With all due respect to Christmas, Hannukah, and every other holiday designed for children, there is no time of year quite like Halloween.
Ridiculous amounts of candy. Excuses to watch completely pointless, cheesy, and bloody movies. Seeing your classmates wear costumes that are designed for someone at least 10 years older than them.
And oh, the temptation of what is around the corner. Look around your local Target or Walmart. Near all those costumes for Bumble Bee the transformer and actual costumes for "sexy" bumble bees, retailers already have Christmas lights and other decorations just itching to go on sale. And in between is, of course, Thanksgiving, marking October 31 as not just Halloween, but also as the beginning of the overeater's gauntlet. If only kids got a day off of school, Halloween would be the greatest holiday ever (and, by the way, this year kids have it on Saturday).
But things get a little different once kids reach adulthood, and more changes than just the amount of cleavage shown by said bumble bee. So, continuing the theme of weekly lists, and inspired by daily such lists on Cracked.com, here are Five ways Adults Ruin Halloween...
5. Haunted Houses
Towns and really cool/slightly creepy neighbors often put on great displays for Halloween. In East Hartford, the Veteran's clubhouse has been completely transformed into a labyrinth of ghouls, werewolves, and demon clowns. The Haunted Graveyard at Lake Compounce started as a Middletown guy's yard display, then grew into the most frightening show this side of Salem. And for kids, what could be better than walking through a spooky house, only strobe lights and dry ice providing ambiance, and scaring a girl you have a crush on with a quick "boo!" just before a vampire jumps out at you, or more likely, a screenwriter pitches another vampire movie.
How adults screw it up: Two ways. One, the zealots who trick kids into coming into Hell Houses, attractions designed not to scare youngsters with ghosts and boogieman, but rather tales of sin and debauchery that only come to those who stray from the divine path. Second, parents who think haunted houses are too scary for their kids... or overestimate how brave their children are in reality. I would have had less sleepless nights if my folks simply understood that I was a major wuss.
4. Scary movies
One of my most vivid Halloween memories came when I was about 12. My Dad and brother decided a scary movie was in order and returned from the video store with a copy of "The Exorcist." Four two hours, I was horrified at Regan spitting the pee soup and saying things about deities that most kids ought not to hear. But that's the fun for a kid, getting to see scary movies filled with blood and sex that would otherwise be taboo any other time of year. Seriously kids, this Christmas, ask your parents to let you watch "Bad Santa," then give a plot synopsis of what you learned. You will not get any presents.
How adults ruin it: We can watch terrible movies any time of the year. Yet at Halloween, we break out the worst of the bunch, namely the "Scary Movie" series and who knows how many Michael Myers sequels, leaving us crabby and proving once again that the Wayans brothers should be banned from making films. "The Exorcist" haunts me to this day. "Scary Movie 2" just makes me feel ill.
3. Trick or Treating
Perhaps the greatest holiday tradition. It combines the two items yet to be revealed on the list, kids get plenty of exercise walking all over the neighborhood, freak out there parents by eating Snickers bars that have yet to be inspected for razor blades, and come home with pillow cases literally overflowing with sugar.
How adults ruin it: Well, the jerks who do the razor blade thing are the obvious. But really, it's parents freaking out about who lives in their neighborhood. When I was a kid, I lived in a neighborhood designed for Trick or Treating. Kids knew to hit the condos for the big candy scores, to avoid the dentist's house out of fear of receiving floss, and that Tootsie Rolls were terrible rewards for climbing long driveways. There would be hundreds of kids around, and aside from a few punks with eggs, it was good, wholesome, slightly nauseating fun. Now, parents accompany their kids everywhere, leaving Halloween as no longer a test of kids' endurance, but Mom and Dad's patience.
And extra negative points to teenagers who don't know when to give up. Here's a hint, if you're old enough that you can grow your own ugly beard instead of having to draw one one, you're too old to Trick or Treat.
2. Costumes
As a kid, Halloween was an excuse not just to overeat, but to buy a fake weapon. As I never let my parents forget, I wasn't allowed to play with fake guns. However, a pirate simply isn't complete without a sword, and so every year (when I didn't go as a pirate), I went as something that would allow me to buy a cheap plastic weapon. I collected an arsenal of swords, axes, and pitchforks, which I'd inevitably lose interest in, but still trumped the rules of the house. Plus, when you're a kid, you can be anything, from Spiderman to a hobo, and no one argues with you. It's your holiday. If you want to go as Pumbaa, go ahead.
How adults screw it up: We all know adults use Halloween costumes as an excuse to be a little naughty. It's not just the women in sexy costumes; just count how many men, particularly tough guys, use Halloween parties as an excuse to wear drag. But there are some costumes that adults shouldn't try to oversexify. Example, if you are going to a party as an American Girl Doll at a Rave, you're tarnishing precious memories of childhood. Not that I played with American Girl dolls, mind you, but I had a little sister.
Then there's the other side of the coin: people trying to pull off costumes they're not built to accommodate. Yes, I've lost some weight in recent months, but I'm not about to go to a party as a Spartan warrior from "300." That's not preparing for glory, but setting yourself up to see the most regrettable digital photos ever.
1. Candy
Butterfinger. Reese's. Nestle Crunch. M&M's. Candy Corn. Three Musketeers. Jolly Ranchers. Kit Kat...... I just drooled on my keyboard. And it's everywhere, starting the beginning of September and lasting all the way until October 31.
How Adults screw it up: Well, for one, there's the people who hand out raisins and granola instead of chocolate. Not cool. Kids are trick or treating for peanut butter cups, not for sale items at Whole Foods.
Also, we now print the calorie information on everything, and sadly I now know exactly how many calories are in each fun size Snickers. I was happier before I knew that. Frankly, I think my stomach bulged for the first time when they started printing nutritional information on bags. There are some things that go better unknown. Halloween candy is one of them.
Happy Halloween, everyone. Excuse me while I step into my Bumble Bee costume.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Sunday, October 25, 2009
No longer the fat frat guy...
As much as I like to reminisce about my glorious days as a proud band nerd, there's another facet to my college life that brought me just as much fun. And, as much as some people are suprised to find, that part of me was my life in the fraternity.
At UConn, I spent four great years as a brother of Alpha Epsilon Pi. The chapter has grown considerably since I left (I hope that's coincidental), but our house in the Greek Village apparently still features the annual composite shots of the brothers.
In four straight of these composite shots, I loook like quite the rotund dork. The tight tie, the ill-fitting blue blazer... these are images I wish no one ever had access to seeing again. Yet sadly, to the new generations of AEPi, Matthew Engelhardt is the fat frat brother, the guy with the chubbiest face of any of the other brothers, and the one who no one should ever dare take on in a chicken nugget eating contest.
College is supposed to be the time in life when you look and feel your best. As for me, I now find myself a good 50-60 pounds lighter than the last time my photo was taken for the composite. Even my dreaded chins, which I blogged about hating mere weeks ago, are starting to take shape as one. I feel great now, certainly better about myself than I did five or six years ago.
This weekend, I got invited back to campus to speak about my time in the fraternity. I sat in front of 18 pledges, most of whom had only seen my picture from the composite. And of the brothers that were there, I certainly didn't expect them to notice that I was lighter, or at least ask about it. "That's something these guys probably wouldn't do," I told Megan, just before heading off to speak.
And yet, just as I opened up my mouth to speak, the chapter advisor interrupted: "Seriously, Engelhardt, how much weight have you lost?" As I looked in his direction, I heard murmurs throughout the room. Apparently, I had changed quite a bit. Even the current brothers noted, with one not so discrete brother stating something like, "yeah, you were much fatter in the composite." After nearly strangling him on general principle, I realized I might be blushing, told them my current loss, and accepted a round of snaps in recognition of the fact that yes, indeed, there's a little less Buddha to this belly.
It's an odd feeling, one I haven't gotten accustomed to yet. Instead of people silently wondering how much weight I've gained, they're speaking aloud that I look like I'm in better shape. It happens almost everywhere I go where people haven't seen me in a while. My future mother-in-law tells me I look like a different person every time I see her. My own mother is probably wondering how much money I'm going to ask for in buying new clothes.
