Monday, March 29, 2010

He Ain't Heavy


But I am...update on the continuing battle of the bulge.
It is amazing how the body swings up and down weight wise. I had been steadily losing weight, almost predictably, you might say. Every other day or so, a pound would magically be gone. Well this weekend was a lost cause, and illustrates why my personal battle with weight is such a bastard.

I had been quite religious in the Weight Watchers point system, and that, combined with a regular 45 to 60 minutes exercise a day had yielded the desire results. This weekend I strayed. I would like to say horribly, but that isn't really true, and that is what makes the inevitable weight gain all the more sobering, and somewhat more depressing.

Friday was Dad's birthday, and though I ate properly for breakfast and lunch, dinner was at Bartolino's, and it must be said I ate well. Not crazy, but I didn't really count calories, if you know what I mean. Breaded and grilled shrimp, roasted red peppers, a honking big salad w/cheese and some kind of delicious house dressing. Oh, and two cookies. Compared to my old eating habits, this was pretty light, but it still wasn't really inside WW's parameters.

Saturday saw me eat a bit more-namely 3 stick pretzels, a banana, a cinnamon scone from Bread Co, and the complete WW destroyer, a meal at Zia's-crostini, house salad, and fettuccine carbonara (of which I ate half)...washed down with my half of a bottle of wine. Add in Sunday's bagel w/low-fate cream cheese, pulled pork nachos, and large chicken pot pie (again, I only ate half of it), and that's it. To compare it to my previous dietary norms, it was reasonably healthy, and not that large a quantity. I did swim for an hour on Friday, forty five minutes on Saturday, and moved heavy furniture and scrubbed out a couple of appliances on Sunday, so it wasn't a case of lying around doing nothing.

And what did this net me? A three pound weight gain. Again-I know I wasn't eating the lowest calorie foods-but I wasn't being a poster child for sloth, and I wasn't indulging in ice cream, snickers bars, bags of potato chips, and pies or cakes, either. I ate what I would consider "normal people" food, at normal people portions. And got a decent amount of exercise. Three damned pounds...wow. No wonder I'm a fat ass. Oh well, back to the tofu and wheat germ ;-)

Saturday, March 27, 2010

Celluloid Heroes


This afternoon has been spent wandering down memory lane, and playing some of the records that truly made me feel good when I was but a youngster. One in particular I've been messing with is The Kinks "Everybody's In Show-Biz"...a minor classic in Ray Davies' personal canon-though it does include Dave's outstanding "You Don't Know My Name".
But I digress-the feel good songs are such things as the quirky ode to food served at turnpike/motorway service areas, "Motorway". What wonderful fodder-

"Motorway food is the worst in the world,
You've never eaten food like you've eaten on the motorway.
Motorway food is the worst in the world,
The coffee tastes weak and the cakes taste stale
And gasoline fumes are the worst to inhale,
Your stomach rolls over and your face turns pale."


And then you get to the magical whimsy of Supersonic Rocket Ship-a little dixieland-and you know Leo Sayer stole the riff for Long Tall Glasses.

And as Mr.Davies is prone to do, after a records' worth of whimsy and humor, he closes the album with the achingly beautiful Celluloid Heroes, which finishes with the observation-
"I wish my life was non-stop Hollywood movie show
A fantasy world of celluloid villains and heroes
Because celluloid heroes never feel any pain
And celluloid heroes never really die"

I love Ray Davies...the man's an F-in' genius. I still think the song Days may just be the greatest pop song ever written. Who other than Mr.Davies could write a song thanking someone for breaking their heart, and mean it?

Anyone who isn't a fan should be. I'm just sayin'

Friday, March 26, 2010

Don Quixote calls it a day


In an astonishing reversal of form, today Don Quixote's agent Sancho released the following statement:

"Due to a certain world-weariness, and generally diminishing optimism, let it be known that I, Hidalgo Don Quixote of La Mancha, have decided to retire. No more tilting at windmills, no more championing of lost causes, no more brave chivalry in the face of a cruel, cold world. Not to be overly dramatic, but it has finally occurred to me that my efforts just aren't appreciated."

When questioned as to the cause of all this, the ever loyal Sancho would only say, "vete a la chingada"

Speculation is rife...

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

It Takes A Lot To Laugh, It Takes A Train To Cry


After several years of caloric abuse, I decided that it was high time I did something about my increasingly large self. Namely, it occurred to me that while round is an appropriate shape for some things, basketballs, globes, donuts, tires, marbles and the like come to mind, it was not the preferred shape of a human being, unless of course you have the misfortune of being Tweedledee or Tweedledum.

So, for the fourth time in my life, I have launched the great quest for something approaching fitness. I've taken up swimming, and am trying to be more active in my day to day life, as well as (loosely) following weight-watchers program. So far, it's been a success, as I've dropped (as of this morning) 30 pounds since January 4th. But, believe it or not, as much as a sycophant as I want to be to myself (is that possible?), this isn't actually about me. It's about image, perception, and what we and others see in each other and ourselves. I just brought up the weight bit as an illustration.

