I'm Proud of My Lower Abs

I know what you're thinking. He's fucking with us. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to tell he's got body-image issues. He doesn't really mean this, does he?

I hate to break it to you, but I do mean it. But not because of their amazing definition (which is nonexistent). No, I'm proud of their resilience.

As part of my summer of self-improvement, I've taken to long walks on a (mostly) daily basis, and I've been trying to work some kind of muscle-building exercises in as well so that I can build lean muscle--which will, presumably, also make me less fat.

Two weeks ago, I decided to start with some abdominal work. I had a relatively simple routine that I'd read about a while ago, and I decided to kick it into gear and see how I felt. I started with the upper abs, then the obliques, the middle abs, and the lower abs. On the first set, I got through 50 reps, so I figured 50 across the board would be no sweat.

BIG mistake.

Because after 200 crunches, which were relatively straightforward, I got to the lower abs. Muscles that, I'm almost positive, I've never used before in my life. So color me surprised when the first 10 hurt more than the other 200 combined. But I persisted. No pain, no gain, right?

Well, I sure as hell hope I gained enormously because by the time I was done, I was in a lot of fucking pain. Oh, sweet merciful heavens. I could barely move. I was sore for days.

But after I was able to move again, I got back on the horse. Knocked the reps down from 50 to 30 (baby steps, after all), but I've been at it for well over a week now, and whenever I do those lower ab reps, they don't hurt nearly as badly. I can get off the floor on my own! I'm capable of hopping right back in two days later! Amazing! Boys, I'm really proud of you!

Now, if we could just work on the spare tire, the love handles, and the man boobs, we might be getting somewhere...

An Exchange for the Ages

Me (1:20): and i will say this right now
Me (1:20): i will be in Canada tomorrow night
Me (1:21): and if i can't find Game Seven of the Stanley Cup Final in Canada...
Me (1:21): i will lose ALL FAITH IN HUMANITY
Me (1:21): TV DON'T FAIL ME
Karen (1:21): yeah... that just wouldn't be right
Me (1:21): i may go over the Falls in a bucket on Saturday morning if that happens
Me (1:21): just warning you
Karen (1:22): please don't
Karen (1:22): the snakes at the bottom will kill you if the fall doesn't
Karen (1:22): but the fall will
Karen (1:22): so the snakes will just attack your dead body
Me (1:22): but will they skip across the water to reach my bloody carcass?
Me (1:23): thereby creating...wait for it...
Me (1:23): ...snakes on a hydroplane?
Karen (1:23): Jesus H. Christ, you went there.

(What's really sad is that almost anyone who actually reads this blog knows I was working on SOME kind of Snakes on a Plane pun from the moment that second message hit my screen at 1:22. And it didn't take very long, did it?)

My Man-Up Moment of the Day

No one ever likes admitting that they're wrong. It doesn't matter if it's a minor detail or a substantial, life-changing matter, changing one's mind too often is made to feel like a sign of weakness--we often judge ourselves by our stringent adherence to that which we believe.

But today, I had a revelatory moment. One that was so earth-shaking, that so devastatingly impacted me to my core, that I can't ignore that I've been changed forever. And I need to share this with all of you, so that I can get it out in the open and begin to move on.

Here goes...

...I don't hate Kohl's anymore.

I'll give you a moment to let that sink in.

I know! I was shocked too! But there's an explanation. See, I've been tagging along on errands the past two weeks for lack of much else better to do, and I find that tagging along usually entails some kind of personal benefit.

In the past, I've been reluctant to go to Kohl's because, as a fat dude, I've found trying clothes on is like Chinese water torture. I submit because clothes are, you know, a pretty important part of daily life--as I noted to my mother during this very trip, "It's socially unacceptable to walk around naked, and it's personally unacceptable to walk around unfashionable"--but it never feels good trying to squeeze into something that slips on effortlessly at home but feels more like a sausage casing in the store. (And the worst of all is shopping for pants. Self-esteem FAIL.)