The truth is, I still see myself as the fat guy in the composite. If things keep at this pace, and the weight continues to fall off, maybe the way I see myself will get better as well. So please, tell me if you think I'm looking slimmer. I may act embarassed on the outside (and feel that way on the inside, too), but honestly, you're helping me keep going.
I just wish I hadn't waited until after college to take on this challenge. Stupid D.P. Dough. Anyone who went to UConn understands what a few of those calzones does to your waistline.
On another note, some of you have already inquired about donating to or joining the JI News Cycle. This week, I intend to work hard at recruiting people to come aboard. I'd love to get a team of 10-15 people together, and if we can all raise $100, that's a hell of a donation to the American Cancer Society. Once again, here's the link....
http://main.acsevents.org/site/TR/RelayForLife/RFLFY09National?px=13455107&pg=personal&fr_id=16250#
Let's kick cancer in the face.
Back those stats up!
Weeks until wedding: 39
Week 6 pounds lost: .6
Total weight lost: 27
Percentage of overall 60-pound goal: 45 percent
Pounds remaining to lose: 33
Number of subscribers to this blog: 17
Number last week: 14. You guys rock, and by all means, comment!
Pounds I've lost since senior year of college: 55
Fraternal nickname: Big Pun.
Reason I gave for that nickname: I'm clever with words!
Actual reason for nickname: I was a large musician
Shame factor over actual reason for nickname: 985
At UConn, I spent four great years as a brother of Alpha Epsilon Pi. The chapter has grown considerably since I left (I hope that's coincidental), but our house in the Greek Village apparently still features the annual composite shots of the brothers.
In four straight of these composite shots, I loook like quite the rotund dork. The tight tie, the ill-fitting blue blazer... these are images I wish no one ever had access to seeing again. Yet sadly, to the new generations of AEPi, Matthew Engelhardt is the fat frat brother, the guy with the chubbiest face of any of the other brothers, and the one who no one should ever dare take on in a chicken nugget eating contest.
College is supposed to be the time in life when you look and feel your best. As for me, I now find myself a good 50-60 pounds lighter than the last time my photo was taken for the composite. Even my dreaded chins, which I blogged about hating mere weeks ago, are starting to take shape as one. I feel great now, certainly better about myself than I did five or six years ago.
This weekend, I got invited back to campus to speak about my time in the fraternity. I sat in front of 18 pledges, most of whom had only seen my picture from the composite. And of the brothers that were there, I certainly didn't expect them to notice that I was lighter, or at least ask about it. "That's something these guys probably wouldn't do," I told Megan, just before heading off to speak.
And yet, just as I opened up my mouth to speak, the chapter advisor interrupted: "Seriously, Engelhardt, how much weight have you lost?" As I looked in his direction, I heard murmurs throughout the room. Apparently, I had changed quite a bit. Even the current brothers noted, with one not so discrete brother stating something like, "yeah, you were much fatter in the composite." After nearly strangling him on general principle, I realized I might be blushing, told them my current loss, and accepted a round of snaps in recognition of the fact that yes, indeed, there's a little less Buddha to this belly.
It's an odd feeling, one I haven't gotten accustomed to yet. Instead of people silently wondering how much weight I've gained, they're speaking aloud that I look like I'm in better shape. It happens almost everywhere I go where people haven't seen me in a while. My future mother-in-law tells me I look like a different person every time I see her. My own mother is probably wondering how much money I'm going to ask for in buying new clothes.
The truth is, I still see myself as the fat guy in the composite. If things keep at this pace, and the weight continues to fall off, maybe the way I see myself will get better as well. So please, tell me if you think I'm looking slimmer. I may act embarassed on the outside (and feel that way on the inside, too), but honestly, you're helping me keep going.
I just wish I hadn't waited until after college to take on this challenge. Stupid D.P. Dough. Anyone who went to UConn understands what a few of those calzones does to your waistline.
On another note, some of you have already inquired about donating to or joining the JI News Cycle. This week, I intend to work hard at recruiting people to come aboard. I'd love to get a team of 10-15 people together, and if we can all raise $100, that's a hell of a donation to the American Cancer Society. Once again, here's the link....
http://main.acsevents.org/site/TR/RelayForLife/RFLFY09National?px=13455107&pg=personal&fr_id=16250#
Let's kick cancer in the face.
Back those stats up!
Weeks until wedding: 39
Week 6 pounds lost: .6
Total weight lost: 27
Percentage of overall 60-pound goal: 45 percent
Pounds remaining to lose: 33
Number of subscribers to this blog: 17
Number last week: 14. You guys rock, and by all means, comment!
Pounds I've lost since senior year of college: 55
Fraternal nickname: Big Pun.
Reason I gave for that nickname: I'm clever with words!
Actual reason for nickname: I was a large musician
Shame factor over actual reason for nickname: 985
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
A blog with a cause...
Just as any good older brother would, I had my suspicions about the man my sister fell in love with a few years ago.
Sure, they turned out to be wrong. Katie had met a good man, someone who loved her and treated her with respect. He was as different as on possibly can be from me, in terms of politics, body type, and hair (the poor bloke was always jealous of my mass of fro). Plus, he was British, and as hard as I tried to explain American football to him, he worked just as hard to teach me the wonders of cricket. I still have no idea what he was talking about, but if someone gave me one of those cool cricket bats, I think I could do damage to some intruders.
At first, however, I had my doubts about Richard. For one thing, his very name upset me. Only one person in my life is allowed to be called Richard, and that’s my Dad (note: I don't call my father by his first name, but you understand how this would be an issue). For my sister to love another man with the same name was just perverse. So, half joking and half impishly, I gave Katie’s Richard an American alias: Dicky. A good-natured guy, Dicky accepted his nickname, and to his credit, never showed any offense when I called him that.
Their relationship had been complicated, but intriguing. They met while my sister was abroad in London. Dicky was an Orthodox Jew, and though my sister’s Jewish values are more reformed or conservative, they fell in love. She came home, and with Internet video chats, they stayed in as much contact as one can for two people living on opposite sides of the ocean. He came here for Thanksgiving, she went there on other holidays, and for a while, it worked.
Yet this posting is in the past tense, and while I wish I were merely writing a tale about lovers parting ways, this story has a sad ending.
Eventually, Katie and Dicky did go their separate ways, and he found his niche when he came to the New York area to study. He fell in love again, this time marrying a fellow Orthodox Jew. He had his life together, and now he had the New York Mets, which for some unfathomable reason considering the influence of so many Engelhardts and their Red Sox loyalties, became his favorite team.
Then, one day, a stunning announcement. Katie learned that Dicky had been diagnosed with leukemia. I didn’t know how to react. He was out of her life, true, but he was her first real love. He seemed to be doing okay, getting chemo and dealing with the cancer with high spirits and great strength of faith.
About a year ago, right before Hannukah, the news reached us. He’d had some kind of setback, was rushed to the hospital, and in a moment, Dicky was gone. Richard had been younger than me, and cancer had never taken anyone so close to our family.
It is in Richard’s memory, along with the countless number of cancer victims and survivors I’ve written about as a journalist, that I invite you all to join myself and Journal Inquirer staffers in Relay for Life.
I’ve been pretty blessed in my life. Yes, I’ve been overweight since I was a kid, but now I feel good to the point of wanting to use this blog, as my newfound fitness, to promote a good cause. For those of you not familiar with Relay, it is a fundraiser for the American Cancer Society. Most events run 24 hours. This event, Nov. 7 at Pratt and Whitney in East Hartford, will go for 12.
It works like this. A team is organized, and at least person has to walk the track for the duration of the event. You switch off team members throughout, and as long as someone is walking, you’re doing well. You raise money through pledges, and the link is here:
http://main.acsevents.org/site/TR?pg=entry&fr_id=16250
I hereby invite you to take part or give to the cause. Become a member of “JI News Cycle,” or simply make a pledge to help us kick cancer in the face. Either way, I’ll be at the Pratt and Whitney Hangar Museum from noon to midnight on Saturday, Nov. 7.
