Ronrant #14 - Part II of Ron's Improvement Program
Remember I said that there were two parts to this improvement program? The other was to improve my body by
commuting to work on my bike. I bought my bike a year ago from a friend for $150. It was a good deal, even though
I had to put with the guy's bat-shit crazy wife hounding me for the payment for a whole two weeks (he told me to
take it for a week and try it out and then I told him I'd pay him once I got paid, which was a week later. . .she must
have called about 10 times asking for the money. . .all $150 of it. . .she's also a real treat when she's been drinking
and I've had my share of run-ins with her once she's half in the bag. . .I bet she fucks like a banshee). The plan last
year was to ride the bike everyday to work since I was working about a mile from home. Since the guy I was buying
the bike from was being driven crazy by his fucked up, banshee wife, I didn't get the bike until August. So, the plan
was delayed until this year.
This summer I worked seven miles from home, but that didn't stop me. I was going to ride at least two days a week
to work (I only worked four days a week in the summer). This went well the first week with no major incidents. The
second week, I had the pleasure of getting two flat tires while riding to or from work. This did not stop me. I
continued to ride to work two, sometimes three days a week.
What stopped me, other than the end of the summer, was the fact that I had to share the road with homicidal
maniacs who harbor deep seeded grudges against anyone on two wheels without a motor. Anaheim is one of the
unfriendliest cities in California for cyclists. I was buzzed by trucks, large and small; gardeners on their way to make
Anaheim beautiful; harried commuters who must have been jealous that, despite their horsepower advantage only
managed to get as far as me through downtown Anaheim (yes, it exists, but it sucks); and little old ladies whose
driving days were over sometime in the middle of the Carter Administration. Delivery trucks were the worst. They
would come up to a corner where I waited for the light and force me onto the sidewalk. I spat at them as they
passed. I usually missed. The result of my riding and use of the intermittent fasting diet (it's not a diet, more like a
lack of a diet; don't eat all day then eat what you want within five hours. . .no limits) was a leaner look and better
fitness without all the soreness and burnout. I liked it. Now, I ride on protected trails for no less than 15 miles at a
time; usually between 20 and 30 miles. I guess I've become a member of the cycling subculture because all the
other bikers on the trail give the nod or wave as I pass. I think this just means they think I'm not homeless. The
homeless wave at me, too.
All of this cycling has led to another unfortunate turn of events; I started going back to spin classes. Not regularly,
just during those weeks when outdoor cycling is ill-advised; like when there are wildfires raging all around and any
physical activity will leave you with a mouthful of soot and ash. Besides, the scenery in a spin class ain't all bad.
On the trail you see many women packed into cycling outfits precariously mounted atop a $2,000 carbon-fiber
framed road bike that when it was assembled probably thought, "Woohoo! Can't wait to get out there on the track or
road or whatever and win me some triathlons!!" Poor thing. Instead, some lardass had decided cycling was the
only way to get into "shape" and buying the most expensive bike the retard in the bike shop recommended was the
only way to achieve this illusive "in-shape" goal. Now as I pedal along the trail on my 25 year old stiff framed
mountain bike I bought from a dude with a wife who is so deluded that she actually thinks she could find another
husband if this one sobered up long enough to realize the horrible mistake he made (really, the guy is decent; his
wife, not so much), I am forced to either ride behind their massive behinds until I can pass, or I see them coming and
wonder just how much trail there is for us to share before I'm forced to ditch my bike into the Santa Ana River.
Outdoor riding has its drawbacks.
On the other hand, spin class often features at least a few young women clad in spandex and jogging bras. They
always like to ride in the front of the class so they can duplicate the instructor's movements and cadence down to
the drop of sweat. Meanwhile the lecherous old farts in shorts and T-shirts are in the back gaining motivation and
momentum from the younger members of the class. In other words, the scenery is much better. Especially when
the class is instructed to stand on the bikes and pedal "uphill." The major drawback here is the tendency for spin
classes to be held in a room that is almost pitch dark. In this way, a spin class resembles any singles' bar you may
go to seeking fine female ass. Almost same effect when the lights go on. I try to get out before that moment so as
to avoid positive identification. One last thing; if the instructor is not hot or is male, I won't take the class. I have my
standards.
Back to the reading: As I said before, I read The Family by Ed Sanders. Ed Sanders spent much of the 60's and
70's as a member of the Fugs and on drugs. Lots of drugs. His writing is scattered and peppered with the slang of
the era. He describes the evolution of the Manson Family and their crimes down to the last detail with several side
trips. He repeats details and slips into using nicknames without referring back to the given names. It’s very
confusing. What's not confusing is his chronology of how the family came about and the basis of their philosophies.
