Today’s forecast has had a high amount of white privilege

While I was in the locker room getting dressed after my afternoon workout, there were two guys having a candid conversation about how white they were.  They actually weren’t talking about literally how white they were, but the entire conversation they were having was pretty much explaining just how white they were.  It’s not that I wanted to eavesdrop on their conversation, but they didn’t make any effort to suppress it in a public area, and I couldn’t help but hear just how white they could make the locker room.

They were complaining about how close to turning 30, and how they were “old as shit,” and then they started talking about how their parents are just turning 60, and how their grandparents are getting old, and that the next visit to them might be the last, so they should consider taking a week instead of three days to visit them… because they’re overseas in foreign countries, because like most white-collar stereotypical white people, they come from some money.

And then came the comparisons to their parents gallivanting in Greek villas, and how much of an inconvenience it would be to spend time with family, when it encroaches on their time in which they’d probably rather be snorting coke off of hookers or belittling minorities; but who’s to say not both, and simultaneously at that?

I left the gym with a feeling of agitated disgust at perceived as white privilege on display.  Both these guys are clearly younger than I am, but in cushy corporate positions doing most likely intangible work on computers that is probably eons removed from consumers, but probably make more money than I do.  They come from families that are younger and way better off than my own parents, in their Italian vacation homes on remote private islands.  They’re discussing foreign vacation plans, and although I’m no stranger to international travel, I’d wager that my trips are vastly less extravagant as theirs might be.

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Using two lockers at the gym is a dick move

Seldom does a day go by where at least once, I don’t think to myself how great it would be if I were Luke Cage.  A fairly unsuspecting guy who can blend in anywhere he goes, but he’s really practically invulnerable and has super strength and for the most part doesn’t ever have to be afraid of anyone because not just anyone can actually harm him with fists, knives or even bullets.

Seriously, if I had the capabilities of Luke Cage, I probably wouldn’t go off and become a Defender and try to be any sort of a superhero.  Superheroes get super villains, and then there are a whole lot of superhero responsibilities that come with being one.  No, I’d just want to capitalize on the confidence of knowing that I’m pretty much invincible and start doing all the things I think and say in my head, and say them out loud, since all fear of physical retribution is off the table if one were Luke Cage.

If I saw someone littering outside, I could actually not be reluctant to call out and reprimand them and then force them to pick up their shit.  They could step up all they wanted, and even throw the first punch, but when I’m Luke Cage, their fist would get shattered, and then they’d have to do what I told them, lest I grab them by the collar and personally walk them to some police or something.  Or if I’m on public transportation, and someone is blasting music out of their earbuds that everyone can hear, I can tap them on the shoulder and ask them to turn it down, and when they escalate the situation from their rotten defiance, I can wait for them to try and land the first blow and then dominate them without any fear of harm.

The list of things that would be great if I were Luke Cage could go on for days honestly, but of all the things that could possibly actually get this particular post off the ground, it would be calling out people at the gym, that for whatever reason it is, feel the need to occupy two lockers in the locker room to store their shit.

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So I’m kind of dieting

Looking through some pictures over the last year or so, I’m feeling an increasing resentment at how I’m looking in them.  Simply put, I feel like I’m looking a little more rotund than I’m typically comfortable with; and I can’t help but wonder if this is age catching up with me, or if I’ve just been letting myself let my guard down with general eating rules, or perhaps it’s a combination of both.

I’m not working out any less than I used to, and I still do a variety of weight training and cardio, and as long as I go to work, I’m also going to the gym, typically five days a week.  I’ve probably just gotten too lax with food, choosing poorly when it comes to what I’m eating, and probably eating a little too much of it, because food is awesome.

But I’m also 34 and not 24, when I shed a lot of weight, with a pretty strict diet, so I guess I should probably start watching what I’m eating again, and hope that some of the unsightly flesh on my body goes away in a few months.

Dieting isn’t really that hard to me, since it’s basically just conditioning, but getting to that point where eating choices and habits become normalized that’s somewhat aggravating to the point where it’s brog-worthy.

