ARGHARGHK;GARKL;GKL;RAWEKL;AWEFKL;AWEKL!!!!

I went for a walk tonight and still noticed that I have a bit of a gut and love handles, despite the fact that I've been eating really well. I know they're really small, that I'm probably viewing my body with the same degree of critical self-consciousness as a teenage girl, and it's absurd for me to suddenly care this much about my body, considering that eating Corn Pops, Fried Chicken and Ding-Dongs were much bigger priorities than being healthy for most of my life. However, I'm a perfectionist and hate the feeling of failing. Past diets I've been on (which have also been successful) took a ton of willpower (I recall my one indulgence the last time were vegetarian chicken nuggets with 7g of fat per serving, which I'd ration myself one serving a week) and I decided that was the reason I'd always eventually fall back into an unhealthy equilibrium. This time, I still eat a lot, but it's generally healthy stuff (apart from the cheese I have on many of my sandwiches). I even indulge in the occasional cookie. Perhaps I'm at the point where the marginal costs of abating fat are skyrocketing, or at least to the point that I'm going to have to exercise more willpower with food. However, I hate having to waste willpower on diet stuff when I'm trying to be productive school-wise, which also tends to be rather attenuating. Above all else, I'm afraid I'm in a scenario like that guy from Super-Size Me who got fat eating McDonald's over a mere month, and while he lost most of the weight he put on over the diet very quickly, it took him a really long time to lose that last 5-10 pounds. Since I've gotten "chubby" three times in life now (and have abated it 2.85 times or so, accounting for the 0.15 of annoying love handles I still have), I worry that I'm going to be stuck here for a really long time.

On the bright side, I'm still intending to wear tightish clothes which kind of flaunt my body (or at least don't hide it in bagginess, which I used to do) to the yearly meet-and-greets over the coming weeks, and the exercise part of this "new healthy lifestyle" continues to go really well. I'm still scrawny. but it is kind of fun feeling some muscle and definition in my arms, and it was an awesome feeling to effortlessly sprint through an orange street light 40 minutes into my run tonight, whereas a few months ago, I would have been sucking wind at that point, even after taking two rests in the jog. If only my goddamn gut would recognize all of this progress I've made (which I feel is the furthest of any of my three diets/lifestyle changes) and start responding!

Tumbleweed

The cyber-tumbleweed here won't last forever, but it's going to be a quiet two weeks as I gallivant across the continent visiting family and such. I kind of don't want to leave my boring, but settled routine at home, and am particularly concerned about the lack of diet control I'll have over the coming days (and there better be more than Burger Kings and $2.75 Pepsi in NYC for the ASAs anyways!). I've made really good progress this summer, to the point that a colleague told me that I "looked great" the other day (although, in fairness, she's one of those kind, complimentary souls who usually goes out of her way to say those sorts of things) . Further, this trip is a potential time-bomb for familial conflicts, so I hope I manage to step very gingerly and not detonate anything.

Anyways, as long as I do better than "ambivalent" in regards to how I feel about the time and expense of this trip afterwards, I'll be satisfied..

More Curious Market Signals

When I was at the GNC two days ago, investing an absolutely ludicrous amount of money in protein the other day, I was helped by a very nice man who gave me price discounts and gave me the good side of the deal when it was realized that the price of my super-expensive isolate blend was mislabeled. However, it was bizarre to get health advice from a guy working at a GNC that was at least seventy pounds overweight (nor was he muscular at all). Just like I'm sure Hooters screens their employees based on superficial characteristics, shouldn't GNC sort of be doing the same?

So, figuring I was done with ironic people in the health industry, I had an appointment with a personal trainer yesterday. Sure enough, the guy was friendly, but he had a definite gut too, nor was he all that muscular.

In both cases, the men in question seemed knowledgeable, and everything they said was in accordance with my own research, yet I still felt weird that these were the professionals in the field I ended up interacting with.

The whole thing reminds me of a chronically unemployed acquaintance of mine who responds "I'm a career counselor" whenever she's asked what she does, with an apparent obliviousness to the irony. Of course, I was oblivious to "ironic bodies" before these past two days...

Ironically Fitting

I don't really see the point of celebrating one's nation's birthday by setting off loud and crappy fireworks. Since the city in which I live already sprang for a spectacular public fireworks display, I can't see what's all that novel or smart about trying to do it on your own. Of course, it's not as though more serious things and people are getting blown up just as loudly and pointlessly under the name of America for the rest of the year...

21st Century Cyber-etiquette?

