Anyway, so I had a lunch with an old friend this afternoon. I guess some people would call it a business lunch, and for tax purposes I will, too, but it was really just grabbing lunch with an old friend. I've been in town long enough now to have old friends (not that my friends are old, but the friendships are). We talked a lot about the state of the music business. He's a very successful studio player (plus so much more) and I'm a writer. We compared notes as to how the economy is affecting us both. I told Jim later that the guy I had lunch with is one of the two best piano players I know in the world, and by far the best I know in Nashville. (The other is a world reknowned classical accompanist.) Then, I thought about why we don't tell our friends the good things we think about them. But, we don't a lot of times. I guess that's the way it goes. But, my friend is prodigious (is that spelled correctly? Probably not.) He's that good, that intuitive, and I believe that he would be the only person who could tell me what key "Yesterday's Rain" is actually in.
Have I mentioned, "Yesterday's Rain," to you? I think so, back on the other blog address. It's a tune I wrote with James Tealy (hurricane Katrina transplant). And, did I tell you that the first time I wrote with the hurricane survivor I repeated over and over to myself, "Don't try to write a song about the hurricane. You didn't live through that. It would be gross of you."
And then the first song James and I wrote was called, "Yesterday's Rain."
I'm cool.
But, I love the song.
And I don't actually know what key it is in. (Thanks, Tealy.)
-b
p.s. Remind me to tell you about the grapes. I keep forgetting, and I can tell you now that I've confessed to the people I was worried about knowing the story.
Anyway, so I had a lunch with an old friend this afternoon. I guess some people would call it a business lunch, and for tax purposes I will, too, but it was really just grabbing lunch with an old friend. I've been in town long enough now to have old friends (not that my friends are old, but the friendships are). We talked a lot about the state of the music business. He's a very successful studio player (plus so much more) and I'm a writer. We compared notes as to how the economy is affecting us both. I told Jim later that the guy I had lunch with is one of the two best piano players I know in the world, and by far the best I know in Nashville. (The other is a world reknowned classical accompanist.) Then, I thought about why we don't tell our friends the good things we think about them. But, we don't a lot of times. I guess that's the way it goes. But, my friend is prodigious (is that spelled correctly? Probably not.) He's that good, that intuitive, and I believe that he would be the only person who could tell me what key "Yesterday's Rain" is actually in.
Have I mentioned, "Yesterday's Rain," to you? I think so, back on the other blog address. It's a tune I wrote with James Tealy (hurricane Katrina transplant). And, did I tell you that the first time I wrote with the hurricane survivor I repeated over and over to myself, "Don't try to write a song about the hurricane. You didn't live through that. It would be gross of you."
And then the first song James and I wrote was called, "Yesterday's Rain."
I'm cool.
But, I love the song.
And I don't actually know what key it is in. (Thanks, Tealy.)
-b
p.s. Remind me to tell you about the grapes. I keep forgetting, and I can tell you now that I've confessed to the people I was worried about knowing the story.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
NYR
It happens every year at this same time. I don't know why I'm surprised. I don't even know why I bothered trying when I know better, but I did.
I went to the gym this morning and, gang, it was wall to wall people. Holy cow. Every machine was taken, from the weird bicycle machine to the NEVER used rowing machine. I left and went back an hour and a half later, and it was still that crowded. The second time I left, I walked out with two other women who I'm vaguely acquainted with from seeing them around there. They couldn't get a machine, either.
While I'm clearly not a gym rat (oh, for that desire), I do go pretty regularly. It seems so unfair that those of us who have been doing this all year have to give up our spots to the New Year's resolution people. I know, I know, they only last for about a month and a half, but it is still maddening.
I propose a "New Year's Resolution" area of the gym. I think a certain number of machines should be put in this area of the room and all the people who never go or who just joined should have to fight it out for their time on those machines in the 'NYR' area. That way, the rest of us who have been paying our dues, physically and financially, can go on about business.
Sigh...
-b
I went to the gym this morning and, gang, it was wall to wall people. Holy cow. Every machine was taken, from the weird bicycle machine to the NEVER used rowing machine. I left and went back an hour and a half later, and it was still that crowded. The second time I left, I walked out with two other women who I'm vaguely acquainted with from seeing them around there. They couldn't get a machine, either.
While I'm clearly not a gym rat (oh, for that desire), I do go pretty regularly. It seems so unfair that those of us who have been doing this all year have to give up our spots to the New Year's resolution people. I know, I know, they only last for about a month and a half, but it is still maddening.
I propose a "New Year's Resolution" area of the gym. I think a certain number of machines should be put in this area of the room and all the people who never go or who just joined should have to fight it out for their time on those machines in the 'NYR' area. That way, the rest of us who have been paying our dues, physically and financially, can go on about business.
Sigh...
-b
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