Roar!

Lately, my single favorite thing to do is stand shirtless in front the mirror, flex my muscles and roar! Sometimes, I break into impromptu samurai growling, and I don't mean for a few seconds, I mean a full minute of Toshiro Mifune madness. Four months of daily swimming has upgraded my physique. This summer I was a cute old Yid who kept himself in decent shape. Now, suddenly, I’m a swarthy Jew with a chest. I know it’s immature, but I just can’t stop gawking at myself. I don't even mind my surgically massacred belly button that looks like a cyclops poked in the eye with a stick. It just adds to my rugged ambiance. Fuck ambiance. MANbiance!

This is not exaggeration or some literary stunt. The pleasure I get from looking at myself is exponential. The love of my life could kick me to the curb and one peek at my "lats" and I'd be happy as a clam. You see I was an athlete, a speedster, a ball player. I used to put my shoulder down and take it hard to the hole in late 70s New York. I was so fast I could hit a sharp grounder to short and beat it out every time. But then the dope got me. This might be a surprise to some of you but ten years of black tar heroin and a nightly quart of Häagen Dazs does not leave you looking your best. But that's all behind me now. Now, it's Pilates at four, swimming right after and then a five-minute session of self-admiration. Who's that half-ripped rabbi in the mirror, that’s what America wants to know? It’s you Swerdy. It’s you.