Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Gym Misanthropy

I get most of my songwriting ideas after I've drunk my daily carafe of grainy black coffee, gone to the gym, and hopped on the elliptical machine. The frantic activity on top of the caffeine makes me feel really good and then Oh Wham!! I get assaulted with ideas. Wonderful dreamscapes with shapes and colors that will change the way people think and make humanity want to do a collective cartwheel -- or better yet, billions of individual cartwheels -- of ecstatic gratitude. And I think, "oh Jason this is good stuff," and then later "Jason, should you write this down?" and still later, "Jason, what was that idea again?" But it's too late, the idea is gone, along with the elation, which has been replaced by a generalized antipathy. Sometimes not so generalized. Sometimes the antipathy is very specific.

For instance, if someone is talking really loudly on his cell phone, I want to go up next to him and start screaming unintelligible offensive noises into the multiverse(s). One day I actually had a fantasy of walking up to a guy and telling him he had stupid hair. Only because he was checking out his own biceps for so long and so unapologetically. I mean if you don't bide by the self-adulation time limit I have the right to tell you you have stupid hair, right? Isn't that in the gym by-laws? Of course, inevitably, this same man who is the center of my hate-filled fantasy will later hold the door open for me with a big smile, or tap me on the shoulder in order to hand me the forty dollars that's fallen out of my wallet, or will wave me in front of him in bumper-to-bumper traffic, thus proving himself to be a stellar human being and proving me to be an incurable misanthrope, chastened, sweaty, and out of ideas.

Ok, in deference to my ADD and to lighten the mood let's have a new topic: What are your favorite celebrity memoir titles? Mine are:

"I am not Spock" by Leonard Nimoy
"I am Spock" by Leonard Nimoy
"Goober in a Nutshell" by George "Goober" Lindsey
"Mr T." by Mr. T.


  1. I really enjoyed this post. It made me laugh and made me reflect on my own misanthropy. Tricky. (How'd you get me to do both in one post?) As for my favorite/aka-make-me-cringe celebrity memoir titles... how about "My Word is My Bond" by Roger Moore. Or even better, "Don't Hassle the Hoff" by duh - David Hasselhoff.

  2. wow those are both awesome titles. I hadn't heard of the Moore one.

  3. "Never Have Your Dog Stuffed" by Alan Alda (also, good advice- I hear his taxidermy skills leave much to be desired.)
    "Born Standing Up" by Steve Martin

  4. Jason, the Roger Moore book is fairly interesting. I can't say the same for "Don't Hassle the Hoff" as I haven't read it. (I'm thinking that bodes well for me, though the Hoff may disagree.) But who can forget a title like that?

  5. keep blogging J, your like a good book, a mystery I just can't put down.

  6. "My Booky Wook" by Russell Brand. Because he's a grown man and yet the title is so childish.
    Which sums him up pretty well.

    (I love your music - we have to find a way to get you on the West Coast more!)

  7. "STori Telling" by Tori Spelling.
    I don't think I can say the title and author together without getting tongue-tied.

  8. "Notes from the Hyena's Belly: An Ethiopian Boyhood" by Nega Mezlekia
    "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings" by Maya Angelou
    "Going Solo" by Roald Dahl
    "The Unabridged Autobiography of Vanilla Ice" by Vanilla Ice

  9. I like looking at my biceps. Got a problem with it?

  10. BTW, I'm listening to your music for the first time, and I'm really enjoying it. Cheers!

  11. "Wishful Drinking" by Carrie Fisher. BRILLIANT title. I've heard the actual memoir doesn't live up to it, which is disappointing...

    And I totally agree with this post! I, too, have frequently (from the vantage point of the elliptical machine) wanted to tell guys that they have stupid hair and that if they're already spending so much time at the gym, they might want to go ahead and devote a little bit of it to their chicken legs and not so much to their already over-developed upper regions. I've also wanted to tell a few ladies that if they're doing the stairmaster slowly enough to browse through the entire Sunday Times and a couple of gossip rags without breaking a sweat that they're probably not getting the most bang for their cardio buck on that particular piece of equipment. But these are not the same people who then hold the door for me. It just means I'm a misanthrope in general, I guess...

  12. "Still Me", Christopher Reeve