Weightlifting Alter Egos

My friend Matt from Utah, aka Utah Matt aka Matt the Mormon aka Big Love, recently commented on my Sex Ed Nazi Style entry about some wonderful but stange goings-on at his elementary school. Hearing from him reminded me of the strange phenomenon of weightlifting alter egos because of a story he told me years ago.

Recently when I joined the Eighty Four Fitness gym, the 84 Lumber employees who frequented the gym on their lunch hour were always talking about Mongo, using it both as a noun and a verb. "Mongo's going to go crazy when I tell him how much I lifted." "Did you Mongo today?" And so on.

Finally, I asked one of the guys, "What or who is Mongo?" He told me that one of his co-workers had a "weightlifting name" for himself. He called himself Mongo. I didn't find out if he referred to himself while at the gym in the third person as Mongo, or if Mongo was something that lived inside him and told him to lift weights, or any other details really. Evidently Mongo developed an Excel spreadsheet where you entered how much you wanted to bench press, and it calculated a series of "reps" for you to do. The first rep was like 50% of the top weight, the second 75%, and so on. Doing this series of reps became the verb "to Mongo." I have since started talking to my penis in the locker room and calling it Mongo. "Ready to shower, Mongo?" "That's all the lather you're getting today, Mongo!" And so forth.

When I heard about Mongo, I couldn't help but recall an experience Matt had. He went to the gym with a friend of his (or was it a coworker?). If I've got the details right (and if I don't -- this is the way I like to remember it), when Matt starting lifting, his friend -- we'll call him Delaney -- started loudly urging Matt on. "Get it, Matt! Pump it! You got it, man! Keep it going!" Surprised, Matt had a hard time keeping a straight face. When it was Delaney's turn, he urged himself on looking in the mirror...but with a twist. Instead of calling himself Delaney, he called himself Bear. "Come on, Bear! Let's go! One more, Bear! You can do it!" Evidently Bear was his weightlifting alter ego. I've been wondering how many weightlifting alter egos there are out there, but I suspect it's not the kind of thing you freely admit to.

I've been trying to think what mine should be. I think it has to either be an animal, something very big, or a mental disorder. Maybe I'll be Clydesdale or Butt Steak or Freakazoid or Rhino. Suggestions welcome.

Do you see what happens, Larry?

Our excursion to Lebowski Fest was a success. Benji, Greg, and I drank many White Russians, Miller High Lifes, some Wild Turkey, Bloody Marys, a few black and tans, and some Kahlua brand chocolate milk advertised as White Russinas. Yes, we stumbled upon a magical recipe and drank the exact right proportion of each one. The result was drunkenness.


At left, I am posing serruptitiously with James G. Hoosier who played Liam, Jesus's partner, in the movie. He was the featured celebrity guest of the weekend. He seemed quite willing to throw his arm around a stranger to have his picture taken, but I thought this would be less intrusive and more funny.

I would be remiss if I did not mention that Greg overshot the mark, shall we say, on Friday night and got so drunk that we thought it best that we leave before we were thrown out. In a nutshell, acute intoxication and bowling bowls do not mix well.

The next day, "we" resolved to pace "ourselves" a little better (below right). There were many bands, they showed the movie on Friday night around midnight, many people dressed in costume on Saturday, many more dressed in t-shirts with lines from the movie, and, most importantly, there was much alcohol and bowling.

There was also a booth where you paid to have the Derby City Roller Girls spank you with a studded paddle (below left). Another booth had a marmot toss, and yet another booth had draft beer and a policewoman checking IDs.



After the outside milling around, drinking draft beer, and looking at costumes, we made our way to the bowling alley in anticipation of the bowling. The line was quite long, but we had draft beers and nearby portajohns to while away the time. In the distance of the picture of the line, you can see one of the many Walter Sobchaks that attended. I smuggled in a pint of vodka to spike our White Russians. I wish I had smuggled in more.

Once inside we grabbed a lane and started inviting others to join (each lane was supposed to get 12 people for each game). And we bowled, drank, met some young bucks from Chicago and several locals.




More bowling, drinking, meeting people in some pretty elaborate Lebowski costumes (left), and a midnight cab ride through the McDonald's drive thru, that haunted me for many hours.

And to close, I can't help but retell for about the fifth time the story of the ride home. I'll just give you the dialog...

