What I should have been doing

Blogging has been non-existent for the last few months, as I have been deluged with work, and when not working, wanting to be as far away from the computer as possible. Also, I have been getting sick every other week, and just now am getting over a wicked, wicked cold. But I've been doing a lot of "mind-blogging" while I've been away, in which I've been composing deep, wonderful posts while sweating out the fever, or while staring at the computer screen doing my real job.

Here are some of the topics:

1.) Bellisario Boys: Where are the heroes of today? In which I analyze, compare and contrast Donald P. Bellisario's tv male leads in Battlestar Galactica, Magnum P.I. and Quantum Leap (I have not watched JAG). I also bitterly complain about his inability to write strong female characters. And I marvel at how good Thomas Magnum looked in the early episodes of Magnum PI.

2.) The Coughing Diet: in where I tell of how I've lost weight due my body's newfound ability to cough every other three seconds, thereby eliminating any desire or time to stuff food in my mouth. I leave out the part where I have just sent out a companion to get potato chips and cookies for me, because I am finally feeling better.

3.) Far East, Man: In where I contemplate and introduce my new plan of physical fitness, starting out with my adventures in acupuncture (which I don't believe in but it works, somehow) and my signing up of Tai Chi.

Wow, I thought I had done more mind blogging than that! Maybe I have but I just access the files right now. The cold fatigue is coming back. Must go tank up on water. I hope to be back soon.

Falling Off

I have fallen so far off the wagon that it's not even funny. It's been a week and a half of "hmmm...that sounds good" and "but I'll just eat this candy because Halloween is around the corner." Not good, people, not good. I am beyond puffy and into Michelin Man territory.

The thing is now I notice that sugar makes me crabby and grouchy, and I can tell the difference. But it's the only vice that I have. I don't drink. I don't smoke. I never rebelled as an adolescent. But the white sugar. The pure, cane, white sugar. That is my vice...

Enough. Tomorrow I will try to get up early, run around the block, and stick it to white cane sugar power with oatmeal and fruit smoothie. Will keep you posted.

Passion

Just got back from watching Wimbledon. Here's a short review: it's really less of a romantic comedy and more about finding the thing inside of you that makes things happen. Couple downsides, mostly on Kirsten Dunst. She's post-fruit, which means her youthful dewy edge is fallinga way and she's looking fairly normal and, dare I say, in some scenes just plain bad. I got the overall sense that she was badly lit. The other downside was that her character served as inspiration for the male character. Gaaaaah. I hate that.

Paul Bettany did a fairly good job of being a likeable Brit, but I didn't feel anything more for him other than a passing interest. For a movie about passion, drive and winning, it was surprisingly dry.

I thought it really funny that the only way a Brit would win Wimbledon in this day and age is for them to make a movie about it.

Anyway, this leads me to share the top things I dislike in movies:

1. Any movie that celebrates the human spirit. You know which ones they are. The voiceover in the trailer intones "...in celebration of the human spirit." Or there's a moment in the movie when a key thing happens and everyone in the room, stadium, country stands and claps. I can't stand those movies. It cuts out about 99% of what I can see.

2. Any movie that uses sex as a metaphor: for war (Unbearable Lightness of Being), art, or anything else. Forget it. Sex should be about one thing only: lust. Or maybe love. But it's a better movie if it's about lust. ;)

3. A romantic comedy should pass two tests for me: I should want to be the girl, and I should want to date the guy.

Sadly, I did not wan to to do either in regard to the characters in Wimbledon.

Stats Quo

I've lived w/the diet and cheated enough that I'm fitting in my clothes, but not making much progress beyond that. If you were to see me, you'd probably say, "Why are YOU on a diet?" It's true that my dress size has not gone above double digits, but that doesn't mean it won't end up that way. I've been a thin person all my life, even though I have done nothing to earn it. As a child I ate very little. As a teen to twentysomething, I ate whatever I wanted, and pretty much maintained my slim profile. But it had nothing to do with what I did, which was nothing. It had to do with how my body processed food. I was blessed with a fast metabolism, and I took it for granted.

I say this because if I had a slow metabolism and ate the way I just described, I'd be as big as a house. And then people would say I had an eating disorder. It's really not fair.

I was at a party last night, wearing the magical dress, and offhandedly mentioned that I was working on a diet (because I was cheating like crazy) and the gentleman before me gave me a quizzical look. I said, "because my clothes weren't fitting me." He said, "I find that very hard to believe." I said, "So did I! Trust me." But it is true.

