Wednesday, April 30, 2003
That Random Wednesday Thing You've All Come to Know and Love
First of all, the Fargo snowglobe came with the video in a special, limited-edition gift set. You can probably find one on Ebay if you really want one . . . or just want to see it.
So, Michelle's doing the Atkins diet thing. What am I doing? I'm drinking more water. That's pretty much it. Not increasing my consumption of fruits/vegetables to more than a half serving a day. Not cutting back on the fatty foods. Not reducing my portion sizes.
I'm trying to get up to drinking 64 ounces of water a day. It's funny that just drinking 32 ounces is making me pee about twice as much. And urgently.
Next, I'm going to eat that can of Dole pineapple chunks that I've had on my desk for two weeks. Today's the day, canned fruit. Today's the day.
Since you asked for it, here's my run-down of the Coen Brothers movies:
Of course, Miller's Crossing is at the top of the heap. Haven't seen it? Go get it! Can't find it? You're not trying hard enough!
Blood Simple (the movie that started it all) is really high on my list because, in addition to being a great example of film noir, pot-boiler stuff, it's just so fucking pure.
Raising Arizona is, quite simply, one of the funniest comedies ever made.
Now, everyone raves about Barton Fink being the greatest Coen Brothers movie, but I wasn't that blown away. A movie written during a bout of writers' block about writer's block? Hmmm. I guess I just need to see it again. It's been a while.
The Hudsucker Proxy (the Brothers' big studio debut) gets slammed a lot, but my memories of that movie (outside of Jennifer Jason Leigh's accent) are pretty fond. It's been a while on that one, too, but I suspect it's underrated.
And then there's the Fargo. Wow. It got all the acclaim it deserved. Really.
I've seen The Big Lebowski twice. The first time, I was a little let down, but everything really came together the second time I saw it. I've recently borrowed the DVD from a friend for a third viewing. Hopefully, it gets even better.
The Man Who Wasn't There? Just saw it. Won't likely see it again. I just don't think a second (or third) viewing is gonna make this one any better. Sorry.
So, the only one I haven't seen is Oh Brother, Where Art Thou? I was avoiding it because of my distaste for musicals, but my friends tell me not to worry. Given the Brothers' success with odd-ball comedies, I'm sure it'll be a winner.
There, hope that helped.
What? You didn't ask for that?
Two bloggers are on hiatus (Jen and Tracy). I think Jen was supposed to be back on-line by the end of this month. Tracy will be off until September. The rest of you people on my blogroll have been re-arranged again. (There is a method to my madness.)
I mean, do people pay attention to where they appear on someone's blogroll? I guess if you want to prevent someone from tumbling completely over into certain neurotic overload, you should alphabetize your blogroll. Otherwise, someone might start to wonder: "Wait, did she put me closer to the top of her blogroll because I made her a cool mix CD?" or "Oh, the colors changed and . . . wait, now I'm almost at the bottom. What gives?"
I'm going to euthanize myself now.
Tuesday, April 29, 2003
Surprise! You Have Work to Do!
Yeah, I was as surprised as you. As I was about to stop surfing blogs this morning, I was given an Environmental Site Assessment to edit and clean up by lunchtime tomorrow. So that's what I spent a great deal of this morning doing. This afternoon promises to be more of the same, along with tomorrow morning. I'd had a lot of downtime recently, so I guess I'm back to earning my money. This means my promised fast-food expose is going to be in development a little longer. I'll shoot for Thursday. (And I'll try and make it worth the wait.)
Here's a snapshot of my office . . . in words:
-- I have several pictures of my family. One of my wife on our wedding day, and one of her (a polaroid) taken during her last birthday celebration at Lucy Ho's. There's a nice one of her holding Mia, and one of us in our first apartment together (circa 1996). I also have a picture of our cats sitting on a window ledge in Albany, NY.
-- My bulletin board has: a post card of the the "Florida state bird" (the mosquito), a picture of McSweeney Arms taken by a friend who went to Ireland, two Dilbert cartoons, a Newsweek editorial cartoon that supports soccer, and the George Bush "Got Coke?" mock-ads that preceded his "election."
-- There's a calendar of Japanese art.
-- Food-related items on my desk: half bag of pepperoni cheese Combos, empty A&W root beer can, empty bowl of Uncle Ben's Spicy Thai Chicken Pasta, unopened can of Dole pineapple chunks (in their own juice), and a half-used container of Nescafe Frothe. Yeah, who's the "gaybo" now?
-- Next to my computer are the personal knick-knacks: my Fargo snow globe (the woodchipper one), two Pez dispensers (a Valentine's Day heart and Piglet), a figurine of Francis (the ladybug from A Bug's Life), and a miniature Asian bowl that a friend brought back from Chinatown in San Francisco (if I remember correctly).
Man, I'm sweating my balls off. Need to open my door and get the air circulating. Exciting, huh?
Back to work! (Yeah, I'm talkin' to you!)
Monday, April 28, 2003
Stats that Shape a Weekend
Number of pounds lost in five days . . . by Michelle: 4
Number of CDs purchased: 2
Number of people who are interested in these stats: 0
Michelle started the Atkins Diet a week ago to shed the remaining, nagging pregnancy weight. I guess you have to wait 'til a guy dies before you take up his cause. Anyway, she wants me to do it, too, because it'd be easier if we were both on it. I could cut out the extra sweets, but starches? Forget it. That's, like, half my fuckin' diet. Christ! And I had a bite of one of those low-carb bars. Blech!
I had heard snippets of the new Placebo CD, Sleeping with Ghosts, at Julie's party last weekend, and I'd been telling myself all week that I was going to get it this weekend. And I did. Michelle had heard "Reptile" by The Church on our local college station and really liked it, so we picked up a used copy of their greatest hits. Feel kind-of bad about paying full retail for the big-label CD and buying the indie-label CD used. Then again, we could've downloaded "Reptile" and bought a six pack of good beer rather than support our local independent record store. You win some, you lose some.
We really didn't do a lot this weekend. Lots of budget/accounting catch-up for me, and lots of band practice for Michelle. However, we did discover that the grocery prices really are cheaper at the new Super Wal-Mart. We're talking about shopping there for our groceries now, rather than Publix. Maybe they'll shoot us for one of their commercials. We could talk about how much we're saving with all the low prices. Of course, we'd have to lose half of our teeth and re-acquire southern accents. And have four more kids real quick-like. And wear flip-flops to the store. Michelle mentioned curlers for her hair and pajama bottoms, too.
