Work the Plan

The Best Laid Plans

2006-12-04T16:16:00.000-05:00

This past weekend was a perfect example for me of how trying to be mindful of moderation in eating can go terribly wrong.

My lovely daughters both had cotillion dances, one on Friday and one on Saturday. If you are not familiar with these, which seem to be a uniquely southern American tradition, they are fairly short (1.5 hours) dances wherein young pubescents (11-13 year olds) are schooled in the basics of ballroom dance. As someone said to me on Friday night, they are as much as anything else exercises in supervised touching. They are an excuse for kids to get dressed up and hang out with friends in an environment unlike anything they’re used to, one that begins to approximate the grown up world.

In addition, since it is the holidays, this month’s dance was the so-called “Holly Ball,” during which parents are encouraged to come dressed formally to dance with their son or daughter. It’s a tradition that can seem pretty pretentious and out-of-date or somewhat sweet and special, almost totally depending on mood and execution.

Anyway, for the Friday dance, a parent of one of the girls in my daughters “posse” had organized a post-cotillion reservation at a local restaurant, a chance for the girls to hang out a while longer while all dressed up and gossip intensely about the boys they danced with, etc. etc. I fought like hell to try to get out of this. I was annoyed enough that I was going to have to get dressed up and hang out with a bunch of other guys who all were much more comfortable in tuxes and Italian suit than I was and make small talk. I also didn’t want to give up a night during this season when there are lights to hang, trees to decorate, gifts to buy, and other anxiety-producing activities to bitch about. But, after talking it over with my daughter, we agreed we would go, maybe grab a hot chocolate and then leave. So I imagined the whole thing taking about 30 minutes top.

So I went to the Holly Ball and danced with my lovely daughter and it actually was sweet and special and I was aglow with the sentiments of the season. Then we packed up and drove on down to the restaurant and things went to hell. First off, this restaurant turned out to be the most expensive one in the city, so I’m already imagining my hot chocolate costing $8. Then, it turns out that this organizational parent had actually booked us a guaranteed special-sitting dinner, complete with dessert, wherein they were going to bring us food whether we wanted it or not and it was going to cost $50 per adult and $25 per child. I had the choice at that point to make a mini-scene, embarrass my daughter, and leave or graciously smile and take the blow to my wallet and preconceptions like the wimp that I am. In other words, I was stuck. Defense mechanism #1: order a drink.

Now that I’m already pissed, it ends up taking the restaurant nearly an hour to take our orders and than an additional 30 minutes to bring us the first course (of a three course meal). My half-hour jaunt becomes a two and a half-hour slog, waiting for incredibly expensive food that I didn’t want to arrive as if delivered from Detroit via pony express. I had visions of eating the salad, having a bite or two of the main course and passing completely on the dessert. As things unfolded and my aggravation grew, there was no way I wasn’t going to eat it all (oh, and another drink please waiter. Could I have that before next Tuesday?)

The Saturday night fiasco was different but no less frustrating. We had planned for some good friends to come over for dinner on Saturday, not factoring in the details of my oldest daughter’s cotillion. With the excitement of our friends’ arrival, our new puppy pees three times in the house within a half-hour span. When we finally calm her down, my oldest begins her prep work for cotillion, resulting in much heartache and consternation because she’s fat, neither of her dresses look right, she doesn’t have the right makeup and her face is breaking out. We finally get her out the door so she can have dinner with her friends but, since she was running ½ hour late, I only have about ½ hour to hang out with my friends before I have to get dressed and out the door to meet my daughter at the dance and do my time with her.

Luckily, there isn’t any post-dance shindig but the dance itself makes me feel like shit. It’s largely a result of the contrast of hanging out with our friends – younger, hipper, smarter versions of my wife and I who are a little earthy-crunchy, a little liberal intellectual, a little middle-class angsty – and hanging out at cotillion with guys who all make 6 figures, own tuxedoes, and are the types of upper management honchos that I was supposed to be by the time I hit my mid-forties. I end up feeling like an older crankier twenty-something who is going to be stuck contemplating big questions and my navel until I wake up and realize I’m 60 and the essential big questions have whittled down to “what city can I retire to where my rheumistism won’t act up?”

So after the dance I head back home and, since our friends have been decent enough to stick around even with my one hour disappearance, I do them the courtesy of drinking too much and eating everything left on the dinner table that they left behind, including some incredibly rich peppermint patty brownies.

The upshot of all of this is that, instead of weighing in this past weekend comfortably on the good side of my WW goal weight so that I can coast through the holidays and not worry about getting in the ballpark until the end of January, I wake up Sunday straddling that goal weight line. And, as soon as I kick this funk I’m now in, I’ll have to get back on the wagon and be a good WW core eater for a week or two so I can make weight before Chanukah rolls around.

Certainly my life still doesn’t suck. But still, that sense of best laid plans being whittled away until they are totally laid to waste kind of sucks. Back to the salad bar…

Blogging keeps you trim

2006-11-27T12:43:00.000-05:00

...apparently, since the vestiges of my weight loss program have whittled down to virtually nothing but the tip-tapping of my fingers. And yet, after a Thanksgiving of little restraint, I'm holding steady at 166, only a few pounds above my preferred weight (163) and still a couple of pounds below my Weight Watchers threshold weight of 168. Here are another couple of possibilities:

Hating Work Keeps You Trim

During this past 6 weeks or so, work has been a veritable cavalcade of dismalness as a project I should have had finished back in September drags on and on and on. The internal struggle that fills my mornings as I decide whether to get up, get dressed and go to work versus say, selling the house and moving to Mexico, must burn many calories.

A New Pet Keeps You Trim

After months of being patient and responsible and just darn lovable, our 2nd daughter finally convinced my lovely wife and I that she could handle a puppy. We finally relented about 10 days ago. Having to be hyper-aware of defecation habits of a new little one less than 6 months after our youngest matured out of diapers must burn up all sorts of energy in both sensory awareness and annoyance.

Lack of Sleep Keeps You Trim

My goal for this year was to improve on my 5-6 hours of sleep per night average. At some point during the late summer/early fall, the average moved into the 6-7 hour range but has since slipped back. The force required to keep my eyelids open must burn countless calories.

A Hot Wife Keeps You Trim

A year after I dropped my 25 pounds, the wife buckled down and entered an intense exercise-and-nutrition program since WW was not working for her. About 6 months into it, she is now really starting to see results; the pounds aren't exactly melting away like butter but she has lost some and she's fitter than ever. Most importantly, she looks damn hot in clothes (probably out of them too, but I wouldn't know about that...). So my resurgent testosterone levels must be working to keep my weight down.

Truthfully (and hopefully, the truth won't hurt in this case), I think some of the WW sensibility has sunk in so deeply that, even when I'm "pigging out" over Thanksgiving, I'm actually showing more restraint than I would have in years past. And, come to think of it, I only had 2 beers on T-day versus the 5-6 I might've had in the past, one slice of pie instead of 2 (or even 3), and a modicum of mashed potatoes and stuffing versus an overflowing plateful.

Or possibly, it's just taking a couple of days for the weight to catch up with me and day after tomorrow, I'll step on the scale and see 178...

Sorry to be such a slacker, my comrades, I've been devoting a lot of blogging energy to my other blog at Richmond VA Theater. I promise to do better from here out and, given the temptations of the holidays, I'll need the reminders and support of you all to stay the course. Best of luck navigating these last weeks of 2006!

Once in a Lifetime

2006-04-03T16:29:00.000-04:00

..And you may ask yourself, “Am I right? Am I wrong?”
And you may ask yourself, “My god! What have I done?”

Appearing worn and slightly delirious, Lord Lessimore was found sprawled on the front stoop of his manor house this afternoon. Though his voice was barely audible underneath his abundant beard, he was said to be mumbling incoherent phrases about “core plan,” “Duchess of York” and “Go Owl 8.”

Reconstructing missives the Lord issued shortly before his disappearance, it appears he had embarked on a two-week quest to acquire something valuable to him that he had lost several months before. This “Go Owl 8” is apparently a highly valuable commodity among an elite international core of knights, requiring drastic modifications in lifestyle and consumption.

Though nothing was found on Lessimore besides a small satchel of raisins tucked inside his loincloth and a silver “Bravo” sticker affixed to his forehead, he claimed to have this “Go Owl 8” in his possession. It is hoped that after a day of recuperation, more details about the Lord’s harrowing quest will be available.

Years as Lifetime WW Member: 1
YAM: 1.2
Last HSW: 162
Last 4W: 164

Some kind of medal

2006-03-26T18:29:00.000-05:00

11:15 on a Saturday night. Have been out at a "social event" with the lovely wife, threw down a couple of beers and a complimentary glass of wine, never had a real dinner. Feeling relatively exhausted but can't quite find my way to the bedroom.

Inevitably wander to the fridge, where I know there is ice cream laying in wait. Am surprised to find that not only is there the Low Fat pseudo-ice cream food product that usually lurks in the freezer, but that the LW has snuck out at some point during her day and bought a pint of the real stuff, the real GOOD stuff from Cold Stone Creamery so that it’s got all sorts of yummy naughty bits mixed in.

Sweat starts to form on my forehead. Slowly reach for the little Styrofoam container. Open the top and look in. Mmmm…look at that creamy goodness…

Something, not sure what, shifts in my brain. Subtle but distinct. Top goes back on, freezer door closes. It occurs to me that we have a lot of leftover Mediterrean food, hummous and baba ganoosh and such. Realize that a tangy, salty taste is more what I want anyway. Decide on a tidy little bowl of tabouli. Tastes pretty darn good and I go to bed.

Wake-up realizing I should get some kind of freakin medal for the events of the night before. I had the ice cream IN MY HAND.

If I doubted before that this WW process had affected some kind of paradigm shift for me, I do not anymore.

Units of Measure

2006-03-23T16:15:00.000-05:00

After faithfully following Sir Man Boobs’ weight loss progress in all of his various units of measure, I played some “fun with weight conversion” games and I believe it’s given me a new paradigm of thought.

11.5 stone = 161 pounds ~ 73 kilos
12 stone = 168 pounds ~ 76 kilos

These are the lower and upper boundaries of where I’d like my weight to be. My sweet spot (as it were) is about 163 pounds or roughly 74 kilos. When I start to feel it’s time to rein things in a bit is around 165.5 pounds or roughly 75 kilos.

For some reason, it simplifies things to imagine my weight on a scale of 73 to 76 with the sweet spot at 74. I guess just because the numbers are smaller.

It may be one small and rather esoteric step toward following Thoreau’s simplification edict, but hey, it’s something. The journey to Walden Pond is taken one step at a time…

A Conspiracy of Girl Scout Cookies

2006-03-16T13:15:00.000-05:00

Girls scout cookies (GSC) have seasons. There is the GSC spring, a time that happens I think around November, or maybe January, I can’t really remember. That’s the time of year that the little GSC sign-up sheets are everywhere, enticing you with cute little pictures of various multicolored cookies that don’t look like they could have much more than a half-gram of fat each, really, at most. You might even see the occasional table at your grocery store with a variety of pre-adolescent girls clustered around it, the sign-up sheets out and samples offered.

I made it through GSC spring with no problem this year. Those peanut butter patties and thin mints almost broke my resolve but I resisted. But now it’s GSC fall – harvest time – and those cheerful boxes are everywhere, thicker than pumpkins in a patch in October. It’s insidious. I resisted the work boxes for a couple of days. Then, clearing out my daughters’ lunch boxes, what should I find but two boxes squirreled away in there. The little punks had brought the offending substances into the house! There was no way to avoid a thin mint at that point.

And so through the thin mint gateway I went. The next day, those peanut butter patties called out and, having succumbed to a thin little mint, I couldn’t in good conscience eschew the patty. And one patty led to another. And – sweat breaking out on forehead – another. By the end of the afternoon, I had to finish off the patties because I was in danger of spiralling out of control into the shortbreads and the caramel delights.

This time shall pass, I hope, and quickly. But in the meantime, I don’t expect anything significant in the weight loss effort. In fact, the one pound drop I saw at WW last night must be almost completely attributed to the exercise regimen with Sir Chub. I have 2.5 weeks until my one year anniversary of WW Lifetime Membership and 2 more pounds to drop. Should be a cake walk, as long as I can muster the will to walk past any cakes I see…

YAM: 1.1
Last HSW: 164
Last 4W: 166.2

Breakthroughs?

2006-03-14T12:46:00.000-05:00

Two developments over the past week: 1) the boy has started to sleep better, usually making it past 6am and when he hasn’t made it that far, he can be made to go back to sleep again with the aid of a little music, and 2) I’ve been joining in with Sir Chub every other day on his spiritual quest of insane amounts of exercise.

The former has quelled some of the pissiness that had come to dominate my mood and the latter seems to have provided significant enough impact to push my weight down below 165 again. I still haven’t seen anything below 163.5 yet – and with the influx of Girl Scout cookies in my workplace this week, I won’t likely any time soon. But I feel slimmer and the exercise seems to provide a cushion within which marginal food choices can be absorbed. If I can knock off another pound or two before my WW year-one anniversary I’ll be extremely happy.

I’ve been thinking about religion again (as distinct from spirituality) lately and it’s a difficult thing. Intellectually, I tend to sort through everything and arrive at most religion as the opiate of the masses (when I’m feeling cynical) or as a pleasant fairy tale we tell ourselves to deal with the fear of death and other things unknown (when I’m not quite so cynical). I guess this would be fine if there was something a bit more compelling about my general humanist “faith.” I generally believe in kharma and that if you do good things, have good intentions and treat others with love and respect, more often than not the universe tends to give you a fair shake as far as everyday pain and suffering goes. I tend to think it’s way more important to be good to those around you and act out of empathy than to go certain places on certain days or say specific things at certain times.

But that’s all a little squishy in terms of rousing passion for one’s faith. There’s no battles or downtrodden ones or mysterious rituals or saviors or prophets or fanciful sayings in Latin. So I’m left wondering how to maintain an active exploration of my spirituality and, without that, it remains a background process in my life and something that’s hard to enervate the children with. I’m starting to think maybe, since I’m in graduate school anyway, it may be time to take a religion class and see what I can find there. If nothing else, it’s a good excuse to peruse the course catalog for the twelve-hundredth time. Some folks love to shop for clothes or books; I love to shop for classes!

