Leap Day (or as I call it, "February sucking one day longer") is today.
There. Now that we've observed that we can move on to a couple more important topics.
Like my weight. (You were expecting a treatise on something, but alas, it's Friday, and has been a tough week, treatises aren't gonna happen.) I'm down 10 pounds from the beginning of the year. It's not all that much, but it's enough that I notice. I looked at the BMI stuff yesterday to see how much 10 lbs affected my score and categorization. According to their chart, I'm "obese". Now, I'm not saying I'm fit (I still have some chub around the middle that I'd like to get rid of), but seriously, I'm not obese. I'm clearly just overweight.
And it's quite a punch in the stomach to have to feel good about being just overweight.
I've thought about sharing my progress more specifically, but I think if I put the number out there, I would feel such shame. It's better (10 pounds better, as you know), but where I think there should be pride for accomplishing this and continuing on, there's only a sense of shame for being happy that I my love handles are less grabable. (grabbable?)
The end of February does have one advantage. No more wedding RSVPs. Sadly, my cousin got hers (and her family's) in under the wire. I know everyone has family that's a little eccentric, but man. I talked to her for half an hour, where I literally said, "mm hmm", "oh yeah", and "that's good" for 99% of the time. And really those comments on my part were only there so I didn't fall asleep. At one point she was describing a bus ride she had where the bus in front of hers had tires that fell off on the highway and I said, "well, you really need tires on a bus". Nothing. Not even a breath, she just talked and kept moving.
And I've worked on the seating chart enough to say that no one who reads this will have to sit next to her, so breathe easy. I don't want to say I'm ashamed of my family, because they're nice people and they care about me and I care about them. And they mean well. But they're not very worldy (yup, I'm pretensious and I look down on them, don't mean to. Don't really want to, but there you have it). I don't feel like responsible for them, but they aren't really tactful. I just don't want them to do something to make the others around (who I really really wanted to come) uncomfortable. So, yeah, I'd rather them be uncomfortable, I guess.
Blah.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Primetime
http://www.abcnews.go.com/Primetime/WhatWouldYouDo/
ABC at 9 pm Central.
I have a friend who worked on this show. Good show that makes you think about how you would react in a bunch of different situations. I found myself always saying I'd do the right thing, but judging by the number of people who walk by, I have to wonder. Definitely worth a watch.
ABC at 9 pm Central.
I have a friend who worked on this show. Good show that makes you think about how you would react in a bunch of different situations. I found myself always saying I'd do the right thing, but judging by the number of people who walk by, I have to wonder. Definitely worth a watch.
Monday, February 25, 2008
33 Days to the wedding got me thinking about Joe Hicks...
Probably not a name that anyone recognizes, so let me explain.
When I was younger, my family used to go to the Iowa Cubs (the AAA team of the Chicago Cubs)games pretty regularly. Old Sec Taylor stadium stood on the Des Moines river near downtown. I loved the old park. The outfield walls were made of wood painted with advertisements and had no bleachers beyond them. And the beer soaked cement floors and seats weren't comfortable exactly, but they were worn in a way that was home. They've since replaced this stadium with a newer, more modern stadium. I haven't been there in a while, so it's hard to remember all the differences, but there's more bricks, more lights and the parking lot is cement. (That's actually a big difference. I remember the lots being a dirt road that had been worn by people driving in and parking. At the end of games, we'd look around for foul balls or homers depending on where we parked. You could count on a couple to hide under a car or behind some unkept grass. With the cement though, whatever the kids outside during games don't get will run into the river.) It's a nice new stadium. But doesn't have the charm I associate with the stadium I saw when I was a kid.