The next couple weekends (Atlanta and Destin) should be more exciting. In the meantime, I'll get crackin' on that McDonald's post, eh?
Friday, April 25, 2003
Revisiting the Old Me
Yes, my friends, it's Friday. What better way to send you off to your weekend plans than a little political reflection? I've avoided wading too deep into politics here at the Lunchbreak, but we seem to be at a crossroads, when reflection is appropriate.
It took a matter of weeks to vanquish the brutal Iraqi "regime" from that country. We know that was a top priority (if not the top priority) of this mission, but another was locating Weapons of Mass Destruction. However, the WMD are proving hard to find. So, the Administration has tried to gloss over that with their mercy mission of liberating the Iraqi people. And now they're saying that we may never find WMD because the Iraqi leadership was too good at hiding them, or has perhaps destroyed them. (I suggested that they would've been smart to do the latter, leaving egg on Dubya's face as their legacy.)
Now that Saddam has apparently left the building, the thankless liberatees don't want us milling about in their country. And they don't want us dictating what type of government they can have, either. Which makes sense, really.
But I'm disturbed by recent rumblings from the White House. First, I hear that Rummy has made it clear that we're not going to accept an Islamic Theocracy (like that of Iran) in Iraq. Then our bumbling idiot president was being interviewed by Tom Brokaw. What disturbed me about that? Well, the fact that I am once again reminded that we have a fucking boob for a president!
We have the chance to mend fences in the Middle East. I say let the people choose their own government. If the Shiite majority wants a Theocracy, fine. Help them usher in the new leadership peacefully (if that's possible with the Sunnis and the Kurds in the mix). Are we really going to foist an unwanted Democracy on these people? Are we trying to see how much hate we can stir up? Wouldn't it be better to prove that we're good guys, and we know when to extricate ourselves from the situation? I know this all sounds short-sighted, but I think the goal should be that the resulting government of Iraq and its people smile favorably on us when this is all over.
And then there's France. And North Korea. And Syria. Why do my balls start to hurt when we have Colin Powell (once a voice of reason) threatening France with some form of retribution for their transgression before the war when, at the same time, we're coddling Kim Jong Il? I know it's easy to bully the French, but c'mon.
Let Georgie flit about the country and try to sell his lame-ass tax cut. He doesn't have much leadership to offer. Maybe in 18 months or so, we'll find someone better for the job.
Thursday, April 24, 2003
The Gift of Music
Kamikaze Lunchbreak, Volume One should be arriving in a few of your mailboxes today or tomorrow. For those of you who may be new here, I had a silly quiz a few weeks ago and several people responded. A handful of those who scored the highest are receiving hand-crafted mix CDs from yours truly.
Volume One is a 17-song disc that Kerry and Caitlin (who tied for the highest score) were given the opportunity to customize. Neither of the girls was too picky, although Kerry requested that it not be too slow as she listens to CDs a lot while she's driving. So, the CD is mostly upbeat (and the slow songs are deceptively slow . . . except for the Low song, which is just slow). There's some fey Brit-pop/rock (Placebo and Suede), dyke punk (The Butchies), post-punk (Interpol), post-rock (Couch), electroclash (Ladytron), thoughtful Barsuk bands (Death Cab and The Long Winters), shoegaze rock (Mira, Plexi, Idaho, Libido, and Six by Seven), and a great cover by Dismemberment Plan. (I refuse to link to all of these bands. Sorry.)
I've decided that the KL-series CDs are going to be for my personal use, too. So, I'll be making them (probably once a month or so) and offering one or two for trading. My apologies to Meredith for not including anything by my band, or my wife's band. I don't need songs by my band on a mix CD of mine, and Michelle's band is just beginning to lay down tracks for a recording. My band is about to begin demos of our new material. If/when we have a new EP, I'll let you know.
I've been working Kazaa like a kept woman for the past week or so, and now I have quite a collection of songs to burn. Plus, I've been pulling songs from my CD collection for mixes. If the above list looks appealing, then you might enjoy future CDs.
How Well do You Know Your Country?
If you don't get a perfect score on this quiz (like I did), you can never call yourself a "patriot." That said, I definitely don't qualify as a "patriot," despite the perfect score. Is that a knowing-your-enemy thing?
(Link borrowed from this guy.)
Wednesday, April 23, 2003
It was somewhat eye-opening that three of the people who commented on yesterday's post actually worked with (for) me at the video store. I knew that "Spaceghost" was reading, but I didn't know anyone else was. I guess it makes sense though . . . Mike now working with the "ghost." And, of course, I told Ms. M about the site, so maybe she still reads it (and commented).
Lots of great movies came out during my time at the video store. However, two videos spent a great deal of time in the store VCR while I was working . . . from opposite ends of the pop-culture/quality spectrum: Singles and The Cutting Edge. You remember The Cutting Edge, right? The pairs ice skating romantic comedy starring D.B. Sweeney (no relation) and Moira Kelly?
Both movies had their moments, but Singles had that great cinematic-touchstone scene where Campbell Scott's character calls Kyra Sedgewick from the bar. I have that entire drunken speech written down in one of my early-90s writing folders. Seriously, one of the greatest movie moments ever. If I can dig it up, I'll post it later.
Oh, I just remembered another one. Any of you guys see Shakes the Clown? It stars Mr. Bobcat Golthwait (sp? . . . I'm lazy) as the title character. It's billed as "the Citizen Kane of alcoholic clown movies." We loved that one at the store. Lots of great one-liners, including this gem: "I got that peanut-butter pussy---brown, smooth, and easy to spread."
I am really, truly trying to destroy any perception of decency you've found here. Or something like that.
Now, as I mentioned before, I worked at McDonald's prior to the video store. If you think I have more decadent stories from that portion of my life, you'd be correct. I also have a wealth of information that'll make you think twice about eating fast food ever again, so maybe you should stay tuned . . . in the interest of public health!
We're going to Atlanta next weekend. We haven't been there since just before Christmas, which is a long stretch without seeing the Jewel of the South. We're gonna get our little Mia road-tested. If I run into any suspected "gaybos", maybe I'll get that liver beer-tested.
Tuesday, April 22, 2003
The Salad Days
For a great deal of my college and early post-college years, I worked in a video store. Professionally, it wasn't the best four years of my life (I don't even list it on my resume anymore), but I did a lot of living there. Good times all around.
