This week held quite a few potential blog topics. Karl Lagerfeld was reported saying that he thought Adele was “a little too fat”. Now I don’t know about you, but I’m not sure that the opinion of a man who carries around a woman’s fan can be trusted. Perhaps he needs it to hide those ‘a little too fat’ lips of his.
TooFastTooFurious asked me this morning if dogs lay their own babies. There was too much to correct so I just said, ‘yes’. Then I got thinking about how he was a little bit right because dogs have puppies when they’re lying down, but birds lay eggs when they’re sitting, not laying, and neither dogs or birds actually get laid. Honestly, I think they just make up the English language as they go along.
Anyhow, I had to stick to a blogging plan and as last weeks post sparked lots (OK, maybe three people) of discussion, I thought we could continue with those gym-weirdo’s out there. Case in point, a chap phoned in to Gareth Cliff to say he was really annoyed that when he wants to use a machine the person using it says “Sorry man, I’m still on my first set.”
For Gym Class Hero’s Part 2, I thought its time I introduced Gray-and-Grumpy. For ease of typing, we’ll just call her GAG. GAG has wild, curly, grey hair - which might be why she isn’t altogether pleasant (relatable really, this often being the cause of my own bad moods).
GAG is an artist. This means she sometimes get paid for the work she does and sometimes she doesn’t. This might be the other reason why she’s grumpy. I don’t think she sold very much at her last exhibition because she kept nagging me to come but as I’m not really a purveyor of art, I didn’t go. Also, I get the feeling that she can be a bit of a bully and that I may well be talked into buying a painting of a something like a giant vagina. I also get the feeling that she’s the kind of artist who would include real hair samples in her painting and I truly can’t go there. I’m just not that arty.
From the outset I’ve been a bit frightened of her. On my very first class she arrived late and said in a loud voice, “WHY MUST THE AIRCON BE ON. IT’S SO UNHEALTHY”. I would have thought that aircons in gyms were pretty self-explanatory and though I’m personally not a huge fan of aircon (ehem, excuse the pun) ninety percent of gym goers like to delay their sweat somewhat. Some hate to sweat at all, and that would be the class I teach. Fortunately for me, GymClassHero1 took charge and, shooting GAG a viscous stare, simply said ‘we want it on, leave it alone’. One point GymClassHero1. Nil points GAG.
The next time she came to class she shouted at the top of her voice (which ironically is a very loud voice) “THE MUSIC IS TOO LOUD, TURN IT DOWN”. I didn’t hear a ‘please’ in there and assumed it was an instruction and not a request. Rolling my eyes inwardly I started making my way to the music maker - to obey the painter of vaginas. Lucky for me, GymClassHero2 says dangerously to GAG ‘No! We like it loud’ and then (equally dangerously
to me) ‘leave it’. One point GymClassHero2. Nil points GAG.
This week, exactly 8 counts into the warm-up, GAG blurts out something. Loudly. Seriously, I’m starting to think that this woman has tourette syndrome or something. Fool I am, I thought she was asking me a question so I said, ‘pardon?’
‘WHAT AWFUL MUSIC, she said. Ideally, I would have developed a thick and leathery hide for GAG by now, but I havn’t. I have to wonder what reaction she was hoping for? Perhaps she was expecting me to stop the class and go through my library of 1778 songs right there and then, to make a selection she approved of.
To put it all into perspective, what exactly was this evil music I had chosen? Was it The Prodigy? Was it ACDC? Was it Black Sabbath? Was it KISS? No, it was Martin Solveig and Dragonette. I’ve played it backwards and forwards and listened for the voice of Satan and still can’t quite hear it.
I too like a little Steeleye Span but I’m not sure they’re quite right for a gym class. I’ve searched and searched (unsuccessfully) to find a Bob Dylan song that has 125 BPM to play for GAG. Perhaps I should just play ol’ Bob as is, regardless of tempo, let loose my unkempt hair and float around (un-ashamedly farting at regular intervals like a lentil-eating, weed smoking artist) and see if my heart-rate reaches its desired target? GAG has told me that she dislikes the yoga instructor (too?) and I have to wonder, is a gym the right place for GAG?
As punishment, I’m making a mix of the loudest punk bands I know, mixed in with a bit of EMINEM and will play it at the next class. Just so that GAG can appreciate how very tame I have been up till now.
No comments:
Post a Comment