Let Me Tell You a Story That's Not a Story
You hear that a lot if you frequent the sauna at my local gym, as I do. Me and the fat old men whose blue-tattoed mothers mothers and lost lovers stretch across their forearms, and the younger crowd crawling with butterflies and dragons. I skew the demographics. Most women my age don't feel the need to artificially induce bouts of 176 degree temperatures while seated publicly on sweat-stained cedar boards. I keep to myself, let my white and red, striated skin droop where it will, while we all try to stay alive, homeostasis-wise. It's a pretty mellow place. Even the age-old Yankee-Met divide can't get these heat-prostrated guys going. They save their energy for the choral piece. Usually the guy in the poly-mesh yellow bathing suit starts. His grandfather told him, A politician is a politician is a politician,and believe it or not, so had the other guys’ fathers and uncles. Turns out, they agree, no matter what party a politician is in, what office he's running for, or what he says: They're all the same. And the next guy takes his turn, to tell the story that's not a story—who else lost his job this week.
—Maryanne Hannan, Delmar, NY
