I'm almost positive I blogged about this ages ago. Name callers.
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| Terrible ass movie. Probably the best work the guy has done. |
I should qualify this. Many who know me know I personally have a metric f#ck ton of nicknames. (Mad Dog, Baby P, Slender Branch, et.al.) I think being referred to as "Mad Dog" has caused me-in turn- to give them out in spades. FeeJ, Rusty, Ranch, Biggie, Geef, Ry-Gonn, Per-Per, Farvey... And when I'm lazy? I just dole out the old jock-o throwback of "The Last Name". I don't know why I do it. I just know that it's the way my brain is hardwired. And I know that it's never done with malice in my heart or directed cruelty. 'Cause let's face it- if it's a really, really good nickname? It'll stick.
Last year, I was given a tip from a girlfriend that she and her buddies give out nicknames. And they tended to be pointy. A little naughty. And usually directed at a dude that may or may not have slighted them. I called her out on it, and self-righteously pointed out that it was just plain mean for means sake. Displaced anger at a person who doesn't even know you're doing it, and solely so you and your buddies can have a chuckle at the person's expense. Shame shame. I never do that- ever.
Orrrrrrrr do I?
Self-busted.
Since it was a few years ago, right here on the old blog, that railed on my fellow gym members. Not just the occasional party-foul like the people who hog benches or don't wipe them down. Who leave their towels in a pile on the floor of the changing room or take the locker immediately next to you even if there are others available. The gym (or, when I'm not rehearsing...sadly, the place I tend to spend the most time outside of work or home.) is my place to find Zen. To WORK OUT. To focus, get rid of stress, beat on my body, to breathe, to shower quick and boogie on with my day. And my natural tendency to stifle my umbrage means I get to kvetch about it here on the old blog for your benefit. I don't like really talking to the other members. Hell, I generally avoid talking to the staff even though they all know my name and I have a hard time telling Barry from Randy if they were both standing in front of me.. In short, my dirty hypocrisy as well as burgeoning misanthropy that I seem to be adopting in my old age- shines through.
And so, I'll make a concerted effort in 2013 to "not" cast mental disparagements at people which start with their well-deserved imaginary nicknames they are unaware of...and maybe actually engage other members in conversation. I'm not great at engaging strangers in conversation and the only way I seem to be able to "flex" my conversational charm is with server's, convenience store cashier's, and the folks at the liquor store. (Sheath your judgment.)
But I gotta get this out first...
I'll try and not refer to them as: "Meatballs" (the High School knuckleheads who hog the equipment and tend to camp out on a bench while talking about whatever it is they talk about. One of them looks like a 'roided up Slytherin.) "Tiny Bulls" (They are there to take ALL THE CLASSES!!!), "Know-it-alls" (They comment, stare judgmentally, and "help" people without being asked. They're gym rats...but total butt-inskis. The asshat in question started wearing Veebs recently...sucka.), "Barbies" (Do I need to explain this?), the "Stinky Big Bear" (Look. He's like 8 ft tall and has the WORST B.O.), The "Nickname Redacted Because It's Really Cruel" (This is the gay man who I've busted checking me out on multiple occasions. And I don't. Like it. At. The. Gym. It's a local gym, yo. Not a chain-y meat market. He too, has started to wear Veebs.) "Willem Dafoe" (He's frightening...and he looks like Willem Dafoe.)...and "The Grumpy Old Man"...guess what he looks like?
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| Like this, only with a silver flat-top and wearing a sleeveless "6-1-2" t-shirt. Usually hogging the tricep pressdown machine. |
Unfortunately for me, I don't think I'll be able to shake this one either. I've tried to be more engaging with my fellow members...the dicey part is that most of those verbal interactions have been either in the sauna or steam room. (With the former, I was always content to shut my mouth and watch my sweat dribbles form a rorschachian pattern on the wood planks)
Awwwwwkward.
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