Over the past year I have come to value the cleansing effect of Yoga. From the spiritual centering to the mental power washing, it brings peace after a cumbersome stretch of potholes and morons. As an added element to my weight loss regime (and that is what it is), Yoga kicks my Ardha Chandrasana with the slightest variation. I love the challenge of attempting and failing at a Salamba Sirsasana or progressing to both toes off the ground in strength poses like the Bakasana. I’m completely amazed at men and women pulling off handstand from supported shoulder stands.
I come out after 70 minutes with one lazy eye and the mental fog burnt away. Taking all the day’s concerns, balling them up like Play Doh, surrounding them with unfinished stories, and then putting the whole mess off to the side for a spell. Holy Crap! Don’t tell the natural man that I left my ball of concerns in the studio last night.
Since Yoga is an individualized, personalized work out, it will be there when I return. Thank goodness for perseverance and self preservation, because pride sure as heck would’ve already thrown in the towel on this man doing weak kneed sci-fi Curly-Q’s.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Keep it Rigid
I have to give proper’s when proper’s are due. Former Rebel Guy Fieri and his program Dinners, Drive-ins, and Dives (or commonly referred to as, “Triple D”). In my opinion this is the best show on The Food Network and Top 5 fave for wasting away my free time. That is until I was shipped to this no walled fat reduction prison.
Since one of my uncompromising and stubborn rules is to forgo gastric pleasures after the Seinfeld reruns are over at 8pm, it never fails me, old Guy is on some made dash around the country to find his next eatery. I happen to park my remote control on his exploits and suffer greatly. Nothing like a good shocker to the hypothalamus about fifteen minutes after the point of no sustenance has come and passed for the evening.
I mumble in my mind “I’m teetering toward madness.” Holy mackerel honey! He just put a pound of cheddar on that burger! I’m doing living room laps with a serious case of audio-visual epilepsy, induced by this frosty tipped anti-christ - giving me ground sirloin, onion smothered turrets… (mumbling) Loves the bun toasted, loves the bun toasted, course three minutes to Wapner. My poor daughter is jumping on the couch yelling, “Mooommm! Daddy got’sta brain ow’we again.” It’s like June Cash was singing in the left ear… When I woke from my dreaming my idol was clay, all portion of love had all flown away. This time it was a grease trap hooligan serving up 2000 calories of death garnished with a bevy of dilly sweet relishes.
Freaking Guy Fieri, I love you man, but I am going crazy. Thank goodness it’s a short trip baby!
Since one of my uncompromising and stubborn rules is to forgo gastric pleasures after the Seinfeld reruns are over at 8pm, it never fails me, old Guy is on some made dash around the country to find his next eatery. I happen to park my remote control on his exploits and suffer greatly. Nothing like a good shocker to the hypothalamus about fifteen minutes after the point of no sustenance has come and passed for the evening.
I mumble in my mind “I’m teetering toward madness.” Holy mackerel honey! He just put a pound of cheddar on that burger! I’m doing living room laps with a serious case of audio-visual epilepsy, induced by this frosty tipped anti-christ - giving me ground sirloin, onion smothered turrets… (mumbling) Loves the bun toasted, loves the bun toasted, course three minutes to Wapner. My poor daughter is jumping on the couch yelling, “Mooommm! Daddy got’sta brain ow’we again.” It’s like June Cash was singing in the left ear… When I woke from my dreaming my idol was clay, all portion of love had all flown away. This time it was a grease trap hooligan serving up 2000 calories of death garnished with a bevy of dilly sweet relishes.
Freaking Guy Fieri, I love you man, but I am going crazy. Thank goodness it’s a short trip baby!
Friday, August 14, 2009
A Dear John to Bacon
Dear Bacon,
I have come to love you over the years, I have come to know you by many names; fat back, cracklen, pork rinds, and swine chips. As of today you will be nothing more than the best friend to tomato – a new member of the land of misfit toppings. You can tell your glue sniffing cousin bacon bit to stop calling too… my potatoes will know him no more!
They say all good things must end someday. It hurts me to say adieu, but its not you, it’s me. We have just grown apart over the years, what with your whole foray into lip balm and lollypops, and being a named conspirator in the Adkins Diet debacle… Go ahead, eat all the red meat and fat you want, just “Say No to Carbs” and you will lose weight. (Just in time for your first triple bi-base, angioplasty two’pher)
Bacon, I wish you didn’t have to go. I’ll think of you often when I pass over your lifeless corps on the salad bar in route to the heart of palm. It would’ve been nice if we could’ve parted on better terms, but don’t let the door hit you where the dog ‘bout bit you.
I have come to love you over the years, I have come to know you by many names; fat back, cracklen, pork rinds, and swine chips. As of today you will be nothing more than the best friend to tomato – a new member of the land of misfit toppings. You can tell your glue sniffing cousin bacon bit to stop calling too… my potatoes will know him no more!
