Musing on the present. Reminiscing about the past. Posturing for the future.
Introspective thought on my own behavior or actions.
Definitely doesn’t look like my cube, huh?
It’s not. I ran.
Had this trip to Shasta planned, but it couldn’t have come after a better day. Plan to hang out with some friends from church – no not awaiting the passing of some comet or anything – but fishing and just getting away. No wives allowed so it’ll be a steady diet of meat and carbs.
I’m ready for the weekend, and that sun peeping over that hill says that, for me, it’s just about to start.
See ya.
Hi internet. Sorry about not writing to you lately. Here goes.
Rode my bike to work the past couple days. Not quite ready to say I’m “doing” it now… but I do have some mild intent to establish a routine, I suppose. For me it’s an easy way to get a few calories down on those days I miss the gym.
Unfortunately, I decided to start just as the weather is warming up – but the morning ride is still beautiful and cool. I bring tennis shoes and shorts with me, ad change before the brutally warm ride home in the afternoon. (Worse, the ride into work is generally downhill, whereas the ride home, logically, goes back up.) And so, when I get home I’m fairly slicked with sweat and winded – which isn’t that bad, since I’m home at that point, after all.
Anyway, with just two days down, I’m enjoying it – and considering the time difference between riding and driving is truly minimal for my short commute – I think I’m going to try and keep it up. Today, by which I mean Tuesday even though it’s midnight now, I actually rode over 20mi – but that’s a story for another day… because… man… it is a story.
And, since we’re on the subject of exercise and sweat and whatnot – I feel compelled to bring up my progress towards my “Aruba goal.” We leave for a week vacation in Aruba in just a couple weeks, stopping in Atlanta overnight and meeting up with Sharaun’s folks – who are coming as friends, family, and babysitters – and then heading to the island. Believe me, I am looking forward to this like nothing else. Only a week more to go and we’ll be poolside for hours each day, playing on the beach with Keaton, and lounging around in hammocks with our bellies full. For me, the start of vacation made a convenient goal-date for my current weight-loss plans. Having started at a portly 250lbs near the end of January, I wanted to be down to 215lbs by Aruba.
Now look, I know, I sound like a chick… targeting a “vacation weight” and all. I guess I’m OK with that. (And, wait till you read the next paragraph if you really want to question my testosterone levels anyway.) Regardless of this, I’m extremely happy to say that, as of last week’s official weigh-in, it appears that my goal of 215lbs may be realized. Last I checked I was sitting at 219lbs with about two weeks left before we leave. In an ideal loss-per-week world, I will end up at 215lbs on the nose just before departure. I have to admit to you guys that, as odd as it is for me to talk about this kind of thing, I’m really happy with my progress thus far. And, without risking too much more of my manhood, I will mention that my post-Aruba goal is to get down to 200lbs by the 4th of July. Aggressive, to be sure, but I think ultimately doable if I work hard.
Now, as happy as I am with my Aruba weight, I’m still pudgy and as hairy as a yeti. As I’ve aged, these things have bothered me less and less. So much so, in fact, that during last year’s vacation in Mexico, I did nothing to alter my appearance – and simply rocked the body hair au-natural. And, honestly, even though I’m aware of it and just an itty-bitty bit self conscience about it, I didn’t give it much thought and it surely didn’t get in the way of my enjoying myself. But see, this time around… I feel like I’ve worked really hard to shed some pounds before we go… and having realized that goal makes me want to… address… the whole hair thing. I know it’s vain, but I’m totally planning on ridding myself of this hair pre-vacation.
Oh yeah, you read that right. And, since I’m a bloggin’ kinda guy… I figured I’d write about the “procedure” here.
Here’s what I want to do: I have tons of hair. My back, my chest, my shoulders… it’s literally a sweater. Again, I’ve come to embrace my hairiness, and it really doesn’t bug me as much as it used to. However, to complement my weight loss and just overall make me feel snappy, I want to get some work done before we go. No, I don’t want to go college-boy hairless, but I’d at least like to take care of the back and shoulders. Hopefully I can get this done without leaving an unnatural or abrupt “fire line” on the chest hair I’m not interested in removing… I guess that’s left to the skill of my “technician.”
Anyway… after I make the appointment and git ‘er done, I’ll post here about the trauma. But for now, sleep is calling and I need to heed. Sorry today was so self absorbed… but this is a blog after all.
Goodnight.
Happy Monday night internet people. Join me for a quick blog, would you?
Ten o’clock and I’m fresh back from the gym, where I’ve been steady-working to drop pounds and evade heart-attacks and whatnot. And, still so-far-so-good in that department. I’m not near giving up yet, and I daresay I’ve near developed a habit. (Good for me, since I’m far and away a creature of habit.)
