Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Freak Weights
One of the few perks behind paying tuition to a major university, aside from the whole "education" thing, is having access to a gym. Unfortunately, with the fortunes of an Ivy league institution come the follies...namely in the form of people. Sure, there are the stereotypical East Coast Trust Fund babies, your Chads, Prestons, Ruperts, Spencers, Sebastians, Archibalds and Abercrombies, but those are just run of the mill douchebags. With every one preppy a-hole on the Columbia campus, there are five socially inept space cases to go with them, not counting myself. And I'm not even including the professors.
In the gym, where you would think there would be a filter against the outside world....there isn't. Evidently, on the east coast, there isn't a thing called shame in the vernacular. Case in point with elderly, to put it lightly, men walking around in jock straps in plain sight of the general population. The, presumably, biochem and/or engineering and/or physics undergrad majors, on the weight machines equipped with buttoned-down shirts tucked into their khaki pants, fashionably matched to their loafers. This variety of people is par for the course, and I have generally grown accustomed to them over the past year.
That is until I encountered a completely new species of gym opossums (they do not qualify as gym rats in their present state).
During my 30-second rest between sets, which inevitably somehow becomes a 3-minute Gatorade break, an Asian lad, no older than 18, no taller than 62 inches, hair parted in the middle, bearing glasses, black Corduroy pants, black loafers and a black jacket, decides to stand not 2 feet in front of me. Head slightly bowed. With his eyes closed. Facing me. As I look around giving a, "Is anyone else witnessing this?" look to people, to no avail, I assume he's taking part in some sort of meditation. Under normal circumstances, if someone is waiting for a machine, either the user or the waiter would ask if they wanted to "work in" or switch off. But I was worried any interaction with Dalai Crazy would lead to me being added to some list.
With 3 sets left, I was beginning to think I was part of some social experiment. Was this person judging my performance? Probably not. More likely he was a lunatic. Gradually, more people began to notice my mini-standoff and what began as a look of peaceful, yet maniacal, zen...
...slowly turned into pure maniacal.
Not to racially stereotype. Or anything.
My sets were finally over, about 5 minutes later. Mao Zedemented hadn't moved an inch. I got up to get a towel to wipe off the machine, as is customary and courteous, and by the time I returned, he was already seated. Jacket, Corduroys and all.
While many people are speculating that people are becoming more and more rude, which I wouldn't disagree with, I would say that people are becoming more and more crazy. Or perhaps they were always around, but they just started hitting the gyms. Either way, it's a good omen for my field of profession.
3:37 PM
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Thursday, October 08, 2009
Subway Asylum
New York City is synonymous with public transportation... along with dirt, garbage and urine. It supposedly has the most reliable MTA system in the world and even if that's true, it doesn't come without its quirks. Sure, there are the charmers, such as the mariachi band traveling car-to-car on the subway, or the down-on-her-luck opera singer working for the same pocket change, but there are also the down-trodden, "Ladies and Gentleman, I have been diagnosed with AIDS," folks who challenge the inner cynic in everyone. Do you really have AIDS/Lymphoma/are Homeless, or is it an act? Some days I believe it and give some loose change or a sandwich, other days I feel bad but can't bring myself to rifle through my wallet and other days I feel, well, like a typical New Yorker, oblivious to my surroundings, only focused on my destination.
And really, how can anyone feel benevolent on such an oppressive, at times disturbing, mode of transport, that is required in such an already malevolent city? Here is a very brief list of the not so charming sights and sounds of the New York City MTA:
- The man who wet himself on the 1 train, and the expression of the woman seated next to him who noticed too late
- The orthodox jewish family of 14 screaming at each other in Hebrew across an entire subway car on the downtown 1 train
- The disturbingly self-important posters and banners promoting "Harlem Heights," the BET version of "The Hills"
- The endless ads for erectile dysfunction, yeast infection, erectile dysfunction, syphilis and erectile dysfunction
- The woman who grabbed my arm, proclaiming "Great eyes!" as she ran off the subway
- The man repeatedly playing the Superman theme song on his cell phone whilst commenting on every new passenger, proclaiming "I AM THE KING!" on the M57 bus
- The woman yelling "STAY BACK STAY BACK" on the downtown 1 train
- This doesn't have to do with a particular passenger, but having to stare at this poster due to the rush hour traffic on the uptown 1 train
 - The man cleaning his ear with a pencil on the R train
- The two African-American women threatening to kill each other on the N train
- The middle-aged, presumably sexually repressed, woman promoting her church to the predominantly secular strap hangers
- Ok sometimes ugly children are so ugly they're cute but this kid is what nightmares are made of. I would cite his name but I'm too worried about him googling himself, then finding this site and coming to bite my ankles.
 - The troupe of transvestites loitering at the 72nd street station
- The troupe of transvestites loitering at the 42nd street station
- And finally, the man touching himself, ok who are we kidding - masturbating, through his pants at 8 in the morning on the uptown 1 train
New York City stocks its crazies by the thousands and it only reassures me that my chosen field of Developmental Psychology is the right path, because if I catch em young, chances are they won't urinate on me on a subway down the road.
5:03 PM
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