Crash and Burn

I broke my elbow at the skating rink. Some punk kid with a death wish careened into me at 70 mph and sent me to the floor. It was not pretty. So for the last three weeks, I have been sleeping, eating and trying to do palm up palm down with my right arm without breaking into a string of curses.

The elbow. Who knew what a valuable joint it is?

My advice: don't go rollerskating if you're over the age of...16. But if you do, wear the appropriate gear.

Things were going perfectly, too...jogging every other day. Yoga. Sticking to the eating plan. Now all I feel a slight pinch when I put on my tanks and I wear my shorts. Hateful.

welcome back

So I went ahead and bit the bullet and bought ecto. Maybe that will help me blog more faithfully. Maybe not.

Summer has hit with a vengeance, and many of my cute summer dresses are tight around the edges, so I'm back on six week body makeover diet. It's been fairly manageable the five days that I've been on it so far. I've also added a mod: I can eat whatever I want one day a week. I really only want to lose 10 lbs., so hopefully that will help.

I've been doing yoga and jogging faithfully every other day, with one day a week as a rest. I've been paying myself $10 for every day that I jog. I'm up to $70! Halfway to the 1 gig ipod. Next month I'm setting my sites on buying a Playstation...

Yoga Yoga

I've started taking Yoga classes. I spend most of my days hunched over the computer, for extended amounts of time, and am starting to suffer on my right hand: grasping too tightly on the mouse, hunching my shoulders, etc. It was starting to take a toll, and I started going to a physical therapist.

The therapist was good, if only for the advice she gave me. "As you get older, " she said, "you have to decide where you want to spend your money: on wellness or illness." I figured she had a point. I could pay her $25 bucks a session to fix what was broken, or spend $10 per yoga class to prevent my body from breaking. So I signed up for yoga.

Why yoga? Well, there are a few good reasons. One, it's pretty peaceful. Two, even though you raise your heartbeat and work hard, it's not too sweaty. And three, the best reason ever, is that you get to take a nap at the end. It rules!

After going for about a couple of weeks, I have noticed a strange thing. Almost all the women who take yoga are beautiful and thin. Is it the yoga gear? The yoga glow? Who knows. I was watching all the people who were streaming in before class today and said aloud to my neighbor, "Does yoga make people thin, or do thin people take yoga?" She thought that was pretty funny, but couldn't give me a good answer.

I've also started running. I found this cool plan online, and decided to give it a try. This, coupled with my new enthusiasm for music, makes the iPod shuffle very very tempting...

Music for my ears

I've been through an odd bit over the last month. Long story, but after 10 years of being immune to music and movies, I've started liking them again. I reactivated my Netflix account, and have started listening to music again. I've discovered that my city library has quite a nice inventory of CDs. It helps to borrow music, as it cut down on impulse buys on iTunes and Amazon.

There is however, one album I'm going to buy, and that's the Beach Boys' Pet Sounds. I've never been a big Beach Boy's fan, but after listening to this album over the weekend, I've decided it's a keeper. The textures, moods and layers of work that Brian Wilson explores in this album is solid, and I think that God Only Knows is absolutely stunning. I really liked how Richard Curtis used it in his film Love Actually.

Listening to Brian Wilson's work reminded me that when I was younger, I bought Wilson Phillip's first cd. As most people know, the name Wilson in the group's title comes from Brian himself, as two of his daughter are in the group. Listening to it now, 15 years (good Lord! has it been that long?!), I see that this album does not have much staying power with me.

Except for one song, and it's not because of the quality of the music, it's because of the lyrics, as well as the memory of who I was when I first heard it. The song is called "You're in Love", and it's about the realization that one's love is with someone else. The song mirrored what I was going through at the time, and I used to listen to it, nodding sagely and sadly, agreeing with the words. Here's the chorus:

You're in Love
That's the way it should be
"cause I want you to be happy
you're in Love
and I know that you're not in love with me
it's enough for me to know that you're in love
I can let you go
cause I know that you're in love...

Ten minutes ago, when I heard that, I just started cracking up because it's so.not.true. I know that the whole idea that ex-loves should be friends is a myth, perpetuated by fairy tales, Hollywood and romantic comedies that only women believe.

So here's my snarky commentary on this song, today:

You're in Love
That's the way it should be
I can't believe you found someone else to put up with your bullshit
"cause I want you to be happy
I hope this new relationship of yours rots in your soul and sinks you down to the depths of love hell
you're in Love
and I know that you're not in love with me
You're an idiot. I was the best thing that could have happened to you and you blew it.
it's enough for me to know that you're in love
Man, I can't even believe anybody would be stupid enough to fall for you
I can let you go
Don't ever see me again. Ever.
cause I know that you're in love...

Fifteen years later, and I now know that Harry was right. Men and women can't be friends. The truth is music to my ears.

Second Time Around

Nipped down to Houston for the weekend for my friend's baby shower. In attendance were my life-long girlfriends. We're so close, it's like visiting family.

I brought the magic dress, as it was unseasonably warm and thought it might be a good thing to wear. The magic dress, shockingly, has lost it's magic powers. My arms looked pop-eye-esque, and there was a somewhat suspicious pulling around the waist. I think I have to get back in the saddle and start fussing with diet and exercise again.

Thankfully, thankfully, this is my month of self-renewal (can you tell that I've read one too many women's magazines in my lifetime?) It's the montage month moment of my life. I will, I must. I am going to walk around the block at least once tomorrow!

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.