A Review of the UNO Weight Room from the Shut-In Janitor Who Lives Behind the Wall-to-Wall Mirrors

The UNO Health and Fitness Center features a large, unobstructed room that functions as a weight training room to the students and faculty of the university. As the night janitor of the facility, I don't get to interact much with the patrons of the gym, but I do watch their every movement from the two-way mirrors in my "closet" where I also live and sleep.

I guess it seems like a nice enough gym. There are some barbells and dumbells, and plenty of bench presses, even though the stanchions upon which the bar is rested between sets is inconveniently placed well behind the head, requiring an awkward movement to get it lifted off. I guess they are trying to encourage people to use a spotter.

Well, enough about the gym.

I have been all but forgotten in my secret room behind the mirrors. I certainly don't receive a paycheck; I just come out at night to scrounge scraps of food from the snack/smoothie stand downstairs and, of course, clean the entire gym. As you can imagine, all of this work keeps me in such marvelous shape that I do not need to actually work out myself. However, my clothes and personal appearance have taken a turn towards the less attractive end of the spectrum. Every once in a while, something will turn up in the lost and found bin that strikes my fancy, but kids these days tend to wear the most ridiculous costumes when they work out. Not to mention, they rarely leave two matching pieces; I couldn't leave my closet looking like I just walked out of...well, you get the picture.

In conclusion, I would highly recommend the UNO Fitness Center. It can get a little crowded at times, but the convenience and low cost of membership make it a great deal. Make sure you wave at the mirror on the west side of the room when you come. You may not see me wave back, but rest assured that I'll be here...always watching.
link to this post   1:00 PM by Trey | (0)
A Review of 80's Night from the Viewpoint of an Unidentified Male Bystander

With the advent of the undergraduate academic year in hot pursuit, thousands flocked to the French Quarter bordelo-cum-disco One Eyed Jack's to commune in celebration of the 199th decade Ano Domine. While I was once a vital young scenester in Manchester during the post-punk revolution, Debbie Harry's paramour, and the uncredited choreographer of Madonna's Like a Prayer video, I am now older than the Stones and can only watch from a hidden crawlspace that I tunneled next to the DJ booth, From this viewpoint, I give you my unadulterated opinions.

The Scene (7/10): One Eyed Jack's is not shaped like an ideal dance club, but the variations in elevation give you the impression that you are descending into a pit of sin when they you the main hall; inversely, the act of exiting blesses you with redemption. It is as though you are tasting freedom, but you still feel inexorably drawn back into the inferno. The wallpaper is also top notch.

The Music (6/10): There isn't much you can say about the music; either it was released during the 80's or it wasn't. Some of it wasn't, leading to much confusion. High points: Bloodletting, Beat It, Blue Monday, The Promise, and that "workin' as a waitress in a cocktail bar" song. Low Points: Groove Is In the Heart, Push It, Wild Thing.

The Ladies (8/10): Things are looking up for New Orleans if the young ladies in town continue to dress in classic period costumes such as those displayed last night. Even those who were not dressed in the garb of the era which we call the Eighties, were tastefully clothed and apologetic, as if to say, "I know I look fucking ridiculous in this futuristic get-up, but I can still move freely and would like to dance." The go-go dancers on staff dropped the ball a little bit; sexy as they may be, I don't feel they properly conveyed the excess and hedonism of the years 1980 through 1989. Only the young apprentice dancer Kamber (Camber? Cambre? Chanukah?) seemed to have made a significant effort with the "my roommate's pet wolverine got into my closet" look, complete with tousled hair and pleather bondage boots sporting treacherous 6-inch heels. Dancer Veronica was in high spirits and was throwing out her trademark sidelong glances with reckless abandon. Her enigmatic costume included a micro-mini skirt emblazoned with a boat anchor intertwined with what appeared to be a venomous snake, implying that there could be snakes on a boat. Props also to the tall auburn haired temptress who executed the most disaffected, yet hypnotizing safety dance these eyes have ever seen.

