So it turns out that hamburgers are still delicious. Those who claim their super-clean vegan lifestyle has changed their body so they don't even like the taste of meat may be leading you astray. I don't really care either way, I'm not going to start eating meat again just because it tastes so darn good... but it would have been helpful to know that this supposed "change" doesn't necessarily happen. Maybe it's like an alcoholic who never loses the taste for liquor, even after years of not drinking. Whatever. That double double was heavenly. I did notice that the smell of being inside In-n-Out was way stronger than I remembered.
And the smells my body produced the next day were also way stronger than I remembered. Meat gas, wow.
For the next few days after my Monday evening indulgence, I found the idea of getting another meat-meal inside my body kept gnawing away at me... but I was strong. I know that if I fed myself meat-treats every once in a while, it would likely have little effect on my overall long-term health, but I'd rather just push it from my mind completely instead of having it occasionally. I think it would make me feel like I'm depriving myself of something better if I were looking forward to meat-meals, when that's really not the case. Because even though the hamburger was delicious, it wasn't any better than the spinach and potato curry I make, or a big bowl of gaspacho, or one of my monster fruit shakes.
In an effort to include more leafy greens in my diet, I tried a Kale smoothie tonight. And it was fantastic. I mean that for real. Maybe one of the best smoothies I've ever had. I based the recipe off one that I found on the vitamix website. Here's my version, more or less:
1 banana
1 orange
1 pear
about 1 cup red grape juice
2 large handfuls of kale (after all the other ingredients, the Kale filled the vitamix container to the rim, but wasn't "stuffed" down too much.) (The kale had been washed and prepared beforehand, chopped into medium-sized chunks. Not whole stalks.)
I mixed up these ingredients, then added:
10 ice cubes
mix then serve. It's a bold green color. It tastes fantastic. It tastes FRESH.
I also made more of those date-cocoa-nut balls tonight, this time adding about a TBS of cinnamon and a tsp of lemon juice. They're chilling right now, I'll let you know how they are later.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Monday, March 10, 2008
6 months, time for a burger
It seems I've been doing this diet thing for 6 months now. It's second nature now. No meat is easy. My weight settled in the low 150's. When I weigh myself I usually come up between 150 and 153. It's been steady like that for a few months now. And I'm maintaining that weight with just my diet, having been been shamefully negligent exercising so far in 2008. (Although I think exercise helped me achieve that weight quicker than had I not been exercising...) Losing weight should not be about counting calories. It shouldn't be about starving yourself. It shouldn't be about pills. It's just about eating healthy. Eat a diet filled with fresh vegetables (especially leafy greens), fruit, nuts & beans, and whole grains, and you will reach a healthy weight. Guaranteed. Avoid processed and refined foods, and get rid of meat and dairy. You will be far healthier and happier for it.
When I started this diet (lifestyle) I kept hearing that after a few months the thought and smell of cooking meat would make me ill... not only would I stop craving it, but I would actually find it nauseating. My experience? Not true. While I don't crave meat at all, I do not find the smell of steak or burgers bad at all. On the contrary, it still smells good to me. So I wonder what it would taste like? I think I'm going to plan a burger meal. I know I said I'd never ever eat meat again, but never say never, right?
Sometime this week I'm going to head to In n' Out and grab me a double double with onions and a coke and fries and see what it does to my body, and how I think it tastes.
This is a one-time deal. An experiment. You know, for science. I'm not interested in occasionally eating meat. I don't expect this to become a regular, or even irregular thing.
I still want to fine-tune my diet. I probably eat too many grains, and not enough leafy greens. I eat tons of fruit, which is great, but I could stand to eat more veggies. Last night I cooked up some southern greens I got from Trader Joe's. Pretty good stuff. But I'd like to be eating the equivalent of a head of some leafy green vegetable each day.
And would my friends please stop having birthdays? I'm treating myself on "special occasions" to cake a little too often.
When I started this diet (lifestyle) I kept hearing that after a few months the thought and smell of cooking meat would make me ill... not only would I stop craving it, but I would actually find it nauseating. My experience? Not true. While I don't crave meat at all, I do not find the smell of steak or burgers bad at all. On the contrary, it still smells good to me. So I wonder what it would taste like? I think I'm going to plan a burger meal. I know I said I'd never ever eat meat again, but never say never, right?
Sometime this week I'm going to head to In n' Out and grab me a double double with onions and a coke and fries and see what it does to my body, and how I think it tastes.
This is a one-time deal. An experiment. You know, for science. I'm not interested in occasionally eating meat. I don't expect this to become a regular, or even irregular thing.
I still want to fine-tune my diet. I probably eat too many grains, and not enough leafy greens. I eat tons of fruit, which is great, but I could stand to eat more veggies. Last night I cooked up some southern greens I got from Trader Joe's. Pretty good stuff. But I'd like to be eating the equivalent of a head of some leafy green vegetable each day.
