Spinning

I'm off to another wedding tomorrow. Pittsburgh here I come. But before I get on that plane I needed to tell you about my maiden spinning voyage last Sunday. Yeah, I went spinning. Like stationary bike riding spinning. In the Hamptons. On a Sunday morning. Bayg.

I wasn't at all hesitant to go but I did wonder how serious a workout I could get in an hour of pedaling...and 4 days later I'm still feeling the answer. First of all, let me just say that the crowd was, I don't know, kind of MILFy. Everyone was good looking and seemed to know one another. Supermom Kelly Ripa was in the class before me, but I missed seeing her because, surprise, I was peeing. Do I have "going problem or a growing problem"? I don't know anymore. First it's Kelly Ripa, then I'll be kayaking with my buddies and I'll have to pull over on the side of the bank to pee. But likely I'd just pee right there in the kayak, you know, because I'm in the water anyway.

But Kelly Ripa or not, I walked into the barn and took my place on my bike. First impression: why is the seat made of barbed wire and bamboo. Like seriously. On a scale from 1 to 10 with 1 being Frette sheets on a pillow top mattress and 10 being this

I think the bike seats were about a 12 or 13. What I quickly learned was a lot of spinning is about controlling your abs and your torso, and apparently not slamming your nether-regions down on the seat every time you go from position 1 to position 2. I learned the hard way. I really still don't feel it so much in my tush, but moreso in my small intestine and ego. Bruises are deep my friends, bruise are deep. I can see how these lithe, skinny little things seemed to be so at ease on the bikes. It was because how hard is it to simulate a climb when you have no body mass to hold up as you climb. Skinny bitches and their damn skinny lattes and skinny jeans.

So that was really the only negative, the lasting scars and possible infertility, but you know, sometimes you gotta sacrifice for a good sweat. I thought the music was great. A lot of it was keeping the beat and if you have any sense of rhythm you can really find a groove. It was kind of like dancing and all the songs were all the club songs I would want to hear if I was out. But there are instructions to, barked out by the instructor who urged the masses, "to make this day the first day of changing your life" and "channel your energy to make a change" and other stuff she learned in The Dalai Lama Comes to New York 101. Was it inspirational? Eh, I don't know. I think I'm a sucker for some of that stuff sometimes. You can't "win" at spinning, but by God I was trying to "win" so I was kind of buying what she was selling. And as a result I was sweating, like a pig, in the kitchen of The Breslin Bar.

Profuse sweating is not what I would call a recessive gene in my family. I was dripping so much that I thought that after the workout instead of wiping down my bike they'd find me in the crowd and tell me that the sweat damage was irreparable and I'd simply have to buy the damn thing. It was like there was a faucet coming out of my chin, and part of it was me, and part of it was because they had 100 people elbow to elbow, forehead to ass, in a barn built for Barbaro and only Barbaro. I hope they hose that place down like they do at the end of the night at Rick's in Ann Arbor.

So how was the workout itself you ask. Well, there certainly was enough eye candy to keep me focused, and the back row is certainly the catbird as far as I'm concerned. The workout was great though. At one point towards the end I felt a little vomititious. It reminded me of basketball camp back in the day. The first drills were always after breakfast, so after you'd loaded up on pancakes and chemically enhanced OJ they took you out on the court and had you do plyometric drills for hours. You didn't even touch a ball in the first few hours. You basically would go on doing kangaroo jumps until the fat kid at the end threw up breakfast and then they'd stop the drills and say, "see, you think you can just come here out of shape? You think this is some kind of joke?" etc etc as they set the tone for the week. It was basically just go go go until vomiting occurred and you just prayed to God it wouldn't be you. Well, with five minutes left in the workout, with my triceps on...

Fi-yah?

Yeah, with my triceps on Fi-yah and my quads barking at me, I thought to myself, what are the chances I'd be the first one to throw up in here? Of course I didn't, but the moral of the story was that I was S.P.E.N.T. Gracias to Bret and Amanda for showing me the light. Spinning really did hurt so good. I can totally see how people get really addicted to it, and how it can tone the shit out of your body if you do it enough and do it correctly.

I will return to icing my rear end though. I need to be able to Harlem Shake my face off this weekend. Enjoy.

Some of this. Some of that. Some of Toohey's New.

In my opinion, this blog is better when I'm crankier, grumpier, and slightly surly. So I've been waiting for those moments in the past weeks in order to turn those feelings into a post…but they never came. Wait, am I complaining that I have nothing to complain about? Yeah, that pretty much sounds right. And since my hours at work have been great, and I've been seeing friends, hanging out, working out, eating well, and learning how to tie a bowtie properly I'm just going to write about all the good stuff and just hope that it's all palatable and not overwhelmingly saccharine.

