Helping You Get the Most Out of Your Misery






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Friday, August 03, 2007


Hot, Fat and Sweaty

New York is disgusting today. It is. I love this town, but there's a reason people fucking leave in August. That reason is the undeniable fact that, in August, all the grime that normally has the courtesy to stick to the sidewalk is washed from the concrete by humidity and spends four or five weeks hanging out in mid-air. I've been out of the house several times today and, each time I come back, I feel like someone airbrushed me with sawdust and melted taffy.

Despite this misery, I took the sunny-day-off opportunity I'd been handed and spent some time in the Sheep Meadow playing frisbee with my favorite quasi-socialist. And it was fucking hot out there. Even in the incredibly pleasant, grass-covered loveliness that is Central Park, it was hot as balls under that blazing sun. How hot was it? It was so goddamn hot that I swallowed my thimble-full of pride and actually took my shirt off.

This is, you have to understand, borderline-traumatic for me. I'm flabby in that unpleasantly walrus-like way. Over the last five years or so, my chest hair decided it was more mature than the rest of my body and turned prematurely grey. My back hair isn't grey, it's just plentiful. On top of that, thanks to a marathon bike ride my wife and took a couple weeks back, I have the worst farmer tan outside of Iowa.

But it was so goddamn hot today. Did I mention that? So off came the shirt and my pasty, fuzzy, jiggly torso was put on display for all to see. It was a good idea, despite the PTSD I'm likely to suffer, 'cause after five minutes, I was sweatier than Charles Laughton in a sauna.

It didn't help matters that, fifteen minutes into our game, a couple of college-aged guys started playing a hundred yards or so from us. They were all tan and shit, and looked like hadn't yet discovered that one can lead a life without sit-ups. I felt utterly troll-like in comparison.

But fuck it. Sometimes, you've just got to do what feels right, even if several hundred New Yorkers vomit up their lunch at the sight of you.

Haven't commented in awhile but still read you faithfully.

I feel your pain. Truly. Since having twins in December (after 5 years of infertility hell - and no - twins don't run in the family...) I have this blob of skin on my stomach that I have to throw over my shoulder any time I leave the house. It will make a nice scarf in the winter - but for now, it's not such a pretty sight.

But listen - I have no doubt that those tan college dudes have nothing on you. You are a funny and brilliant man) so don't let it get you down.

Fuck 'em. If they don't like it they don't have to look.
Awww. You guys make me feel so much better about being a disgusting blob of wiggly goo. Thanks for that.
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