The Dudes (3/10): Frankly, I feel sorry for the ladies who lean hetero in this post-Katrina wonderland. Chivalry may be dead, but personal hygeine, dancing ability, and style still go a long way. From my hidden lookout turret I gasped time and again after each flagrant faux-pas was committed. Let's start with the dancing: pelvic thrusting, attempted grinding (not even invented yet), and every locomotive no-no banned from the decade after the 70's (but before the 90's).

If there was one man who stood out from the crowd like a shiny angel amongst demons, it would be the tall, statuesque man dressed in the classic punk/ladies man look. With the raw intensity and swagger of Billy Idol, the alien appearance of Bowie, and the unbridled enthusiasm of George Michael, this giant among midgets made me avert my eyes in reverence with a dancing vocabulary as deep as he was tall. Whenever this man moved, the crowd moved with him; indeed, if this scene was the symphony, he was the conductor. I also noticed that he came fashionably late, left fashionably early, and drank and smoked fashionably little. Not really in the spirit of the 80's, but definitely in the spirit of good taste. What a guy!

Overall (7.5/10): What else can I say, another night of living fast, going over the top, and dancing like there is no tomorrow, at least not until 4am-ish when some of these people have to get some sleep because they have work tomorrow. The hotness of the ladies matched the hotness of the ambient temperature, burning away all of the other negative qualities of the night. See you next Thursday! Although you probably won't because my crawlspace is exceptionally well hidden.
link to this post   2:52 PM by Trey | (0)
Anyone want to be roomies? - 3 Bedroom Victorian on Magazine and 3rd, All Utilities Paid, WTF Ever.

So I haven't worked out in a month, my diet is complete crap, and I sweat a lot. I'm starting to feel a little unhealthy despite an average of 80 miles per week on the bike. Apparently I have lost a total of 20 lbs, which puts me at a withering 205. My New Life Plan, the details of which I will not disclose at this time, is off to a decent start, but to fully realize my goals I'm going to have to start eating right (seriously, eating a whole pack of Oreos in one day isn't cool), pumping iron, and sleeping regularly. Oh, and take at least one shower a week.

I realize I never mentioned my new bike on here. People don't really talk very enthusiastically about their bicycles unless they are "serious" bikers or they spent a ton of money on their bikes. I unfortunately fall into the second category. Although I haven't ridden a road bike in 7 years, I still think of myself as "serious." Regardless, I ordered a custom geometry frame from Cannondale a while back. Here are the complete specs on the bike. Not anything to drool over, but nice enough to be proud of:

66cm CAAD5 Aluminum Frame (feat. 63cm top tube)
Full Ultegra 10-speed gruppo with 175mm crank
Real Designs Signature Fork (full carbon)
Mavic Ksyrium Elite Wheelset
Look Keo pedals (+ new size 52 SIDI Genius shoes)
link to this post   3:01 PM by Trey | (0)
Apparently it is harder to write lyrics for songs than I thought. I'm going to have to put "Bobby Jo" on the backburner for a while until I can figure out a way to make some shit rhyme better or come up with some math metal to wrap around my poetry. So far, I think it might be the worst thing I've ever written. I don't want to talk about it.

As my friend Lindsay always says, "Hey (concerned look), are you OK?"

I'm not a very good dancer. Its not that my dancing vocabulary is limited, but rather it is way over the heads of most people. The problem is that I don't really seem to care until well past the time when I have the opportunity to dance. I just get caught up in the moment, and before you know it, limbs are flying, mothers clutch their babies, and a line forms outside the bathroom because everyone just shit their pants laughing at me. After last night, I think I may have hit rock bottom. Sometimes no one will call me for a while, and I'm like "WTF?" and then I'm like, "Oh yeah, I danced last week."

On the other hand, I am a really awesome kisser.
link to this post   7:12 PM by Trey | (1)
I'm working on a song about M.C. Brown's "mistress" in West Memphis in 1966. I got the full story on Wednesday night at the Circle Bar. The song's title is "Bobby Jo."

