Whether we like it or not, some things are inevitable. While we all looked on in shock and horror as a murder case involving a top pro bodybuilder and top pro fitness competitor unfolded, knowing that Craig Titus was involved didn't surprise a single person. The case against him included kidnapping, torture, murder and a ludicrous cover up attempt - complete with a burning Jaguar in the dessert and a cross-country chase that ended in a nail salon outside Boston - only made it all the more fitting for ole Craiggers. While the shock and horror was over the fact that the guilty party was one of us, the fact that it was Craig really didn't shock anyone.
I was sitting near the front row at the XYZ Pro Show and I couldn't help but hear the familiar rant of a popular so-called "diet guru" behind me yelling in his unmistakable accent. "Oh, yes, he look very good! Very ripped... What his name?"
Some photographer answered his question and supplied the name. Next, this guru starts yelling out the guy's name- a competitor he doesn't even know - and begins instructing him from the crowd as if it's HIS client! "Yes!! That it... blow out!! Oh yes, you look great!.... Squeeze the legs... Yes, that it!!"
Long before poverty had driven most of us into the real world of car payments and domestic anguish and we had to replace four hour workouts with 40 minute body blasts and 40 hour work weeks, a guy named Jake Stienfield started a little business called Body by Jake. This was the first personal training service catering mostly to the odd physiques of Hollywood producers and their charges. Gradually, this notion sunk into the heads of hitherto gym rats, realizing that if they could manage to count to ten they could actually earn a handsome living while hanging at the gym. Low and behold the ubiquitous personal trainer was born.
I was standing in the Species front office futzing around with an electrical connector from the video studio next door and trying hard not to accept the fact that I can no longer see things up close. I know... I know... I need to wear glasses.
Dave walked in the door at the far end of the office. As he came up to me he realized my plight and made some crack about how far away I have to hold something in order to see it. For some reason, my advancing age and the foibles that come along with it - such as blindness - are a constant source of amusement for the Whack Pack. Dave shot me that 4 x6 grin of a car salesman and he said, "you need glasses."
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