Last night I was speaking with a fellow weight crusader, and she is quite concerned about her relative lack of loss. Now, my initial reaction to this is, she's being ludicrous. In my view, she is a little hottie, and while I'm sure if she rummaged around for awhile she could find a pound or a few ounces to drop here or there, it isn't as though she needs to. But here's the rub. Who cares what I think? It is about how SHE feels about it. You can tell her she's fine as much as you want, but if she doesn't feel good about it, that is what's important. And when I step back, that's crystal clear. I mean, I don't care if I ever look like Michael Phelps, in fact, I'd be perfectly happy with a Jim Belushi build, but that's me. There are assuredly any number of people that would think me a fat bastard even at that size, but I don't care. I'd be comfortable, and that is what is important. And if she said she's gushy in the middle and doesn't like it, then damn it she's gushy in the middle.

So the next time a friend of yours is complaining about being overweight, or having a big nose, or small boobs, or wants to lose that pesky 3rd arm, remember-it is their comfort and self-image that matters, not your vision of them. Don't argue with them, encourage them to do what they need to feel better and improve themselves in their own eyes.

Just sayin'

Friday, March 19, 2010

Sympathy For The Devil?


There's a health care debate raging, and it is pretty hard to pick sides. On the one hand, you have an expansion of government, which I'm pretty much against at every turn, and on the other hand, you have the opposition, as it were, whose proposal is "everything's just great". Which it clearly isn't.

So, here's a tough proposition. How about taking away the preferential tax treatment companies receive for offering medical benefits? While it would need to be implemented over time, unless you wanted to throw everything into complete disarray, it would, if done in concert with the opening up of all insurance avenues to competition, allow the public to purchase what they wanted/needed, and not what was foisted on them via some PPO, HMO or what have you. Perhaps all you want is catostrophic coverage? Surely that would be much lower in cost than insurance designed to pay for every doctor's office visit?

Some will point out that this idea still doesn't insure everyone. And they're right. It doesn't. We don't have a RIGHT to health care. Get over it.

Thursday, March 18, 2010

A wildly unfounded story


Did you know that St.Patrick, the Englishman in charge of civilizing Ireland (you can look it up!), was a serious boozer, that preferred Stag beer and honey liqueur to Guinness?

It is true. And because of this, yesterday I spent a lovely afternoon, in the company of a lovely little person, celebrating the Saint's passions.

We drank to the legend of St.Patrick and the grizzly bear, as well as St.Patrick steals the bee-hive. And who could ever forget the bold tale of "St.Patrick and the neon beer sign", in which he was confused, and thought he'd found the holy grail, only to discover that he'd stumbled upon one of the few taverns in all of Ireland that sold Stag? Being the man's man (not to mention cad and drunkard) that he was, he boldly strolled in, and ordered two (for it was happy hour), even though he had no money. Upon demand of payment, St.Pat showed them his special "disappearing snake" trick (a rather vile performance, best not described in a family friendly atmosphere)and in the confusion/revulsion that followed, he beat his retreat. But not too quickly, for he. like the rest of us, must dine. Which led him to Charlie O'Gitto's for a quick meal, paid for by the people of McDaniels town, who were only too happy to pay him to leave their table.

After toasting Pat's many exploits, we boarded our chariot, and lit out for home...

Parts of the preceding story are fiction. I'm just sayin'

Monday, March 15, 2010

What's Going On?


Why is it, that you just can't question certain things, and still be considered polite?
I was watching a documentary on black comedians on Showtime, and it was ridiculous. The words of choice for the current crop of black comedians, as most who've turned on a tv in the last 20 years know, are variants of the words "fuck" and "nigger".
Pardon the language, but isn't that sort of fucked up? Is that what guys like Dick Gregory hung their ass out on a line for? Is it funny? Do I just "not get it"?

Friday, March 12, 2010

If you can't kill it, put it in a museum


First off, there's just something about the whole concept that grates me. Damn it to hell, Rock and Roll is about rebellion, about flipping polite society the bird, about telling mom, dad, the police, your teacher, your boss, and whoever else gets in the way, to kiss your ass. The idea of Eddie Cochrane, Gene Vincent, Jerry Lee Lewis, Elvis Presley, and LITTLE RICHARD (!!) being exhibits in a slick museum, with a gift shop, and a million ways to make money is absurd. Christ, rock and roll is a euphemism for (and excuse the language, but it is the truth) fucking, and somehow, a damned glass case with Elvis gold lame' suit from 10,000,000 Elvis Fans Can't Be Wrong doesn't fit that picture.