I was working at McDonald's when I applied for the job. I literally walked across the strip mall parking lot to turn in my application on my lunch break (I should've been having kamikazes then, dammit). A high-school acquaintance was the acting store manager, and he hired me without an interview.
I started as a "lead clerk," which pissed off a few of the more-senior clerks who had to train me. But I'd held just about every position at McDonald's (including swing manager and maintenance), so I was more than qualified. Plus, I loved movies.
It was pretty informal when I started. The store still had a small-chain retail outlet feel. By the time I quit, it was much more corporate . . . kind-of the Blockbuster of Florida and Alabama. But in the early days, we used to be able to just watch movies in the store . . . any movie, really. Once, during the Super Bowl, we watched Deliverance. And wouldn't you know that, at half time, when everyone came to return their movies, it was time for the infamous sodomy scene. Ooops. That policy was further endangered when another lead clerk put in Platoon on a busy Saturday evening. A parent objected to her child watching the grunts shooting at the one-legged man and yelling, "Dance, motherfucker! Dance!" I mean, what's objectionable about that? Geez . . . some people.
Yeah, I wasn't the most customer-conscious one of the bunch, but I quickly rose to assistant manager. And then, when I graduated from college with no immediate career goals, I took the position of store manager. (My boss was angling for a promotion, and having me to take his place would make it easier to move up.)
By the time I was running things (dude, how Millers Crossing is that? "Leo ain't runnin' things!"), we had put together a pretty chummy staff. So, I was doomed to fail. Because as things were getting more and more corporate, I was doing less and less to make sure our store succeeded. I wasn't interested in telling my employees (my friends) to do shit I wouldn't do. I was killing time, and the new district manager (a Blockbuster cast-off) knew it. I eventually quit and took a state job. And I think that pleased her.
Here are the things I remember best:
-- One of my first permanent store managers helped us invent a game where, after the store closed (or, sometimes, just before we closed), we'd get rubber-band balls we'd made and stand at one side of the store. The object was to try and see how many movies we could knock off the wall on the opposite side of the store. He eventually quit during a witch-hunt investigation involving a customer complaint. He was the best manager we ever had, me included.
-- The next manager was a flaming homosexual who rigged the schedule so that he only worked from 10 to 5 (if that), Monday through Friday . . . a huge video-retail sin for store managers. Once during inventory, a co-worker was crashed on the floor (drunk). The manager took out a bag of cocaine and sprinkled some over his face. "This'll wake him up."
-- Yeah, we drank during inventory. I used to back my Hyundai up to the back door, and we used the trunk as a wet bar.
-- During another particularly memorable inventory, two guys were horsing around and one pushed the other through a huge plate-glass window. The guy who went through the window was about an inch or so from being cut in half. As it was, a sheet of falling glass cut the legs of his pants right down the back.
-- That same guy later became my assistant manager. One night, he was closing the store while the rest of us were doing tequila shots on the store-room counter. I was cutting the limes. One of the female clerks to his girlfriend: "Get your prissy ass in here and do a shot!"
-- Sometimes, while doing my paper work, the closing staff would bring porn into the office to watch. I all-to-vividly remember Watermelon Mama and Sumo Sue. If mind-numbing paper work can't suppress an erection, a 500-pound woman getting railed in a hot tub will.
-- We had a popular "adult" room for a while, but the Attorney General of Florida was threatening a local store with a law suit, so almost all of the area stores pulled their entire adult video selections. Three years later, we went into the storage closet to inventory the movies for possible wholesale, and most of the boxes were empty. I'm sure some of my co-workers had enviable porn collections. I promise, I didn't steal any. Not even Wife in the Fast Lane or Crocodile Blondie.
-- Once, a woman throwing a bachelorette party came in and needed advice on some good porn flicks. She looked at me and said, "Oh, I bet you know some good ones," and dragged me in the "adult" room to help her. I was kind-of afraid that she was going to put the moves on me, but she didn't. I told her that she should rent Butts III: Double Occupancy, although I'd never seen it (the cover art was suitably provocative, and you can't beat that title). To be honest, I didn't watch any of those movies, besides the ones my freaky underlings brought in while I was doing my paper work.
-- I feel really bad about this one. Only once in my entire time at the store did we have a black employee there. It was around the time when Pulp Fiction came out. We used to put movie quotes on each others' rental accounts. One guy put, "Did you see a sign in front of my house that said 'dead nigger storage?'" on another guy's account. The black girl saw it and stopped coming to work. She called the manager and reported us all as racists. As bad as I feel, though, she wasn't a dependable employee. She called in for several of her shifts with various bad excuses. She even got caught lying about being sick once when someone ran into her at the mall when she was supposed to be at work . . . or sick at home.
-- About six months after that girl quit, I was the manager. I got a phone call from a store at the mall looking for a reference. It was for her. As soon as I heard her name, I started laughing, and I kept laughing until the person calling said "Thanks" and hung up. Was that too unprofessional?
-- I once helped my assistant manager bust a guy who was stealing movies and games from our store. I was back in the office, and he was working the store. The guy came in to rent under someone else's account. My assistant acted like he was calling another store to check the account and called me in the office and told me the deal. I called the Sheriff's Department and my assistant stalled the guy. When the Sheriff's deputy pulled up, the guy tried to run. That is my most Law and Order moment to date.
-- We used to have rubber-band fights during slow afternoons. Customers were often hit. Y'know, collateral damage.
-- When closing time was near, or on slow afternoons, we'd play the music loud . . . either to entertain ourselves or to drive people out of the store. I was playing the local rock station once when Nine Inch Nails came on. An older lady came up and requested that I turn down the "head-bustin’ music." That became a catch-phrase for a long, long time.
-- The pinnacle of my time there was the payday trips to Lucy Ho's for chinese/sushi and copious quantities of alcohol. Our drink tab would often eclipse the food bill. That's where I discovered the magical healing powers of the kamikaze.
-- My last act as store manager was to sell myself a copy of Miller's Crossing.
Hope you enjoyed this detour through my early 20s. Suffices to say that my more-recent professional life has been more professional . . . and less fun.
Monday, April 21, 2003
Stats that Shape a Weekend
Number of erotic versions of Alice in Wonderland viewed: 1
Number of Easter bunnies Mia received: 3
Number of Easter "eggs" found/consumed: 2
The weekend didn't turn out to be quite as debaucherous as I'd hoped. Not that I was angling for anything too tawdry. I just thought we (and, be extension, you) might be witness to some interesting sights.
