Can I Follow You?

One of my roles of being a good husband is to spend family time each week while American Idol is broadcast. As my sons dance with the people on TV and my wife provides her color commentary of each contestant (the female version of what happens when I’m watching Poker), I sit and watch marginally talented contestants sing classic songs based on their 90 second interpretations.

I’m not distressed by the amateur talent show quality of the event, but at the reaction of the audience that loses its mind for each performance, as if it really were the Beatles returning from the dead. These Idol fans will cheer for anyone, regardless of their talent level.

The compelling aspect that American Idol is missing is the authenticity of Showtime at the Apollo. Here is a show where a lack of talent will get a contestant booed off stage before they finish their act. The contestants know this coming into the event, so a marginal performance isn’t attempted. Eight Time Grammy Winner Lauren Hill was booed off the stage at age 13 during an amateur night performance. There was nothing polite about it, but the event is grounded in realism. (This reaction to performance followed Lauren Hill later in her life, when Bishop’s walk out during a performance at the Vatican because of editorial content, not her performing ability).

The practice of idolatry is a risky proposition. This behavior can be downright dangerous if you choice to idolize anyone that is still living. Yet, popular culture is rooted in the elevation of individual to mythic proportions, only to await the documentation of their Icarucs like fall back to reality when their true self doesn’t match the public perception that is created. As a safety precaution, the practice of idol worship should be abandoned as a step in the maturation process from childhood to adult—similar to the belief in Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, Social Security or The saving grace of Organized Religion.

The other show that I can’t stop watching is the Moment of Truth, where a contestant is enticed to reveal embarrassing and potentially damaging information in front of loved ones for opportunity to win easy money. The show works because it tears down the unspoken believe of goodness that one person has for their spouse. Relationships work not just because of the things we know about our partners, but also those things that we believe to be true. We want to believe that they are honest, trust worthy and think we look good when we are rolling through the house in our sweat pants and uncombed heads. This show destroys the façade that we are always idolized by our family, just because they are a member of our family.

I too know that I too am susceptible to Idol worship, so I shy aware from meeting those people that I might put on a platform. This caution started when I was when I was in elementary school and saw Huckleberry Hound holding his Huckleberry Head while smoking a cigarette at King’s Island. The seeds questioning authenticity were planted. These seeds matured with an epiphany while at church. I was in the church gym on a weekday and heard something in the sanctuary. When I investigated, I saw the Preacher practicing his sermon for Sunday—- a verbatim delivery of what I would hear Sunday. Up to this point, I didn’t realize that church was a production, just like any other stage show with actors that played a part. Sunday mornings were never the same after that week. The pageantry and spirituality of church melted away and the operational machine of a performance was now visible, like a fog burning off to show the city on the horizon.

So it began-- my fear that the people I look up to in some manner are indeed human and could really be assholes in real life. I decided in most cases, it was better not to know the real person. What would happen if I met Coach K and he had a tremendous case of body odor that created a sensory memory that surfaced every time they were on TV? What if I accepted an outstanding offer to meet Mike Ness (front man for Social Distortion) before a show and as I enter his dressing room I found him watching Fox News, with Genesis playing in the background, as he is getting a cucumber detox face peel?

This is not to disapprovingly characterize those with life altering BO or anyone who likes wrinkle free skin (but you do need to check yourself if you are listening to Fox News or Genesis) they just don’t fit into my vision of what my Idols are about. I’m sure it’s similar to the shock experienced by legions of Anne Rice’s Goth followers when she revealed that she became a born again Christian and no longer subscribed to the world of vampires. But in my world, I want my aging Punk Icons to be a little cantankerous and not in search of a good skin treatment.

Adventures of a Lost Boy

I assumed the fetal position when I returned home from my first workout in six years. I quietly thought to myself, “Honestly, I use to be in shape. I have photographic evidence to prove it”. As I lay very still, I scanned my mind for the time in my life when working out was a staple of my daily routine. This was a long ago time when I was a card carrying member of the Peter Pan Society, where I refused to leave the halls of the closest academic institution that would have me. Since entering the “Real World”, I’ve allowed time to my muscles to enter a stage of atrophy, as I divided my days between a mix of office cubes and non-descript conference rooms—keeping time to the Tic-Tock Crock.

As the weather starts to break, I decided that it’s time to begin my delayed New Year’s Resolution. The first step in this physiological transformation is the reintroduction of physical exertion into my daily life as a planned activity. During the hibernating months of winter, I am comfortable living under the delusion that playing basketball once a week is adequate fitness (this delusion also allows me to believe that I can still compete in a game of hoops with guys younger than me). However, my current physical condition is not reflective of the term “in shape” so, it’s time to begin the springtime metamorphous.

