Ground Rules

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Alrighty then…

So I’ve spent some time over the last couple of weeks actually drafting up a series of posts.  I tend to work better that way: outlines, synopses, drafts; you’d think I have a “workflow” for this stuff all worked out!  Anyway, before we start down that path, I realized that I need to set forth the rules I’ve been using for the last few years when it comes to comments.

These rules are the result of years of occasionally blogging on topics that bring out a different crowd from my usual collection of like-minded blog readers and fellow leaky-brain ramblers.  More than ninety-nine percent of my non-spam comments are approved.  Hell, even the occasional spam comment is approved just because it’s sorta funny in an ironic way.  So these rules very rarely come in to play.  But when you need them, you REALLY need them; so what follows are my time tested criteria for why I won’t approve your comment:

  1. No Punctuation.
  2. Comments in ALL CAPS.
  3. Comments longer than the original post.
  4. Comments that reference more than three verses from the religious works of your choice.
  5. Comments that actually include entire citations from the religious works of your choice.
  6. Comments that insult either my position or the position of other commenters.  I reserve the right to decide the difference between ardent disagreement and out-and-out insulting.
  7. Obvious Trolling.
  8. (corollary to # 7) Obvious Troll-Baiting.
  9. Having a worse potty-mouth than I do.  I have been known to edit particularly foul-mouthed comments, substituting humorous non-swear words and phrases (or archaic and out-of-vogue ones) for over-used examples from our current spoken English.  I do this rarely.  Generally I just hit delete.
  10. Using the “C” word (and no, I’m not talking about “crap”) under any circumstances.  Why is this different from #9?  Because all other criteria are flexible, this one is not.

As I point out in rule 10, these are basically criteria, not hard rules.  I’m likely to let a reasonable comment that only breaks the first rule pass if the comment is short, and the intent is clear and vitriol free. Likewise with a comment that seems reasonable except for the (perhaps accidental?) use of the caps-lock key.  I myself have posted comments that were longer than the original post, so the third one is highly flexible…but not if it’s trolling, quotes the Koran for 33 verses, or if seven hundred of its thousand words can’t be repeated on broadcast television before the watershed hour.

Also, these rules essentially only apply to new commenters.  If you’ve been approved, commented consistantly in the past, and have a generally reasonably position that you are defending ardently in a way that bends these criteria, I’m VERY unlikely to revoke your comment.

Except for rule 10.  Break rule 10 and I will delete your comment and assign you to the spam filter for all time.

Nothing Spectacular

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So, last night I stepped on a scale for the first time since last autum.  I was expecting to be EXACTLY where I was then, about 275 give or take a pound or two.

254

That’s more than twenty lbs.  I haven’t even DONE ANYTHING yet.  I gave up Soda…big whoopie deepie doo.  Well, and started tracking my calories.  Again.

Now, this is exactly what I don’t want to get into this time around.  No focusing on the scale, no pouring over every missed opportunity, no berating myself every time I eat more than 2000 calories in a day.  The number on the scale is just a number.  It’s not me, it doesn’t say ANYTHING about how healthy I am, what I look like, what I FEEL like…just how much resistance a pressure pad dispersed when I stood on it.

I will not be posting regular weigh-ins here.  In fact, I doubt I’ll weigh myself again anytime soon, it doesn’t help me.  In fact, it does the opposite; I generally either feel bad about not losing enough, or I slack off because I think I’m ahead.

But not this time, no weight goals carved in stone.  My only goal is to dive into the water at the breakwater docks and swim under the Hawthorne Bridge on August 22nd; swim, bike and run like a man possessed; and not stop until I cross the finish line in Waterfront Park.  750 m in the water, 26 km on a bike and 5 k on my feet.  I don’t have to “win”.  I don’t even have to do well.  Just finish in less than four hours.

If I train well enough to survive, then weight loss is possible.  But it’s not about the weight loss, it’s about finishing.  I just want to finish.

And tonight I took the first steps down that path, litterally.  I stretched, warmed up with a slow walk for 3 minutes, walked at a fast pace for 10 minutes, ran for 2 minutes, walked at the same fast pace for another 10 minutes and finished with a two minute cool down.  Nothing spectacular, it’s my first time on the treadmill in a LONG time and my first time ever in the new shoes…so I took it easy.

One down, four more days to go.

The Clicker, My Ticker, and a Gold Star Sticker

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For anyone not familiar with my writing style, please be advised this post will be long.  And full of personal denouement.  And long.  We will start with some backstory, charge into some current issues in my life, and then forge on to goals and expectations for the coming year.  Did I mention “Long”?