(Digression. It was at this stadium that I met Greg Maddux and realized what an asshole he is. The story: I was 8 or so and wandering down by the bleachers sort of mindlessly. I took my seat and saw a pitcher on the bullpen mound standing a couple feet from the fence along the left field line. We used to get there early so we could try to get autographs and such, as these were going to be the next big stars of the Cubs [if there ever was such a thing], but we'd also get to see the pitchers warm-up. I loved watching this. Hearing the smack of the ball in the mitt--it really is the greatest sound in the world. So I'm sitting there waiting for the pitcher to start his tosses. He's got his back to me, starting from the stretch, which did seem odd, now that I--he turns and throws the ball directly at me. I jump. Well, he didn't throw the ball, but he had turned so quickly and whipped his arm around. He had been practicing his pickoffs. So what does a future Cy Young Award Winner and greatest pitcher of his generation do when he sees that he's scared an 8 year old? That fucker giggles. I like to think his pickoff move never developed and the fact that you can steal bases off him almost at will is due to his guilt at being such a asshole. But, it's probably because he's still giggling.)
Despite my love of the Carinals, the Iowa Cubs were the home team, and I would root for them when they weren't playing the Memphis Redbirds (the Cardinals AAA team.) And for a while, they had a first basemen named Joe Hicks, who I loved. I'm not sure if it was anything beyond us having the same first name (Joe!), but I was young, I didn't need anything more. He was a first baseman, so I should be a first baseman (though I couldn't be because Christopher Ringleb was our firstbaseman. He was also a twat.), his number was 33 (thus the thinking of him today), so I should be #33 (which also couldn't happen because little league numbers were 1 through 14 or 15. So I was 9, for Terry Pendleton, who I also loved because they made me third base and Pendleton was the Cards 3b at the time). I remember one of his at-bats distinctly. He came up with the bases loaded. I don't remember the outs or the inning. I just remember being excited seeing him stride to the plate. And he did not dissappoint (I don't think he ever did). He smacked a ball into right field. And though Joe was not a fast man (neither was I!), he legged out a triple as everyone around me cheered and yelled. It was probably that moment that sealed the love of baseball in me (also the love of the triple. I know it's not as efficient as a home run, but it's so much more powerful in a way). He was officially my first hero who wasn't my dad or the generic idea of a fireman.
It seemed that Joe was in Des Moines for most of my childhood while I was going to games, and I loved it. He probably would rather have been in Chicago. His statistics show him as a pretty good player, though he was blocked by Leon Durham. He spent a year in Japan and came back for another little bit. This story tells of Hicks really well.
I guess I'm tempted to find it depressing that my slugging hero is now a chiropracter in Kokomo, Indiana (but I find all of Indiana depressing). It's hard not to, when you think about the dreams I had for him (and he probably had for himself). If he had made it to Chicago and done well, that would've been a different path for me. I would've bought Cubs hats and his Jersey. I would've wanted him to succeed. 1984 would've broken my heart, yet steeled my fanhood. I would've been a Cubs fan. Joe Hicks had the power to lead me to the Cubs. And to so much suffering. Whoa. Would I have watched the Cardinals win the title in 2006 (over the Tigers) and felt upset for having left them? Would I hate Albert Pujols? Wow. I would've been Bizarro Joe.
That's fucking frightening. In a weird way, I have to thank the Cubs managment for missing on Mr. Hicks and saving me from them. And I am now scared straight. (Bitching about Aaron Miles and Cesar Izturiz isn't nearly as bad as what it could be.)
When I was younger, my family used to go to the Iowa Cubs (the AAA team of the Chicago Cubs)games pretty regularly. Old Sec Taylor stadium stood on the Des Moines river near downtown. I loved the old park. The outfield walls were made of wood painted with advertisements and had no bleachers beyond them. And the beer soaked cement floors and seats weren't comfortable exactly, but they were worn in a way that was home. They've since replaced this stadium with a newer, more modern stadium. I haven't been there in a while, so it's hard to remember all the differences, but there's more bricks, more lights and the parking lot is cement. (That's actually a big difference. I remember the lots being a dirt road that had been worn by people driving in and parking. At the end of games, we'd look around for foul balls or homers depending on where we parked. You could count on a couple to hide under a car or behind some unkept grass. With the cement though, whatever the kids outside during games don't get will run into the river.) It's a nice new stadium. But doesn't have the charm I associate with the stadium I saw when I was a kid.