Friday night, Girls on Film played a show, so I stayed home with Mia. I watched The Man Who Wasn't There. (Cue slight disappointment. Being a Coen Brothers fan, I was expecting something a little less boring and convoluted. My apologies to noir fans everywhere.)
Saturday afternoon/evening was Julie's Alice in Wonderland-themed birthday party. Hardly anyone dressed up (as requested). One couple sported the complementary "Eat me/Drink me" t-shirts. There was badminton, which was fun, until Michelle twisted her knee. I opted out of the croquet (played with miniature pink flamingos as the mallets). There was "Pin the Smile on the Cheshire Cat." And there was a viewing of a 1982 erotic production of Alice in Wonderland. Besides being soft-core porn, it was a musical. We had it muted, despite someone's assertion that we really weren't getting the full effect. (With the sound muted, I was still able to follow the jiggling breasts . . . er, story.)
No-one got too loaded before we left around 11. But apparently, there was some intense drunken behavior after we left. I did my part, mixing a few rounds of Deep Green Seas. Oh well.
Sunday afternoon was the infamous Easter "egg" hunt/cookout. There were 50 airline-sized liquor bottles hidden around the house. I wasn't going to participate, but then someone mentioned not having drink the liquor bottles immediately upon finding them. Michelle played, finding about seven bottles. I found two. For watching Mia, Julie received a mini-bottle of Bombay Sapphire. Michelle took home most of her various cordials, while I added the vodka and Jim Beam (which I traded for) to my Sprite/pineapple juice concoction. Pretty tasty, but on top of my el huge-o Scotch Apple and an Icehouse, I was mightily buzzed.
Still, no-one took off any clothing or passed out, so we kind-of decided that next year, it's back to drinkin' the shots on the spot. We'll just have avoid too much of the punishing straight stuff.
For your reference, we made some Cho Cho Sans at the two parties. Try it using a medium glass with ice. Pour in a few ounces of plum wine. Add a little 7-Up, and fill the rest of the glass with pineapple juice. Sounds gay, tastes good.
Okay, tastes kind-of gay, too.
Friday, April 18, 2003
I just don't know what to say. I've been pretty busy, and it wasn't until I closed my door for lunch that I realized I hadn't even begun to formulate a post.
If you need to see something new, I've recounted the mysterious "Kool-Aid" story in the comment section to yesterday's post.
Need something more? Well, CW has a great story today about how he cheated death. Kat is looking for polyamorous types for a writing/photo project she's working on. Jules has a great story about how hard it is to breakup . . . or, how great it is to surrender to the booty call (you decide).
I'll craft some better material next week. Maybe I can dredge up a better story, eh?
Probably not, but I can try . . . right?
Thursday, April 17, 2003
My First Time
It was two or three days before Christmas. I remember my mother coming through the front door carrying lots of bags. One of them was from a toy store, and a huge box of Legos was about to fall out. I was upset because it was a Christmas surprise ruined. (Yeah, I was one of those kids.)
I was twelve.
My dad took me outside---I suppose in an effort to distract me from boiling over into some sort of tantrum (at that age, he probably should've smothered me with a pillow . . . seriously, I was a real prick). It was a foggy night, as was often the case with North Florida winter nights. We walked to the side of the house. Dad said he wanted to talk. I sat down on the air conditioner.
"I saw you go into the barn with what's-her-name the other day," he said.
"Jennifer," I said, giving what's-her-name a name.
Jennifer was one of the girls from the neighborhood. At the time, she was good friends with the redneck girl next door who was my age (Rebecca). Jennifer, Rebecca, another boy, and I had taken to playing Truth or Dare in Jennifer's attic after school. It was all very innocent. Somehow, during one occasion, I was dared to french kiss Jennifer. I'd never done that before, although I understood the mechanics. Still, when she put her mouth over mine, I froze up. My tongue stayed firmly at the bottom of my mouth.
"Where were you?" she asked.
Soon after, we'd arranged to try again. I think she had the hots for me, in her own, middle-school-girl way. She came over to my house on a weekend, and we snuck into the barn . . . apparently not so carefully. When we were inside, we had a long conversation about my apprehension about french kissing. So, nothing happened.
"What were you doing in there?" my dad continued.
"We were just talking." I didn’t know what else to say. And it was the truth, pretty much.
He went on for a few minutes about ins and outs of safe sex (yeah, I meant to do that). I don't remember much of the conversation, but the coup de grace went something like this:
"You can put your finger in there. You can put your hand in there. Hell, you can put your foot in there. But don't you ever put your pecker in her cunt unless you're wearing a rubber, okay?"
Pretty disturbing, huh? Well, I was infinitely more disturbed then than you are right now.
I eventually did the french kissing thing a few months later . . . with another girl. And that girl dumped me soon after . . . for a third grader. (No, I'm not even kidding about that one!)
Jennifer went on to become the neighborhood slut. She fucked several guys and earned a nickname . . . Kool-Aid. (A story I won't recount here.) I think she received a beating when her father caught a group of us hanging out in the attic after school one time. We didn't see her for a while after that. Actually, I think she was also the Treasurer of my high school graduating class. Maybe I'll find out next year, when they're trying to reach me for my 15-year reunion. (Christ.)
My dad? Well, he's still around, doing his best to smoke himself to death. Working on destroying a second marriage. Still drinking at 9 (or earlier) in the morning. Gotta love 'im.
I need to work up to this whole story-telling gig. Meredith referenced the safe-sex-talk line from my 100 things (now perma-linked on the upper left). I felt like the whole story should come out. Hope you enjoyed it as much as I didn't.
And, come to think of it . . . I think I may have been eleven when all this happened, not twelve. It was eighth grade, anyway.
Wednesday, April 16, 2003
Rockin' Like Dokken
My band had a show last night. It was our first actual gig in about six weeks. We played at Club Jade, which is very gay-leaning. Some telling details:
-- I had an encounter with a flaming homosexual in the bathroom. He pissed on his hand and felt the need to tell me about it. And then he told me not to tell anyone. So, if you see him, don't tell him I told you.
-- There was a drag queen there wearing (I think) a leather jacket and bikini bottoms. Don't know if he/she was of the post-op variety, but he/she had a nicer ass than most of the women in the club. And that's not even the gayest thing I've ever said (or written).
-- Each band member received three "free drink" cards, which could be used for domestic beers and well drinks. Domestic beers were: Bud, Bud Light, Mic, Mic Light, Miller Light, and Rolling Rock. I pulled a Meredith, rather than choosing the dinner beer (Mic Light). I don't think I realized before that Rolling Rock is brewed in Latrobe, PA.