As for my bowtie, I learned how to tie it in preparation of becoming, for the first time in my life, a groomsman. A quick story before I move onto the incredibly fun and lovely wedding of Kim and Old Greg…the first time I had to do a bowtie by myself in a pressure situation was 2005. I had put on all my tux gear and all I had left was the bowtie. In the approximately 30 minutes it took me to get it right I had sweat through my shirt so hard that it looked like I'd gone to another wedding prior to one I was about to go to. My shoulders burned from holding my arms up for 30 minutes straight and I had fogged up the bathroom mirror and could barely see what I was doing. James Bond be damned if I was going to let that happen again. It didn’t. I've only been to a handful of weddings, and only have been married once myself (it was in Laos, there wasn't much English, I wasn't sure what was happening, my dowry was four goats and a tin drum of rice wine, whatever, it happens sometimes), but I think the following is universal when determining how to make a wedding great: 1) Good band, 2) Good music, 3) Bar next to the dancefloor. It's the triumvirate of awesomeness, and you'd think it wouldn't be that difficult to pull off, but it's not a given, and it this wedding, they nailed it. The wedding was in Columbus, OH and both bride and groom were from the midwest which means one thing…everyone is so damn nice. Like not "cordial" nice, but like "hey, for real, for real, we really like you and we are genuinely happy to share this occasion with you, friend". Let's all raise our glasses and toast true midwestern values. They exist. Anyway, it was great to have a lot of my good friends in one place for an entire weekend. It was by far the classiest we've acted as a group, I think ever. I think part of it was that we had dates and toned it down (slightly) and part of it we were dressed nicely an nobody really wants to clean jagermeister off a white tux shirt. Of course our classiness ended in about 2 hours when we sequestered the videographer and made him film a pretend beer commercial that we made up. Wow, how I miss College Part II. Toohey's New! And again, congrats to the bride and groom who are somewhere in the Pacific living out ABC's Lost for real.

The Old Stag. Toohey's New.

During my trips to the Caribbean it was almost never a question what I was going to eat for dinner…"fish and sauce, and fish and rice and sauce". Last night I took one step closer towards my next Caribbean voyage, a wedding in Turks and Caicos in November. I am in that wedding as well and the groomsmen went to try on the suits we will be wearing for the wedding. On the way to the store I noticed a large number of girls, fashionably dressed (read: most in black tights with long-ish plaid shirt dresses giving off that "I'm not trying-but I am-but I'm not-but I kinda am" look) scurrying around 5th Avenue in the 20s. It seemed like an awfully high concentration for the area, and then I realized the reason after I passed a sample sale. Forget consuming fish and sauce, and fish and rice and sauce, these girls were consuming baygs and baygs, and baygs and baygs and baygs. It was a bag sample sale. It looked like a colony of ants, rifling through leaves (bags), bumping into other ants as they went back and forth sorting, sifting, clawing. It was quite a sight for a Thursday afternoon. I guess walking back from midtown to the 60s with all the other suits and tourists I'm not privy to such NY activities, but I was glad that while millions of gallons of oil pour out from under the Earth, and not several blocks away an entire area was being shut down, these ants kept their eyes on the prize. Nobody has the determination New Yorkers have.

And while I'm talking about New Yorkers and their determination I want to give my pitch for Lebron James to come to NY. You know, because he reads my blog sometimes.

Dear Lebron,

I can't give you much. You can't even stay in my apartment, because you wouldn't fit in my Murphy bed. Sorry. Not even if you slept diagonally. I don't know a ton of girls to introduce you to either, because most either have boyfriends, are engaged, married, or are looking for a Jewish guy. If you are willing to convert though I might be able to help. I can't get you into the clubs. In fact I showed up at Marquee once wearing a full leg cast and was summarily laughed out of line. But what I will tell you is this, in this city you can make ANYTHING happen. Anything. You can sit on a stoop with a fish taco and beer, or you can be the absolute fanciest you can possibly be. This is a city with everything imaginable, tangible, non-tangible, and everything in between. It is the best city in the world and you can be the King of it…and maybe win a couple games too. Come join the party.

Sincerely,

Finger:TheBlog

Ok, I just needed to do my part in the wooing process. Lebron's official announcement is going to be crazy. I'm thinking primetime on every newschannel. I can see it being rivaled by only one event that I can remember in recent memory…The OJ verdict. When OJ was found guilty I couldn't even…wait, what? He wasn't? Are you serious. He was found not guilty? Wow. Are you sure? But he murdered those two people, did he not?

Anyway, my stint in Corporate Treasury will be coming to a close soon. Next stop, the Investment Bank, where people "stop being nice, and start being real". Or was that the Real World? Either way, I fully expect that everything I've been able to do in paragraph one, I'll be doing less of, which means in turn this blog will get better. But until then I'm going soak it up as much as I can, eat sleeves of girl scout cookies in single sittings, and run aimlessly through the streets of this city, preferably with Lebron James. Enjoy the weekend.