And the truth is what I hate more than anything is shopping. I like the clothes that I already have. Please don't make me go back into the mall. (Except to go and buy more magical dresses...but wouldn't it be better if they just showed up on your doorstep, with, perhaps, a cute UPS man delivering?)

So the next logical step is to start moving, as in exercise. That takes a big effort for me, as it involves actually moving around of my cozy home. Eliminating food is easy: I can do it in my kitchen. Exercise means I have to move. And I'm not gonna get suckered into buying an at-home machine. Been there, done that. Anyone wanna buy a nearly new, pristine weight bench and free weights?

The heart monitor came in the mail, and I've been so "busy" that I haven't had a chance to play with it yet. But I will. Maybe when it's swarming with ants, I'll feel sorry for it and use it...

Off target

I thought I would throw in one meatless meal in the mix, since I got tired of searching for one more entree. Big mistake. i was starving again two hours later, and had to have some protein to fill me back up. It's amazing what a difference it makes. Used to be that I could just eat something like a slice of bread, and get full. Now, it just make me more ravenous for something real.

Cheating a lot today: three slices of banana bread, two sugar cookies, and a kit kat. Could be something to do with the end of the dial pack...

Hungry Like the Wolf

I no longer have cable, or even listen to top 40 radio, but I saw on yahoo's home page today that the original members of Duran Duran have an album coming out. I went over and caught their new video, which is passable. Nowhere near the brilliance of their early Russell Mulcahy vehicles, but it's nice to see Simon, Nick and the three Taylor non-brothers back together again.

Let me tell you something about Duran Duran. I wouldn't be where I am today, if it weren't for them. (As if working out of a home office to demanding, undeserving clients is so great. I kid, I kid. I love my clients. Just not their taste, sometimes).

Here's the backstory. It's 1983 in a small, conservative Christian central Texas town. I'm thirteen years old, surrounded by the ordinary. If you were there in the early 80's, you'll remember. There was no satellite television, no cell phones, no internet, no infotainment, no celebrity culture. The closest thing you got to discussions of celebrities were Siskel and Ebert, in their original form, on their show At the Movies on PBS. PBS!

But everyday, accessible technology was making its presence known. Because my dad was (and still is) somewhat of a technophile, we were early adapters. We owned a microwave, and had one of the first VCR's in our town. He paid at least a 1,000.00 for a huge, silver JVC. He would go help neighbors set up their systems, as they would slowly acquire this new, strange technology. We even joined a video store in the next town over. It was something like $30 to join, and then movies were $5 to rent.

My sister and I were latch-key kids. We'd come home at 3:00, and my Mom would get home around 5:30 from work. My dad worked the 3-11 evening shift at the hospital. So for over two glorious hours, we were unsupervised. Of course my sister, being older and more responsible, would do her homework. I would watch a lot of tv. We didn't have cable just then, but we had a few good local stations. The ABC affiliate would play classic movies from 3:00-4:30 in the afternoon, which were always great. (This was even before talk shows dominated daytime!). But one day I clicked over to a local independent station, and saw Richard Blade hosting what looked like a very awkward, 80's version of American Bandstand. Kids would dance, Richard would kvetch about this "new wave" of music, and between song sets, he would play music videos.

I didn't think much of this show, until one day, while channel surfing, I caught Duran Duran's Rio video. Now most would argue that Hungry Like the Wolf was the best video, but Rio was always my favorite. I was fascinated. Who were these guys? What were they doing on this island? Why did it look like a movie? What was this plot going on? How could they be looking so impossibly sexy, sunkissed and carefree? Even then, I knew that I was seeing something entirely new: a new artistic expression. The song on a radio, paired with this kind of imagery, brought in a whole new dimension, allowing for the artist to drive their own visual and concept of the song. Or maybe John Taylor just looked hot crawling up the beach. Six one way, half a dozen the other.

Thus began the downward spiral. I talked my dad into getting cable (it was pretty easy). And then overdosed on videos: MTV, WGN's Nighttracks, even USA today's Radio 1990. I'd watch it all. And I would read anything I could on Duran Duran. I'd hang out at the local B. Dalton's and read teenybopper magazines like Tiger Beat, along with serious magazines like Rolling Stone and Circus.