-- Before the Rolling Rocks, I had a Negra Modelo at the Mexican restaurant next door. It was my first time.
Y'know how you sometimes feel jaded about the company you work for, but still feel a sense of pride when a project your company has been consulting on makes the front page of the local paper one day, and the featured editorial the next?
No? Well, why not?
Much of this country is covered in paved, asphalt strips called roads. These roads are often bordered with white lines or grassy medians. The lanes are divided by yellow lines, either broken or double solid . . . or a combination. Sometimes, there are two, or three, or four (or five!) of these lanes where cars can drive in the same direction, side by side. But you can only drive in one lane at a time. Yes, you can switch from lane to lane (using your signal would be great), but do it quickly. Straddling the broken yellow line for long periods of time is not an option, especially when I'm trying to get around you.
To summarize: Pick. A fucking. Lane. Asshole!
To everyone who's been waiting with bated breath for the mix CD (Kamikaze Lunchbreak, Volume One) to be completed . . . well, it is. I'm just putting the final touches on the artwork. Some of you will be receiving e-mails very soon. And those of you who are left out of this run will get a chance next time. I promise . . . no more silly quizzes, either.
Tuesday, April 15, 2003
Christ is Risen! Where's My Drink?
It's going to be a party-filled weekend here at Casa de la Kamikaze. Saturday is the Alice in Wonderland-themed birthday party for our friend (and Michelle's bandmate) Julie. Her parties are always well-planned and fun.
Sunday is the Second Annual Easter "Egg" Hunt at our friend Doug's house. I'm not sure I'm going to participate this year because I cheesed out last year. I bet a lot of you iron-livered souls would get a kick out of it. Here's the deal:
It's pretty much a standard afternoon cookout party, with alcohol and lawn games. But the highlight is the Easter egg hunt, which consists of several airline-sized liquor bottles painted like Easter eggs and hidden around his yard. The catch is that when you find one, you have to drink it immediately. On the spot. Most of the time, you can't tell what it is, so it gets to be a risky proposition.
Last year, Michelle was pregnant and couldn't play, but I did. I had a 32-ounce cup filled halfway with Sprite and juice of some sort. I found about six or seven of the bottles and dumped a few of them into the cup. I traded and gave away a couple. I kept the Midori for future "use." So, I cheated, but I did drink most of them . . . just not right away.
We tried to play croquet afterward, but the game went astray when the alcohol started taking hold of the participants. One person threw up and then passed out next to a shed. Another climbed up on the roof and mooned everyone. Later, he did the same thing at ground level, bouncing as he did it. In a circle. With his pants to his knees. I managed to turn my head away before I saw too much. Others weren't so lucky.
And I have to play in a band with these people.
Suffices to say that this weekend will be blog-worthy.
Monday, April 14, 2003
Stats that Shape a Weekend
Number of bands in the Battle of the Bands: 12
Place my band finished: 2nd
Place the wife's band finished: 1st
Well, I guess my Friday prediction was half-right.
Of course, the big event this weekend was the Battle of the Bands on Friday night. When I showed up there for the mandatory load-in/check-in at 7, I didn't think we had chance of winning. But we soon found out that someone in the band personally knew two of the four judges. I'm not implying that the competition was fixed, mind you. One of the other two judges works (indirectly) for The Antichrist (Clear Channel Communications). And knowing that we had a chance to place (in the top three bands) made me more nervous.
We played sixth at 10:15. We had less than 15 minutes to get our stuff on stage, set up, and tune our instruments. I tuned my backup guitar first and then realized that our time was about gone and that I'd be playing that guitar and hoping that I didn't break a string. The monitors were largely not on, so no keyboards were audible. I was nervous, so I'm all over the place. Hundreds of people watching. Tons of flop sweat. Needless to say, I didn't feel that great about the whole performance.
Some other highlights:
-- There was a cooler full of Red Bull "backstage" for the bands. Julie (from Girls on Film) was drinking a contraband bottle of Goldschlagger out of a paper bag. A couple of us took a shot of the cinnamon poison and chased it with the Red Bull. Verdict? Not bad.
-- I didn't prepare for the absence of bottled alcoholic beverages as well as the Girls did, but I did prepare a kamikaze in a plastic Zephyrhill's water bottle. I had it in a cooler in my car. I didn't get a chance to drink it until the next night. That isn't really the most ideal way to enjoy such a fine cocktail.
-- I was having a lot of fun chastising the Girls about their predicted win. Not that they were predicting it. My favorite was when I told Julie that the organizers were going to come to the mic and say, "Hey, everyone. Welcome to the Second Annual Battle of the Bands. We'd like to announce that Girls on Film has already been named the winner, so you're all playing for second and third place." The joke wasn't quite as funny when it came true.
The rest of the weekend wasn't as exciting. Saturday, I played some disc (frisbee) golf (no, I'm not a hippie). Went out to fondue dinner with Michelle Saturday night to blow my annual bonus. Nothing much at all yesterday. This coming weekend looks to be much more exciting. Details soon.
Friday, April 11, 2003
Weekend Preview (or, I'll Be Whatever You Want Me to Be)
First of all, I updated the blogroll, which, in case you care, is part of my template. It's getting pretty big, now. I weeded out at least one site, but I added a handful. (Three sentences, six commas. Cool.)
New things include the amazingly funny live journal "written" by our favorite living despot, Kim Jong Il. I'd seen links to it on two different blogs, so I thought I'd permanently link to it. I also added a permanent link to Get Your War On.
The new blogs added were Attorneys Suck and Level With Ya. Funny stuff, both. And, in an effort to shake things up, I somewhat arbitrarily rearranged my blogroll.
Tonight is the fated Battle of the Bands. I'm sure you're all engorged in your genital areas over this one, but it's a big thing here at Chez Kamikaze because Mr. and Mrs. Lunchbreak are both participating with our respective (i.e., different) bands. Whooops! My prediction? We won't win shit and they'll get first place. Check back later for results.
Well, I have to get back to work, so no time to get you all fluffed up with the rest of our weekend plans . . . which is okay, because there aren't many.
Thursday, April 10, 2003
Planning (Or, Ode to Slack Time, Part II)
I don't plan well. I often forget things, like birthdays and bills and rebates and appointments. And I'm unorganized. These things would be better-managed if I had something like a Franklin Planner, yes?
