I Suck at Blogging

I was laying in bed last night watching tv with my girlfriend next to me reading one of her magazines, Cosmo or some such literary gem I believe. Anyway, she started reading me an article about women's locker rooms at the gym. The writer's depiction of nude, pasty-white, rotund women stomping around the locker room doing lunges was enough to ruin my boyhood fantasy of Heidi Klum-like goddesses gracefully dancing around in the buff while cheesey 80's tunes like Hip To Be Square by Huey Lewis and the News play over the loud speakers. Don't ask how that fantasy evolved. That would require some meditation and perhaps a little opium to recall, which might awake some demons and I just don't have time for that right now.

As bad as the women's locker room may be though, trust me ladies, and all the gentlemen will agree, nothing, I repeat nothing can top the atrocities witnessed upon stepping into the men's locker room. Not only will you find the 80-year-old man with his sparse hairs popping out from ungodly places on his body and his strange pockets of loose skin strutting around naked like he's Arnold Schwarzenegger circa 1970, but you'll undoubtedly find the 300-pound doughboy who think he's a stud because he outweighs you by 150 pounds proudly displaying his wares like a peacock, pun intended.

If you're extremely unlucky, you may actually run into the middle-aged man who is actually in good shape roaming around with his towel over his shoulders. This one really gets to me. Every time, I have to stop myself from whipping his ass-cheeks with a wet towel and yelling, "You have a towel, use it. Nobody wants to see your junk." Now, I'm not saying I'm some big buff stud, because I'm far from it. At the moment, my body probably looks more like this guy's:


The difference is, I don't walk around naked, subjecting everybody else to the torturous sight that is my body. It's bad enough that I have to look at it every morning. WARNING: You may want to stop reading now if you are easily offended.

The worst by far though is a familiar site to any man who has ever entered a locker room. It's a phenomenon that I can't explain and in reality, probably has no explanation. But for some reason, there is always one man who insists on making everybody see his package, the only problem is, it's difficult to see. Whether he has to use the locker-room bench to do some nude hamstring stretching or use a hair dryer to to make sure that every drop of water is off of his body, this guy makes it a point to ensure that any man who enters the locker room sees his pecker, or lack thereof.

Now that you're officially appalled, I leave you with some advice. Whether you're a man or a woman, please remember and heed my words next time you enter a locker room. Towels are used not only to dry one's self off, but also to cover one's self up. Adam and Eve fortunately or unfortunately, dependent on a case by case basis, gave us shame and humility a long time ago. Public nudity is now reserved for those individuals who happen to look better naked than they do clothed. And I'm not being judgmental, because I don't belong to that elite class either, but at least I know how to follow the guidelines.

McConaughey... you sly dog you!

First, let me apologize to my faithful readers for my being absent so long. Perhaps it is the fact that I’ve had nothing to say that has kept me away, or maybe I just haven’t been feeling humorous enough to supply an offering. But it’s time to “get back on the horse” as they say. I trust you’ll forgive me if my initial offering is subpar.

I watched an interesting film recently. “Surfer, Dude” is a film starring Matthew McConaughey as Steve Addington, a self-professed “soul surfer”. The film takes its viewers along for the ride as Addington experiences the biggest crisis of his lifetime. He is presented with the opportunity to participate in a reality-based television show in which he will live in a house on the beach with a few other surfers and virtually surf the biggest and best waves in the world. Yes, I did say virtually… (as in he dons some high-tech goggles and jumps on a surfboard machine in a room that simulates the surfing experience). Ridiculous concept… maybe. Entertaining… definitely.

Of course, the soul surfer turns down the offer. What follows is a series of the most absurd and impossible situations imaginable. There is a lull in waves. Let me rephrase; there is literally no waves to surf on the West Coast for an unsustainable period of time, at least from a legendary surfer’s standpoint. With his funds depleted, Addington is forced to take the offer and indulge himself in surfing porn. What follows is not important. What’s more important is that you watch this movie as soon as possible.

Not quite as ridiculous as The Roadhouse, although McConaughey and Swayze channel a strikingly similar aura in that they are both existential journeymen on a road leading to God knows where, this movie completely changed my opinion of McConaughey. The fact that I ended believing in and rooting for one of the most unbelievable characters ever created by the end of this movie got me thinking… and I’ll let you know where those thoughts lead me if I ever figure it out.

Check out the trailer and video clips here:

http://video.google.com/videosearch?q=surfer+dude&hl=en&emb=0&aq=f#