Pilates, Pile On, and Fuck

Updated 1-31-13

This was a poor attempt to explain how important the word fuck is to me. I'm glad this is a forum where we can write things that adults can read, uncensored if you will. I will have to return to this topic at a later date for future analysis, stories, and comments. It's a deep word that deserves volumes of critique.

Published 1-30-31

Today I start a pilates class at an attempt to strengthen my core. This is an item on have on my things to do list for 2013. Without going into my long boring medical history I had back surgery on a disk about 4 years ago. I had another flare up last year that sent me to the hospital in excruciating pain. I had an appointment with different surgeon, and had another MRI. The doctor's recommendation was to join a pilates class.

I haven't done well with physical therapy in the past. Like changing my eating habits, replacing the new healthy eating habits with the old ones, I now have to incorporate another routine into my life. Work, home repairs and maintenance, cooking, shopping, exercise, cleaning, taking care of our animals, school classes, and now pilates. Fuck. How much more shit can we pile on ourselves. When does it ever slow down.

Last year I had maybe 20 days off, besides our 12 day vacation to Paris. I don't mean 20 days off plus every weekend, holidays and sick days. I mean total 20 days. Most people work about 240 days a year. I'm averaging around 328 days a year. I think I'm getting burnt out.

I worked in a restaurant in Connecticut back in 83'. Every Monday the owners and the managers had their weekly meeting, and there was always something they needed to go over with the cooks after the meeting. This one particular Mon. the theme was swearing in the kitchen. Apparently the foul language was filtering out onto the dining room floor. Specifically, the word FUCK was mentioned, and we were told we couldn't say fuck in the kitchen any longer.

We all just kinda looked at each other like----what the - - - -. I stood up and said, "It's been fun working here, but I can't work in this kitchen without saying fuck." I got up, took off my apron, and then Gary DeMarco said, "If he's leaving so am I." And down the line it went with the rest of the the kitchen staff, till Richard, the manager said, "OK, OK, just keep the volume down."

Of course we never did keep the volume down. We yelled, we fought, we played, we threw pots and pans, we got drunk and high together, people had affairs with each other, we laughed, we cried, but we got the food out. The food was first and foremost, and the word FUCK stayed in our vocabulary.

You go to any foreign land where no one speaks English, and they'll know the word Fuck. Give someone the finger in Thailand and see what happens. It's universal. No other word in the human language coveys such a meaning.

Burritos tomorrow. I'm too busy today to do recipes.

Breakfast: 1 piece of dense brown bread,

Lunch: 1 1/2 chicken sausage links, brown rice and a small salad w/lettuce, olives, evoo, fresh lemon, orange juice

Snacks: nuts/raisins what else, fresh mint tea from the herb garden

Dinner: Turkey burgers with gouda cheese, big salad

Exercise: 5.5 miles walking