Thursday, June 02, 2005

Youse Wanna Hold Dat Door?

So, last night and the night before I went after work to help "Jack Roy" move his digs from the East Village to a new place five blocks away in Alphabet City.

JR is now about 10 times the old distance from his local bar-- five blocks instead of half a block. I expect sparse blogging on Litotical Construct as he goes through the Four Stages of Grief.

So. Moving.

Down five flights, into a van, up four flights.

JR has little furniture, but it is all fragile, covered in splinters, and has the uncanny quality of being able to move into a space and then not being able to move out of it.

In any case, helping someone move is better than a gym.

You get to do a moderate amount of three-dimensional thinking as you maneuver a mattress over parked cars, through doorways, up stairways, and into rooms.

You get to curse and double park and employ "youse" as the second person pronoun.

And you're not "working out." You can't maneuver a bureau up winding stairs to isolate your biceps, or look at yourself in a full-length mirror while doing it.
My legs, back and forearms are all tired. This means, in all likelihood, that I'm slightly better able to actually lift and carry things than I was three days ago.
And I haven't been "sculpted" and I didn't have to motivate myself to do some mind-numbingly boring abstract routine involving dumbbells.

Also, I got free falafel.

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