FAT GUY SITTING AT HOME

By Michael Pallotta, Union Staffer

(To enhance your experience, I’m providing songs to look up online and listen to while reading. To start off, find “Where the Wild Roses Grow” by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds.)
     It started around 4am in mid-December, school had gotten out recently and with little-to-no responsibilities or places to be, I found my sleep schedule thrown off entirely. I’d catch an hour or two in the afternoon, eat when I could, then get up and ride my horse until I passed out in the early morning. The setting and rising of the sun was the only clock I acknowledged. Travelling out in the open, I met many travelers along the way, and saw the beauty of the world all laid out in front of me. To survive, I hunted all types of animals, and defended myself against wolves and mountain lions leaping from still bushels. If my wits were about me, I’d draw arms, take aim and blow off heads and limbs all in the span of a heartbeat.
(Now how about the song “Ambitions” by Donkeyboy.)
     Instead of two miles a day on a treadmill, I did thirty miles a day on a horse, blasting banditos and bounties in Red Dead Redemption. If you asked me what I was doing, I’d tell you that I was hunting for wolf hearts and skunk’s pelts to sell in town so I could buy a Buffalo Rifle and some moonshine. If you asked me why I shot that whore in the back, I’d tell you it’s because she threw me off my horse after I offered her a ride back to civilization. The two-timing, corset-wearing tramp running around without a bustle! How lude!
     Normally I’d use this column to ruminate on my experiences with exercising, specifically at the Rec Center on campus, but something happened over winter break. Laziness—ambition, goals, and motivation all went the way of the Dodo.
(Move onto “Just a Friend” by Biz Markie.)
     The heaviest my breathing got was on New Year’s Eve when I spent the night dancing to Girl Talk, and when midnight came, I yelled along to Biz Markie rather than making any sort of weight-related resolutions. I did what I wanted to do.
     Rather than peddle away for hours on a stationary bike, I put my feet up on the coffee table, sat in front of my brand new 42” TV, and watched four seasons of Top Gear (the British version, of course). Rather than using the free weights, I hunched over my desk and finished thirty comic trade paperbacks. And rather than staring in the mirror at my barreled midsection looking for any signs of decrease or increase, I let my beard grow—something that garners much respect, despite requiring zero effort. If anything, this beard signified my detachment from routine—a comfortable face-cushion to gain anonymity.
(Let’s finish this up with “In Motion” from The Social Network score by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross.)
    But that’s what winter break is for, we’re offered a long break from responsibility to fully indulge ourselves. To drink Four Lokos and regret it. To grow beards. To spend hours watching entire seasons of TV. To bury our faces in Daniel Clowes comics. To explode our friends on Black Ops. To tweet this: “Who was the first person to see a chicken crap an egg out of its feathery vagina, and say ‘Hey let’s eat whatever that is’? #eggs #yuck.” To live freely one last time before we devote ourselves to what others expect from us. I lived it up. Now it’s time to get back to the Rec Center and onto the treadmill.