I’ll be doing it for Dicky and plenty of others, and I invite you to do the same.
Sure, they turned out to be wrong. Katie had met a good man, someone who loved her and treated her with respect. He was as different as on possibly can be from me, in terms of politics, body type, and hair (the poor bloke was always jealous of my mass of fro). Plus, he was British, and as hard as I tried to explain American football to him, he worked just as hard to teach me the wonders of cricket. I still have no idea what he was talking about, but if someone gave me one of those cool cricket bats, I think I could do damage to some intruders.
At first, however, I had my doubts about Richard. For one thing, his very name upset me. Only one person in my life is allowed to be called Richard, and that’s my Dad (note: I don't call my father by his first name, but you understand how this would be an issue). For my sister to love another man with the same name was just perverse. So, half joking and half impishly, I gave Katie’s Richard an American alias: Dicky. A good-natured guy, Dicky accepted his nickname, and to his credit, never showed any offense when I called him that.
Their relationship had been complicated, but intriguing. They met while my sister was abroad in London. Dicky was an Orthodox Jew, and though my sister’s Jewish values are more reformed or conservative, they fell in love. She came home, and with Internet video chats, they stayed in as much contact as one can for two people living on opposite sides of the ocean. He came here for Thanksgiving, she went there on other holidays, and for a while, it worked.
Yet this posting is in the past tense, and while I wish I were merely writing a tale about lovers parting ways, this story has a sad ending.
Eventually, Katie and Dicky did go their separate ways, and he found his niche when he came to the New York area to study. He fell in love again, this time marrying a fellow Orthodox Jew. He had his life together, and now he had the New York Mets, which for some unfathomable reason considering the influence of so many Engelhardts and their Red Sox loyalties, became his favorite team.
Then, one day, a stunning announcement. Katie learned that Dicky had been diagnosed with leukemia. I didn’t know how to react. He was out of her life, true, but he was her first real love. He seemed to be doing okay, getting chemo and dealing with the cancer with high spirits and great strength of faith.
About a year ago, right before Hannukah, the news reached us. He’d had some kind of setback, was rushed to the hospital, and in a moment, Dicky was gone. Richard had been younger than me, and cancer had never taken anyone so close to our family.
It is in Richard’s memory, along with the countless number of cancer victims and survivors I’ve written about as a journalist, that I invite you all to join myself and Journal Inquirer staffers in Relay for Life.
I’ve been pretty blessed in my life. Yes, I’ve been overweight since I was a kid, but now I feel good to the point of wanting to use this blog, as my newfound fitness, to promote a good cause. For those of you not familiar with Relay, it is a fundraiser for the American Cancer Society. Most events run 24 hours. This event, Nov. 7 at Pratt and Whitney in East Hartford, will go for 12.
It works like this. A team is organized, and at least person has to walk the track for the duration of the event. You switch off team members throughout, and as long as someone is walking, you’re doing well. You raise money through pledges, and the link is here:
http://main.acsevents.org/site/TR?pg=entry&fr_id=16250
I hereby invite you to take part or give to the cause. Become a member of “JI News Cycle,” or simply make a pledge to help us kick cancer in the face. Either way, I’ll be at the Pratt and Whitney Hangar Museum from noon to midnight on Saturday, Nov. 7.
I’ll be doing it for Dicky and plenty of others, and I invite you to do the same.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Hey groomsmen, lift with your legs!
Are big men light on their feet? And, more importantly for my groomsmen, are we light in the chair?
Both of these questions have been pressing on my mind of late. Megan and I are now about nine months from our nuptials, and while the current October air chills the bone, soon it will be summer and time for me to hope whatever tux I rent will hide sweat.
We were invited to two weddings last weekend, one in Massachusetts and one in California. Alas, we couldn't make it out west, but we had a helluva time at Megan's cousin's wedding. (When it comes down to it, apostrophes can be annoying). After vows were exchanged and the couple had their moment on the dance floor, it was time for everyone else to get up and shake it.
Now, shaking it is nothing new for me. Anyone who attended a UCoinn football game from 2000-2004 might share a story about a band dork dancing on camera like Chris Farley saluting the Chicago Bears. But dancing with style, grace, and dare I say finesse? That's never been my strong suit. I'm more than willing to make an ass of myself to the delight of all, but as far as actual dance moves go, I can't do much more than shuffle my feet, twirl my partner repeatedly, dip her at the wrong moments, and get distracted by dessert and leave the floor.
Yet I was feeling very good at this wedding, even svelte. Weight Watchers is working. Just wait til' you see this week's stats. Plus, instead of my usual wallflower look, I donned a purple shirt and striped tie to go with my recently tailored suit. Hell, I was downright dapper, and my dance moves would have to be on par with more confident Matt.
I hate most line types of line dancing. There have been few occasions when I've attempted the "Electric Slide" without someone ending up in the hospital. The Cha Cha Slide, though, is almost foolproof, and it has become a highlight at every recent wedding I've attended. The lyrics tell you what to do. Can't get much easier than that, right? Unfortunately, the lyrics don't spell out exactly how far to slide, how to properly cha cha, and to the chagrin of those around me, how hard to stomp to the left or right. Megan almost left with a fracture when I got a little too into the dance, bringing my shoe down with gusto right on top of her foot. Oops.
We had things down by the end of the night. I've seen "Swingers" enough times to understand the basic tenants of swing dancing, and in a style of unlimited twirls, I can handle my business. Come nine months, though, all eyes will be on Megan and me, and I need to do my part to make the dancing memorable. I've promised her we could take at least three ballroom dancing lessons. However many it takes, we will own that dance floor, or more accurately, rent it for a few hours.
Meanwhile, I hope my groomsmen have been exercising. It's inevitable that Hava Nagila will play sometime during the reception, and in addition to dancing the Horah, that means the bride and groom get lifted in the air. The tradition goes that in days of yore, when men and women danced on separate sides of the room, the bride and groom were raised in chairs above the rest of the guests, giving them a glimpse of their beloved. Aww.
Now, the chair lift is more an opportunity to bring a sense of danger to the reception. I'm fully aware that if I get lifted, my mother's amount of worry could amount to a coronary. Still, it would be fun (the lift, not Mom's coronary), and I'm starting to feel like I might be light enough by the wedding that lifting me in my chair won't pose significant risks to the groomsmen.
Months ago, when I was feeling quite butterbally, I vowed not to be lifted. I've been in the air before, and it's never a good idea. I did a keg stand at a college party many years ago, and the experience of being both in the air and upside down still makes me feel unsettled. Large men, I rationalized, aren't meant for gravity defiance.
But if these results continue, I won't be such a big man come July. I'm upbeat, excited, and even chipper at the thought. So groomsmen, hit the free weights. There's a good chance I'll be expecting you to send me skyward.
Cha Cha stats!
Weeks until wedding: 40 (Clap your hands)
Week 6 pounds lost: 4.8. (slide to the right)
Total weight lost: 26.4 (slide to the left)
Percentage of overall 60-pound goal: 44 percent (right stomp two times)
Pounds remaining to lose: 33.6 (left stomp five times- sorry about the foot!)
Times I've successfully completed the Cha Cha Slide: 0
Number of subscribers to this blog: 14
Number last week: 9. Keep spreading the word, please.
Daily point allowance at start of Weight Watchers: 42
Current daily point allowance: 39
Number of points in one Chicken Bordurrito from on the Border (with side salad): 34.5
Number of hours I cried when I learned that: 34.5
Both of these questions have been pressing on my mind of late. Megan and I are now about nine months from our nuptials, and while the current October air chills the bone, soon it will be summer and time for me to hope whatever tux I rent will hide sweat.
We were invited to two weddings last weekend, one in Massachusetts and one in California. Alas, we couldn't make it out west, but we had a helluva time at Megan's cousin's wedding. (When it comes down to it, apostrophes can be annoying). After vows were exchanged and the couple had their moment on the dance floor, it was time for everyone else to get up and shake it.