Benji (to Paul the cab driver): I bet you've seen some pretty crazy stuff in this cab.
Paul: If you can imagine it, it's happened in this cab.
One of us (maybe me): Has anyone had sex in the backseat?
Paul: No.
Lou: Any drug use in the cab?
Paul: No. If I let that go on, I'd lose my job real fast.
Lou: How about two girls making out?
Paul: No.
[...long pause...]
Lou: How about a person in a costume?
Paul: Yes. That's happened.

The Hayseed of Our Relationship

Last night, Krista said to me that sometimes she "feels like the hayseed of our relationship," but other times she's quite certain it's me. This came up as I watched "Back to the Future." Krista came in at the end when everybody was at the "Enchantment Under the Sea" dance, and I hushed her as I was hanging on every word for some reason.

She asked me if we had dances at our school and did they have names like that. I said that I went to the Sadie Hawkins dance when I was a junior.

"Ooo. Did somebody ask YOU to the dance?" she chided, assuming I was too chicken to ask somebody else, which I was.

"No," I explained. "I just got drunk and went with a group of guys. And we all kept tackling each other in the hay."

This earned me the Hayseed of Our Relationship title for the evening.

The night of the Sadie Hawkins dance was actually pretty standard in some ways. I was with Greir, Nick Kuprowicz, and either Justin "Jud" Salvati or Jim Koppen. We had something like a case of Budweiser, and I probably had four beers while we were driving around before we got to the dance. Enough at the time to really cloud my memory.

The dance part of the story was enough to win me the award, but the rest of the evening had more than a tinge of hillbillyness to it. After the dance we drove out Middle Run Road or some such place and ended up driving through a field on a hill above Nessley Chapel. (Stories about drinking in fields and on railroad tracks and other similar locales has won me the Hayseed award several times in the past.)

What's doubly hayseedish about this was the field turned out to already be occupied by Russell Cameron (recently mentioned for giggling at 1947 drawings of limp dicks in a comment by Dave; also famous for the "Cameron claw"). Russell was parked in his Blazer with a six-pack or something and his girlfriend/wife-to-be/ex-wife-to-be. I remember the windows were quite fogged, and there was some pounding on the windows followed by some hollerin' of cuss words and such. All in good fun. But it's kind of funny to think that more than one party ended up in that random field at the same time. I wonder how many other hayfields in the county were occupied by carloads of hayseed Bud drinkers that night.

After our encounter with Russell we continued on our driving around-drinking beer-Hancock County good time.

New Life Live: Titilating Religious Education

I started listening to religious radio about three or four years ago. I hoped to understand more about what these people were thinking after a conversation I had where I worked at the time. One woman told me that gay marriage portended the decline of our "civilization." I asked how that would unfold, and she said that the floodgates would open and there would be multiple people entering the same marriage. I continued to ask what would come after that. When would it get to the point where it affected me, and when would society collapse? She ran out of answers, so I turned to WORD FM out of Pittsburgh.

That's when I stumbled onto New Life Live (host Stephen Arterburn pictured at left). Most of the radio programs I had listened to up to that point had been recordings of sermons that were nearly unbearable: "And then Saul asked, 'But what can I do, Lawd...[long, long pause]...I am but only one individual man...[long pause]...' Aren't we all asking Saul's question?...[long pause]...Aren't we?" The repetition, pauses, and superficial rhetoric reminded me why I hated church so, so much.

New Life Live was immediately different. It was a call-in show where two or three experts listened to people's problems. The first one I heard was something like: "...Now when my mother watches the kids, I see her doing some of the same abusive things that she did to me when I was young. And I don't want my kids to have to go through that."

I expected the experts to tell her to forgive her mother and to try to get along. Instead they explained how she should set firm boundaries and forbid the mother from seeing the kids if she doesn't respect the boundaries. They were like Dr. Phil without slogans, catch phrases, and unrealistic advice. And I like a lot their advice, but we occasionally disagree when they start readin' out of the Good Book.

But it's the callers' problems that make the show. Some typical highlights...A woman: "I can't stop masturbating. I do it every time I'm alone." A man: "My wife is living with another man, and I want to win her back." A man: "I'm addicted to pornography, and I no longer enjoy sex with my girlfriend." A woman: "My husband is addicted to pornography, and he demands sex all the time." A man: "I'm a trucker and I'm addicted to pornography and I can't stop undressing women with my eyes." A woman: "My husband was playing with himself while we watched TV last night and I'm afraid he's becoming a sex addict again."