First of all, lets start with boring “new years resolution” stuff and just get that right out of the way.

I am, without a doubt, in the worst shape I’ve been in for the last half-a-decade.  While I’m not at my “high-water” mark from 2002, I’m not exactly moving in the right direction either.

I’ve never been much of an “exercise guy” by self-definition.  More of a “food lover/great chef/eats everything on his plate” kind of dude.  I have been since I was 12 years old.  Conversely, I was skinny as a rail as a kid.  I looked like a stick figure in my wedding photos.  I ran track in high school and set records that stood for years.  I played Soccer in college.  I could eat Taco Bell out of bean burritos and mexican pizzas on any given day, drink a gallon of soda and still look like Don Knotts’ skinnier kid nephew.

I remember eating hostess chocolate covered mini-doughnuts BY THE BOX every morning in high school.  One day, a classmate of mine looked at me and she said “someday you’re gonna regret eating those.  They will catch up to you.” and I laughed her off.

I am here today to say, “Holly McCutcheon, you were SO right.”

I used to be a serious couch potato.  Like, 50 hours a week or more level couch potato.  And video games.  And computer games.  And then we invented the DVD player!  And THEN we invented Everquest!!!  Aww…what memories.  Ah, what a monumental spread to my ass!

Between sedentary jobs, no desire to exercise, and a poor fitness example at home growing up (no blame, one parent had a debilitating illness, and one was a bit busy with, like, WORK and stuff) I didn’t really have the tools to do better.

I had a couple of health scares, some massive life changes and some opportunities to learn new habits, and eventually dropped back down to about 205 lbs.  That might not sound like much when I was 168 lbs the day I got married, but for a guy with my build, 205 was pretty good.  I was trim, in good health and looked ok with my shirt off.  pretty much all I could ask for.

That was 2007.

This, is 2010.

If you multiplied the time difference in years by 20, you’d have a pretty good guess at the number of lbs I’ve gained since then.

I’ve discovered some things about myself recently.  I suck with generalized goals.  I don’t track them well, and I don’t have a good history of sticking to them.  Life gets in the way (which is what life is, the stuff you have to do before you get to do the stuff you want to do) and eventually the hills obscure the road forward and my momentum simply tapers away into “laters” and “next times” and “when I cans”.

What I need is a giant grandfather clock with an extra hour on the face between midnight and one that reads “later” so I can finally get around to all the things I’ve put off until then.

Or perhaps I should try goals that don’t suck.  That might help too.

Of course, I tend to use really REALLY crappy goals like “lose X amount of weight” or “wear pants whose waist is less than my inseam” with numbers and sizes so impractical I can’t possibly hope to reach them anytime soon, and then I get discouraged when I don’t get there in three weeks.

So this year, I’m going to try a different approach.  Basically, I’m going to take a page from my wife and try a slightly more unorthodox approach.

A couple of years ago, my cousin ran his first triathlon.  He didn’t win, but he did finish.  He also found himself in significantly better shape than he was before he started training.

Going from couch potato to triathlete sounds insane just on the face of it, I get that.  So the challenge is a part of the allure.  I don’t have a regular access to a swimming facility.  I don’t own a road bike to ride.  I haven’t run distance since Bill Clinton was in his first term.  The whole thing sounds outlandish.  But I think I can do it.

Not all at once.  Not tomorrow, not even any time soon; but I think I can finish a standard Olympic Triathlon by the end of the year.  By the end of next year I could finish a 70.3 (half-ironman), and before I turn 40 I could try to qualify for the Ironman in Kona.  Now THAT would be great reason to vacation in Hawaii.

There are several triathlons here in the Portland area every year, and several more if you include Bend and Seattle as well; so I should have plenty of options to chose from this fall for my first triathlon.

So, as part of my motivation, I will start posting my training log here on this blog.  Five times a week.  I’ll start with the running and the exercise bike, and hopefully later this spring or early summer I’ll buy an economical road bike and start posting times and pictures from my training route around my neighborhood.

I’m sure I’ll lose some weight in the process, heck, I’d LOVE to drop out of the “Clydesdale” bracket before I try a 70.3 (that’s a year and a half to lose 70 lbs or so) and I think that’s doable.  But training for a triathlon is about getting in shape, and being healthy.  Losing the weight is a side affect, not the goal.  I think that will help.  Training five times a week is a goal that I can make.  Even if I miss some days, there’s a direct, reachable goal right in front of me when I try again.