What do you do when an acquaintance that you can't stand sends you a Facebook friend request? (A real quote from this douche: "This guy I know who was exactly like me got into Bowdoin, because he was a skier, while I had to go to Colby, which is still an elite college." [obviously still jealous and bitter about it six years later -- Even Carlton Banks' dream school was Princeton; and even he wasn't nerdy and bourgeois enough to get all worked up over a place like Bowdoin.])

I'm not sure I'll be able to live with myself after announcing to all of my friends on Facebook that I'm actually "friends" with this dork. Yet, I suppose it's not a big deal, the guy hasn't done anything blatantly evil to me and it would be rude not to...*sigh*

Liberals are non-fun sometimes!

I had a lovely night having dinner with some friends tonight, when a nice roommate of my friend entered and mentioned that he just saw Knocked Up. I of course immediately rave about what a fantastically clever and hilarious movie it was, and he then acted all blase, and said "you know, I found it really offensive the way they treated men in the story as over-sexed slobs, the whole thing was so stereotypically gendered." Needless to say, this guy (friendly as he was) is some billionth-year English Ph.D. student, and another academic leftie that gets under my skin. Now, I'm quite left-wing myself, but have grown to despise much of the academic left, particularly in the humanities. Regardless, leave it up to one of those people to throw a damper on an edgy, but nonetheless clever movie. Just because all men are not like the oafs in the movie does not necessarily render them bad or unrealistic characters. News flash: lots of men are exactly like the characters in the movie to some degree, and that's what makes so many of the jokes resonant.

Granted, despite being a pretty left-wing, politically correct guy, I still find movies like Knocked Up (and tangentially related, racist jokes) funny because there's usually a kernel of truth to them, yet often such humor is more about mocking the stereotype (which may still be accurate in a demographic sense) than it is about exalting it. And there's no way the academic left is going to take the sense of humor away from this philistine.

Triumphs of willpower!

After a particularly intense workout today, I went to the cafe to get a delicious protein shake, yet after I left to drink it, I had a hunch that they forgot to put the protein in it. So, since I'm an epicure who is always hungry, I stop by the corner store, still craving something salty and beefy to get my protein fix for my quivering muscles. Sure enough, I find a Slim Jim Beef Steak in no time, and while the nutritional info wasn't on the package, I think I remember seeing a similar product with info on it, and think to myself "actually, I think these only have like 8g of fat, and have lots of protein." Yet, as I approach the cashier, I also remember reading that beef jerky (which in fairness, isn't necessarily the same thing as a "Beef Steak") is just about the most fattening, unhealthy food there is. So, I recoil in horror and put the beef steak down, and run out of the store before I can pay for it and consume it, leaving a hilariously puzzled look on the face of the cashier, who had seen me wait in line for two minutes just to do that.

Even if the product was nutritionally "non-awful", it's still nice to be fighting the war on calorie consumption somewhat successfully!

I hope my credit is good....

Dear Body,

If I promise to keep working-out assiduously for the next six months, can you just get rid of all of the fat I'm still lugging around (painfully when I jog up big hills) and give me an advance on all of the muscle I'm going to build? Life is short, and digging myself out of the physical mess I've brought upon myself is taking too long for my impatient impulses. Thanks!!

Portentous Things

While I was jogging tonight, I kind of got lost and ended up in a quasi-rural arra, where I enjoyed the quaint scenery, which was augmented by a family of deer galloping beside me. Usually when you run into deer, they just look at you sort of perplexed and indifferent, but in this case, these deer were really hauling ass, so to speak. Then, it occurred to me that these deer may have been sprinting away from a predator behind them, and I am a much slower and chubbier alternative to the usual venison meals bears and wildcats usually settle for. Since I am much slower than any of the potential predators involved (and I was already sucking wind from the jog), all I could do was hope that there wasn't a hungry predator lurking behind, because there was no way I could out-run it.

It was a disconcerting 120 seconds or so before the (possibly paranoid) thought was put to rest in my mind....

The Silent Treatment

About four weeks ago, a friend of mine was (at least in my opinion) really rude to me on AIM over a silly debate we were having, and did the online equivalent of "storming off", saying "bye" and then abruptly logging off. I was ticked off at the time, so I put her on invisible/block and when I ran into her at school the next day, when she mustered a very weak "hey...", I just ignored her, as unless the first words out of her mouth were "I'm sorry", since she cut off the conversation, she's the one who has to take responsibility for restarting it. I've run into her maybe twice since then, and ignore her weak salutations. I realize it's a power play on my part, but I do want her taking responsibility here.

I was convinced that things were going to get patched up much faster than this, and things have escalated to the point that when I ran into her in a group at a party tonight, I made a point of saying hello to everyone except her, a behavior I typically only reserve for the stupid cunt. Only this time I feel sort of rueful/remorseful about it. I suppose it's another one of those tit-for-tat equilibria, where I feel that she's responsible for causing this mess in the first place and not apologizing on her own, but I'm probably being overly stubborn and combative, and I could try to be the "bigger person" and fix things up.