And would my friends please stop having birthdays? I'm treating myself on "special occasions" to cake a little too often.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Bike
I keep running into people who tell me they loved the deodorant story. Thanks! I'm happy it was well received. Sorry it's so long. I tend to get wordy, I suppose. I set out to write another story for you, this time determined to make it shorter.
Hmm... well, at least you get another story.
I've been scanning a bunch of old family photos, and came across this classic of young Greg washing his bike.
I have plenty of bike stories, as any kid growing up in the 70s and 80s would, but this is one of the earliest.
Bike
I'm not sure there is a feeling more pure for a young kid than pedaling a bicycle at full throttle, daring the wind to rip your shirt off. It's better than jumping in a pile of leaves, maybe even better than sliced oranges at soccer games. I loved my bike. I considered myself an excellent bike rider. In kindergarden, I remember having a very serious conversation with Roseanne about how oppressive it was that we were not allowed to ride our bikes to school until the first grade, when surely we were more skilled than many of the wobbly 6 year-olds.
I was allowed to ride my bike between McClellan, Steven's Creek, Stelling, and De Anza, the four larger roads that defined our neighborhood. My parents obviously knew I possessed advanced bicycle skills, allowing me such free rein at such a young age. I was instructed to stay on the sidewalks. Unbeknownst to Mom and Dad, at six years old I had already been taught by an older neighborhood bicycle gang the additional skills of street riding, curb hopping, and even driveway ramp jumping. After a few months timidly entering the street when adults weren't looking, I grew more brazen in my sidewalk-less adventures, learning it was much easier to achieve maximum speed when riding down the middle of the street than when navigating the cracks of a narrow sidewalk. It wasn't long before "don't ride in the streets" was regarded in the same rule category as "don't wipe your mouth on the kitchen towel", or "don't play with yourself".
Plus, I never again wanted to turn a sidewalk corner at top speed and collide with an old man carrying groceries with enough force to fell him and break my front reflector. But that's another story....
Bear in mind this was 1979 and my parents were breaking no laws allowing me to roam the neighborhoods at breakneck speeds without a helmet. So cut them some slack already.
My best friend in the first grade was Mark Busa who lived on Paradise Drive. There were two ways to get there, but I liked to go down Shelly Drive because it had less traffic and if you looked at it just right, it could convince you that it was slightly downhill. One particular sunny day I was in more of a hurry than usual to get to Mark's house. Zooming down the middle of Shelly Drive my face embraced the whip of the wind as my eyes watered, and the air whistling in my ears was a song written just for me. I was lost in the moment. Pure bliss. If E.T. had already been filmed, I would have believed I was about to take flight.
Shelly Drive ends at Terry Way, where I needed to take a hard right-hand turn. I'd never taken this turn at this speed before, but I had no doubt. My bike was my steed and would negotiate the turn without a whimper, then I would be in the home stretch! I was right to be so confident. I angled the bike perfectly, leaning deeply into the turn to capture the momentum. I could hear my tires gripping the asphalt, fully in tune with the vibrations and sounds they made, knowing perfectly how to straddle the edge separating balance from disaster. I popped up out of the turn pedaling furiously for the home stretch when the piercing sound of tires locking on pavement startled me and almost made me fall. I looked back to see smoke rising from the tires of a brown sedan that was still lurching from its quick stop, just a few meters behind me.
At this moment I remembered something my parents had taught me about looking left for traffic.
Unaware how to proceed in a near-death scenario, I continued pedaling at full speed towards my destination, my heart threatening to jump out of my chest. I still had a half-block to get to Mark's house. Looking behind me again, I noticed the sedan was moving now, but very slowly. It seemed like the car was following me! What did the driver want? I had no intention of engaging in a conversation with this adult who almost taught me a violent lesson. Logic suggested that getting to Mark's house before the car was my only hope. Still pedaling at full speed, the car refused to pass, and I desperately wished for a do-over. I finally arrived at Mark's house, gliding onto the front lawn and in one smooth motion dismounting and falling into a run while the bike crashed to the grass behind me. I arrived at the front door with my fist already pounding, calling for the sanctuary to open and accept me as my pursuer parked his car on the street. Mark's mom opened the door and instinct took over. I burst past her and ran towards Mark's room where I closed the door behind me and hid under the bed.
I'm not sure what protection I expected to find under Mark's bed. But for a few brief seconds in the darkness of that foot-high space, I was safe with just the sounds of my heavy breathing. The door-bell rang. I briefly considered an escape route through the back-yard, but reason prevailed and I stayed put. A minute later Mark's mom opened the door.
"Greg. There's a man here who wants to talk to you."
Eyes closed, panting.
"I know you're under the bed."
She might be faking.
"He says he almost hit you with his car. He just wants to make sure you're alright."
Oh. That didn't sound like trouble. I crawled out and sheepishly walked to the front door. I'm sure I didn't make much eye contact, but really, it was just a nice old man wanting to make sure I was OK. I promised to be more careful. He left. Mark and I proceeded to build an enormous castle out of Lincoln Logs.
