Music
Broken Arrow
25 Things or Less About Me

I walked in the woods as often as possible on Cape Cod: almost every day. It’s a habit I’ve been in for years. Easter Sunday’s walk was sunny, beautiful, the perfect temperature. I circled around a secluded pond and saw geese, ducks, seagulls. I passed an older couple who smiled, and wished me a Happy Easter.

I emerged from the woods an hour or so later. I would have stayed longer but I needed sustenance and had my mind on the peanut butter and raisin sandwich I’d packed earlier that day. I had parked on a back road near a one hundred and forty acre lot of forested trails. There was a crescent shaped shoulder off the dirt road next to a patch of woods, an SUV parked in front of me where I’d landed.

I found my way back, got in my truck, ate, drank from my water bottle. There was a house right across the street surrounded by an iron fence, with two healthy German Shepherds running around the yard. I had actually chatted with these people already on previous walks past their house. They had reached out and said hello, chatted about their dogs, Cape Cod versus Western Mass, the forest versus ocean.

I noticed a car pulling out of their driveway, a man of about twenty-five driving. He stopped right next to me and motioned for me to roll my window down. I pressed the power window button but it didn’t work; the keys were on the passenger seat. I motioned for him to wait, took my time putting the key in, rolled the window down and smiled. I assumed he was going to ask for directions and I was ready to say sorry, I don’t know anything around here.

“What are you doing across from my parents’ house?” he asked. His tone was not pleasant.

“Ahh… finishing up a walk, eating a sandwich,” I offered.
“What are you doing?” he said.
“A walk in the woods,” I tried again. Perhaps he hadn’t understood me the first time.

He got out of his car. His manner was abrupt and aggressive.

“In these woods,” he said, pointing beyond me, to my right. “I know what you’re doing here. I know what goes on in those woods. Fags go in these woods.”
“Oh…” I said, surprised. I wondered why he was sharing this information with me.

“What are you doin’ out here across from my parent’s house?” he demanded, his tone more aggressive. “I know what’s going on here. Fags go in those woods.”

Apparently, this man thought the woods in Yarmouth Port were reserved only for straight people. He also appeared to have made several incorrect assumptions about me: one about my sexual orientation, the other about where I’d come from, as I’d actually been in the much larger patch of forest down the street.

The mom came over. That’s when I learned his name was Jerry. I hoped his mom would help me, but took one look in her eyes and knew she wasn’t going to.

“Jerry, watch your language,” she said.
He was aggressive and profane, threatening in his tone, but I was not afraid of him. I was, however, concerned there was going to be some kind of scene. I hate encountering this kind of hostility, especially when it is so truly mistaken and unnecessary. I just do not enjoy it.

I looked at Jerry’s mom. “He really has the wrong idea,” I told her.
“What’s your license plate number?” he demanded. Looking back, that was a pretty inept question on Jerry’s part. I was sitting in my truck, with the plates right there on the front and back of the vehicle.

I didn’t point out to this guy that I’m straight, and have nothing to do with the assumptions he made. It was not relevant and wasn’t his business. One interesting detail here is that Jerry twice pointed to me and said to his mom, “He said he was going into the woods to meet someone,” something I had definitely not said. Why would I have? He inserted that into his memory to fit the scenario he’d already decided on.

This, right here, is the most astonishing and telling part of Jerry’s performance, and it bears repeating. Jerry literally inserted words into his memory that had nothing to do with me, words that fit the bizarre scenario he had imagined.

The worst thing about this incident was that for a few minutes I felt isolated and guilty, as if I had done something wrong. I can see how a situation like this could escalate in a predatory way. It’s called projection. I had, in fact, done nothing wrong. There certainly appeared to be parking on this quiet, forested side street; I parked in the shoulder behind an SUV. I hadn’t even been in the woods he was referring to, and as for what he was referring to, that was a projection of Jerry’s own inner world; it had nothing to do with me.

He swore again and ordered me out while I drove away, as if he could have commanded me to leave.

