I've spent the last week without a steady job, and I am starting to go insane. Richmond Elementary finished school last Monday, and my work was done last Wednesday. I have spent those 7 days twiddling my thumbs, watching way too much NBAtv, and contemplating the insignificance of my very existence.
Seriously.
As we speak, I just finished a solid three paragraph analysis as to why Nicolas Batum is better than Dorell Wright.
I literally sat down at my laptop, researched their statistics, and organized a thoughtful analysis as to which mediocre NBA Small Forward is better than the other. I am pretty sure Batum is better, but I am even more sure that I am a worthless human being.
My daily schedule has consisted of Breakfast, Facebook, a nap, a workout, then hanging out with friends in the evening. It's the stuff that people write songs, about, right? Warm weather, no worries. Chillin. Just. Chill.
I've recently discovered I am awful at chilling.
However, being unemployed has given me no choice but to be CHILL.
In the last week, I have become a complete and total expert on Wimbledon, the NBA draft, The Today Show, and farting on my couch.
I've also realized I am severely underskilled at "relaxing" activities. You know, "creative outlets," like poetry, playing an instrument, drawing, or anything else requiring skill.
The problem is, I am a sucker for all of these things. I am eternally envious of people with artistic abilities, and try desperately to mimic them.
And by "mimic them" I mean, I end up playing awful, poorly strummed, predictable chords on my guitar over and over again, trying to match my voice to the pitch of the sound coming from the strings on the wooden thing on my lap.
Then I realize it is impossible to match the pitch of 'cats-fighting' with the tone, 'shitty A-minor.'
Okay, cool, so I'm not that good at guitar. I still have to pass the time, maybe I could pass the time by going to the gym. I am good at that.
I am good at going to the gym.
If you ever, every type this phrase, in your life...you know you've reached a new low.
"I can go to an air conditioned room and move my body. I am good at that."
Except I've discovered recently I am not.
You see, I sweat like Shaquille O'Neal in an oven. If Rosie O'Donnel was wrapped in a down-comforter in the middle of a desert, then put in a gigantic frying pan, and asked to work her way out by doing as many sit-ups as humanly possible, that would be me at the gym.
Then, compound the fact that Willamette's gym recently arbitrarily turned off it's ventilation, and you have one sweaty man.
I was doing lunges 2 days ago, planted my heel, and collapsed with all of my weight, and 135 lbs on a barbell that sat on my shoulders. In the first remotely athletic thing I have ever done in my life, I managed to land squarely on my left knee, and not collapse, or die, or snap my body in half.
Nope...I just sat there. On one knee, with a barbell with a lot of weight on it, and no idea what to do next.
Somewhere in my idiot-brain, I decided grunting was a good option.
"Euuugghhhh" I said, to nobody in particular, or anyone that would listen.
Nobody listened. The weight started to slip.
"Shit shit SHIT SHIT SHIT! ! ! !"
Why does cussing seem to cure these situations? Like...if I HADN'T used profanity, there's NO WAY the large bald man next to me would have came to my rescue. Thankfully, I used my potty mouth, and the adult words I uttered saved me from sitting on one knee with 135 lbs on my shoulders for the rest of my life.
"You've got the same problem as me, kid," said the sweaty bald man.
I saw the sweat dripping off of his fingertips, and finally felt normal.
"Sweaty-man syndrome?" I said, half laughing, half wondering why my leg wasn't broken.
"Absolutely. We've got to look out for eachother," he said.
Yes...yes we do. And buy towels. Lots of towels.
In other related news, I was on the elliptical today, and my shoes were so water logged, they were literally squeaking and sloshing with each motion. The girl next to me wanted to vomit, and I do not blame her. I would like to apologize to her right now, and formally admit that I was also extremely flatulent, and want to extend my apology not only to hear eyes and ears, but also her nose.
I am awful.
However, there's always basketball, RIGHT? I've ALWAYS been good at that. Right? RIGHT?
If you ever want to get emasculated in every aspect, do any sort of athletic event with girls. Not necessarily women. They will destroy you. Girls. Always girls, they sometimes have mercy.
I am working/participating in a basketball clinic for men and women. Individual coaches, basketball coaches, strength trainers...really, a solid experience overall.
Besides the fact that the two 12-year-olds that come every day make me want to cry, throw away my basketball shoes, and join the Vigorous Walking team.
I have fallen 4 times so far, once during ball handling drills, twice during agility drills, and seven times when this girl who could almost be my daughter crossed me over.
Okay, I exaggerated a bit. Being a 9-year-old parent would be weird, and probably impossible, but it doesn't change the fact that these girls have me seriously re-evaluating my life, and what it means to be 'good' at something.
Her mother also comes to the clinic, and likes to pretend to coach. And when I say "pretend to coach," I mean, "yell insulting things to me, in some bizarre attempt at motivation."
(after I shoot a lay-up, instead of dunking)
"Jeez, can you even dunk?"
(After I dunk)
"Well, that sure wasn't pretty..."
(After I miss a jumper)
"Does your mother love you?"
(After I lose the ball in a ball-handling drill)
"You were adopted"
(After I curl into the fetal position and start crying uncontrollably)
"You look fat."
The worst was this encounter with her daughter (after a shooting drill where I could not make a shot, execute proper footwork, run without falling down, or exist without sucking):
Girl: "Do you play anywhere?"
Me: (wearing a Willamette University Basketball cut-off) Um. Yes. Yeah, I do.
Girl: "Like, city league or what?"
Me: "No. I play here."
Girl: "For the school?"
Me: "Yeah...this is my second year"
I say this in an attempt to reconcile my ego. Maybe she doesn't know me because I am new.
Girl: "Oh."
(Silence)
Girl: "Keep working hard!"
She says this in the same tone my choir teacher used when she told me I need to sing quieter, and in the same way everyone who I want to hire me for a job says "we'll call you back."
So I did what ANY sane human being would do. I rolled her up into a ball, and dunked her.
Just kidding, I can't dunk.
Just kidding, I can.
Maybe? I don't know. Come to the Salem city-league, and find out for yourself.
I am going to start knitting.
Summer: 1, Sean: 0.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment