I have been watching the Al Gore Massage Therapist story with all the restraint that I could muster and certainly more restraint than it deserved. Now that the Portland Police have decided that Al Gore is once again free and clear to hire massage therapists in their fair city, I think he should do something radically different, and start getting into Turkish massage while mixing in a few other massage traditions in the Middle East.
Tony Curtis, Kaiser Wilhelm and Florence Nightingale are all said to have been cleaned at the baths near the Mosque of Suleiman the Magnificent. I’ll bet they don’t even have to pay health insurance for their practitioners. It’s a place of tradition that’s been unaffected by all the harrowing details and pesky loose ends of modernity, and Gore should fly a few people in and choose #5.
Mr. Gore should know that this BBC report is merely a foretaste of real Turkish Massage and other kinds of steam room treatment in the Middle East. There are other techniques he might be interested in that involve being smacked all around the room like a big sweaty rag doll, pummeled against the hot stone walls until one doesn’t even know what village or clan they started from, having all sorts of muscles not just deeply massaged but stretched and extended to almost unbelievable extents – certainly the participant will find them unbelievable. He’s obviously a dilettante, not so much a connoisseur of these kinds of holistic treatments, but I think he should try them, instead of dabbling in the shallow pools of Portland.
We’ve all watched Al Gore over the past several years and seen all of his transformations, from Beta-Male Geek Striver who Invented the Internet to bearded, jilted depressive, to corpulent messianic prophet of Doom and Salvation, cable and internet televisiomedia entrepreneur, Board member, and now postmodern political divorcee, and frankly I think he’s getting the wrong massages from people in the wrong places at the wrong times. Nobody goes to Portland for massage therapy. He should take a trip to Turkey and get himself all kneaded up, stretched out, smacked around, spindled, folded and mutilated, drenched and steamed and patted down until he’s happy again.
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