Suddenly, my ordinary was supplanted by a visual feast. Duran Duran videos offered serious cinematography, exotic locales, and attractive leading men that dressed well. Their Rio album cover was stylistically designed. Magazine articles on Nick Rhodes described him as having gone to art school, liking Andy Warhol, and quoting him using words like "aesthetics." Back then, those things were alien concepts to a 13-year old in Texas. I would learn to dream about places like New York, London, Sri Lanka and Antigua. I would write Duran Duran fanfic with my friend Julie, thus fueling my desire to write. Even though I was shy, I worked up the nerve to interview a touring Christian band for our high school newspaper. (The editor liked the piece, but the faculty member thought it "too trendy." I was trying to emulate the quick, arcebic tone of Star Hits, my favorite pop music 80's magazine.) I began to notice the difference in designer v. non-designer clothes. And how a fedora could add polish to any outfit. There was something different about Duran Duran. Something polished, sleek and crafted that just made me take notice.

to be cont.

Day 12

So this has been an interesting week. I've certainly lost some weight. To reward myself, I went shopping over the weekend and bought a new dress. My friends, the dress is fabulous. It's the kind of dress that makes me, a very minimalist, short-hair, no-nail polish because it takes too long kind of girl want to paint my toe nails, put on mascara, and wear high heels.

It's the kind of dress that makes you feel like a million dollars. It was a $200 BCBG dress on sale for $50. It wouldn't have mattered if it were $10. The thing was just engineered for me: perfectly tailored for my chest, stomach, and hips. When I wore it out Monday, I felt sorry for every other girl that didn't have it on themselves.

And the funny thing is, I didn't care if anyone else liked it. I liked it so much, it didn't matter one whit about anyone else. That, my friends, is a powerful dress. Every woman should have a dress like this. I wish that I had a whole closet full of them.

But back to the diet. I'd say it's been a good 10 days of dieting, and the last 2 days I have been sliding down that slippery chocolatey slope of desire. I had a drumstick last night. Tonight's treat of choice was a Twix. I figured, ah, what the hell, my shorts are about to fall off my waist. Can't I have a little reward?

The body makeover book suggests that one should reward oneself over milestones, just not with food.

Whoops.

To give me further incentive to exercise (ha!) I ordered a heart monitor online. I'm one of these geeky, organizing kind of freaks, and it just made more sense that I could know where my target heart rate was at all times so I could exercise as efficiently (and therefore as little) as possible. Amazon mailed it off Monday, so hopefully it will get here soon.

Day 4

I think my taste buds are atrophying. Or they're becoming keener. Could both things be happening at the same time? Since this diet takes salt totally out of the mix, everything has been pretty much bland and tasteless. So after I obediently chew through a meal, I'll have something sweet like a grapefruit, or a banana, and it will taste like the best thing ever created on the planet earth.

A somewhat surprising development is that this diet has revived my interest in cooking and meal planning. I used to just eat whatever was in front of me, or what was in the refrigerator. Now I'm perusing through cookbooks again, and wondering what will taste good with what. Tonight I made a great entree, Carmelized Onion Chicken. It was fabulous. The best thing I've had all week. I paired it with a side dish of rice, and as soon as I ate it, I knew the rice was wrong wrong wrong. Potatoes were what it needed. Unfortunately, I had to go to a meeting, but when I came back you can bet I grilled up some potatoes to try with the chicken. And I was right. It's like all the taste pieces are falling into place.

Day 3

I can now add "gobble gobble" to my farm yard repertoire. At this rate, I will be sampling cornish game hens and emu's by the end of the week.

Today had some more cheats: three bars of chocolate, and I sprinkled a pinch of sea salt over my dinner. It really needed it.

The interesting news is that I've already lost some weight. My pants were incredibly roomy around the waist today. Could it be really working?

Cheats

Day 2 was harder. I overboiled the oatmeal this am, making it a congealed mess. All the meat was getting to me, so I didn't eat very much of it, resulting in getting more hungry. Also this evening I got a powerful, powerful craving for chocolate.

So I cheated.

Cheat #1
Drizzled olive oil a bit of olive oil on the veggies and chicken breast to grill

Cheat #2
Ate 1 square of a Hershey's chocolate bar. (Why can't those squares be bigger?!)

Tempations Overcome:
After my work this evening I only ate a banana, even though the taste of chocolate was lingering on. (Man, shouldn't have written about that. Now it's back on my mind.)

Pleasant Surprise:
The new All-Clad grill pan rocks I made the best grilled chicken I have ever had. Sealed in the juices, and it came out very tender. It made me dig up the The Joy of Grilling book that had been moldering on the shelf. I'm going to start experimenting with marinades to try and get some flavor back in my no salt, no olive oil life.

