Workout Log 24 Aug Koh Samui Day 1: Yo Ho Aaaaargh

Thirty minutes water dancing and lap swimming in Kamalaya’s pool by the sea.

Just to breath is a pleasure after three years of Hong Kong. The air is clear the sky is that color they say is blue. In the passport line at Ko Samui’s little airport, subtly dancing to the Pirates of the Caribbean theme so no-one noticed to relieve my sore butt after a three hour flight. The sore butt yet another surprise geriatric symptom and consequence of the double whammy of cancer and sciatica. Never thought I’d give a damn about all that middle aged crap: lumbar supports for long flights phooey. Back trouble was in my opinion for other people. But I just went from a long youth of rude good health to old age without middle age it seems. This is causing some mild Schadenfreude in Barbara Ehrenreich and other friends who have long dealt with back and other problems whilst I just waltzed through my thirties, forties, and fifties.

Hmm these super slim and ever so slightly gay jeans could be a long term problem for is there not enough pressure on my iliac vein, causing thrombosis (lovely word) in the femoral artery and a feeling of tingle in the foot? I shall I think wear tights with a bandanna over the erogenous zone lest we all be shamed. DH Lawrence thought trousers ill-begat and felt that men should wear tights and kilts.

I am quite serious. The heart attack machine, more precisely the cancer machine, was strapped onto my body in the form of those damnable corporate expectations that I would have to dress like a dork in a suit with ill fit trousers to be considered a “professional”…and my assertion at the time of agency (I got into Brooks Brothers on sale) was not taken kindly, for nerds don’t like other nerds to look like CEOs, which I did. Fortunately I did not become a CEO, since I regard them as psychopaths.

And interestingly the popular culture, far from resisting a sort of universal dorkdom, makes it paradoxically au fait to conform to the corporate lifestyle in its ethic of “cool”, a form of numbness. In Fromm, midcentury man stuffed his feelings in a suit, but it is the equivalent gesture to put all energy into “alternative” music that represents, in fact, no real alternative. We needed well baby care and grants, not loans, for school, we got Kurt Cobain and that baby with the penis smiling at the money in the pool.

Burn me buttocks, and stun me with a marlin spike, else.


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