Massage and Moroccomole Miscellany
I got a massage this morning. First thing I did, publicly at least.
I woke up still sore and squirmy from helping out a friend of mine on July 4th. She asked if I'd babysit her one-year-old for about an hour, which time turned into about five hours (though not against my wishes). For most of it I toted little miss Molly Lulu around on my hip, singing along softly in her ear to songs on the CD player like "I Am My Own Grandpa" by Willie Nelson, and various novelty hits from the '20s. Molly's mom and dad have great kitchy taste - as does, evidently, Molly.
But while enjoyable, it was an activity for which my muscles were sadly unprepared. There's a reason God gives women nine months to train for this. I don't know how many pounds of warm, soft, funny baby I was toting, but by the end she might as well have been a bag of cannonballs. I waited a day until the pain became mere stiffness, and then it was off to the Hahm Center.
The Hahm Rejuvenation Center here in El Lay is run by Mr. Suk Woon Hahm, Korean blind guy masseur. He oversees a smallish staff of ever-changing Korean women and occasionally men. If he massages you, he pounds you senseless, expertly, and if he gives you acupuncture you don't feel a thing but better. But I don't let him massage me anymore. Mr. Hahm is a damn character, no two ways about it - and not always in a good way, although usually he's harmless. I've been going there (irregularly) for like a decade, and every time he encounters me he asks if it's my first time there (although to be fair, he doesn't have my face to go by.) He usually does this as a prelude for his constant habit of trying to sell more services. But the reason I no longer ask for his admittedly-excellent skills is because of one memorable occasion when he asked me out for coffee, out of ABSO-fucking-lutely nowhere, while I was trapped in a small room with him naked and face-down on a table with pins in my back. I declined, which I would have done in any case, but especially when I was keenly feeling the unfairness of him having me literally pinned. I then wondered what it meant that I was now fielding dating offers from the blind.
But the other employees also know exactly how to make it all better again, so as long as I go with them, it's all good. I went and let a tiny 100-lb woman stroll on my back as she hung onto a sturdy horizontal pole above the table. My stubborn muscles released their death grip. Life added up again. Ahh.
As I was paying the bill, I spied Mr. Hahm behind the counter, wearing khakis and a polo shirt - I didn't make much note of the color. A few minutes later, I turned around from the water cooler to see the backs of two medium-sized Korean men moving through the lobby. Both wore khakis and polo shirts. One was pushing the other adamantly toward the door, as though in a hurry to demonstrate something outside. Jeez, I thought. I realize Mr. Hahm may need to be led sometimes, but you could take it easy on a guy...
Their angle changed and I saw their faces. I totally should have known better - it was Mr. Hahm pushing some poor schlub who could see.
I went to a long-overdue TV Night at e_ticket and fidgetcub's house last night. Delicious food was had, all manner of silliness was viewed and demonstrated. Major new find of the evening? moroccomole had preview DVDs of the new Showtime series "Weed", and it's the BEST. NEW. SHOW. EVAH! Mary Louise Parker rocks the free world and parts of the red states, and Elizabeth Perkins has NEVER been so much fun as the evilest neighbor/mom alive. And Kevin Nealon gets baked ON SCREEN! Guess what, America? DRUGS EXIST!! Woo hoo! We watched three whole episodes and then realized to our utter dismay that 1) we had like three months till we'd see anything new and 2) none of us had Showtime. But we'll find a way!
Okay, now I have to do things with this computer that'll earn me money, and, as I know what they are, I can report I'm lucky and happy to be saying so. (And on that cheerful but goody-two-shoes note, I'm out.)
I woke up still sore and squirmy from helping out a friend of mine on July 4th. She asked if I'd babysit her one-year-old for about an hour, which time turned into about five hours (though not against my wishes). For most of it I toted little miss Molly Lulu around on my hip, singing along softly in her ear to songs on the CD player like "I Am My Own Grandpa" by Willie Nelson, and various novelty hits from the '20s. Molly's mom and dad have great kitchy taste - as does, evidently, Molly.
But while enjoyable, it was an activity for which my muscles were sadly unprepared. There's a reason God gives women nine months to train for this. I don't know how many pounds of warm, soft, funny baby I was toting, but by the end she might as well have been a bag of cannonballs. I waited a day until the pain became mere stiffness, and then it was off to the Hahm Center.
The Hahm Rejuvenation Center here in El Lay is run by Mr. Suk Woon Hahm, Korean blind guy masseur. He oversees a smallish staff of ever-changing Korean women and occasionally men. If he massages you, he pounds you senseless, expertly, and if he gives you acupuncture you don't feel a thing but better. But I don't let him massage me anymore. Mr. Hahm is a damn character, no two ways about it - and not always in a good way, although usually he's harmless. I've been going there (irregularly) for like a decade, and every time he encounters me he asks if it's my first time there (although to be fair, he doesn't have my face to go by.) He usually does this as a prelude for his constant habit of trying to sell more services. But the reason I no longer ask for his admittedly-excellent skills is because of one memorable occasion when he asked me out for coffee, out of ABSO-fucking-lutely nowhere, while I was trapped in a small room with him naked and face-down on a table with pins in my back. I declined, which I would have done in any case, but especially when I was keenly feeling the unfairness of him having me literally pinned. I then wondered what it meant that I was now fielding dating offers from the blind.
But the other employees also know exactly how to make it all better again, so as long as I go with them, it's all good. I went and let a tiny 100-lb woman stroll on my back as she hung onto a sturdy horizontal pole above the table. My stubborn muscles released their death grip. Life added up again. Ahh.
As I was paying the bill, I spied Mr. Hahm behind the counter, wearing khakis and a polo shirt - I didn't make much note of the color. A few minutes later, I turned around from the water cooler to see the backs of two medium-sized Korean men moving through the lobby. Both wore khakis and polo shirts. One was pushing the other adamantly toward the door, as though in a hurry to demonstrate something outside. Jeez, I thought. I realize Mr. Hahm may need to be led sometimes, but you could take it easy on a guy...
Their angle changed and I saw their faces. I totally should have known better - it was Mr. Hahm pushing some poor schlub who could see.
I went to a long-overdue TV Night at e_ticket and fidgetcub's house last night. Delicious food was had, all manner of silliness was viewed and demonstrated. Major new find of the evening? moroccomole had preview DVDs of the new Showtime series "Weed", and it's the BEST. NEW. SHOW. EVAH! Mary Louise Parker rocks the free world and parts of the red states, and Elizabeth Perkins has NEVER been so much fun as the evilest neighbor/mom alive. And Kevin Nealon gets baked ON SCREEN! Guess what, America? DRUGS EXIST!! Woo hoo! We watched three whole episodes and then realized to our utter dismay that 1) we had like three months till we'd see anything new and 2) none of us had Showtime. But we'll find a way!
Okay, now I have to do things with this computer that'll earn me money, and, as I know what they are, I can report I'm lucky and happy to be saying so. (And on that cheerful but goody-two-shoes note, I'm out.)