Gym Butt Highlanders - Or - The War of the Rumps
Think of the great rivalries. Cato and Ceaser. Michelangelo and da Vinci. Burr and Hamilton. Edison and Tesla. Kanye West and . . . everyone not Kanye West.
These were nothing compared to what I saw on that fateful early June afternoon. I saw my sleepy little town’s gym turn into thunderdome. I saw . . .
. . . Two 19 year old wannabe Instagram Butt Models girls competing in a B*tch Off.
Laugh if you want. You weren’t there. I was.
The following events are 100% true. The names are changed to protect the innocent . . . or made up. Look, I didn’t know their real names. (Music and sound effects were added in post for dramatic effect :) )
It was 5 minutes to 3pm. After finishing my warm up of the elliptical I made my way to the free weight section. The normal afternoon patrons were there. Older people, a few early 40's folk like me trying like hell to fight off age, and of course the bevvy of young redneck men who believed camouflage was a way of life.
All were familiar faces . . . save one. A young, fit, brunette girl in the tightest, high-waisted, olive green workout leggings. The kind that divided the butt into individual cheeks and left no room for imagination. She wore a matching low cut top that exposed cleavage and a bare mid-rift. In my mind I named this new comer “Thunder Butt.” Why? Because every exercise she did was thigh and butt based.
(The butt and thigh exercises had become something of the latest trend at my gym with the local gals. And I’d take this moment to say this: I am not mocking this girl. You can read THIS POST to see my feelings on such shaming. I say if you have it, flaunt it for as long as you can. Time, gravity, and McNuggets are everyone’s enemy. All I ask is that you temper your confidence with just a touch of humility. Because if you spend your gym time looking down on others, I WILL mock you when you eventually get injured, or lazy, and get flabby. )
- Now, back to the scene -
The single, redneck men watched Thunder Butt with sideways glances. They began picking up heavier and heavier weights as the primate portion of their brains told them to compete for the females attention. The males of the pack failed to notice the two thing that did matter to Thunder Butt: her upward held smart phone and the mirror. Between sets she would stand, legs askance, rump forward, side boob in frame, and camera out. Followers, not suitors, were her target.
It was then that I saw her head snap to the side. Her eyes narrowed. Thunder Butt sniffed the air. Something had her spooked. Like a highlander she knew there was something . . . amiss. I looked back towards the walkway and there I saw it. Or rather, her.
Ruby Rumble Buns. The ginger queen of the afternoon rump regiment.
(Yes . . . I name strangers at the gym. Sue me. I get bored during my elliptical work outs/between sets and giving different people at the gym nick-names is kind of my thing. In another post I can tell you all about Eminem McChicken Legs, Joey-Beard-Fashion, Captain Tans-Too-Much, Sad-Sally Trophy Tits, Roid Rage Roger, Bench-Press Mario, and Methusala’s Corpse.)
Thunder Butt scowled at the newcomer. Sadly, ole TB didn’t know that 330pm was when Ruby Rumble Buns liked to make her entrance. On this day, Ruby was sporting low-rise, dark gray leggings, with a light gray swirl pattern that circled her equally dominant backside. Ruby Rumble Buns tossed her strawberry-blonde pigtails back and pulled out her own phone. But . . . oops, she dropped it.
Instead of picking it up like a regular human, RRB bent over at the waist, without bending her knees, to retrieve her device and to give the now frenzied young folk of the gym a show. But her real target was obvious. Ruby Rumble Buns stared right at Thunder Butt . . . and smirked.
Oh . . . SNAP!
If there was a mic, it would have been dropped. The room grew cold. Both women glared at one another. I could hear Clancy Brown’s gravely voice clear as day declare:
“THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE!”
Over the gym stereo, Queen’s “Princes of the Universe” played (ok, it didn’t. But for the sake of the story just go with it.)
What transpired next was an epic war of one-upsmanship as the two titans of the tush began their war. Ruby Rumble Butt began with single dumbbell squats. She looked over ever-so-slightly at Thunder Butt with a smile that said “Go home little girl”.
Thunder Butt’s lips thinned. Her glare hardened. Thunder Butt stormed over to the assisted chin-up machine. But instead of working her upper body as designed, she placed one foot on the knee pad, and executed multiple sets of single-leg presses. Bringing her knee to her chest, she ensured the glutes would be maximized. Once done, and a picture taken, she threw a catty glance over to Ruby.