Lesson learned? Absolutely. The rest of my childhood and to this day I never fail to look left when approaching an intersection pedaling recklessly at top speed down the middle of the street.
Hmm... well, at least you get another story.
I've been scanning a bunch of old family photos, and came across this classic of young Greg washing his bike.
I have plenty of bike stories, as any kid growing up in the 70s and 80s would, but this is one of the earliest.
Bike
I'm not sure there is a feeling more pure for a young kid than pedaling a bicycle at full throttle, daring the wind to rip your shirt off. It's better than jumping in a pile of leaves, maybe even better than sliced oranges at soccer games. I loved my bike. I considered myself an excellent bike rider. In kindergarden, I remember having a very serious conversation with Roseanne about how oppressive it was that we were not allowed to ride our bikes to school until the first grade, when surely we were more skilled than many of the wobbly 6 year-olds.
I was allowed to ride my bike between McClellan, Steven's Creek, Stelling, and De Anza, the four larger roads that defined our neighborhood. My parents obviously knew I possessed advanced bicycle skills, allowing me such free rein at such a young age. I was instructed to stay on the sidewalks. Unbeknownst to Mom and Dad, at six years old I had already been taught by an older neighborhood bicycle gang the additional skills of street riding, curb hopping, and even driveway ramp jumping. After a few months timidly entering the street when adults weren't looking, I grew more brazen in my sidewalk-less adventures, learning it was much easier to achieve maximum speed when riding down the middle of the street than when navigating the cracks of a narrow sidewalk. It wasn't long before "don't ride in the streets" was regarded in the same rule category as "don't wipe your mouth on the kitchen towel", or "don't play with yourself".
Plus, I never again wanted to turn a sidewalk corner at top speed and collide with an old man carrying groceries with enough force to fell him and break my front reflector. But that's another story....
Bear in mind this was 1979 and my parents were breaking no laws allowing me to roam the neighborhoods at breakneck speeds without a helmet. So cut them some slack already.
My best friend in the first grade was Mark Busa who lived on Paradise Drive. There were two ways to get there, but I liked to go down Shelly Drive because it had less traffic and if you looked at it just right, it could convince you that it was slightly downhill. One particular sunny day I was in more of a hurry than usual to get to Mark's house. Zooming down the middle of Shelly Drive my face embraced the whip of the wind as my eyes watered, and the air whistling in my ears was a song written just for me. I was lost in the moment. Pure bliss. If E.T. had already been filmed, I would have believed I was about to take flight.
Shelly Drive ends at Terry Way, where I needed to take a hard right-hand turn. I'd never taken this turn at this speed before, but I had no doubt. My bike was my steed and would negotiate the turn without a whimper, then I would be in the home stretch! I was right to be so confident. I angled the bike perfectly, leaning deeply into the turn to capture the momentum. I could hear my tires gripping the asphalt, fully in tune with the vibrations and sounds they made, knowing perfectly how to straddle the edge separating balance from disaster. I popped up out of the turn pedaling furiously for the home stretch when the piercing sound of tires locking on pavement startled me and almost made me fall. I looked back to see smoke rising from the tires of a brown sedan that was still lurching from its quick stop, just a few meters behind me.
At this moment I remembered something my parents had taught me about looking left for traffic.
Unaware how to proceed in a near-death scenario, I continued pedaling at full speed towards my destination, my heart threatening to jump out of my chest. I still had a half-block to get to Mark's house. Looking behind me again, I noticed the sedan was moving now, but very slowly. It seemed like the car was following me! What did the driver want? I had no intention of engaging in a conversation with this adult who almost taught me a violent lesson. Logic suggested that getting to Mark's house before the car was my only hope. Still pedaling at full speed, the car refused to pass, and I desperately wished for a do-over. I finally arrived at Mark's house, gliding onto the front lawn and in one smooth motion dismounting and falling into a run while the bike crashed to the grass behind me. I arrived at the front door with my fist already pounding, calling for the sanctuary to open and accept me as my pursuer parked his car on the street. Mark's mom opened the door and instinct took over. I burst past her and ran towards Mark's room where I closed the door behind me and hid under the bed.
I'm not sure what protection I expected to find under Mark's bed. But for a few brief seconds in the darkness of that foot-high space, I was safe with just the sounds of my heavy breathing. The door-bell rang. I briefly considered an escape route through the back-yard, but reason prevailed and I stayed put. A minute later Mark's mom opened the door.
"Greg. There's a man here who wants to talk to you."
Eyes closed, panting.
"I know you're under the bed."
She might be faking.
"He says he almost hit you with his car. He just wants to make sure you're alright."
Oh. That didn't sound like trouble. I crawled out and sheepishly walked to the front door. I'm sure I didn't make much eye contact, but really, it was just a nice old man wanting to make sure I was OK. I promised to be more careful. He left. Mark and I proceeded to build an enormous castle out of Lincoln Logs.