It’s clear that if Jerry had actually thought through his bizarre little homosexual fantasy, he would have had to realize he believed I was going to walk back to my truck after having parked it for more than an hour and a half on a sunny Easter day, sit quietly across from his parents’ house and eat half a peanut butter and raisin sandwich while secretly planning some kind of covert sexual exchange with an as yet absent partner in the woods across the way. This doesn’t seem very plausible to me, but I can’t speak for Jerry’s mental acuity, or stability.

I won’t park in this place again, but it can be a little disconcerting to confront the ignorance and loathing that is loose in this world. It is truly uncomfortable to feel the vibe change to one of fear and hatred so quickly. I’m sure it is the same fear and hatred that’s gotten people dragged to their deaths behind pickup trucks, or strung up from a tree and hanged to death. None of this happened to me. Homophobia, however, appears to be a particularly virulent kind of bigotry. Jerry’s behavior was more than unpleasant; it was a kind of assault.

One detail that I can’t forget here is that when I’d had a casual conversation with Jerry’s mom a few weeks before, she had mentioned that she had a son who was in law school. Very serious, she had indicated, his dedication. I find it worrisome that if he graduates law school and passes the bar exam, a man as sick as this will be entering our legal system.

This simple minded individual brought a message however, one more astonishing than I realized at the time. I’d had something on my mind that Sunday afternoon and was looking for insight, and the more I look this over, the more i think my encounter with Jerry happened for a reason. It wouldn’t be the first time. I taught music for seven years to special needs students at a small, private music academy in Western Massachusetts. I dedicated seven years of my life to this school and this population. I gave my heart and soul to this job, and because my students were so unusually gifted and intuitive musicians, the music we produced was amazing. The place was like a family and a home to me.

In 2005, things started to go south. I could count the ways for you, but in short, I noticed real changes happening: the school was becoming less of an inspired, creative project and more of a rigid, fear based organization with conditions on all fronts that reflected it. In the final few years I watched more good people than I could count on both hands get fired or quit out of frustration, a staggering amount for such a small school with a student population of less than thirty. We had four directors in five years, some of these great people whom I was sorry to see walk away. They just kept dropping off.

I shouldn’t have been surprised when three years later the axe finally fell for me, but even after all of that, it hurt. It was handled in such a numb and inept way that I created a great deal of suffering for myself about the details, what I could have done differently, what I could do to make it right again, and so on. Again and again, I blamed my self. A vacuum of power due to all this upheaval had left truly incompetent people in charge in my final semester. Their approach was harsh and inquisitorial, and turned out to be senseless and untrue. The interim director and supervisor who behaved so coldly toward me were each gone in less than a year, one of them embroiled in a highly contentious lawsuit against the school. After all of that, and after seven years of sincere dedication and hundreds of hours of volunteer work, when I applied for Unemployment the school said “Oh, no, he quit.” The state of Massachusetts disagreed, and awarded the benefits.

Looking back, I’m not surprised I was feeling so much angst on this topic that day in Cape Cod, and that I asked for perspective. I’ve done this before and always gotten answers. It’s just that, in my experience, signs are usually more subtle! Still, I can’t ignore the timing of this request, followed within the hour by Jerry’s virtual assault of accusation and misplaced projection of his own issues. At least this one only lasted a few minutes. When the axe finally fell for me at this music academy I witnessed treachery, dishonesty, and fear based projection equal to Jerry’s and probably surpassing it. At least Jerry had the courage to face me.

What do you do when someone accuses you of something you have nothing to do with, projects something onto you that you’re not? For a time, you might feel terrible about yourself. Eventually though, you realize you have responsibility to own your flaws and mistakes and do all you can to atone for them, but not somebody else’s. It may not have been pleasant at the time, but this individual’s mindless attack was a real gift to me. I had felt similarly isolated when things went bad at my school, at which I had given so much of myself. In my angst over this I had asked for a sign, and looking back, I sure got one. In fact, it occurs to me that I didn’t exactly get a sign; I got an actual experience of the thing I was trying to understand.

