July 2008

If I had to name one single thing that I missed about my life in New York, it would be my wonderful New York gym. It was just a few blocks from our apartment, loaded with all of the newest and nicest equipment, and basically always empty. Sure, the completely saturated workout facility market in New York must be tough on the owners, but it worked in our favor. I am told that John Travolta worked out at our gym, though I never saw him there and although it doesn’t seem like he spends a lot of time on the treadmill. In any case, it was nice.

Our new gym in Missoula is located in a strip mall, has some working equipment, and is populated by the same five guys who are always standing around not quite lifting anything. I mean, it’s not so bad. Part of the issue is that I’ve been having knee problems the last few months and I’m stuck on the stationary bike a lot, something that Ben describes as only being marginally better exercise than sitting on the couch. Worse, though, is that the stationary bikes at this gym have the following written on them:

“Stop exercising if you feel pain, faint, dizzy, or out of breath.”

Yeah. I know. A parallel structure nightmare. And I have to stare at it for 30 minutes a day. It’s like driving by a flaming seven-vehicle car crash that you can’t help but stare at, except that it’s with nouns and adjectives. It’s a word crash.

Now, I’m not a grammar expert by any stretch of the imagination, but this sentence follows me through the day like a terrible parallel structure ghost, shaking its chains and turning my blood cold with its crappy sentence balance. Whenever I’ve made a list in my head lately, it sounds something like:

“I need to mail those thank-you notes, buy some silverware, and pain.”

Or:

“Today I’m writing two press releases, some brochure copy, out of breath, and two web pages.”

I also often imagine a terrifying world in which people talked like that and it went totally unnoticed. For example, I might imagine a man sitting in a doctor’s office and explaining that his symptoms make him feel “faint and pain.” Or I think about two joggers finishing up a marathon, where one of them turns and says, “I’m dizzy,” and the other one says, “I’m pain.”

If you are thinking, “why don’t you just look somewhere other than the tiny 8-point font grammar mistake written on the bike, like maybe, for instance, at the TV directly in front of the bike? Or even the wall?” then I don’t think we’ll ever truly understand one another.

I saw my first beaver last week. I was walking over a small bridge into town, and there it was, hanging out in the river. I guess this is one of the small differences between New York City and Montana - more diverse rodent sightings.

It was HUGE. Nothing that I had learned about beavers when I was growing up ever led me to believe that when I was 27 I would be faced with a four-foot long, 60-pound, very, very serious looking beaver. In fact, popular images of the beaver (see right) led me to believe that beavers were maybe a foot tall, extremely goofy, and possibly high on drugs.

The beaver that I saw meant serious business. In fact, when I first spotted it, I assumed it was a baby black bear before his tail came out of the water. It did not have buggy crossed eyes. It was not up to any antics. It was not cheering on a local sports team. It was in Nature, Surviving Majestically.

After I did some reading on beavers when I got home (I suggest typing in “North American Beaver” instead of “Enormous Wet Beaver”) and found that they are, indeed, serious, hardworking animals and not silly at all. They are the second largest rodent in the world. They can change the flow of entire rivers (in fact, the second largest beaver dam is located in Montana and at 2,140 feet long and 14 feet high, it can be seen by freaking satellite). They carry entire logs in their teeth and then pack mud and rocks into the crevices with their forepaws. They defend their dams and lodges with vigor. (Down below is a REAL beaver, much like the one I saw. Although this one may or may not be dead.)

So what’s with all of the lame beaver press that paints them as small and wacky instead of smart and majestic and maybe a little intimidating? Is it kind of like artificially fruit-flavored candy that doesn’t taste like the real fruit but is weirdly consistent in taste with other artificially fruit-flavored candy? Is the beaver the blue raspberry of the animal kingdom? Was I the only person on earth who didn’t know the truth about beavers?

I feel like running some sort of public awareness campaign for them that reveals their true size and disposition: Hardworking. Dedicated. Enormous. Sober.