(Digression. It was at this stadium that I met Greg Maddux and realized what an asshole he is. The story: I was 8 or so and wandering down by the bleachers sort of mindlessly. I took my seat and saw a pitcher on the bullpen mound standing a couple feet from the fence along the left field line. We used to get there early so we could try to get autographs and such, as these were going to be the next big stars of the Cubs [if there ever was such a thing], but we'd also get to see the pitchers warm-up. I loved watching this. Hearing the smack of the ball in the mitt--it really is the greatest sound in the world. So I'm sitting there waiting for the pitcher to start his tosses. He's got his back to me, starting from the stretch, which did seem odd, now that I--he turns and throws the ball directly at me. I jump. Well, he didn't throw the ball, but he had turned so quickly and whipped his arm around. He had been practicing his pickoffs. So what does a future Cy Young Award Winner and greatest pitcher of his generation do when he sees that he's scared an 8 year old? That fucker giggles. I like to think his pickoff move never developed and the fact that you can steal bases off him almost at will is due to his guilt at being such a asshole. But, it's probably because he's still giggling.)
Despite my love of the Carinals, the Iowa Cubs were the home team, and I would root for them when they weren't playing the Memphis Redbirds (the Cardinals AAA team.) And for a while, they had a first basemen named Joe Hicks, who I loved. I'm not sure if it was anything beyond us having the same first name (Joe!), but I was young, I didn't need anything more. He was a first baseman, so I should be a first baseman (though I couldn't be because Christopher Ringleb was our firstbaseman. He was also a twat.), his number was 33 (thus the thinking of him today), so I should be #33 (which also couldn't happen because little league numbers were 1 through 14 or 15. So I was 9, for Terry Pendleton, who I also loved because they made me third base and Pendleton was the Cards 3b at the time). I remember one of his at-bats distinctly. He came up with the bases loaded. I don't remember the outs or the inning. I just remember being excited seeing him stride to the plate. And he did not dissappoint (I don't think he ever did). He smacked a ball into right field. And though Joe was not a fast man (neither was I!), he legged out a triple as everyone around me cheered and yelled. It was probably that moment that sealed the love of baseball in me (also the love of the triple. I know it's not as efficient as a home run, but it's so much more powerful in a way). He was officially my first hero who wasn't my dad or the generic idea of a fireman.
It seemed that Joe was in Des Moines for most of my childhood while I was going to games, and I loved it. He probably would rather have been in Chicago. His statistics show him as a pretty good player, though he was blocked by Leon Durham. He spent a year in Japan and came back for another little bit. This story tells of Hicks really well.
I guess I'm tempted to find it depressing that my slugging hero is now a chiropracter in Kokomo, Indiana (but I find all of Indiana depressing). It's hard not to, when you think about the dreams I had for him (and he probably had for himself). If he had made it to Chicago and done well, that would've been a different path for me. I would've bought Cubs hats and his Jersey. I would've wanted him to succeed. 1984 would've broken my heart, yet steeled my fanhood. I would've been a Cubs fan. Joe Hicks had the power to lead me to the Cubs. And to so much suffering. Whoa. Would I have watched the Cardinals win the title in 2006 (over the Tigers) and felt upset for having left them? Would I hate Albert Pujols? Wow. I would've been Bizarro Joe.
That's fucking frightening. In a weird way, I have to thank the Cubs managment for missing on Mr. Hicks and saving me from them. And I am now scared straight. (Bitching about Aaron Miles and Cesar Izturiz isn't nearly as bad as what it could be.)
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Work out music...
