Wednesday, October 20, 2010


The Mrs. and I got our hearing tested today. One of the nifty things about Tucson is the overabundance of medical places that enjoy teasing the populace with free stuff. Despite the joyful whistling/ringing of tinnitus that's significantly less enjoyable than holiday chimes pealing away in my head 24/7, the ear lady said I have excellent hearing. (That's what I heard, anyway.) Deb has slight hearing loss, but that's only when I ask her to make me chocolate chip cookies. Doesn't impact her too much, and it helps keep me on my diet. Grumpy, sure, but that happens with or without cookies.

Saturday, October 16, 2010


Dear Everybody Who Does It,

Here's the new rule: when you're in a store and traversing the aisles therein, do so in the same manner you would drive on the road. By that I mean for those of you in the states, stay to the right. If you have to stop, pull over and give the rest of us room to move around your bloated carcass. If you stop in the center, I get to stab you. If you go down the wrong side of the aisle, I get to stab you. If you pull the cart from the front rather than pushing it from the friggin' handle designed for that purpose, I get to stab you and shove your head through the cart so it gets all julienned. If you travel down the wrong side of the aisle and then look at me with gigantic, uncomprehending cow eyes, I not only get to stab you, but you're going to experience the thrill that is the store's industrial-strength meat grinder. Toes-first. If you have children and you need to go shopping, leave the kids at home. Or at a family member's house. Or a serial killer's house. Do not, under any circumstance, bring your children to the store. If you have no other recourse but to bring your children with you to the store, you can't come in. You can't even come in to the parking lot. (See all the stabbing rules, above.)

Thursday, June 24, 2010


I'm trying to be healthy. We go to the gym for 30-60+ minutes per day, every day. At the very least, we do 30 minutes on the treadmill or stationary bike. As opposed to the stationery bike, because it's hard to work up a sweat writing notes. I've also started counting calories. That's quite possibly the single most depressing activity ever devised by man. We don't eat three meals a day. We just don't. Even with that, it's remarkable how quickly one reaches that magically recommended 2,000 calorie mark. People who eat three meals a day must double or even triple that figure.

My rambling point is about how moderation is a lie. Sure, people tell you that you can eat things in moderation, and you'll be fine. Bull. One glass of 2% milk is in the 120 calorie neighborhood. Excuse me... one 8 ounce glass. That's the wee bitty juice glass, a.k.a. the thimble. I could drink about 6 of those and still feel thirsty. If I were moderating, I'd drop it down to 4. Words cannot describe to you how much I miss whole milk. I've settled for 2% in the quest to lose weight. I'm not going lower, as we've already got water in the fridge, thanks.

That's probably one of the harder things about this quest to no longer be fat. Drinks. I can't drink regular diet drinks because nutrasweet makes my head split open. Until recently, I thought I was having adverse reactions to splenda, but I think I've ruled them out. That may be something. Iced tea tastes like iced ass, so that's out. Water is... icky. I drink it, but there's no way I'm drinking it with food. I want flavor, dammit. I go to sleep thinking about what I'm going to have for lunch the next day. (Hence the title of the post.) I want to enjoy it.

I weigh about 170 right now. (I say "about" because it keeps fluctuating.) At my towering height, if I lose 20 more pounds I'll be in the high end of "normal". According to BMI charts, at any rate. It's going to be a hell of an uphill climb to get down that far, and not only because I have a lousy sense of direction. I miss eating. I'm lighter than I've been in a long time, I'm in better shape than I've been in a couple decades, and that's all lovely and heart-healthy and good for me with unicorn glitter and rainbows and whatnot. Still, I'd be a very happy man if I could sit down with a jar of peanut butter, a few bags of funyuns, and a gallon or two of whole milk and while away the time with my old friends.

After all, what the hell is the point of living longer if you don't get to enjoy it?

Monday, March 15, 2010

2010 Census

We received the census form today. Filled it out, but with a bit of a twist. In the "race" field, we put "human". (Thanks for the idea, Kathy!) I mean, honestly, what the hell difference does it make? I heartily encourage the tens of people who wander this way to do the same.

Wednesday, January 06, 2010

Dear Comcast

Dear Comcast,

I hate you. I hate you so very, very much. This is no ordinary hate. I confess I say that I hate a lot of things. In comparison to what I feel right now, those have to be downgraded to "mild dislike". To be fair, I hate all cable monopolies. But Comcast, I hate you most of all. Why? Because you're the monopoly I have to deal with. Here's why I hate you...

My wife and I bought ourselves an HD television for Christmas. We don't watch TV all that much, but we figured that when we do watch it'd be nice to watch it on something bigger and sharper than our old TV. I hooked it up, and much to my surprise we started to get new channels! Wow! My wows soon turned to curses after a couple weeks pass, and I learned that you are now taking away digital channels from my cable package. Bastards. I can now see one out of four major networks in HD. (PBS doesn't count, though I get two of those in HD. Whoop-dee-shit.)

"Just upgrade!" you say. You know, if you gave me the option to upgrade so that I could see the networks I might just consider it. Or if you gave me the option to have a cable package that has channels I may actually watch, and not 100 channels of crap. But you don't give me that option. The upgrade you so gleefully want me to buy is EIGHT TIMES what I'm paying now. I'm not kidding, and I don't suck at math. EIGHT. TIMES. "Fuck you!" is far, far too short of a phrase to completely describe how I feel. Even if I stretch out every single letter until the veins stick out on my forehead.

So, I used part of our Christmas present to buy an indoor antenna. I'm currently trying to find the best place to put it where it will get the most channels. I'd *like* to put it deep in the heart of Texas of the CEO of Comcast or whoever decided to take channels away from their customers. I don't think I'd be alone in that regard. Hell, I'll buy two of them and give the same treatment to the person who thought that half of the channels we get should be in Spanish. But that's a whole other rant right there.

In conclusion, I'd like to say once again: Comcast, I hate you.