But Ruby was having none of Thunder Butt’s shade. Instead she was performing deep, side lunges with a 45lb plate in front of two young men. Once she completed her set, Ruby Rumble Buns snapped a few pics of herself, then looked up at Thunder Butt in a “Oh . . . are you still here?” look.
Oh no she didn’t!
More exercises were done. Poses made. Pictures were taken. I give credit to Thunder Butt, she tried. She fought valiantly. But, she’d been at the gym longer, and it was clear she was tired. Ruby Rumble Buns was fresher. Determined. To Ruby Rumble Buns, it wasn’t just posing and snapping selfies. No no no. Each move she made, every step she took, ensured that the butt came first. A drink of water? Knees together, butt out. Picking up of weights? Drop it like it's hot. Even standing and checking her phone was an exercise in modeling, with one hip canted ridiculously high.
Outmatched and defeated, Thunder Butt lowered her head in shame and left the gym.
There can be only one . . . butt. And on that day, Ruby Rumble Butt won “the prize”.
GIMMIE THE PRIZE!
Is there Such a Thing as “Good” Segregation? -or- Death to Movie Theaters
This may seem cruel. This may seem mean. But, I would gladly pay $30 to $50 a pop to not have to sit next to, nor breath the same air, as other people . . .
. . . in the movie theater.
Yeah, I know this type of article has been done to death; the complaining about people who ruin the movie theater experience for others. But with every major website putting up articles, listicles, rankings, and general word of mouth, you’d think people would learn. But they don’t. And . . . I don’t think they ever will.
While this is not an all encompassing list, I think we all know who these people are:
- The asshole who doesn’t turn off their phone, texts, or just answers it when it rings.
An actual petition from Change.org
- Dude . . . what’s your problem? Did momma tell you, you were special one too many times? With all the participation trophy’s you have in your closet, is there any room in there to get the hint that you are not the center of the universe?
- The parent(s) who bring the inappropriately young kids to the theater.
- Sigh. Okay, aside from the obvious where you chose to have kids, and with that comes certain sacrifices, you . . . you do know they’re kids right? That, maybe they shouldn’t be at the midnight release of the latest movie? Or any theater with other people outside of the latest Dreamworks Animation or Pixar movie? You have heard of Redbox and Amazon rentals, right? Oh. Oh I get it, your FOMO is more important than everyone else’s enjoyment and experience. How dare I.
*A special shout out to the parents who bring the elementary age kids to horror movies and/or anything with excessive guns, guts, sex, and cursing. Just think, you’re guaranteeing future therapists will have patients.
- Loudmouth screen talker dude-bro (who then wants to fight anyone who tells them to be quiet).
- Okay, here’s a truth you should have learned by now: You can bark, posture, and fight all you want. It will not make your tiny dick any bigger. Sorry. Now go back to the gym and continue skipping leg day.
- Loudmouth girls night group (who may or may not have had too much to drink).
- Sigh . . . your empowering, yet limp-wristed high fives, coupled with that screeching wail you call a voice, is a primary reason that chivalry is dead. I’d say your cats will eat you once you die . . . but even an animal knows better than to eat something that rotten.
Here’s a real life example from my own personal movie going experience: Back in March of 2017, I went to see Logan, opening weekend. I tend to see new releases on the Saturday morning when they come out, around 930 AM while my son is home with the wife. I like the early morning because I can avoid most of the crowds. But what happened at this showing?
Well, 30 minutes into the movie, the guy sitting behind me collapses and stops breathing. Seriously. The people he’s with freak. I hopped the seats and gave him CPR until a paramedic showed up and took over. Blessedly, the guy lived, and they wheeled him out. The movie started back up after a small break. I gave my account to the paramedics and checked with the family to see what happened. Now, why did the man stop breathing? Heroin overdose.
Yup, my man didn’t even wait until lunch for some smack. I imagine he got up that morning and thought to himself. “You know what would be fun today? Watching an R-rated, Hugh Jackman say “Fuck” a lot instead of delivering meaningful dialogue. Now, what pares well with a movie that beats the audience over the head with how important it is instead of having a cogent plot. OH! . . . heroin! Definitely heroin. Sure it’s not noon yet, but screw it. It’s Saturday and I deserve a ‘me day’ . . . with heroin.”