So what is this all about? Has something like this happened to you? Recently, a man walked up to me at a yoga center I visit in the Berkshires. I had been sitting on a couch a few minutes before, playing guitar. “Your music is beautiful,” he said, but I don’t think he had even heard it, as I wasn’t plugged in. He just really wanted to talk, and that was fine. He was very nice, and went on to reveal that he was at Kripalu for a workshop on issues related to his shyness. I stood there and listened, and we talked about this. It was easy to find ways to relate to this man and let him know he wasn’t the only one to feel that way. The guy hugged me twice in a twenty minute conversation, and expressed real gratitude. Then he said something interesting. “You’re like a mirror,” he said. “I feel like I’m talking to myself when I talk to you.”
So, I later realized, there it was. This was a lot more pleasant than my experience with Jerry or the music academy, but in a sense, the message was the same.

It is strange that at the most difficult times in your life you will find yourself under attack, but i suspect it is probably quite common. There are predators in this world who, it appears anyway, sense the pain you are in and move in for the attack. I think that when you’re broadsided like I was with Jerry, you don’t need to internalize. You don’t need to analyze and think too much about what you might have done differently to keep this person from attacking you, and so on. That’s victim mentality, and you don’t need it. There are people like this in the world. I see no harm in being prepared, or being aware they exist, but their sickness is not yours. Defend yourself if you need to, but then move on. The school and Jerry’s projection may not have been pleasant, but as a result of these experiences, I know myself much better now. Though I may have done this a little too much, I believe there is great value in owning what you might have done differently, and how this awareness can make you stronger and smarter.

But let me end this story on a positive note. The day before this little Cape Cod saga, a Saturday, I had several nearly angelic encounters in those same woods, one with a lady and her three dogs, another with a nice couple and their two canines, each of whom smiled and chatted as if they’d been expecting me. We chatted, laughed about dogs and their antics, and I got expert advice on some good spots to hike on the Cape. In each case, these people treated me as if they recognized an old friend, and I was pleasantly surprised by the relaxed, easy way they fell into the kind exchange of conversation. The good guys won.

Tristan L. Sullivan

Music
About Me

-Once, when I was a kid at summer camp, I waited in line to climb a rickety wooden ladder onto a small platform off of which kids jumped into the murky lake the camp was built on. I got to the top and panicked. “I have to go back,” I told the counselor, the hot sun glinting in our eyes. There were campers lined up on the ladder, and more on the ground, waiting their turn. The lifeguard was probably all of nineteen, but he was savvy. “Just go,” he said. “If you jump, you’ll be back up here three times today.” No, I said. I couldn’t do it, had to go back. “Okay,” he said. “Then you can’t have lunch.” I jumped. I got back in line three times. He never said I told you so.

-My band used to go swimming with a small group of friends at the Dalton town reservoir after gigs. It was outrageously fun. We scaled the pump house, eighteen feet off the water, jumped off and crashed around in the dark until early morning hours. Again and again, we jumped. Thank God no one ever fell off the other side of that little cement shed; it was a drop of about eighty feet onto rock and cement. Once I’d gotten enough of the raucous craziness I used to let myself float away from the others out to the center of the channel, satisfied and elated from a long night of playing music, the cries and splashes muffled, my whole world filtered through the in utero sound of gently splashing liquid.

-When I was four my friend Ed Pelkey and I used to color in just the pirates in our Peter Pan coloring books. Then our moms would have to buy us more coloring books.

-For some reason I am easy to talk to, a good listener, and good at getting people back on track in this life. If we become friends, I guarantee you’ll tell me I’m helpful in this way. It’s happened so many times now, often with complete strangers. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” they say. However, one of the things I do lately is look for people who can do the same. I find myself more and more interested in those who can reciprocate.

-When I’m inspired on a song or story idea, I can get a little intense. I find it exhilarating, but there’s a stress associated with this kind of excitement. However, inspiration is the most ephemeral human emotion there is. A window opens up, the angels smile and offer you an idea, and you have to get it down as quickly as you can or it will fly through you like a genie looking for another host.

-I’m devotional by nature, and I was born to be in love. The girl I will marry is a Pisces, or works with dolphins, or she was a mermaid in a past life, something like this!

