Fitness

As America struggles to cope with what seems like what will be a recession that will last for a spell, it is interesting to take a look at how the rest of the world is living. One such place is the Caribbean, never known as a haven for stability and prosperity. Instead, it has served as a petri dish for a cruel experiment. The ingredients include an interesting array of individuals, the vast majority not respected by their brethren. Add neglect and circumspect circumstances, including inadequate resources, easy substance abuse, absurd poverty. Watch the carnage.

I'm not sure what the hypothesis is, but it stands to reason that the objective falls in the sadistic category. Mad science has produced a strong set of people, hopelessly misguided and unable to reach their full potential. Haiti is an example as illustrated by this article about the class disparity in fitness clubs amongst the populace. In the plush neighborhoods, it is Gold's Gym for the well to do. Foreign ambassadors in the name of piety, philanthropy, and profit mingle amidst a couple of the more fortunate natives with electric gleaming machines and specialized protein shakes. Down the road in the more common poor neighborhood, their machines are only electric in history. Spare parts like car batteries serve as weights. At the all-star rate of only $8 a month.

And still most of the people in the neighborhood can't afford it.

Could you honestly survive like that? Even if they had the loot to have electric machines, it wouldn't make sense since the power goes out a regular basis. Now how long would I last sans electricity. Don't even want to think about it.

When power is fought over instead of talked about, agreed upon. Ugggh. But it happens. All over. Haiti. Next door in Quisqueya. West in Jamaica. South in Venezuela, Colombia. Oh yeah and isn't some of that profit money from (RED) clothes going to help slow the spread of AIDS in Africa, an ill product from the stew created for the experiment.

It's sad any way you look at it. And realizing that you actually have the option to easily save cash and use public transportation or turn on your television whenever you want.

Truly sad.
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On The Jukebox: Amel Larrieux - Believe In Love

This Sucks

The title encapsulates it all.

I arrived at the older boys' program only to have it confirmed that I was just a regular staff and really wasn't doing anything too special. Then I found out that the meeting I was set to have with their program director wouldn't happen cause he called out for tomorrow.

For most of the day that was fine though, since we only had three boys. I figured I could save my dread for the next day, when I would return, but only with a full house and more chances for firecrackers. I got to watch football uninterrupted and read New York Times articles I printed. There was a point I was in the house alone just watching football.

Lo and behold, at dinner time, I actually start to do my job. And a mild mannered Muslim, who happens to be Caucasian and loves Magic cards and collecting currency, started flipping out cause he couldn't get an extra piece of chicken. He actually called me "boy" and then as he flipped out more, clubbed me in the right cheek. Then when I tried to hold him, he grabbed my shirt and told he wasn't letting go cause I was touching him and yelling. Of course I had stopped speaking and had my hands up which should be indicative of this kid's mental illness. He finally let go and I closed the door on him in the solution room. Of course he wished for my death and threatened to press charges, over what, I don't know. Luckily he was a blubbering mess when he came out.

But my face still stung. And my elbow was even worse since I banged it on a wall in the ensuing struggle. And I can't even type this now without grimacing. To add salt to my wounds, the Mets completed one of the worst chokes in all of sports history today by not even making the playoffs after leading their division since May. They blew a 7 game lead in little over two weeks.

And I have to go back to those guys tomorrow. And I'm not going to a Mets playoff game this week. Common better have the sickest show this Friday and please believe there will be a plethora of libations imbibed.

Update - Monday, October 1st, 2007, 11:26 a.m.

The mirror told me my right cheek was swollen. I hate the mirror.

Time Capsule

I am on my way back from a very fulfilling trip to the city. But the text messages are blowing up and my phone chooses to inform me that the inbox is 95% full. I should mention that the phone I am referring to is one I haven't used since we moved to the house cause for some reason it dosn't work in here. So as I am going through the text messages, it all takes me back to December and previous and a whole host of conversations and emotions that seem so distant but are actually pretty recent.

In three or four months so much has changed. My outlook on life has really done a turnaround. Close to the end of the year, I was beginning to retreat into myself but there were still glimpses of promise. When I turn on my current phone, there's a whole different vibe to the texts. They're more lively, as opposed to the maudlin tone many of the December ones take. It's amazing how drastic a turnaround can occur and how quickly it all goes down too.

Time capsule is just one more feature the cell phone companies can use in marketing efforts. It would get the nostalgia junkies and self-analyzation junkies to switch plans.