I believe I’m qualified to speak on travel. My dad coached hockey in a number of states when I was younger, and during the season my brother and I would fly to see him every other month for a good 6-7 years. Then I played college hockey in Alaska where we would fly ten times a year to the lower 48 states (accruing a scant 150,000 airmiles, enough for a spring break in Mazatlan, one in Panama City Beach, a few New York runs and a couple shipments of girlfriend). The fine print that they don’t magnify until after you’ve signed the commitment papers is that the flight up there is an hour longer than the one down because of the winds. Enjoy that after two games, ten beers and a 4 a.m. wake-up call. In a suit. And now, playing on the west coast, we fly everywhere we play.
So here’s my question. What breed of human is it that thinks it’s acceptable to travel in hospital pants and a wife-beater? Sir, you aren’t setting a good example for your son by wearing matching vegetable embroidered PJ pants for a travel day. Who made the nation-wide decree that travelling on an airplane is equivalent to being strung out on a torture rack?
People drive in cars all day. They sit at their desks. They go to the mall. And in none of these instances is the socially lowest form of dress required below blue jeans. And how long is a travel day? A two hour flight might equal four hours of airport time, and we’re letting humans get away with entire wardrobes that don’t contain a solitary button. Men used to wear suits to fly. Men used to wear three-piece double-breasted suits to play golf in the summer. I’m not declaring Armageddon because standards are a little more lax, I’m merely pointing out that you can suffer through one to five hours on a plane in jeans and a t-shirt. Clean it up.
And while I’m offering more sage advice, we need to post some international gym rules. I don’t mean to re-rack the weights when you’re done with them; I mean that men need to re-rack their fat heads. The mirror is for checking your form while lifting, not to further the belief that the Gotti haircut was created by God just so the gorgeous Italian male could carry on wooing underage females. Check your form, give yourself a quick eval, but please don’t flex. There are few situations where it’s harder to suppress a laugh than watching a guy who thinks nobody is looking do a mini-pec dance for himself.
And guys, lets agree on something. If we’re both walking down the center of a hallway big enough for two people, let’s pretend we’re cars. We’ll both get in our lane and sail on by like happy buddy ol’ pals. If I take my lane and get clipped by one more guy pretending he can’t pull in his arms because of his huge lats, I’m calling my tough friends in their leather jackets and declaring one of those snap-fights from The Outsiders on your gang.
Sometimes the weights are really heavy, and you have to exhale loudly. Or grunt a bit. Sometimes if you give a little “ungh” it can help you get that last rep out. But much like girls in porn, you don’t need to make that ridiculous sound every time you do something. I guess if I poured my tips as a bouncer into GNC for supplements to inflate my chest, I’d want people to notice too. But believe me, we do. I don’t like using my string bean arms to do bicep curls with weights from the Pilates class as is, let alone when I’m beside Johnny Bravo.
The problem is that the gym has become a meat market dating scene for meats that should be in the market for counseling. Lulu Lemon has only propagated this sickness by spray painting girls lower-halves and declaring “pants!” It’s a gift and a curse. The gift is obvious, but the price for this is that girls who don’t want uncomfortable male attention at the gym get it, like it or not. Arena’s are to pucks like Gold’s Gym is to eye-rape. Find one, you’ll find the other. What most of these guys don’t seem to realize is that the majority of women think they’re acting like clowns too. Stooges even. If only I could find an appropriate picture to summarize my exact point…..