Well, I've had a Franklin Planner since 1995.
I get my pages every year. I make sure that I at least keep the current month's pages in my binder. And, until last year, I've made sure to transfer all my family/friend's birthdays to the new year's calendar.
I think I just need room on my desk to lay it flat and open to the correct day. So I can make lists . . . of things to do. Or things to list. (Making lists = fun.) But I have so many reports, and it's hurting my brain to keep up with where I am on all of them. And I have no room on my desk.
The business manager said it was okay for the receptionist to order my pages again (my year starts in April). I'm going to use mine this time. Just like I'm going to lose weight.
This is why I'm not such a good friend or relative, by the way.
(Note to self: Clean off your desk, or you're going to Hell.)
Wednesday, April 09, 2003
All Hail West Texas
The Mountain Goats played in Tallahassee last night. John Darnielle and his occasionally used bass player "rocked" us for over an hour. It was my first time seeing the "band," and I was fairly impressed. I hardly recognized any of the songs he played, outside of those from his latest release, Tallahassee. I was sadly disappointed that I didn't get to hear "The Best Ever Death-Metal Band Out of Denton." ("Haaaaaiiil Satan! . . . Hail, hail.")
I was also there in support of our friends in Pocket Novel Mystery. They were the second-billed band. The band that opened the show (The Myrtles from Red Stick*, Louisiana) played for nearly an hour . . . after starting late. It was country-tinged indie rock that got pretty stale a few songs into the set. And when they'd already played a standard opening set, they announced they had a few more songs. So, you can guess what happened when PNM got into the meat of their set. That's right, they got the shaft.
Here's the Rock Band 101 lesson in Opening the Show: If you're the bottom band on the bill, ask how long you're supposed to play. Otherwise, keep it to 30 to 35 minutes. It's called etiquette, champs. Okay? Thanks.
* No, I'm not doing the anti-French posturing here . . . this time. My friend Joe and I started referring to Baton Rouge as "Red Stick" when he lived in New Orleans for a few years back in the early 90s. Yeah, real mature . . . I know.
Tuesday, April 08, 2003
Ode to Slack Time
I'm busy. It's a busy time here at work. The "Publications Group Document Schedule" is full-up for April. I was toiling away on a report all morning when I realized that I hadn't written anything for the Lunchbreak. Usually, I have plenty of time to put a post (or series of posts) together over the course of the morning. But not right now.
So, I'll probably be posting shorter and more frequently. Or just shorter. Maybe I'll do some blogging from home now that our new Dell is proving itself reliable and useful.
Of course, blogging just got me in trouble. Here I am, on my lunchbreak. My wife called just before 12:30 to tell me that she forgot to get the credit card from me to pay for her extraction (tooth) that was scheduled for 1. She was going to swing by and pick up the card on her way to the dentist, which is near my office. I estimated that she would arrive between 12:45 and 12:50, and I was supposed to meet her downstairs. And, of course, I was reading blogs when she knocked on my door at 12:54.
Damn you, people. It's all your fault!
Monday, April 07, 2003
Stats that Shape a Weekend
Number of Corvettes Spat On: 1
Number of 24-ounce Scotch Apples consumed: about 2.5
Poker Winnings: $3.70
I've been feeling run down lately. Tired. Old. I'd like to attribute it to the alcohol I consumed this weekend, but it started before that. Maybe it has something to do with the several pounds I've gained in the past two weeks.
Michelle's sister was down for the weekend. They went to the coast with Michelle's parents on Saturday. I went to Woodville with Mia to visit my father and his wife. Not much to report there. However, on the way home, I stopped to pick up a pizza at Barnaby's (yum). The place was crowded, and the parking lot was nearly full. It was about to rain, too. I had to park pretty far away. There was a corvette that was parked diagonally across two spaces much closer to the restaurant. And I spit on it. It would've made more of a statement if the rain hadn't almost immediately washed the spit off.
The big to-do on Saturday was an all-day party our friend was throwing after the Springtime Tallahassee parade. I'd decided early on that it was going to be a Scotch Apple night. (That's equal parts Scotch ale and cider . . . I used Belhaven and Woodchuck.) I took a huge, frosty glass beer stein that was big enough to hold both bottles. We settled in to watch the Final Four. (I hate Kansas right now. But even if they hadn't fucked it up for me, Syracuse would have. Goodbye, $40.)
So, the party eventually devolved into loud sing-a-longs. Luckily, it wasn't dominated by Jimmy Buffett songs, which were championed by the many Parrotheads in attendance. "Convoy" was actually played. As was "Vacation." At my request, License to Ill was cued up, and I surprised myself by recalling (and vocalizing) the words to "Brass Monkey" and "Fight for Your Right." Somewhere, nitrous oxide abuse was indulged. I managed to escape largely unscathed. The host and hostess, however, were crashing and burning as I left.
Sunday was the first time since before my mom's stroke that we'd gotten together for some friendly family poker. It was the usual suspects: me, Michelle, Michelle's brother and his wife, and our respective moms. It's quarter-ante stuff, mostly. No pennies, unless they're in 50-cent rolls. I nearly doubled my money. Michelle lost a couple bucks. And, in true friendly family poker tradition, we took tons of money from my mom . . . the stroke victim.
Ah, feel the love.
Friday, April 04, 2003
Not many drinks can beat a perfectly mixed Kamikaze. And I can make one.
My first memory is riding in the back seat of a Volkswagen Beetle on our move from Connecticut to Florida.
That car (a black 1974 Super Beetle) was my first car.
My first word was "nice."
Many of my earliest memories are of my father's infidelity.
I have a lazy eye.
I've been a Pittsburgh Steelers fan since 1979, the year they beat the Rams in the Super Bowl.
I share my birthday with Gwenyth Paltrow, who is also a Pittsburgh Steelers fan.
I was born the year before Gwenyth.
I lost my virginity on a docked sailboat. On prom night.
My parents divorced when I was 19.
My favorite movie is Miller's Crossing.
Usually, I know all the angles.
I remember the 70s much more fondly than I do the 80s.
I have a very foul mouth. Very often, I swear without realizing it.
My favorite album changes weekly, but my favorite song (hands down) is "Medicine Bottle" by Red House Painters.
My first real conversation with my future wife, Michelle, took place while I was drinking tequila straight out of the bottle. On a trampoline.
We got married when I was 26.
If you told me my wife would be the last person I'd have sex with, I wouldn't be surprised or disappointed.