Old MacDonald had a farm

If you are what you eat, I would be sprouting wings, gills and fins. I have never eaten so much meat in my life. Is this the Atkins diet that I'm on? I'm suddenly suspicious. I'm eating little meat-filled meals every two hours. Carbs are not banned for me, however, just the simple, starchy fun carbs. I can still eat complex carbs like oatmeal. This food is so school-marmish.

Also salt, butter and olive oil is banned. I mean, really, I should just put on some sackcloth and ashes and get it over with. What is life without the taste of fat?! Thankfully I am modifying this diet so that I get one free day a week, in which I will participate in all the buttering and oiling that I can stand. The sexy food. All the sexy food is gone from my diet. (And isn't it ironic that the sexy food just makes you look very un-sexy?)

As I was thinking about this process, I'm finding that what I'm doing is really challenging myself to meet a goal. Something that I've done in many other parts of my life, but never physically. I think that's why I am always so fascinated by the Olympics. The idea that someone has complete care and control over their bodies: that they can push it to the limit. That has never been me. I am the person who has perfected the art of blissfully laying on the couch while having the remote, computer and microwaved s'mores arranged in just the right spots, so I can reach them without moving anything more than my arm. Now that my friends, is something to be proud of.

Planning to fail

I find this menu planning to be the hardest part of this whole system. I'm somewhat...frenetically organized. I wanted to do the entire week's shopping and planning in one fell swoop this morning. It took me about an hour, but it felt like a thousand years. I had Excel fired up to do the planning, and then my menu planning software to plug in all the recipes to generate a shopping list. Yes, it would have been faster if I had simply written the list on the back of the envelope. But then I wouldn't have been able to whip myself up into a frenzied state of control. And that, my friends, is what I do. Procrastination by organization. See, it looks like I'm doing something (planning the menu), but I'm actually just perfecting the tools to plan the menu instead of planning the menu. It's all smoke and mirrors.

Finally, after much frustration, I got the planning done. All I can say is, man, that is a LOT of meat I'm supposed to be eating. Plus for my alleged body type E (Ironically, a thin person trapped inside a slowly thickening large person), I can have no pasta or bread. Let the whimpering begin.

The good news is that I found a wicked deal on an All-clad grill pan on Amazon. $50!! It came in yesterday, and so I was able to haul out the Charlie Trotter cookbook to imagine all the smart, whimsical, charming dinner parties I would be having. "Oh this? I just whipped this up. Do you know that not only is it simply delicious, it is completely healthy for you?" Throw back head, laugh, and pass the paired wine.

It could happen.

I didn't start the food diet today. I knew I would be completely grumpy trying to plan the menu, while eating the menu. It starts tomorrow. So today I had my own private Fat Saturday, before my own private Lent. I dallied with the butter. Chatted aimably with the coconut empanada. Canoodled with the ravioli. Stayed out past bedtime with the tiramisu.

Also my favorite pair of Gap Body pants that go with everything are tight, too. The pants that I wear when I feel puffy and unloved, and immediately make me feel better. Are.too.tight.

Tomorrow is not coming fast enough.

The Return of the Resolve

I am puffy, puffy, puffy. Nothing is fitting any more. My clothes are shrinking before my very eyes. Today, my khaki pants threatened to cut my very life force from my waist by forcing me to take shallow, mincing breaths every time I tried to walk, sit, or bend. But, that, sadly, is not the final indignaty.

The FI happened on Wednesday morning, when my friend Corinne came over. We were talking about gyms, and work out programs, and I said, "oh, you know, I bought this workout program off tv. Look, I'll show you." I reach up to the Provida box perched on high at the top of the entertainment center, bring it down to open it, and start shrieking at the top of my lungs. "Ants! Ants!"

The whole box was filled with thousands of swarming ants. Nasty, nest building ants. I guess they were attracted to the glue or something in the cardboard? They were munching up the paper, and building a nice, nasty nest along the inside seam of the box. Oh, it was horrible. And worse yet, Corinne was all, "how long has that box been up there?" (In my mind, dark thoughts: long enough, obviously, you skinny—)

I dumped all the ants out on the carport, and then felt sorry for the whole munched interior of the Provida box, and emptied the rest of the contents onto the kitchen table. Whereupon I was forced to look at it during my meals.

So that, coupled with my puffiness, has led me back to the land of the infomercial resolve! Where I must always speak in exclamation points! Finally! So tomorrow, I promise, I am going to write out my menu, and try this diet for the week. I'm only going to comitt for a week at a time, as I think my resolve lasts about 7 days.