Every show usually has one caller who wants to know if God would permit him/her to get a divorce, one caller who can't get over an ex, one caller whose child is living in sin, and three callers addicted to pornography. Occasionally someone will have a laundry list of complaints about their church and/or pastor or wants to get Jesus into their spouse's life or something equally boring. But you almost always get a sex addict who loves Jesus thrown in the mix. I strongly recommend you give it a listen. Now on satellite radio, too!

Sex Ed, Nazi Style

Our elementary school principal was David R. Stevens, who modeled himself after the commandante of a Nazi prisoner of war camp. His turn-ons were discipline, silence, obedience, and motionless. He enjoyed watching the children on the playground at play from his second-story office, and he would bellow "FREEZE" over the PA system. Whatever poor bastard misbehaved was commanded to report to his office for re-education. And there was using some collateral damage to anyone who failed to stop moving in time.

He also liked to interrupt a class to have a brief conversation with the teacher. When he entered we had to sit up straight, fold our hands on our desk, and look attentive. Herr Stevens would occasionally impart some wisdom like: "You spell sheriff with one R and two Fs because the sheriff gives you the old one-two [punching the air]." I later learned that teachers typically hated these intrusions because they found them to be disruptive and demeaning.

But I remember one special day when the sixth-grade boys were herded into one classroom and the sixth-grade girls into another for Sex Education. And, of course, our sex ed instructor was der commandante. As I recall, the lights were dimmed and he put on a slide show of line drawings of the male pee-pee and affiliated parts. Stevens sternly ordered a few unlucky young boys to go up to the screen and point to certain parts: "Bob, please point to the testes! Quit snickering everybody! We should all be more mature than that." Bob is standing with arm extended and a sort of dead look on his face. "Thank you, Bob."

But the best part was when he explained the mechanics of an erection. "And I think you're all old enough to hear this now. An erection occurs when the penis is engorged with blood." It always seemed like explanations used the word "engorged." Herr Stevens continued, "Now when do males most commonly get an erection?"

I think that Jeremy Blackwell had waited for this moment for a long time. He was much taller, probably well into puberty, and delighted in pushing the limits of how ridiculous his answers could be without getting in trouble. An hour of immunity! Now that we were actually talking about sex, he could boldly answer these questions without getting in any trouble at all. He offered several answers to the boner question, and Stevens kept saying, "Ok. When else?"

Jeremy: "When you see a pretty girl?"
Herr Stevens: "Yes, when else?"
Jeremy: "When you kiss a pretty girl?"
Herr Stevens: "OK. Other answers?"
Jeremy: "When a pretty girl touches you?"
Herr Stevens: "Anyone else?"

Finally, Jeremy said, in a halting, stacato fashion, words I'll never forget: "When you want sex...Real...Bad."

Frustrated, the commandante finally said something about morning wood and your pants being too tight, or something like that. In the end, this "sex education" really contained no sex or any information about the female body and very little that we didn't already know. Maybe they meant gender education.

The "Rick"

First, this is not about Rick Davis.

It's about Magnum P.I. I listen to a podcast about Battlestar Galatica. It's actually worse than you think. It's a podcast done by fans of the show, and now that we, yes we, are in the offseason, they are discussing the old shows one by one. Incidentally, these fans are in Dallas and planning a BSG meetup in Dallas, which is one of the few things I can think of that would make Texas habitable.

So I don't get flooded with emails asking for more details of the podcast...
http://www.galacticawatercooler.com/

They have been referring to a common scriptwriting device that has been dubbed the "Rick" after the Magnum P.I. character. They claim that every time the plot got too complicated they would end up at Rick's bar and mention the case. Then Rick would ask a series of dumb questions forcing them to recount everything that had happened in the episode up to that point.

I loved Magnum, and I don't remember anything like this happening. Perhaps I wasn't sophisticated enough. But if they said, "You know those characters that only show up when the main character needs to go somewhere in a helicopter?" I would shout, "You mean a T.C.?"

PS - For all my fans, I promise to have more schoolboy genitalia in the upcoming blogs.

PT

I began physical therapy on Friday for a pinched nerve. It all happened about four years ago in a small town in Mexico where I walked my ass off after having spent the previous two years sitting on my ass.