Sometimes people ask me, “Don’t you just feel better now that you’re going to the gym? Like… you have tons more energy and you just have an overall better feeling?” I’ve heard this a lot, in fact people used to say it to me as a convincing argument that working out was worth it. And, as much as it pains me to let folks down I have to be honest and tell them that, no, I don’t feel magically “better” for working out – at least not physically. Now, mentally, and how well I feel about myself for being disciplined and sticking with it – that’s a whole other thing. I’ve got pride by the chestful in that department. But, as far as my body just feeling “better,” I can’t say it does. Sorry gym rats… maybe I just need more time.
I think work is on the cusp of slowing down a bit; I’m over the major hump I needed to summit before I got a little breathing room. I cut loose that effort tomorrow and am hoping for a slightly slower remainder of the week so I can catch up on the 800 e-mails sitting in the inbox waiting for my attention. My job is not “hard” like breaking rocks or building houses hard, but it’s got its own “hard” elements to it at times. I suppose I do enough to earn my keep,; at least I don’t leave feeling guilty each day.
Now, in you-reading-this time I bet not even two minutes have elapsed. Over here in me-writing-this time, however, the big hand is creeping towards the little green pip-less domino that represents an eleven on our living room clock (no numbers, we’re fancy like that). Anyway… that, dear friends, means I shall close the lid on another short entry and call it a night.
Until tomorrow then, adieu.
Happy Tuesday.
In our house, I handle the money. I take care of our savings, investments, bills, budget, etc. I do most of this in a vacuum, as Sharaun’s threshold for caring about money vs. not caring about money is simple: As long as there’s money available when she needs it then there’s not a money problem. This works for us for a couple reasons: 1) We communicate about spending pretty openly and regularly, and 2) We’re both fairly cheap, frugal. Yeah we’re not the most miserly of penny-pinchers, but we don’t spend excessively.
Lately, I’ve been trying to share the details and workings of our budget with Sharaun. This involves some “training” on my complex household-finances spreadsheet. When I’ve tried to review it with her, I can tell she’s just favoring me – pretending she cares how much of my paycheck goes to the 401k, what the margin is on our stock sales, etc. It’s OK, at least she knows where the spreadsheet is and how to (sorta) read it. She’ll never have to be in the business of changing the numbers, hopefully, so I guess that’s about all I need to ask of her anyway.
One positive result of this budget review is Sharaun looking for little ways to save money. Part of this has seen her decide that planning a weekly “menu” of dinners is more cost-effective (in terms of the shopping required) than planning things quick day-of. Subsequently, she’s started trying to map out our meals in advance, choosing a bunch of dishes she cooks semi-regularly anyway and assembling them into a canon of stock meals she can rotate through. I’m not exactly sure how this saves money (other than the assumption that shopping strictly against a fixed list discourages impulse purchases), but it has sparked an idea for the blog…
See, Sharaun’s exercises in meal-planning remind me of my own childhood. Wherein my Mom would make a weekly meal schedule, a “menu” if you will, and post it to the fridge for the family to see. She’d have the nights of the week and what would be for dinner each night. As I kid, I took this for granted. It was nice being able to look forward to Thursday’s “chicken and wild rice casserole” on Monday, the elements of predictability and anticipation worked well, I think even encouraged the family to come together at mealtime (which wasn’t an option, we always ate together).
Near universally, I loved my Mom’s cooking (I never was too big on tuna casserole). Culinarily, I’d say my Mom was a study of the famously checkered Better Homes cookbook, which, along with the Joy of Cooking and a handful of recipes passed down from her mom – made up the lion’s share of her drawn-on resources. Of these cookbooks, I think she lingered mostly in the “casserole” and/or “quick & easy family friendly” chapters. I imagine the 70s having played a large role in her cooking style, not only a decade in which the US went casserole-crazy, but the decade where I suppose she defined her meal repertoire as a wife and mother. Now this isn’t to say that casseroles were all my mom cooked, it’s just that I remember a lot of them.
And, like I said, me not being a picky eater my Mom’s fare nearly always seemed palatable. I loved the casseroles, the pork chops, the hamburgers, all of it. And it didn’t matter to me that we rotated through what must have been a few week’s of stable-recipes – in fact I think I rather enjoyed having a favorite few dishes I could count on popping up every so often. The regularity was a good thing. And, when my Mom did decide, by whim or necessity or whatever, to break from the standard meal rotation and try something new – it was always a notable evening.