Thunder Road

2006-03-08T16:56:00.000-05:00

I think every generation has its poet, though the members of that generation may not realize it. Since the 1940s, this poet may be more likely to be a songwriter than an actual publishes-books-speaks-at-coffee-houses-makes-obscure-references-to-Tolstoy kind of poet. And by generation, I don’t necessarily mean the Baby Boomers or Generation X or anything as far-ranging as that. Some folks may consider Bob Dylan the poet of the Boomers but I have a couple of Boomer sisters who probably couldn’t name more than one of Dylan’s lyrics (and that would be from “Blowin’ in the Wind” and they’d be shaky about that one…)

For the 60s era, suburbanite girl, I’d propose that Lennon & McCartney were their poets. For a certain type of 80s era suburbanite girl, I’d propose that Sting was their poet. For a swath of 90s era folks, Kurt Cobain. For a similar cohort of contemporary teens and post-teens, Kanye West. (This also all assumes Americans – I have no idea what the cultural landscape looked or looks like anywhere else…)

Which is all a long preamble to my renewed appreciation of Bruce Springsteen. I got his remastered “Born to Run” CD for Christmas and hadn’t had a chance to listen to it until this past weekend. Starting with the opening strains of harmonica in “Thunder Road” I was tossed irretrievably back to high school and the pre-cynicism soul-rending ache of teenage love, lust and loss. I remember now how the word “artistry” used to be associated with pop music. What a master he was of setting his romantic, sometimes adolescent lyrics to soaring melodies, orchestrated with complimenting brash statements from piano, guitar and brass. And his vocals never were beautiful, but damn they were raw, his voice perpetually hoarse you could only assume from yelling at the top of lungs, out of love or pain or hope or anything else.

I could take or leave the song “Born to Run” but “Jungleland” is an unparalleled epic, “Backstreets” a gritty angsty cry, and the often overlooked “Meeting Across the River” an almost delicate timepiece, a testament to boyhood overconfidence. But “Thunder Road,” oh my, that first line catches in my throat every time: “Screen door slams, Mary’s dress waves/Like a vision she dance across the porch as the radio plays…” And what a poignant, perfect set is:
“Show a little faith, there’s magic in the night
You ain’t a beauty but hey you’re alright
And that’s alright tonight…”

Could anyone get away with writing stuff like that today? I don’t know but I don’t think so. Bruce was the poet of white teenage boys in the late 70s as far as I am concerned. And what a great gift it is to be able to wander those dusty halls of memory today, transported by a simple set of songs.

Dammit Child

2006-03-06T16:17:00.000-05:00

So my fourth child, my second son, the apple of my blood-stained eye, the cherubic adorable vocabulary-mangling imp who is all of 26 months old is becoming a royal pain in my ass. Over the past couple of weeks, he has taken to waking up before dawn and then proceeding to yell out “DADDY” repeatedly until I come get him. I calmly explain to him that the sun is still sleeping and so is everyone else and so we need to sleep for a little while longer as well. He cheerfully agrees with this assessment of the state of the world and comes along with me calmly as we climb back into my bed for a “snuggle.” Somewhere in his 2-year old mind, however, a “snuggle” has been twisted to mean “poke, prod and annoy Daddy until he MUST get out of bed and get me breakfast.” So I find myself downstairs at 5:30am either cracking eggs or doling out the MiniWheats.

There’re options and variations here, I know. I could let him continue yelling until he gives up out of frustration. Problem is, with 4 others in the house it just means that everyone else suffers and none of them get enough sleep either. I could take naps like he does; unfortunately this is impossible on weekdays and always more difficult on weekends than it should be. I could pack him a picnic breakfast that he could eat in his crib when he wakes up, buying at least 10 more minutes of sleep. Except that cold eggs (or oatmeal) don’t really appeal to him.

So my normal sleep deprived state, which I had hoped to alleviate with my Lenten “no more late nights” rule, has deepened instead of lessened. My lovely wife is supportive of finding a solution to this problem, but for some reason she won’t go along with the Boarding School for Two Year Olds option. I tried to argue that it’s better than boot camp, but she’ll have none of that. Tonight I may pack him a little cup with a bourbon and water mix and see how that works…

Goals

2006-03-03T10:06:00.000-05:00

What is it about people that causes them to set goals? From where comes that empty, itchy feeling inside that compels us to look beyond our current circumstances, regardless of how comfy cozy they may be, and imagine something more or better or different? Some have speculated that original sin springs from this urge, that it was our desire to see beyond the garden that caused mankind’s fall. Others have placed the onus on God; why would God instill this impetuous, curious spirit in us if s/he/they hadn’t wanted us to strive, create, explore, pursue, constantly do more?

It could be hormones: that comfortable resigned feeling of the retired could be just those compulsive chemicals fading into the sunset. But I’d say, given the curmudgeonly nature of many of the aged, that more likely there is a growing tension as you get older between the still vital desire to look for new challenges and the physical/lifestyle limitations to pursuing them.

This is the road my mind is traveling as I consider both Lent – during which Sir Chubalot has regularly aspired toward some goal – and the one year anniversary of my lifetime membership in Weight Watchers. I had decided that I was going to give up late nights for Lent, given that lack of sleep has become such a recurring theme for me that I’m sick of the sound of it. There’s been two Lenten nights so far and I’m 1 for 2. Not a great percentage.

I had also decided that for the WW anniversary I was going to try to get back down to the weight I was at when I got my membership, which was 162. I decided this when I was at 165. Yesterday I weighed in I was at 167. Not the direction I was hoping for.

So why set goals? Maybe just out of a self-flagellating sense of vain hope and incompetence?

Here were my stats at weigh in last Sunday:
Last HSW: 165
Last 4W: 167.2

YAM = 1

2006-02-24T14:09:00.000-05:00

It's hard for me to believe it but I have now been at or below my maintenance weight for over one year (YAM = years at maintenance). Roughly a year ago, I was having my first beer in a couple of months to celebrate making it one WAM (week at maintenance). I guess the next logical landmark is DAM (decade at maintenance). Hmmm, that's a little daunting. Anyone know a word that means 2 years? Or maybe 20 months? I'll take any landmark I can get.

This anniversary seems like as good a reason as any to get back in the saddle with the KOFTRB. And Sir Chubalot has been telling me there's new blood around the table. So cheerio to you all, old and new.

Looking back at the past year, it's been quite a crazy journey. I flirted with something that looked uncomfortably like anorexia right after getting my lifetime charm from Weight Watchers. Then, moving into my first holiday season on "the plan" I realized just how tough it can be to get back in the saddle. Though I didn't record it here, my weight inched up regularly through November into December so that by January I was right at my goal weight -- hanging in around 167.5, up from an average 162-163 back in the Fall.

The past two months have been steady but still a little higher than I'd like. Last weekend, I came back from a combination week out of town for work/weekend in New York for play back up at 167. Luckily (???), I was hit with a stomach bug this week and wasn't able to eat much of anything for about 36 hours. Sir Chubalot coined this the IPECAC diet and though it does have the benefit of working relatively quickly, the discomfort is not really worth the results.

My biggest problem seems to be keeping a regular infusion of fruits and vegatables in my diet. I was using raisins as my regular crutch -- with a cache stored in my desk at work -- but then the mice got to them. Now I have to remember to bring stuff from home everyday and integrating anything new into the daily routine (yeah, I'll get to that flossing real real soon...) is a pain in the ass. If I have any breathtaking revelations about incorporating such "good" foods more regularly, I'll share them, and I'd be ecstatic to get any insight from anyone else.

(A quick note on the quote-unquote goodness thing: I'm not a big fan of the value judgements that get so mixed up in this whole diet/healthy living debate. I don't believe food has any inherent moral standing. I don't believe people that choose to ingest more or less of one kind of food or another have any relative moral standing compared to anyone else. The skinniest people I've ever known have been drug addicts and people with eating disorders. The best lovers I've known have been on the heavier side and, in my limited experience, a supermodel might look amazing on the page but looks downright sickly in person. Many foods have been demonized and then redeemed in the past. I have successfully lost weight even though I drink way too much diet soda and have a high-carb, low-protein breakfast every single day. Shall I go on? The bottom line is trying to eat healthfully does not translate to "being good" to me. Rant concluded...for now.)

I know for some of you the thought of wavering around within 3 pounds of their goal weight sounds like a blessing and what should I be belly-aching about if I'm still under my goal weight. And true, I'm in a better position than I probably have ever been before in my life. But like with so many things, no silver lining comes without a cloud. Ever since reaching maintenance a year ago, the anxiety of slipping backwards and suddenly finding myself 25 pounds overweight again has been at times overwhelming. I've gone through the yo-yo process so many times before, the thought of being back in that place is staggeringly depressing. The kind of depressing that would require a directive to my lovely wife to hide anything sharp around the house.

So I'll be slipping off to WW this weekend so I can update my stats. The REAL milestone WW-wise will be be a lifetime member for a year. That'll come in April and by then I'll have the additional inspiration of swimsuit season coming up to keep me on the program. I didn't snag the attention of any twenty-something coeds last summer but hey, it's a brand new year...

Hosannah

2005-11-21T09:38:00.000-05:00

So, checked into Weight Watchers on Saturday and I was down a pound from last month. Last month, I had been up a pound from the month before. So I’m at the same spot I was two months ago which is just fine by me. Mostly, I needed to see something subtractive after three straight months up. Particularly going into the holidays, my momentum was not good.

Had a relatively productive weekend so don’t know why I’m in such a bad mood. Could be lack of sleep. Could be this term paper hanging over my head which is growing increasingly tiresome. Could be starting the slow slide into the holidays, which are supposed to be the joyous time and usually end up extremely stressful and alienating and stupid. Not to mention that sexual frequency drops to near negative levels over the holidays (yes, I’m saying that lack of sex over the holidays can actually retroactively remove pleasure that was had during pre-holiday encounters. Read up on it; there’s been studies.)

In college on days like this, I’d start drinking at around noon, or about 3 hours after I woke up. Now I just start thinking about it at 9am, still about 3 hours after I woke up. I’m thinking lunch will involve a big salad and time spent cruising craft beer web site, and lots of heavy sighs.

MAM: 9
Last 4W: 163.8
Last HSW: 163

Poof...

2005-11-18T14:02:00.000-05:00

… and two weeks disappear like that. I was out of town for a week on training and then also working on my first draft for my term paper and then also had to write about three articles for Style and then there was the occasional visits at home to see the wife and kids and such. I guess this is a version of “living life to the fullest” but damn sometimes it seems like letting life run me.

I weighed myself on the Wednesday of my week outa town and I was up to 166, the highest weight since I hit maintenance and the point when alarms starting going off. So I was really good for the rest of the week and weekend and emerged back at 163 last Monday. What I’ve been finding is that, even when I’m not eating outright crap, I’m being less strict about the regular day-to-day stuff: not caring whether dressing or milk is fat free, not eating hardly any fruits or vegetables, letting more and more bread slip down the throat (apparently bread is included in virtually every sandwich there is – who knew?)

Anyway, I’m going to try and run up to WW tonight because I think I’m in a pretty good place now and it’d be good to get the monthly weigh out of the way, as it were. I’m having mixed feelings about the upcoming holidays; I think I’ll do OK food-wise. I’m more worried about alcohol because there’s nothing that makes time with relatives go more smoothly (or alternately, blurrily) than something a little intoxicating (tried morphine once – not a good idea).

I also have a new long-term goal. Next spring will be the 25th anniversary of my high school graduation. I’d love to go to the reunion all fit and trim so all of the formerly hot girls can wish they had stayed in touch with me and waited out all of those years when I was an insufferable asshole to get to this point when I’m a self-realized, hot-looking middle-ager. Ha! Well, at the very least, I’d like to look good for the reunion, hot girls or not.

If anyone's interested in the pieces I did for Style, here's some links:
Review of "Das Barbecu":
Article on new performance spaces:
Review of "The Goat":

Shock and Baa

2005-11-02T08:45:00.000-05:00

I've been away from the blog for several days, concentrating like a laser beam on my graduate school term paper. I think I'm going overboard, my professor even hinting that I was approaching this like a thesis and it's only a 25 page paper. So I canceled my flight over to London to review original first editions of Lord Byron's poems.

Last Thursday, went to see a great but problematic show called "The Goat." It's Edward Albee's latest and, as per usual for him, it's chock full of amazing dialogue and interesting ideas. Sometime when I really have time, I'd like to spend more time explicating the problems with the play since I think they point to bigger issues involving the problems with theater in general. But for now, my review is below. It'll be in Style next week; I was thinking it'd be in there this week but it seems I never know for sure anymore.

I've got new weight stats too (snuck into WW on Saturday). Will post soon.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Shock and Baa
“The Goat or, Who is Sylvia?” investigates the limits of love in a hilarious production at the Firehouse
by David Timberline (512 words)

At some point during “The Goat or, Who is Sylvia?” you are likely to think, ‘this play isn’t really about that, is it?’ Well, one thing you should know upfront about Edward Albee’s Tony-award winning play, currently showing in a rousing production by the Firehouse Theatre Project: It is indeed about that.

But once you get past the initial shock, you’ll realize that there is a brilliant method to Albee’s madness. The celebrated playwright is purposely going where no author is his right mind has gone before in order to explore themes about love in surprising and often hilarious ways. There is clearly genius at work here, the only frustration being that, once Albee ventures into this uncharted territory, he doesn’t quite know what to do. If the play’s finale seems abrupt, it’s because the roller coaster just seems to be picking up speed when the fun comes to end.

Oh, but what a ride it is before we get there, particularly as performed by director Morrie Piersol’s able cast. Local theater vet Daniel Moore plays Martin, an architect at the apex of his career, having just won a prestigious prize and a lucrative contract. But the arrival of his 50th birthday seems to have scrambled his brain and when he almost inadvertently mentions his affair with ‘Sylvia’ to his devoted wife, Stevie (Melissa Johnston Price), she assumes it’s a joke. But in scenes loopy, fierce, and ultimately tragic, we find out the explosive truth, with the shock waves disturbing everyone close to Martin, including his best friend, Ross (Mark Brandon) and his teenage son, Billy (Jeremy Wade).

The play is packed with special delights for the true theater geek, starting with the play’s title (a reference to the ancient Greek tragedies, known as “goat songs”) and running to toss-off references to Noel Coward and Arthur Kopit. But there’s plenty for even the most casual fan here, particularly in Price’s stirring performance. Her intense confusion, anger and even disgust never blunts her intelligence so that a great line like “a woman in woe often mixes her metaphors” doesn’t seem self-conscious. Moore also does excellent work in a role that is like a tightrope: so much depends on Martin being honest – not simply ridiculous – that one wrong step could send the play whirling into utter absurdity. Moore never falters.

Less successful are Brandon and Wade as the subsidiary characters, but the fault for that is mostly Albee’s. Ross, the best friend, is less a character than a catalyst. Wade nails the adolescent angst, delivering a steady performance until Albee uses his character to introduce yet another shocking taboo into the mix (as if livestock wasn’t enough).

Kudos must be paid to scenic designer Barbara Russell who successfully evokes a stylish New York apartment setting in a production that is otherwise appropriately spare. It’s Albee’s language that’s the centerpiece here, and if in the end, we never really come to understand what motivates Martin to embrace the unimaginable, the sum of it all is a dizzying exploration of love and the limits of propriety.

“The Goat or, Who is Sylvia”
Firehouse Theatre Project, 1609 W. Broad Street
Thursday – Saturday, 8pm, Sundays, 4pm, through November 19th
$10-20
355-2001

Dreadful Martini

2005-10-26T15:29:00.000-04:00

As Sir Chub has pointed out before, once you get into this WW mode of thinking you realize that there are some food choices that are worth the points, some that are not. Dreadful martinis (besides being a rather good band name) are definitely NOT worth the points. (By the way, my favorite band name of all time is ‘Malevolent Cherubs.’ As far as I know, no one has purloined this name. Any reader of this blog is hereby encouraged to do so. I won’t even ask for royalties unless you get big, but it would have to be like, you know, U2 kind of big).

The lovely wife and I took my mom (Queen Mother Lessismore?) out for dinner last Monday. It was a nice restaurant that had a selection of “specialty martinis” which translates into “martinis for people who wouldn’t normally venture within 10 feet of a martini.” On the top of the list was the “Banana Split Martini” (‘Have dessert first!’ sez the menu) and in a fit of anti-Core impetuousness, I ordered one.

Oh my, how dreadful it was. After eating the little banana wedge garnish, it was all downhill. The drink was topped with a mound of whipped cream (whipped cream and gin – what a great combination!) and chocolate sauce (see previous parenthetical) and when you actually got down to the liquid part of the drink, mixed in with the usual martini ingredients – which I believe are gin and vermouth, though you’d never know from this drink – were a couple of sickeningly sweet syrups. Most prominent was cherry syrup though I think there might have been a whiff of almond or peanut flavoring as well.

The first sip was jarring but the kind of jarring that you don’t know if what follows is going to be really good (like wasabi, for instance) or really bad. The second sip confirmed: it was really bad. But I’m not one to let a $7 drink go to waste and I soldiered on through 3 or 4 more sips. My stomach immediately started to complain. At the time, I felt the only way to settle it was to fill it with food. While I had been considering the salads, I now turned hungrily to the sandwiches section. My thinking, as skewed as it was, defaulted to post-hangover mode. Feeling this bad, something greasy and fried had to be the solution.

The rest of the meal is a bit of a blur but I wobbled out of the place filled with probably 3 weeks worth of WW points (and perhaps a small bison, I’m not sure). At a time when I was already slipping, diet-wise, it was not surprising that I registered a 166 on the home scale the next day, the highest weight I’ve been at since dropping below my original goal weight 8 months ago.

I’ve toiled for the past week and a half to rediscover the WW religion and have been, one lunch-time potato soup pig-out notwithstanding, pretty reverent. And this morning I was rewarded with a 162 on the scale. Needless to say, there is always something more to learn in this process of consumption moderation. Last week, I was smacked hard with the “if you’re going off the reservation, be sure it’s worth the trip” lesson. And I think I’ll be steering clear of martini bars for, oh most likely, ever.

Adventures in Viscosity

2005-10-24T11:26:00.000-04:00

I’ve been thrown up on before. Once you have children, you become more intimate with bodily fluids than you ever thought possible or tolerable, and vomit is just one of the pantheon emitted. Having four children, I’ve witnessed vomit play a role in many a disgusting and (in retrospect) amusing scene: surprising colors (our family room rug still has a pink tinge in certain places), horrendous timing (speeding down a strange road in a strange town in a rental car), and wacky permutations (the first child throwing up after being thrown up on by the second child is the apex of my experiences).

But this past Sunday, I was subject to something new and exceedingly unpleasant. My eldest son who is 5 has had a cold for a few days and, since he is still not a big fan of the Kleenex, he has swallowed – in a conservative estimate – 27 tons of snot. He had snuggled into my wife’s and my bed early Sunday morning, normally a very nice and cozy situation. But I was awoken by his increasingly violent coughing fit which, as I came fully into consciousness, culminated in a series of upchucks of alarmingly thick viscosity. It was as if library paste had been mixed up with buttermilk and then lightly colored and thinned with egg whites. In abundance.

As a caring father, I focused on comforting my poor son, who was obviously not enjoying this emission any more than I. He however, -- much like an end-of-the-frat-party reveler – seemed to feel much better having lightened his load in this manner. It was only after breakfast that I really got to appreciate the unique character of the substance previously known as the contents of my son’s stomach. This was nothing that could be easily wiped or even squeegeed off my sheets. I was pretty sure some kind of solvent would be required.

But as a first shot, I stripped the bed and carried the linens down to the laundry room. I loaded up the washing machine and, as I reached for the detergent, I noticed an odd glistening on the enamel top. On second look, I realized that a cloudy, slimy substance was coating the top of the washer. I grabbed a rag and wiped and it became clear that the plastic detergent bottle had leaked, creating a small pool of detergent. Using the rag, I began to mop up the soapy mess. I sidled over to the side of the machine to reach the back, and slipped and almost fell on my ass. And that’s when the full extent of the situation became clear. The detergent had leaked enough so that rivulets of the stuff cascaded down the back of the washer, congealing into a pond of soapy, slimy, slippery yuck conveniently located behind my washer and dryer.

And still, this wouldn’t be but so bad, except that we’ve started using that special condensed liquid detergent, a wonderful scientific advancement that saves money and the environment, I’m sure, by allowing you to use about 1/10th the amount you’d usually use. As any science fiction writer knows, no scientific advance comes without an unexpected and usually nefarious side effect. With the condensed detergent, this side effect is the complete inability to clean the stuff up. It is so thick and goopy and, of course, soapy, that it adheres to the floor and simply will not come up. Or, it seeps beneath the tile, causing individuals tiles to bubble up like lifeboats bobbing on a highly viscous sea. Using a towel I could pool some of it up and scoop it into a dust pan. But still a thin soapy film remained on the floor meaning that any time I placed a hand down to gain leverage (I’m on my hands and knees at this point) that hand invariably slipped, propelling me this way and that and not just once, into the cinder block wall. If Charlie Chaplin or Harold Lloyd had seen me, they would have had a great inspiration for a silent film full of amusing pratfalls.

I’ve been lucky in my life. There are thousands, maybe millions, who have had to endure nasty clean-ups because of Hurricanes Katrina and Rita, and many more who will probably soon have to because of Wilma. Even here in Richmond, many people had their basements destroyed in flooding thanks to Tropical Storm Gaston last year.

I haven’t had to face any of that and I’m very grateful. But the vomit/detergent double-play of this Sunday was unpleasant enough for me, thanks. I'm already planning an evacuation route for next time...

An afternoon at work

2005-10-19T10:38:00.000-04:00

“Hi, Dave.”

“Look, I’m working. Leave me alone.”

“What are you working on, Dave?”

“Hey, the whole ‘computer from 2001’ thing is so last decade. Could you knock it off.”

“Sure, Dave. Would you like to take a break?”

“I know what you want. Leave me the fuck alone.”

“There’s no need to get angry, Dave. I just think a small piece would work wonders for your attitude.”

“Listen, I’ve ignored you successfully for almost two days now. I’m not breaking down now.”

“It’s really not that bad, Dave.”

“Sure, that’s easy for you to say. You were the hit of the birthday party and now you want to spread your pestilence and fat grams into the workplace. But in another day you’ll be gone, and I’ll still be skinny. So take your creamy chocolate icing and stick it up your ass.”

“Dave, now you’re just being silly. My sole purpose is to bring joy and sugar highs to humans of all ages.”

“Your sole purpose, you freaking sheet cake from hell, is to perpetuate the ridiculous tradition of celebrating big events through the consumption of empty calories and copious amounts of fat. You offer nothing but a transitory sense of giddy abandon, followed by the inevitable blood-sugar crash, depression, and, for the 8-and-under crowd, the occasional screaming rant. You prey upon the weak and the orally fixated. You are the devil’s food – and there’s no pun intended, dammit!”

“Now you’re just making me sad, Dave. My life is so short and my pleasures so fleeting. You’ll go on, chomping on your raisins and feeling superior, and I’ll end up in a smelly dumpster somewhere, neglected and alone.”

“Look, I’m sorry. It’s just been a struggle to get where I am and I’m worried about backsliding into a gooey, double-chocolate mess.”

“I understand, Dave. You don’t like me. That’s fine.”

“No, listen, I’m sure your delicious. I mean, you’ve got that cute little writing on the top and the little sugar flowers and the part where the icing bulges out on the side. I’m sure plenty of other folks are going to eat you up.”

“Thank you, Dave. It’s just that it’s been almost two days. I think someone is going to throw me away and then (voice catches) well, then, who knows where I’ll end up? In a landfill, picked at by rats, fought over by nasty squawking birds, smeared up and mixed in with sewage and…and…who KNOWs what?”

“There, there. It’s not that bad. Listen, maybe I can just trim off a little on the side here.”

“Oh, thank you, Dave. That’s right. No, you can take more than that, Dave. No one’s looking. It’ll be fine, Dave.”

“Wow, the icing smells so good.”

“And I’m still nice and moist, Dave. C’mon, take a bigger slice. A nice big slice, big boy. More is better. More to fill up your empty little tummy.”

“Well, I guess I can have just…just…this looks good… mmmm…NOOOOOOO!!!”

(Sounds of struggle, rattle of plastic utensils, ripping of cardboard)

(10 minutes later.)

“Hey, Dave. Do you know what the hell happened here? It looks like the leftover cake Wayne brought in?”

“Um…no idea.”

Glutton

2005-10-09T14:12:00.000-04:00

For punishment, that is. I know I've been slipping a bit lately so I went to a meeting Saturday to get a tall cool drink of reality. Sure enough, I was up 1.2 pounds. And that's after my weigh-in two weeks ago where I was up almost a pound from the month before. And the squirrel in my brain cries that things are spinning wildly out of control....

When I'm thinking clearly, I realize how ridiculously my standards have changed. When starting Weight Watchers, I refused to set my goal at 165 because I insisted that it was too low for me and simply not maintainable. Now I get all jittery when I get as high as 165. What up wit dat?

For the next few months, I’m going to try to hit the meetings twice a month instead of once. I wonder if I can just ask the leader to give me a quick slap to the face and I'll carry on?

I don't know how my stats translate in the realm of the KOTRB. I'm up 1.2 this fortnight but still 4 pounds below my official maintenance weight. I guess we'll just have to weight, oops, wait until all you other Kah-niggits are at your goal weights and then we can throw my MAM total into a collective total. Or something like that. Possibly involving calculus. Or an abacus.

MAM (Months at Maintenance): 7.5
Last 4W (Weight Watchers Weigh-in Weight): 163.8
Last HSW (Home Scale Weight): 163.5

Lord Lessismore

2005-10-07T22:44:00.000-04:00

In honor of being granted entrance into the esteemed circle of the Knights of the Round Bottoms, I have redecorated the place a little, placing links to the other Knights in a most prominent position. I've also ditched the old Cubefarmer personnae and embraced my moniker of Lord Lessismore. I was sheepish about the 'Lord' part at first but, you know, after a couple rounds of falconry and serf humilation, it all starts to feel natural.

A brief recap of my journey to the realm of the Knights: I joined Weight Watchers at the beginning of the year and lost 25 pounds, shortly thereafter becoming a WW Lifetime Member. I've been on a maintenance program since and have been holding on, though there's been some slippage lately. The battle wages on...

A few minor insights on weight loss that I've picked up over these past months:

-- When dieting, the worst song to get stuck in your head is "I Want Candy." "Everybody Must Get Stoned" also not so good.

-- Contrary to the common perception, it is not so easy for men to lose weight and here's why: we can't say 'no.' When that doughnut in the break room is whispering breathily, "hey big boy, you wanna bite?" is the average guy going to turn his back? I think not. So a good first step down the road to successful weight loss is learning to say 'no.' I suggest practicing by turning down your wife or girlfriend next time she asks for a little nooky (or for a big nooky, if you are so endowed). Oh, you'll be sad at the time, but in the long run, you'll be better off.

-- Raisins. Really. They are the wonder drug of dieting. My theory is that they re-hydrate in your digestive tract after you eat them, making you feel much more full than you would expect.

-- You will sometimes need to tell yourself outlandish lies in order to resist eating that doughnut (see item above).

-- The support of your peers is vitally important. The Knights of the Round Bottoms is truly a valiant and chivalrous crew! Once more into the breach, dear friends!

I Fling Poo

2005-10-07T09:28:00.000-04:00

The title has nothing to do with anything. I just saw it on a bumper sticker (next to a drawing of a monkey) and the non-sequetor-ness of it made me laugh.

