now, mind you, i do not have the sort of body that requires measurements such as chest or arms. i've always been tall and skinny, until the old metabolism slowed around 25, causing me to thicken up here and there. more significantly, i threw my back out pretty hardcore about 5 years ago. and back injuries, well, they never quite heal.

six months or so ago, my back flared up with a vengeance. and i decided that since i had some time on my hands, not working and all, that i would give myself the gift of fitness. i joined the gym, i got a trainer, who just coincidentally turned out to queer, who has become a friend and confidante and booster. and yes, i'm in the best shape of my entire life.

admittedly, there was a time when i would have at least sympathized with this young gentleman's position that the gym equals sell out. complete capitulation of the queer world's cult of body. that was before my thirties taught me the limitations of my own physicality.

the barb stung, touching my own latent sensitivity regarding body and the importance we place upon looks in our culture. but especially because, for the most part, my motivations were pure. you notice, i say, for the most part. did i get a kick out of my twenty-year-old-welsh-medical-student-part-time lover's endless praising of my physical self? well, duh.

point being, what i do with the body is my business. and i'm satisfied with both my reasons and my results. but, please, if i ever start discussing those afore-mentioned measurements, slap me. hard.

oh, and by the way, i took my first pilates class yesterday. that is some tough shit, but this bitch is into it.

and finally, those comps are burned and prepped and ready for la poste. for those out there in mansionland who placed orders, prepare. and never forget, three hams will fill him, three hams will thrill him, why don't you feed him three hams?! (yeah, kinda got season 1 of the brak show on dvd this week)