This Creative Life

Welcome to the creative work of Alan White, head writer and producer of "FEEDBACK; A HERO'S CALLING," now at Broken Sea. The "Feedback" in question is Matthew Atherton, My Hero. He and other heroes of mine have links found down the left side of these pages. Enjoy!

Wednesday, August 02, 2006

Superheroes, Take Two!

I saw the first episode ala here, and I'm glad I did!! I fell for it hook line and sinker! It was charming and very tenderhearted! Stan Lee throwing them challenges out there, and the heroes dashing through trying to win him over, while we the audience are let into a critical part of the challenge. Then we sit back and watch if the heroes will suceed in the critical part, or will they miss it.

I'm also glad to know that the above link is a week behind the broadcast, and the site already tells us who was eliminated before the episode plays in the viewer--because THAT IS THE ONE AND ONLY REASON I AM NOT WATCHING ALL THE OTHER REALITY CONTESTS. American Idol, Dancing With The Stars, Last Comic Standing...I can NOT take the suspense. Call me what you will, but I don't watch sports for the same reason. I'm not all about the beatdown, the kiss-off, the humiliation, the failures. And while knowing ahead of time prepared me, it was still crushing to watch people's hearts break and their dreams shatter.

Still, the heroes we see on the site have better tailored costumes than they have in the show--including the ones who were eliminated already. How is that? At some time during the marketing of the show, they tailored better duds for the losers and took their pictures? Because if they give them better costumes in the course of the show, then when do they do it actually, because two guys where already eliminated while wearing their homemade duds--and in fact, had to turn them in!

That said, today I went to the gym TWICE. This morning I was up early and I went, and then afterwork, I still had the "I Wanna", so I did. After thinking about it, I'm pretty sure I know why I did it.

This morning, two specific gymrats were there who always get my attention.

One is a guy my height, who strikes me as European--possibly Irish. Once he spoke to me about a piece of equipment, and I thought I definitely heard an accent. He's very pale but his hair is dark. He has a bit of a double chin, but everything else appears very tight. Wide shoulders, sharp pecs, flat stomach even though his waist is not narrow. He never seems to speak to anyone and he always seems to be racing himself through his workout. He also makes strange faces when he works out and while his eyebrows are always at a "Who's There?" or "Why Me?" angle, he never seems able to keep eye contact with anyone. It makes him look shy and private, as though he's socially awkward but determined to make something of himself. He also seems to walk as though his spine is curved. He gets my seal of approval for whatever its worth. I admire his determination and his body--whatever odds he's fighting against (if any) he's beat the crap out of them.

The other is a tanned little guy who's hair is always buzzed close to a his perfect-shaped head, and has pale blue eyes that look luminous in his perpetually dark face. I see him in there ALL THE TIME--I can almost not NOT SEE HIM no matter if I go day, afternoon, or night. He's kind of shifty so he comes across to me as one of those "Yeah boss" mob guys who get whacked early in the movie when the rival gang or police does a drive-by. And he's usually bending someone's ear off. Blabbermouth. The few times I tried to listen, because, hey, I'm nosy, it sounded like he was complaining about something. Many expletives deleted which flags for me a woodenheaded poverty of content. A lot of the muscleheads speak that language. BUT I have to hand to him the one major quality he does possess--he never looks anything but fit. There are other times when I see him actually working out that his muscles show, and they are pretty intense. He's my height, if not shorter, and he's 2/3's my size. But this morning when I went into the locker room to weigh myself, there he was with his shirt off. And a few seconds later, the Maybe-Irish guy came in too. I'd seen the Maybe-Irish once before in his boxers, from the back, and he was still pretty pale, and not a whole lot of definition, but he had a good shape in and out of his clothes.

But the tan one?

It was like, "GHhhOD"! "Tanny" simply has to be a professional bodybuilder. Cut? Muscular?? Incredible??? Umm, yeah. And my heart fell. There he was, looking no bigger than a minute until he takes his shirt off and then he makes the ladies faint. And I can't remember a day in my life when I did not want to look like that--and have that effect. And I also can't remember a day in my life when I ever did look like that OR had that effect. And here I was probably older than both of them. And unfortunately, I DID have my shirt off and I wanted to curl up somewhere and die because I knew the both of them put me to shame.

I have stated this before elsewhere--in the men's locker room at the gym, we check each other out, but we do it on the extreme sly. We have a deadly fear of being interpreted as a 'homo'. And yet, I think more that half of us are drawn by that very thing, whether we want to be 'homos' or not. So we look and get whatever jolly that comes to us, and then we go about our business. For me, dropping the BVDs is the dealbreaker. To me, naked men are incredibly yucky. Loose genitals that are flopping around or those that are puckered and stubby are just gross. The rest of the region there doesn't support the gentials either. Wrinkled, or pudgy, or even tapered, but with that inhumanly carved girdle-muscle? That does nothing for me--THANK GOD. But a good physique in speedos, any pair of briefs really--and there's my hero.

Well, this morning, Tanny was in a pair of chino shorts, so all I saw was his bare torso, and I didn't stay long enough for Maybe-Irish to strip--I just wanted to get out of there because I was such a frog compared to these princes.

And then during the course of my day, I got those pills I told you about in My Latest Will and Testament. And I took the first dose as soon as I got in the car. And I felt like I wanted to go to the gym again. And the feeling stayed with me. And after work I came home, checked email, listened to Wendy Williams, made a character for Living Greyhawk (because my namby-pamby roleplaying group doesn't meet often enough for me, because they have 'lives', and I'm going to try to add another group to my pitiful existence), then I took my second dose of the pills for the day and changed back into my gymmies, then booked down there again. And yup, I saw Tanny AGAIN, with his perfect hidden little bodybuilder body.

But I'm tired of hating myself. This is just ridiculous. I'm not trying to hear anything about genetics. I don't care. I can do this and I'm going to do this--if I need the help of pills then I'm going to take the pills. I can't afford liposuction so I'll have to use the tools I can afford, even if it KILLS me. Because I'd rather be dead than to keep living this life always regretting the buildup of Job-like CRAP. If I can affect this ONE. IMPORTANT. PART OF MY LIFE. then I'm going to DO it.

Major Victory's not going to hog up all the glory.


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