It’s just five days.

(Other Stuff by Me)

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A long time ago, I wrote a lot.  After that I didn’t write much at all.  Then, I tried to start up a new blog, and it was going to be focused on the writing I do “for money”.  Actual storytelling, not just “random shit from my brain” blog posts.

And then life reminded me that I already have a full-time job and I’m busy and blah-blah-blah (insert other excuses here).

So I recently bought a snazzy new netbook with a full sized keyboard and a large enough screen that I can actually use the thing and see a full page in Word.  I thought, “Hey, if I have a way to sit on my lazy ass on the couch and write, I’d become mister super writer dude and get everything I’ve ever wanted to write written, and then I’d be awesome!  And Stuff.”

But the only way to make the purchase worthwhile is to actually use it, so I’m also gonna participate in NaNoWriMo again this year.  I won’t be talking about this much here, athough I do hope that this new burst of creative inspiration will carry over here and drive me to post more and kick this place back up again.

You can follow along over at SerialStoryteller.com if you’d like to see the stuff I write that is more “for money” and less “for self-psychoanalysis” and peek into the process as I plug away at the 50,000 word NaNoWriMo goal.

Either way, here’s to a more creative November!

(Chicken Enchilada Pasta Casserole)

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Ok, so this is neither particularly low-cal or low-fat, but it is VERY delicious.  Also, this was one of those “happy accident” cooking experiments that worked out for the very best.  One evening, late in the paycheck-to-paycheck cycle of grocery shopping, I found myself with a limited set of components for a meal.  I had some pasta, a can of enchilada sauce, some salsa, some cheeses, and some frozen chicken breasts.  This is what you get when you mix those things together and bake them for 30 minutes at 375…

Ingredients:

1 Box (12.5 – 16 oz.) Penne Rigate pasta.  Rotini and ziti would also work very well, elbow macaroni and farfalle (bowtie) noodles would not.

1 10 oz. Can Old El Paso Enchilada Sauce – Mild (if you like it hot, go with spicy, but be warned I have no idea myself how this would turn out).

2 Boneless, Skinless Chicken Breasts

~2 C finely grated Monterey Jack Cheese (i.e. a mound about the size of a softball).

1/2 C Pace Picante Salsa – Mild (again, as spicy as you like it, I just haven’t tried it myself).

~1 Cup finely grated Cheddar Cheese

~1 TBSP of taco seasoning?  Not sure on the amount here, enough to season two chicken breasts.

Instructions:

Preheat oven to 375.

Grease a 9×13 baking dish.

Grate your cheese.  Trust me, use the fine grating even though it takes three times as long.  This casserole is dependent on a good, even mixture of flavors and the large grate cheese just doesn’t mix as well and cooks in clumps.  NOT what you want.

Bring a pot of water to boil and cook the box of pasta.

While the pasta is cooking, season the chicken breasts with the taco seasoning and then grill them on your Foreman grill.  You do have a Foreman Grill right?  Everyone needs a Foreman Grill.  EVERYONE.

Now, as the universe works this way, your noodles and your chicken will end up finishing at exactly the same time, screwing up your carefully orchestrated plans for simultaneous prep steps.  Yank the chicken off the grill and onto a cutting board and let them rest for a couple of minutes while you drain the noodles and then return them to the pot.

Dump the entire can of enchilada sauce into the pot with the drained noodles, mixing thoroughly.

Slice the chicken breasts into strips about one inch thick.  Then, take a fork and shred the chicken.  Personally, I just smash the fork into the chicken and use the knife to constantly push the shredded chicken off the tines, but do whatever makes you happy.  Dump the shredded chicken into the pot (I do this one strip at a time, making room for the next one on the cutting board) and when all the chicken is in the pot, stir it all together with the noodles and the sauce.  Go for good, even coverage of sauce.

Now, mix in the Monterey Jack cheese.  Try to do this without large clumps of just cheese or chicken building up.  This is easier to say than do.  Be warned, over-stirring will be your enemy.

Now dump the whole mixture into the baking dish.

Put the salsa on the top of the mixture, using a fork to spread it across the surface of the casserole, and then cover the whole thing with the cheddar cheese.

Bake for about 30 minutes, or until the cheddar starts to brown on the edges and the casserole has cooked all the way through.  You’ll know when you hear the oils from the monterey jack simmering.  It will sound like the casserole is whispering.  Don’t take it personal, casseroles are just like that; always talking about you behind closed doors.

