Bally Total Fitness, aka the Corporate Panopticon

Have you ever walked into a Bally Total Fitness? It's a super creepy technodystopian cult. Everyone facing the same way while subsisting on weird powdered nutrition and making repeated Sisyphean movements while staring zombiefied to Bally-sanctioned TV and wide-smiling propaganda. Must...enrich...the body instrument...for...service to the fatherland. It's all very Teutonic or Prussian or something.



Discipline and Punish.



Everyone's checking out what everyone else is doing. Everyone is aware that other people are looking. So they push harder to prove their dedication. This isn't, by itself, a terrible thing, but it's all totally effed and creepy in the recycled air of this corporate fetish club run by the fitness industrial complex.

Names that come to mind: Jeremy Bentham, Michel Foucault, George Orwell...and you know...those other guys.

Heil Fitness!



I know that fitness clubs are bullshit. I know they find every way possible to screw you out of money. But I had 2 months before I had access to the university gym, so I just joined. You have to pay for 2 months minimum. (But they have no contracts now so you're not locked into a membership you don't want! Isn't that so very GENEROUS of them? EXCEPT THEY HAND YOU A CONTRACT AND A CONTRACT ID #. But there are no contracts.) Anyways, I knew canceling would be a bitch, so before I even signed the non-contract contract, I made very sure to grill the rep on exactly how to cancel and when to cancel to avoid getting billed for another month. She told me I just had to cancel before the new billing cycle, which starts on the 15th of the month. I just had to call. But I couldn't cancel in the first 2 weeks because that's the promotional period or whatever. So basically I was like, okay, so I have a 2 week window to cancel.

BULLSHIT.

Because she failed to tell me that I have to send a certified letter in the mail to the corporate offices to cancel my membership. It's the god damned digital age, and they want snail mail. Bullshit. PLUS, she failed to tell me that they need 10 days' notice to cancel. Plus the letter needs time to get there. So basically my 2 week window just went down to like 2 days. But of course I didn't know this. So I called my local club about canceling today, and they even told me, "Call corporate and they'll do it over the phone."

So after being bounced around to different corporate numbers, and not even being transferred to membership services, but being told to hang up and call another number (wtf...again, it's the digital age...you can't connect all the calls on one system? Of course you can. More bullshit and run-around), I can't even talk to a person. Membership services has like 4 automated options, most of which are about making payments. I push the key for membership cancellations, and all it says is that you have to send a letter. Umm, quoi?

So I called my local club again and bullied the drones to let me speak to the general manager. At first he reiterated that I need to send a certified letter in the mail, because the corporate office can't cancel over the phone because they "don't have the technology yet." BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA. I actually laughed at him. At this point he gave in and admitted that this is bullshit and that HE BELONGS TO A DIFFERENT GYM. He's worked for Bally for many years, and he's the god damned general manager of a location, and HE BELONGS TO A DIFFERENT GYM!!!!!!

So finally he told me to choose the option for auto-debit on the membership services menu, because that actually sends me to a person (because they'll talk to you if it means taking more of your money). So I press 3 and get transferred to a billing representative. This is the gist of our conversation:


ME: Hi Bally, I need to cancel my membership, and I'm really not going to play this run-around game. Just do it.

BALLY REP: Umm well you need to send a letter in the mail to corporate.

ME: Yeah, umm, that's bullshit. It's 2010. Don't believe you. Cancel it right now.

BALLY REP: Well, okay, I can cancel it right now. But I'll need to collect another month's membership fees.

ME: WTF? WHY? I've paid for 2 months and used LESS THAN ONE.

BALLY REP: Well we need 10 days notice to cancel, and by that time, it will be a new billing period.

ME: First of all, I was told I could cancel right away over the phone, so that was obviously a lie. Second of all, why do you need 10 days notice if you can cancel right now?

BALLY REP: Well it takes 10 days for us to process the cancellation.

ME: BUT YOU'RE DOING IT RIGHT NOW.

BALLY REP: (confused) Well...we need 10 days notice.

