RANDOM ACTS OF COMPETITIVE ASSHOLE-NESS

I reek of chlorine. I feel so anti-bacterial. I have up’ed my workout to forty-five laps. A woman in the sauna asked me if I swam competitively. I chuckled because the notion is absurd and replied, no. She said that I looked like a strong swimmer. Her comment made me wonder why I don’t go around saying nice things to strangers more often. I mean, it can’t hurt, right? Niceness? Mostly I’m just a competitive asshole in my head, secretly racing the unsuspecting fitness center members. They are all having profound Zen moments on their elliptical machines and I am foaming at the mouth on the treadmill, talking so much shit in my head.

It’s stupid. Furthermore, it’s a ludicrous waste of negative energy. I mean hell if I’m going to focus my voodoo on something, let’s make it something worthwhile. Don’t fucking pick on grandma climbing the Stairmaster for Christ sakes. And lay off of the ladies in water aerobics while you're at it. I know, I know. They do some freaky shit in that class. They displace your lap lane with their bouffant hairdos and their lipstick and perfume are excessive to say the least. Still, just give it a rest. And this is all in my head mind you, because in reality I'm just a shoe-gazer, a self-deprecator, a modest meerkat.

And now ladies and gentlemen, the books on my bed stand:

Infinite Jest - David Foster Wallace
The Denial of Death - Ernest Becker
The Greening of America - Charles Reich
Europe on a Shoestring - Lonely Planet
The Human Zoo - Desmond Morris
Dishonest Broker - Naseer H. Aruri
Henderson the Rain King - Saul Bellow (a re-read, this one)
200,000 Words – Louis A. Leslie (and this one’s a dictionary)

I have tiny bits of toasted coconut in my pocket. Why?