You’re not punk…

…And I’m telling everyone.

I went to the gym today. Specificity, Shmecificity. Since I’m not very good with numbers, I kept losing count. Was that two sets or three? Eight reps or twelve? Maybe I need to carry a calculator or an abacus.

But counting is so not punk rock. So I just guessed.

Yo, meathead. Yeah, you, making funny faces and loud grunting noises, checking yourself out in mirror before every rep. Ohmigod, I can’t believe you can squat three times my body weight. You. Are. So. Cool. NOW RERACK YOUR FREAKIN’ WEIGHTS, DUMBASS! Newsflash, pec-boy, there are other people on the planet. And some of us plebes can’t get your 45 plates off the squat rack, mmkay? I really like tracking down some gym staff guy to do it for me, or more to the point, for you, since you’re the one that sucks. So I’m only going to say it one more time: RERACK YOUR WEIGHTS! Don’t make me come over there. Because I’m way, way smaller than you.

Meanwhile, I’ll be slam dancin’ in the corner. A Girl’s got to do something between sets. And it sure isn’t listen to that ’80 crap coming through the sound system. (If you like ’80s crap, I’m sorry. For you.)

Anarchy burger, hold the government. (Extra credit, if you can name the originator of that phrase.) Speaking of punks, we had a little outburst of anarchy here at Disneyland, right on Main Street. Halloween night, a crowd of merry pranksters decided to throw a spontaneous party in the middle of State Street, the main shopping drag lined with chi-chi boutiques. Coach handbag, anyone? Trick or Treat.

Now, spontaneous outbreaks of “people power” are not exactly the norm here. Yes, student protestors burned the Bank of America in the Sixties (actually, I believe it was in 1971, but sometimes the calender refuses to conform to events.) I think there might be a few ageing hippies still hiding out in the hills. If you search the halls, there’s probably even a Marxist or two lurking about the University. Has the New Left become the Old Left yet? Inquiring minds. (Full disclosure: All three volumes of das Kapital, first American edition, are sitting here on my shelf. Bound in red, natch.) We have a hardy band of war protestors who never miss a Saturday. Thanks to them, I frequently spend my training rides with peace songs stuck in my head, which at least makes it hard to summon up much in the way of road rage. All we are saying is give peace a chance. (No, No, no need to thank me, just playin’ it forward.) But in the main, this place is pretty darn mainstream when it comes to the politicin’ A median housing price in the low seven figures just doesn’t bring out the anarchists. Property is Theft. What, no takers?

Anywho, the Reclaimers led the police on a silly foot chase around downtown. The cops weren’t so amused, and got out the riot gear. Talk about clearing the station. Five cars went pealing out all in a row. They even got to run the blue flashy lights. Me? I was just trying to pedal my bikey to the grocery store to get some food, because a Girl’s gotta eat and all. Please don’t run me over blue flashy lights.

Alas, I missed out on the anarchy.