I can't help but feel that a young Pete Townshend would be less amused, and instead be very angry about all this. Sex and drugs and rock and roll....they're synonymous....and this is just another way for corporate America to neuter it. Co-opting the rebellion, and selling it back to us. Lord knows, they tried from the outset-why else did we have to tolerate such pap as "Teen Angel", and "Take Good Care of My Baby"? Let's make it safe, so that mommy and daddy will buy it-Then thankfully, the British invasion, in particular the seedier side like the Animals, Stones, Kinks, and the Who arrived to tell mom and dad to go to hell.

But wouldn't you know it-the 70's arrive, and we're getting sensitive singer/songwriters...James
Taylor? Give me a break, will ya? Thank god, along come Johnny and Sid, to spit in everyone's milk (right now,,,ha ha ha ha ha).

That's why I loved Nirvana-they just refused to be the good little boys, and tease their hair just right like Bon Friggin' Jovi...mind you, in turn they were then copied by the cretins that run these things-Bush? Who the hell are they? Some A&R promoters idea of grunge...*sigh*

It's crap like the RnR HoF that made me appreciate rap, even if I can't stand to listen to it-I loved Townshend's comment-"It's not for us to like, it's not for us to understand-It's for us to get the fuck out of the way". Long live the chairman.

Then, we get to the second part of my annoyance at this 'institution' (to be read with a sneer, please)-Just why the hell are some of these people getting inducted? If you're going to recognise the best of the best, can't we do without Aerosmith? And this is no rip on them, hell I've actually been known to enjoy a record or two of theirs-But will someone explain to me what innovation, what truly classic moment, just what, other than sell a bunch of midtempo rock songs did these guys do, to be considered part of the upper echelon? Jesus, if they're in, surely it's only another few years before we get hear about Poison, Bon Jovi, Britney Spears and Foreigner going in.

(Newsflash, I originally wrote this about ten years ago. Unbelievably, ABBA are being inducted in 2010. Case closed)

Okay, I'm done swearing for the moment-I think I'll go and listen to my The Jam collection....

Sincerely yours,

Andrew (a formerly angry young man, now just angry)

PS- Songs that ARE Rock N Roll...
C'Mon Everybody
Summertime Blues
Johnny B Goode
Well All Right
Satisfaction
My Generation
All Day and All of the Night
Honky Tonk Women
Sweet Home Alabama
Anarchy in the UK
The Modern World
Smells Like Teen Spirit
Born in the USA (Could you believe Reagan was so stupid to think that was about patriotism-wadda maroon)
Heroin
Back in Black

Songs that aren't
Dreamlover
Rosanna
Kyrie
Wheel in the Sky
Anything by Survivor
The Warrior
Anything by an American Idol contestant

We could be Heroes, just for one day


Watching the demise of so many supposed heroes over the last months and years, got me thinking about this, and how misguided we've become.

In all honestly I don't know about heroes. Basically everyone has warts, and I think to have a real "hero" you need to know them. Athletes? Pah. Politicans? Can't see it. I am so tired of watching TV try and tell me who is or isn't a hero.

If forced to name heroes, I guess I have to be cliched. My father and my grandfather.

My grandfather, Arthur J Dunkley was fundamentally the single most decent man I ever had the pleasure to know. His effect on me has been profound. I learned that success is nothing to do with having money or position, but in knowing that you did the right thing. Period. You can sleep a lot easier at night, if you don't have to fall asleep feeling like a schmoe. He lived and died with absolute dignity, and I celebrate his life, and mourn his passing everyday.

And my father continues to teach me things. It is funny, but the old saying about how stupid he was when I was 18 and knew it all, versus how smart he is now that I am 48 and a self admitted idiot, is true. Man he learned a lot, while I was forgetting just how great I am.

The lesson: Look for your heroes and role models a little closer to home. You'll know them better, and just maybe they won't let you down.

Thursday, March 11, 2010

Stranger in town


Why don't people listen to music anymore? And I mean people, not audiophile snobs that bicker with each other about what gauge of speaker wire produces the truest, most neutral sound. Those geeks wouldn't know good music if they were slapped by a Stradivarius, but by God they can wire a circuit.

No, what I mean is this. When I was a younger fellow, I would buy my newest record (remember those?) take it home, set it on the stereo, and LISTEN to it. It was an event. If the artist were an old favourite, the question was, where had they taken themselves from the last record? If it were a new one, it was time to find out if they had more to offer than that hit single I'd heard on the radio. There were liner notes to be read, lyrics sheets to pour over, gatefold lp covers, with booklets, and posters, and pictures galore.

I'll take it further-house guests would be asked if they would like to listen to some music. "Would you like to hear the new Stones album? What about Darkness On The Edge Of Town? It's great" Does anyone do that now? Do people invite their friends to listen to Jay-Z with them? A little Sound Tribe Sector Nine? I just don't see it. Music has become background noise, people pump through crappy sounding headphones, at high volumes to drown out the sound of the lawnmower, as they mindlessly shove it around the lawn.

Or maybe I'm just old and bitter...