My friend Paul just sent me this video he made of the June 6, 2008 grand opening of TEN TEN Wilshire, and the new downtown rooftop location of Sam Page Fitness, named best rooftop by Los Angeles Magazine.

[vodpod id=Groupvideo.1444531&w=425&h=350&fv=]

A long time ago, I was in a relationship with a very muscular, worked out guy who was adored by all of our friends for his Adonis-like physique. James (not his real name) spent hours in the gym each week working every muscle group to failure. Even my friend Paul who rarely gushes over anyone told me that he “had the best body of anyone he’d ever seen.”

His diet was strict. His collection of bodybuilder photos numbered in the thousands. He supplemented with amino acids and protein drinks several times throughout the day.

I was fascinated with James because he had the body that everyone, including me at the time, wanted. Perfectly rounded muscles, bubble butt, six-pack.  “I love muscle,” he’d say. I was in the weight room twice a day, seven days a week, just to keep up.

One night at the dinner table, I asked him to explain how it was that he spent so much time and energy on his body. He reflected, and very serious look came across his face.

“Because” he said, “Muscle is currency in the gay world. It opens doors to people, places, and experiences you never would have otherwise.”

Muscle is currency? His theory was at once compelling and troubling to me. Yet, the statement has stuck with me over the years as I’ve evaluated it to see if it held up against situations and circumstances.

It seems true that for a man, masculinity is equated with the development of one’s body. The bigger or more developed your muscles, the more of a “man” you are.

The belief surrounds us. A glance over any magazine rack proves this: every cover of the major fitness magazines feature ripped, jacked-up men with chiseled abs, 16-inch arms and 50-inch chests. Straight male friends have privately expressed to Bronson and me their growing frustration with the vainglorious male imagery that permeates popular culture, from the underwear aisle at Macy’s to posters for feature films like The Dark Knight, 300 and Superman. For women, it’s all about being that size zero. Thin is in. The more slender her thighs, the more desirable she’s thought to be.

Beauty is considered valuable—men and women, gay or straight. Maybe that’s the actual currency. But what if true beauty was taking care of yourself — taking yourself to a place of “optimum” health.

Isn’t it beautiful to be able to take your grandchild for a long hike in a national parks, and have endurance and flexibility enough to do so?

I say: beauty is finishing a yoga class, a tough hour in the weight room, or a triathlon.  Beauty is fitting into jeans that you haven’t worn in years.

I say: true beauty is optimum health. It may not get you on to the cover of a magazine, invited to a pool party, or make you a celebrity—then again, it just might.

A big otter-pup hug to Kate West for her review, “Best Trainer in Town“ posted this week. In a town as large as L.A. with hundreds of trainers, it means a lot.

In case you don’t know her blog, Kate West Reviews is an insider’s guide to theater and culture in L.A. that’s better than Daily Candy and twice as friendly.

An L.A. earthquake interrupted my third set of chin ups at the gym where I work out today.

It’s located on Hyperion, a very busy street in the Silverlake neighborhood of Los Angeles. The gym’s upper deck has very small windows. The main floor fronts on the street, with a sidewalk style entrance and expansive floor-to-ceiling glass windows.

I was midway through my chin ups when the earthquake hit. At first I thought the vibrations were from speeding cars or rescue vehicles rushing along the “mini freeway” outside. (Don’t think I’m crazy—a traffic accident took out some street level windows of the gym last spring).

Feeling the ground moving underneath the machine, I jumped off and (rather greenly and, apparently, loudly) wondered:

“Earth… Quake?

Everyone just nodded and smiled, but I know they were thinking: “That bleach has gone to his head.”

I’ve only experienced one other tremor in Los Angeles. That quake, back in 1997, felt like the ground was slowly rolling in waves. Not today. The rumblings felt explosive, uneven, more sudden. The windows shook as if a large 18-wheeler had just sped by, leaving a gust of wind in its wake. I wondered if it felt anything like a hurricane.

I moved on to bicep curls. I figured it was the Universe telling me that I had done enough chin ups for today.

For the record, I did 22.

And the good news:

I just stumbled upon my New Year’s Resolutions, which I blogged earlier this year. 

I figured the Universe was trying to tell me something, since it’s almost August and now seems a jolly good time to review them.

I wonder if you made any New Year’s Resolutions, and if you did, how are they coming along?  Here are mine again:  (url) or (pdf)