But I'm a bit more svelte than I've been in recent years (I used that word loosely, mind you), and while comfort has always driven my clothing choices, I do like looking good. And since Gap, Old Navy, Chaps, and other such preppyish brands are the ones I like most, I've discovered that Kohl's is actually a haven for things that look good and, shockingly, look good on me.

It helps, of course, that three of the five things I purchased were orange. (And before you all have coronaries, the other two have black in them, so at least I was consistent.)

But after buying five articles, and being pretty darn excited about them, I had to confess that I don't actually hate the store anymore. In fact, there was nothing unpleasant about the experience at all. Son of a bitch, I'm changing! How empowering! How exhilirating!

...well, at least until I try to the clothes on. Fingers crossed--I may still hate this place yet.

------------------------

P.S. Happy birthday, Dad!

Shameless Promotion

You may or may not know who the artist responsible for this song is, but that's not really important. There's a story behind the song, which I imagine is pretty darn important, but I don't know it so I can't retell it.

He has a very well-thought-out blog, which you can read here, and it features a whole bunch of links to his other work. He's a rather talented writer, a brilliant thinker, and a not-half-bad photographer.

But if you poke around there at all, you'll figure out one thing really quickly: Adam is one hell of a musician.

And it is with that in mind that I use my little corner of the Internet to second the plea he has Tweeted and Instant Messaged today: "If you have nothing to do for seven and a half minutes, you should go listen to my new recording... Pretty please?"

Click here to listen. It's really quite beautiful, and it might just be the best seven and a half minutes of your day.

Enjoy!

Survivor: Unemployment

I've been home for a week now, and I'm pretty much already sick of having nothing to do.

It seems like I should be living the dream, right? Living at home with very few responsibilities, staying with parents who understand how shitty the economy is and how badly it's crippling my job search, and having lots of free time to work on reading, TV watching, and creative projects. How is that not the life, you may ask?

The answer is that, as I've learned the hard way, when you're used to have some sort of structure for a very long time, it's hard to get accustomed to not having any. No one's making me read or watch or write, so I do it on my own time--which means that, if I'm not feeling it, I'm not doing it. And if I'm not doing that, I'm not doing much else. Thus, boredom sets in right quick.

On the upside, with Mom and I both home without jobs, we have some opportunities to do some fun stuff. (This weekend, we're going to Toronto to see a Blue Jays game--#14 on my list of stadiums attended!) But there's only so far I'll be able to go before I start feeling the monetary pinch, and I wonder what'll happen when I have to hedge my desire to start a fulfilling career with my desperation to make some cash and eventually move the hell out.

So if anyone has suggestions for how to make the most out a day where you have zero plans and expectations, I would love to hear from you. I'll be here waiting--not like I've got much else to do anyway.

Since We're On the Topic of Terrible Ideas...

...who the hell thinks it's a good idea for me to have a BlackBerry?

Apparently, my parents.

See, when I got my Master's, I didn't really want to make a big deal out of it. Sure, it's a great accomplishment, but I didn't want anyone to think I was just having another celebration because I wanted some gifts or recognition out of it. That just ain't me. But my parents wanted to do something nice for me, and far be it from I to stop them.

Originally, the plan involved making sure the repairs to my car were completely covered without me having to put out any money out of pocket. But since my body guy rules and Progressive is a fine, upstanding, easy-to-deal-with company, that isn't likely to be an issue either.

Then the cell phone bill came into town. Fortunately, I was in Princeton at Reunions when it arrived--otherwise, my dad would have called and ripped me a new asshole for running a $113+ text messaging bill. Ouch. So as soon as I got home, heard the news, and got the odor of smelling salts out of my nose, I decided the best course of action was to head to the AT&T Store post haste and upgrade my plan to unlimited texting. Because let's face it: $120 a year beats $120 a month any day of the year.