Lesson learned? Absolutely. The rest of my childhood and to this day I never fail to look left when approaching an intersection pedaling recklessly at top speed down the middle of the street.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Soup for Lunar Eclipses
Tonight I invented another soup, and ate it while watching the lunar eclipse from my balcony. Perfect. I thought it was really quite delicious.
It's not too different than previous soups, but includes cooked cucumber. Kind of like a hot gaspacho, but a little different. Here's what I did:
1/2 cup brown rice
16oz. Vegetable Broth
2-3 cups water
1 large cucumber
4 medium - large tomatoes
1 red bell pepper
1/2 sweet onion
fresh ginger
2 bay leaves
1/2 tsp basil
1/2 tsp thyme
1/2 tsp tarragon
1 tsp olive oil
1/2 tsp red wine vinegar
1 lemon
1 clementine orange
cook the rice separately.
mix vegetable broth and 2 cups water in a large pot with chopped onions, tomatoes, and bell pepper. Add basil, thyme, and bay leaves. Also add a thin slice of fresh ginger. Bring to a boil, and then simmer for about 15 minutes, or until the vegetables become soft.
Pull out the vegetables from the soup and put in vitamix or blender. Also add the orange, and squeeze 1/2 of a lemon into the mix. Include a little bit of the soup mixture, and try to fish out the bay leaves and ginger as well. It should all get blended up. Blend well, then add the mixture back to the soup.
In a separate frying pan, squeeze 1/2 lemon then add the olive oil, vinegar, and tarragon. Also chop up a small slice of fresh ginger. Mix it around in the bottom of the pan. Peel the cucumber, cut in half, and make half-moon slices. Stick in the frying pan, and saute in the sauce stirring constantly until the cucumber starts to turn colors. The cucumber took longer to cook than I expected, actually... but it was hot and still crispy when it was done.
Add the cucumber and rice to the soup, and let simmer for another five minutes, then serve. Very tasty. I'll bet a hint of salt on top after serving would go well, if you want a little salt with it.
I finished with a new snack that I learned about from digital grin, my favorite photography forum. There's a humongous thread on the forum all about the diet I'm on (actually it's where I first ran into the diet) and lots of great debate, information, and recipes. If you're at all into digital photography from beginner to pro, this forum is a great place to hang out.
The snack is simple:
1 cup walnuts
1 cup almonds
10 mejdool dates
1 heaping TBS cocoa powder
grind everything together in a food processor, then roll the mush into balls and put in the refrigerator. Delicious, and I'm sure you can imagine a ton of different variations on this to do yourself.
Well, the eclipse was great fun with my soup. We got lucky down here and had enough break in the clouds to see most of the action. I don't have any real long lenses that would be good for photographing the event, so I just stuck to watching and enjoying my soup.
It's not too different than previous soups, but includes cooked cucumber. Kind of like a hot gaspacho, but a little different. Here's what I did:
1/2 cup brown rice
16oz. Vegetable Broth
2-3 cups water
1 large cucumber
4 medium - large tomatoes
1 red bell pepper
1/2 sweet onion
fresh ginger
2 bay leaves
1/2 tsp basil
1/2 tsp thyme
1/2 tsp tarragon
1 tsp olive oil
1/2 tsp red wine vinegar
1 lemon
1 clementine orange
cook the rice separately.
mix vegetable broth and 2 cups water in a large pot with chopped onions, tomatoes, and bell pepper. Add basil, thyme, and bay leaves. Also add a thin slice of fresh ginger. Bring to a boil, and then simmer for about 15 minutes, or until the vegetables become soft.
Pull out the vegetables from the soup and put in vitamix or blender. Also add the orange, and squeeze 1/2 of a lemon into the mix. Include a little bit of the soup mixture, and try to fish out the bay leaves and ginger as well. It should all get blended up. Blend well, then add the mixture back to the soup.
In a separate frying pan, squeeze 1/2 lemon then add the olive oil, vinegar, and tarragon. Also chop up a small slice of fresh ginger. Mix it around in the bottom of the pan. Peel the cucumber, cut in half, and make half-moon slices. Stick in the frying pan, and saute in the sauce stirring constantly until the cucumber starts to turn colors. The cucumber took longer to cook than I expected, actually... but it was hot and still crispy when it was done.
Add the cucumber and rice to the soup, and let simmer for another five minutes, then serve. Very tasty. I'll bet a hint of salt on top after serving would go well, if you want a little salt with it.
I finished with a new snack that I learned about from digital grin, my favorite photography forum. There's a humongous thread on the forum all about the diet I'm on (actually it's where I first ran into the diet) and lots of great debate, information, and recipes. If you're at all into digital photography from beginner to pro, this forum is a great place to hang out.
The snack is simple:
1 cup walnuts
1 cup almonds
10 mejdool dates
1 heaping TBS cocoa powder
grind everything together in a food processor, then roll the mush into balls and put in the refrigerator. Delicious, and I'm sure you can imagine a ton of different variations on this to do yourself.