Manson was a sociopath before he became a psychopath. He dabbled in Scientology, demonology, Satanism,
LSD, and about 12 different mythologies of his own before deciding that a race war between blacks and whites
would finally put him where he belongs; in charge. The bottom line you will learn in this book is this: Manson was
not so much a killer as he was an out of control narcissist. He wanted to be famous; on top; in control. Just like all
of us. I needed to relax after reading this one.
So, I read Armadillos and Old Lace by Kinky Friedman. Kinky Friedman is one of a kind. I don't know what that
kind is, but it's funny. Kinky is the last of the Jew Cowboys. Kinky ran for governor of Texas. Kinky is an amateur
private investigator. It was in the latter persona that he tackled the mysterious deaths of several little old ladies in
several little towns in the Texas Hill Country. Rest assured, Kinky not only solves the mystery, he smokes about
100 cigars, drinks a lot of whisky and coffee, almost fucks one of the hot counselors at his dad's summer camp, and
cracks wise. It's kind of stream of consciousness at times, but very easy to read and, like I said, funny. I highly
recommend it.
Next, I read The Devil in the White City by Erik Larson. This was probably my favorite book, even if I just finished it
last week (in November). It puts the events surrounding the Chicago's World's Fair of 1893 into vivid detail,
including the smells of the Union Stockyards. The novel also tells the story of a serial killer who may have been
responsible for up to 200 murders during the time of the fair. More interesting to me was the story of Daniel
Burnham and his struggle to get the gigantic buildings of the fair erected (I was lacking in the innuendo department)
before the fair was officially set to open. Many of society's ills (corruption, union strongarming, serial killing) were
born in the fair. So were electric lights, Cracker Jacks, and the Ferris Wheel. It was a fascinating book. My
description cannot do it justice.
The last piece of the Ron Improvement Jigsaw Puzzle (my new name for it) was my resolution to give up on fitness
websites. I finally learned that most fitness websites are nothing more that sales pitches for needless products
cleverly disguised as the latest self-help exercise craze. I spare no one; CrossFit, Testosterone, Performance
Menu, Dragon Door, and all "fitness forums" are to be purged. I finally discovered that I didn't need them. If I
listened to my body, ate sensibly, drank in moderation (two out of three ain't bad) I could stay in shape and maintain
my girlish figure. My exercise routine finally moved away from gym-obsession and into "I'll go when I feel like it." I
finally shunned the "internet gurus" and their hokum. I once bought an e-book for fat loss through exercise for $45.
Know what it said, exercise a shit-load and you'll lose a bunch of fat. Guess what? It was a fucking hoax (thanks,
Alwyn Cosgrove).
Look, here's what they all tell you; eat less, exercise more. Please send me $1,000 dollars and I can certify you in
my latest fitness craze. I call it Common Fucking Sense. Do you sit around all day playing video games (I'm looking
at you Mr. Silver)? Do you spend eight hours of your life at a time staring at a computer screen? Is your idea of
long distance training a walk to the refrigerator? Then I have the answer for you; eat less and lift a weight heavier
than 12 ounces every once in a while. It works. I guarantee it, or your money back. The average guy, or girl,
doesn't need to spend thousands of dollars getting "certified" to know how to lift a dumbbell. You just need to do it
every once in a while and cut the bread out of your diet. Boom. Instant fat loss. You can thank me now.
Another reason I got off the fitness website craze was the whole concept of discussion forums. I should have known
better than to start posting on these sinkholes, but I did. What I have found is that these forums are bereft of humor
and go so far as to ban humor. If things aren't going exactly as the "moderators" want, they shut down the thread or
ban you from posting (interesting aside, I was "banned" from a certain cult's fitness website long after I had stopped
posting there; talk about closing the barn doors after the cows got out. . .sheesh. . .fine by me, that place was run
by a bunch of peevish, petty, potentates and nattering nabobs of negativity). I did learn of the wonders of chocolate
milk and the intermittent fast, but other than that, not much. Somehow, my life has been much more productive
since I gave them up.
So that's how I've become a better person. I read more, do more lawyering, ride my bike, stare at the asses of hot
spinning babes, lift a weight now and then (oh, I also play with kettlebells and a thing called a slosh tube now and
then), and just to try and have more fun (explains the drinking). I ignore the voices of marketing geniuses who call
themselves "coaches" and go my own way. I still find time to call bullshit when I see it and unite with those who see
things my way. There's always time to find someone to hate or ridicule because that makes me feel good about
myself and affirm my feelings of absolute superiority.