Early last week Voodoo texted me asking if I “wanted” to Q Meathead, which in tone was quite similar to how my wife phrases things like “Do you want to help me fold the laundry?” or “Do you want to take the garbage out?”. I typically respond with “Do I want to, no. Will I, absolutely” which is almost always met with a look that could melt steel. All I’m saying is be precise in your language.
So I found myself gearing up to Q Meathead last Wednesday, but a multitude of life responsibilities kept me up too late Tuesday night so I barely had time to come up with a workout and get to bed at a somewhat reasonable hour, meaning that the playlist would have to be sacrificed. The spreadsheet called for Turkish Get-Ups and 20-30 minutes of cardio. Cardio. At Meathead. Not on my watch.
For a fleeting moment it looked as if I would be the only one who showed for the workout, and since I don’t have the intestinal fortitude of Champagne (remember him?) I was about to go home and sleep on the couch, when Voodoo, Worm, and Frehley’s pulled in. Best laid plans and whatnot…
Instead of get-ups and cardio we paired swings and merkins and for the “cardio” we integrated a ton of heavy carries in between sets. Then it was squats and sumo high pulls I think, but it’s been a week and I don’t really remember. Anyway, that’s not the part anybody cares about. Since I was derelict in my playlist duties the other gentlemen asked what they could play on my behalf, and I responded that Buckcherry would be lovely. Some context…recently I attended a joint bachelor/bachelorette party in Las Vegas where thanks to flight cancellations and delays coupled with my juvenile genetic wiring I slept about 10 total hours from Thursday night until I walked in the door to my house Monday morning at 8 am. Saturday night we found ourselves at a hidden speakeasy in the Cosmopolitan hotel that featured a band that played mainly 90s alternative covers, and one of the songs they played was by the aforementioned Buckcherry, which made me irrationally happy.
Frehley’s just so happened to have a Buckcherry playlist already made because apparently angels walk among us. He apologized that “Crazy Bitch” might appear twice on the list, which is an odd thing to apologize for because it should appear a minimum of three times on any playlist. This led to a discussion of what songs would be good to perform to if you hypothetically were reincarnated as a female exotic dancer, or shoe model as we called them on the mean streets of Southwestern Ohio. I immediately stated that Buckcherry would be featured prominently in my set, and the ensuing discussion was both enlightening and thought provoking. The selections were limited to rock music of course, as nature intended, and because hip hop is absolute dreck and its rise to the dominant form of popular music is in direct correlation with the decline of American society. The group settled on the following selections:
Well, I don’t really know how to put a cap on a kettlebell workout combined with a discussion on what songs middle aged men would perform to if they somehow found themselves young female shoe models. This is probably why I’m not asked to lead things very often.