Well, the eclipse was great fun with my soup. We got lucky down here and had enough break in the clouds to see most of the action. I don't have any real long lenses that would be good for photographing the event, so I just stuck to watching and enjoying my soup.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Tomato Zucchini & Rice Soup
I've been really jamming on the vegetables this week. Yesterday I stir fried some baby Bok Choy, today I steamed a pound of spinach, but the best meal of the week has been the Tomato Zucchini & Rice Soup, by a landslide. Easy to make.
1 onion, chopped
4 large tomatoes, chopped
1 red pepper, chopped
1 clove garlic, minced
24oz. vegetable broth
6 medium zucchini, sliced
1 Tbs. tarragon
1 tsp. basil
1 tsp. cayenne pepper
1 cup brown rice
Start by cooking up a cup of brown rice, separately.
With a little olive oil, saute the onion, tomatoes, red pepper, and garlic. Once the onions have started to soften and become clear, take about half of the pan and liquify it in a blender or vitamix, with about half of the vegetable broth.
Pour the remaining vegetable broth in a large pan, with both the liquified vegetables and the chunky vegetables, with all the spices. Simmer on a low heat.
Saute the sliced zucchini briefly, then add to the soup. Add the rice when it's finished. Let simmer for another 15 minutes or so, then serve. Add additional seasonings to taste.
This is a really thick soup... more like a stew. If you like your soup less "chunky", you could do 1/2 cup of rice, and then liquify a larger percentage of the vegetables, and use a few less zucchini. My soup was full of chunky vegetable and rice goodness.
Anyway, there you have it. My tomato zucchini soup invention. Enjoy.
1 onion, chopped
4 large tomatoes, chopped
1 red pepper, chopped
1 clove garlic, minced
24oz. vegetable broth
6 medium zucchini, sliced
1 Tbs. tarragon
1 tsp. basil
1 tsp. cayenne pepper
1 cup brown rice
Start by cooking up a cup of brown rice, separately.
With a little olive oil, saute the onion, tomatoes, red pepper, and garlic. Once the onions have started to soften and become clear, take about half of the pan and liquify it in a blender or vitamix, with about half of the vegetable broth.
Pour the remaining vegetable broth in a large pan, with both the liquified vegetables and the chunky vegetables, with all the spices. Simmer on a low heat.
Saute the sliced zucchini briefly, then add to the soup. Add the rice when it's finished. Let simmer for another 15 minutes or so, then serve. Add additional seasonings to taste.
This is a really thick soup... more like a stew. If you like your soup less "chunky", you could do 1/2 cup of rice, and then liquify a larger percentage of the vegetables, and use a few less zucchini. My soup was full of chunky vegetable and rice goodness.
Anyway, there you have it. My tomato zucchini soup invention. Enjoy.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
The beginning of stories...
Forgive me if this is self-indulgent. It is. But in an effort to expand on this blog, which I intend to become more than just a diet blog, I'm going to occasionally give way to the telling of stories. Old stories, from my childhood mostly. I've got lots of them. And I think some of them are rather entertaining. And I'd like to remember them, and use them as an excuse to write... I'm working on a screenplay, but don't seem to find time to write everyday. Sometimes I just need to write SOMETHING. Anyway, writing a screenplay is so much different than other kind of writing. So I'm going to give you stories. True stories, all of them, at least as true as my memory can make them. And maybe someday I'll collect them in an official "memoir" of my life, and maybe someday my descendants (still hopeful) will enjoy having them.
So here's the first story. Don't know why this one, just something I thought of recently. I hope you enjoy.
The Arrival
It felt like a normal day in the 7th grade. A few kids teased me, I fell asleep during second period, and kids at the neighboring high school still seemed impossibly big. But when I came home from school there was evidence that the day was not so normal as I had thought.
They were on my bed.
I remember clearly that my bed was made neatly. My mom must have made my bed for me. I've never been much of a bed-maker. Even now I find it hard to take five minutes to put a bed together, even though I always like the look of a made bed when I'm done and think kind thoughts about myself for having done it. I should do it more often. I think I don't like all the bending over involved, or maybe it's the tucking.
On my made bed was a stick of deodorant, shaving cream, and a razor.
I stood in the doorway of my bedroom observing these items that had arrived. There was no warning that this was to be the method of their arrival. I suppose I knew some day they'd show up, but I figured there'd be signs to anticipate their coming, like hair to shave, or stink to cover up. I never gave any thought to how it would happen. Apparently spontaneously assembling themselves on my made bed was the preferred method in our family. After a long pause I entered my room and closed the door behind me. I picked up each item to inspect it closely.
The razor was shiny. The bottle of shaving cream was round and felt cold in my hands. These two items I could deal with. I understood the concept of shaving. Even though my father was an electric shave man, I had seen enough commercials on television to understand the concept and methodology behind the procedure. But the deodorant!
I understood that puberty happened in stages. I also understood that I was not at any stage that required me to be shaving my face. So I must have been at some stage where I was beginning to stink. I was a tad horrified to think that perhaps I had been stinking a few days and not even known it. I had heard kids at school say rather authoritatively that a person can't smell their own B.O. What if I had B.O., and this was my mother's way of politely telling me to improve my hygiene? Horrified, I looked over the stick of deodorant for instructions on how to get myself fixed.