I'm a Libra.
I'm an only child.
I'm a father . . . hopefully of an only child. (That's the way I feel right now, anyway.)
I've played tug-of-war with a dead snake.
I don't smoke.
I took French for four years in high school and three semesters in college.
I was president of my high school French club.
I hate most aspects of French culture.
I say "hate" too much.
My favorite word is "whore." I'm not quite sure why.
I worked at McDonald's for more than three years.
That was my first job.
I'm a morning person.
I was in college for five years. Never went to "spring break" or Mardi Gras during any of them.
I have three cooking specialties: french toast, feta dip, and stir fry.
I earned a degree in creative writing from a football/party school, which probably has little to do with my lack of literary creativity.
I started writing (semi-creatively) in 10th grade.
Actually, I wrote a play in elementary school. And it was appropriately violent.
When I was 12, I told my mother I didn't think I believed in God so I wouldn't have to go to church anymore.
I don't really have an opinion on God right now. Check back later.
I rarely spend more than $25 on a pair of shoes.
I take stairs two at a time, usually running.
I like the Chaos Theory, which I probably started thinking about after seeing The Man Who Saw Tomorrow when I was 8.
I distinctly remember thinking about trying not to pee (ever again?) so that I could change the fate of the world.
I've never felt the need for speed.
. . . but I have dabbled in other drugs (nothing too hard).
I am really old enough to know better.
I read some of my wife's chick mags, mostly Jane and Cosmopolitan.
Many of my friends thought I was a closet homosexual. Now that I'm married, only a few of them do.
When I had the "sex talk" with my dad, he used the words "pecker" and "cunt." I was 12.
Sometimes, I have to force myself to make eye contact with people I'm talking to.
The last time I had Boone's Farm wine was the Halloween after I turned 30.
The 22-year-old version of me could drink the current me under the table. Easily.
Strictly speaking, I've never had a one-night stand. But I have had a few relationships that shouldn't have continued beyond that first night.
I'm not a really good friend. Or relative.
I eat the recommended daily amount of fruits and vegetables . . . every week or so.
Currently, I'm a technical editor at an environmental consulting firm.
I only own one red piece of clothing . . . a long-sleeved sweatshirt I bought on clearance at Old Navy.
My favorite color is drab, olive green. A great deal of my wardrobe is that color.
No, I'm not a Communist. But I almost registered as a Socialist when I was in college.
Politically, I'm fairly left. Almost everyone else in my family is fairly right.
I like to watch soccer. (No, it's not boring, you fucking fascist!)
I have to be really bored to watch baseball.
I don't understand the fascination with Elvis.
The Beatles, I can understand. But I actually prefer The Doors. And Pink Floyd.
I was pretty much an accident, conceived at a New Years' Eve party. (They didn't have a condom. My dad---ever the romantic---reportedly said, "If anything comes of this, it will be out of love.")
Both of my parents threatened to disown me if I voted for Bill Clinton in 1992.
I would have voted for Bill Clinton a third time.
A man should only marry a woman he feels comfortable waking up next to.
I started a poetry journal with my wife to keep me interested in writing poetry.
I went through a Sylvia Plath obsession. A few times.
I was a huge Cure fan for about a decade.
I was introduced to The Cure and The Smiths by a cheerleader I was dating in high school.
I drive manual transmission. Automatic = boring.
I rotate my clothing. Enough said.
I think cowboy hats should only be worn by cowboys. And maybe people from Texas.
When I was a teenager, for three Christmases in a row, I received a gun as a gift from my father.
In a battle of wits, I'd probably lose. But I can hurl insults like a champ.
The best place to have sex is in da butt. (Oh, yeah. That joke never gets old.)
I like Bottle Caps (the candy).
I like to think that I'm diplomatic and fair, but I have a tendency to be petty and selfish.
I've played guitar since I was 13, but I don't consider myself a "guitar player."
I use this "skill" in a band called The Cold After.
I started playing guitar because of my dad. I wanted to play bass like John Taylor in Duran Duran. He convinced me to learn the six-string instead, and switch to bass later. I never switched to bass.
I consider myself to be a good father, even though I don't try very hard.
My wife often says I dress very badly. (I guess that means I can't be gay!)
As far as oral sex goes, I actually prefer giving than receiving.
I try and live by the principles of Utilitarianism.
(I have a minor in philosophy.)
I like the rain.
The only movie I've walked out of was Apt Pupil.
I laughed through most of The Exorcist.
The scariest movie I've ever seen was Poltergeist. Event Horizon is a close second.
I cried during Snoopy Come Home when I was five.
And I'd be willing to bet that I'd cry if I watched it right now.
I don't like Mormonism. It's a cult. Like Scientology.
I've dated a couple Mormons.
I'd be perfectly happy to never go the beach again, as long as I could see the mountains from our house.
I started blogging because I read about it (twice) in Newsweek.
I get uncomfortable when I realize I will likely never do anything extraordinary.
I have lots of ideas I think are great. What I lack is follow-through.
Thursday, April 03, 2003
The Quiz Results and "Winners"
Before we get to the "winners" of the mix CD giveaway quiz/contest, I want to thank everyone who participated. I think I learned a lot about you guys and gals. Or, was that just what you thought I'd like? Well, that's certainly how the quizzes were scored. Let's peruse the quiz answers, shall we?
Given these choices of bottled beverages, I'd prefer:
I feel bad about this one. It was a trap, right in the first question. The correct answer was not Sam Adams which, I feel, tastes like metal shavings. Many of you chose that one and lost 2 points. And for that, well, I'm sorry. Bud Light was neutral, as was the "soda/pop/cola" choice. Red Stripe and Cider Jack were both worth 5 points. I had to give Meredith 1 point, because I knew she preferred Rolling Rock, which is a decent choice. And JenB is on the wagon, presumably for her baby-making effort, so I gave her a couple points.
Given these choices of mixed drinks, I'd prefer:
Obviously, I couldn't put the fantabulous kamikaze on there, so I put his upwardly mobile cousin, the cosmopolitan, as the preferred choice. Scotch choosers earned 2 points for the "steel-gut factor." Margaritas are just passe. Sorry.
I read ________ religiously:
Most people picked up on The Onion as being the correct answer. No points for fashion mags. Newspaper got you a few. Had any of you heathens chose the Holy Bible / Koran / Torah option, you'd have earned a point . . . instead of burning in Hell.
