Those Three

When I was pretty young I saw a documentary about the 1964 murders of the civil rights volunteers in that other Phildelphia. Thus, that crime has always disturbed me more than most. Forty-one years later--yesterday-- another verdict was returned in that case.

The story of the trial was briefly top-fold news, though soon be displaced by the Tom Cruise's horror at being squirted with water by fake reporters.

Michael, James and Andy will be remembered here.

Time Travel

It had to happen sooner or later. The stairmasterly device at the gym presents you with a brief survey at the start of the workout, questions survey you for : type of course (which varies amount of resistance, depending you choice of 'manual' 'hilly' 'cross-country'...); your weight (most people don't realize that the proper way to cheat here, is to ADD lbs to your actual tonnage, this will increase the estimate of calories burned) and your AGE.

Usually, I go back in time. I stop clicking at 17 or 23 or 31. I try to recall facts about the then-US President, who led the American League in triples that year, and other things that might have been happening at that point in my life.

I'm never 18 anymore at the gym. I tried that once and recalled that was not such a good year. I turned 18 a week after finishing high school so that phase had already expired. I woke up one day and I was in a junior college, still in Sanford, it seemed like it was filled with people I didn't like in high school. There were hostages in Iran, I was sick much of that year, and gained about 25 lbs--did I mention that got stuck in a junior college in Sanford? Rather forget that one.

So anyway, last night when the computer screen at the gym, quizzed me at the start of workout, I drew a heavy sigh and decided that I might as well get it over and hit the up-arrow button, then hit it again. And again. '43' said the indicator. At last. Another click older; yes, deeper in debt.

I'll be 16 next time I go to the gym.