The Goat Pen

I give it a 4

man, I miss the brawls in hockey. fighting allows hockey to be truer to its nature as a spinoff of pro wrestling

I like how some of the guys pat each other on the back of the head after walloping the shit out of each other for 60 seconds...

Bklyn wrote:I deadlift with kettle bells all the time. I used to do them with a bar and heavier weight, but it made my shins look like the gyro meat vendors cut off the spit. I like the hammy stretch deadlifts provide, though.

My trainer is kinda an asshole, yes, but show me one who isn't.

The guy I spoke to was a trainer himself, they're all hard asses

those exercises just arent necessary when using heavy weights though, the risk reward just isnt worth it when considering all the ways you can slip a disk or do serious damage

myself personally, I really didnt know of any other way to properly train the lower back, so deadlifts it was

then i attended a core training bootcamp and this little asian trainer chick had me waxing on, waxing off, doin' burpees, crab crawls, kettel bell squats & like 100 different kinds of planks until i threw up twice

Yep, those are all on the menu for me. Actually, I need to crank off 100 burpees, 60 V-ups and assorted chest circuits tonight bc I missed the gym. I'm stalling.

Push-ups, ab wheel and yoga for me, with the occasional spinning class. I used to swim pretty regularly, but got out of it. Regrettably, b/c I think swimming is the best thing you can do for exercise...

Pretty sad...

The big cat is just exhibiting his intelligence.

why ms crash wont let me hve a trainer

"then i attended a core training bootcamp and this little asian trainer chick had me waxing off"

hedge wrote:Push-ups, ab wheel and yoga for me, with the occasional spinning class. I used to swim pretty regularly, but got out of it. Regrettably, b/c I think swimming is the best thing you can do for exercise...

and yet you're as doughy as me

Not even close...

Speaking of Faulkner, this is from an essay by Walker Percy about the joys of bourbon:

"Then imagine William Faulkner, having finished Absalom, Absalom!, drained, written out, pissed-off, feeling himself over the edge and out of it, nowhere, but he goes somewhere, his favorite hunting place in the Delta wilderness of the Big Sunflower River and, still feeling bad with his hunting cronies and maybe even a little phony, which he was, what with him trying to pretend that he was one of them, a farmer, hunkered down in the cold and rain after the hunt, after honorable passing up the does and seeing no bucks, shivering and snot-nosed, takes out a flat pint of any Bourbon at all and flatfoots about a third of it. He shivers again but not from the cold."

So, one of the perks of my job is that my firm covers my autos (and gas and insurance) that I drive. I swap out a car every 6 months, or so. It's not that big of a perk because as a NYer I rarely drive (my last auto, a massive SUV that got probably 12mi/gal had 4,000 miles in 8 mos of driving).

Anyway, they switched up the protocol and I have to go pick up my new car from a dealership (as opposed to it being delivered to the garage at my office). So, I go to drop off the "old" (2013) SUV for my new SUV yesterday...since I had off. I go in with my winter beard in full bloom (think more brown Ryan Reynolds than Zach Galifianakis), jeans, puffy down coat with skull cap and then start the process to make the switch. I'm getting dismissed occasionally by the dude at the counter, given curt responses as I ask questions about the models there in the showroom while I wait, and then given a screw driver when I told them that I needed the plates moved on the autos. So, I didn't make a fuss and just went to work on the plates.

Within minutes the owner of the dealership (who is good friends with the recently retired equities trader in my firm...who is also a good friend of mine) comes outside, shakes my hand, tells me he heard I was coming by today, told me to stop and takes everything from me, then gets down and does the plate work himself. The assholish guy who was "helping" me then changes his tune and gives me his name, shakes my hand (twice), tells me if I need anything to just let him know, yadda...yadda...fucking yadda.

I love it when I can see someone's truth before they tuck it in.

I would have asked to him to vacuum the car in front of the owner.

Yeah, I didn't feel like meeting his assholery with my own brand of it. It doesn't mean I never do...just yesterday I decided not to. You know, for Dr. King and shit.

that's mighty white of you

Only on the third Monday in January. Otherwise, I'm all Richard Sherman Hemsley.

Bklyn wrote:Only on the third Monday in January. Otherwise, I'm all Richard Sherman Hemsley.

Heh

I'm disappointed he apologized today. The NFL needs another Deion Sanders/Andre Rison

Bklyn wrote:So, one of the perks of my job is that my firm covers my autos (and gas and insurance) that I drive. I swap out a car every 6 months, or so. It's not that big of a perk because as a NYer I rarely drive (my last auto, a massive SUV that got probably 12mi/gal had 4,000 miles in 8 mos of driving).

Anyway, they switched up the protocol and I have to go pick up my new car from a dealership (as opposed to it being delivered to the garage at my office). So, I go to drop off the "old" (2013) SUV for my new SUV yesterday...since I had off. I go in with my winter beard in full bloom (think more brown Ryan Reynolds than Zach Galifianakis), jeans, puffy down coat with skull cap and then start the process to make the switch. I'm getting dismissed occasionally by the dude at the counter, given curt responses as I ask questions about the models there in the showroom while I wait, and then given a screw driver when I told them that I needed the plates moved on the autos. So, I didn't make a fuss and just went to work on the plates.

Within minutes the owner of the dealership (who is good friends with the recently retired equities trader in my firm...who is also a good friend of mine) comes outside, shakes my hand, tells me he heard I was coming by today, told me to stop and takes everything from me, then gets down and does the plate work himself. The assholish guy who was "helping" me then changes his tune and gives me his name, shakes my hand (twice), tells me if I need anything to just let him know, yadda...yadda...fucking yadda.

I love it when I can see someone's truth before they tuck it in.

Were your pants at least pulled up above your ass?