Also...after much, much deliberation, I think I'm gonna quit the gym. I'm paying them $38 a month for guilt? Heck, I can do that for free.

No, seriously. The new plan is that if I can get out the door in this next month, and walk around the block a couple of times, consistently, then I will reward myself with new jogging shoes. If I can do it for two months, I will be a pulse meter. I am motivated by new, shiny, techological toys.

And pants that fit.

Evil Incarnate

My friend Irma and I like to use the term 'evil.' It sometimes startles people to hear us use the term. We use it to mean that something has a hold over us, we are powerless over it, and it must be destroyed. As in, "those big, flourless chocolate cookies from Central Market are evil. They must be destroyed." Translation: "I can't stop eating these cookies. Who made them? Where can I buy more?"

Today, I realized there exists a true incarnation of evil in my life: mass produced Mexican cookies. Here is the problem with Mexican cookies. They are a unholy alliance of two things that I love: cookies, and candies. Mexican cookies are often brightly, ambitiously rendered. It's not just a cookie. No, it's a flat cookie, with four marshamallow's crammed on top PLUS colorful candy sprinkles. My favorite brand of Mexican cookie, Gamesa, has this down to an art. I don't know what they put in their cookies, but there's always this lingering taste left of something more. You eat one, and it's as if the sweet taste has only lasted for one brief, shining moment. You eat another, just to get that bland, sugary taste back in your mouth.

Gamesa used to rock, especially their variety packs. But then they got bought out by some big conglomerate like Pesi or Nestle or something, and they started reducing the variety in the pack, shrink wrapping them, and also—heaven forbid—introduced the chocolate chip cookie into the mix. They just couldn't leave well enough alone. They wanted to appeal to white America, too.

But white America already has their cookie classics, like the Oreo. Can't we just accept each other for what we are? Gamesa, take out the chocolate chip and put back the hard lemon zinger thingies. Really, I think this is the dark side of multiculuralism.

But as always, I digress. The good news is that today I noticed that there were more brands than my beloved Gamesa. There was also a brand called Bimbo, which looked highly promising. I'll have to check it out the next time I'm there.

Falling In

So I was just watching the evening episode of Friends, and caught the new Gap commercial featuring Lenny Kravitz and Sarah Jessica Parker.

I am seriously underwhelmed.

What are they selling me, here? Jeans that I can customize to fit my lifestyle? How do I wear my jeans? Over my legs and butt. Listen, Gap. If I had time to be all creative and thoughtful and funky with my jeans, I wouldn't be buying them from the Gap. I'd be buying them from Goodwill and sewing on my own geegaws on them.

Basically, the commercial wasn't selling the intangible: sizzle. I didn't want to become or be near either Lenny or Sarah. I just wanted to change the channel.

24/7

In reference to the beach volleyball photo on my post on equal opportunity, a loyal reader asks

"is a butt like that possible only from jumping and darting on sand all day long? Or can mere mortals achieve such firmness and roundness?

Well, my friends, the answer is yes, mere mortals can achieve such greatness, but it's a 24/7 job. Last night, SexOlympic Gold Medal winners Misty May and Keri Walsh were on the Tonight show. They came out dressed in—get this—athletic warm up suits. (As if to say, gee, I'll put on the slouchiest thing I own on national television and pretend that I didn't display nearly every square inch of my skin for two weeks. Girls, girls, girls. We all know you have great bodies. Don't hide them now! Let's see what they look like in real, fashionably-cut clothing!)

Anyway I digress. Basically, they said that Beach Volleyball is a full time job. Their day can run from 8:00 am to 8:00 pm, and consist of training, playing, working out, etc. and etal.

And you know what? If you work that hard on your body, then you deserve every glorious square inch. And if you get paid, even better.

So yes, we can achieve the Beachvolleyball butt. But since it's gonna be on our own clock, loyal reader, I will have to say that the cost will be at quite a premium.

Heck, it'd probably be worth it. I'll let you know once I get the Provida box open.

iTunes hangover

I looked in the library and couldn't believe what I had done the night before. I don't remember it. It was late. I had listened to one too many songs. I got confused. Possibly from reading too many Amazon reviews. I wasn't responsible for my actions, was I?

I had bought Little River Band's Greatest Hits.

The thing was, I wasn't even trying to by their album. I was trying to buy Neil Young's Harvest Moon. And I'm not just throwing that in there so you can see how cool and erudite I am. I just woke up to the fact that I like Neil Young. I'm a 1980's baby: born and bred on the MTV. But Neil Young's album was listed as a partial album, and I went on Amazon to see what song was missing, and somehow, that led me down the dark late night path to remembering a time when the albatross, and the whale, they are my brothers.