I’ve decided that bread is evil. It’s the only explanation I can come up with for my sudden spike in weight (165.5 last night) after several months of holding steady. I had soup in a bread bowl last night which must have been the problem.

I had soup and a sandwich on Wed. night too. Hmmm…so maybe it’s the soup. Damn treacherous soup.

It couldn’t have anything to do with the beer at midnight on Wed.

Or the toffee bars at work yesterday. Or the chocolate chip cookies on Tuesday.

Damn soup.

And here I was thinking I had struck a nice balance between abject complacency and rabid intensity re: the whole diet thing. Balance, yeah, THAT’S what I’m good at. I guess I forgot that “rejoining the effort” may actually require effort.

Looks like I’ll be spending the weekend flinging poo….and NOT eating.

Situation #2

2005-10-06T13:55:00.000-04:00

Things worked out so unexpectedly well when I posted my last review (great to hear from you, Joe! Please see my comment below), that I thought I'd do it again. Of course, it's necessitated by the fact that once again Style and I "miscommunicated" (I'm trying to keep it positive here...), and my latest review didn't run this week. So it goes. I can't complain too much when I get to see theater for free and it's also pretty darn good theater. But in the privacy of my own home, I must admit, I do give in to the occasional complaint. But don't tell anyone.

Some of my favorite Richmond women were in this relatively little children's show which just goes to show how spoiled the kids are in this town. Usually, you'd have to go to a "Syringa Tree" or a "Hedwig" to see JB Steinberg! It's also great to see Audra and Robin step out from the chorus where they are too often stuck; and even a silent Jen M. is better than no Jen at all! Which is not to dis the men -- Joe, Matt and Russell all do a great job. If you have kids, go see this show!
------------------
A Bunny with Bite
A creepy, funny “Bunnicula” at Theatre IV
By David Timberline (310 words)

If you’ve ever seen “Monty Python and the Holy Grail,” you know that a killer bunny can evoke laughs as well as shrieks. The first show in Theatre IV’s children’s season, “Bunnicula,” mines some of this same territory, though in a family-friendly way and with peppy musical numbers to boot.

The rabbit in question is the latest addition to the Monroe family and the other pets in the house, Harold the dog (Matt Beyer) and Chester the cat (Robin Harris), are not too happy about it. The seemingly innocent bunny is given the moniker “Bunnicula” after being discovered at a screening of the movie “Dracula.” When white tomatoes start showing up mysteriously drained of their juice, Harold and Chester become convinced that there is something supernatural about the cotton-tailed culprit. Their attempt to alert the clueless humans to the danger highlights the amusing problems inherent in inter-species communication.

Beyer and Harris anthropomorphize their characters fabulously, conversing as earnestly about fleas and bacon as Gothic novels and psychology. Both have robust voices that blend beautifully, particularly when harmonizing on the ballad “Only Friend.” The Monroe family is like a 1950s stereotype on steroids, thanks largely to the over-the-top performances from Russell Rowland and Jill Bari Steinberg as Mr. and Mrs. Monroe. And Jen Meharg who manipulates the ingenious Bunnicula puppet imbues the bunny with subtle shades of attitude from meek to menacing.

Though playing at the cozy Barksdale Theatre (instead of the palatial Empire where Theatre IV stages its splashier productions), this show hasn’t been down-sized to match the smaller venue. “Bunnicula” doesn’t skimp on talent or production values and, if anything, the intimate space helps put you right in the Monroe family living room, face to face with the glowing red eyes of the vampire bunny. This is the perfect show to get your youngster in the mood for Halloween.

“Bunnicula”
Theatre IV at Barksdale Theatre at The Shops at Willow Lawn
Thursday – Sunday, various times
Through November 6th
$11-12
344-8040

An unusual situation

2005-09-28T09:50:00.000-04:00

Style didn't have space to run my review of the Barksdale's latest show in this week's edition. So I'm posting it below for those who might have been there with me or who might otherwise be interested in my thoughts. Don't tell anyone it's here though, or it might not see print ever. I'm sure I can trust both of the people that read this blog (which has seen more activity in the past two days than it has in the past 6 months!)

Here it is:
----------------------------------
Deceptively Simple and Stunning
"The Drawer Boy" starts off Barksdale Theatre's season with a rustic and resonant comic saga
by David Timberline (521 words)

“The Drawer Boy,” the season-opening production at the Barksdale Theatre, could have been a charming little culture-clash comedy. The frequently hilarious first act starts out that way, with Miles (Brett Ambler), a somewhat pretentious young actor from Toronto, intruding on the simple lives of Morgan (Joe Inscoe) and Angus (David Bridgewater), two aging Canadian farmers. Miles seeks to observe rustic living as part of researching a play and Morgan, in particular, preys on the city-slicker’s gullibility with most entertaining results.

But playwright Michael Healey had more on his mind when he fashioned this deceptively simple, ultimately powerful tale that has become one of the most frequently produced plays in the country. It seems Angus received a severe head injury while serving in World War II. As a result, he has virtually no short-term memory and he depends on Morgan to fill in the blanks in his life. Morgan tells a bittersweet story about how Angus received the injury – but is it true? Miles translates the story into a theater piece and when Angus sees it, the lock on his memories starts to dissolve, throwing Morgan into a panic. Has Miles broken the chains that bind Angus or sown the seeds of disaster between the two life-long friends?

In getting to the answers, we discover three compelling characters – and director Jack Welsh has assembled three of the most talented Richmond-area actors to portray them. Bridgewater has the bravura role in Angus and he brings all of his considerable talents to bear. His expert timing makes for sparkling comedy early on but it is the wonder and pain he projects as bits of Angus's memory return that make his performance stunning. Ambler also delivers a fine performance, never allowing Miles to be reduced to a mere fop. He gives his character remarkable backbone as the situation around him unexpectedly redoubles in intensity.

But it is Inscoe who has the most difficult role and he responds to the challenge with the most finely tuned and exquisitely nuanced work I have seen from him in his distinguished career. The veteran of numerous films and TV shows excels at portraying the genial Southern gentleman types (he was Anticus Finch in last year's "To Kill A Mockingbird") but his Morgan is all hard lines and sharp angles, with a hint of downright cruelty. As his tightly controlled world starts to unravel, however, Inscoe subtly reveals the vulnerability and affection that lies beneath the domineering façade.

Welsh guides his troupe with an assured hand and he wisely employs a dialect coach (Amanda Durst) so that all of the actors sport pitch-perfect Canadian accents that never waver. The show is generally up to the Barksdale's exceptional technical standards, though I might quibble with some of lighting designer Lynne Hartman's choices, her nights being perhaps a bit too bright. But the 1970's era rustic set designed by Mercedes Schaum and complete with working plumbing is a standout.

The opportunity to watch three exceptional actors at work may draw you to "The Drawer Boy." That the show is a surprisingly comic and complex masterwork makes for sweet icing on the cake.

The Drawer Boy
Barksdale Theatre, The Shops at Willow Lawn
8pm, Thursday - Saturday, occasional matinees and additional evening performances
Through November 6th
$30-36
Call 282-2620 for details.

More funk

2005-09-28T09:13:00.000-04:00

In the shower yesterday (at Sir Chubalot’s house – it’s not what you think, really), I realized that at least one of the things that has contributed to my funk lately is that I’m tired of being a parent of young kids. It’s one of those realizations that don’t usually escape the subconscious, having to fight through the guilt, pain, and other associated emotions.

I think it was triggered by an interaction with an insipid teenager and ruminating on the fact that any minute now, Sage is going to be a teenager. And Bryce is right behind her. Both of them need regular help with homework these days but, even more important, I think they both need help transitioning into the semi-adulthood of teenager-dom. I know they have a wonderful mother around to help them as well, but I want to be there too, for my sake as well as theirs. The boys just naturally draw a lot of focus and that means interactions with the girls tend to be shorter, less focused and often more heated than they need to be.

Don’t get me wrong: I love my boys and sometimes the biggest lift I get all day is going home and having Mason say, “Hi Daddy!” But diapers have been as aspect of my life for something like 10 of the last twelve years and frankly that’s enough for anyone. But even more than the sheer logistics (which is a lot), there’s the feeling of not moving forward. There are a lot of ways that I feel I’m moving into some ‘next stage’ what with school and a new job and everything. But then there’s the domestic situation that remains largely the same: juggling nap times and bed times and meal times and having to find coverage for the boys if we should want to do anything at all of a grown up nature. And it’s not like the ‘self-sufficient’ girls don’t need their share of parental presence to get through their days. It all just gets tiring.

I guess this is just a semi-regular recurrence of the feeling I’ve had since I found out that the Lovely Wife was pregnant with Cooper. At that point, the girls were just getting to the point where things seemed to be loosening up. More freedom and flexibility were on the horizon. And then they weren’t.

Holly is going off with the girls in a couple of weeks and maybe that will be a little bit of a breather, having to focus on one generation and not both for a few days. And maybe some semi-regular outings with just me and the girls would be good as well, so I don’t have to spend so much mental energy wondering what the toddler is getting into all the time.

Or maybe I just need more sleep and food.

Rejoining the effort

2005-09-26T16:59:00.000-04:00

It’s been kind of a sloppy couple of weeks and I’ve been thinking it’s time to climb back aboard the WW bus and get a little bit serious again. I’ve been on what could be called the “Maintenance Utilizing Vague Points Approximation” (MUVPA) system and it’s generally been going pretty well. I have a very general sense of how many non-core points I’m putting away in a day – like ‘is it more-or-less than double-digits’ – and as long as it’s less, I’m usually OK.

But like most of the things around this whole diet business, it’s highly subject to availability. That is, if nothing that fits in the plan is available, you eat whatever’s around. This past weekend, there was a lot of tasty, rich, home-made yumminess around thanks to the culinary efforts of my wife and her friends. We all gathered at a friend’s farm up in Middlesex County and ate, drank, and caught up after too many months out of touch.

Before going there, I had snuck into a WW meeting on Saturday morning and got the stats back shown below. I was up .8 pounds which really is just fine because I’m hoping that at least some of that is actual muscle mass gain (a boy can dream). But it is the highest weight I’ve been at since officially entering maintenance mode. It’s a little early to be worrying about packing on weight for hibernating so I’m thinking it would be good to rein things in a bit. Mostly because this whole effort was as much about health and long-term well-being and not too much about vanity and fitting into form-fitting T-shirts and making the girls at the gym swoon. Really.

So today was back to salad for lunch and a drawer full of healthy snacks (raisins anyone?) And I’ll be trying to make the lunch-time run with Sir Chubalot at least a once-a-week, maybe twice-a-week event. Speaking of which, part of this redoubled effort has to do with realizing that I was a terrible WW buddy to Knight Chubalot (who is turning into Sir Chubalot Less lately) last Friday. We went out to a show together and I pretty nearly stood on his chest and forced him to drink both a beer AND a frappucino. WW friends don’t make WW friends drink so much fat. So a little reform is in order. If for no other reason than to see if I can still do it.

MAM: 7
Last 4W: 162.6
Last HSW: 163.5

Blog 'o Funk

2005-09-20T10:16:00.000-04:00

Last Saturday I was in the punkiest, funkiest, lousy mood and I tried the Sir Chubalot “master your mood” method of trying to exercise my way out of it. I ran – outside on the actual street instead of in the hermitically sealed gym environment – for about 40 minutes and then did sit-ups and push-ups until I could sit or push no more. So then I was beaten-up, broken-down tired and in a bad mood as well. Thanks a lot, your chubalotness.

Luckily, after cleaning myself up, I spent a lovely quiet evening with my lovely not-so-quiet wife and that was what turned the tide. I know there’s all of this biological research about how we guys are not wired for monogamy, etc. etc. (a play I wrote about recently has the classic line in it: "monogamy is like a 40 watt light bulb: it works, but it's not enough.") But, in terms of actual happiness, there is nothing like feeling like you have someone on your side, someone who sympathizes with you when you have problems, someone who will listen even when you’re bored with hearing yourself talk. Side-by-side with someone you love is clearly the best way to go through life. And there’s the snuggling part, which doesn’t suck either.

Then Sunday afternoon was spent at the James River Craft Beer Festival which I believe Sir Chubalot and I have concluded should be a weekly event. Of course, this would do nothing good for either of our diet routines. Perhaps it would have to be combined with a Saturday fast. Making the whole thing more of a spiritual thing, which god knows I need. Beer could indeed be my salvation.

It’s getting close to another weigh-in as the end of the month draws nigh. Beer festivals notwithstanding, things have been holding steady. I find it remarkable sometimes that this is so.

School is going incredibly well. I have indeed been the uber-geek I was worried I would be. If I had had this kind of academic fervor back when I was an actual student, I would have been dangerous. And friendless. And would have gotten laid even less than I did. So I guess it’s all about trade-offs. We’re studying the general cultural revolution that occurred during the Romantic period. This involves reading poetry of Wordsworth, Byron, and Shelley as well as the philosophy of Kant and Burke. It’s so cliché, I can hardly stop myself from laughing sometimes. I’m so liberal artsy, I can feel the elbow patches growing even on my polo shirts. But I’m loving it just the same.

The new job is slow going. It’s all very new to me and I spent the first couple of weeks basically flailing around purposelessly. Now in my third week, I’m still flailing, but it’s at least there something resembling a purpose to it. I’m not yet making the world safer for more spices and mayonnaise, but I expect I will embark on that mission soon.

Support and Envy

2005-08-30T22:30:00.000-04:00

Went to my first meeting in a long time today. Had to squeak in a meeting in August to keep the lifetime membership thing going. For the past few months, I've just popped in for a weighing and then moved on. It's feels a little weird to be in a meeting now. For one, I wonder how many folks wonder "what's he doing here? he doesn't need to lose weight." Also, any time I say anything in a meeting I have a weird self-conscious feeling like it isn't given credence because either a) I'm a man and weight falls off men like melted butter so my perspective is skewed or b) I've made my goal and everything's easier/harder/different in hindsight so my insight doesn't translate (the Vietnam vet commenting on the Gulf War kind of situation).