So, I'm getting tired of the 50 or so songs I have on my iPod Running list. Can anyone recommend me something new?
I just need something loudish and with a beat. The genre doesn't really matter.
I just need something loudish and with a beat. The genre doesn't really matter.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
untitled (with title)
I've never been good at taking compliments. Whenever someone tells me I look nice, I will either say thanks, or (more likely) I'll say something disparaging for myself. I am a weird dichotomy of wanting to look good (in one way or another) and not wanting to be noticed or applauded for it.
Part of this probably comes from being midwestern. We're just not flashy on the south side of Des Moines. We know that it's the tallest grass of blade that gets the mower's blade. (It's a Midwestern requirement to use agricultural analogies when talking about the Midwestern point of view. Grass: it's who we are.)
And part of this comes from my family, where I was always the darling of my teachers in a way that my brother and sister weren't. There was a constant tension about why I had been chosen for talented and gifted programs and my sister hadn't. And for my brother, a grade behind me, poor teachers would often expect him to be a lot like me. And as a result, I think I tried not to rub it in people's faces that I was good at school.
Reason I bring this up is because I'm losing weight. And while I'm happy and feel better (and probably look better too), it's kind of a problem. See, looking "sexy" (and I'm not saying I do, you know) is weird for me. I've always shied away from situations where I've felt the slightest bit proud of my body. It's much more of an issue than being "too smart" will ever be.
And it's probably because of similar reasons. And everyone in my family is battling (some harder than others, admittedly) weight issues. And something my therapist (who I should see again, cause clearly I'm alittle off) said about my father being manic after losing 100+ pounds sort of worries me. But really, I think these are smaller issues. And the one that really makes me feel uncomfortable is owning up to the fact that because I was molested, I feel a little ashamed of my body. And I feel like I should punish myself by being fat. Or maybe I think that if I'm fat, I don't have to worry about the bad things my body can make people want to do (?) (See, therapist is a good idea, no?) Now, I know the molesting wasn't my fault, but I've got years of thinking otherwise that it's hard to excorcise all of the different ways this impacts me.
But I digress.
The wedding will be interesting. I mean, there I'll be. On display. And people will probably tell me I look good (they better after all the time I've logged on a treadmill). But I guess after months of trying to look good, and years of telling myself I deserve to look good, maybe it'll feel okay. And maybe all the other family/personal junk won't matter as much. It seems like it matters less and less each year. But sometimes, it just pops up in places you haven't thought about or weren't prepared for.
(Does that ending sound too Doogie Houser? It does doesn't it? Fuck.)
Part of this probably comes from being midwestern. We're just not flashy on the south side of Des Moines. We know that it's the tallest grass of blade that gets the mower's blade. (It's a Midwestern requirement to use agricultural analogies when talking about the Midwestern point of view. Grass: it's who we are.)
And part of this comes from my family, where I was always the darling of my teachers in a way that my brother and sister weren't. There was a constant tension about why I had been chosen for talented and gifted programs and my sister hadn't. And for my brother, a grade behind me, poor teachers would often expect him to be a lot like me. And as a result, I think I tried not to rub it in people's faces that I was good at school.
Reason I bring this up is because I'm losing weight. And while I'm happy and feel better (and probably look better too), it's kind of a problem. See, looking "sexy" (and I'm not saying I do, you know) is weird for me. I've always shied away from situations where I've felt the slightest bit proud of my body. It's much more of an issue than being "too smart" will ever be.
And it's probably because of similar reasons. And everyone in my family is battling (some harder than others, admittedly) weight issues. And something my therapist (who I should see again, cause clearly I'm alittle off) said about my father being manic after losing 100+ pounds sort of worries me. But really, I think these are smaller issues. And the one that really makes me feel uncomfortable is owning up to the fact that because I was molested, I feel a little ashamed of my body. And I feel like I should punish myself by being fat. Or maybe I think that if I'm fat, I don't have to worry about the bad things my body can make people want to do (?) (See, therapist is a good idea, no?) Now, I know the molesting wasn't my fault, but I've got years of thinking otherwise that it's hard to excorcise all of the different ways this impacts me.