It's just a sad state of affairs, I tell you.

Latest Crush

Just a little bit of a crush going on right now.

The international language of the butt slap

After watching a few of the international basketball teams playing, I'm amazed at how everyone has seemed to approriate the American body language of sports: butt slaps, hand slaps, chest bumps, etc. How does this body language spread so quickly internationally? I always thought it was a peculiarly American thing, but now I see that I'm wrong. After the bronze finalist game, I watched Larry Brown give an approving butt slap to a passing Lithunian player, who took it in stride.

I have to wonder, do the Chinese and Russians butt slap, too? Hard to imagine.

What's Not Hot

Since this is the SexOlympics, I thought I'd offer a short, useful primer on what is not sexy.


1. Music being played while competition is being judged
2. Synchronization
3. Competition being referred to as "a routine."
4. Spirit hands, glitter, or a gamine toss of the head
5. If the participants look like they could be the back-up band in Robert Palmer's "Addicted to Love" video

Say it, Sister

And I thought I was harsh.

Uh Oh

Just saw the commercial for Garden State on television. The promo quote was "this summer's Lost in Translation." I was thinking about going to see Garden State, but that endorsement gives a big warning sign for me.

I really wanted to like Lost in Translation, but it just made me impatient. It reminded me of a funky, cooler, thrift-store version of Scent of a Green Papaya. Green Papaya made me want to tear my eyeballs out. I'm all for unspoken moments, lost chances, roads not taken blah blah blah but 2 hours of it? Too much, I tell ya, it's too much.

Two, two, two tasks in one

It is now almost physically impossible for me to do one thing at a time. Since I'm feeling badly this evening, I'm resting. My resting includes watching television while simultaneously reading email and blogs. If the remote had not mysteriously disappeared, my third task would be switching channels during the boring parts of the SexOlympics.

I have a theory of why this multi-tasking mindset exists, and I call it Computer Time. I work on the computer a lot, churning big files and laying out pages. My current set-up renders art fairly quickly, but anytime there's a hang, when the file doesn't render instantaneously, I turn to another task while the computer finishes. I've had to do that a lot lately, while using my old G4 450 that still has OS9. I think "Oh, Photoshop's gonna take a while. I'll just check my email on my laptop while it catches up."

What does this mean? I can no longer sit and wait. I have to do something while I wait. Standing in line at the check-out register, I have to be reading a magazine. Sitting in the waiting room at the doctor's office, I'm checking off to-do's on my Palm. I can never, ever let the microwave countdown to the final time. I'm always in there a good 20 seconds before, checking to see if the food is done even though it is I that put the time down in the first place.

Tonight, though, I wish I did have the remote. I'm stuck in commercial hell. In closing, I just have one thing to say: McDonald's, nobody, and I mean nobody, is going after your chicken.

I wanna sex you up

Just finished lunch on the couch, while watching the SexOlympics. All those sweaty bodies shimmering in the hot Greek sun. Yes, Nelly, it is getting hot in here.

At any rate, I was watching women's water polo, which so far seems to be the only water sport I've seen that has totally missed the boat in terms of glamour. Those girls are truly working it. This has got to be one of the most athletic competitions out there. Are they nuts? They're treading water, fighting each other, and trying to throw a ball into a net. Made me tired just looking at them.

Plus their head gear gives them this oh-so attractive nun habit look. I have no other way of describing it. They look like broad-shouldered, fierce, kick your ass nuns. And because they're so focused on the game, the expressions on their faces seem positively beatific.

NBC tried to make up for the sex appeal though, in these little jazzy breaks between plays where they'd show individual team members. First a close up still photo, then a live-action shot while the girl would gamely, yet hesitantly shuffle along to upbeat music. I could just hear the director, off camera saying, "Loosen up, have fun, throw your hair! You're at the SexOlympics!"'

Skip, skip, skip to my Lou

This article in today's New York Time's (subscription may be required), talks about how the iPod seems to have a mind of its own when it comes to shuffle preferences. Seems kind of odd to feature it in the paper now, since the iPod has been out for a while. Nevertheless, I found this particular passage amusing:

"It is truly bizarre," said Mr. Cedarholm, who no longer likes Fugazi. "Before, it was this hidden gem, and when I heard them I would be like, 'Oh yeah. Fugazi. Cool.' "

Now he hits the Fast Forward button.