ME: BUT YOU'RE DOING IT RIGHT NOW.

BALLY REP: Well I can only do it right now if you give us another month's membership fee.

ME: BUT IT'S BEFORE THE NEW BILLING CYCLE.

BALLY REP: But we need 10 days notice.

ME: For what!? You're cancelling the thing RIGHT NOW. What are the extra 10 days for? So you can reflect on the cancellation?

BALLY REP: Umm I don't know...I just need $29.

ME: I hate you and you're stealing from me. This is racketeering. Tell your bosses they'd fit right into Chicago politics. Just charge my credit card and I never want to speak to anyone at your company again.

BALLY REP: I need your credit card number.

ME: What do you mean you need my credit card number!? You have it! You autodebit the shit out of me!

BALLY REP: Well I don't personally have it.

ME: AHHHHHHHHH!


I mean, I did apologize to her, saying that I know that she's not the one who creates the policies. And then I pulled out my super passive aggressive shaming techniques. "I'm sorry that you work for a company that doesn't give you the tools to do your job effectively." I love saying that. I mostly say it because I know that my call will be listened to by higher-ups because they pay attention to the crazies and angries. It gets out my aggression at the company while letting the poor drones know that I don't blame them for their complete lack of authority. I've been there. I've worked in plenty of retail and customer service jobs. I know what it's like to have your hands tied by corporate policy. That being said, I'm not just going to bend over because her job sucks.

So, Bally, you have my extra $29 dollars. I hope you get a paper cut and die of gangrene. You suck. Or, in Orwellian Newspeak, you are double-plus ungood.

My Indian Feud; or, Why Indian Food and I Are in a Fight

I’ve recently been trying to convince myself that I like Indian food. I’ve never been a fan, and I think that’s silly. There’s so much good Indian food out there, especially in LA, and it’s relatively cheap. I should be loving Indian food.

There are approximately 87 Indian restaurants within a one-mile radius of my apartment. They taunt me.

Every few months I get up the gumption to try Indian food anew. I get really excited about it. I ask friends for advice on what I should try. I am totally positive I am going to have an epiphany and love this shit. I WANT to love this shit. This never happens.

It’s not that I don’t like any Indian food. There are a few things I like very much. Samosas, obvi. Those things are mad-style tasty. I also tend to enjoy the stews, like lamb korma, etc. I could eat a metric ton of the various forms of naan and parathas. The desserts are awesome (even if I tend to find that if there are 6 desserts on the list, 5 of them will be some variation on starch-milk-cinnamon). I’ve also been known to dote upon the odd pakora or two.

However, in general, my tongue and my stomach just say no. My taste buds revolt once Indian food goes in my mouth. I think part of the problem is that I suspect that I may be one of these so-called “supertasters.” Basically, supertasters perceive bitter and sweet tastes more intensely than the average person. It’s genetic, and it’s related to the reasons why people like or hate cilantro or fennel (I hate both). Supertasters tend to prefer salty snacks, because the extra salt covers up the bitterness that exists in processed foods. Of course, maybe I’m not a supertaster and I just like potato chips. Whatever. All I know is I don’t like coriander (which is the seed of cilantro – other countries use the name “coriander” for both the seeds and the leaves), and I don’t like fennel seed. Both problems for Indian food. I also don’t enjoy curries all that much (I like some of the milder yellow curries). This seriously cuts down on my options. I can take these ingredients in small doses if there are other flavors surrounding them (for example, I like samosas even though there’s usually coriander inside, but there are lots of other notes and a nice buttery, starchy base). But, if there’s more than a bit, it’s all I can taste.

It’s not just the taste, either. It’s actually the smell that’s worse. If I smell Italian sausage cooking, I have to leave, because the smell of fennel seed literally nauseates me. My stomach doesn’t quite like the smell of curry or coriander either. So, I can’t really stand to be in an Indian restaurant, because even if I’m not eating these things, the place always SMELLS like these things, and it puts me off. So, if I get Indian food, I usually get takeout, which is, of course, not the best way to judge cuisine.

