Holy
crap in a Bundt pan...
Due to the
recent well-publicized shortage of
amateur websites produced by assholes who consider themselves to be
clever, I
have been called into action. My name is Jeff Kay, and I’m an
Ugly American living
on the cusp of a mid-life crisis, near Scranton, PA. And I’m here to
serve, baby.
The
State of My Fat Ass A journal of
sorts, updated every once in a while.
--
Grade school gym class mostly consisted of running around the
"multi-purpose room" and hollering, if my memory holds. Oh,
every once in a while they'd break out the balance beam or the
parachute, or some other novelty item, but it was mostly just running
and yelling, I think.
The parachute was pretty cool. We'd all stand in a big circle, holding
the edges of the thing, then lift it high in the air to create a giant
bubble. Then we'd run underneath and shriek like mental patients. Or
we'd lay it on the ground, let the teacher put a bunch of rubber balls
in the middle, then shake it as if our lives depended on it. This was
called "making popcorn." Heh.
There was a rope in our gym (AKA the lunch room, AKA the auditorium),
and when we got to fifth and sixth grades we were expected to climb it.
Being both afraid of heights and in possession of pipe cleaner
arms, this never really worked out for me. I'd basically just hold onto
the rope, and lift my feet off the floor. Next!
But I remember some of the hotshot boys climbing all the way to the top,
then doing pull-ups on the ceiling beams. That still makes me a
little queasy, thirty years later. And I also feel a bit guilty about
the things I wished would happen to those guys while they were up in the
rafters showboating. Yeah, it's a good thing I didn't have the powers of
Carrie....
During gym we'd also have to square dance every once in a while. An old
man with one darkened lens in his glasses would show up with his
portable public address system, and do the calls. I always
"danced" with the same person, a girl with red hair named
Reed. For some reason I can't come up with her first name this
morning.... But she'd always get pissed at me, because I sucked and
would constantly trample her feet.
And when ol' Dark Lens would order us to "swing your partner,"
I'd get her going so fast centrifugal force would kick in, and she'd be
practically horizontal. She didn't much care for my lack of seriousness,
but kept dancing with me anyway. I was too stupid to understand any of
it.
Lens always had a semi-retarded girl from our class serve as his
"maestro." Her name was Paula M. and he put her in charge of
the record player. After he gave out his instructions about the next
dance we were to do, he'd turn to Paula and say, "Maestro?"
Then she'd drag the needle across the record and a big SCRAAAAATCH!
noise would come blasting out the speakers, causing the entire class to
cover their ears and make expressions of high distress. Every. Single.
Time.
Once, when our teacher and Lens were both
out of the room, a kid named Keith L. grabbed the microphone and yelled,
"Swing your partner up against the wall, stick it in, balls and
all!" We laughed and laughed and laughed, but I came away
thoroughly confused. Balls and all? Is that right??
When we got to Junior High, everything became even more complicated. We
had to "dress" for gym, which meant changing clothes in the
locker room, and everything that entailed. No fun, no fun whatsoever. We
were required to shower after class, and the coaches would go around
making sure our hair was wet, as proof that we'd done it. Needless to
say, most of us would go into the shower room and just stick our heads
under the water without ever removing our clothes.
But a few people followed the rules, of course. And it was not a pretty
sight. I remember some big ol' Baby Huey doofus in there with a freakin'
solar system of nickel-sized zits on his ass. Blechh. And I
remember walking toward the showers one day, and a big rough and tough
guy who was always running his mouth came barreling around the corner,
completely nude.
And he had the smallest penis I've ever seen.
Luckily, I haven't encountered too many of those things in my time, but
that one takes the cake. I'm laughing just thinking about it. There
wasn't even enough for it to hang, if you know what I mean. It just
stuck straight out. It looked like he had a bird's nest with three robin
eggs in it, stuck to his torso. A pitiful excuse for a wiener....
Of course there was also a guy in there who took things in the exact opposite
direction. He'd strut around, actually pointing at it. Most of us were
huddled behind our locker doors in our tighty whities, and this guy was
doing penis-based performance art. And I'm here to tell you, it was a
larger-than-life production. Mercy.
Both ends of the spectrum: equally disturbing. Call me crazy, but I'm
not really a fan of the extreme penis.
There was also some bullying in the locker room, of course. Some kid was
standing in front of the urinal one day, and someone shoved him down for
no reason. His dick retracted back inside his jeans, but he just kept
on peeing. His clothes, from the waist down, were completely
saturated with urine. And because it wasn't me, I found this to be
hilarious.
There were also rampant reports of guys sneaking up behind people in the
showers, and pissing on them. Yet another reason to just stick your head
under the water, and get out of there.... If I'd been peeed on by Boobie
Washington, I probably would've had to leave the state, and undergone
years of intense counseling.
By the time we got to high school, it was almost over. We were forced to
do some sort of President's Fitness something or other, where we had to
demonstrate that we could do a minimum number of pull-ups, sit-ups, etc.
Then we could choose gym as an elective. Or, as in my case, not
choose it.
I've already told the story of me doing the sit-ups portion of the
President's test, when I accidentally farted. There were two or three
girls standing there watching, and one spat, "That's
disgusting!" before stomping away. My friend Tim was holding my
feet at the time, and I think I parted his hair straight down the
middle. You should've seen the look on his face at the time of
detonation. Hilarious.
After I passed the President's test, I never looked back. Screw dat. At
that point gym became an elective, and I elected to go with Rock/Pop
Music Survey, Consumer Math, and something called Singles Survival
instead.
And it's that last one that provided my final gym-related high school
memory. Singles Survival was basically home ec for boys. Supposedly it
taught us how to cook meals, sew buttons on shirt, do laundry, and that
sort of thing. They'd just packaged it in an acceptable manner, so they
could get boys to sign up for it. Whatever.
This has nothing to do with the story, but Rocky was in there at the
same time I was. And he switched some guy's sugar supply with salt. The
dude had no idea, and proceeded to make the world's worst cheesecake.
Man, that guy was pissed. He'd been so proud of his creation.
Anyway, my partner and I (this sounds mighty gay, doesn't it?) had made
an apple pie from scratch. Oh, it was a thing of beauty, and featured
actual sugar. We put it in the oven, but it wouldn't be done before the
period ended. The teacher gave me a note that I was to give to my next
teacher, allowing me to leave class for a few minutes to check on my
delicious project.
My next teacher? That's right, Coach Kuhl. As is always the case with
coaches, he also taught several history classes. And I can still
remember that long walk up to his desk, with that sweaty note in my
hand, to ask if I could be excused for a few minutes -- because I
needed to take a pie out of the oven.
The man gave me a look of utter disgust, and just waved his hand at the
door. As I left the classroom I looked back and he was staring at some
papers on his desk, shaking his head as if he'd just encountered
something profoundly sad.
And that's that. You're all up to date on my gym memories. It was an
exhilarating journey, wasn't it? I don't really have a Question of the
Day, but Buck does. Right here.
--
Grade school gym class mostly consisted of running around the
"multi-purpose room" and hollering, if my memory holds. Oh,
every once in a while they'd break out the balance beam or the
parachute, or some other novelty item, but it was mostly just running
and yelling, I think.