Much like Peter’s return to Neverland, my return to the gym was different than I remembered. The contrast from my days of working out on a college campus in between classes and the world of suburbia took some adjustment.

Rules of the New World-

#1 Good Morning Captain Hook- You have to win the internal debate to get out of bed when the alarm clock goes off. It’s early, it’s cold and every muscle is still asleep. Step One- Feet on the floor. My optimal time of day is late morning, about 10:17 am. If you want to really get the most out of me, you should schedule this time. Unfortunately, the only time that is available in my schedule is 5:30-7:00 am, so I’m forced to rise with those people that have paper routes. This small accomplishment of being vertical will set the tone for the day. Get up, get out, get moving.

#2 Think Big Picture- The first day that I reached the fitness center, I caught myself circling the lot looking for a space closer to the door. If you’re going to get up and go work out, eliminating extra steps to the door is counterproductive. I became hard to rationalize looking for a closer space when I was paying to wake up early and travel to a place where I was going to simulate walking on a stationary devise. (The only exception to this rule is rain—there is never a reason to be wet in the rain) I was a little shocked that I wasn’t the only car in the parking lot, which leads me to #3.

#3 The 80 year old crowd dominates the morning- When you work out early, there are old people everywhere. I thought old people needed their sleep. Is this why they are eating dinner early in the evening? I half expected to see Steve Guttenburg leading a water aerobic class for his fellow Cocoon cast mates. When the bars close at 2:30 am, is this when the old timers come out to play? It’s not entirely awful working out with the older crowd, since they tend to stay on the machines and leave the free weight area for me to be alone. But there are dangers.

#4 I was crop dusted by an old woman- I was sitting on a flat bench, resting between sets, when an grey haired woman in a purple jump suit wandered away from the world of circuit machines and into my world of free weights. Instead of picking any other part of the vacant area, she chose to use the bench next to me to perform her tricep kick-backs. As I resumed my chest presses, I’m suddenly engulfed in the distinct odor of decay. Only two possibilities came to mind; either she is rotting before my eyes or this old bag just farted on me. I cut my set short and returned the weight to the rack as I wondered, “What’s happened to the respect of the elderly these days”?

#5- Coming to terms with your limits- It’s a daily battle between my ego and mind’s reality while working out. Questions like these arise: Is it more disgraceful to struggle while bench pressing 125 lbs or dropping 200 lbs on your chest and cracking your sternum? Should I sacrifice the form while performing bicep curls with the 30 lbs weights or use the small, purple plastic coated 15 lbs. dumbbells. My mind keeps arguing, “We used this weight the last time we worked out”, but idealism doesn’t make the weight move.

#6- Emphasis on Diet- The sudden expenditure of stored calories caused my body to seek replenishment in the tastiest manner possible. With each additional set, thoughts of Philly Cheese Steak or Fresh Glazed Doughnuts fill my mind. It’s critical to resist the urge to stop on the way home for a meal. Each food item must be equated to a workout event. Small French fry= 200 sit ups. I’ve also found that a diet of late night pizza and beer doesn’t enable successful workouts as it did in college. I now need to take some form of Protein supplement to repair my sore muscles or the top part of my hair will never be clean again.

After a few weeks in, the process of transformation is getting better and the incremental results serve as motivation for continued advancement. My expectations have shifted from the days of running with the other Lost Boys and finding constant adventures, to improving my overall health and impressing my darling “Wendy”.

Note to Myself next August

Hombre (that's what I call myself),

I hope all is well with you and the family. Being as we are the same person, I’m sure you are a little unhinged by the fact that the temperature is hovering around 94 degrees on a daily basis. I can picture you mumbling to yourself about your certainty that the pavement is melting, while wondering how you ever purchased a vehicle without air conditioning. At a moment like this, I hope to provide a little perspective.

Remember back to early March when a seemingly nice weekend was altered by the delivery of 12-14 inches of snow? That’s right, the weekend where you had to shovel the drive-way multiple times while the wind blew snow down the neck of your jacket. Snow might sound romantic in the heat of the summer, but rarely does it fall casually to the ground in big flakes and melt the following morning as your ready to leave the house. In reality, snow is delivered from the heavens as if you’re inside a snow globe being shaken by a hyperactive 3 year old.

No matter how hot it is, you don’t have to shovel sunshine. The sun will go down at the end of the day, the temperature will fall as you drink a beer on the deck and you can start again tomorrow. This pile of snow in our driveway is not going anywhere. Take my advice, cheer up and enjoy some time in the climate controlled environment of your basement.

WINTER SUCKS!!!!!

Peace Out,

The good looking guy in the mirror.


PS. If you’re going to drink all the Bloody Mary Mix, replenish the supply. It's deflating to run out when you are a shut-in.