la palestra mas fina

if you think i joined a gym because i would rather sweat it out in a dark little box of a room where lady gaga blares on repeat than on the shores of the mediterrenean, because i am a lazy, lazy, lazy and very unmotivated human being, then you are very, very right. and i applaud you, because you know me so well.
so i joined a gym. la palestra di ortigia, to be specific. this is a peculiar little place. besides offering up a variety of american pop music and lovely photos of the female owner in her bodybuilding days (holy shit) it offers a nice cross-section of italian/sicilian culture. for example:

there is always a massive group of italian male students huddled outside the door when my friend and i make our way there in the morning. they like to kiss each other on the cheek while typing furiously into blackberries and rubbing shiny parka-covered elbows and scuffing black and dark purple nikes into the cobblestone. (i truly have never seen more black and dark purple in my life.) these guys also like to engage in massive staredowns with us, which is rather embarssing considering we are usually in, you know, sweats, and they are usually in, you know, d&g tuxedos. its some sort of teenage cultural thing, i guess.

the women adorn their tiny waists with only velour sweatsuits. i dont think they ever sweat. and depite the fact that they are obviously in shape, their workout of choice consists of lifting a kilogram weight 5 times overhead and then standing for five minutes on an extremely awkward vibrating platform (tried it. died laughing. wish wooster had one).

rarely are there men working out when i am, although i did see a lithe middle-aged man supporting his entire body weight on his elbows. theres a picture on the wall of a champion gymnast on the rings. i think its him.

well, i would get into more detail about this amazing little window in italian culture, but i have to go to class. because sometimes i have to pretend im here to be slightly academic. such is life.

miss you all!