I hadn’t been in a YMCA locker room for many years, but I’m here to report that some things never change. Upon entering the locker room, right there by the door, is always Naked Guy. Not “I’m slipping out of my towel and jumping into my shorts” Naked Guy. I’m talking about “I’ve been standing here letting it all hang out from every angle as I consider organizing my bag” Naked Guy. No matter what locker room you enter, this guy is there, and usually front and center for everyone to enjoy.
Naked Guy comes in all shapes, sizes, ages, and races. I can’t be as judgmental to suggest that there is something unsavory about this particular man. One shouldn’t assume that his intentions are anything beyond just the freedom of being naked.
Guys are just funny this way. Some guys can get naked together at the drop of a hat… or pants for that matter. My college rugby team was famous for their desire to drop trou with each other. Yet any suggestion of homosexuality would cause a surge of ugly testosterone to prove otherwise. I think there is actually a large percentage of guys who would be perfectly fine with an installation of a sports bar in the locker room. Picture a bunch of naked guys sitting about eating wings and watching the game. Get too messy with the wing sauce, just walk over to the shower and rinse off.
I dated a girl who lived in a newly renovated downtown loft apartment in Cincinnati. Right across the way was this very old school private executive men’s club. Wouldn’t call it a fitness center, because there wasn’t really any exercise going on. Just a bunch of old white men, sitting around in steam rooms. Their casual nudity and lack of window dressings were common issues raised at the resident meetings.
I just don’t have this level of comfort, and I never have. When I’m forced in to sharing changing space with others, I mind my own Ps and Qs. My eyes are on what I’m doing, and I can only expect that everyone else is doing the same. I have what most would consider an appropriate level of self-consciousness, and have no desire to put myself on display.
There are many activities where nudity is acceptable and very much encouraged. However, most of these are considered socially unacceptable in public. Seinfeld had a whole episode about “ugly naked.” There is many a position that need not be gazed upon. Any pre or post stretching routines can all be accomplished with the comfort of briefs. Sure, you might need to hike that leg up on the bench to dry off, but it completely unnecessary as a stance to help drive conversation.
As a general rule, I feel that if your junk is exposed in a public situation, there should be no conversation. This goes for changing rooms and urinals. The only exception to this rule may be at the doctor, and he is telling you to turn your head and cough. I mean, what do you even have to talk about when naked? “Say – how’s your penis?”
As one might assume, I’ve never been in the Ladies Locker room, so I don’t know how relatable this story is to my copious amount female readers. Our feeble male minds have our own ideas, but I’m going to guess there is Naked Woman in there that is in no way matching our Cinemax-inspired fantasy. However feel free to comment, share descriptions or photos if necessary.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Friday, September 3, 2010
Funny Part 2 – Ups Man
Every neighborhood has one I suppose. That one cool kid that everyone looks up to, and longs to be friends with. Our neighborhood had Tim Kraus.
For years I was told by my parents to avoid this particular person. Other neighbors had warned my parents that he was an unsavory fellow, prone to the kind of things that could get an impressionable young man like myself into trouble. As to be expected, that just made him all the more fascinating to me. He lived at the opposite end of the street, and our paths never crossed that much. I heard of him much like we hear of infamous superstars in the tabloids, and therefore many of his exploits were legendary.
Oddly enough, I don’t remember when I started hanging around him. Being so drawn to him for years, I guess I eventually just gravitated to him. Around the age of Junior High, I started to spend nearly every day with him. He wasn’t nearly as bad an egg as he was made out to be. There was indeed something about him that made him a beloved character to us all. He was funny.
Granted, what is funny to a bunch of goofy kids playing in the street isn’t widely regarded as classical comedy. Whatever you want to brand this humor, Tim was by far a master craftsman of it. Nobody could work a crowd of giggling sophomoric misfits like he could. His eyes were shifty with creative delight. His laugh crackled with obnoxious joy. He was often imitated, but nobody could ever come close to his unique brand of delivery. His spoke of body parts and physical acts that we wouldn’t become familiar with for years. His use of obscenities was only used for greater impact. There was truly nothing sacred, and he wasn’t afraid of anyone or any subject.
He had many targets of his humor, but he was honestly never really mean to anyone. The guys on the other end of his jokes became characters larger than themselves. He’d crack heavily on you and you would love him for it. Dale Setzer was perhaps his favorite victim. Tim’s imitation of Dale always started with a “Dah!” Tim made up many hapless adventures involving Dale and his assorted bodily functions and fluids. I’m not sure if Dale ever really knew of his star status, and our collective fascination of him.