What? No instructions? What kind of a product doesn't come with instructions? Does this company think every user of their product is an expert at application? What kind of a business model discourages first-time users like this? Even shampoo always has instructions! Wet hair! Lather! Rinse! Repeat! Surely the application of deodorant warranted a similar simple yet helpful list of steps! I was truly aghast!
It's true, I had little idea how to use deodorant. One of the pitfalls of being the oldest child, I suppose. I was pretty sure that it was to be applied under the arms. But the commercials on TV never showed that! They always showed the same thing. Two competing brands of deodorant being delicately swiped across a woman's forearm, usually to display how one goes on dry and the other goes on wet, or how one is white and flakey and unseemly, and the other is clear and oh-so-modern. I seem to recall some finger snapping involved. At any rate, they certainly left lots of room for interpretation.
I did not go running into my mother's arms thanking her for bringing me into manhood with the purchase of these products. I admit, I felt unsure how to proceed. The fact that they arrived with no further instructions led me to conclude that it was expected I should already know what to do about them. And if I was already supposed to know, there's no way I could ASK anyone! Part of being a kid is knowing that there are things you don't know, and figuring out which things you're supposed to know but don't, and then acting like you do know the things you think you're supposed to know so that when people rate you, you always rate as one of those kids who seems "older than his age". Advanced. And so I determined to figure out the mystery of deodorant application on my own. The next morning before school, I would use the stick and be protected from the stink.
I have no memory of any conversation that happened regarding the arrival of the items. I'm sure there was one. I'll even bet good money that my Mom asked me if I knew what to do. And I'll bet even better money that I told her very quickly yes, of course, don't bug me about it. This scenario is particularly probable if the conversation happened at dinner, when I would have felt the added pressure of answering correctly in front of father and younger siblings, who would be observing and judging my answers for accuracy and skill of delivery.
The next morning I had a plan of action, after much logical deliberation. I first tested a small amount on my forearm, as in the commercials. It went on a little bit wet and cool, but it was clear. If being clear is a virtue worth bragging about in commercials, then the reason must be because it's not good when people can see your white flakey deodorant. Since people wear shirts that cover their underarms, that must mean that deodorant is indeed used in other places than just your pits. As you can see, so far there were no holes in my logic. "Deodorant" seemed to be the same thing as "Anti-Persperant", although both words did not seem to be used by every competitor in the field. This was confusing to me, but I chalked it up to two terms meaning about the same thing. So even though my stick only said "deodorant", I was confident that it was also an "anti-persperant". I understood the prefix "anti" to mean "against", and the root "persperant" to be a variant on "perspire", which I knew meant to sweat. "Against sweat." It was a 7th grade education of the finest sort. So all I had to do a this point was determine where on your body you sweat the most, glide the stick on, and walk around campus fresh as a daisy. I was a genius.
Determining where you sweat the most, especially if you played sports a lot like me, was not so easy. I finally decided that the most sweat was probably related to where body parts came together. Joints, you might say. And then the bottom of your feet, of course. So after my morning shower, the bottom of my feet got the first treatment. It went on cool, and smelled good! The feeling in my socks was a little weird, but I assumed I would get used to it, like all new experiences. Then every joint I could think of got a fresh glide of the stick. Under my arms, in my elbows, between my knees, and yes, a bit between my legs, because you definitely sweat there. I debated for a while about putting some around my neck, but decided it wasn't a heavy sweat zone. I then put on my shirt and shorts and proceeded to kiss my Mom and walk out the door to school, protected.
At this point it's important for me to remind you of the year this story takes place. This is a 12 year old boy wearing shorts. In 1984.
As I walked away from the front door I realized painfully that my Mother had not shut the door yet. Then I heard a little chuckle.
"Greg?"
I turned around. She was smiling one of those "this is so funny" smiles, but I didn't think anything was that amusing.
"Did you put deodorant behind your knees?"
I was caught. How shameful, to be proven wrong in the application of a thing that came without instructions! To not have innate knowledge of how to use modern odor-repellant technology! Obviously there was no way out of this. So I answered with supreme confidence. Maybe there was a small chance my way was right, and my Mom wasn't in tune with modern technique...
"Yes, I did."
"Well, you're not supposed to. Come on in and wash it off."
"But you sweat there."
"I know you do, honey, but it only goes under your arms."
"There weren't any instructions."
"I know."
I looked at the back of my knees shocked to see that what had gone on clear had actually dried white. What a disaster. But so much less a disaster than had my mother's eagle eyes not caught the glare of a white flakey substance on the back of my legs in the morning sun! Saved! Because had I made it to school in that condition, whatever thread of peer respect I was still clinging onto would have been snatched away forever by the vultures that prey jr. high campuses.