But I digress.
The wedding will be interesting. I mean, there I'll be. On display. And people will probably tell me I look good (they better after all the time I've logged on a treadmill). But I guess after months of trying to look good, and years of telling myself I deserve to look good, maybe it'll feel okay. And maybe all the other family/personal junk won't matter as much. It seems like it matters less and less each year. But sometimes, it just pops up in places you haven't thought about or weren't prepared for.
(Does that ending sound too Doogie Houser? It does doesn't it? Fuck.)
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
February Sucks...(or watch me bitch for way too long about stupid shit)
I have a feeling that after reading the title, most people are nodding their heads and I really have to do little to prove my point. But, seeings how this is a blog and it gives me license to opress anyone reading with my opinion, I'm gonna go ahead expound.
Living in Chicago, February is still the heart of winter. The wind whips at your face as you stand and wait for the train (which is always slow, thanks CTA). The snow that looked pretty in December and January, now blends almost completely into the concrete. Sure the temparature isn't always frigid (Sunday it was 46), but even when it's warmish, it's raining, or sleeting, and it's windy, so it's flinging whatever it's dropping into your face. And more than this, you're just sick of the cold. It's been 4 months of cold. Let's move on.
And there are no good sports on anymore. Baseball's two months away, and while pitchers and catchers have reported, there's no games or anything interesting until spring training games in early March. Which usually suck. Don't get me wrong, I'm gonna watch them, but that's because I'm obsessive, not because the games are good. And college basketball...I don't know. I really appreciated the continuity of college sports when I was a kid. Programs rose and fell over longer periods of time. Now, I don't have any idea who's good from year to year. Meh.
It's just a month of waiting. Just sitting inside, which you've been doing for months, except now, you don't have presents to think about buying or getting. You don't have parties to go to or plan. (There's Valentine's day, which some people like. But, I am not one of these people.)
And the movies! For the love of Pete (Sampras), there's nothing worth seeing out, except stuff that's been held over from the holidays. Jumper? The Eye? Fool's Gold? (Untraceable, maybe, but only because I'm in a pinch.) And there's nothing on the way until Summer.
Probably doesn't help that even TV has turned on me this year. For the love of Christ(ian Slater), I watched American Gladiators. On purpose. All the way through. And I started rooting for my favorite Gladiators (go Crush!). What the hell? I don't really know or care who's to blame in the whole thing, but if they knew the depths to which I've sunk to fill my time (I watched Pro Wrestling again for the first time in 2 + years. Now I have to call my sponsor.), I have a feeling both sides would've worked a wee bit harder on getting back.
There's nothing until the weather changes. Until sports come back. Until TV comes back (soon?). Until a couple good movies can be released at the same time (Dark Knight!)
And truthfully, it's probably hitting me harder this year because of the wedding, which like everything else is in waiting mode. Inviations are out and we're just waiting for the RSVPs so we can hand in the numbers and start making up seating charts and thinking about how many gift bags we're gonna have.
All in all. Blah! (and wow, if you read that whole thing, I'm sooo sorry. Next post more Daddy issues or something, I promise...)
Living in Chicago, February is still the heart of winter. The wind whips at your face as you stand and wait for the train (which is always slow, thanks CTA). The snow that looked pretty in December and January, now blends almost completely into the concrete. Sure the temparature isn't always frigid (Sunday it was 46), but even when it's warmish, it's raining, or sleeting, and it's windy, so it's flinging whatever it's dropping into your face. And more than this, you're just sick of the cold. It's been 4 months of cold. Let's move on.
