Turn off that smokestack and that goddamn radio
As noted previously, my back is fucked. My scoliosis wasn't detected in high school because Stuyvesant had a relaxed attitude towards gym class. Well, I had a relaxed attitude toward gym class, anyway. I was either sick, cutting, or out with a forged doctor's note on the days they were supposed to test us for spinal twistery. So my curvature progressed apace, uncorrected by any futuristic Fakir Mustapha-style bondage brace. We've been over this, haven't we? So let's skip ahead.
The pain just got worse over the years, no matter how much time I spent avoiding any kind of physical labor, exertion, or movement; no matter how many cigarettes I smoked and movies I watched; no matter how many bacon egg & cheese sandwiches I consumed. I am a poster boy for un-health (and here's the poster), but all my friends are viable candidates for the Slothful Feckless Fuck of the Year award, too. It's not just that we don't exercise, or eat right, or exhibit any symptoms of self-preservation. It's that we actively despise anybody who does. We would never be seen in public in sweatclothes. Owning ANY kind of fitness equipment is an unforgivable transgression against taste, and even an ironic late-night telepurchase of a ThighMaster would fall outside the protective umbrella of Camp. Jogging? It's not even worth the effort to disdain. With a peer group like that, I was doomed from the start, right? I asked my mom about this recently:
UD: I don't get it. You and Dad are both fairly healthy, active people. Why'd I turn out like this? I need to exercise.
Mom: Hey -- are you feeling okay?
UD: Well, obviously not.
Mom: No, I said "are you feeling okay" because you said "I need to exercise." You know, like: "who are you, and what have you done with my son."
UD: Oh, right. Heh. But seriously, if my friends had been more healthy when I was younger, maybe I wouldn't have turned out so fucked.
Mom: But you never liked healthy people. It's not like you were kidnapped by slobs and forced to adopt their habits.
UD: Well, couldn't you have guided me towards healthier kids? Or like forbade me to hang with the sickly ones?
[pause]
Mom: You're kidding, right? How would that have gone, exactly? "Dear adolescent son, please clean your room, do your homework, and select a peer group of higher quality to ensure your future health?"
UD: Yeah, ok. But maybe before I was an adolescent?
Mom: We sent you to that afterschool sports program. Do you remember?
UD: Oh.
Mom: Do you remember what that was like?
[pause]
UD: Oh GOD! I do! It was absolute torture. They hated me. Always put me in waaay right field for baseball, and picked me last for everything. Punched and kicked me! Fuck! That's it! It was trauma! I'm unhealthy because of those protojock fuckheads and their abusive alpha cocksuckery!
Mom: Oh whatever. Quit blowing smoke in my face.
UD: Do you think they maybe molested me on the bus and I've suppressed the memory? Those raping monsters!
Mom: Please give me a small break for once. Puh-lease.
UD: [muttering under breath] Those bastards.
Mom: How's physical therapy?
UD: It is awful. Awful awful awful.
Mom: Good. Proud of you.
The pain just got worse over the years, no matter how much time I spent avoiding any kind of physical labor, exertion, or movement; no matter how many cigarettes I smoked and movies I watched; no matter how many bacon egg & cheese sandwiches I consumed. I am a poster boy for un-health (and here's the poster), but all my friends are viable candidates for the Slothful Feckless Fuck of the Year award, too. It's not just that we don't exercise, or eat right, or exhibit any symptoms of self-preservation. It's that we actively despise anybody who does. We would never be seen in public in sweatclothes. Owning ANY kind of fitness equipment is an unforgivable transgression against taste, and even an ironic late-night telepurchase of a ThighMaster would fall outside the protective umbrella of Camp. Jogging? It's not even worth the effort to disdain. With a peer group like that, I was doomed from the start, right? I asked my mom about this recently:
UD: I don't get it. You and Dad are both fairly healthy, active people. Why'd I turn out like this? I need to exercise.
Mom: Hey -- are you feeling okay?
UD: Well, obviously not.
Mom: No, I said "are you feeling okay" because you said "I need to exercise." You know, like: "who are you, and what have you done with my son."
UD: Oh, right. Heh. But seriously, if my friends had been more healthy when I was younger, maybe I wouldn't have turned out so fucked.
Mom: But you never liked healthy people. It's not like you were kidnapped by slobs and forced to adopt their habits.
UD: Well, couldn't you have guided me towards healthier kids? Or like forbade me to hang with the sickly ones?
[pause]
Mom: You're kidding, right? How would that have gone, exactly? "Dear adolescent son, please clean your room, do your homework, and select a peer group of higher quality to ensure your future health?"
UD: Yeah, ok. But maybe before I was an adolescent?
Mom: We sent you to that afterschool sports program. Do you remember?
UD: Oh.
Mom: Do you remember what that was like?
[pause]
UD: Oh GOD! I do! It was absolute torture. They hated me. Always put me in waaay right field for baseball, and picked me last for everything. Punched and kicked me! Fuck! That's it! It was trauma! I'm unhealthy because of those protojock fuckheads and their abusive alpha cocksuckery!
Mom: Oh whatever. Quit blowing smoke in my face.
UD: Do you think they maybe molested me on the bus and I've suppressed the memory? Those raping monsters!
Mom: Please give me a small break for once. Puh-lease.
UD: [muttering under breath] Those bastards.
Mom: How's physical therapy?
UD: It is awful. Awful awful awful.
Mom: Good. Proud of you.