With washed elbows and knees I went to school unscathed, a little embarrassed, but at least none of THEM knew. And for all that day, I had the freshest feeling feet and crotch you've ever imagined.
So here's the first story. Don't know why this one, just something I thought of recently. I hope you enjoy.
The Arrival
It felt like a normal day in the 7th grade. A few kids teased me, I fell asleep during second period, and kids at the neighboring high school still seemed impossibly big. But when I came home from school there was evidence that the day was not so normal as I had thought.
They were on my bed.
I remember clearly that my bed was made neatly. My mom must have made my bed for me. I've never been much of a bed-maker. Even now I find it hard to take five minutes to put a bed together, even though I always like the look of a made bed when I'm done and think kind thoughts about myself for having done it. I should do it more often. I think I don't like all the bending over involved, or maybe it's the tucking.
On my made bed was a stick of deodorant, shaving cream, and a razor.
I stood in the doorway of my bedroom observing these items that had arrived. There was no warning that this was to be the method of their arrival. I suppose I knew some day they'd show up, but I figured there'd be signs to anticipate their coming, like hair to shave, or stink to cover up. I never gave any thought to how it would happen. Apparently spontaneously assembling themselves on my made bed was the preferred method in our family. After a long pause I entered my room and closed the door behind me. I picked up each item to inspect it closely.
The razor was shiny. The bottle of shaving cream was round and felt cold in my hands. These two items I could deal with. I understood the concept of shaving. Even though my father was an electric shave man, I had seen enough commercials on television to understand the concept and methodology behind the procedure. But the deodorant!
I understood that puberty happened in stages. I also understood that I was not at any stage that required me to be shaving my face. So I must have been at some stage where I was beginning to stink. I was a tad horrified to think that perhaps I had been stinking a few days and not even known it. I had heard kids at school say rather authoritatively that a person can't smell their own B.O. What if I had B.O., and this was my mother's way of politely telling me to improve my hygiene? Horrified, I looked over the stick of deodorant for instructions on how to get myself fixed.
What? No instructions? What kind of a product doesn't come with instructions? Does this company think every user of their product is an expert at application? What kind of a business model discourages first-time users like this? Even shampoo always has instructions! Wet hair! Lather! Rinse! Repeat! Surely the application of deodorant warranted a similar simple yet helpful list of steps! I was truly aghast!
It's true, I had little idea how to use deodorant. One of the pitfalls of being the oldest child, I suppose. I was pretty sure that it was to be applied under the arms. But the commercials on TV never showed that! They always showed the same thing. Two competing brands of deodorant being delicately swiped across a woman's forearm, usually to display how one goes on dry and the other goes on wet, or how one is white and flakey and unseemly, and the other is clear and oh-so-modern. I seem to recall some finger snapping involved. At any rate, they certainly left lots of room for interpretation.
I did not go running into my mother's arms thanking her for bringing me into manhood with the purchase of these products. I admit, I felt unsure how to proceed. The fact that they arrived with no further instructions led me to conclude that it was expected I should already know what to do about them. And if I was already supposed to know, there's no way I could ASK anyone! Part of being a kid is knowing that there are things you don't know, and figuring out which things you're supposed to know but don't, and then acting like you do know the things you think you're supposed to know so that when people rate you, you always rate as one of those kids who seems "older than his age". Advanced. And so I determined to figure out the mystery of deodorant application on my own. The next morning before school, I would use the stick and be protected from the stink.
I have no memory of any conversation that happened regarding the arrival of the items. I'm sure there was one. I'll even bet good money that my Mom asked me if I knew what to do. And I'll bet even better money that I told her very quickly yes, of course, don't bug me about it. This scenario is particularly probable if the conversation happened at dinner, when I would have felt the added pressure of answering correctly in front of father and younger siblings, who would be observing and judging my answers for accuracy and skill of delivery.
The next morning I had a plan of action, after much logical deliberation. I first tested a small amount on my forearm, as in the commercials. It went on a little bit wet and cool, but it was clear. If being clear is a virtue worth bragging about in commercials, then the reason must be because it's not good when people can see your white flakey deodorant. Since people wear shirts that cover their underarms, that must mean that deodorant is indeed used in other places than just your pits. As you can see, so far there were no holes in my logic. "Deodorant" seemed to be the same thing as "Anti-Persperant", although both words did not seem to be used by every competitor in the field. This was confusing to me, but I chalked it up to two terms meaning about the same thing. So even though my stick only said "deodorant", I was confident that it was also an "anti-persperant". I understood the prefix "anti" to mean "against", and the root "persperant" to be a variant on "perspire", which I knew meant to sweat. "Against sweat." It was a 7th grade education of the finest sort. So all I had to do a this point was determine where on your body you sweat the most, glide the stick on, and walk around campus fresh as a daisy. I was a genius.
