Random Districtions #1

And now, because I see our nation’s most powerfully patriotic monuments every day, I would like to borrow from the immortal words of good old Tommy Jeff-Jeff to explain a new feature to my blog.

When in the course of a human blog, it becomes necessary for one person to dissolve the typical structure which has connected their ideas with one another, and to assume among the powers of earthly snark, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Washington D.C and of Washington D.C's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should write down these thoughts no matter how random or obnoxious. Such is Random Districtions!

Random Districtions #1: Why is everyone at my gym so ugly?

I recently joined the Washington Sports Club in Columbia Heights and I think it was a poor decision.

Let’s face it: working out sucks. Exerting yourself? Who needs it? Sweat is clearly just your body crying. In fact I am comfortable enough with myself to admit that I work out for one reason and one reason alone: vanity. No, unlike most people who exercise, I am not trying to get healthy, nor do I have a fat pre-teen past to run from, and I certainly don’t have any weird daddy-daughter issues (I think my daughter turned out just fine thank you very much); rather I work out so as to have the slightest hint of definition on my otherwise manorexic frame and so that I don’t sweat as much when I run to catch a bus/plane/train. That’s it.

The funny thing about Washington DC is that I assumed everyone, in their desperate attempt to get elected President of the United States, would be fit. It's common knowledge that if one wants to appear presidential, one must attain a certain level of executive fitness. We haven’t had a fat president since Taft in 1912 for Christ’s sake! Sure, Hoover was pudgy, but compared to the people standing in the check out line at Wal-Mart he was a GREEK GOD. Indeed, since World War One we’ve seen every single president engaged in some kind of exercise (Well maybe not that lazy bastard FDR. How come you never saw photos him jogging? Or playing soccer? Or tap-dancing?)

Thus people in Washington DC should be fit. But not at the WSC in Columbia Heights. No no. Everyone there looks like a fun house mirror/nightmare version of normal people with gym membership. There’s a big fat guy in tiny little clothing and then a little shrimpy guy in hugely baggy clothing! The elliptical machines are filled with mouth breathing Jewish girls and older women with camel toes so bad you’d think you were in Saudi Arabia! There’s even a 5’1 Mexican body lifter with a shoe polish black comb-over and a mustache and accent straight out of a racist 1950s Speedy Gonzalez cartoon (is there any other kind?).

So what am I to do? Alea, my housemate, has encouraged me to go work out at the WSC gym in DuPont circle. Unfortunately, that’s the gayest gym in town, and I just don’t think I can handle all the judging or the fact that I’ll be the most out of shape person by far. I could maybe work my congressional connections and try to use one of their stellar gyms, but the security’s tight and the chance of running into Larry Craig in the shvitz are much too high.

The sad truth is I’ll probably keep going because I am too cheap to waste the money (happy mom? I did learn one thing in Hebrew school...). So, after wrestling with this problem for many days, I have decided to do the other, sure fire way of making a group of sweaty ugly people look good: next time I head to the gym, I should get blindingly drunk like I’m going to a club!

Who wants a tricep press-tini?