And, with the last sentence of that, my now sixth paragraph, I’ve setup the actual bit I wanted to write about. Sometimes I might overdo the exposition… y’know? Anyway…
Sharaun’s menu-planning got us talking about my Mom’s menu-planning the other night at dinner. And, thinking about that reminded me of a story that our family sometimes still talks about to this day: The time my mom thought she’d go all exotic and try making falafel balls for dinner. Talk about a break from the dinnertime status-quo, falafel balls were about as far away from our typical repast as you could get. Perhaps Mom wanted to add an international flare to mealtime, perhaps there was a “falafel is ultimate good for you” fad going around at the time (you know… the flaxseed, whole grain, no trans-fat, and steel-cut oats kinda fad). Whatever the motivation, the results will live forever in dinner-table infamy for our our family.
The actual point here is that my Mom’s falafel balls turned out horrible. Now, I can’t quite recall if this is because we simply agreed that we weren’t falafel people or if she actually botched the recipe and the resulting “balls” were inedible. But either way, the family universally agreed that falafel balls were the worst thing ever. In fact, I still get a smile when I think about how we all choked down our hesitant bites at the dinner table, and can remember being a bit surprised by my folks’ open disgust at how badly they’d turned out (as a kid I guess I was somewhat stumped that my Mom’s feelings weren’t hurt, and that she was openly acknowledging how horrid her own creation was).
Point being that, from that meal on, no matter how bad anything we ate was – we could always joke that it was, at least, “not as bad as falafel balls.” To this day I sometimes catch myself thinking that in my head when I don’t like something I’m eating.
“Hey, at least it’s better than falafel balls.”
I’m lucky now… Sharaun is an excellent chef, and has a wide selection of things she cooks for our family. In fact, I’ve said to her on many occasion that I’ve not disliked anything she’s ever made for us – and I’m being honest. Her meals are almost always enjoyable, and I always find myself grateful for the food she makes for Keaton and I. I make sure and let her know that, and I think I do so fairly religiously after each meal. And, I’ve told her the falafel ball family apocrypha too – so maybe knowing that the low-mark on the bar is pretty dang low gives her that extra confidence. Ha.
Well, I think I remembered that right… maybe the falafel balls were only a big deal in my head.
Goodnight!
So yeah… long time no talk.
Sorry about that. I guess things were busy last week; or, maybe I wasn’t in the mood; or, maybe nothing happened; maybe a mixed bag of reasons. I mean, I’ve known for a while know the once-a-day thing has been broken. I took down the calendar I used to display on the sidebar because it looked like a mouth full of rotted teeth, spotty writing here and there represented by a hyperlinked day. Don’t think me down and out, just go back and read something old… or something else altogether. I promise I’ll be here for a while to come. So, let’s write for today.
The sun has been out lately, and, somewhat unbelievably, although we’re in January I note whiffs of warmer weather on the air. To be fair, a California January really isn’t all that cold to begin with, but I actually spent all Saturday outside at a large wake and the weather couldn’t have been better.
Lately I’ve really been considering getting a lawn service. Just basic stuff: mowing, fertilizing and some general landscaping and upkeep. I know, I can hardly believe I just wrote that.
Honestly, I’m split right down the middle on this. One part of me can hardly believe I’m seriously considering it. I guess because I often enjoy doing the work myself, and have had many a good morning working outside in the dirt. Add to that the fact that the work is not hard, and on the effort vs. reward line plot it’s got a great return on investment. Not to mention the fact that I feel totally bourgeois for even weighing the option, and wince at the imagined barbs my DIY friends would inevitably throw my way.
But, there’s a whole other part of me that feels like I’ve earned the money to buy back my time. And, if I had someone do the “little stuff,” the monotony, I could perhaps focus on the more fun bits of the activity: gardening, tending flowers, etc. (Oh, and yes, I trend more and more towards “old man” every day of my life lately.. “tending flowers”… sheesh.) Anyway, I really am thinking about paying someone to take care of my yard… even though it makes me feel just a little too participatory in our undocumented American caste system… I’ll let ya know.
Switching gears, I want to get all for-real up in your junk.
This weekend I went to the second funeral I’ve ever been to. I suppose you may think that odd, if you’ve been to a great many. Most those of age with me have, and do. I’ve just never had the opportunity; it wasn’t something I really regretted… was sort of glad actually. Not that people in and around my life haven’t left this orb, or that I just don’t “do” funerals, it’s just worked out that way.
