Health issues seem to dominate this cul-de-sac of the web. I spend a fair bit of time at the gym these days. It's not a gym really so much as a holding pen for aging Philippino wives. Basically my workout regime consists of me riding a reclining cycle for 20 minutes watching CSI Burlington or whatever other drivel is on and then switching to the Total Body Maximizer 200Oc or whatever the hell it is called for another 20.
I tried reading today. Poetry if you can believe it. Charles Olson's Maximus. Or an anthology peek if you like. It was somewhat incongruous to say the least. I'm not convinced the library will appreciate the little sweat craters that have formed on the pages. The strangeness wasn't eased at all by the women nattering away with their headphones on, flapping that bit of skin under their arms that my brother-on-law calls bingo wings. They like to shout above the volume of I dare not try to imagine what music being cathetered into their ears.
I thought briefly of entering into a discussion on poetics with the big hairy guy who is always there in the steam bath but it seemed like a bad idea somehow.