And there are no good sports on anymore. Baseball's two months away, and while pitchers and catchers have reported, there's no games or anything interesting until spring training games in early March. Which usually suck. Don't get me wrong, I'm gonna watch them, but that's because I'm obsessive, not because the games are good. And college basketball...I don't know. I really appreciated the continuity of college sports when I was a kid. Programs rose and fell over longer periods of time. Now, I don't have any idea who's good from year to year. Meh.
It's just a month of waiting. Just sitting inside, which you've been doing for months, except now, you don't have presents to think about buying or getting. You don't have parties to go to or plan. (There's Valentine's day, which some people like. But, I am not one of these people.)
And the movies! For the love of Pete (Sampras), there's nothing worth seeing out, except stuff that's been held over from the holidays. Jumper? The Eye? Fool's Gold? (Untraceable, maybe, but only because I'm in a pinch.) And there's nothing on the way until Summer.
Probably doesn't help that even TV has turned on me this year. For the love of Christ(ian Slater), I watched American Gladiators. On purpose. All the way through. And I started rooting for my favorite Gladiators (go Crush!). What the hell? I don't really know or care who's to blame in the whole thing, but if they knew the depths to which I've sunk to fill my time (I watched Pro Wrestling again for the first time in 2 + years. Now I have to call my sponsor.), I have a feeling both sides would've worked a wee bit harder on getting back.
There's nothing until the weather changes. Until sports come back. Until TV comes back (soon?). Until a couple good movies can be released at the same time (Dark Knight!)
And truthfully, it's probably hitting me harder this year because of the wedding, which like everything else is in waiting mode. Inviations are out and we're just waiting for the RSVPs so we can hand in the numbers and start making up seating charts and thinking about how many gift bags we're gonna have.
All in all. Blah! (and wow, if you read that whole thing, I'm sooo sorry. Next post more Daddy issues or something, I promise...)
Friday, February 8, 2008
Small thoughts....
- They had cake at the firm today to celebrate anniversaries of employment with the firm (how romantic!) and birthdays (they skipped both December and January which would've been my birthday and anniversary [which would've been awkward at the time], respectively, it's worth noting). I didn't go. Partly because I'm a cubicle misanthrope and mostly because I'm trying to shed a little weight. Not for the wedding. I mean, yes, I want to look all hot and shit for my wedding (and I want to be in good enough shape that I can dance until 4 in the morning while drinking trainloads of booze and still be able to get up for brunch the next day at 9). But really, I just need to lose weight for the rest of my life. I'm sure my recent commitment to excercise is induced by the wedding, but I think it also has to do with me recently turning 30. It's not that I think I'm gonna die anytime soon, but I feel much more mortal than I did 5 years ago. This, I think, is a good thing.
- 50 days until the wedding (or the obsessive countdown continues...)
- I (along with Dinah) was in Grinnell last weekend doing some last preparation for the wedding. Things are going well, I think. We were talking to the florist about the timing of the setup and I suddenly asked if she would call me and let me see the room when they're done. Not because I want to check-up on them, because she is awesome and will do a good time, but I just wanted to see the room. It was the first moment when I could actually see it in my head instead of imagine what it could be. That's a great feeling.
- While in Iowa over the weekend, we stayed with my Mom. Good times. It was nice to see her alone. A lot more quality time. The highlight had to be going to the same bar (called Bourbon Street and probably less classy than the New Orleans area it's named after. Really.) I used to drink underage when I was in college. And it was her idea. She had 3 beers, I think. And it was clear she hadn't had 3 beers in quite a while. Heh.
- Our first decline for the wedding was an uncle of mine. He was probably the most likely of my father's side to make it. A couple invites are still out, so it's hard to know, but it looks like the crazy should be at a minimum (on that front anyway). I'll probably have under 10 people there who are actually related to me, which doesn't really bother me. It just seems odd. The people I most want there are the friends I don't see enough of. I'm much closer to them than the people who I share DNA with.
- yeah, I was too lazy to write separate entries for all this stuff...eh...it's been a busy time.
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