Sep. 28th, 2009 11:51 am
Beat me tonight
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muckefuckYesterday I paid a man I didn't know to beat up on me.
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monshu's idea. Neither of us has had a massage in a year or two. The place we used to go closed down and, until recently, we hadn't solicited any suggestions for a replacement. The Old Man's coworker (who I'll codename "Turtle") recommended a place in Andersonville and he made dual appointments for yesterday afternoon. They asked on the phone if we preferred a female or "male masseuse" (to use monshu's idiosyncratic terminology) and I said I didn't care as long as they were really strong. When the guy I got asked how "deep" I liked my "bodywork", I told him, "If there's some way you can rip the muscles out of my body, knead them thoroughly on a wooden board, and stick them back in when you're done, that'd be perfect."
He couldn't fulfill that request, but he came damn near, excavating knots inside my upper back that I don't think anyone has ever reached before. That was the one moment when I came closest to crying "Uncle". The other was when he was working on my left lumbar region, since this has taken so much of the strain of compensating for the problems on the opposite side. Unfortunately, the right side was the only place where the pain I felt failed to become the good pain of rooting something out and became the bad pain of aggravating a buried injury. The trouble I had putting my shoes on yesterday has become trouble just walking around today.
But we had deliberately planned our afternoon and evening around being as idle as possible. When we found that we didn't have enough time to pick up some framed prints before the appointment, I toldmonshu "Let's come back later in the week." That way we were able to go directly from the studio to the back porch and a couple of cocktails. (Not to mention ringside seats for a family argument but oh well.) I did my best to stay off the computer. My better half put together a simple steak dinner that didn't require much prep or much cleanup.
At first I planned to while away the evening watching a movie, but the set happened to be tuned to the Hitler Channel and Pawn Stars came on. I was momentarily captivated by the bearish beauty of proprietor Rick Harrison, and that was all the time it took for the GWO to show up and become interested in what is essentially a butcher take on Antiques Roadshow. So we sat close on the couch and mocked the clients' attempts to negotiate auction-house prices in a glorified gun shop until eventually he nodded off.
It was
monshu's idea. Neither of us has had a massage in a year or two. The place we used to go closed down and, until recently, we hadn't solicited any suggestions for a replacement. The Old Man's coworker (who I'll codename "Turtle") recommended a place in Andersonville and he made dual appointments for yesterday afternoon. They asked on the phone if we preferred a female or "male masseuse" (to use monshu's idiosyncratic terminology) and I said I didn't care as long as they were really strong. When the guy I got asked how "deep" I liked my "bodywork", I told him, "If there's some way you can rip the muscles out of my body, knead them thoroughly on a wooden board, and stick them back in when you're done, that'd be perfect."He couldn't fulfill that request, but he came damn near, excavating knots inside my upper back that I don't think anyone has ever reached before. That was the one moment when I came closest to crying "Uncle". The other was when he was working on my left lumbar region, since this has taken so much of the strain of compensating for the problems on the opposite side. Unfortunately, the right side was the only place where the pain I felt failed to become the good pain of rooting something out and became the bad pain of aggravating a buried injury. The trouble I had putting my shoes on yesterday has become trouble just walking around today.
But we had deliberately planned our afternoon and evening around being as idle as possible. When we found that we didn't have enough time to pick up some framed prints before the appointment, I told
monshu "Let's come back later in the week." That way we were able to go directly from the studio to the back porch and a couple of cocktails. (Not to mention ringside seats for a family argument but oh well.) I did my best to stay off the computer. My better half put together a simple steak dinner that didn't require much prep or much cleanup.At first I planned to while away the evening watching a movie, but the set happened to be tuned to the Hitler Channel and Pawn Stars came on. I was momentarily captivated by the bearish beauty of proprietor Rick Harrison, and that was all the time it took for the GWO to show up and become interested in what is essentially a butcher take on Antiques Roadshow. So we sat close on the couch and mocked the clients' attempts to negotiate auction-house prices in a glorified gun shop until eventually he nodded off.