Dave has no "Class"

I live next door to a school.  At least, it used to be a school - the falling number of children in the area meant the place was abandoned, and refitted as a "community centre".

What this means is that on saturday mornings, I get awakened by a woman on a microphone cheering on her aerobics class.  And if I go to bed early, I can look out my window and watch a bunch of middle-aged men practice karate.

Mostly, the school is pretty harmless, giving all the locals the opportunity to pass some time with people who share a like interest.  Plus, it provides me with cheap entertainment.

Like right now.  A class of 30-somethings are outside on the grass, working out.  No one is doing the same thing - one guy is stretching in place, one woman is throwing a medicine ball, and another woman is in some sort of controlled seizure.  All of them wear yoga pants and lime green shirts.  One of them is sitting down, and then sitting up.  And then sitting down again.  And then sitting up.

It is the weirdest exercise class I've seen in a while.

Sometimes, I debate starting my own class in this school. I want to teach something awesome. Like extreme yoga (it's like normal yoga, only you're on a motorbike going downhill). Or maybe Hockey Appreciation 101 (Lesson One: Learn to Call Kyle Wellwood a "fucking nerd" whenever you get the chance).

Odds are, though, I'd just form a class where I can convince a bunch of 30-something women to put on yoga pants and do lame exercises I invent off the top of my head.  Fun exercises, such as "do Dave's laundry", or "Pay my rent". 

Yeah.  That'd be an awesome class.