But Adam's mom, the WW leader, said that she thought it was important that lifetime members show up at meetings to show that the program works and that maintenance works and meetings and ongoing support are important, etc. etc. So, even though I had Mason in tow, I hung out for most of the meeting today. And even though he is the most powerful chick magnet I've ever had at my disposal, he got too antsy after 25 minutes and I had to cut out early (probably could have scored at least 2 phone numbers otherwise, but I'm not bitter) (hey, also, I was just thinking that "Weight Watchers Crashers" might make a good movie...).

At the point in the meeting after the 5 and 10 pound awards, the leader asked for other celebrations and I said that it had been 6 months since I made my goal weight. The applause and general response was supportive but also a bit tepid. And as I looked around I wondered how much envy I was seeing in people's eyes. It wasn't a pleasant feeling. Of course, I could have been projecting or being self-conscious or something, but I didn't see a whole lot of smiles. I don't know exactly what to make of that.

Anyway, the stats are listed below. It's an odd thing that today my HSW and 4W weights were about identical. Maybe 5:30 in the afternoon is a particularly low bodyweight time for me. My spirit is more uplifted at the end of the work day, maybe? Of course, I'm in between jobs now so that doesn't work for today.

I'm also a bit surprised that despite my best efforts, my weight has gone down since last month. I was at Smith Mtn Lake two weekends ago, the beach last weekend, and had friends in town the past two nights who FORCED me to drink beer -- really GOOD beer -- and eat rich food. My one friend was commenting that she thought it had to do with portion control given how the size of the individual servings I was giving myself. It was interesting because that's become almost an unconscious thing for me. I also don't know how much stock to put into that comment because the beer at least always comes in 12 ounce servings.

Tomorrow is the first day of my graduate school class. Everytime I let that bubble up to consciousness, I get all giddy about it. I'm going to be a total geek about this school thing, I can already tell.

MAM: 6+
Last 4W: 161.8
Last HSW: 161.5

Brief

2005-08-19T11:56:00.000-04:00

I’ve been trying to carve out some time over the past week to write about what was probably a brief brush with anorexia I experienced a few months ago. It’s a weird thing to describe and haven’t been able to concentrate enough to get the words just right. I’m wrapping up at my current job and it’s clear that, even if I had 3 more weeks instead of the 3 more working days I have left, I couldn’t document and straighten out everything I need to document and straighten out around here. So it goes.

In the meantime, I’ll just say that it doesn’t stop. Or at least it didn’t for me. And what I mean is that voice that says, “you’re looking a little chubby” or “should I really have that second bowl of cereal” or “what a loser, I didn’t get to the gym this week” doesn’t shut the f^&$# up. It keeps on nagging at you.

I guess I put that out there as a word of caution to anyone who might be working the weight-loss mill. Establish objective criteria and believe them. Don’t trust the inner voice unless you’ve got a really well-adjusted, self-bolstering inner voice. Does anyone have one of those?

OAFG

2005-08-05T11:30:00.000-04:00

I’ve been linked to and must respond to the call!

My dear friend Don has embarked on another noble quest, the Watching of Weight as per the same program I went through at the beginning of this year. As such, I figured I’d get back in the saddle here and try to post more than once in a chartreuse moon.

In terms of the weight situation, it’s continued to be an interesting road. Back in May I had two events that tested my resolve. I had a diet-free weekend with the guys at Smith Mountain Lake, full of beer and steak and such. When I got back, my weight had spiked up almost 5 pounds. Memorial Day weekend (which involved a trip to Kentucky for me and the fam) saw a similar spike. But each time, I am somewhat amazed to say, I went back to “the plan” and the weight whittled away again. This has cemented my respect for the WW plan and its maintainability. I also believe it may not be some magic of the WW plan but the fact that it’s a plan – ANY plan – and therefore something to fall back on when needed. Sure beats “Damn, blew the diet. Oh well, I guess it’s Ho-Hos all week!”

I did reach a new plateau after May which was a pound or two higher than I was resting at. I haven’t lost a lot of sleep over this since I’m thinking I really could use another couple of pounds added back and that around 165 is probably the most maintainable weight for me. But I’d like to gain it back in muscle rather than fat so I’ve been trying to get to the gym at least once a week and doing a fairly regular sit-up/push-up cycle at home. Don’t have those 6-pack abs yet but at least you can see that I have abs again, which is a huge improvement over a year ago.

So exercise and sleep have become more of the focus. The rest of the fam went out of town for a week and I actually managed to get 6-7 hours of sleep nearly every night. Since they’ve been back there’s been a couple of 4-5 hour nights but this has been balanced by a couple of solid 8 hour nights. It’s a little ridiculous (and vaguely alarming) that even when the family wasn’t around and it was the weekend and I could’ve slept all freaking day, I really couldn’t manage to stay asleep more than 7 hours at a stretch. I’m guessing this is like the weight deal: it’s going to take a while to rewire my chemistry.

There’s a bunch more for me to write about (meandering thoughts on politics, news about upcoming job changes, etc.) That’s going to have to wait for another day. Because, as they say on “Marketplace,” first let’s do the numbers:

MAM: Almost 6
Last 4W (on July 22nd): 162.4
-- this is exactly 2 pounds more than my lowest 4W ever, achieved on May 15th
Last HSW: 161.5

Let it go, for crissakes

2005-06-17T15:47:00.000-04:00

There are a lot of things that piss me off about politics and one of the reasons I love reading Adam’s blog is that he seems to get pissed off about some of the same things I do. Only he knows a lot more about what he’s getting pissed about.

But even when getting pissed, I usually remain comfortably cynical (and therefore relatively inert) about most of it. But the social issues really drive me crazy. The Terri Schiavo situation for instance. What is the deal here? Her parents are so dense and denial-ridden that they are refuting the results of the autopsy? Her brain had shrunk by half, you morons. Do you really think she could have had any quality of life? Did you expect some scientists to come up with some miracle brain food that would have caused her neural network to blossom like ivy? Let it (and her) go, please.

But the president’s brother is initiating an investigation. Now? Do these guys really want to keep this issue alive even after the woman is dead? Though I feel sorry for Schiavo’s husband, I hope this situation wakes some people up as to the arrogance and criminal stupidity of the Republican social agenda. A boy can dream.

Gay Marriage Killed the Dinosaurs

2005-06-16T15:27:00.000-04:00

I love this bumper sticker. Love it even more on the back of a beat-up pickup truck in conservative Virginia.

Today is the first day in weeks I’ve felt I could even take a spare breath and do some blogging. But today I’ve checked all of the “must get to immediately” items off of my list and it’s only 3:30pm. Oh, there’s plenty of stuff on the “Need to get to ASAP” list but there’s room for at least this one item – post to blog – from the “Want to get to soon” list to sneak in here.

I’m hoping to post at least a couple of sentences every day or two to get back in the swing of this thing. Have to set expectations low so I can meet them. According to my desktop calendar, Pres. Bush said (on June 4, 2003): “I’m the master of low expectations.”

Finally, I have a role model!

How rich are the Eagles?

2005-05-17T09:34:00.000-04:00

Once again, I’ve severely neglected this poor blog. I’m taking over my boss’s job next week and have been slammed with work. I’ll start out in that classic position of still doing my old job while assuming a new job. Yippee.

Anyway, wanted to jot a few random comments down. I can’t seem to turn on the radio without hearing the Eagles these days. Have they just crystallized into the perfect MOR band that doesn’t really excite anyone but mildly entertains many? Don’t get me wrong – I’ve always been an Eagles fan back since the “Witchy Woman” days, saw the Hotel California tour, applauded the addition of Joe Walsh, etc. But this live version of “Hotel California” that is getting airplay these days is downright sleep-inducing. And I can go a long time without hearing Desperado or Lying Eyes again. One good thing: recently heard “Those Shoes” again which is just a wonderfully simple, weird song that makes me smile.

In further musical musings, I’ve decided I never ever need to hear a John Mellencamp song again. I liked Johnny is his petulant youth (before he became the chronicler of middle America) but “Small Town” needs to be forever put to rest and “Pink Houses” could be close behind.

Since seeing Elvis Costello in concert, did some research on “Scarlet Tide,” -- his amplification-free delivery of same was the highlight of the show. I didn’t realize he wrote the song for the “Cold Mountain” soundtrack and that Alison Krauss sang it. It’s an amazing convergence of three of my favorite things: Elvis, Alison, and “Cold Mountain.” Throw in Maureen Dowd and Elisha Cuthbert and it’d be better than Ben & Jerry’s.

Stopped in at Weight Watchers on Sunday. Dropped almost a pound from the last weighing. I’m basically pretty solid in the 159-161 area now. Don’t want to get complacent but really need to work on SLEEP and exercise now. It’s always something.

MAM: 3
Last 4W: 160.4
Last HSW: 159.5

Just Got Here

2005-04-27T22:43:00.000-04:00

I don't know if I can describe this interlude in a way that can convey both how funny and poignant it was. But I'd like to try.

I had just come home from work and the lovely wife, the kids and I fell into an impromptu soccer romp in the backyard. Even the 16 month old was giving it his all. There was lots of running and laughing. But soon Cooper was upset because he had a certain thing that he wanted to have happen and all of us were getting in the way. We tried to explain to him how soccer worked and that the ball goes back and forth between different people, etc. etc.

But he just grew more upset and finally said, "How was I supposed to know that? I just got here!" There was a moment of confusion -- he had come out to play at the same time as all of us had -- before we realized that he was making a much more existential statement. In the bigger, more cosmic sense, he just recently arrived here on earth. How was he supposed to know how things work?

And so, as with so many things, Cooper finds a new way to break my heart. What can a parent do about existential angst?

Especially when there are still so many times when I still feel like I just got here.

Elvis et al

2005-04-27T21:57:00.000-04:00

In semi-celebration of our anniversary, the Lovely Wife and I went to an Elvis Costello concert in Norfolk last night. Man, what a trip. We were among the younger folks in the crowd -- I've never seen so many bald heads at a concert in my life. Once things got going, I was afraid someone might break a hip. I had forgotten how LOUD concerts are -- some of my favorite moments in the concert were the quietest.

He played many new songs, some of which it turns out I really like. He did a very cool transition from "Alison" to "Suspicious Minds." He did "Pump it Up" and "What so Funny ('bout Peace, Love and Understanding)" and "The Mystery Dance" -- all among my favorite songs. He had a guest guitarist who was David Hidalgo from Los Lobos who did a couple good songs but none of my LL faves.

There were two moments of pure magic in the concert IMHO: one of the first old songs that he did was "Watching the Detectives" which in the Elvis canon is pretty much a throw-away. But he was obviously having a good time playing it and the crowd responded so well, there was an electricity in the air that only comes at concerts. Then, the last song of the concert was a very pretty ballad on his latest CD called "The Scarlet Tide." For one of the verses, he stopped playing and went off mike and essentially asked everyone to be quiet and in this big room with maybe a thousand people in it, he sang a capella without any amplification. Being 30 feet away from a legend (in my mind) just singing his heart out...it was a shivers down the spine moment.

I drove home (ears ringing) and didn't get to bed until after 1:30am. It was some well-earned exhaustion.

Delay

2005-04-22T15:32:00.000-04:00

Geez, has it been over a week since I’ve posted on this damn thing? There’s literally been a dozen times in the past week that I’ve thought of something to write but I never seem to get the time. What kind of a world do we live in when a guy doesn’t have time to blog?

Today is my official two months at maintenance date. Stopped in at WW on Wednesday and was officially down almost another pound. At home, have fluctuated between 159-161. This is starting to feel like a comfortable place. Have been focusing less on the eating program and more on the exercise lately: regular push-ups and crunches at home, at least one trip to the gym a week. Have also refurbished the bike and hope to get more road time in the coming weeks. Damn, spring is great outside weather in Richmond.

I’ve been following Adam’s always interesting political reflections. His blog is much more interesting than mine. Have mostly lurked though I’ve got all sorts of opinions bottled up. Hope to find some time to let them fly soon. On that front, read a short overview of the DeLay situation in this week’s “New Yorker.” It reiterates many things said elsewhere so makes for a good round-up of the situation. I am really hoping the gang who can’t shoot straight (i.e., the Dems) can may political hay out of this situation. I’m thinking the laying low strategy (allowing the bastard to shoot himself in the foot repeatedly) is fine for now. As long as next year sees some action.

Got the official word from University of Richmond yesterday – I’m in as a part-time student for the fall. I’ll be in the Master of Liberal Arts program. I smile every time I write it. In college 20 years ago I was a computer geek at first, then morphed into a policy wonk, eventually getting a dual degree in both disciplines. Now I’ll be a wooly-headed liberal arts guy! It’s always been a secret desire of mine to wear sport coats with patches on the elbows and get into really passionate discussions about Chaucer. This may finally be my chance!

Speaking of the writing thing, J has posted my latest ramblings on ’24.’ This is what I do instead of blogging.

I’m going to a kid’s musical tonight (“Suessical”) with 5 kids in tow, 3 of them five or younger. Let’s hope we all make it through it alive.

MAM: 2
Last 4W: 161.2
Last HSW: 160.0

The Button

2005-04-14T17:03:00.000-04:00

Tuesday’s post by my pal, Don Q, prompted a small tidbit of memory from last week. I was on my way to a job interview, so I was wearing a suit. Whether it was the way I had my suits tailored 8-10 years ago when I last bought a suit, or whether it was because of my blubber-itude, I’m not sure, but I have never been able to button the buttons of a suitcoat comfortably. Oh, I could get at least one button hooked in there, but it was always kind of bulgy and didn’t feel right at all.

Almost every night on his show, David Letterman unbuttons and rebuttons those buttons on his suitcoat and I’ve always kind of marveled at that. Either he has a good tailor or he’s in pretty darn good shape, I thought.

Last week, I was able to button both suitcoat buttons quite comfortably and I realized it’s not the quality of David Letterman’s tailor that affords him that ability. It felt quite amazing to do this simple thing because I can honestly never remember doing it before.