My biggest problem with the taste of Indian food (at least the Indian food I’ve tried, the “authenticity” of which I can’t really speak to) is that a lot of it tends to be lacking in base notes for me. All I taste are top notes (and many of them). I’m missing a brightness, a well-rounded attack on my palate. Again, I think it may be this “supertaster” thing – I overtaste the spices, and they dwarf the other flavors.

But, the other night I decided to try Indian food again. This time I went for Lawrence of India, because it got excellent reviews for its former location. I’m not very knowledgeable on the different regional cuisines of India, but this place is a southern Indian restaurant. They even serve beef, because the owners are from a Christian part of southern India (big crucifix on the wall, btw).

I was totally optimistic about Lawrence of India, if only for its hilarious name. I wanted nothing more than to love this place and have a new favorite takeout option. I ordered a bunch of things so I could take a broader survey and really give this stuff a chance.

I also wasted $25. The only thing that was good was the samosa. The lamb biryani was fine I guess. The keema naan was blander than bland and extraordinarily greasy. The pakora and the onion bhaji were DISGUSTING. How can you make fried vegetables and onions disgusting? They tasted rancid. The pakora didn’t look like any other pakora I’ve seen (not that I’m an expert). Instead of fried little pieces, it was like big globs of who-knows-what vegetable something, and it looked more like soggy tempura than pakora.

First of all, this place did itself absolutely no favors from the beginning. I ordered the food, and they told me 20 minutes. I walked in after 25 minutes, because I like to give them time to make it, but I don’t like to wait too long and have my food be cold. The food wasn’t ready, which, you know, fine. I waited at one of the tables. And waited. The owner brought me an iced tea, which was lovely. I’m thinking, okay, the dude is nice and this tea is delicious, so I’ll just be patient, and maybe the food will be worth it. 35 minutes after I ordered, the owner told me my food was ready. But when I got up there, it wasn’t my food, but some other dude’s. The owner asked what I ordered, so I told him, and he looked confused.

Then I saw a post-it with my order sitting on the desk, not having been entered into one of the order tickets. He quickly covered it up and told me my order was coming in two minutes. I asked, “Really two minutes, or fake two minutes?” He confidently responded, “Really two minutes.”

10 minutes later, he came over to me and said, “Okay, I lied.” “Yes,” I said. “I pretty much figured that out from the beginning.” Then he gave me some story about how everything was done except the keema naan, and that as the cook was finishing it, he accidentally flipped it into the garbage can. WTF? I just said, “Uhh, whatever, how much longer?” “I’ll check,” he says, “because I don’t want to lie to you.” How charming of him.

Finally they give me my food. 55 minutes after I ordered it. I didn’t get pissy. I just oozed disappointment. Like a parent shaming her child, not with yelling and punishment, but with the simple statement, “I’m disappointed in you.” The food did not do anything to restore my confidence in the possibilities of Indian cuisine.

I had such high hopes for you, Lawrence. You’ve let me down. How can I trust you in the future?

Getting Stuck in a Beckett-esque Nightmare

So I've been looking for a particular chile so I can make some Peruvian food, so I called a Latin market in West Hollywood to see if they have it. What transpired was nothing short of an absurdist one-act. I have to think this guy was messing with me, because there's no way this could be for real. This was definitely not a language barrier issue, FYI.

DUDE: Hello? [Note: I get really pissed off when you call a business and they just answer with "hello." Say the name of your business so I know I didn't just call some rando's cell phone. I shouldn't have to ask you if this is the right number.]

MOLLY: Uh hi, is this Catalina Market?

DUDE: Yes.

MOLLY: Okay, I'm looking for a chile from Peru, called ají amarillo.

DUDE: Who?

MOLLY: No no, I'm looking for a yellow chile, from Peru.

DUDE: What's her name?

MOLLY: No. It's a chile. From Peru. Called ají amarillo. A-HEE Ah-mah-REE-oh.

DUDE: I don't know.

MOLLY: Okay, well could you check?