For inspiration, I turn to:
No real wrong answer here. Strangely, I don't think anyone picked poetry (5 points). (Okay, maybe that's not so strange.) Death Cab for Cutie and "blog" choosers earned 4 points. And, um, Jules . . . nudie pictures of William Shatner? Ouch.
If this were a menu, I'd want:
No real wrong answer here, either. Most people went with sushi (5 points). I wasn't feeling to Americana when I made the quiz, so burger and fries was the neutral choice. Everything else was good for a point.
Of these DVDs, I'd most likely watch:
I should've just identified Miller's Crossing as the Coen Brothers movie fave. Amelie and LOTR earned 5 points, also. Picking Old School earned you 2 points for having the sac to think that's cool. Luckily, no-one lost 2 points for choosing the big, dumb popcorn flick. I mean, the question was related to DVDs, and everyone knows that big, dumb popcorn flicks can only be viewed in the theater.
My political affiliation is:
This was a tough one, because so many people picked Libertarian. It's nice to be in support of personal freedoms, but their platform, I feel, is fiscally irresponsible. So, no points. Hey, at least you didn't loose 5 points for being a full-on, straight-up Republican. Greens and Democrats were the preferred choice. Anarchists? Your system doesn't work, and you were docked 2 points. Sorry.
My favorite sport to watch is:
As much as I'd like it to not be true, "porn" was not the correct answer here. Sorry, Kerry. Football was a good answer (4 points), but soccer was one point better. Baseball is boring to watch, unless it's the World Series, or you're playing "Mound Ball" for money. And no, soccer is not more boring than baseball. No, stop arguing. You're wrong. Just deal with it.
My favorite sport to play is:
This is the mad-props-to-Meredith-and-Vectorgirl question, but then VG has to go and screw it up by watering down her hockey-playing with golf. Dang. Kick ball and dodge ball were worth as much as hockey and basketball (all 5 points). Kerry threw the porn out there again. (He shoots, he scores!)
Usually, I listen to:
I think there were a few of you that wanted to admit to a country preference here, but were afraid you'd be docked points. Well, you would've been. Smart choice. I should've added Jimmy Buffett to really fuck you bad-music-listening people over.
And now the "winners." The competition was fierce and, well, ended in a tie. And wouldn't know you, it was everyone's favorite butt-girls . . . Kerry and Caitlin with 39 out of a possible 50 points. As for people who know me, Michelle's brother (who posts under an assumed name) got 48 out of 50 points.
I knew just by looking at the answers that Kerry was going to do well. Everything was spot on, except for the (sadly) misguided porn-as-sport answers. Caitlin's answers were a little more even, but yielded the same result. So, these two will be contacted about setting up the CD. And, as I suspect this will be the one of the more accessible mix CDs I will make, I'll burn a handful of others to offer to those who were close. In the future, I'll probably be making CDs on a more one-on-one basis, but I'll probably make a few extras for trading.
I'll be contacting Kerry and Caitlin today to solicit mix-CD guidance. Then I may be contacting runners-up shortly after for their interest in the resulting CD. In order, these people are: Keleigh (38 points), CW (36), Tracy (35), JenB (33), and Meredith (29).
Wednesday, April 02, 2003
Urinate. But if Your Tits Were Bigger, You'd be a Ten.
Man, I love that joke. What I don't love is when our cat pees on our bed.
Anyone that knows us knows that our cat, Archie, has deep-rooted psychological issues. Unfortunately, some of those neuroses result in him peeing on our bed. He hasn't done it in a while, but he did last night. I think it's because I waited too long to feed him. (He'll follow me around when I get home from work. He'll meow to let me know he's ready to eat. If I don't respond in a timely fashion, he'll go back to our room and stand on the bed and howl, holding our bed hostage. If I don't respond to that . . . well, the hostage gets it.)
In continued honor of Dr. Pepper's blog-shilling, I have another endorsement: Kellogg's Honey Frosted Mini-Wheats. I really can't get enough of these things.
Another endorsement, but not of a product exactly. I know many of you have read Get Your War On here. (And if you haven't, why not?) Well, you should buy the book, too. Now I picked it up because my mom gave me a $10 gift card to Border's, so it was virtually free. But lately, I'm painting the whole corporate vs. indie issue as being more black and white (respectively).
This is more clearly encapsulated in my CD-buying/CD-burning/file-sharing philosophy. First of all, I try not to pay full price for a CD, ever. If I absolutely have to have a CD right now and I'm holding it in my hand, then yes. Most of the time, I'll try and find it used. If I have to buy it new, I try and buy it from the artist's website or their label's website. That way, you usually pay about $10 (shipping included). And that makes my blood boil. You can pay upwards of $17.99 for a new CD in some stores. Well, fuck that.
As far as downloading songs, I refuse to download an entire album by a band . . . unless it's Explosions in the Sky's first album, which is long out of print. Anyway, I'd be tempted to do it with major label artists, because major labels suck ass. Most of the time, though, I just download a song here or there.
Now, I feel a little guilty buying used CDs of indie bands, but I make a lot of mix CDs, which I think can be argued serve as promotion for some lesser bands.
And don't get me started on corporate radio.
So, to summarize: Major corporate conglomerates reek of yesterday's feces. Support independent artists/companies whenever you can.
Back to the mix CD thing, tomorrow I will reveal the winner(s) of the quiz/contest-thing. And after that, I will reveal so much more. (Gulp!)
Tuesday, April 01, 2003
The Issue of Weight
I remember back when I was thin and could eat anything I wanted . . . in whatever amount.
I was always a very lean child. I was able to play junior-league football (up to 120 pounds) in ninth grade. That year, I grew 6 inches and probably added a few pounds. But I'd say from tenth grade until early in college, my weight fluctuated between 125 and 130 pounds.
And then things started to get out of hand. First it was Christmas 1991, when my mom and I went to visit our New England family. I put on about 10 quick pounds, pushing me over 140. And then the ol' metabolism slowed down. Alcohol started to take its toll. I went from 145 to 170 like a fuckin' dart.
For the past several years, I've been creeping through the 170s. Oh, I've abated it by working out some (in spurts). I even got down below 170 briefly. But lately I've been threatening to go over 180. And I think it's happening. Like, now.
So, fuck New Year's resolutions. I'm making an April Fool's Day resolution. I will start taking the necessary steps to get back toward 170. I will make my size 33 pants fit without squeezing my gut in. I will get back to where I can run up a flight of stairs and not have to spend five minutes catching my breath.