I’m wondering if reading a Men’s Health magazine and checking in at my gym on Facebook Places counts as a workout.
Your humble blogger has been away from the gym for a few weeks but will finally get back there this week. If anything, just to look at the naked men in the shower.
Luckily we gay guys have that extra incentive to haul our ass the gym.
But New Years, as they keep telling us, is a time to start again… time to start losing that weight I put on over the holidays… which was the weight I took off last summer… which was the weight I put on last Christmas… damn that delicious and (luckily) seasonal President’s Choice Candy Cane Chocolate Fudge Crackle™ Ice Cream!
The husband gave me a number of books for Christmas. The Slap by Australian author Christos Tsiolka is first on the list to read (that is after I finish Hitch-22… and Parisians by Graham Robb… To the End of the Land by David Grossman… and then there’s some lousy selection for my book club this month). And Colm Tóibín’s new collection of short stories, The Empty Family is being released in Canada on January 04. Maybe I’ll write a review or one or two of these novels when I’m finished.
But there’s lots of time – New Years and all.
Ah, New Years! I have 364.25 days to do all this stuff and more… and now I’ve even started blogging again (it will be interesting to see how long that lasts).
And what about the new novel I’ve been working on? I’ve had quite a number of readers email me about the status of my novel. If only publishers were as interested as Gay Groom readers. Well I’m still working on it. Editing and re-editing and re-re-editing. It’s currently being read by a publisher and an agent or two. I wonder if I’ll ever hear back from them? Sometimes you never do. But since hope springs eternal, I’ve began working on yet another novel. But we’ll save all the poop on the book for another blog. Still lots of time… it’s a new year!
Or is it?
A few years ago your humble blogger wrote a blog discussing Marcel Proust’s pondering of New Years in his colossal novel, In Search of Lost Time (À la recherche du temps perdu), as Proust’s young narrator describes his disillusionment with New Years Day.
Time passes indifferently. The future, Proust’s narrator suddenly discovers, does not magically open up on New Years Day. There is only the unheeding fluidity of days and years that, unknown to the Years themselves, we choose to invest with a different name each January. Thus is our feeble attempt to shape and modify Years to suit ourselves. “New Years Day was not a day different from the rest”, Proust writes, “it’s not the first day of a new world.”
But what did that old French invert know?
Quite a bit, actually. We all know that a lovely new world is not magically created when Anderson Cooper hosts the ball drop in Times Square on New Years Eve. We know January 1 is arbitrary and could have easily been March 15 (which would even make a bit more sense). We know New Years isn’t a grand new clean start.
But hell, I’ll play along for a few days…
Jeffrey, The Gay Groom