-Do you find that when you think about something it shows up in your life, and more quickly these days? This happens to me all the time. It’s one of the reasons why I love my life. A few years ago, I asked for a sign on the subject of money. Later that day, I was making stew with some oysters I had bought from a store nearby, and I bit into a pearl! I still have it. It’s small, but it is a real pearl.

-I am a loyal friend. For life. I might not always take you up on your offer to meet for coffee, but if you need me, I will be there.

-I dedicated seven years of my life to teaching special needs students how to play music.

-I think vulnerability is as important as strength.

-Once, when I was still just a kid, a friend of my sister’s had an exchange student sleep over at our house. I came home full of energy after a night of playing music and was intentionally loud, and poured a bowl of water under her door. I truly didn’t mean to upset this person; I was just in a raucous, playful mood. She seemed fine the next morning but I feel terrible about this, send her love and well wishes, and I hope one day I can meet her again and make up for it.

-I have scars on my face from a childhood dog attack. They show up under fluorescent lights, and I’m self-conscious about them. Predictably, I’m not crazy about these lights.

-I have no desire to engineer a legacy or be remembered in any particular way. That’s for politicians and others like them who are so corrupt and soulless on the inside they need to engineer their image at every turn. Truth, however, will out. What I would like to do is heal the world as much as possible in the time we have left, put the pedal to the floor until something beautiful pours in and we transform the fear based consciousness of competition, war and exploitation to one of love, compassion and creativity. If I can help do that, I’ll be happy.

-I do yoga, exercise, meditate, drink green smoothies, living spring water, and snack on superfoods daily. I do these things because they make me feel good, and I have energy all day long. Life is much better this way, believe me!

-A blind girl once told me I was beautiful. I thought that was a nice compliment.

-If I met St. Peter at the gates, the thing I would like for him to do most would be to point back the way I came and say, “Go on, kid. Jump back in.” Because I love it here. I know for certain that Earth is Paradise. We just need to evolve our consciousness, that’s all. Why would we need to ascend on a physical level? I suspect this was invented by people who are so unhappy with the life they’re living and so unwilling to take responsibility for it they believe heaven must be “up there” somewhere, far away from the mess they’ve made on this planet. What could be better than a blissful, ecstatic life on earth, in the forest or by the ocean with the ones you love? I believe we ascend in our consciousness, through the body, here and now.

-When things are at their best, I laugh all day. The whole world is hilarious to me. I laugh at myself most of all, and that’s how I know when things are good.

-I recently held a nine day old puma kitten, and helped feed and care for her at my favorite wildlife sanctuary. I also got to visit a full grown, one hundred and eighty pound female cougar. I walked into her cage slowly, my hand out, my heart beating fast. She purred like she had a motor in her chest, and rubbed her soft, tawny gray head against my hand.

-The saddest day of my life was when I put my childhood dog to sleep. She died in my arms. It still hurts.

-I believe in you.

-I will never give up.

Music
About Me

On the subject of governments, authority, and world affairs, I feel cynicism is appropriate and essential. Actually, more appropriate would be moral outrage and vigilant suspicion. In our personal lives however, in relationships and in love, I feel cynicism is a lie.

Like the raging authoritarian who is actually just a scared little boy on the inside, frightened and hurt because something isn’t going his way, cynicism masquerades as something it is not. The cynic pretends he or she doesn’t care, when in fact they secretly do. What the cynic is really saying is: I’m a hurt little boy or a hurt little girl, secretly wishing I could have the love I want, but rather than invest in hope I choose faux sophistication and negativity. Then, results justify that point of view. Sometimes I think pessimism in western culture is a kind of laziness. They remind me of the Chinese proverb:
He who says it cannot be done should take care not to interrupt the one doing it.

Since the future is not set, and since our expectations have real influence on the world, optimism takes real courage. Cynicism is the consolation prize; you get it for trading in your dreams. One of the most amazing and beautiful qualities we can have then, in my opinion, is vulnerability.

Tristan L. Sullivan

Music
Broken Arrow
25 Things or Less About Me
What Does God Sound Like? Part II

Paradise

Broken Arrow

What Does God Sound Like?

