The Passion of the Weiss

Sometimes I rhyme slow, sometimes I rhyme quick. But most of the time, I don't rhyme.

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

The Other Side of the IPod

The IPod has been one of the most revolutionary innovations within our society, as it has allowed human beings across the globe to never become bored. Once horrific activies such as going to school and riding the train have become infinitely more pleasant due to one's ability to select a soundtrack of their choosing. In short, it allows wanna-be anchorites like myself the ability to interact with other human beings as little as possible. Everybody wins! Right? Wrong.

As with any technological development, there will be a sub-set of humans too dim-witted to know how to proplerly use it. And you best believe that Los Angeles will be the vanguard of such obliviousness (see the Cell phone, the blackberry, the side kick,). Now as the majority of Angelenos aren't in school and practically no one rides the subway, there are few places to use their new toys. Enter the gym.

Practically everyone in this town rocks an Ipod while at the gym, a fact that one might think would be ideal for me, I'd get to work out in peace and generally engage in my ritual of listening to old Wu-Tang, Bone Thugs and Mobb Deep songs while trying not to think of how "un hip-hop" I am for being a 24-year old white Jewish male doing the bench press at the Hollywood's Gold's Gym. (but seriously, am I really supposed to listen to Sufjan Stevens while doing bicep curls?)

At any rate, this would be all fine and dandy if not for the fact that all of a sudden people think it's okay to start dancing in the middle of their workout. These people, primarily women, seem to forget that they're in a gym with 300 other people who aren't listening to fucking Madonna on their Ipods and don't necessarily want to see some vaguely attractive women in her 30's doing all sorts of crazy dance moves, twists, Saturday Night Fever-esque points, everything, ever--let alone while trying to get to the front of the line for water. And I'm not exaggerating; every time I go to the gym these days I see at least one or two of these wack jobs confusing space in front of the leg press machine with the dance floor at a Brooklyn discotheque circa 1977.

What kind of an ego does it take to think that it's perfectly alright to start dancing to a song that only you can hear while at the gym. Is it too much to ask that for 60 minutes you can stymie your insatiable and feverish urge to dance? Seriously, if people want to dance go to fucking Mood. If you want to work out go to the gym and don't talk to me, because the last thing I want to do is make any "gym friends." (that's a different type of a freak for a different post).

Now there are some shared characteristics of the gym dancers. As mentioned previously, they are almost always female and they are usually in their late 20s or early 1930s, as anyone younger than that would likely be rightfully too insecure to start trying to bust out the cabbage patch to "Like a Virgin," rocking spandex at 11:17 a.m. on a Tuesday. And if they're older than 35, they're generally a bit too cognizant of their age to think that they can get away with such insipid behavior. In general, the type of women who do this are vaguely attractive, the type of woman that you'd tell your friends was "kinda' hot and totally feeling you"after four beers. They are almost never beautiful woman because for the most part beautiful women are so inundated with cheesy come-ons from men that the last thing they want to do is get hit on any more at the gym. No, the women that do this are DEFINITELY seeking attention from you. They want you to watch, they want you to lust after them, they want you to approach and offer to buy them an expensive dinner, to which they will accept and order only a baked potato having mysteriously decided that they aren't hungry at the exact time of the reservation.

I learned my lesson about these women early on. There was a girl that used to work out at the Venice Gold's Gym and every day after work, I'd go in there and see her. She was almost gorgeous, (definitely the best looking gym dancer I've ever seen) with short pixie hair and a ridiculously good body that she'd show off in skin-tight gym clothes that ALWAYS somehow managed to show her flat stomach. My best friend and I nicknamed her "the French girl," because of her short hair and almost European looks and the fact that she danced non-stop for an hour and a half at the gym. Every time that she switched weight machines she'd do some sort of new crazy dance that we figured only a European woman would do in a public. (this was in the early days of the Ipod mind you).