Determining where you sweat the most, especially if you played sports a lot like me, was not so easy. I finally decided that the most sweat was probably related to where body parts came together. Joints, you might say. And then the bottom of your feet, of course. So after my morning shower, the bottom of my feet got the first treatment. It went on cool, and smelled good! The feeling in my socks was a little weird, but I assumed I would get used to it, like all new experiences. Then every joint I could think of got a fresh glide of the stick. Under my arms, in my elbows, between my knees, and yes, a bit between my legs, because you definitely sweat there. I debated for a while about putting some around my neck, but decided it wasn't a heavy sweat zone. I then put on my shirt and shorts and proceeded to kiss my Mom and walk out the door to school, protected.
At this point it's important for me to remind you of the year this story takes place. This is a 12 year old boy wearing shorts. In 1984.
As I walked away from the front door I realized painfully that my Mother had not shut the door yet. Then I heard a little chuckle.
"Greg?"
I turned around. She was smiling one of those "this is so funny" smiles, but I didn't think anything was that amusing.
"Did you put deodorant behind your knees?"
I was caught. How shameful, to be proven wrong in the application of a thing that came without instructions! To not have innate knowledge of how to use modern odor-repellant technology! Obviously there was no way out of this. So I answered with supreme confidence. Maybe there was a small chance my way was right, and my Mom wasn't in tune with modern technique...
"Yes, I did."
"Well, you're not supposed to. Come on in and wash it off."
"But you sweat there."
"I know you do, honey, but it only goes under your arms."
"There weren't any instructions."
"I know."
I looked at the back of my knees shocked to see that what had gone on clear had actually dried white. What a disaster. But so much less a disaster than had my mother's eagle eyes not caught the glare of a white flakey substance on the back of my legs in the morning sun! Saved! Because had I made it to school in that condition, whatever thread of peer respect I was still clinging onto would have been snatched away forever by the vultures that prey jr. high campuses.
With washed elbows and knees I went to school unscathed, a little embarrassed, but at least none of THEM knew. And for all that day, I had the freshest feeling feet and crotch you've ever imagined.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Immediate Action to Save Betsy's Eye.
Betsy just commented, "excuse me greg? if i check your blog and see "2007, done" one more time i might poke my eye out."
Sorry for not having posted in 2008 yet! It's been pretty hectic so far. In order to avoid being the cause of Betsy's self eye-removal procedure, I'll post a quick life update:
* got to second shoot for a rainy wedding with Karen (awesome)
* gained 4 pounds over 3 weeks of "relaxed rules" over the holidays when I ate way too many of my mom's chocolates. (awesome)
* moved to (awesome) new apartment (lots of work)
* completed a photo album for a client (awesome)
* got a parking ticket (not awesome)
* watched in horror as Apple stock did a belly flop (not awesome)
* got my car window smashed and old worthless ipod stolen (very not awesome)
* came down with the flu and couldn't sleep for 3 days (really very not awesome)
* lost 7 pounds while sick to drop to "too skinny" levels (totally not awesome at all)
* started feeling a bit better yesterday, thank-you very much.
And somewhere in there just as I was getting sick the band played a show to a small but loyal crowd who trekked all the way to rainy Glendale to cheer us on as the clock struck 12 on a weeknight. What troopers. We love them.
I'm back on the diet more aggressively now, after my 3-week vacation while spending time with the family in the bay area. I sure do crave fresh fruit and vegetables. I haven't started my desired exercise plan yet... mostly because of being sick and all the work of moving in. I did start playing basketball once a week, which is where I probably picked up the Flu in the first place. Anyway, I feel like I've got a gazillion things on my plate right now. Hopefully I can be smart enough to make time for it all. And from now on, if it happens to Greg, you'll be the first to know, internet!
Sorry for not having posted in 2008 yet! It's been pretty hectic so far. In order to avoid being the cause of Betsy's self eye-removal procedure, I'll post a quick life update:
* got to second shoot for a rainy wedding with Karen (awesome)
* gained 4 pounds over 3 weeks of "relaxed rules" over the holidays when I ate way too many of my mom's chocolates. (awesome)
* moved to (awesome) new apartment (lots of work)
* completed a photo album for a client (awesome)
* got a parking ticket (not awesome)
* watched in horror as Apple stock did a belly flop (not awesome)
* got my car window smashed and old worthless ipod stolen (very not awesome)
* came down with the flu and couldn't sleep for 3 days (really very not awesome)
* lost 7 pounds while sick to drop to "too skinny" levels (totally not awesome at all)
* started feeling a bit better yesterday, thank-you very much.
And somewhere in there just as I was getting sick the band played a show to a small but loyal crowd who trekked all the way to rainy Glendale to cheer us on as the clock struck 12 on a weeknight. What troopers. We love them.
I'm back on the diet more aggressively now, after my 3-week vacation while spending time with the family in the bay area. I sure do crave fresh fruit and vegetables. I haven't started my desired exercise plan yet... mostly because of being sick and all the work of moving in. I did start playing basketball once a week, which is where I probably picked up the Flu in the first place. Anyway, I feel like I've got a gazillion things on my plate right now. Hopefully I can be smart enough to make time for it all. And from now on, if it happens to Greg, you'll be the first to know, internet!
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