Recently I saw Avengers Infinity War with my buddy and his middle school aged son. We three were very quiet and respectful, laughing when appropriate, and keeping any comments to soft whispers and quiet nods. You know . . . like NORMAL people.
There was a mom in front of us with her 6 yr old and 15 yr old sons. She was wearing an off the shoulder shirt so everyone could see her ivy leaves/vines tattoos. Well, she was not missing a moment of the Russo Brother latest Marvel installment. But little Calen was kind of bored.
How do I know his name? Because every 17 seconds she scolded, or threatened to beat, little Calen. But, she couldn’t be bothered to remove him, no no. She made the older brother take Calen out of the theater whenever the 6yr old . . . acted like a 6yr old. And bless ivy leaves momma, she stayed all the way through the credits. Her oldest son? Well, he missed a fair bit.
Now, I know this crap doesn’t apply to every showing of every movie. But it’s prevalent enough that everyone is aware of the negative aspects of public theaters. With that in mind, and knowing that certain people are hell bent on living in their own bubble without giving a rat’s ass about others, what are we “normal” people to do?
We could demand that the theaters enforce public decency practices. But, let’s be honest, what minimum wage making kid would do that? Plus, we’ve all been on an airplane or seen ‘People of Wal-Mart’, our tolerance has created this problem. So, what’s done is done. I think we can agree that no amount of shushing can fix stupid.
Another option could be: that we designate two theaters types? One for people who just want to see the movie? Those who’ll be quiet AND respectful of others (I know, weird right?) And then there can be the . . . other theater, for all the chucklefucks of this world. Let them have a goddamn party in there for all I care.
But, people do frown on that kind of segregation. Which is why I eagerly await day and date digital release via a streaming platform. I reckon a summer blockbuster would cost what, $40 to $50 per viewing? Perhaps less for prestige pieces or more “middle of the road” movies?
And before you say “that’s too much!”, think about it. Two tickets a couple of drinks on a date night costs you what, over $40 already, right? What’s your time worth when you’re standing in line? How about the option to pause a movie to go pee?
I propose we just let the movie theaters die. Hell, they’re barely hanging on as it is. I’m sure that you can still find sticky floors and overpriced nachos other places if you miss it that much. Sure, some may say that newer movies are breaking box office records. But that’s because ticket prices keep going up due to fewer people going to the movies. And why? Well, there are reasons.
So come on, Netflix and Hulu give us this! Maybe if we all tweet to Amazon, and demand digital releases of new movies for rental they could make it happen?. For God’s sake, Jeff Bezos is only worth $110 billion dollars, how’s he supposed to build an underwater city with such a pittance?
“But Gib,” you may say, “you sound like an angry old man, screaming at the clouds! Theaters are fine, and you’re and idiot!” To which I’d say . . . well, yeah. And an asshole to boot. But clearly, you’re not thinking it through. It isn’t just about me and my foolish desire for people to act decent to one another, that ship’s long since sailed.
This is about the little Calen’s and the Heroin Henry’s of this world. Streaming releases of new movies would allow that boy to just go into another room to be ignored by his mom. And Heroin Henry? Well, he can shoot up at his leisure while watching an overrated X-Men movie that people seem to like. Think of them!
I’m not saying that theaters need to completely go away. Some can stay open for those who enjoy a unique experience like the Alamo draft House. And I suppose some could stay open for those who just need “the theater experience”.
But for those of us who can’t stand the inconsiderate nature, and self-absorbed stupidity, of our fellow man, a day-1 streaming service free us from those fools . . .
. . . until we go to Costco on the weekend, read any comment board on the internet, or go to any ballgame anywhere . . .
Are You Critical or Just an A-Hole? -or- The Rusty Spork Phenomenon
“I would rather gouge out my eye with a rusty spork than read another word of this.”
. . . Ouch.
in March 2016, I became a published author. After many rejections from agents and publishing houses, Amber Cove Publishing found merit in my words, patted me on the head, and helped me publish my first book: To Beat The Devil, A Technomancer Novel.
And that felt AMAZING.
So, naturally, I wanted people to read the book and review it. And after a bit, the reviews start coming in. And, most of the reviews have been pretty positive! And yes, a few reviews have pointed out some rookie mistakes, some skill based issues, and a few continuity problems. I took note of them and tried to fix such things on each subsequent book I’ve written. Because, those are positive criticisms. They highlighted the good, focused on the bad in a way which said “This would be better if XY&Z were fixed”.