Then one day, we talked to a trainer we knew at the gym. Apparently, "the French Girl," lived in a two million dollar Coldwater Canyon mansion with her real estate developer husband. She drove a Range Rover and she had grown up in Brentwood. Needless to say, our dreams had been shattered, leaving us with the cold hard reality of the true nature of the gym dancer. Nothing would ever be the same again.

In short, if you want to dance at a gym take a fucking dance class, I'm sure they have one going every ten minutes, or perhaps go a real dance studio where you can join the tribe of hip-hop dance ho's, either way, the only dancing I want to see in a gym is that scene from "Teen Wolf" where Michael J. Fox comes to the dance and everyone starts doing a wolf dance to the song "Big Bad Wolf." Now that behavior is definitely acceptable in my book.


At 7:26 PM, Blogger Ian said...

You know, I've been in all sorts of gyms in my time, from the Gold's Gym-type to the srat-girl havens on college campuses to the actual weightlifter gyms on college campuses where they're so ghetto that you almost expect to see milkjugs filled with coins instead of plates. And I have never, ever seen people dancing. Okay, maybe the gym employees do a little Bankhead bounce when "Kryptonite (I'm On It)" comes on, but that's about it.

At 7:41 PM, Blogger Nate said...

You mean you can't pump iron to Sufjan Stevens? What's the Matter with you?

At 8:26 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

I was recently gym-dancing at the palazzo when a rival trainer challenged me to a gym dance-off. It was a little strange at first, but then we started to recieve tons of hot muscle-man attention (we are usually ignored) and i was like "hell yeah!" I highly recommend the gym dance-off to anyone who wants to get noticed and is tired of all the BS on JDATE.

At 9:10 PM, Blogger Passion of the Weiss said...

All I have to say Ian is wait till you to the freak show in this's like all the excess psychotic runoff in the nation trickles down to LA.. where else could something as dumb as Scientology taken off (I'm assuming you read that article in the Ginger Baker RS but if you didn't it's unbelievable)

and Nate you know better I dan only pump iron to the Decemberists....Eli the Barrow Boy gets me swoll

hmm...gym dancing...the palazzo...sounds like a sitcom just waiting to happen, and please never desecrate the fine name of JDate on this blog has definitely answered the question of who would jesus date (the answer being bottom heavy jewish girls)

At 9:56 PM, Anonymous Nano-less Matt A. said...

A very shrewd account on all fronts, very perceptive indeed Mr. Weiss. Save for one flaw (pause for dramatic effect): The baked potato.
While all these exceedingly worthless girls will indeed be swayed by the promise of an expensive dinner, they will avoid anything with starchy carbs(or else how r they gonna lure men with the oft demonstrated never appreciated aforementioned dancing ad absurdum?). Even to boisterous proclamations insisting Atkins is at once passe, South Beach dead, their selections teeter on the bounds of prudence- salads or anything resembling sushi.

At 1:02 AM, Blogger Nate said...

Personally I listen to Matisyahu to get me pumped up when I am working out. I mean he is one of the five greatest rappers of all time. Along with Die-lan, Die-lan, Die-lan, and Die-lan. My ass!

At 5:26 PM, Blogger Passion of the Weiss said...

But Matt, you are forgetting is a steak house, most of which do not serve entree salads just that huge iceberg wedge of no lettuce, therefore a girl wanting to eat something (because they definitely do) will order the baked potato in contrast to her other side choices (ie mashed potatos, creamed corn, creamed spinach) only a baked potato can pass for a reasonable meal...I thought about writing a salad tho...any other non steakhouse establishment you best believe it would be a cobb salad no dressing please.

At 1:17 PM, Anonymous nano-less matt a said...

point taken. Point taken indeed.

At 5:17 PM, Blogger Joey said...

I can't front, though. On that treadmill, if "Uzi" comes on, and I'm in a good rhythm, I'm the dude enthusiastically dropping science.

"...super bad, who am I, Dolemite classic..."


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