And now the NYT's writer show her age. Maybe not in physical years, but in mindset. Fast Forward? What is this? 1977 in front of Mom and Dad's tape deck? I think not.

Skip, people, skip. Mr. Cedarholm skip's through his music.

With one term, the NYT's sounds positively dowdy.

All's Fair

This is what we are striving for: equal opportunity oogling.

Truly. This land was made for you and me.

Truly shallow

My thoughts watching the aftermath of Gail Dever, after she had plowed into the first hurdle, putting her out of the race: Hey, when she sits down and curls over, she shows stomach flab, too!

A dramatic, poignant moment of a championship athlete watching her dreams race by. And I'm thinking about her stomach.

All we need is love

Why is it called "Peace and Friendship Stadium?" Did they name it for the Olympics, or has it always been called that? Because it's wrong. It should be named appropriately. It should be called, "I want to kick your ass stadium." Or "That gold is mine! stadium."

Peace and Friendship. Give me a break.

Is Reese back?

While watching the Olympics, I caught some of the commercials for Hawaii, one of NBC's fall offerings. I pretty much ignored the commercial until one voice cut through. It was male, snarling, and gritty. The unmistakable voice of actor Michael Biehn.

Who? You say, who's that? Michael Biehn aka Kyle Reese in the original Terminator, and Corporal Hicks from Aliens.He was in James Cameron's stable of actors, back when Cameron was still teamed with Gale Anne Hurd and produced movies that had heart, action and soul.

Of Cameron's lengthy filmography, I think his first two are the best and here's why: the female and male lead characters were in real relationships were they needed each other to survive. If one failed, both failed. If Kyle Reese never made it back to Sarah Conner, John Conner would never be born. They had to survive at least until the evening of conception--pipe bombs, anyone?

Hicks and Ripley needed each other to make it back to the Sulaco off of that alien-infested LV-490. Hicks taught her how to use an automatic weapon, but Ripley's calm, clear thinking paved the way for them to get out of there. They had a mutual respect for each other's talents and intelligence.

And here's the thing. All that mutual respect in the face of death-defying adventures generated real romantic heat. You want to root for people who seem like they'd be good together if they were able to survive the odds. And you're genuinely sad when things don't work out (like when one of them gets killed off in the third installation of the film, because the director wants to go in another direction and put his own stamp on it. Whatever, Fincher!)

So here's Michael Biehn now, on his own NBC series. After the Terminator became known as an Arnold vehicle. After James Cameron went big Hollywood on the popularity of the pap that is The Titanic. And after his own foray into B-actor territory. The series website doesn't give me much hope that this will last more than a few episodes. But what does give me hope is the sound of his voice on the commercial: cold, deliberate, and a little crazy. It's enough for me to tune in for the first episode.

WOW. The whole summer is nearly over, and the Provida box is still sitting on top of the entertainment center, hardly touched. I would have to say so far for this experiment that: no, infomercial products do not work. But I think I should actually USE the product before I make this pronouncement.

What they should sell on late-night television is motivation. I would buy that in a minute. And then of course, it would take me years to use it...

We just got back from vacation where I have perfected the art of microwave s'mores, and yet still, I do not lose weight.

I've been watching the Olympics, and every time that I do, I think: "Gosh, I would LOVE to have focus, determination, grit, and abs like that...perhaps I should hire a coach to yell at me while I learn to do perfect, splashless swim strokes.

Or perhaps, I should just open that damn Provida box...

So, it's all about the ratio. Since I have not made my good food list, I decided to indulge in the bad food list, when I got a powerful cravin' for sweets. I am now sitting on the couch with a plastic bag filled with bulk generic whoppers. The problem is, these are not the officially sanctioned Whoppers brand whoppers, and they have WAY too much chocolate, and not enough whop. So you have to chew through three yards of chocolate to get to the whop. And I think that is just wrong. Ratio, people, ratio.

I've decided to practice more discipline in my life. I've bemoaned the fact, blamed my parents, and shaken my head over the fact that nobody in my life has noticed so far how brilliant I would be if I had just had enough discipline. So instead of burning time trying to figure WHY I have no discipline, I'm just going to ask it to come into my life. Wow, sounds almost spiritual.

Here is what I'm going to ask discipline to do next:
Me: "Discipline, please get me off this couch, into the shower, and in front of my desk so that I can do my state Sales tax form that is one week late, and print out the shower invitations that I've been putting off all day."
Discipline: "Move your lazy ass off that couch."

See? That was easy. And with that, I'm gone.