DUDE: I don't know her.

MOLLY: Okay, it is not a person. It is a food. Is this Catalina Market?

DUDE: Where is it?

MOLLY: What do you mean where is it!? IS THIS CATALINA MARKET!?

DUDE: Silence.

Aaaaaand I hang up.

Ethical Conundrums That I Can't Reconcile Because I Frequently Feed Into the Ostensible Problem I'm Being Self Righteous About

KFC as ethical consumption? They've teamed up with the Susan G. Komen Foundation to sell pink buckets of chicken to benefit breast cancer research.

At first I thought this was a joke. Buckets of fried chicken as the symbol for a cure for breast cancer? In what world is this a sensible PR move for the Komen Foundation? I mean, they're certainly a hypermerchandised nonprofit. That's sort of their schtick - charitable proceeds funneled from retail consumer dollars. You buy this crappy pink mosaic Pier 1 candle, most likely assembled by exploited laborers in developing nations, and a portion of the profit goes to the Komen Foundation. I suppose it's not all that offensive in the grand scheme of things, because it's not like cancer research can't use all the funds it can get. Plus, let's face it, most of us buy crappy products assembled by exploited laborers in developing nations anyway. We may not necessarily have bought THESE products if they weren't branded pink, but I try to avoid getting self-righteous about sweatshop products when I very clearly shop at Target.

But, what is this odd cross promotion between fried flesh and medical research? EXTREMELY TERRIBLE-FOR-YOU fried flesh, the likes of which have been linked to various cancer risk factors! As the Facebook group entitled "SUSAN G KOMEN 'BUCKETS FOR A CURE?????" EPIC FAIL! SHAME!" reads,


PEOPLE SHOULD BE OUTRAGED! THIS IS NOT ONLY COMPLETELY INAPPROPRIATE, IT IS SUCH SHAMELESS CORPORATE PANDERING! DO NOT DONATE TO SUSAN G KOMEN UNTIL THEY RETRACT THIS PROGRAM.

BUCKETS of FRIED chicken. BUCKETS. For a CURE. A cure for CANCER. A cure VIA sales of hormone-injected, tortured, processed and deep-fried flesh & fat. Fried BREASTS, even. "Food" that may likely be a CAUSE of breast cancer. SUSAN G KOMEN: FAIL. FAIL FAIL FAIL FAIL. SHAME. FAIL. FAIL.


Okay, well, the corporate pandering part...this is not new. All of these charitable cross promotions do this to some extent. Does that mean that they don't believe in the cause? Not necessarily. But you can bet most of them wouldn't be participating if it didn't first and foremost boost their bottom line. Plus, tax credits.

But, the very disconcerting embrace between an organization supposedly committed to both preventative- and treatment-oriented medical advocacy and a corporation that serves as a metonymic index of the grossly misguided health choices frequently made in the United States...these are very strange bedfellows indeed. Or, at least they seem to be on an emotional level. Perhaps they're not so far apart at all. Logistically speaking, the only difference between KFC and the Komen Foundation is a 501(c)3 letter. Certainly we can make distinctions on a mission-based level, but I wonder how much this really ends up mattering with regards to how these brands are run and marketed.

Is it telling that this ostensibly charitable and health-conscious move by KFC comes the same week as the much-mediatized release of the Double Down, that most notorious of artery-clogging sandwiches with a near cult following - cheese, bacon, and mayo-based sauce sandwiched between two pieces of fried chicken. (Two breasts, no less - I like to call this the Tittyfuck Sandwich.) I have no doubt that there are items on chain menus that have far higher caloric and fat values. The Double Down is just so CONSPICUOUS. Teaming up with KFC during Double Downgate doesn't seem like a good PR move for the Komen Foundation, but could it be true that they are banking on the increased foot traffic promoted by the Double Down? Come for the Double Down, stay for the guilt-relieving ethical and health-conscious purchase? Are they hoping the irony won't register? Or that, if it does, it will simply be amusing?

