I sleep so much more in the winter time. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. It’s just a fact. I have this tendency to begin playing the piano, say around 10 PM. By, oh, 10:05 or so I begin to become a little bored with it. Heheh Soon I long to crawl upon the couch and pull my electric blanket over my head. Eventually I do this. I want nothing more than to lie there under the warmth of the blanket and space out in silence. It’s all I want. I’m not sad. I’m not anything at all really. I just enjoy the silence, the warmth, and the stillness. Of course soon enough I fall asleep in this state. I’ll awaken an hour, maybe two, later, sometimes to just find my way to bed, and other times, like tonight, I’ll awaken refreshed and ready to be productive for a little while. Honestly, this winter time trend doesn’t disturb me at all. There’s little that’s more satisfying than lying curled up and zoned out under an electric blanket, with the tv on but muted, as my kind of silent companion.

On a different topic, there’s a gathering storm at my gym, I’ve noticed, in the last week or two. The faithful, my old gym companions, the regulars… I’ve been hearing comments sporadically, whispered among friends, whispered with all the indiscretion of a gym secret, about the guy in the yellow shirt. “Jesus,” they’ll say, and laugh. And I know immediately who they’re talking about, because I’ve been noticing too. I mean, are we just being overly sensitive to what might be a mere cultural difference? He could be European after all, one wonders. Or perhaps he doesn’t notice himself. I heard this mentioned. You don’t always notice yourself, one guy said. I heard one group of guys talking quietly to a manager at the gym about the problem, and the manager mentioned that he might have to speak with him. If things got much worse the guy might be asked to leave. Honestly, though, I can’t imagine how it would get much worse. Even the manager mentioned how he already wants to wretch every time the guy walks by. With underarm odor like that, you can imagine that he doesn’t have a lot of friends. But in truth he’s quite a friendly fellow, albeit apparently friendless. He’s young, Italian looking, with dark hair and a Roman nose. One might even say he’s good-looking. Again tonight I heard the same group of guys talking about him. I enjoy this group of three guys. They’re in their late 20s, one in his thirties. They’re there at least as often as I am. They know what they’re doing, they’re strong, they’re fit (one of them has a near perfect body), they’re always laughing and enjoying their own company. I like them.

Today they were laughing about a couple of the other guys who work out together, friends of theirs. These two guys are true muscle heads. They’re hugely muscled, they’re the grunters, they’re the type who put off the less serious. They also don’t say much, even to their own friends. Today one of them walked by the group of three that I like. One of them said, “Hey Frank, how’s it going?” (Frank had been sick but had finally returned today. They were genuinely concerned and happy to see Frank.) Frank in his baggy gym pantaloons pants and bandana nodded and walked by. They asked more questions but Frank scarcely acknowledged them. One of the three of them (Steve) laughed, noting that Frank doesn’t say much. Hehe Frank works out with Dave, who’s even less chatty. They laughed and laughed about Frank and Dave, how they merely nod, motion with their hands, shake their heads, grunt to one another like cave men, etc. They wondered how a phone conversation between the two might go. Hehe Lots of time spent holding the receiver in silence, head nodding, stretches of not so awkward empty silence. What else would there be? Well, there was Frank and his reticence. And there was the guy in the yellow shirt. (As an aside, the fact that he’s known as the guy in the yellow shirt ought to be a tipoff—maybe it’s just a laundry problem.) Anyway, today the problem was soooo bad. Yellow guy had truly a zone of foulness around him that spaned perhaps 10 feet. With a crowded gym, that creates quite a stir. Yellow shirt guy is oblivious to it. But the storm is gathering. Today Steve wondered aloud if perhaps the only thing left for him to do was to change gyms. He’s out of options. Heheh He may take a whole crew with him.

I had a similar thought on a different topic later tonight. I was talking to Gerry about his plans for our Paris photos. He’s not content to throw a collection on a CD and leave it at that. It’s become an undertaking of epic proportions. There’s a video in the works, thousands of photos to cull… well, not cull so much as collect—they’re no culling. He wants my prints so he can scan them to add to the thousands of digital photos he has already from multiple sources. God bless him. He’s a better man than me. But the effort got me to thinking aloud with Gerry. Has the undertaking almost made the Paris trip not really worth it? I mean, who needs a wonderous trip to the city of lights when it means months of laborious toiling ahead? If it were me, if I were faced with this daunting task… I’d have only to conclude that the Paris trip would have to be cancelled. There’s no other way. So there are my two tales in the same night of the tail wagging the dog.