Yet, my gut tells me to dig my heels in in the interests of self-respect and all that. Of course, I now wonder if I'm more of a vindictive and/or stubborn person than I am a "good" one...

A tightrope that cannot be walked?

Recent discouraging events have rendered me a bit lonely (this is not to imply that I've lived like a hermit or have had nothing to do, I just haven't had any contact with anybody I like at a non-superficial level for a while), so I emailed a (female) friend of mine to get together, because we have a really good relationship, and I really want us to be friends. She's always fun to be around, and I think we do a good job of brightening each other's days. Of course, I'm pretty sure she wants more out of me than just a friendship (she responded pretty much immediately with "Wow, I'm so glad you wrote me!", etc.), which is a sentiment I don't think I can reciprocate at this point, if ever. My egalitarian views posit that two people of the opposite sex should be able to interact and enjoy each other's company without sexual tension, and that the lack of romantic interest should be irrelevant to the friendship, and who each person is. While I'm really happy to be seeing her on Tuesday, I'm feeling a bit guilty because everything I suggest that we do (walk/dinner/movie) sounds so "date-like", and I think I might be setting her up for disappointment (and if I do disappoint her, I hope she'll forgive me and still be my friend).

On the other hand, having this looming quasi-relationship is good motivation for me to find someone else that meets my picky standards in a hurry, before I get desperate and date this one, even though my brain, ego and principles tell me it's a bad idea...

Really Stupid Thought of the Day

"Is my iPod heavier (even by just a little bit) once I've filled it up with songs?"

Worse than Professional Boxing

Wow. This whole Landis-LeMond scenario transcends fucked-up-ness.

Anticipation is better than...?

In a hell-freezes-over-esque development, I am slated to have something of a date tomorrow. I don't know her all that well, but our chance encounters around campus over the past six months have always gone well, and my intuition has screamed to me that this one is worth pursuing (or was it just screaming that I'm desperate?). Since she was out of town since I had the good fortune of running into her, and locating the gumption to suggest we get coffee someday, I've been anticipating tomorrow for over a week. Frankly, it's been a pretty good week, as I resolved to start taking better care of myself and just the notion that there might be hope for me in the romance department was sufficient to really buoy me emotionally. Hope alone is really awesome and precious to me (after having none for so long), I'm slightly terrified of what will happen if things don't go well tomorrow. Hope alone was something powerful and tangible to me, and I don't want to lose it. I think I'm a strong person, but screwing this up might mangle my achilles heel. Of course, I hope it doesn't come to that, but I also find it a bit disconcerting that a small date-esque meeting has the power to do this to me. Shouldn't I be stronger, or at least have the ability to generate this sort of scenario more than once every 1.5 years or so?

Regardless, I bought a really cool new shirt for the occasion. I hope the rest of me lives up to her, and my cool new shirt!

Gasping for everything

So, while stepping out of the shower the other day, I realized that my penchant for junk food and for taking the bus over walking to work has rendered my appearance rather akin to the Stay Puft Marshmallow man. For a variety of reasons, I've decided that I have to do something about it, so I started jogging (and soon, I'll start lifting weights too). This is the part of the rationality trap where despite being horribly incompetent and not doing all that much, physical activity is agonizing wile undertaking, and then painful afterwards. It's kind of fun to feel all sore and cozy in my easy chair at night, and feel like I'm accomplishing something with my body. However, I hope I can keep this up, and lose my penchant for getting Twix bars and half-moon cookies throughout the day. The positive thing about the pain is that it increases the perceived costs of taking in those fat-laden calories, which thus makes resisting them more easily...

If only I could be this enamored with everyone I meet....

While I was walking around the neighborhood, waiting for my laundry to finish, I met an eleven-week old Chocolate Labrador puppy. He was so cute that it was jarring to see him as my eyes wandered aimlessly around half-braindead as I was going on my walk. The puppy was teething, so he was chewing on a stick while happily rolling around in the fresh spring grass. He let and his owner let me pet him, and then a whiny Pug came by, and started to cower when the Lab happily pounced on him with his disproportionately big paws.

Anyhow, now I really want a Chocolate Labrador puppy, although like is the case with kids, as much as I'm sure I'd love them, I'm not sure I want them 24/7/365. I'm still scared of big commitments like that. Further, I figure that buying a purebreed is decadent and bourgeois. There are lots of mutts out there in the world that are beautiful as well, and aren't being bred for profit, and are facing euthanasia. Further, mutts are less likely to come with expensive hip surgery bills. Despite all this, I still want a Chocolate Lab now! What is it with me and being unable to resist chocolate, whether it's located in a vending machine, or in the breed of a dog?