Beth Coughlin’s Examiner article is relatively short, so please allow me to quote here it in full:

Only July 14th the Massachusetts State House of Representatives will be holding a committee meeting regarding House Bill 344 (HB344): An Act Prohibiting the Devocalization of Dogs and Cats.

Contact your representative and let them know this is a bad law when you look at the larger picture. In the sheep’s clothing of animal welfare, animal rights activists have advocated turning a legitimate veterinary procedure into a Felony Offense.

____________________________

Beth,

Your post is almost too absurd to respond to, but the seriousness of this issue begs one nonetheless.

You state an animal is “better safe in a home with a smaller, raspy bark than in a shelter wondering if ‘tomorrow is the day.’” It’s not entirely clear whether “smaller, raspy bark” is intentional euphemism or true ignorance on your part. It would appear you know next to nothing about this vicious procedure or its results, but it seems more likely this is calculated obfuscation.

You say nothing of the horrific medical complications associated with devocalization, including airway obstruction (trouble breathing) and as a result difficulty with activity and exercise, and inability to eat solid food or treats without gagging. This is painful not only for the animal, but for people who care for it. In the Youtube video I’ve linked to you’ll hear a woman explain how her children cry when they witness this animal’s regular suffering.

Another paragraph reads: “…has the potential to land otherwise potentially great dogs in death row awaiting destruction because they have a proclivity for barking.”

You’re really working the death-by-barking angle here, aren’t you? Tell me, do you have any idea how many devocalization procedures are performed for reasons of commerce by disreputable breeders, for convenience by ignorant dog owners, and by criminals looking to avoid prosecution as opposed to “saving a dog’s life” that would have been euthanized without it? The National Council on Pet Population Study and Policy, a council of ten prominent animal organizations in the US, found in a survey of over five thousand shelters that excessive barking did not figure in the top ten reasons people surrender dogs to shelters. In other words, you’re presenting a lie.

I find that people with positions like yours often use vague, insipid phrases like “all other options should be explored,” when you know full well if you’ve looked into it that all other options are not explored; the “education rather than legislation,” approach you espouse is obviously not working.

Have you yourself launched a single initiative regarding said education? Any ideas? You present none in this hollow piece of work.

The happy, healthy looking collie pictured in your article says nothing of the horrific psychological effects this painful procedure has on canines. Has the animal you pictured been devocalized? Or was this just an act of blatant propaganda on your part? I could post a picture of an entirely different sort, of a beagle much more familiar with this procedure who suffers pain, confusion and depression as a result. Readers can find a photo here of a dog named Stella, who suffered fifty percent obstruction of her airway after a devocalization operation.

You state “When you really dig deeper, below the surface this is really bad legislation that has the potential to land otherwise potentially great dogs in death row awaiting destruction because they have a proclivity for barking.”

Dig deeper? Not a lot of depth in your prose here, my friend. One wonders if you did any research on this horrific practice at all. If you truly had such an aversion to pointless legislation, you would be writing articles about the nuisance laws themselves and the social conditions that bring them about, not the extremely questionable operation you associate with them.

History does not lack for gruesome and unethical medical procedures which people later recognized as wrongful and inhumane. This is certainly one of them. You also neglected to mention that this procedure is outlawed in the United Kingdom as a form of mutilation, which is what it is.

Tristan L. Sullivan

To email or call your Mass state representative, please enter your address information here, then at the bottom of the page look for Senate in General Court.

Massachusetts House of Representatives
24 Beacon St. #145
Boston, MA 02133
617-722-2000″

I was surprised to find the AVMA takes a different position, quite a cowardly and deceptive one, given their reasoning. “And the bill ‘infringes upon a veterinarian’s exercise of her or his professional judgment.’”
Fuck you, American Veterinary Medical Association. You state, The MVMA “deplores devocalizing an animal to facilitate the animal’s sale or for reasons of convenience, and encourages responsible pet ownership from the start, including selecting a breed and particular dog appropriate for the owner’s living situation and foreseeable family circumstances,”
yet you know full well that owners will continue to abuse this procedure in exactly the way you’re describing. Furthermore, you’ll be profiting from it. A coincidence?