Stealth Squirrels

So yesterday, I woke up to the following things:

1) My roommate screaming
2) A text from my roommate telling me that there was a squirrel in the living room
3) A phone call from my roommate telling me to be careful of the squirrel in the living room.
4) A squirrel in my fucking living room.

Now, how did this squirrel get into my apartment in the first place? No, we did not leave a window open. This fucker CAME DOWN THE EXHAUST DUCT over the stove, and then CHEWED THROUGH THE THICK METAL GRATE that covers the fan, and then dropped onto my counter. This was fucking MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE squirrel. He then proceeded to run around my apartment pooping and peeing on things. Plus he ate some of my peanut butter cups, so homeboy is dead to me.

At first, when I walked out there, the squirrel was just sort of like, la la la I do what I want. I'm in ur haus, poopin on ur shit. Then I tried to politely suggest that it was time for him to go chill with his other squirrel buddies. He was not havin' it. He was like that obnoxious friend who gets shitfaced, crashes at your place, pees all over, and won't get the fuck out in the morning. Only this squirrel and I were not throwing back beers together the night before. So I got a mop and tried to coerce him out the door. But no. He thought it would be better to run in the opposite direction and hide under the couch. Childish.

After many attempts, I engaged my third roommate to help. I told him to grab the Swiffer thing. He chose the pitchfork instead. Finally, a use for that fucking thing! I bought it as a set decoration for a stupid student film I made a few weeks ago and couldn't bring myself to return it because I got it from a sweet old man in his sweet old hardware store. So it's been sitting in the closet, waiting for Squirrelgate. So I've got a mop, and I'm slowly tapping the vertical blinds to coax the squirrel to come away from the windowsill and go out the VERY OBVIOUSLY WIDE OPEN DOOR TO FREEDOM. David was poised with the pitchfork to divert the squirrel away from the couch and outside. But, again, the squirrel did not see the value in this plan. He just ran under the couch again. And then David growled at it, and it ran back to the windowsill. Meanwhile, our other roommate is screaming her face off.

So, we called LA Animal Control. They said, "We don't do that." I said, um, escuzze? Apparently they "stopped dealing with wildlife in July." I don't...how...what the eff. So I said, what do you mean you don't deal with wildlife? You're Animal Control! WTF do you do then? "Dogs and Cats." Quoi!? Okay, so I've got a wild cat in my house. It is a rare breed. Called a squirrel. Come get it. She totally wasn't fooled though. So she gave me the name of a private contractor to deal with this. Uh huh, I see where this is going. So I call these dudes, and he's all umm, that'll be $175, kthxbai. I asked, for what!? $75 "service fee" and $100 to remove the squirrel. They were going to charge me a C-note to put a squirrel in a box and drop it 10 feet outside. And then $75 so they could go out for brunch after. Obviously these guys have some sort of deal with the city, and even though this was an odd moment for righteous municipal indignation, I was incensed. That shit is 'spensive. No thanks, I'll stick with the mop.

So finally we arrange furniture and boxes to create a path to the door. The squirrel is pissin' mad now (both in the sense that it was scared and angry, and in the sense that it was periodically pissing on things). It was making these awful sounds from behind the blinds, like "Chit chit chit! Chit chit! CHIT!" And I'm all, ditto, fucker. So I come at the squirrel with my patented blind sweep, and the thing runs in the right direction, but runs OVER the barricade. This dude is both moronic and stubborn. Then it hides under the couch again, and David growls at it again and shakes his pitchfork at it, so it runs back toward the window. I am between the squirrel and the window. Don't get between a squirrel and a window, cuz he doesn't care if you have a mop and he will divebomb you.

One more try, and the squirrel finally goes out the door and onto the balcony. MISSION ACCOMPLISHED! But then, instead of leaving via the phone pole, like every other squirrel in existence, it proceeds to freak out and run back and forth along the handrail and menace us. I don't think it was trying to menace us, but it was totally menacing the shit out of us.

