A random look at the life and times of Jim Rising recovering radio addict and newspaper columnist.

Thursday, February 7, 2008

I love my gym

This is the time of year that area gyms love. After the excess of the holidays many of your friends and neighbors step on the scale, let out a horrified shriek and run or more likely waddle to the nearest work out palace. The gyms and health clubs love this because they get the added income from the new members and they know that in a few weeks time these new members will disappear like all new years resolutions do. But for a few weeks the joints will be crowded. I work out regularly and have become amazingly set in my routines. The addition of these new members annoys me. They get in my way, use MY machines and generally make me wish they would go to a planet on the galaxies outer rim. But what really has set my teeth on edge these past few weeks has been the arrival of “The Whistler”. You probably hear someone like him in your travels. You can be walking the aisles of the Bi/Lo minding your own business and out of nowhere someone is trilling and riffing some old forgotten song. It’s usually an older resident of our community and almost always accompanied by the jingling of coins in his pocket. Of course in those circumstances you can move away from the aural assault. I am not so lucky in the instance of the “Gym Whistler”. This guy seems to be able to time his day to catch me in the locker room, hot, sweaty and sometimes hung-over, eager for a trip to the sauna to sweat out the sins and excesses of the night before. There I sit while he flattens my eardrums in my skull with his tuneful but LOUD solo. The locker room is cold hard tile and the whistle bounces around until it drills into my skull like a woodpecker with a dentist drill for a beak. It’s more than I can take in the small, reverberant space. It was bad when he ran through his repertoire of Christmas songs. Now it’s excruciating as he works thru the hit parade of by gone days. Now I am certain this is a nice man, kind to his Mother, gentle with his family. So common courtesy precludes me from my more murderous thoughts. But the other day I could take it no more. When he paused briefly in his attack on my ears I asked “Do you know Lady of Spain?” A moment of blessed silence. Then he laughed and launched into it. So my mission is now clear. Keep coming up with ever more bizarre songs until I stump him into silence.


John said...

James! I gotta put a link to your blog on mine, webster107.blogspot.com

And next time you bump into The Whistler there's an old Hoagy Carmichael tune called "Im a Cranky Old Yank in a Clanky Old Tank on the Streets of Yokohama with my Honolulu Mama Doin' Them Wacko-Wacko Flat on My Seato Beato-Beato Blues." I think that might do it.

Ubiquitous said...

My girlfriend has a supersition that was drilled into her head when she was a child that whistling while you are inside will make you poor.

Crazy russians have some strange supersitions.

I have found that "inside" is applicable not only to a build but to cars, tents, airplanes, gazebos and even portopotties (she was standing outside and heard me whistle)

I have become some sort of reverse pavlov's dog, frightened of nagging whenever i start to blow a tune.

You are more then welcome to borrow her to destroy any whistling enjoyment your whistler has. I cant say how much fun she would have in a mens locker room....well...as you would say, then again, i could be wrong.