Upon arrival, Dad immediately started ogling the BlackBerries. I had to laugh a little because, if you know my dad, you know he adores technology, but I just couldn't see what he would actually need a BlackBerry for. (Except, of course, because it's cool.) But we looked, we compared, we discussed--man shopping. And just as we were about to go up to the counter to change the plan, he asked me The Question:

"So...do you want one?"

Far be it from I to stop him.

So tonight we went back and got it. And it's the coolest fucking thing EVER. I can't wait for my first experience blogging from my cellular telephone. Or the first time I Tweet from my cellular telephone. Or any more of the amazing things I can now do with my cellular telephone with an unlimited text, picture message, video message, and data plan.

WIN.

I Have Seen the Face of Death

Actually, I've seen it twice. In the span of five minutes.

First, I read my friend Liz's blog, in which she recently posted the final picture ever taken by a very famous Japanese nature photographer. Before he was mauled to death. By a bear. This picture is exactly what you think it is, but it still doesn't make it any more horrifying.

Darrell and I looked at this before heading to Emily's place for a Memorial Day barbecue, the centerpiece of which was Karen's grill, lovingly delivered from Toftrees for Emily's future enjoyment. Today was the christening, which entailed re-hooking everything up and making sure it all was working right so that we could grill all the deliciousness we've planned to.

And who was in charge of lighting this grill? Of course, it was me, Mr. I Guess The Handyman Genes Never Quite Made It To Me From Dad's Seed.

After a few failures, I did what my father would never do: called for help. So I got Karen on the phone, solicited her advice, and hung up. I did what she said, clicked the ignition button a few times, failed, tried a few more times, and was about a second away from giving up when--

HOLY FUCK!

--which is Manspeak for, "I'm staring down the maw of a giant fireball that came inches away from singeing off all of my facial hair!"

But hey, at least the grill's lit now.

Once my breathing was restored to normalcy--and after I called Karen back to assure her that all went well and I had not, despite my best efforts, burned my face off--I decided that two near-death experiences (even if one was only vicarious) was still too many for one day. So I grabbed another beer, took a long swig, and told Emily, "Hey, there's a picture on the Internet I need to show you..."

Then, as I'm attempting to show Emily the aforementioned picture, she replies, "Make it quick. I need you to cut the melons with a really, really big knife."

Who the hell thinks this is a good idea?

Farewell, Dear Friend

Even though graduation has happened and the diploma is mine, for real and for true, I find myself sitting in my office. Not because of any nostalgic longing to hold on to my academic responsibilities--oh, fuck no. I'm here because it's the only place around that seems to have consistent Internet access.

Ironically, I'm here to avoid the very thing about which I am posting. Once Emily and Darrell decided to bail on hanging out this evening, I needed to go someplace where I didn't feel I'd slip into the trap of sitting on my couch watching TV. It's not that I don't love TV--I've professed often that my cable bill pays for itself by virtue of ESPN HD--but I feel like being slightly more out and about, more in touch with things.

But tomorrow, the journey ends. Tomorrow, I have to pack up my glorious cable box, the spiderwebs of component cables, and the universal remote that has been oh so good to me. In order that I don't get billed for another month's worth of service, it must be dispensed with before the end of the business day.

In less than 24 hours, my beautiful TV will be relegated once more to the indignity that is--[gulp]--basic cable. And so, I offer this humble elegy for my LCD love.

It's been a great ride, my friend. I can't wait to see where the future takes us. I know it will be hard at first, but I promise you this: my Wii will still have component cables plugged in. My DVD player will still upconvert. It will still make use of the highest quality HDMI audio and video. I will not let you simply waste away. We will get through this, I promise. Just stay strong.

...aww hell, I promised myself I wouldn't cry...excuse me...

You Can Take the Internet from the Boy...

It's been a relatively uneventful past few days. Which is pretty much precisely how I like it. Ever since classes ended on May 1, and my work was submitted on May 4, I've been lazy as hell and loving every second of it. Someone once said something along the lines of, "The joy is not in having nothing to do. It's in having lots to do and not doing it anyway." To that person I say: bullshit. My idle hands couldn't be happier right now.

