This is going to be short, he said. And she nodded, knowingly.
“Worked” from home today. Had lunch at the UTC. “Miami Grille,” it was, and a lovely Churrasco Chopp. Latin music, and that. Grilled, marinated steak, saffron rice, black beans, romaine lettuce, tomatoes topped with chimichurri sauce. Fried plantains for garnish. I forwent the green onions. I’d do it again tomorrow.
Macy’s was having a lovely sale on men’s stuff. Things up to 65% off!
Horrible things. Things that make you ask yourself, what in God’s name was the designer thinking? Splashy logos screaming of wretched excess. Hideous colors. Dangling gewgaws.
I bought some anyway, and don’t feel the least bit ghey blogging about it.
It’s for the gardening, like.
Speaking of ghey, ‘a was a woman by the Apple store asking passersby whether they supported ghey rights. Aye, says I, after a moment. I do. Because gheys are human, and I support human rights.
Sixty seconds of your time, she begged, looking at me quizically. The hint of a frown.
I thought it might take less, in the event. I was right.
I’d like you to sign this thingamabob, said herself. It carrying an ACLU logo at the top.
I won’t, I replied.
You won’t, she asked. Why not?
Because I don’t support the ACLU, I replied. For trying to extend the protections of the US Constitution to those who would seek to destroy it.
Right waspish she got at that moment.
This isn’t about that, said she. It’s about marriage, and such. As a fundamental human right.
Do you have a fundamental human right to drive a car, I asked.
What’s that got to do with anything, she replied.
Well, do you?
I’ve got my license, said she, querulously.
Ah, so the state can regulate your driving privileges?
Um, yes. I suppose. If they have a reason!
What inalienable right – as opposed to a conceded privilege – do you own that the state can justly choose to grant, or not grant, a license to?
I don’t know what you’re talking about!
You must have a license to marry in the state of California. You must ask permission. Is that a right, or is it conditional upon the state’s approval? That approval contingent upon the laws approved by the voters and their delegates.
We’re done here, she said.
And it was true. We were.
So, I’ve started back into the CrossFit thing again, after a bit of a layoff. Down to an actual “box” in town. And have been feeling cruelly brutalized ever since. Something there is that refuses to be last, in a group workout. Some lingering ember of competitiveness.
Not that I’m going to beat the 20-ish hero at chest-high pull-ups or 155 pound thrusters. But that I’ll work as hard as he is, given the constraints of age, and keeping all proportions constant. I’m fairly blown out by the end of it. Sore like you read about in books. In a good way.
I’ve got a lingering bit of damage to my left ankle from an old motorcycle injury. A vicious sprain that has never quite healed. The coaches zero in on it during squat drills, for when I sink past a certain point, I run out of left heel on the ground.
We’ll fix that, they say. Give us six months.
Good luck, says I. It’s been near 16 years, and what cannot be cured must be endured.
I was due to go back to the gym again today, but time ran on mucking around in the back end of the new WordPress install. Things not all being exactly as they ought to be in a more nearly perfect world.
At short while ago the Hobbit appeared at the door, announcing that the hour of 5 had arrived, and this being a Friday, herself was carrying a vodka martini, up and dry, with a twist.
I’m going for a workout, I protested.
Are you, she asked.
No, I replied. No I’m not.
Did I marry up, or what?
Have a great weekend!