Planned my menu for this week, but still couldn't incorporate the food off the diet plan because I am sick, again. Got some sort of virus, bad cough, headache, throbbing head. So I'm going to put it off for another week. Really, this is just getting ridiculous.

So, the first thing I ordered from infomercial came last Friday. I saw it, as I was clutching a bag of Sonic Brown Bag Special in my hand. [Two #2's, two limeades, one fries, one tater tots, no cheeses.] Both burgers were not for me, I was sharing the lunch with another.

The UPS man had helpfully hidden this huge box *under* our welcome mat. The bag was twice as thick, and wider than the welcome mat, but never mind. At least it was hidden.

Inside this box? The sixweekbodymakeover. I am writing that all together so the mik-ul ther-mund web scanners don't pick this up, and then put the damn advert on the top. At any rate, I brought the box in the house.

Did I really say that I was going to do everything the damn i-mercial product wanted me to do? Cuz this thing wants me to eat six times a day, and on top of that a LOT of meat. Man, I hate cooking! I'm also a very ocd organized person, so Saturday I was furiously trying to come up with a meal plan and shopping list. Panicking more and more over how I didn't know what to cook, and how I didn't know what to buy.

Sunday I had to admit defeat. It's just ludicrous to think that I could assimilate all this information, plan menus, and shop effectively and efficiently in two days. So, I relaxed, and finished off the Easter candy I bought one sale.

Oh, that was the OTHER thing. I had to get rid of all the Easter candy that I bought on sale. I craved Robin's eggs like no other. And I didn't want to throw it away. And I really wanted it. So I ate it all. On a deadline. So that I would be clear.

Today, at the grocery store I saw a cart of Easter candy on sale. I merely hissed at it as I passed by, "evil Easter candy!" and stalked on by.

So here's the new plan:
1. Tomorrow [Sat.] plan menu
2. Sun, go shopping
3. Monday, start the plan, and eat like a damn carnivore all day.

Oh, also? Another complicating factor: my capped tooth that has a root canal has mysteriously decided to grow back nerves. Here was my visit to the dentist today:

Dentist: "Where does it hurt?"
Me: "On this tooth here."
Dentist: "But that's the tooth with the root canal."
Me: "YES I KNOW."
Dentist: "Hmmm... Maybe the root canal didn't take."

Yeah, those are words I want to hear. Try eating meat with only one side of your mouth.

So today was the big day I was gonna start CD 1 of the Tony Robbins series. Unfortunately, I came down with a fever and instead of starting to improve my life, I spent the afternoon on the couch eating pizza and cookies. Starve a fever doesn't seem to apply in this case. Pretty disappointing. I'll get over the sick thing, then go from there. Of course I could listen to the program while I'm sick, but I don't think it would be a fair evaulation.

Okay so I'm new to this blog thing, and blogger. But dude, now the Proactiv ad is now on top of this thing. Scary big brother thing. Budweiser Budweiser Budweiser...did that change anything? Damn you all knowing, all scanning, all 24/7 computer monsters...

So here's the thing. I'm addicted to infomercials. I'm an insomniac, and I don't have cable. Which leads me to watching a lot of infomercials. And here's the thing about infomercials: it's salvation that they offer. If you only do X you can get X! And so easy! All for just $XXX.XX. Just make three easy payments of $XX.XX. And then they put in all those success stories of people like you and me, just to show that it works.

But, does it? And not for earnest people. And not for a 2-minute segment on the evening news bent on debunking infomercials. But for people like me, the insomniac. The sarcastic-cynical-been-there-done-that-not-worth-my-time-just-for-the-teeming-masses person. Could a product hawked at 3:00 am to thousands of people work for me?

Well...Proactiv worked for me. It was crazy. I had bad skin as a teen, and hated, hated, hated myself for it. One day I'm channel surfing during the day and catch Judith Light laughing through tears with a woman who said that Proactiv worked for them. The damn infomercial hit all the right cords with me, and I ordered it. What did I have to lose? And even though my skin was nowhere near as bad as it once was, I still needed some help. And...wonders of wonders, it did work for me. Five years later I'm still using it. But surely that's a one-shot deal. And that's simply a product. What about processes? What about...for instance...something like Tony Robbins' "Get the Edge" or Provida's Body Makeover?

So here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to try it and see. And post on the results. The rules are this: I'll do what the process tells me to do, and then post on the results. I'm gonna start with Tony Robbin's series. I've listened through 6 CDs, but then had a bit of a medical episode, and haven't gotten back to it yet. I'll start tomorrow.