Now, shaking it is nothing new for me. Anyone who attended a UCoinn football game from 2000-2004 might share a story about a band dork dancing on camera like Chris Farley saluting the Chicago Bears. But dancing with style, grace, and dare I say finesse? That's never been my strong suit. I'm more than willing to make an ass of myself to the delight of all, but as far as actual dance moves go, I can't do much more than shuffle my feet, twirl my partner repeatedly, dip her at the wrong moments, and get distracted by dessert and leave the floor.
Yet I was feeling very good at this wedding, even svelte. Weight Watchers is working. Just wait til' you see this week's stats. Plus, instead of my usual wallflower look, I donned a purple shirt and striped tie to go with my recently tailored suit. Hell, I was downright dapper, and my dance moves would have to be on par with more confident Matt.
I hate most line types of line dancing. There have been few occasions when I've attempted the "Electric Slide" without someone ending up in the hospital. The Cha Cha Slide, though, is almost foolproof, and it has become a highlight at every recent wedding I've attended. The lyrics tell you what to do. Can't get much easier than that, right? Unfortunately, the lyrics don't spell out exactly how far to slide, how to properly cha cha, and to the chagrin of those around me, how hard to stomp to the left or right. Megan almost left with a fracture when I got a little too into the dance, bringing my shoe down with gusto right on top of her foot. Oops.
We had things down by the end of the night. I've seen "Swingers" enough times to understand the basic tenants of swing dancing, and in a style of unlimited twirls, I can handle my business. Come nine months, though, all eyes will be on Megan and me, and I need to do my part to make the dancing memorable. I've promised her we could take at least three ballroom dancing lessons. However many it takes, we will own that dance floor, or more accurately, rent it for a few hours.
Meanwhile, I hope my groomsmen have been exercising. It's inevitable that Hava Nagila will play sometime during the reception, and in addition to dancing the Horah, that means the bride and groom get lifted in the air. The tradition goes that in days of yore, when men and women danced on separate sides of the room, the bride and groom were raised in chairs above the rest of the guests, giving them a glimpse of their beloved. Aww.
Now, the chair lift is more an opportunity to bring a sense of danger to the reception. I'm fully aware that if I get lifted, my mother's amount of worry could amount to a coronary. Still, it would be fun (the lift, not Mom's coronary), and I'm starting to feel like I might be light enough by the wedding that lifting me in my chair won't pose significant risks to the groomsmen.
Months ago, when I was feeling quite butterbally, I vowed not to be lifted. I've been in the air before, and it's never a good idea. I did a keg stand at a college party many years ago, and the experience of being both in the air and upside down still makes me feel unsettled. Large men, I rationalized, aren't meant for gravity defiance.
But if these results continue, I won't be such a big man come July. I'm upbeat, excited, and even chipper at the thought. So groomsmen, hit the free weights. There's a good chance I'll be expecting you to send me skyward.
Cha Cha stats!
Weeks until wedding: 40 (Clap your hands)
Week 6 pounds lost: 4.8. (slide to the right)
Total weight lost: 26.4 (slide to the left)
Percentage of overall 60-pound goal: 44 percent (right stomp two times)
Pounds remaining to lose: 33.6 (left stomp five times- sorry about the foot!)
Times I've successfully completed the Cha Cha Slide: 0
Number of subscribers to this blog: 14
Number last week: 9. Keep spreading the word, please.
Daily point allowance at start of Weight Watchers: 42
Current daily point allowance: 39
Number of points in one Chicken Bordurrito from on the Border (with side salad): 34.5
Number of hours I cried when I learned that: 34.5
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
The five people you meet at the gym...
Sorry, Mitch Albom. I don't know much about the people you meet in heaven, but having been a gym rat in disguise for the last three years or so, I have learned plenty about the characters you meet at the gym.
The best thing about the people on this list? They all think they're unique, yet every gym I've been to, whether a YMCA or fitness center, always has these stock characters. They're like background characters in a movie: sometimes I don't know if they're actual people, or just spies planted by the gym management (or perhaps the government) to make sure no unauthorized exercise is being performed. Examples: handstands on the treadmill or Communist pushups.
So with the help of a drumroll (yes, you sitting at your desk. We can wait.... Alright, fine!), here are the 5 people you meet at every gym.
1. Mr. Musclehorn
We all know this guy. He spends all his time by the free weights, except for those few moments where he's behind you in the line for the water fountain scoffing at your physique. He's generally a mountain of muscle, and though I'm sure there are plenty of smart people who fall into this category, Mr. Musclehorn comes off as dumb as a rock.
Age range: 18-40
Visible tattoos: barbed wire around biceps, sword across back, misspelled name of girlfriend/wife/mother across forearm.
Strengths: Can flex anything, including fingernails; muscles in neck actually have miniature muscles of their own, and even their mini muscles are bigger than biceps.
Weaknesses: doors (hard to walk through without turning sideways), patience for lesser creatures
Typical outfit: tanktop, muscle shirt, spandex shorts
Typical show to watch while working out: anything on ESPN.
2. The Know-it-all
Another classic character. The Know-it-all has two typical characteristics. First, he thinks he knows everyone at the gym, but while he considers himself a Zack Morris, everyone else sees him as Screech. Second, he has watched you work out and not only knows what you've been doing wrong, but has no qualms about helping you fix it.
Age Range: 16-30
Visible tattoos: not usually. Depends on what fraternity he pledged (or hopes to pledge).
Strengths: overwhelmingly gregarious, always greets everyone he meets; uncanny ability to appear next to whatever machine you are using
Weaknesses: taking criticism; too willing to give you a congratulatory pat; offers to spot you even on workouts that don't require lifting
Typical outfit: designer T-shirt or fraternity letters, tearaway track pants
Typical show: non-major sports like biking, climbing, or volleyball
3. The Belle of the (fitness) Ball
She treats the health club like it was night club. Secretly, she's more interested in who's watching her work out than actually working out, and she spent way too much time and money shopping for a sports bra that shows just the right amount of cleavage.
Age Range: 16-49
Visible tattoos: lower back or hip, usually a butterfly, flower, or Chinese symbol they themselves cannot interpret
Strengths: texting while jogging; pretending not to notice slobbery blogger watching out of corner of his eye; flirting with the staff
Weaknesses: not getting attention
Typical outfit: designer form-fitting tank top, short shorts with "PINK" written across the rear
Typical Show: Cribs, My Super Sweet 16, Room Raiders... basically MTV
4. The Retiree
Inspiring men and women who no longer work and instead spend the better part of their days at the gym. They typically rule both the locker room and the workout floor between the hours of 8 a.m. and 3:30 p.m., leaving just before the post-work crew arrives. They're very friendly, often talking to you about just about anything... sometimes uncomfortably.
Age range: 60-80
Visible tattoos: None. And if they see one on you, prepare for questions.
Strengths: ability to run miles farther than other gym-goers half their age; knowledge that age is nothing but a number
Weaknesses: people who forget to wipe off the machine
Typical outfit: T-shirt bearing name of grandson or daughter's college, sweat pants
Typical show: CNBC, Fox News, MSNBC, CNN
5. Retired Musclehorn
This might be my favorite of all. Retired Musclehorn isn't as young as he used to be, but dammit, he's showing off his physique, sometimes at his own detriment. He is more than happy to stretch out audibly, letting everyone at the gym know that he's here to kick butt and show the world his powerlifting days aren't over yet.
Age Range: 45-68
Visible tattoos: maybe one on the forearm, just to show that he's still "with it."
Strengths: using entire boundary of the gym to do squat walks and thrusts
Weaknesses: no patience for the moron who's still on the rowing machine and should have been done 10 minutes ago!
Typical outfit: shaved head, loose-fitting tanktop, mesh shorts
Typical show: None necessary. His routine and focus are all the show he, or you, will ever need!
and one extra...
6. The goofy blogger
He looks innocent, but don't be fooled: he's watching everyone and taking mental notes, just so he can update his blog later with descriptions of everyone he's seen.