They say all good things must end someday. It hurts me to say adieu, but its not you, it’s me. We have just grown apart over the years, what with your whole foray into lip balm and lollypops, and being a named conspirator in the Adkins Diet debacle… Go ahead, eat all the red meat and fat you want, just “Say No to Carbs” and you will lose weight. (Just in time for your first triple bi-base, angioplasty two’pher)
Bacon, I wish you didn’t have to go. I’ll think of you often when I pass over your lifeless corps on the salad bar in route to the heart of palm. It would’ve been nice if we could’ve parted on better terms, but don’t let the door hit you where the dog ‘bout bit you.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Modertation
Common themes of this fat camp are rearing their ugly heads like some reject Hindu deity. Chucky Cheese is of the devil, fried food is the only thing served in Hell’s commissary, and there is more to moderation than Scott Weiland once professed. Clearly, catching a midnight munch attack before my endocrine is car jacked can hedge my overall success, which seems to be doable with the help of a padlock on the pantry.
Day-to-day moderation is another thing… I have over heard the TV talking to the Cuisinart and ice maker that consumption is the only way to get these two-legged breeders out of this economic mess. Freaking electronic appliances are conspiring to make us all fat! I am Jarvis’ paranoid delusions.
Fortunate for me, the need to feed my children, dress them in the latest “OMGosh they are so cute” kiddy wear, and turn over all my folding money to my wife has given me the pleasure of knowing Grapes of Wrath, 1934 soup kitchen style moderation. When you ain’t have’n scratch in yo’wallet, its ez to eat in moderation!
Gots me some pretzels and dried apples mass’r.
Day-to-day moderation is another thing… I have over heard the TV talking to the Cuisinart and ice maker that consumption is the only way to get these two-legged breeders out of this economic mess. Freaking electronic appliances are conspiring to make us all fat! I am Jarvis’ paranoid delusions.
Fortunate for me, the need to feed my children, dress them in the latest “OMGosh they are so cute” kiddy wear, and turn over all my folding money to my wife has given me the pleasure of knowing Grapes of Wrath, 1934 soup kitchen style moderation. When you ain’t have’n scratch in yo’wallet, its ez to eat in moderation!
Gots me some pretzels and dried apples mass’r.
Friday, August 7, 2009
Naked Burrito Bowl
On my quest to reach 195 pounds in 16 weeks, I have come to the realization that certain foods have to be attacked from a different angle. For example, the Chicken Queso Burrito from Q’doba is just bad news for anyone dieting. A head on assault with this 3 pound monster of chicken and spicy cheese sauce will only result in broken promises and moral divides. The only successful route is to hide in its blind spot, off its flanks and take out all known defenses – eliminate the tortilla!
The naked burrito bowl option has saved my life, that and grinding my teeth to nubs as I say “Ugh! Hold the queso please.” Prior to life changing decisions and a lovely maternity dress for the loser in 13 weeks; naked burritos were for Nancy boys. Once considered the cheerleaders pep rallying for the gridiron masters of the gastrointestinal artist battling for supremacy. Well I say now, get off my palm-palms and GO-FIGHT-WIN you sultans of the 3 pound Chicken Queso Burrito… Hold the wrap and I’ll take extra corn salsa ma’am!
The naked burrito bowl option has saved my life, that and grinding my teeth to nubs as I say “Ugh! Hold the queso please.” Prior to life changing decisions and a lovely maternity dress for the loser in 13 weeks; naked burritos were for Nancy boys. Once considered the cheerleaders pep rallying for the gridiron masters of the gastrointestinal artist battling for supremacy. Well I say now, get off my palm-palms and GO-FIGHT-WIN you sultans of the 3 pound Chicken Queso Burrito… Hold the wrap and I’ll take extra corn salsa ma’am!
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Comfort Food
This weight loss journey is best compared to Cannonball Run; a lot of hype out of the gate in Los Angles and then a dang long time before New York. Well I’m in what can only be classified by Miss P. Hilton, “the fly over states” of my journey. Knowing that success will only come if I allow for some comfort food here or there… Unlike my over the top 90 day ultra-restrictive diet on P90X, I’m living by moderation on this jaunt. That’s where the likes of Panda Express come in.
I have to admit, eating orange chicken is so sweet that mid day blues just melt away. That is until I’m trenching the bottom of the Styrofoam carry-out container and my stomach begins to rumble. It’s my belief that Anglo-Chinese is the beer-goggles of the food world. As I sit here trying to type, the intestinal track is walking off the job, protesting my rationalization that a bender of comfort food is worth the hang over.
I have to admit, eating orange chicken is so sweet that mid day blues just melt away. That is until I’m trenching the bottom of the Styrofoam carry-out container and my stomach begins to rumble. It’s my belief that Anglo-Chinese is the beer-goggles of the food world. As I sit here trying to type, the intestinal track is walking off the job, protesting my rationalization that a bender of comfort food is worth the hang over.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Don’t Meet over Meat on Mondays!
Ever since I came across the disturbingly fascinating HBO documentary, I AM AN ANIMAL: THE STORY OF INGRID NEWKIRK AND PETA, I have been a closet PETA fan. Unlike my friend Sandy, who is a pure vegan, for what I assume fits into the PETA mission of no animal consumption for human gain… my hypocrisy will only allow me to support their work against puppy mills, furrieries, and things associate with clothing. Unfortunately, 33 years of meat-n-potatoes, elbows off the table, you better eat that because there are starving children in Africa make up has kept me from being able to divorce the whole sale corporate farm industry. But as she does every time, whether on television or the radio, Ingrid challenged me to do something I believe is possible. I have agreed to go meatless one day a week.