The first funeral I ever attended was likely one of the saddest I’ll ever attend, and my heart still breaks for my friends every time I recall it. The service this weekend, however, a three hour roadtrip south of here, was a superb mixture of appropriate sadness, grief, and celebration of a life. Now, I might state that I’d never actually met the deceased, but rather know his son and went to show my support. After leaving that day, though, I felt like I really got a feel for the man’s character. What’s more, I gained a lot of appreciation for my buddy’s character, and a good glimpse at the genesis and catalyst behind who he is today.
Over the past year or so, loss has touched my circle of friends moreso than I can ever recall. I suppose this comes with getting older, and that the last thing I should count on as time marches is a slackening of that inevitable pace. It’s sobering, the thought that as we go on those who’ve already been where we are now are just arriving at that last platform. That the pain of loss has impacted those I love so frequently lately only makes me take note of how Sharaun and I have been spared this so long. My friends are losing parents, those pillars of their lives… I think you can see where I’m going.
Now, no sense fretting, no sense cowering, I’m just ruminating on the circle of it all a bit I suppose
Goodnight y’all… until the next time.
Today I joined the gym.
Let me tell you why this is such a big deal to me.
For as long as I can remember knowing about the noun “gym” in the English language, I’ve hated the gym. As soon as I set foot in a gym I feel instantly out of place, intimidated, and self conscious. I imagine all eyes on me, the pudgy balding guy who obviously has no idea what he’s doing hooking his arms into that leg machine. The one sweating profusely while his step machine “time elapsed” counter reads only 02:13, you see that slacker? In fact, the prospect of going to the gym ranks right down there on my list of “stuff I avoid like the plague” with things like “playing organized sports” and “dancing.”
In my rational mind, I know this is an irrational response… yet it’s still my natural response.
I’ve wondered before if this is somehow tied, psychologically, to my pubescent hatred of middle and high school’s mandated Physical Education. It’s no secret that I’ve never been a jock (although I did enjoy my weightlifting elective immensely back in high school). I lack the coordination, discipline, and basic skills and knowledge required to enjoy and/or be successful.
I’ve made my peace with this, and it doesn’t really bother me. I’m not the sports guy; I read books, listen to music, write. I’m the guy the sports guys beat up because he “throws like a girl” and doesn’t care that Matt Cassel is a free-agent this year. PE was never my thing… mostly because I was never good at anything (mostly because I never tried, nor cared to try, to be good). Yeah, I was that kid. Funny thing now is that I wish I hadn’t been that kid, had had those experiences, and hadn’t been the wallflower who didn’t care that his fingers should make a diamond to catch a football… or something.
Anyway, in the past I thought that perhaps going to the gym with someone else might help ease my troubles, but it actually exacerbated things. Either I go with someone more experienced than me who makes me feel (quite unintentionally, I’m sure) like a fitness idiot (which, coincidentally, I am), or I’m with someone as unmotivated as me and we just serve mutually inflate each others’ appreciation for our mediocrity. Long ago I arrived at the conclusion that my personal approach to fitness, kind of like masturbation, was that it’s something I enjoy much more when I’m able to hide out and not be seen. For a while, I tried running around the neighborhood… and that was OK, but I gave up. For a while I tried going to the free gym we have at work, but I gave up. And for a while I tried riding my bike to work, but I gave up. See the pattern?
Latent misgivings about PE aside, the source of my gym-aversion isn’t that important. Suffice to say it’s there, I know it’s “stupid,” but it’s not going anywhere (yet). What’s more, it, combined with a total lack motivation on my part, has kept me from the gym for my adult life. Now, I’m not trying to “blame” my irrational aversion to the place for me not going, if you took a percentage it’d be the smaller of the two reasons, and would be dwarfed in fault by a plain lack of caring on my part. So, before I talk about how I actually joined the gym we should recap: 1) Hate the gym, feel absurdly uncomfortable there. 2) Not motivated to go anyway, so it works out OK.
Sound like I’m setup for success here? Yeah, I thought so.
But, last week, Sharaun finally managed to convince me to join her there for an hour (and let me tell you, it was a hard sell). To my surprise, I actually really enjoyed the visit (I used a free guest pass). We spent about 40min on a step machine and then meandered down the rows of machines, trying different ones. It was nice to have her there, and nice to be able to drop Keaton at the kids area to play. The place was expansive enough that I didn’t feel crowded or watched-over, and there were so many machines and things to do that I never felt like I was holding any serious fit-folk up with my lameness. After leaving, I confess I felt great and wanted to go back. And, after using another free pass and not hating it again I decided to sign up.