Which in a circular way, gets me back to the “why” of this whole thing. I started up in Weight Watchers at the beginning of the year for three reasons, 1) to support my lovely wife in her quest to lose weight, 2) to lose weight myself, and 3) to figure out a way to maintain my weight loss after achieving it. This last reason was the most compelling one to break out of my previous non-strategies for weight loss. Something about turning 40 (maybe) makes you see more clearly how you’ve been spinning your wheels without really developing a true strategy for change and also, makes you less proud about accepting that someone else might have already developed that strategy. If the weight was going to stay off, I needed to see clearly and act definitively.

At this point, nestled fairly comfortably in maintenance mode, I realize that there have been a lot of other really great side effects of the weight loss. While none of these would be the thing that would have inspired me to lose weight in the first place, hopefully, they are the kinds of things that will keep me motivated to stay here. Among these are:

Clothes. I can wear everything in my closet. Downside: I don’t really care to wear a large percentage of the things in my closet. Time for some spring shopping!

Energy. Have much more of it. Even averaging only 5 hours of sleep a night, I don’t feel desperately run-down until the very end of the day. Next quest: get more sleep.

Agility. Something about not having 25 extra pounds to carry around translates into a lot less groaning and complaining about little things (like getting up in the morning) and bigger things (I was climbing a tree last weekend to finally extract the Christmas lights I’d hung last year, and could maneuver between branches easily). I feel much less like a grumpy old Jewish man every morning. Am starting to seriously consider checking into rock-climbing. Tried it out some 15 years ago and think I was too porky to throw myself around a rock very easily.

Self-image. We all play that game of “what do I really look like?” where we try to get an accurate image in our mind of what the world sees when it sees us. This is complete fallacy of course, because we process what every person looks like through so many emotional and subjective filters, no one more so than ourselves. Anyway, the image I used to have of myself was of “generally attractive middle-aged guy who looks like he was vaguely athletic but has gone somewhat to seed.” This was my personal translation of “pudgy middle-aged guy.” Now that I’ve lost the weight, my self-image has changed to “slender middle-aged guy” and I think it’s a generally accurate image. I don’t worry so much about the “athletic” part; maybe that’ll come around once I can fit more regular exercise into my routine. And I don’t really care about the “attractive” part so much either because my sense is that most people consider slender more attractive than pudgy (a look across the magazine pages would seem to reinforce that) so whether I am “objectively” attractive doesn’t bother me so much because I know that in some way, I’m more attractive than I used to be. This feels really shallow when I write it out like this but (as Simon Cowell would say), if I’m being honest, this is one of the things that plays out in my head.

I’m sure there’s more, but I’ve been writing too much and I’ve got to figure out something that resembles work to do around here!

Guidance

2005-04-11T16:39:00.000-04:00

To continue on this little parenting jag here (perhaps that’s what this is becoming about), I was thinking about the relationship between my two sons. The oldest of the two seems to take opportunities to cause harm to the younger. It isn’t exceedingly malicious but it’s not entirely subtle either – edging him toward the end of the couch, jostling him enough to make him lose balance while running, etc. The youngest has begun to respond in kind though it is usually in the more blunt manner of a toddler – trying to rip his brother’s eyes out, for instance.

I find myself wanting to counsel the elder one, to say, “you should be nice to your siblings. They are your best playmates and can be your closest friends. And later in life, you will be grateful to have companions and confidants who have known you nearly since the day you were born. Though you are just playing around, there is always that chance that you could cause your brother serious harm of the kind that might haunt you forever.”

Then I reflect on my relationship with my sisters, two of whom I adore, and then one who, objectively speaking, is a hateful, sorry excuse for a human being. I have had many nasty and hurtful dust-ups with this latter sister. She has caused friction between me and my wife and between me and other members of my family. I have wasted way, way too much time trying to “help” this sister, to be rewarded with more distain and more hateful behavior. I now basically keep my interaction with her to a minimum, but this is functionally impossible. So on a semi-regular basis I have a reminder of this malevolent, damaging force in the world and, indirectly, in my life.

I then finding myself wanting to counsel my son, “you should be nice to your siblings. But if you aren’t nice, at least be selective.”

Kids suck

2005-04-11T14:27:00.000-04:00

This past Saturday, my youngest was up at 5am. My wife, though lovely and wonderful in many ways, is not a morning person. So I was up at 5am on Saturday, still posting a 99.5 temp. My mood was a bit black and I found myself ruminating on how much kids suck.

I’m thinking about “sucking” beyond the obvious, physical sucking that the youngest is still doing (though, I’m thinking some wean-age is on the horizon…) One thing is the “Reverse Algernon” effect that my eldest is currently going through. She is a lovely, talented and extremely bright child. Her 6th grade report card has been full of nothing but “A”s this year with only 2 or 3 “A minuses” mixed in. She continues to surprise me with her ingenuity and determination when it comes to solving certain problems.

So why then, does she seem to be losing brain function? Some have argued it has something to do with her approaching teen-age, which may be true, but it’s scary just the same. It’s not just some of the decisions, choices, or arguments she makes but the vehemence with which she makes them, as if illogic had become the new physics so OF COURSE people walk on the ceiling now, dad, COME ON!

Removing items from a list makes the total number of items on said list fewer. Correct? It’s basic 1st grade math. However, the eldest will insist she likes to eat just as many foods as she always has, though more and more things are being deemed unacceptable. Sandwiches have been a lunch no-go for a while; she recently added yogurt, because “you always give me yogurt.” Uh, yeah, honey – because there’s nothing else you’ll eat!

“I have nothing to wear.” “What about all of these clothes in your dresser drawers?” “They’re dirty!” “Why are they in your drawers?” “Because they’re not that dirty.” “So why don’t you wear them.” “Because they’re dirty!”

There’s a half-dozen more of these kinds of back-n-forths. She’s also become the queen of subtle misdirection: This morning I overheard a conversation about her unwillingness to share her hairbrush morph into an indictment of our unwillingness to help her study.

And like some cliché right off of the comics page, the level of self-involvement is bewildering. Friday while I staggered around with a 101.5 temp, still trying to complete my morning chore of making lunches, I suggested perhaps she could make her own lunch for once. As she lay on the floor timing how long it takes her sister to comb her hair, she complained “but I have other things I have to do.” Yeah, dear, like STARVE at lunch time.

More heartbreaking though is how our eldest boy has gone from a daddy-lover (at age 1) to a daddy-despiser (at 4). He’s a darling boy, can be very charming, and is cute as a button. But twice in the past week he has given me the look that says, “if I had a flamethrower, you’d be charcoal right now.” The worst moment of it was when I forced him to return a toy he’d taken from his younger brother and his eyes actually rolled back in his head as a result of the rage he was feeling.

Intellectually, I know my daughter’s brain function will return or the logic module will slip back into its slot or something. And I hope and expect to take my son out to happily toss the football or take in an R-Braves game in the years to come. But, during the intervening years, the little brats just suck.

How Parents Are Different

2005-04-11T13:47:00.000-04:00

On Sunday, I mentioned the following little anecdote to my friend, Ruby’s Mom (given my new status, all references will extend outward from the child), and figured it was worth sharing to…well, everyone else.

I was in a toy store with three of my children on Saturday and realized the youngest had a full and fragrant diaper. As I was carrying him out to the car to change him, I noticed a small patch of something brown and sticky on my pants. This, it turns out, was just a stray splat of mud. But, as a parent of a younger child, I had to consider the very real possibility that the substance in question might be, in fact, poop.

It occurred to me that probably a significant percentage of the first-world population goes through life without a realistic expectation of finding themselves splattered with human excrement. This may be helpful for those trying to understand the ways in which becoming a parent changes you.

More responses

2005-04-08T21:03:00.000-04:00

Sarah and Adam -- have you embarked on the WW trail yet? I'd be curious to know how it's going. I was sooooooo resistant to the WW gig at first, thinking it was nothing but fat women complaining. Two things I learned at the last meeting I went to (a mid-week, after-work meeting): 1) some of the women are downright hot, and 2) guys definitely make up a minority but there is consistently anywhere from 2 to 5 guys at every meeting I've gone to. In fact, at this last meeting (with 5 guys in attendance) I was wishing the guys would shut the hell up so that I could here more of what the hot women wanted to say.

Anyway (why is it that all of my posts seem to have an "anyway" moment?), good luck on your quest. If you go core, the LW can probably give you at least a couple of recipes that she's made that are core (including her scrumptious Tamale Pie!) And really, fat-free cheese is not all that bad, particularly the pre-grated kind (the extra air invokes extra flavor, I believe) and particularly if you are putting it on something relatively decadent. For instance, this WW gig has prompted my return to my teenage love for Steak-ums semi-meat food product and cheese of any kind tastes great on them.

And Mr. Short, if you can eat pediological veggies, FF cheese should be no sweat.

Sir Chubalot -- I did notice that you had named me as your second and I was most honored. I will do my best to help you put a ripe spanking on that tight-ass Russian. The beer is free, right?

And one last thing: though written in the hazy onslaught of some mysterious ailment, I was able to crank out a '24' commentary which J has posted at:

Hour 16 of 24

I apologize if any of the incoherent ramblings brought on by fever got in the way of my usual incoherent ramblings.

Lifetime

2005-04-08T20:23:00.000-04:00

A couple of days after we returned from Arizona, I popped into a Weight Watchers meeting to see how I was doing. I really didn't know what to expect. I had tried to be "good" on vacation but, hell, it's vacation so I had more than my usual share of muffins and non-core foods.

As it turned out, I had actually lost a couple of pounds from the last weigh-in. Losing weight while on vacation is a monumental feat, I believe, and a signal that this whole thing has really taken hold. I didn't feel like I was depriving myself, I just tried to make the best choices I could. Of course, the lovely wife gave me a nasty look when I eschewed ice cream when everyone else was getting some. But hey, I ended up eating plenty anyway by magnanomously accepting "tastes" from my daughters and finishing up Cooper's order when he lost interest half-way through.

So the bottom line is that my last weigh-in put me at 6 weeks below my goal weight which qualifies me as a "lifetime" member of Weight Watchers. The leader at the WW meeting made a special little presentation of my lifetime membership card and a little WW charm to put on my charm bracelet. I'm thinking maybe I'll have a nipple pierced and hang the charm from that instead.

Anyway, it was very nice at the meeting. There was a warm round of applause when I was recognized and then on the way out of the meeting probably a half-dozen people said "congratulations," and not in that smarmy, I-know-I'm-supposed-to-say-this kind of way, but in a real genuine, wow, you've really accomplished something kind of way. It felt good.

Since then, particularly with this illness I'm currently working my way through, my weight has fallen even further to a pretty worrisome degree. I'm regularly seeing numbers below 160 and on Wednesday, registered a 157.5. I've been more consciously working on eating more but have remained about the same and didn't eat after about noon yesterday so I woke up today at 158. I never thought figuring out how to eat MORE was going to become the problem. So it goes.

Below are the stats. With the confidence that comes from lifetime membership, I'm moving to Months at Maintenance. Since I am not mandated to go to WW every week anymore, weight loss will become less of a focus on this blog. When I figure out what will become more of the focus (probably around the time I figure out how exactly to eat more), I'll be sure and let you know.

Months at Maintenance: 1.5
Last 4W: 162 (total weight loss = 25.6 pounds)
Last HSW: 158

Rap

2005-04-08T20:11:00.000-04:00

The most enduring aspect of rap on my life has been the fact that I can't think of the phrase, "I'm back" without thinking of Eminem. Call me shallow, but that's it.

Anyway, I am back. I've been back since last Sunday but haven't had even a spare second to blog. First there was the decompression and re-assimiliation into life after our lovely trip to Arizona. It's a beautiful state full of dramatic scenery (if it's not obvious, we didn't spend any more time than we had to in Phoenix). We did a lot of great things: flew over the Grand Canyon, saw the red rocks of Sedona at sunset, etc. But really, the best part of it all was that the kids had a great time hanging with their buddies. Even our youngest at all of 15 months bonded with the 3-year old daughter of the family we stayed with. In fact, she became a little obsessed with our guy, nearly falling apart when we finally had to leave.

When I got back, I was thrown immediately into the final stages of a whirl-wind project at work that had it's deadline moved up from next Friday to this Friday. This precipitated one night at work lasting until about 11pm and every spare moment at work spent actually working. This is an unusual situation for me and I'm sure it had something to do with the illness I contracted yesterday. I left work at the end of the day with a raging headache and the cold sweats. Woke up this morning with a 101.5 fever. Spent most of the day tossing and turning feverishly in bed until around 3pm when I think the fever finally broke.

I'm still pretty woozy though and the only reason I'm back to blogging is because it's about the only activity I can muster in my broken-down state of health. I guess it's time to make up for lost time and empty the flotsam from my mind on to this here screen.

Responses

2005-03-24T09:06:00.000-05:00

I’m never sure if people go back and read responses to comments so I’m putting my responses right here in a main post. I’m sure there’s a blog net-iquette book out there somewhere but I don’t plan to read it so here goes.

WAM is “Weeks at Maintenance,” that is the number of weeks I’ve been at or below my goal weight. Maximizing this number is the whole point of my weight loss effort this time. I’ve lost weight before but never kept it off. Eventually, I’m hoping I’ll move to MAM (Months at Maintenance) and maybe even YAM (Years at…).

“4W” is Weight Watchers Weigh-in Weight. This is my “official” weight, though it tends to run about 1.5 pounds higher than my “HSW” or Home Scale Weight. The difference is mostly due to clothes, I believe, because though I’ve been tempted, I’ve never completely stripped at the WW office. Yet.

Sarachkah, I heartily endorse the WW non-points plan (called the “Core Program”). Screw portion control and dealing with emotional eating. Those are long-term projects and worth tackling. But if you want results, I say go “core.” Keeping track of points would drive me batty; even keeping track of non-Core points (which I’m supposed to do) is not something I have the patience for.

I’m sure the points program works for some people. Maybe people who benefit from the awareness that comes from the bookkeeping aspect of tracking everything you eat. But my biggest problem is that I eat what’s around and what is usually around me is crap. Vending machine food at work or HUGE portions if I go out for lunch. At home, carb-heavy food that the kids thrive on.