Age Range: 27
Visible Tattoos: Mom would not approve, but if she did, Fozzie Bear across the left calf
Strengths: motivation; recognizing his fellow gym-goers
Weaknesses: Holy crap, he's sweating and all he's done is change into his shorts; too motivated by the idea of a snack later.
Typical outfit: old T-shirt, socks with holes that should have been thrown away, mesh shorts
Typical show: A movie he's seen a dozren times already. Don't worry, he doesn't need the sound on . This goofball can quote all of "Ferris Bueller" by heart.
Anyone to add? This space is mine to share....
The best thing about the people on this list? They all think they're unique, yet every gym I've been to, whether a YMCA or fitness center, always has these stock characters. They're like background characters in a movie: sometimes I don't know if they're actual people, or just spies planted by the gym management (or perhaps the government) to make sure no unauthorized exercise is being performed. Examples: handstands on the treadmill or Communist pushups.
So with the help of a drumroll (yes, you sitting at your desk. We can wait.... Alright, fine!), here are the 5 people you meet at every gym.
1. Mr. Musclehorn
We all know this guy. He spends all his time by the free weights, except for those few moments where he's behind you in the line for the water fountain scoffing at your physique. He's generally a mountain of muscle, and though I'm sure there are plenty of smart people who fall into this category, Mr. Musclehorn comes off as dumb as a rock.
Age range: 18-40
Visible tattoos: barbed wire around biceps, sword across back, misspelled name of girlfriend/wife/mother across forearm.
Strengths: Can flex anything, including fingernails; muscles in neck actually have miniature muscles of their own, and even their mini muscles are bigger than biceps.
Weaknesses: doors (hard to walk through without turning sideways), patience for lesser creatures
Typical outfit: tanktop, muscle shirt, spandex shorts
Typical show to watch while working out: anything on ESPN.
2. The Know-it-all
Another classic character. The Know-it-all has two typical characteristics. First, he thinks he knows everyone at the gym, but while he considers himself a Zack Morris, everyone else sees him as Screech. Second, he has watched you work out and not only knows what you've been doing wrong, but has no qualms about helping you fix it.
Age Range: 16-30
Visible tattoos: not usually. Depends on what fraternity he pledged (or hopes to pledge).
Strengths: overwhelmingly gregarious, always greets everyone he meets; uncanny ability to appear next to whatever machine you are using
Weaknesses: taking criticism; too willing to give you a congratulatory pat; offers to spot you even on workouts that don't require lifting
Typical outfit: designer T-shirt or fraternity letters, tearaway track pants
Typical show: non-major sports like biking, climbing, or volleyball
3. The Belle of the (fitness) Ball
She treats the health club like it was night club. Secretly, she's more interested in who's watching her work out than actually working out, and she spent way too much time and money shopping for a sports bra that shows just the right amount of cleavage.
Age Range: 16-49
Visible tattoos: lower back or hip, usually a butterfly, flower, or Chinese symbol they themselves cannot interpret
Strengths: texting while jogging; pretending not to notice slobbery blogger watching out of corner of his eye; flirting with the staff
Weaknesses: not getting attention
Typical outfit: designer form-fitting tank top, short shorts with "PINK" written across the rear
Typical Show: Cribs, My Super Sweet 16, Room Raiders... basically MTV
4. The Retiree
Inspiring men and women who no longer work and instead spend the better part of their days at the gym. They typically rule both the locker room and the workout floor between the hours of 8 a.m. and 3:30 p.m., leaving just before the post-work crew arrives. They're very friendly, often talking to you about just about anything... sometimes uncomfortably.
Age range: 60-80
Visible tattoos: None. And if they see one on you, prepare for questions.
Strengths: ability to run miles farther than other gym-goers half their age; knowledge that age is nothing but a number
Weaknesses: people who forget to wipe off the machine
Typical outfit: T-shirt bearing name of grandson or daughter's college, sweat pants
Typical show: CNBC, Fox News, MSNBC, CNN
5. Retired Musclehorn
This might be my favorite of all. Retired Musclehorn isn't as young as he used to be, but dammit, he's showing off his physique, sometimes at his own detriment. He is more than happy to stretch out audibly, letting everyone at the gym know that he's here to kick butt and show the world his powerlifting days aren't over yet.
Age Range: 45-68
Visible tattoos: maybe one on the forearm, just to show that he's still "with it."
Strengths: using entire boundary of the gym to do squat walks and thrusts
Weaknesses: no patience for the moron who's still on the rowing machine and should have been done 10 minutes ago!
Typical outfit: shaved head, loose-fitting tanktop, mesh shorts
Typical show: None necessary. His routine and focus are all the show he, or you, will ever need!
and one extra...
6. The goofy blogger
He looks innocent, but don't be fooled: he's watching everyone and taking mental notes, just so he can update his blog later with descriptions of everyone he's seen.
Age Range: 27
Visible Tattoos: Mom would not approve, but if she did, Fozzie Bear across the left calf
Strengths: motivation; recognizing his fellow gym-goers
Weaknesses: Holy crap, he's sweating and all he's done is change into his shorts; too motivated by the idea of a snack later.
Typical outfit: old T-shirt, socks with holes that should have been thrown away, mesh shorts
Typical show: A movie he's seen a dozren times already. Don't worry, he doesn't need the sound on . This goofball can quote all of "Ferris Bueller" by heart.
Anyone to add? This space is mine to share....
Friday, October 9, 2009
Time to shed the scale?
If insanity is truly doing the same thing over and over again while expecting a different result, well, it appears I am going insane.
Since I began this little weight loss quest of mine, it's been the same routine almost every time I go to the bathroom. Our electronic scale, which I used to avoid like it was covered with Steinbrenner snot, calls to me from its spot. I step on, wait a few seconds for the numbers to flash, get annoyed when the scale says "lo batt," step off, step back on, get downright pissed if it reads "err," then do the whole routine again until a reasonable figure flashes.
Whether it says I'm three pounds lighter on eight pounds heavier, the scale just always seems to be a little off. Once, I stepped on and it registered that I had lost about 135 pounds, which made me really happy until I realized the measurement had been switched to kilograms. Stupid metric system. Back to Europe with you, and your simplistic measurements!
As mentioned above with the not-so-subtle knock against the New York Yankees (I really, really hate Teixeira and ARod right now), the scale used to be a source of great dread to me. I avoided going to the doctor simply because I hated facing the nurse and the constant sliding to the right of that little knob. No, not another 50! Aw, bloody hell! At home, if I did step on the scale, it was usually by accident, preceeded by me stubbing my toe against the machine and stammering around in pain across the bathroom floor.
And now I torture myself by stepping on the scale too much. Weight Watchers wants you to weigh yourself once a week at the support groups known as meetings, with an employee registering your progress in your little chart and either giving a congratulatory nod or a conciliatory smirk. But since I'm obsessed with preparing for the worst, I normally weigh myself at least twice a day during most days, and roughly 97 times before heading off to the weekly meeting. Now I even weigh myself in the men's locker room at the gym, which is good because it's one of those doctor's office scales, but strange because there's usually a guy standing naked behind you waiting for his turn.
Last week, the fickle scale had me go through an entire spectrum of emotions. From Friday through Tuesday, I was elated, believing I was in store for a week of losing 4 to 5 pounds. By Wednesday, I was frustrated that the scale didn't seem as friendly as the past few days. By Thursday morning, I was ready to throw the scale out the window. Come Thursday afternoon, when the vindictive instrument told me I had gained a pound, I tried to flush it down the toilet. Now the building manager is mad about the plumbing being backed up, and insists we pay for it.
Sometimes I would even suck in my gut, like the scale was not only measuring my weight, but also fitting me for pants.
By the time we headed for the meeting on Thursday, I had resigned myself that it was going to be a flat week at best, and at worst that I had gained a metric ton. Once again, the overreacting gremlin inside of me had gotten the best of dear Matt, and when I finally weighed in (again sucking in my belly), I got the congratulatory nod. Almost two more pounds lost. That's six weeks in a row of weight loss, success that I share with my beautiful fiancee.