So then we proceed to clean every surface in the apartment and pick up all the poo. There is a lot of poo. Luckily, squirrel poo comes in little pellets, so it was fairly easy. If you're going to have a wild animal startin' shit in your living room, you should hope it's a squirrel. You know, cuz of the convenient poo.

Film Production Class

Okay, so like, I'm not a filmmaker, okay? I am a nerd who watches movies and TV and writes about them. I like being on other people's sets, but I hate running my own. I'm too much of a control freak, and I can't control everything on a shoot, and I just get frustrated and then I get bored and I don't care anymore. Here's a dirty little secret for those of you with Hollywood stars in your eyes. Making movies is one of the most tedious things you can do with your day. Even when you love it, it's tedious. I do not love it. So it is tediouser.

I had all these designs to hire a crack crew to make my film, and I tried, but I was multiply foiled. Everyone was booked up, so I could only get a few people to help (but those few people were total troupers, I must say). I did hire a Director of Photography, but the poor guy had knee surgery and ended up in the hospital with complications. I couldn't get anyone else to shoot this thing (I even tried bribery and some other highly inappropriate offers to friends of friends), so I had to DP it myself. Last job in the world I wanted. I also had no gaffer. Know what else I hate doing? Gaffing. But gaff I did. Needless to say, my movie looks like shit.

So then we had to show dailies in class today, which I think is totally lame, because I only shot one day...so there's only one day from which to even have "dailies." All my footage was already shot, and I have to hand off the camera, so what was I going to change anyway? So, we spent an excruciating half hour talking about why my footage sucks. And I'm all, look, I know it sucks, okay? I'm not a moron. I know it sucks, and I know WHY it sucks. Can we move on?

But no, we had to agonize over why I'm a failure. Hello, YOU'RE the ones who made me take this cockamamie class! And then you made me fight to get into it because you didn't reserve enough spots, and I can't graduate without it. It's a good idea in theory, and it could totally be great, but this class is the biggest clusterfuck I've ever seen. You think my movie sucks? You are correct. This isn't what I do okay?

I'm the last person who should be handed a multi-thousand dollar HD camera.

Can I just get this done and you can give me the pass and we can never speak of this again?

Wellpoint Prescription Coverage and Inept Pharmacy Technicians

First they raise my copay. Then they say they never raised my copay, but that my prescription is no longer on the formulary. Then they say, wait, it was never on the formulary, we totally raised your copay. Then they say, wait, fuck, it's neither of those...we don't know what the fuck is up, but you owe us $40 a month. Oh wait, totally kidding...if your doctor just writes "Do Not Substitute," we'll let you have it for $25. JUST KIDDING GIMME YO MUNNEH. STAB.

THEN they say, so you can totally get three months' worth at a time cuz we're chill like that. La dee da, Molly strolling along with her three month supply...BAM. SURPRISE! We decided you can only have a month at a time now. And you have to take it exactly once a month. Which means you have to come get it the day before you have to take it. Exactly. Don't plan on being out of town or busy on that day cuz you'll be fucked.

PHARMACY TECHNICIAN: They'll only pay for a month at a time.

MOLLY: Uhhh bitch please. Gimme my 3 months.

TECH: No surriously, it says right here.

MOLLY: Well your little slip of paper is wrong.

TECH: But...that's what the computer says.

MOLLY: Your computer is misinformed.

TECH: Well...but...the computer...

MOLLY: Fuck your computer! Gimme a three-pack!

TECH: Sorry no. Also your one month will be $40.

MOLLY: ARRRRGGGG I thought we figured this shit out!

TECH: I dunno dude, but I'm not gonna call cuz I'm a lazy bum. Okay fine I'll call.

******10 minutes later*******

TECH: They say they only cover one month at a time.

MOLLY: Umm hello did they change this like today? Ask them when this change happened

******10 minutes later******

TECH: They only cover one month at a time.

MOLLY: OMG...that...that IS NOT AN ANSWER and I will stab you in your sleep kthxbai.

TTMMS

Wooooot new blog! Will probably be abandoned in 12.7 seconds. Shrug. Welcome to the inaugural post! Have a canape.