Now, I know that a financial commitment is no insurance I’ll actually develop a habit of going – but I desperately like to think it is. However, as long as I can continue to enjoy myself there, I think I can manage. A large part of that is the fact that I get some uninterrupted music time while I’m there (I know, this might sound ridiculous). I live for those times: mowing the lawn, driving, etc., and I’m hoping I can just see the gym as an “escape” where I can go to at least make myself a little more proud that I’m not simply eating and sitting myself into heart disease – all while I can jam on the new Animal Collective record. So, while I’ll be the first to admit it’s out of character for me, I’m trying to be dedicated to making it worth the $20/mo that’ll go down the drain if I fail to use it.
And now that I’ve taken the plunge I have to deal with the “hey that kid who doesn’t ever dance is totally making a fool of himself on the dancefloor” thing. Meaning, when I tell anyone who’s known me for any stretch of time that I plan to start getting fit, they almost always laugh or respond with some sarcastic comment along the lines of, “Yeah, that’ll last.” And hey, who can blame them? My actions surely never back up my words when it comes to fitness, that’s for sure. It’s not like I hate the concept of being fit, or even the threat of exercise… in fact there are a (very few) things I do enjoy doing that are sort of fitness-phyllic (hiking, for one… you silent doubters).
When it comes to follow-through, I suppose only time will tell… but history sure ain’t on my side. But, while visiting the gym over the past few days – I did learn a few things. I’ve noted them mentally, but I figured I’d share here too… So, what have I learned about going to the gym?
So… that’s my story. Don’t wish me well OK?, that makes me all weird too. Some hangup, huh?
Goodnight internet.
Welcome to 2009, readers.
New Years Eve day was another (nice!) slow one around the homestead. Sharaun and I cleaned up a little more of the leftover Christmas mess (and foodstuffs lingering in the fridge, in my case). Keaton got a deluxe edition DVD of Mary Poppins from our next-door neighbors, and, surprisingly, ate up the film (all that singing and dancing, she’s just a sucker for it); so we watched that in the morning. The place was looking tip-top (as tip-top as our place tends to realistically get) long before noon. And yes, I am shooting for most use of parenthetical notation in a single paragraph (get it?).
Right now I feel like I haven’t been to work in ages. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised to see my shoulders visibly sag were I looking in the mirror as the thought of going back this coming Monday enters my head. To be clear, it’s not that I’m dreading it, but it seems I’ve been taken by the strangest “bug” lately… this insanely strong inclination to cling to family.
Thus the time spent here at home with Keaton and Sharaun, the week my folks visited over Christmas, and even going back to the nice long jaunt we took to Florida to visit Sharaun’s family back around Thanksgiving: All these things have created a snowball of emotion inside me… an almost physical urge to “family up.”
And, to mention this new desire within me without also mentioning my newfound desire to better integrate “church” (used here, I think, as a generic word for religion, introspect, tradition, spirituality, closeness, etc.) into my family would be impossible (the expressed concept of “ownership” of what is truly our family is actually intentional here). I know that may sound odd, or maybe random and untied to the whole “family” concept I mention above… but in my head lately they are tied so tightly together that I have to finish the thought here.
I’ve typed and typed (and deleted and deleted) about this family/church concept over the past couple weeks, but find I’m still not ready to put what I’m talking about into words… so I’m going to leave it (for now) with this (admittedly lacking) summary: At some point recently, I’ve “decided” that the things which are most important in life are those which, as a father and husband, I should be working to surround myself and my immediate family (Sharaun and Keaton) with. Chief among those things, I’ve decided, are our relationships with extended family and our sense of “church.”
Right now, I can’t explain why this doesn’t mean we’re going ultra-religious (or scary-religious, however it strikes you), but it doesn’t. It may read that way (so be it). I think, basically, it means I want to spend more time with my family as a family, connected spiritually together through a common set of belief and faith (if that makes sense). And, among other traditions and experiences, I want us to, together, enjoy and share this “church” thing I’m on about.
What it means… practically… I’m not 100% sure. And, it may not even be blog stuff (there’s plenty of stuff that doesn’t make the blog, and it tends to be the more personal… so this might qualify for that exclusion… who knows). I do feel better, however, for writing about it finally… and while the explanation is poor (by my own judgment), perhaps it’ll help cement, for me, what I’m even feeling – and maybe put some action around the concept.
I don’t know guys, I just don’t. I do feel, though… so that’s something. So hey, don’t read this and assume I’m making drastic wholesale changes. But, then again, I guess don’t assume I’m not. Realistically, I’m in early concept-phase here… so it’s a wonder I even put this much around the idea. OK?
To lighten the mood before I go, here’s Keaton and I dancing to “Brothersport.” (And, for real, you need to get this new Animal Collective album…)
[flv:https://blog.pharaohweb.com/video/mpp2.flv 320 240]
Goodnight.