But, naturally, the mean reviews started coming in as well. The quote at the beginning of this post, the rusty spork one, came from a friend of a friend whom we’ll call Beth. Now, my friend didn’t care for the book, but at least he finished it. Beth got three pages in and said that line about the rusty spork to the eye. Not to me, but to my friend who relayed it to me after I pried the info out of him.
I laughed. It hurt, a lot, but I laughed. Why? Two reasons. First, because it’s funny. In fact, I plan on starting a blog column called “The Rusty Spork” to highlight negative reviews. But secondly because, well . . . Mel Brooks said it best in History of the World Part I:
“After the birth of The Artist, came the inevitable afterbirth, The Critic.” (Jump to 43 seconds in on the video)
Do you like something, or don’t you? It’s simple as that. And who doesn’t love giving their opinion about the latest movie, episode of their favorite show, or music, while gathered among a group of friends? Sometimes, it’s an exercise in creative thought to express your feelings, both positive and negative.
And let’s be honest, being hypercritical of something you don’t like is fun. I myself, while among friends, have indulged in a few creative rants, doing my best to weave curse laden strings of nonsensical bullshit into a humorous, metaphorical “Ugly Christmas Sweater” of a review. Horrible, but somehow fun. But, I try not to leave those opinions as critical fact when “officially” reviewing something.
So, my question is: at what point during a critique, does the critic stop being critical and just becomes an asshole? Saying mean things is easy. Pointing out flaws is easy. But nonstop bashing isn't criticism.
As I was taught in the military: fine fine, bitch all you want. What would you have done to fix it? If you have nothing to add, then you’re just complaining and wasting time.
It’s been two years now since getting published. I have five books out with a sixth on its way, and my skin is thick enough now to laugh and find amusement in most of the “criticisms”. But once in a while a few back-to-back (to back!) bad reviews roll in, and it does eat at me a bit. How can it not?
If you’re a creative type and you make something, paint something, compose something, or write something, then you know what it feels like to pour yourself into something. The artistic endeavor can take ten minutes, ten weeks, ten months, or even ten years.
But, all it takes is one snarky asshole with a laptop, a vendetta, and five minutes on the internet, dismissing your labor of love as one dismisses a pile of dog feces, to wreck you.
The longer you keep creating, the easier it is to bounce back. But, the overtly cruel ones can linger a bit.
I like to read reviews of various media. But I don’t read the good ones, no I go straight to the 1 and 2-star reviews first. And there in that quagmire of vitriol, is the personification of the afterbirth art critic which Mr. Brooks explained. These “people” take great delight in saying some of the meanest, vilest, and down right cruelest words I’ve ever read.
Often these little mini-rants are written by delusional, self-appointed experts who believe themselves to be tenured collegiate educators, lecturing about . . . whatever. You can always tell when one of these reviews are going to get saucy because they tend to have the same catchphrases like: “The writer clearly . . . ”, “The Director’s lack of . . . ”, so forth and so on . . .
. . . because they’re assholes.
When I get a really bad review, and I know this is weird . . . and perhaps a touch creepy, I like to see if I can look them up on social media. You know, just to get an idea of who they are. After all, they took great glee in shitting on my work.
I did learn a fun fact while doing this. Did you know a LOT of angry 1 & 2 star book reviewers, the ones actually leave their names, leave their Facebook pages, and their photos, set to public? Yup, any ole person (or snooping writer) can see who they are.
Translation: I’ve seen them. I get why they’re so angry.
So, in closing, I’m not telling anyone how to review a piece of art, media, or content. If you do/don’t like something, don’t be afraid to say it. You can even like something AND be critical of it (Just ask me my opinion on the Nolan Batman trilogy). Being critical helps to make better content. It pushes a creators mind and ability. Just remember that someone, most of the time, worked really hard to create/make it.
So, I challenge you (and myself) to not just say something “is the suckiest suck that ever sucked suck” if you don’t like it. Instead, point out what worked, what didn’t work, and then offer a solution. Before too long, you’ll actually develop as a critic, and perhaps as a human being.
. . . Well, except for that one guy who called my third book “Unsuspenseful, predictable villain-fic, with a few laughs but mostly remorse, of the buyer's variety.” Since he was nice enough to say that, I was curious enough to find his Facebook page and discover that he's an early 30’s, smug faced fuckwad who likes to take “cool” photos of himself leaning against his car. Nothing can help that asshole. :)