More Disconcerting Adventures with Demography and Marketing

Being someone who watches more than his share of ESPN nightly, I've noticed that seemingly second commercial has to do with dating, hair loss or weight loss. These are presumably things that the mostly male population watching ESPN is in urgent need of dealing with. In particular, those Nutri-System commercials with Dan Marino totally crack me up in particular (Sean Salisbury claiming that "chicks dig him"? How dumb do marketers think straight males are?).

It's funny that if these products and services succeed in getting pathetic single men "back in the game", they won't be watching ESPN (particularly on times like Friday and Saturday night) anymore, thus harming ratings. If they work (and that's a big if), ESPN is allowing a trojan horse of sorts to infiltrate it, and possibly take away their most valued clientele.

A random pet peeve

I hate it when you're walking outside, and you're trailing someone smoking a cigarette from anywhere from one to a hundred feet ahead of you, and you can taste and feel the second-hand smoke ravaging your lungs. You either have to run ahead of them, or freeze and wait for them to be at least the length of a football field away. I loathe smoking, and think these people who pollute my air and lungs in my personal space should get the death penalty for it. In a way, they do, but it's a rather delayed death...

Oh, and in an unrelated note, if only all cable access shows turned out to be this hilarious.

The Third Barrel

So, I can't sleep right now, most likely due to the Twix bars I consumed at dinner time tonight (it's unfair that something can something be so good at the time, yet be so bad on a longer time horizon), which got my mind racing about a life lesson I kind of learned playing poker last week.

I was playing my usual tight-conservative style, before picking up JTo in the BB, a few callers enter the pot, and I check, bringing a Q86 rainbow flop, leaving me with a gutshot (any nine that comes on subsequent streets improves my hand to a straight, which likely would win), but not much else, thus rendering my hand fairly weak (I'd guesstimate a 7-to-1 underdog to win at showdown). I check, and then the final caller who was the huge chip leader at the time stabs at the pot with a modest bet. I decide that he's trying to steal the pot (betting with nothing) and then put in a stiff raise and everyone folds (check-raising is usually a fearsome sign of strength in no-limit hold'em), but the initial caller fearlessly calls.

Now, being a conservative-type person in some ways (especially monetary ones), I'm usually inclined to give up in the face of a player unwilling to fold to a stiff check-raise, yet when the turn came a meaningless 3, I had this weird out-of-body experience. I decided I wasn't going to give up and I fired the second barrel, another stiff bet into the pot, which garnered an immediate call much to my chagrin.

Realizing that I've already bet about 60% of my stack in a hand where I had absolutely nothing, undoing the past two hours of careful, disciplined play, I'm in slight shock as the river is an ace. While my mind is stunned that I played so out of my character and best judgment, I also realize that the ace is a good card for me, in that it might scare my opponent into folding. Further, I'm kind of too puzzled by my behavior to be nervous or stop now. So, I fire the third barrel and push in the rest of my chips with jack-high, and much to my amazement, my opponent folds a paired queen, despite the fact that he was getting about 3-to-1 pot odds to make the call on the river, and had a very healthy chip-stack.

So, I showed the bluff, which was a lot of fun (well, not quite as fun as bluffing one of the poker dorks) not to rankle my opponent, but because everybody was so surprised that I had the guts to play like that and it contributed to everyone's entertainment for the night. I ended up winning the tournament (which luck of course played a substantial part in), but it wasn't until last night when I realized how profound that three-barrel bluff was. Although my behavior was like an out of body experience, and I still can't understand what willed me to play in such a manner and why, I also learned that doing something out of my character and narrow rationality worked. Further, my initial action and premise was totally wrong, as I only check-raised because I thought my opponent was stealing (in fact, the opposite was true - he had top pair!), yet it worked out very well in the end.

The moral of the story is that doing something different, stupid and/or risky might just be for the best if you stick with it. One might find rewards and dimensions of your personality that you didn't know existed. Yes, I'm talking vaguely because I'm not sure how I'm going to enact these principles in my "real life" next. I'm working on it, though...

Kids are funnier than adults

At poker night tonight, my friend regaled me with a recent tale of his very adorable mature five-year-old, who is a quintissential first-born in that she already savors responsibility and maturity. After being taught how to make music by blowing into a beer bottle, being bored by the cartoons that was being used to babysit the children at the "grown-ups party", she began to stroll around and tell the adults proudly "look at me! I'm sixteen [an very old "grown-up" age to her] and drinking beer!"

Her two-year-old little sister then chimed in excitedly, "me too!!!"

Their parents were amused, but surprised that they were having to deal with this issue so soon...