So after a brief jaunt home and a lovely drunken blowout on Tuesday, I woke up early Wednesday morning and decided to take a mystery trip. Though there were a few hiccups (which I will of course detail in a later post), it went off without a hitch. Unfortunately, the downside is that, while stuck in my wireless-free apartment or out of town, I had no Internet access for about 36 hours. No big deal, right?

Yeah, tell that to my Twitter.

So in the interest of catching up on my Internet tendencies without flooding my own Twitter page with about twelve thousand consecutive @replies, I will herein post a series of short comments on some of the things I missed on the World Wide Web over the past two days:

• Wait a second. Jack White has another side project?! For God's sake, man, I understand that The Raconteurs are better than The White Stripes, but each new supergroup will not be better than the last, I promise you!
  
• A great story about why the Yankees haven't made the World Series since 2003. Couldn't have anything to do with pitching, could it?
  
• Texts From Last Night is quickly turning into my favorite site on the Internet ever. My Life Is Crap, you need to step up your game.
  
• I'm genuinely curious to see if any Twitterers or Facebookers actually respond to Karen's offer of a Sega Saturn. I'd take it, but I'm a bona fide, certified Nintendo geek.
  
• If this qualifies as a one-way ticket to Hell, I'm truly fucked.
  
• I know I already addressed TFLN, but this is just fucking spectacular (NSFW).
  
• Seriously considering buying tickets to Kevin Smith's performance at Carnegie Hall. Anyone else interested?
  
• In a related story, I love that Kevin's hockey jersey is #37, even though I should expect nothing less.
  
• I know where this area code is...ROFL!
  
• After receiving three text messages and seeing the remaining 140 characters of Karen's Tweet on Amaretto spent on "mmmmmm (etc.)," I think I may need to pick up some Disaronno from the Wine & Spirits Shoppe on the way home from campus today.
  
• This eBay auction must have shown up on my Twitter feed at least seven or eight times in the last day. I'M NOT GOING TO BUY IT, DAMN IT.
  
• Scare quotes rule. "Accidentally." Suuuuuuuure...
  
• New York Times article on absinthe confirms my original suspicion: the Lucid set with glasses and a spoon was a good value, but in the future, I should really purchase Kübler.
  
• It's friends-only so you'll have to take my word for it, but when people you know Tweet texts from last night, they're much better than mere anonymous TFLNs.
  
• OFF-TOPIC: The radio station in Mackinnon's just started playing "Eruption." AWESOME.
  
• Everyone's semester grades are ending up far better than expected, myself included. I like this trend.
  
• Finally reached the top of my feed! Not sure if I'm happy or sad...

Well, that was exciting. Or not. Time will tell. But since I do need some more excitement in my life, it's time to head to Hulu and catch up on this week's 24.

Writing Where I Oughtn't

It's almost over. By the end of today, all of my formal academic responsibilities will be done with. I'll have successfully completed all the work for my classes, and will only have a small assignment and a set of student papers to grade until I can put this strange chapter of my life to bed.

Despite the relative urgency of the mock thesis proposal that looms over my head, I'm posting on my blog. It doesn't much matter that I've under-read woefully and have only 2 out of 8-10 pages completed. I still run over to my blogs to type away the idle hours.

Which has me pretty darn pleased, if I may say so myself. I've said before that I'm glad grad school didn't kill my love of reading, but I'm even more excited that it hasn't destroyed my desire to write. In fact, I'd argue it's actually ramped my motivation to write up even more.

I've been discussing several of the creative projects that have been bouncing around my head, and it feels like the more I talk about them, the more viable they seem. Each one feels like something worth seeing through, and that's an incredible feeling. I can only hope now that each one ends up the way I see it in my head.

Until then, I probably should click back over to Microsoft Word every once and a while. Five hours left, after all.