Scott, my physical therapist, was feeling the bones at the top of my ass with his thumbs and explained that had I come in four years ago we would be able to locate the problem because I would feel a sharp pain when he hit the right spot.

But since I had an MRI a couple of months ago, he's just going to get that off the neurologist I went to. The neurologist, by the way, stuck needles in my foot and at the top of my leg and sent electric shocks between them. When she did it the first time my leg jerked like a bastard and I sat up and in an urgent tone said: "Jee-zus!"

Scott gave me four exercises that I should do twice a day, some of which you can actually do with a human body. For one of the exercises, I am to lay down and then pull my left hip toward my left shoulder without moving any other body parts.

For the other one, I am do a Kegel exercise, something that women do for bladder control and parlor tricks. I have to contract the muscles I would use to keep from pissing myself. Which reminds me of the time I got caught urinating behind the t-shirt shack at Star Lake. The pelvic floor muscles were not up to the challenge despite being told repeatedly to "Zip It Up!" While I am doing the Kegel, Scott's assistant told me to pull my belly button toward my spine while still breathing. She explained that this was to exercise the muscle that keeps my organs in.

Cline Syndicate Toppled

I found this story in my newspaper clippings. I thought it might interest Paul...


Newell, WV (AP) -- A new alliance has tipped the balance of power among the five families of Newell. For decades the Cline syndicate has controlled most of the illicit activities in this riverside town.

Recent years have witnessed the waning of their power. Five years ago, several Cline associates were sentenced to ten years in a federal prison for masterminding a Newell Bridge ticket counterfeiting operation. The family's main source of revenue is now the "shirt tax"--a form of extortion levied against all "fancy dudes" who wear shirts in public in the boro.

FBI sources allege that the mysterious new alliance formed during a meeting among high-level family members at the Man-O-War restaurant. Before the details of the merger could be finalized, the restaurant hostess informed the alleged racketeers of the $5 minimum per seat, and the meeting was relocated to the bleachers.

The new alliance ultimately defeated the Cline family in a "cuss off" that, according to witnesses, lasted more than twenty minutes. Several bystanders were offended by the loud exchange of foul language. Davey McGirts, a merchant marine who was home on leave, said, "I've never heard language like that. I eventually got embarassed and went back to the American Legion."

The standoff ended when the Cline associates retreated to a safe house in an undisclosed location on Middle Run Road. Experts are at a loss to predict how this new development will affect the Newell underworld.

Chasing Cholla

I've spent a little time this morning trying to figure out what John Quade is doing these days. It's led me to some odd discoveries. For younger readers, Quade played Cholla, leader of the Black Widows in the Clint Eastwood film, "Every Which Way But Loose." Cholla was short, stout, and hairy, with a black widow tatooed on his gut. EWWBL scholar Mike Brown has recently analyzed Quade's Shakespearean influences at Crappin' All Over the Place the website.

According some websites, Quade became a member of a Christian group with some strong convictions about something called Christian Reconstructionism. More importantly, though, he was a close associate of a very powerful man: C. Everett Koop, M.D. Koop called upon Quade in 1981 to spend the day making calls to various people around the country to help stop something called a Discharge Petition, which seems to have had something to do with abortion. Quade is described as being a "Hollywood actor and a member of the New Right."

Then at a myspace website, there is an audio file of John Quade making a speech at the 1995 Preparedness Expo about how nobody has rights because Congress can take them away. There's some kind of techno music playing over his voice. It's strange to say the least. He's described as "Hollywood actor, aerospace engineer, Christian biker and legal scholar, John Quade aka John William Saunders." I did not listen to the entire hour, but he seems to be saying that all governments are illegitimate and only law should be Christian law, which is why he does not have a social security card or a driver's license. We are all "resident alien subject slaves" if we form these contracts with the government, and how the government actually owns all property and all we have are government "titles" to things like our cars. There is also some occasional mention of Bill Clinton and his queen. Evidently the Preparedness Expos are events for survivalists, militias, and far-right extremists who believe such things as all money is counterfeit and unconstitutional, Jewish cabals rule the world, and so forth.

And, as we all suspected was the case, John Quade has a VHS videotape for that you can receive for a $10 donation where he discusses the role of pastors in the American Revolution.

Which all raises the question, if we interviewed John Quade would he want to talk about Every Which Way But Loose?