As it stands, my “Don’t Meet over Meat on Mondays!” is merely a nod to those diehard members who can remove animal consumption for industrial purposes and dinning delights and live a life on cellulose. Mondays will be a bumper sticker on my subconscious ’69 VW telling those who do it for real, I’m just a tourist.
As it stands, my “Don’t Meet over Meat on Mondays!” is merely a nod to those diehard members who can remove animal consumption for industrial purposes and dinning delights and live a life on cellulose. Mondays will be a bumper sticker on my subconscious ’69 VW telling those who do it for real, I’m just a tourist.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Palletized Excess -- Part 2
Continuation through the belly of the beast…
Many truths are universal to mankind; honesty will set us free, light overcomes darkness, money is always diminishing, and love is generational connective tissue. I can add another one - drinking orange juice after brushing your teeth is just plain stupid. Who at Cosco dreamt up the brilliant end cap of Colgate breath strips next to the frozen concentrate sampler? With ground down incisors causing the rage to build, thank goodness the soothing sounds of Alphaville came over the house speakers calming the beast within… Forever Young, I want to be forever young. Do you really want to live forever? I say no Marian Gold. I just don’t want to die in this consumption juggernaut. Then go my son… the bulk dried fruit isle is over yonder.
With fresh legs and diamonds in my eyes, the dried fruit isle was a mere carnival of dehydration. At one point I heard the synthesizers in the next isle demoing the theme to Chariots of Fire, nearly derailing my clown sized cart, the spirit of the Flying Scotsman came over me as I willed my flowing chlorine matted hair to the industrial fans head winding my exodus. So many adventures could happen this day… Luckily the box boys had cleared out the excess cardboard, allowing me to J-hook various cellowrapped selections without ever breaking stride. I would’ve taken a 30-pound block of Limburger cheese if it had been restocked incorrectly (Mini-Van and Novalee would’ve been collectively backed up ‘til their 18th birthdays with that much queso.)
By this time compassion for fellow man had died on the vine, it was every oversized cart driving suburbanite for themselves. Rounding the corner, with sanity held by a thin strand and mob mentality taking hold in the freezer section, it was time to get my bounty of bulk out of this high ceilinged, big box prison without bars before I picked up a 60’ plasma screen, new snow tires, and a year’s worth of water purification tablets. Slapping my exclusive membership card and Hello Kity themed debit card on the stand (no joke, I’ll show you all later). I yelled to the bag boy, “Don’t go cheap on me. Bust out the good stuff… I know you got the double walled boxes in the back!"
Racing to my truck, dodging text deprived house wives backing out by Braille in not ESP; I cleared the real life version of Frogger with only a minor fear of the population we call “can you believe the nerve!”
Next time, Wal-Mart at 2am for diapers and turkey bacon.
Many truths are universal to mankind; honesty will set us free, light overcomes darkness, money is always diminishing, and love is generational connective tissue. I can add another one - drinking orange juice after brushing your teeth is just plain stupid. Who at Cosco dreamt up the brilliant end cap of Colgate breath strips next to the frozen concentrate sampler? With ground down incisors causing the rage to build, thank goodness the soothing sounds of Alphaville came over the house speakers calming the beast within… Forever Young, I want to be forever young. Do you really want to live forever? I say no Marian Gold. I just don’t want to die in this consumption juggernaut. Then go my son… the bulk dried fruit isle is over yonder.
With fresh legs and diamonds in my eyes, the dried fruit isle was a mere carnival of dehydration. At one point I heard the synthesizers in the next isle demoing the theme to Chariots of Fire, nearly derailing my clown sized cart, the spirit of the Flying Scotsman came over me as I willed my flowing chlorine matted hair to the industrial fans head winding my exodus. So many adventures could happen this day… Luckily the box boys had cleared out the excess cardboard, allowing me to J-hook various cellowrapped selections without ever breaking stride. I would’ve taken a 30-pound block of Limburger cheese if it had been restocked incorrectly (Mini-Van and Novalee would’ve been collectively backed up ‘til their 18th birthdays with that much queso.)
By this time compassion for fellow man had died on the vine, it was every oversized cart driving suburbanite for themselves. Rounding the corner, with sanity held by a thin strand and mob mentality taking hold in the freezer section, it was time to get my bounty of bulk out of this high ceilinged, big box prison without bars before I picked up a 60’ plasma screen, new snow tires, and a year’s worth of water purification tablets. Slapping my exclusive membership card and Hello Kity themed debit card on the stand (no joke, I’ll show you all later). I yelled to the bag boy, “Don’t go cheap on me. Bust out the good stuff… I know you got the double walled boxes in the back!"
Racing to my truck, dodging text deprived house wives backing out by Braille in not ESP; I cleared the real life version of Frogger with only a minor fear of the population we call “can you believe the nerve!”
Next time, Wal-Mart at 2am for diapers and turkey bacon.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)