First Verse:
Dark clouds rolling over the Frisco Bridge
But that don't stop me from calling your name
I can't stand up straight tonight
But that don't stop me from dancing your way
I didn't come over here for this to stop with a smile
Come on you bean pole, let's get naked for a while

Hot nights, black suit, black lace
Ditch your man, catch a cab, you'll find the place
I may be short, but I'm tall on charm
Take my hand, make a stand,
it's our turn in this town right now

Second Verse:
You're like a cocker spaniel, with really pretty teeth
I'd take you out to a vegan dinner, but I want some meat
Why can't you accept that I have different dietary customs than you?
I'm having some difficulty rationalizing adultery
I don't want to sneak around any more, maybe we should talk
Despite my boner, I'm breaking up with you

Second Chorus:
Awkward nights with too much whiskey
Start off with pregnant pause
Often end in tears and awkward silence
Awkward nights, awkward nights
(silence) Awkward (spoken)
link to this post   2:47 PM by Trey | (0)
The flushing technology on the toilets at my new office is years ahead of anything I've ever seen. I shit you not. I could flush my shoes and it wouldn't even ask why. It makes constitutionals at work worry-free and satisfying instead of fraught with dread and humiliation. Every office should upgrade to jet-powered commodes immediately.
link to this post   4:33 PM by Trey | (0)
I wrote that previous post right after I grew my new vaj.

I think I might have African Sleeping Sickness, 'cuz I'm always sleepy and shit. Especially at work after I've been staring at code for hours.

I've been living with my dad for the last two weeks. I went to Mole Foods and bought a half pound of this herbed turkey, which is kinda like my male version of chocolate. If a chick brought me a box of herbed turkey from Mole Foods for V-Day, I would totally put out. Needless to say, I like this shit like a baby likes sucking jam off its toes. I put the package in the Meat Drawer (which keeps meat meaty), with all sorts of plans for it. Not two days later, I find the package GONE, replaced by some slimy packaged Oscar Meyer cock slice turkey. Just so happens that daddy polished off the toikey earlier that day while taking one of his 37 daily snack breaks. Apparently it was going bad, so instead of getting a job or doing anything other than eating my fucking turkey, he ate my turkey to prevent it from stinking up our refrigerator that has been spawning mold for a YEAR after being flooded.

Fine. I was pissed, but I've put up with shit like this before from roommates. After living by myself for the last 3 years, it takes a while to get used to it again. Then I started looking around for the block of expensive-ass gourmet cheese. "Where is my chee..." I looked up to see dad with a guilty look on his jowls. That shit would have taken me a month to eat, and he ate it in two days. In addition, he ate pretty much everything that I bought at the grocery. When I first got back, I was marveling at the absence of edible substance in the house, so I just figured dad ate out a lot, or was going to start digging into the stack of MREs that he has stockpiled in the pantry. No, he was waiting for me to move back so he could eat all my shit. Before that he ate a combination of Bran Flakes, hot dogs, yellow mustard, cashews, and diet coke. Nauseatingly poor diet, has he. I even went and pulled out my guitar, and looked up the tab for this song, so I could sing it to him:

I'm gonna kick your ass, from here to right over there
Oh yeah, muthafucka, gonna kick your fuckin' derierre, yeah
You broke the rules, now I pull out all your pubic hair
You muthafucka...

I was planning on coasting on the free rent for a couple months since I'm so busy with work anyway and rarely home, but this shit has to end. Not to mention I will never ever get laid as long as I can honestly say that I live with my parent.
link to this post   1:36 PM by Trey | (0)
Gazing into the happy furnace
I remember a time when the sun shone
down from an empty sky
Lighting my eyes with a furious pain

Hairs red and black and blonde and brown
stick to my feet
as I shuffle to the bathroom
Laughing bitterly at my own joke
link to this post   9:21 AM by Trey | (0)