What the Core program did was force me to surround myself with good food. I go shopping on my way to work every Monday now and load up on raisins, bananas, carrots, celery, salad fixings, etc. etc. So when I’m hungry, I have good things to turn to. After a while, portion control takes hold naturally – I mean, I can’t eat but so many carrots.

So no disrespect to your M-in-law but I’d go Core if I were you. Ask the lovely wife for her perspective, I think she likes it better too.

Saw 160.5 on the home scale again this morning so promptly went out and grabbed a frappucino on the way to work. What would a person do without Starbucks?

And by the way, my interview with Craig Wright from “6 Feet Under” is in Style this week. Here’s a link:
Craig Wright interview

When is a person supposed to work when there is so much blogging to do?

Stabilization

2005-03-22T08:35:00.000-05:00

I may actually be stabilizing. I’ve been in the general vicinity of 161-2 for the past week, which is the only week I haven’t dropped more than a pound. On Thursday, I think, I took a precarious dip downward with 160.5. My WW weigh-in was on Saturday the morning after going out with Gramma B and B for Mexican food (yum) and then ice cream (oh baby!) so that explains the small bump upwards. I’ve been re-acquainting myself with bread on a regular basis and that seems to have been giving me the points I need to stay at my current weight.

Took another long look at myself after working out last night and got a little creeped out. Is this what skinny people look like? I’m not skin and bones or anything but I’ve got a lot more angles and weird crevasses where flesh used to be. This is definitely as thin as I want to be. Will actually be hoping to add at least a couple of pounds in muscle over the next couple of weeks with more regular work-outs. And have been desperately craving a frappucino all week – gotta get me one a them!

WAM: 4
Last 4W: 163.4
Last HSW: 161.0

You Forget

2005-03-17T16:51:00.000-05:00

…how quickly these things can happen. My lovely wife was picking up things in the playroom and I was in the kitchen. Meanwhile, child #4, all of 15 months old, climbs up on a coffee table in the living room and proceeds to fall off it, right on his face, biting clean through the skin right below his lip. He recovers remarkably quickly but, as the blood starts to spill from that clean little slice, it’s clear that a trip to the emergency room is inevitable. Oy.

The thing of it is that he was out of sight for maybe all of 20 seconds. I’m sure I had laid eyes on him within that amount of time and that he had toddled past the lovely wife even after that. I wasn’t really looking for an object lesson in how your life can change dramatically in an incredibly short time. But I got it anyway.

One of my favorite parenting songs is “The Toddler Song” – which has the immortal lyrics “I am the toddler – my goal: to kill myself!” Just when he moves out of this phase, I’ll have to start worrying about the eldest learning how to drive. Double Oy.

The Mind is a Terrible Thing

2005-03-17T16:50:00.000-05:00

After racking up maybe 24 points this week, I got on the scale this morning and saw “162.0.” And, even though I realized that it was actually a GOOD thing, that my weight is just where it needs to be and I don’t need to get it any lower, and BTW it’s a full 25 pounds less than it was just a few months ago, I still had that reflexive “Oh no, I’m up a pound” reaction. What’s up with that?

Getting serious about loosening up

2005-03-16T11:45:00.000-05:00

Thanks, Don, for your gracious offer of helping with the weight loss modulation. Maybe a non-“core program” lunch is in order, though remember, I’m putting on the brakes here, not slamming the sucker into reverse.

Took some steps yesterday. My points total by the end of the day was probably in the 8-10 range. But I think I get some negative “activity points” because I went to the gym (see how this all gets too complicated?) Anyway, adding both points and activity were good things and I’m going to try to keep that up. This morning still had a HSW of 161.0. As soon as I see 160, I’m giving you a call Don and will meet you at the nearest greasy cheeseburger joint in town.

PS: Hey, Sarachkah, what’s up with the double comments? Is there an echo up there? Sorry we couldn’t see you, too. Will look forward to checking in with the BB as soon as our stomachs return to normal!

Oldness

2005-03-16T09:56:00.000-05:00

“This night is gonna last forever, last all last all summer long…”

Woke up late, rushed around crazily this morning, made lunches that are probably not going to get eaten, was generally pissed at everyone (even the 1-year old, who was up at 5am), clamored into the car, fired up the radio to hear “Heartache Tonight,” and almost started crying. The Eagles put out “The Long Run” in 1979 during my junior year in high school and I remember the “boom chick, ba-boom chick” background thump of this song like it was yesterday. I remember those high school nights like they were last week, the ones full of tumult and opportunity, heartbreak and desperation. The wide-eyed rambling through new frontiers, unaware of the steep cliffs on either side of the road. Damn, does it suck to get old.

Quick calculation of net worth reinforced reality that taking off for undiscovered points west was not a viable alternative. Went to Starbucks instead. Ran into acquaintance who recently separated from his wife after a decade and three kids. A seemingly nice guy who, if his ex-‘s story is to be believed, is really an incredible jerk and whether justified or not, was sent reeling when his wife finally showed him the door.

Realized life could be much, much worse.

Too much money

2005-03-15T16:29:00.000-05:00

OK, it’s getting a little scary now. If you check the stats down there at the end you’ll see that I lost another 2.6 pounds last week. This puts my official weight loss total since starting with WW at 24.8. Someone has failed to inform my body that I’m at maintenance, not still trying to lose weight.

It feels a little like complaining about having too much money, but really this is not a good thing. For one thing, I’ve gone from looking trim to starting to look skinny, a look I have never had and don’t exactly covet. My clothes have gone from roomy to falling off me and I’m starting to look a little bony in spots. I’m not at “The Machinst” levels yet, but the continued downward trend has me worried.

Health-wise, it’s not that great also because last week’s drop happened mostly because of having surgery on Thursday (and eating very little) and feeling sick on Saturday (and eating almost nothing). Also, the weight loss is happening with virtually no exercise (once a week does not qualify). So part of this process is undoubtedly affecting muscle mass. I’m not getting dizzy or anything and I don’t think I’d get sand kicked in my face at the beach yet. But still, I’m thinking I’m done stripping the fat and it’s time to start to layer on some more muscle.

I’m still not clear on how though. I’m going to be adding WW points to my diet but still feel I need to do this systematically or else OUTRIGHT CHAOS may break out. Just adding liquid calories doesn’t cut it, in part because I don’t have the time for a beer regularly enough and when I do, it’s one and out for me these days. Yes, lightweight is the correct word for this state of being.

So yesterday I tallied 6 points but this morning saw my weight still falling a bit (HSW of 161.0). I don’t think I’ve seen 160 since I was a sophomore in high school. Which may just about drive me crazy because it’s so tempting to a) go for the WW 25 pound landmark and b) go for 160 just to say I was there. Ack! So far today I’ve had 7 points worth of stuff so hopefully I’ll be stable come tomorrow morn. Somehow, I’ve got to transition from tapping on the brakes to stamping down on them more firmly.

WAM: 3
Last 4W: 162.8
Last HSW: 161.5

Another Saturday Night

2005-03-12T21:31:00.000-05:00

First things first: for anyone who watches 24, J posted my latest commentary. For your entertainment: Hour Twelve review.

It's Saturday night and I'm watching Gilmore Girls with my eldest. It's actually a pretty entertaining show. Just what I need: another show that I should watch. How is a person supposed to get anything done when there's so much passive entertainment to enjoy?

Last night was another landmark night in the history of parenthood for me. Two out of the three kids that were home with me (while the lovely wife was out bonding with other women) were throwing up. The eldest (hi honey! she's reading this as I write it) left three big platter size puddles of, ya know, STUFF, on the family room floor and a small lake of it in the downstairs bathroom.

hello daddy how are you today?? i am not very tired since i took almost a three hour nap a couple of hours ago. :-(
so when do you think mommy will be home? do you think i will be awake when she gets home??
will you please!! start me a blog!!! please!! :-D I really want one. :-)
i love abc family!! and sometimes disney channel but only around 5:30 to 7:00. what do you like??
i do not know what to type but i feel like typing so i am going to keep on typing about nothing.
okay well now you said that you have to go to bed so i am going to stop typing :-( and say goodbye!! good bye

This is the daddy -- moral of this entry: don't leave your blog open for abuse by your children!

Lasers in my eyes

2005-03-09T13:09:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow I go in for LASIK vision correction. If you had told me 10 years ago I would willingly be submitting myself to a procedure where lasers would be shot into my eyes, I would have laughed in your silly little face. Because of various things, I've had more than my share of surgery in the past year so I decided to go ahead and get it done. What's one more trip under the knife, right? Except that this particular knife is a tiny microblade (microkeratome) that will be slicing a little flap out of the surface of my eye (corneal epithelium). If you were reading the informed consent form I'm reading right now, you'd run away screaming. Or be thinking I was crazy. Or maybe both.

Also, here's a link to my latest for "Style." May not be too interesting if you aren't considering coming to Richmond to see a play, but there it is just the same:

Review of "Volume of Smoke"

New restaurant, old habits

2005-03-06T22:47:00.000-05:00

Went to a restaurant tonight that we hadn't been to before -- Brio Tuscan Grill. Excellent stuff. Was able to get a "core" meal by splitting a roast chicken with the lovely wife.

The children however, went for Mac & Cheese (at least two of them did). Oh and it was awesome Mac & Cheese, high quality pasta with a tart and tasty parmegian heavy sauce. This was the real deal. Of course, the children, Kraft fans that they are, left 3/4 of the stuff. I HAD to take a least one bite to see if the stuff looked as good as it tasted. The second, third and fourth bites, well, they were because the damn food was just sitting there and the kids had moved on to the kid menu word search. The slippery slope was looming intensely, so I grabbed the youngest -- who was antsy anyway -- and eescaped into the night. Whew!

Oh, also must add that the LW and I specifically requested that they NOT bring the mashed potatoes with the roast chicken. Of course, they screwed that up too and sure enough, they were among the best damn MPs I've ever tasted -- heavy on the garlic and buttery like nobody's business. Pawned most of them off to the eldest who thank goodness placed them out of my immediate range or I would have worried them away into my gullet before the night was over.

For some reason, this weekend was the biggest test of my resolve yet. Part of it was sitting around the house a lot -- Saturday in particular was just a crappy day. The other part is now being comfortably within my maintenance goal, I'm starting to get the sloppies, the "well, I can have a bite of that because I'm well within my goal weight" rationalizations. Getting back to work tomorrow will help with this. A little pathetic to take refuge in work but you gotta do what you gotta do.

On the home improvement front, finally tore out one of the 7 humungous built-in shelving units in our "office" in preparation for conversion to the eldest's new bedroom. Found pink and perky floral wallpaper stuck in behind it. Oy. Can't wait for the wallpaper removal bonanza -- sure it will be fun.

Also, finally after 9 months, put up some damn art in the house. We had been living under subsistence art conditions, with a couple of prominent place-holder pieces in place. But actually cleared the closet of a good 6 to 8 old pictures and now the walls are alive! Thank goodness. I was a little starved for something besides the white-on-white walls.

A shout-out to the Man de la Maza, on his final day of his extraordinary chess adventure. Great work there, Don, you are an inspiration.

Two interludes

2005-03-05T21:55:00.000-05:00

So the youngest of our 4 children is 14.5 months old. Two interludes from the world of child-rearing:

Two weeks ago I was walking through the snow and smiling. Snow is a relatively rare occurence here and I forget what a poetic thing it is. Cold rain, which is more common, is such a soul-dampening, mood-darkening force. But drop the temp a few degrees and you have this fluffy coldness scattered across the landscape and floating crazily in the breeze. Cold rain puts a gray pall over everything whereas when it's snowing, everything is about the snow. In a semi-strong snow, whiteness obscures nearly everything at a distance so you have this bright flickering veil that you walk through to get anywhere. I find it nearly impossible not to try to catch a snowflake or two on my tongue.

But the snow is not why I was smiling. I had in my possession, finally, a small piece of paper that for some reason seemed profound to me. It was my youngest son's birth certificate. Because of a paperwork snafu, we discovered that he was without documentation a few months ago and getting it all ironed out was a major battle against the bureaucracy machine. It was the type of thing that made me want to bring the child into the Dept of Health's offices, plunk him down on a desk and say: "See -- here he is. He is not a figment of my imagination or a foreign-born terrorist. Please make him out a fucking birth certificate."

But something about the snow made me think of things in a more ethereal way. In the Waldorf School philosophy of teaching, there's this concept of how children start out still in transit in some ways from heaven down to earth. This explains why they don't seem fully here at first, don't seem fully within their bodies for years sometimes. I think since he's the youngest of four, our little boy has seemed even more sketchily "of this earth." We take less pictures of him than the others, he doesn't have many toys with his name or monogram on them, he is so angelic sometimes it's hard to believe him human.

But with that piece of paper in hand, he seemed more fully ours than before, more solidly grounded in our spectral plain. And when I saw him that night, he seemed heavier and his eyes looked into mine with greater recognition. Maybe it was because I was looking at him differently, with some look that said, "wow, I guess you're really here." And he was looking back with a look that said, "oh yes I am dad. And do I have some things in store for you..."

Which leads me to the second interlude which occured just this morning. With the rest of my family scattered about, it was just me and the little one over breakfast. You have to understand that our two oldest are 11 and 10, many years past the distinct challenges of baby and toddler-hood. And our oldest boy who is four has been a monstrous pain in terms of interpersonal relations (he's a little punk, basically), but healthwise, he's been relatively easy (two trips to the hospital for stitches already, notwithstanding).

What I'm getting at is the astoundingly disgusting things that comes out of children's bodies that us grown-ups have to deal with. The girls had some amazing moments -- projectile pooping that decorated a wall like a Pollock painting, the lovely occasion when daughter number 2 threw up all over daughter number 1, etc. etc.. I guess I was just out of the habit.