Remove the dish from the oven and let it rest for about 5 minutes before serving.

Personally, I like it with a dollop of sour cream on top and a couple of dashes of tapatio, but that’s just me.

(Orthografitti)

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I am, I will honestly admit, a grammar and spelling snob. That being said, I am also human and prone to mistakes. Misspelling a word won’t make me hate you. Intentionally (and repeatedly) spelling cool as kewl, dropping apostrophes, and using all caps will make me loath [see comment below] you. (Also, it will likely prevent me from approving your comment, just FYI.)

Still, I am far from the worst grammar/spelling-nazi on the internet. In fact, I’m probably not even in the top thousand or so. Whereas, this person…this person is a demi-god:

orthografitti

It’s one thing to be a spelling and grammar psycho on the internet…it’s friggin AWSOME to be one in the gritty reality of life.

I wish I had even the slightest clue who staged this photo, I’d give them full attribution and credit. Alas, I do not have that info, so up it goes unattributed. I have no idea where I got this image from, but I’ve had it for at least a couple of years. It makes me smile every time I stumble upon it in the bowels of my personal files archive, so I thought I would share it with the world at large.

Prologue: Those are my bad pants

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“Nick!!!” she yelled up at me.

“What?!?” I yelled back down.

“You need to come listen to this, right NOW!” came the response to my delaying tactic.  

I slid the keyboard back and sighed as I stood up from the desk, it was just a dumb video game anyway.  I glanced over to the webcam still open and linking our home with my mother-in-law’s remodeled garage.  “I’ll be right back,” I said to no one in particular.

I tromped down the stairs two at a time, swinging my body around the landing halfway down and practically crashing into the couch opposite the bottom of the stairway.  In the kitchen stood my [now ex] wife, trying to negotiate with my daughter the terms and conditions of Sarah’s surrender to the unwanted task of eating her lunch.

“Do you know what she said to me?” Heather asked.  “She doesn’t want cheese on it. You tell your father why you don’t want cheese on it!”  I could now see the smile hidden in the corner’s of Heather’s mouth.  This wasn’t an argument, this was a joke; probably at my expense.

Sarah looked at me defiantly, but it was her mother that she was determined to foil.  Heather saw the look in Sarah’s eyes and turned to face me.  “She said she doesn’t like MELTED cheese.  I blame you!” at this point Heather was openly grinning, and I got the joke.

Years ago, my little brother had developed some unusual food preferences.  The most baffling was a staunch rejection of melted cheese.  Not based on the taste of cheese, but rather, some unusual opposition to the sensation of melted cheese.  If the meted cheese was sufficiently mixed in with other textures, he was fine; if not then he would simply refuse.

Now, to be fair, he’d LONG since outgrown this particular aversion…so much so that either of the times that Sarah met him, I’m quite sure that he’d never mentioned it, even in passing.  So this wasn’t environmental, this…this was inherited.  And that was the joke.  Clearly, this was something wrong on MY side of the family.  Some broken bit of genetics passed on through me to our daughter.

Having lost one child to genetic defects, Heather and I had a certain shared dark humor in making “genetics” jokes. How this trait or that trait was “my fault” or “her family’s genes.”  In fact, “those are your bad genes” had become something of a running joke; which only made the following few moments so much funnier…

Right before Heather could say it, with the words on the tip of her tongue, Sarah burst out in distress.  “No!  I don’t want to have bad pants!”

There was a pause, a sort of processing delay that registered on each of our faces.

…bad pants…

…my bad genes…

Yep, leave it to a three year old in a high-chair wearing a pair of jeans from Gymoboree and worried about fashion already. Those are my “bad pants” right there.  

I don’t think we stopped laughing for an hour.  It was the prototypical “inside joke”…so inside it was genetic.

It’s a pun that lives on for me.  I love my family.  I love my history.  I love where we came from, and I have a lot of faith in what’s on our horizon.  I’m proud of my bad pants.  I love my bad pants.

I want to tell the world about the pants that I come from.

If you read that sentence and thought about family and friends and stories about the things you love in your life, then you’re in the right place.

If you read that sentence and snickered a little bit because it sounded a bit dirty…you’re also probably in the right place.

I’m going to write about the people that came before me, the people that I grew up with, and the people that still shape my life today.  Somtimes these people have been inspiring.  Somtimes, well, we’re all human.  But we’re good at funny…and sorta dirty in that unintentional-but-really-hilarious-when-you-think-about-it-later sort of way.