So now Megan is ready to hide the scale, and maybe I should let her. After all, I do have bouts of insanity, and as long as that scale remains in the bathroom, I'm likely to continue my quixotic routine. (note: If you can ever use the word "quixotic" in a game of Scrabble, stop the game and consider playing professionally).
I'm really only kidding myself. If she hides the scale, I'll just find it, like a pig sniffing out truffles or a pre-Weight Watchers Matt catching a whiff of Oreos somewhere in the house. Maybe at least she'll switch it to kilograms again, just to teach me a lesson.
On your mark, get set, stats!
Weeks until wedding: 41
Week 6 pounds lost: 1.6
Total weight lost: 21.6 pounds
Percentage of overall 60-pound goal: 36 percent. Calculators are wonderful things.
Pounds remaining to lose: 38.4
Record number of matzoh balls I've downed in one sitting: 38.4
Number of subscribers to this blog: nine
Number last week: six. Thank you!
Possible Halloween costumes: Skanky Ghostbuster, skanky Lando Calrissian, skanky Mt. Rushmore
More appropriate Halloween costume: Sully from Monsters Inc., Shrek, slightly skanky Ghostbuster
Since I began this little weight loss quest of mine, it's been the same routine almost every time I go to the bathroom. Our electronic scale, which I used to avoid like it was covered with Steinbrenner snot, calls to me from its spot. I step on, wait a few seconds for the numbers to flash, get annoyed when the scale says "lo batt," step off, step back on, get downright pissed if it reads "err," then do the whole routine again until a reasonable figure flashes.
Whether it says I'm three pounds lighter on eight pounds heavier, the scale just always seems to be a little off. Once, I stepped on and it registered that I had lost about 135 pounds, which made me really happy until I realized the measurement had been switched to kilograms. Stupid metric system. Back to Europe with you, and your simplistic measurements!
As mentioned above with the not-so-subtle knock against the New York Yankees (I really, really hate Teixeira and ARod right now), the scale used to be a source of great dread to me. I avoided going to the doctor simply because I hated facing the nurse and the constant sliding to the right of that little knob. No, not another 50! Aw, bloody hell! At home, if I did step on the scale, it was usually by accident, preceeded by me stubbing my toe against the machine and stammering around in pain across the bathroom floor.
And now I torture myself by stepping on the scale too much. Weight Watchers wants you to weigh yourself once a week at the support groups known as meetings, with an employee registering your progress in your little chart and either giving a congratulatory nod or a conciliatory smirk. But since I'm obsessed with preparing for the worst, I normally weigh myself at least twice a day during most days, and roughly 97 times before heading off to the weekly meeting. Now I even weigh myself in the men's locker room at the gym, which is good because it's one of those doctor's office scales, but strange because there's usually a guy standing naked behind you waiting for his turn.
Last week, the fickle scale had me go through an entire spectrum of emotions. From Friday through Tuesday, I was elated, believing I was in store for a week of losing 4 to 5 pounds. By Wednesday, I was frustrated that the scale didn't seem as friendly as the past few days. By Thursday morning, I was ready to throw the scale out the window. Come Thursday afternoon, when the vindictive instrument told me I had gained a pound, I tried to flush it down the toilet. Now the building manager is mad about the plumbing being backed up, and insists we pay for it.
Sometimes I would even suck in my gut, like the scale was not only measuring my weight, but also fitting me for pants.
By the time we headed for the meeting on Thursday, I had resigned myself that it was going to be a flat week at best, and at worst that I had gained a metric ton. Once again, the overreacting gremlin inside of me had gotten the best of dear Matt, and when I finally weighed in (again sucking in my belly), I got the congratulatory nod. Almost two more pounds lost. That's six weeks in a row of weight loss, success that I share with my beautiful fiancee.
So now Megan is ready to hide the scale, and maybe I should let her. After all, I do have bouts of insanity, and as long as that scale remains in the bathroom, I'm likely to continue my quixotic routine. (note: If you can ever use the word "quixotic" in a game of Scrabble, stop the game and consider playing professionally).
I'm really only kidding myself. If she hides the scale, I'll just find it, like a pig sniffing out truffles or a pre-Weight Watchers Matt catching a whiff of Oreos somewhere in the house. Maybe at least she'll switch it to kilograms again, just to teach me a lesson.
On your mark, get set, stats!
Weeks until wedding: 41
Week 6 pounds lost: 1.6
Total weight lost: 21.6 pounds
Percentage of overall 60-pound goal: 36 percent. Calculators are wonderful things.
Pounds remaining to lose: 38.4
Record number of matzoh balls I've downed in one sitting: 38.4
Number of subscribers to this blog: nine
Number last week: six. Thank you!
Possible Halloween costumes: Skanky Ghostbuster, skanky Lando Calrissian, skanky Mt. Rushmore
More appropriate Halloween costume: Sully from Monsters Inc., Shrek, slightly skanky Ghostbuster
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Heroism in plus sizes...
There's a little Samwise Gamgee in all of us.
While I take steps to lose my roundness, I retain my love for all those great characters of the screen who prove it's okay to be on the larger side. There are some wonderful folks in film who I've been proud to watch, characters who begin the movie at the butt of the joke but overcome their innate plushness (and sometimes asthma) to beat the villain, win the girl, or just make us feel good in general.
So taking a break from my own progress for one blog (just one, I hear you all saying), here's my top 10 plus-sized movie characters of all time. Note: These choices are based on my own opinion, but I'll tell you right now, if you believe Eddie Murphy in a fat suit belongs on this list, well, I'll meet you outside with my dukes up.
10. Hamilton Porter, "The Sandlot", 1993, played by Patrick Renna
How others see him: "It's easy when you play with rejects and a fat kid, Rodriguez."
How he sees himself: Strutting by the pool, waving to the ladies, "I remember you! Ooh, sexy!.... Cannonball!"
Why Ham rocks: Yes, he is comic relief, and while he doesn't get the girl, Ham is the second best hitter at the Sandlot and after Benny, one of the first to welcome Smalls into the club. He also figures big in two pivotal scenes: the insult-off with Phillips ("You play ball like a GIRL!") and teaching Scotty to make s'mores ("You're killing me, Smalls!")
9. Marla Hooch, "A League of Their Own," 1992, played by Megan Cavanagh
How other see her: "How about Marla Hooch... What a hitter!"
How she sees herself: "I singing to Nelson! Ain't I, baby?"
Why Marla rocks: Yep, continuing the baseball theme. Marla gets the nod over the other chubby girl on the Peaches, Doris, because Marla has more to overcome than just a few extra pounds. She's the ugliest girl in the league, drawing comparisons to Gen. Omar Bradley, but she's the best hitter on the Peaches and finds true happiness with her knight in nerdy armor, Nelson.
8. Walter Sobchak, "The Big Lebowski," 1998, played by John Goodman
How others see Walter: "Of course the car made it home, you're calling me at home. No, Walter, it did NOT look like Larry was about to crack!"
How Walter sees himself: "I'm as Jewish as (friggin') Tevye."
Why Walter rocks: He's brash, opinionated, short-tempered, dresses ridiculously, fixated on 'Nam, and honestly, on the scale of things off kilter about Walter, his weight problem is way down the list. Still, he's faithful to his converted religion (He definitely doesn't roll on Shabbos), he eulogizes dear Donny well before the ashes blow into the Dude's face, and he has no fear of nihilists. Let's go bowling, indeed.
7. Paul Blart, "Paul Blart, Mall Cop," 2009, played by Kevin James
How others see Paul: "I wish I had a bat. I would bust you open, see how much candy fell out."
How Paul sees himself: "I took a solemn oath to protect this mall."
Why Paul rocks: Given, this isn't a movie that will win many awards, but Blart is the archetype of big guy overcoming the odds. He goes from Segway riding security guard to a hero, winning the girl from "Glee" and ridding his beloved shopping mall of skateboarding terrorists. John McClane, he is not, but a worthy protagonist? Definitely.