But little number 4 has had a bit of a stomach thing going on this past week. His "discharges" have been particularly rank and numerous, this from a kid who on a normal day poops 3 or 4 times. Well, over breakfast, I noticed him squeezing out his usual post-oatmeal deposit and I thought, oh, I'll get to that in a couple of minutes and went back to this week's "Entertainment Weekly" (Best and Worst Dressed at the Oscars!) Well, a couple of minutes later, there was this gurgling sound, kind of a low simmer, and it went on. And on. And on. Maybe a full 20-30 seconds later, the sound stopped. But then the odor started. And grew. And soon became something of a sense tsunami, overwhelming me and nearly knocking me out.

Now you have to realize that the poor boy had on this warm, cozy, fuzzy red one-piece outfit. It's very cute. It also essentially hermetically seals up anything inside of it. When I took the boy upstairs, I unzipped the back and it was like opening a Ziploc bag of the most rank shit you can imagine. Only there's a squirmy little boy inside the bag desperate to get out, and it's your job to do so.

I will spare you too many more details, because I'm sure you've had plenty already. But all I'll say is that it's a good thing for the boy that it's winter and frigidly cold outside. If the temp had been above 60, it would have been outside for a thorough hosing down. From a considerable distance. Or maybe a call to the toxic waste unit for detox.

I really hope that stomach thing clears up soon.

Random Coolness

2005-03-05T21:30:00.000-05:00

So, I've been writing for our town's "alternative" weekly for about 7 years now and, while sometimes it's a moderate pain, for the most part it's pretty cool. I write 2 things a month on average, the magazine I write for pays better than the competition, I get to see plays for free, and once in a while, I get to talk to some cool people. Several years ago, I was actually supposed to interview Chris Rock but that fell through. I've talked to Brenda Lee (on purpose -- and I made a fool of myself at least twice) and Harry Hamlin (by accident, but that's a long story).

Probably the biggest disappointment was talking to comedian Stephen Wright, who I've always thought was hilarious. He was a pretty lousy interview. Deadpan when you're saying funny things is one thing, but off-stage, he's just deadpan and kinda boring.

Anyway, this past week I talked to one of the writers for "Six Feet Under," and he was a pretty fascinating guy. He ran away from home at 14 and stayed with friends in Minnesota through high school. He's a playwright and in the past couple of years, has become one of the hot new playwrights (bet you didn't know there even was such a thing!). But his theater agent hooked him up with the HBO folks a couple years ago, and so he moved to Hollywood and is working on movie scripts, etc.

But the best part is that he was totally un-Hollywood. In fact, I asked him to kind of compare and contrast Minnesota and Hollywood and he had a great description (which I couldn't fit into my article). He said, "In Minnesota, if you work in the arts and you're incredibly successful, you aren't supposed to act like you are. But in Hollywood, even if the only thing you did all day was go to an audition, you're supposed to act like you're the hottest thing on two feet. There's no modesty in Hollywood, while there's way too much of it in Minnesota."

Anyway, just sharing a little tidbit from the scraps of the entertainment world's table. Oh, and by the way, here's a link to my latest piece in that magazine I was talking about:
Swift Creek Mill's "Angel"

Catching Up

2005-03-05T21:02:00.000-05:00

It's been a long time. I keep thinking about things I want to write but I haven't had the time. Well, it's Saturday, my lovely wife is off at a school event, and I'm here alone for the evening. Last night I was home alone also but was a good boy and wrote up my article that is due on Monday, and cleaned up around the house, and moved some things down to the garage. Tonight, I'm going to do some blogging.

First things first, I went to Weight Watchers today, just me and the littlest one, who was a crazed munchkin at the meeting. I was hoping to hang in there because there was this somewhat dyke-y leader who was very dynamic and was saying some cool stuff. But my lovely little son was tearing posters off the wall and fishing old coffee cups out of the trash. So I had to run.

But the bottom-line was that I had lost another pound. Technically at maintenance I shouldn't be losing any more but generally I've still been adding points sparingly. The big items this week were a night out to celebrate the lovely wife's 40th birthday where we had movie theater popcorn (not the fat-free sanitized WW-safe kind) and then had a lovely light late dinner at a yummy Italian restaurant (the only place in our pathetic little town that was open after 9pm on a Tuesday). We topped it off with this dessert which was ice cream swimming in something called spagniole, which is this sweet, light custard stuff. Oh baby!

But the next day, I had a weird stomach and was really feeling queasy at work. I finally left at about 11:30 but didn't eat hardly anything all day. So I guess that balanced out the night before and left me in a weight-neutral place. I feel like I'm stabilizing here and I think the 164-6 range is a good one.

So much for the boring food news.

Weeks at Maintenance (WAM): 2
Last Weight Watchers Weigh-in Weight (4W): 165.4
Last Home Scale Weight (HSW): 164.5

Black and Tan

2005-02-26T20:18:00.000-05:00

Ahhh... Nothing like sitting down on a quiet Saturday night with a smooth beer. Tonight's brew is a Saranac Black & Tan, a bit more stout than when you get a B&T at a bar but still a nice little swig of pleasure. I've had a total of maybe two beers tops in the last two months. I haven't really missed it since I've been in "denial of pleasure" mode anyway. But I'm awful happy to have the opportunity to enjoy this little interlude again. I've taken beer for granted ever since I turned 18, I think. Even when I was afraid I might be a bit of a problem drinker, I never stopped having a beer fairly regularly.

I don't know if I've ever really appreciated a good beer like I do right now. And, thanks to being more than 20 pounds lighter than I was a couple of months ago, the intoxicating side-effects are kicking in after only a few sips. Who could ask for anything more.

This first week at maintenance hasn't really been much of a change. I kept pretty much to the program I had been on. I didn't add the frappucino until Friday night. And tonight is the first beer of the week. So technically, I will have only added 9 points to my previous weekly average. Which explains why my weight has kept falling.

The hardest part of the week was tonight at dinner, serving up the Pizza Hut pizza to the kids. I was THAT CLOSE to stuffing two or three oily, cheesy, bready pieces into my face in quick succession. Took a couple of deep breaths to calm myself down. Oh, and a banana to fill up the space.

I realized sometime this week that Days at Maintenance was going to be a little ponderous, so I've switched over to Weeks at Maintenance, going from DAM to WAM. I'm hoping that eventually , MAM or YAM might make more sense. But I still don't think the Weight Watchers lady will get it when I say "WAM DAM, thank you MAM."

Weeks at Maintenance (WAM): 1
Last Weight Watchers Weigh-in Weight (4W): 166.4
Last Home Scale Weight (HSW): 165.0

Even more words

2005-02-25T14:28:00.000-05:00

Webmaster J has posted my latest ramblings about '24' on his site. Check it out if you're interested in near-incoherent silliness... (Link to Unofficial 24 page just to the left here

<--

Grad school plans

2005-02-23T12:44:00.000-05:00

One of the myriad plans I currently have in the works is my enrollment in grad school. It has been a long-festering goal of mine (hmm…festering seems to be emerging as a theme on this blog…) to go back and get an advanced degree in something. Of course, from one year to another, the appropriate something has varied widely. Environmental Studies would have been a contender for many years, Communication or Journalism or Theater or even Graphic Arts might have been the appropriate choice because of a couple jobs along the way, and of course Business or Information Systems would have made sense at virtually any time. I’ve even thought about Med. School just to be contrary (and given how little sleep I get, being a doctor wouldn’t adversely effect at least one aspect of my life).

A degree in advanced beer drinking was jettisoned somewhere along the line, though I'm pretty sure there are California universities that offer such a thing.

After much research, I found the perfect program virtually right across the street. In the fall, the plan is to start as a part-time student at U of R in their Master of Liberal Arts program. This is a very flexible program with few admission requirements and the apparent ability to structure a very individualized degree trajectory. My thought is to take one class a semester for the first two or three semesters, see how that goes, and then possibly up the number to 2. Even with that relatively lackluster schedule, I should be able to wrap up the degree in three years.

Hopefully, by then, I’ll know what doctoral program I’ll want to pursue (if any). Yes, it is my (not-so-secret-now) dream to be called Doctor Timberline someday (though as originally invisioned, the call was supposed to come during some horrendous emergency where I would be the only one around to take the heroic steps necessary to save the day). I have my eyes on the Public Policy program at VCU and the American Studies program at William and Mary. Both have pluses and minuses and dovetail with my undergrad degree. But three years is a long way off and plans have a way of morphing on me over time. So we’ll be plotting the course of these plans one semester at a time.

Of course, all of this is dependent on the folks I asked for recommendations filling out their little recommendation forms and sending them in. You know who you are, people! Please help me get started! Thanks.

Miscommunication

2005-02-22T15:46:00.000-05:00

This might amuse the journalists in the crowd at least a little. A month ago, I pitched a story to the magazine I write for about a businessman who has come to the rescue of a local theater company. He bought the theater building last year and began laying out big bucks to upgrade the facility. I pitched the story to my editor in an email that was titled something like, “Theater finds an “angel.” My editor loved the idea and gave it the green light.

I filed the story yesterday, on the same day that said editor leaves me a voicemail saying (completely seriously): “we need to get a picture of the subject of your story. Perhaps we could go to a rehearsal and get a shot of him in his angel costume?”

The picture in my mind of this very serious, somewhat awkward, middle-aged corporate president dressed up like an angel made me laugh out loud. Instead, maybe they can use a picture of him in a suit and just Photoshop the halo in?

Bring on the vices!

2005-02-22T15:45:00.000-05:00

Well, according to the Weight Watchers scale, I just squeaked out my 20 pound goal on Sunday. So yippee! Maintenance has now begun.

And those good people at WW have already anticipated my every need. Wouldn’t you know they already have a maintenance plan? And, darn it, if it ain’t relatively easy to follow.

Under the core program, you have 35 “flex” points to use every week (or 5 every day), so that you don’t JUST have to eat fruits, vegetables, sticks, twigs, and Weight Watchers brand non-food. For instance, a 1-cup bowl of cereal (that isn’t Fruit Loops) counts for 2 points. I have been very conservative with these points, only using them for the aforementioned bowl of cereal a day.

Not even for WW could I stop my cereal in the morning. Ever since my pre-teen days when I would throw down 3 or 4 bowls of Cap’n Crunch every morning, I have been eating cereal. For a weight loss plan to work for me, cereal must be allowed, dammit.

But, by keeping flex foods to cereal only, I’ve only been using 14 points a week. The official maintenance plan suggests you add 4 points a day of food back into your diet to maintain your current weight. The folks at the WW office I go to suggested I start with just 2 points a day and monitor how that effects me from week to week.

Since I’ve always been a neer-do-well of sorts, I’ll be implementing this in a slightly different way. Two food-related vices I’ve given up as part of doing WW are beer and Starbucks frappacinos. Not too long ago, I would have a mocha frappacino every single day (which I’m sure didn’t have anything to do with me being 20 pounds overweight…)

So the first step of maintenance for me will involve two “allowances:”

Alcohol: 2 regular beers (@ 3pts each), or 3 light beers or glasses of wine (@ 2 pts each)
Fraps: 1 grande Coffee Frap a week (@ 6 pts)

This will add 12 points to my intake and is very manageable. It also only changes my diet in terms of liquid intake. Messing with solid food makes me nervous at this point. I fear changing actual meals will be a slippery slope whereby I’ll start saying, oh, I can have one piece of pizza every couple of days, and then a month later finding myself on the kitchen floor late at night, scarfing pork rinds by the handful, washing them down with gulps of Dairy Queen shakes.

Days at Maintenance (DAM): 1
Last Weight Watchers
Weigh-in Weight (4W): 167.6
Last Home Scale Weight (HSW): 166.0

Recent words

2005-02-18T14:57:00.000-05:00

If you're interested in the Richmond theater scene, here's my latest review:
Theatre IV's "Patchwork"

And for fans of the best TV show on the air, here's a link to commentary on the show, alternately written by the esteemed webmaster of NotTheRock.com and myself. I'm particularly proud of my comments on Hour 8, mostly because I snuck in a long-festering jab at an old girlfriend. Here's the main page:
The Unofficial 24 Page

First, lose 20 pounds

2005-02-17T10:44:00.000-05:00

It wasn’t really planning to lose 20 pounds. I knew I wanted to trim some fat but thought I would use my usual strategy: an aggressive (if unstructured) exercise plan and weeks of desperate dieting. This has served me well over the years – well, sort of: I’ve lost the same 15 pounds three or four times over. The process of quick loss and subsequent gradual gain has become annoyingly familiar.

This time around, my lovely wife asked me to go to Weight Watchers with her. Something in my male consciousness balked at this idea just on principal. Somehow I had the ingrained notion that WW meetings were just support groups for fat people. But I also figured it couldn’t be any worse than anything I was likely to dream up on my own. The weigh-in at the first meeting was an eye-opener: 187.5 pounds for someone not-quite-5’10” is portly and way too close to medically obese. Suddenly, WW had a more distinct appeal.

The first meeting wasn’t like I imagined (which was a “Hi, I’m Dave and I’m fat.” sort of scene…). The leader was cute and perky and pregnant. Her advice made sense and was based on real-world experience. Some of the people at the meeting had made significant changes in their weight (and life) on the program. I didn’t smirk once and never felt the urge to run screaming from the room.

Change for me since that first meeting has been dramatic. I chose to do the “Core Program,” which doesn’t restrict HOW MUCH you eat (the Counting Up Points method), instead restricting WHAT you eat (mostly fruits, veggies, lean meats – that is: only good stuff). My weight fell precipitously. I lost almost 10 pounds in the first two weeks. By week 6, I had lost 18 pounds, earning me my WW “10% loss” keychain. This past Wednesday, at the 6 ½ week mark, the number on our home scale read “167.0.”

I’m not really sure how low my weight might go on this program. But pending my Sunday weigh-in at WW and the official confirmation of a 20-pound loss, I’ll soon be moving into maintenance mode. And here, my friends, is where the rubber will hit the road. I’ve lost weight before but I’ve never kept it off for very long. In the way that an alcoholic keeps track of how long they’ve been “dry,” I want to start keeping track of my time “at maintenance.” So here goes:

Days at Maintenance (DAM): T-2
Last Weight Watchers
Weigh-in Weight (4W): 169.2
Last Home Scale Weight (HSW): 167.5