This is a vicious practice, a senseless one in which convenience trumps compassion and humanity. It assists morons who have no business owning pets in the first place make cruel decisions based on their own convenience, and it assists criminals and sociopaths who profit from inhumane breeding practices and dog fighting. Many breeders admit they routinely do this, and you know it. Your reasons for opposing this legislation are laughable, thin, and transparent. You’re behaving like any other power structure, like the mainstream medical system you’re modeled after. Like any government, force or political body you oppose any measure that would limit your own authority and power. That’s why it frightens you.

I had a professor in an education program who told us he visited the last school in the United States to use corporal punishment on children. The school was in Texas. He was a sociologist, and interviewed many of the teachers associated with it. To a person, they all said they didn’t think physically striking kids was right, but didn’t want to lose the ability to do so. This is an aspect of human nature, and it is obviously the case with you as well. Unfortunately, with the imprimatur of your false authority which is in fact your cowardice, willful ignorance and arrogance masquerading as medical opinion, you may well influence the outcome of this proposal. Fuck you. Cowards like you always lose in the end.

To my readers, please oppose this senseless practice, wherever you live. Thank you.

http://www.hsvma.org/advocacy/news/hsvma_backs_bill_to_ban_devocalization_in_massachusetts.html

Tristan L. Sullivan

I was finishing a story called Last Night The Werewolf, the title inspired by a Rumi poem, and the synchronicities were running wild. A book fell into my lap called Women Who Run With the Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estes, and late one night on a walk, my chocolate lab Lana and I found ourselves surrounded by a pack of howling coyotes. Once I started to get serious about driving across the country from the Berkshires to California this spring, I asked myself, what would I want most to happen on that trip? I started perusing the web for wildlife rehabilitators along my southern route: Arkansas and surrounding. I thought I might find someone that took in injured raccoons or bobcats, or a hawk with a broken wing, that sort of thing. If I could get in touch, maybe they would let me come and help out for a day. Then I came across the website for a place called Safaris in Broken Arrow, Oklahoma. I was about to get a lot more than I bargained for. It was probably this photo that piqued my interest the most, especially since it was titled “volunteer.”

The cat looked as if it had poured itself around that lady’s shoulders. If this was what happened to volunteers at Safaris, I wanted in! I perused the website for a while longer, got my courage up and sent an email. I spoke to my love for animals, activism, lifelong connection to nature. Could I come and volunteer? I would shovel dirt, clean cages; I didn’t care. Not only did I hear back, the president of the sanctuary, Lori Ensign-Scroggins wrote me and said Yes, come and play. Here’s my number, call us when you’re in town.

Yes! What luck. I even liked the sound of the town they were in: Broken Arrow. I plugged Safaris into my GPS (this doesn’t exactly work by the way, you have to call once you’re in the neighborhood, or find a guy on a yellow Harley at a stop sign and ask him where the place is, which is what I did), and set them as the centerpiece of my trip. Looking back, I find the mechanics of destiny quite fascinating. You’re driven by a strong intention; you take action and forces coalesce. Be careful what you wish for, as they say. I don’t think there is anywhere else on the planet where I could have dove into this experience so deeply.

(more…)

An inverter is an electrical device that converts direct current (DC) to alternating current (AC); the resulting AC can be at any required voltage and frequency with the use of appropriate transformers, switching, and control circuits.

Highest thanks to my friends at Imagine Weblog who’ve waited patiently for a new article. I have moved myself (mostly intact) out to a new place. More on this later.

_______________________

I worked out this week on a seven day trial pass at the 24 Hour Fitness on Sunset in Hollywood. “It’s intimidating,” a newly found friend had told me one night while we drank wine and ate chocolate, played music and watched the fiery, hazy pink Hollywood sunset through her balcony windows. “All the beautiful people go there.” She’s a twenty something beauty herself, an LA sophisticate who lives in a penthouse condominium in West Hollywood, so if she found this place intimidating, I had to try it.