6. Ben Stone, "Knocked Up," 2007, played by Seth Rogen
How others see Ben: "He's got man-boobs. Where does that end?"
How Ben sees himself: "You're going to be embarrassed when you realize I'm Wilmer Valderama."
Why Ben rocks: At the start of Knocked Up, Ben has two things going for him: his sense of humor and a fantastic Jewfro. By the end, he's kicked the weed, rounded himself into fatherhood, and proven to Katherine Heigl that he's more than just a drunken mistake. Plus, yes, he's played by Seth Rogen, and that kicks him up a few pegs in my book.
5. Buck Russell, "Uncle Buck," 1989, played by John Candy
While I take steps to lose my roundness, I retain my love for all those great characters of the screen who prove it's okay to be on the larger side. There are some wonderful folks in film who I've been proud to watch, characters who begin the movie at the butt of the joke but overcome their innate plushness (and sometimes asthma) to beat the villain, win the girl, or just make us feel good in general.
So taking a break from my own progress for one blog (just one, I hear you all saying), here's my top 10 plus-sized movie characters of all time. Note: These choices are based on my own opinion, but I'll tell you right now, if you believe Eddie Murphy in a fat suit belongs on this list, well, I'll meet you outside with my dukes up.
Play Ball!!!!!!
10. Hamilton Porter, "The Sandlot", 1993, played by Patrick Renna
How others see him: "It's easy when you play with rejects and a fat kid, Rodriguez."
How he sees himself: Strutting by the pool, waving to the ladies, "I remember you! Ooh, sexy!.... Cannonball!"
Why Ham rocks: Yes, he is comic relief, and while he doesn't get the girl, Ham is the second best hitter at the Sandlot and after Benny, one of the first to welcome Smalls into the club. He also figures big in two pivotal scenes: the insult-off with Phillips ("You play ball like a GIRL!") and teaching Scotty to make s'mores ("You're killing me, Smalls!")
9. Marla Hooch, "A League of Their Own," 1992, played by Megan Cavanagh
How other see her: "How about Marla Hooch... What a hitter!"
How she sees herself: "I singing to Nelson! Ain't I, baby?"
Why Marla rocks: Yep, continuing the baseball theme. Marla gets the nod over the other chubby girl on the Peaches, Doris, because Marla has more to overcome than just a few extra pounds. She's the ugliest girl in the league, drawing comparisons to Gen. Omar Bradley, but she's the best hitter on the Peaches and finds true happiness with her knight in nerdy armor, Nelson.
8. Walter Sobchak, "The Big Lebowski," 1998, played by John Goodman
How others see Walter: "Of course the car made it home, you're calling me at home. No, Walter, it did NOT look like Larry was about to crack!"
How Walter sees himself: "I'm as Jewish as (friggin') Tevye."
Why Walter rocks: He's brash, opinionated, short-tempered, dresses ridiculously, fixated on 'Nam, and honestly, on the scale of things off kilter about Walter, his weight problem is way down the list. Still, he's faithful to his converted religion (He definitely doesn't roll on Shabbos), he eulogizes dear Donny well before the ashes blow into the Dude's face, and he has no fear of nihilists. Let's go bowling, indeed.
7. Paul Blart, "Paul Blart, Mall Cop," 2009, played by Kevin James
How others see Paul: "I wish I had a bat. I would bust you open, see how much candy fell out."
How Paul sees himself: "I took a solemn oath to protect this mall."
Why Paul rocks: Given, this isn't a movie that will win many awards, but Blart is the archetype of big guy overcoming the odds. He goes from Segway riding security guard to a hero, winning the girl from "Glee" and ridding his beloved shopping mall of skateboarding terrorists. John McClane, he is not, but a worthy protagonist? Definitely.
6. Ben Stone, "Knocked Up," 2007, played by Seth Rogen
How others see Ben: "He's got man-boobs. Where does that end?"
How Ben sees himself: "You're going to be embarrassed when you realize I'm Wilmer Valderama."
Why Ben rocks: At the start of Knocked Up, Ben has two things going for him: his sense of humor and a fantastic Jewfro. By the end, he's kicked the weed, rounded himself into fatherhood, and proven to Katherine Heigl that he's more than just a drunken mistake. Plus, yes, he's played by Seth Rogen, and that kicks him up a few pegs in my book.
5. Buck Russell, "Uncle Buck," 1989, played by John Candy
How others see Buck: "You have much more hair in your nose than my Dad. "
How Buck sees himself: " I don't have a college degree. I don't even have a job. But I know a good kid when I see one. Because they're ALL good kids, until dried-out, brain-dead skags like you drag them down and convince them they're no good."
Why Buck rocks: Five people on this list could have been characters played by the late Mr. Candy, but this was his most heartwarming role. Buck is unemployed and overweight, but at the same time, he domesticates himself, saves his niece from a sex predator, rekindles romance with his girl, punches out a drunk clown, makes pancakes the size of laundry baskets, and tells a nasty principal to go downtown and have a rat gnaw the mole off her face.
4. Vern Tessio, "Stand by Me," 1986, played by Jerry O'Connell (yes, that Jerry O'Connell)
How others see Vern: "Oh, great! You brought the comb! What did you bring a comb for? You don't even have any hair!"
How Vern sees himself: "If I could only have one food for the rest of my life? That's easy-Pez. Cherry-flavored Pez. No question about it."
Why Vern rocks: Well, dear Vern is never going to win a Nobel Prize. Some types of rocks are smarter than Vern, he lacks common sense, is gullible as all heck, and almost gets run over by a train. But his discovery led to the action in the movie, and as the boys make their journey to the body, it's clear that Vern is more than just a token member of the group. Plus, he knows his role, and provides good support for the other guys.
3. Flounder, "Animal House," 1979, played by Stephen Furst
How others see Flounder, a.k.a. Kent Dorfman: "Fat, drunk, and stupid is no way to go through life, son."
How Flounder sees himself: "May I have ten thousand marbles, please?"
Why Flounder rocks: He is the worst pledge to rush Delta, not for being chubby, but for being completely naive and stupid. As the movie goes on, Flounder develops his own personality within the house, and while he never quite gets over being the butt of the joke (or sucker, for that matter), Kent carves out his niche as the nice guy who didn't finish first, but he didn't finish last, either. Plus, he had a pretty hot girlfriend before Otter took her away.
2. Po, "Kung Fu Panda," 2008, voiced by Jack Black
How others see Po: "You can't defeat me! You... you're just a big... fat... panda! "
How Po sees himself: "There is no charge for awesomeness... or attractiveness."
Why Po rocks: What doesn't rock about Po? He starts the movie as a waiter, ends up turning his girth into his own unique style of Kung Fu, becomes the greatest warrior in ancient China, and masters the Wu Xu finger hold. In other words, he's THE Big, Fat Panda, and he's pretty proud of it.
1. Samwise Gamgee, "The Lord of the Rings", 2001-2003, played by Sean Astin
How others see Sam: "Stupid, fat Hobbit!"
How Sam sees himself: "I can't carry it for you, but I can carry you!"
Why Sam rocks: No surprise that he lands at the top of the list. Sam is the most unlikely hero ever, starting as a gardener and ending up saving the world. Frodo said it himself: without Sam, Mr. Baggins doesn't get very far. Ignoring the jokes about Sam and Frodo's relationship, in Gamgee, you have a character who starts as a sidekick, then grows a spine and learns to kill orcs. He climbs up to Cirith Ungol, defeats Shelob, rescues Frodo from the tower, trudges to Mt. Doom, carries Frodo up the whole darn mountain, and keeps Gollum at bay for most of the last two movies. Plus, when he gets home, he marries the hottest Hobbit ever, eventually has about a dozen kids, and becomes mayor of Hobbiton for 49 years.
