The skinny on the unknown/known people in our life.
I was working out at the gym the other day watching Philosophy Guy run on the treadmill as I did ab crunches. Philosophy Guy is a twenty something blond Berkeley student, 5’10”, 165, in good shape with medium long hair pulled back to a short ponytail. He also has a kind of a scraggily beard you see on a lot of vegans. You know they kind who use bio-diesel in their bus as they travel to Grateful Dead revivals? Though, Philosophy Guy bathes more than bio-diesel vegans. We meet every Saturday. I lift weights. He runs on the treadmill and then does a lot of dips. I gave him the name “Philosophy Guy” because the first time I noticed him he was standing beside a thin twenty something female student. They were carrying on a conversation about Philosophy near an abdominal machine I use between lift sets. The discussion lasted the entire one and a half hours of my work out. The next week, I noticed him on the treadmill. I thought, “Hey there that philosophy vegan looking guy.” But I didn’t really know if he was a vegan, and he didn’t smell like one, so I just call him Philosophy Guy. (I didn’t name the girl, I never saw her again. Though I think Philosophy Guy would like to see her.)
Now Philosophy Guy is not anybody important in my life. Hell, I don’t even have the slightest idea of what his name is. But I see a lot of him, so I need to organize him in my brain, and I gave him a name: “Philosophy Guy.” I haven’t even heard him talk since the day he tried to pick up on the unnamed girl. But I think about him as he is running. Mainly because I’m jealous of what good shape he’s in. Though I don’t want his beard or hair, I kind of wish I had a twenty something body, and could run again. But that’s not the point of this blog entry.
You see, Philosophy Guy is only one of a large myriad of people I have names for. All of these people have one thing in common. I see them on a regular basis around town, and I don’t have the slightest idea who they are. At the same time, they haven’t got the slightest idea who I am. I’ll give you some examples:
Clothes Change Guy:
A twenty something, maybe late teens, African American guy who I also see each Saturday at the gym. Reason for his name: he does one set of lifts then circuit wanders the entire gym floor singing to himself. For each different exercise he does he adds or subtracts a layer of clothing. Depending on what he’s doing he may have his hoodie on, or a tank top, or a t-shirt on top of the tank top. We won’t get into the sweat pants etc. What clothes he’s not using for that set he keeps in a pile by the wall. I probably should call him “Fashion Guy.”
Al Qaida Woman:
A rather short fat red hair with white streaks woman who drags a roller suitcase behind her at work each day. About a year ago, if you a regular reader of this blog I had a rather large entry about her. She blocked my entrance to work one day and demanded to see my badge. Despite me showing her the badge and showing it worked on the automatic door entrance, she refused to let me pass. We had a minor altercation which she turned me in for 8 months later. I didn’t know her name then, and I was asked not to contact her in the future. So I gave her the name Al Qaida Woman. I also keep about three hundred feet away from her at all times, cause I’m sure she’ll blow up at me if I get within two hundred feet.
Now there are tons of others:
Green Mohawk Guy, Bearded Lesbian Biker, One Heavy Lift of Everything Guy, Obnoxious Gym Guy (He runs around the locker room in San Ramon, naked and talks to everyone about sports, his vacations, etc, while we all just try and change and not dwell on the fact our penis’s our hanging out.) and Duck Guy (He always has OSU shirts on).
We all know these type of people, we all see them everyday, but we haven’t got the slightest idea who they are or what they are about in another context. So we give them a name and we probably create a story about them. Well, I do. I need a story to go with a name. As my friend Ian is apt to say, “What is the skinny” when he meets someone new. That’s what I need, the skinny or brief blurb on people. If I’ve never really met them, I make it up, like I have here. For the most part, our invented story is probably better than real life. I know it works that way when people do it for me.
As I have mentioned before my friend Mike and I are apt to frequent the local lesbian bar in our neighborhood on Wednesday night and talk to the straight bartender about politics. Now we do this quite innocently, and as time has progressed a skinny has developed on me. The local skinny: I’m bi-sexual married guy. As the story goes, I’m married to a 53 year old African American woman and we go into the bar to pick up women and sometimes men for three ways. --Ah if the skinny was really only the skinny.
Now Philosophy Guy is not anybody important in my life. Hell, I don’t even have the slightest idea of what his name is. But I see a lot of him, so I need to organize him in my brain, and I gave him a name: “Philosophy Guy.” I haven’t even heard him talk since the day he tried to pick up on the unnamed girl. But I think about him as he is running. Mainly because I’m jealous of what good shape he’s in. Though I don’t want his beard or hair, I kind of wish I had a twenty something body, and could run again. But that’s not the point of this blog entry.
You see, Philosophy Guy is only one of a large myriad of people I have names for. All of these people have one thing in common. I see them on a regular basis around town, and I don’t have the slightest idea who they are. At the same time, they haven’t got the slightest idea who I am. I’ll give you some examples:
Clothes Change Guy:
A twenty something, maybe late teens, African American guy who I also see each Saturday at the gym. Reason for his name: he does one set of lifts then circuit wanders the entire gym floor singing to himself. For each different exercise he does he adds or subtracts a layer of clothing. Depending on what he’s doing he may have his hoodie on, or a tank top, or a t-shirt on top of the tank top. We won’t get into the sweat pants etc. What clothes he’s not using for that set he keeps in a pile by the wall. I probably should call him “Fashion Guy.”
Al Qaida Woman:
A rather short fat red hair with white streaks woman who drags a roller suitcase behind her at work each day. About a year ago, if you a regular reader of this blog I had a rather large entry about her. She blocked my entrance to work one day and demanded to see my badge. Despite me showing her the badge and showing it worked on the automatic door entrance, she refused to let me pass. We had a minor altercation which she turned me in for 8 months later. I didn’t know her name then, and I was asked not to contact her in the future. So I gave her the name Al Qaida Woman. I also keep about three hundred feet away from her at all times, cause I’m sure she’ll blow up at me if I get within two hundred feet.
Now there are tons of others:
Green Mohawk Guy, Bearded Lesbian Biker, One Heavy Lift of Everything Guy, Obnoxious Gym Guy (He runs around the locker room in San Ramon, naked and talks to everyone about sports, his vacations, etc, while we all just try and change and not dwell on the fact our penis’s our hanging out.) and Duck Guy (He always has OSU shirts on).
We all know these type of people, we all see them everyday, but we haven’t got the slightest idea who they are or what they are about in another context. So we give them a name and we probably create a story about them. Well, I do. I need a story to go with a name. As my friend Ian is apt to say, “What is the skinny” when he meets someone new. That’s what I need, the skinny or brief blurb on people. If I’ve never really met them, I make it up, like I have here. For the most part, our invented story is probably better than real life. I know it works that way when people do it for me.
As I have mentioned before my friend Mike and I are apt to frequent the local lesbian bar in our neighborhood on Wednesday night and talk to the straight bartender about politics. Now we do this quite innocently, and as time has progressed a skinny has developed on me. The local skinny: I’m bi-sexual married guy. As the story goes, I’m married to a 53 year old African American woman and we go into the bar to pick up women and sometimes men for three ways. --Ah if the skinny was really only the skinny.
posted by Stan at 11:32 PM
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