It was kind of stupid, actually. I stayed for two hours my first day. I had missed my time in the fitness room at Kripalu, missed the the satisfaction and sore muscles and I was making up for lost time. Kripalu is a world famous yoga retreat center in the heart of the forested Berkshires: a quiet, womb-like atmosphere where it would be as appropriate to sit and meditate for two hours as it would be to blast your quads on the Nautilus machine. This sure wasn’t Kripalu. On the other hand, I felt a burst of energy from all the people there. It was fun to look out the window and see the Hollywood letters up in the hills, and I caught the end of an excellent yoga class. That’s about the extent of my praise for the place. It looked to me like they oversell their membership: at times you have people actually sitting idle, waiting for a machine. I used the elliptical trainer for forty minutes, did a little weight training, then stretched and did yoga for the rest of my time there. I did this for three out of the seven days, day on, day off. I enjoyed it, although not the five story parking lot and not the hustle from a manager who wanted me to pay first, last and a middle month and sold like a Buick salesman with a drive to conquer the world. I find it strange that they would insist on such a policy in our current economic climate. You’re looking at a gym membership for God’s sakes, not buying a condominium. I needed the exercise though, and I was glad for the opportunity. I found there was a strange kind of energy surge associated with the environment.

I looked up at the mute TV monitors on the ceiling my first night there.
LA Fitness Killer the closed captioning read. Kills 5. Shoots 15.

I looked around.

Is there a more absurd example of modern life than to see people lined up on exercise machines, pedaling or stepping their way to nowhere? I just can’t help but remember we’re burning fossil fuels to make electricity to send to 24 Hour Fitness so people can run in place on a treadmill. My friends, this does not make sense. In LA, those same people sat in traffic a good part of their day, more fossil fuels burning, more toxic shit spewing up into the air. The traffic they can’t help, but with the treadmills there has to be a better way. I like the elliptical machine: very low impact, works much of your body, and it’s off the grid. I just don’t feel right about someone burning coal so I can run in place on a rotating rubber band.

Maybe there’s more we can do toward a solution here. You spend your energy when you work out; why not install inverters to feed a battery, store this and use it to run the lights? Why not use every pull on the Nautilus machine, every revolution on the bicycle? This seems so ripe for the plucking to me. Entrepreneurs, this is gold! Let’s look at a few pluses:

-Your business will get good press for being environmentally conscious, “green points” as they say. What a marketing hook.

-You can use some of the capital you save on energy costs to offer amenities to your members, like complimentary spring water, and bathrooms that don’t reek of piss (things our vaunted Hollywood fitness center appeared to be lacking).

-People will go to your gym not only to stay in shape and feel healthy, but because they love to get involved with a project in which they are actually doing something helpful and sustainable while they’re at it. What’s more, they will look down at the tiny meter attached to their nautilus machine or their stationary bike and know they are in some small way helping to mitigate our march toward catastrophe rather than mindlessly contributing to it.

-The mood will be positive and uplifting: a vibe that will bring people in to your new business and keep them coming back.

What an incentive to work out! Every pull on that machine, every turn on the bicycle and you are making a small contribution to save the planet. Also, if the business starts doing well, how about putting in a juice bar and internet café? This place will be hot! These fast-food-style fitness chains are just ripe to be knocked off by someone with an actual plan: a business model with a soul.

The air crackles with the idea, it appears, as this morning I found two examples of people doing exactly what I suggested above.

I found this guy, who’s been refining his design for a pedal power generator for decades:

And, voila. Ask and you shall receive. The owner of The Green Microgym in Portland, Oregon had this idea long before I did (thank you Adam), and even offers the incentive programs I had in mind, or better. It’s like a dream:

GREEN GYM CREATES ELECTRICITY WITH HUMAN POWER

Additionally, the Green Microgym provides incentives for members through the “Burn and Earn” program, where members earn $1 per hour of electricity they generate that can be used at partnering businesses like The Black Cat Café, Fuel Café, and Vinideus Wine Bar.

Green Microfitness can you come to LA? I will be first in line, I promise.

I love the part about the European inverter box that plugs into a simple wall outlet and feeds energy back into the grid. Brilliant! I could have slept better had I found them last night when I started this article, but that’s okay. Now, I see no alternative in my current situation but to try Bally Total Fitness for the next seven days…

Tristan L. Sullivan
Music