I’m sure that we never really knew what we were laughing at. Perhaps Tim didn’t even fully understand why something was funny. One of his random catchphrases was “Lacrosse is a faggot college sport… Dale plays with his dick.” My apologies for the insensitivity of the remark, but keep in mind – we were a bunch of dumb kids. We didn’t understand half of the comment, but his delivery of it kept us in stitches each time he said it.
Everything he did was comical: the slack way he carried himself, his low-rider bike peddling, his crooked middle finger delivery. He took delight in his surroundings, and he introduced me to the subtle absurdities of our every day existence. The UPS man was always the “Ups” man, and later the “U-Piss” man. Various people in the neighborhood had similar nicknames based on his random observations.
His appearance was somewhat odd in style. In the blazing heat of the summer he wore a tropical button down shirt with a battered white t-shirt, dark jeans, and high-top sneakers. All of these items were usually one size too big. He would never wear shorts. Despite this, he was always considered the most attractive of our merry band.
What started out as me basically just being a hanger-oner evolved into one of the most valued friendships I’ve ever had. Like most great comic minds, Tim was covering up a great deal of emotional pain. It’s not my place to go into his troubles, but suffice to say that Tim’s path in life was not a smooth road. It was an important life lesson to learn what kind of masks people wear for protection.
Tim remained a loyal friend through the difficult transition to adolescence. Years later my Dad commented that he was wrong about Tim, and how impressed he was with him in the end. I’ll always envy Tim, and I’ll continue to long for the same kind of adoration he commanded.
I’ll also never be able to not call the UPS driver the “Ups” man ever again.
For years I was told by my parents to avoid this particular person. Other neighbors had warned my parents that he was an unsavory fellow, prone to the kind of things that could get an impressionable young man like myself into trouble. As to be expected, that just made him all the more fascinating to me. He lived at the opposite end of the street, and our paths never crossed that much. I heard of him much like we hear of infamous superstars in the tabloids, and therefore many of his exploits were legendary.
Oddly enough, I don’t remember when I started hanging around him. Being so drawn to him for years, I guess I eventually just gravitated to him. Around the age of Junior High, I started to spend nearly every day with him. He wasn’t nearly as bad an egg as he was made out to be. There was indeed something about him that made him a beloved character to us all. He was funny.
Granted, what is funny to a bunch of goofy kids playing in the street isn’t widely regarded as classical comedy. Whatever you want to brand this humor, Tim was by far a master craftsman of it. Nobody could work a crowd of giggling sophomoric misfits like he could. His eyes were shifty with creative delight. His laugh crackled with obnoxious joy. He was often imitated, but nobody could ever come close to his unique brand of delivery. His spoke of body parts and physical acts that we wouldn’t become familiar with for years. His use of obscenities was only used for greater impact. There was truly nothing sacred, and he wasn’t afraid of anyone or any subject.
He had many targets of his humor, but he was honestly never really mean to anyone. The guys on the other end of his jokes became characters larger than themselves. He’d crack heavily on you and you would love him for it. Dale Setzer was perhaps his favorite victim. Tim’s imitation of Dale always started with a “Dah!” Tim made up many hapless adventures involving Dale and his assorted bodily functions and fluids. I’m not sure if Dale ever really knew of his star status, and our collective fascination of him.
I’m sure that we never really knew what we were laughing at. Perhaps Tim didn’t even fully understand why something was funny. One of his random catchphrases was “Lacrosse is a faggot college sport… Dale plays with his dick.” My apologies for the insensitivity of the remark, but keep in mind – we were a bunch of dumb kids. We didn’t understand half of the comment, but his delivery of it kept us in stitches each time he said it.
Everything he did was comical: the slack way he carried himself, his low-rider bike peddling, his crooked middle finger delivery. He took delight in his surroundings, and he introduced me to the subtle absurdities of our every day existence. The UPS man was always the “Ups” man, and later the “U-Piss” man. Various people in the neighborhood had similar nicknames based on his random observations.
His appearance was somewhat odd in style. In the blazing heat of the summer he wore a tropical button down shirt with a battered white t-shirt, dark jeans, and high-top sneakers. All of these items were usually one size too big. He would never wear shorts. Despite this, he was always considered the most attractive of our merry band.
What started out as me basically just being a hanger-oner evolved into one of the most valued friendships I’ve ever had. Like most great comic minds, Tim was covering up a great deal of emotional pain. It’s not my place to go into his troubles, but suffice to say that Tim’s path in life was not a smooth road. It was an important life lesson to learn what kind of masks people wear for protection.
Tim remained a loyal friend through the difficult transition to adolescence. Years later my Dad commented that he was wrong about Tim, and how impressed he was with him in the end. I’ll always envy Tim, and I’ll continue to long for the same kind of adoration he commanded.
I’ll also never be able to not call the UPS driver the “Ups” man ever again.
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