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I will be nobody’s measuring stick

Every now and then, when watching The Price Is Right, you’ll come across an episode where during the bidding part of the game, where someone bets something like $500, and then the last bidder bids $501.  And if and when $501 wins, you can just see the look of disdain and hate from the person who bid $500.

Well, not really, but it’s fun to imagine that the person who lost by a dollar is infuriated and driven homicidal by the troll who bets a dollar more than they did, and wins.

Anyway, the $1 more person, is an asshole.  Sure, they sometimes win, but they’re still an asshole.

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Of course Korean Jesus is superior

As if there could possibly be any doubt.

In case you’re an infidel, this picture of a statue of Jesus Christ out of Korea emerged on the internet this week, and at least to me, it wasn’t really that much of a revelation that it was not just jacked, but more like JAKKED.

I mean really now, Korea is a great and powerful almighty nation, it’s no surprise that the Christians in the country can only worship and pray to only someone as equally, if not greater than the Korean people, so Jesus looking like he’s one blue orb away from transforming into an Altered Beast doesn’t seem at all that shocking.

It’s also a great sign of respect towards the religion. It really puts into perspective how other countries portray their inferior Jesuses, like how the vast majority of the modern world has Jesus of Nazareth looking like he’s more like Jesus of St. Louis, as in the fact that he’s very much an anglo-looking man from a country where most every male looks like Sayid from Lost. And then we have people from Mexico who really, really like their portrayals of Jesus looking like he’s been beaten to death, drug out of his tomb and beaten some more, as if they knew he was going to resurrect and the Romans tried to get the preemptive strike on his corpse.

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Training for life

I was running at the gym this past weekend, and thinking about how much it sucked to be at the gym.  Especially the weekend right after Thanksgiving, where I had just spent the three prior nights eating large amounts of savory and indulgent food.  Running on a treadmill and then hitting the weights was about the last thing I really wanted to do, when I could be trying to sleep more, loaf more, or ostensibly be eating more savory and indulgent leftovers.

But it wasn’t a really a question to why I was at the gym, because it’s simply what I do.  I exercise regularly, and I have been exercising regularly for quite literally ten years now.  Giving that fact some additional thought, I can say that the longest gap I’ve ever had between at least running, has been two weeks, and that was just a few weeks ago when I was on an extended vacation.  Save for that instance, I’ve been running regularly for an entire decade, and been hitting weights slightly less regularly within that span.

Honestly?  It sucks sometimes, too.  There are plenty of times in which I really don’t want to go to the gym, or go running, or do pull-ups, squats or shrugs.  But I do them anyways, because I’m OCD like that, and I don’t want to break my chain of regularly working out.  And that if I completely stop working out, then I will without question, balloon up to 427 lbs., and be on my way towards ending up on My 600 lb. Life on TLC.

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Dear Women: Stop Staring at my Sweaty Body

I go to the gym on a consistent basis.  It used to be five days a week, but has been reduced to twice a week, solely on weekends, due to a change in my life’s routine that has really only made it feasible for me to go to the gym on Saturdays and Sundays.  In lieu of sweating it out at the gym five days a week, I try to supplement my self-imposed need for exercise on the weekdays with some outdoor jogging, regardless of it’s 85 degrees or 105 degrees.

I exercise because I’m not really a fan of dieting, and the fact that I exercise is probably the one thing that’s preventing me from full-out blowing up into a 390 pound behemoth, trying to get myself onto TLC’s My 600-lb. Life.  That being said, I probably won’t become a cut and chiseled Adonis-like physical specimen unless I start dieting, and make some alterations in the way I work out to optimize my physical exertion into creating freakishly formed musculature.

Additionally, I like the idea that exercising makes me feel good about myself; perhaps its the endorphin rush from whenever I complete a workout, or it’s the fact that I’m a snob that generally likes the idea that the vast majority of the world is lazy and doesn’t work out, so the fact that I do makes me feel good.  Or maybe it’s the fact that despite the fact it doesn’t really show that well on me, I’m developing some degree of functional strength, and when it comes to it, I probably won’t embarrass myself if the need ever arises for functional strength in order to contribute towards some sort of function that requires it.

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