Honorable mentions: Tommy Callahan (Tommy Boy), Barf (Spaceballs), Fozzie Bear (The Muppet Movie), Shrek (duh)
Dishonorable mentions: Sherman Klump (Nutty Professor), Norbit's wife (Norbit), Big Mama (Big Mama's House), and virtually every other skinny actor to don a fat suit. Except for Robin Williams in Mrs. Doubtfire, it's usually just a terrible idea.
So there's the list. Did I leave anyone off? Post your thoughts.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
The four stars of pressure
Among my many nerdities, and there are several, I am a movie buff.
Don't play Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon or any other actor with me. You're likely to lose. That's not a boast, but just the reality of the fact that during my life, I've spent an inordinate amount of time watching movies. My DVD shelf is beginning to collapse, and some time I'll get around to making my own list of my favorite films of all time.
One of my 37 majors while at UConn was, in fact, film studies. Technically, it would have been an independent study since UConn didn't offer a film major, but I wanted to be a screenwriter. I still do. My favorite movies aren't necessarily the ones with the best plots, but they do have excellent characters and great dialogue. I love the Coen brothers, classic Billy Wilder films, and comedies that rely more on just fart gags to make me laugh. I wanted to write one of those movies, and someday, read a four star-review of something I had helped create.
Well, last week, I got my first four star-review. But it didn't come from the academy of anything, but rather Weight Watchers. For every five pounds you lose, you earn a little star. For those of you at home doing the math, that means I've now lost 20 pounds. A milestone? Most definitely. Worth celebrating? Yep. Complete sentences? Not here. Heh heh. Time to get complacent? I'd better not.
It would be easy to look at this first month and go on cruise control. After all, I've lost one-third of my goal, or 33.33333333333 (and a whole lot more threes) percent, and the number 20 just happens to be the number of my favorite baseball player of all time, Mr. Kevin Yoooooouuuuukilis. In a strange way, Youk helped me celebrate the weight loss. On a trip to Fenway on Saturday, after the Sox beat the Indians, I got a Yoooouuuuuuuuk shirt from a street vendor. The only size they had was an XL, not my usual 2X, but Megan encouraged me to get it. Sure enough, the shirt fits. Another milestone. Thanks Youk!
But complacency would be a very bad thing. I've been complacent many times during my life, and it never leads to weight loss or anything productive. I have to keep working, getting to the gym, bearing the terrible music pumped by the staff, and I have to keep tracking my points. I've been a little too lax about that of late, taking the entire weekend off, and I must be more diligent. After all, it's not Youkilis's number that's the final goal. It's the number on the back on Daniel Bard's jersey that I want to reach.
And after this week, it's become clear that some folks are paying attention. At a recent event in East Hartford, several people came up to wish me luck on this quest and to tell me they've been reading. That's quite flattering, really, and I'd hate to let everyone down. Others have called me crazy for making something as personal as a diet and weight loss a public event, open for the reading delight of any person with a keyboard.
When I started, I had no intention of a public event. In fact, all my life my weight has been a source of shame, and not one that I've wanted to share with anyone, let alone strangers. But I'm trying something different here, an experiment. Give me the pressure. Don't let me fail. No, if I look like I may be slacking, don't call me a fatty or anything like that, but tell me you're in my corner. Words of support mean so much, and if in the process you find some enjoyment from my experience, all the better.
So while the four stars are nice, I want to have 12 by the time Megan walks down the aisle in a beautiful gown (which I have no idea what it looks like- guessing white?). As far as I know, there's never been a 12-star movie. Not even the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy or even Howard the Duck (kidding). Here's hoping for great reviews in my own endeavor, and if at the end of it Ebert wants to write about me, he's more than welcome.
Stat Attack!
Weeks until wedding: 42 (only 40 before I have to look at tuxes)
Week 5 pounds lost: .8
Total weight lost: 20 pounds on the nose. Wait, does weight have a nose?
Percentage of overall 60-pound goal: 33.3333333333333333333333 percent
Pounds remaining to lose: 40
Things I hear are unpleasant about turning 40: prostate exams, ear hair, people who tell you what sucks about turning 40.
New feature!
Percent body fat: 25.5. Which, I learned this week, is actually within normal range of an adult my age. (I was expecting about 45 percent. Sweet.)
Number of subscribers to this blog: six
Number I hope will subscribe by next week: more than six.
Sad that I can't attend: Aaron and Karina's wedding. Mazel tov!
Don't play Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon or any other actor with me. You're likely to lose. That's not a boast, but just the reality of the fact that during my life, I've spent an inordinate amount of time watching movies. My DVD shelf is beginning to collapse, and some time I'll get around to making my own list of my favorite films of all time.
One of my 37 majors while at UConn was, in fact, film studies. Technically, it would have been an independent study since UConn didn't offer a film major, but I wanted to be a screenwriter. I still do. My favorite movies aren't necessarily the ones with the best plots, but they do have excellent characters and great dialogue. I love the Coen brothers, classic Billy Wilder films, and comedies that rely more on just fart gags to make me laugh. I wanted to write one of those movies, and someday, read a four star-review of something I had helped create.
Well, last week, I got my first four star-review. But it didn't come from the academy of anything, but rather Weight Watchers. For every five pounds you lose, you earn a little star. For those of you at home doing the math, that means I've now lost 20 pounds. A milestone? Most definitely. Worth celebrating? Yep. Complete sentences? Not here. Heh heh. Time to get complacent? I'd better not.
It would be easy to look at this first month and go on cruise control. After all, I've lost one-third of my goal, or 33.33333333333 (and a whole lot more threes) percent, and the number 20 just happens to be the number of my favorite baseball player of all time, Mr. Kevin Yoooooouuuuukilis. In a strange way, Youk helped me celebrate the weight loss. On a trip to Fenway on Saturday, after the Sox beat the Indians, I got a Yoooouuuuuuuuk shirt from a street vendor. The only size they had was an XL, not my usual 2X, but Megan encouraged me to get it. Sure enough, the shirt fits. Another milestone. Thanks Youk!
But complacency would be a very bad thing. I've been complacent many times during my life, and it never leads to weight loss or anything productive. I have to keep working, getting to the gym, bearing the terrible music pumped by the staff, and I have to keep tracking my points. I've been a little too lax about that of late, taking the entire weekend off, and I must be more diligent. After all, it's not Youkilis's number that's the final goal. It's the number on the back on Daniel Bard's jersey that I want to reach.
And after this week, it's become clear that some folks are paying attention. At a recent event in East Hartford, several people came up to wish me luck on this quest and to tell me they've been reading. That's quite flattering, really, and I'd hate to let everyone down. Others have called me crazy for making something as personal as a diet and weight loss a public event, open for the reading delight of any person with a keyboard.
When I started, I had no intention of a public event. In fact, all my life my weight has been a source of shame, and not one that I've wanted to share with anyone, let alone strangers. But I'm trying something different here, an experiment. Give me the pressure. Don't let me fail. No, if I look like I may be slacking, don't call me a fatty or anything like that, but tell me you're in my corner. Words of support mean so much, and if in the process you find some enjoyment from my experience, all the better.
So while the four stars are nice, I want to have 12 by the time Megan walks down the aisle in a beautiful gown (which I have no idea what it looks like- guessing white?). As far as I know, there's never been a 12-star movie. Not even the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy or even Howard the Duck (kidding). Here's hoping for great reviews in my own endeavor, and if at the end of it Ebert wants to write about me, he's more than welcome.
Stat Attack!
Weeks until wedding: 42 (only 40 before I have to look at tuxes)
Week 5 pounds lost: .8
Total weight lost: 20 pounds on the nose. Wait, does weight have a nose?
Percentage of overall 60-pound goal: 33.3333333333333333333333 percent
Pounds remaining to lose: 40
Things I hear are unpleasant about turning 40: prostate exams, ear hair, people who tell you what sucks about turning 40.
New feature!
Percent body fat: 25.5. Which, I learned this week, is actually within normal range of an adult my age. (I was expecting about 45 percent. Sweet.)
Number of subscribers to this blog: six
Number I hope will subscribe by next week: more than six.
Sad that I can't attend: Aaron and Karina's wedding. Mazel tov!
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