A Someone’s Daughter Moment in Time

September 9, 2009
8:50 a.m.
In front of Denny’s, Sunset & Gower, on the Sunset side

Ugh damnit
trudging describes it
Four days off because I was wise enough to use a floating holiday and
stretch the 3 days (for all you poor suckers!) into 4.
Monday everyone trudged back
not I.
I stayed in and banged away on my keyboard filling this blog with bloggy bloggeries.
We must all face reality eventually…and that was today. For poor me. Trudge to
work from the Hollywood and Vine Red Line, drag my sorry ass down side streets while avoiding crazed foot commuters who are much more aggressive and rude than car drivers why is that???
Interesting, will blog, note that for future reference.
bullshit self-pitying whiny crap oh woe is me I gotta go back to work woe is me no more days off woe is me boo hoo. Work is never so bad when others die for want of less.
Work in big shiny building
there she is ghastly and gnarled and rough and dirty and worn.
Ghoulish now and grimy but, but
when I see you there sitting in that long tattered dress and your homelessly filthy
locks, picking flowers
I think this!

Were you


once upon a green hilly time did you dance in the blue sky
and welcome the ends of the Earth did you think it would never end?
I pass you
as you garden and sit on the dirty Sunset sidewalk outside Denny’s
and pick flowers
well-tended flowers and smooth rich soil wow this Denny’s place really went
all out
bringing a dose of the beautiful countryside to murky
Hollywood the cesspool where nothing beautiful grows but only dies
and you
are killing their precious work the precious work of a gardener they
paid with Grand Slams and atrociously overpriced lemonade
the gardener toiled over the soil and planted these pretty flowers
of which I have no idea of their name cause I don’t do that shit but I can
a pretty flower, a well-kept garden. No weeds, no litter, the soil smooth and uniform
and you sit there
in your urban dungeon
and pick flowers from Hollywood Denny’s verdant gardens.
Your skin, your face, everywhere, it is so rough and caked with dirt and no longer smooth
like it used to be on the hill, the green hill.
And your hands, your fingers so thick and nails so wasted and worn and whittled there is nothing left now
but dirt. Black greasy dirt. Not soil.
It’s as if you’re picking through soil
to pretty up your hands for once.
It’s beauty treatment. Beauty, the beauty
you left behind on the green hill. The beauty of younger days, when the air hummed with sunfire, now
a shopping cart sits near you, filled with orderly disorder.
And what on earth
do you keep
Domino’s box???

Final Destination 4, 3D mayhem and other bodily destruction



Dude, dude.


What more can I say.


Final Destination is a great franchise.


It’s what Hollywood does best. Sacrifice everything for spectacle. Throw in a 3D element and the sacrifice turns downright medieval. Plot, character development, dialog…right out the window baby!


Put on those damn glasses and WATCH. WATCH.
Do not listen, do not think. The minute you do any of those things it’s guaranteed those big-ass Swifty Lazar glasses will melt all over your friggin’ face.


Those glasses. I took my son…I can’t imagine taking a date. One look at each other wearing that shit is certain to spell doom for any ulterior motives you might have for post-cinematic entertainment.




The man is dead but his memory lives on in theaters near you


And the movie!
How many ways can the human body possibly be speared, sliced and diced (and suctioned) in one 90:00 sitting?
Apparently more than I care to imagine since we’ve now seen 4 versions of this slaughter.



Using exercise as a band-aid for crappy eating habits


I read an article this morning which was published in Time magazine last month. It created a small buzz when it first appeared but I don’t think it received the amount of attention and publicity it should have considering its importance…if only people would listen to what it has to say. It basically verified some strange things I’ve seen over the years with some overweight people I’ve been known.


The article, entitled Why Exercise Won’t Make You Thin, takes on the popular and widely-accepted notion that exercise is a necessary ingredient to any weight-loss plan. It shatters the myth we’ve all bought into: namely, that if you exercise your ass off you will become skinny. I sorta bought into it also but with a large dose of skepticism. It seemed too convenient and there is nothing simple about weight maintenance.


I’ve known 2 people who were extreme examples of the failure of exercise as a weight loss tool…2 people who led such “active” lifestyles yet managed to maintain soft, mushy physiques.


#1) “K”, from high school and college years: The dude ran off to aerobics classes daily, it seemed. There was not a gym class he wouldn’t try. Yet…he was a large guy. He was not obese, but he was just a big, Fred Flinstoney kinda guy. I would have expected him to be cut as hell with 15% body fat. But no, to the contrary. He had no muscle definition. He was fleshy and lumbering and I would put him at 23-25% body fat. Summary: not “obese” in the typical sense, but you would expect more from such a gym rat as he.


#2) “J” from recent years. This chick was obsessed with fitness. She participated in marathons and -athlons of various types and sizes. She was fond of sending “action” photos of herself running in marathons. (What the hell is up with that man…who wants to see a picture of you frozen in time looking like you’re ready to keel over and smelling foul, most likely. What am I supposed to do, be impressed or aroused by that?). Anyways, J ran and swam and was also a gym rat. Once again, you’d expect her to be shredded and maybe hovering around a 20% body fat level (excellent for a woman). Nope, she had thunder thighs and was always battling the bulge. Summary: once again, not obese, but you’d expect that level of activity to leave her with something lower than a body fat level of 29ish.


So anyways, my real-life anecdotal experience always told me that exercise did not correlate with lean bodies. Beside J & K, I’ve known others who went down that route also. Worked their asses off just to be…chunky. Something wasn’t registering.


John Cloud, the author of the Time article, must have experienced the same disbelief because his article takes on our commonly-held beliefs about exercise and puts them in their place. He brings up several very interesting points about why exercise seems to fail as a weight reducer.


The primary reason and the one I found most interesting has to do with our capacity for self-control. Cloud pointed out a study which showed that self-control is like a muscle…that it will weaken shortly after you use it. And a lot of the researchers quoted in the article believe our capacity for self-control weakens after physical exertion. We exercise and consequently we become hungry. Since exercise is viewed as such an uncomfortable and evil necessity which we must bear to “look good,” psychologically we feel the need to reward ourselves afterwards. And we eat shit.


The article also points out that from an evolutionary standpoint, humans are ill-equipped to burn off excess calories. In other words, once we eat beyond maintenance, our bodies quickly store the extra as fat rather than work to burn it off, thanks to our lack of “brown fat,” a specific type of tissue which dispenses with fat more efficiently than “white fat.”


This adds up to one simple fact that dooms us to failure when it comes to weight loss: exercise cannot ever keep up with our food intake. Even when we think our food intake is small, it really is not. Our eating habits and food self-awareness are seriously flawed. Our palates have become so seriously desensitized to the scourge of bad food that we have lost the ability to judge our own hunger levels when it comes to survival and body maintenance. Cloud talks about how some of his wife’s friends complained about how they run for an hour and still aren’t losing weight. Turns out they are stopping at Starbucks for muffins afterwards. Even a full hour of running burns 300 calories, at the most and a brisk walk much less. Yet they are rewarding themselves with a muffin. That’s ridiculous. Even a “diet” muffin at Starbucks is still about 400 calories. Much of this is about awareness. And defeating self-denial. You can’t eat everything in sight just because you worked out last night.


It always comes down to the food. Eating less of it.
Unfortunately it is much easier for most people to go to the gym and jump around frantically and turn their work out into some kind of social dance activity than actually alter their bad eating habits. So they use exercise as a means to gloss over an unhealthy diet.



Dark Charm. A philosophy in progress. Part 1 of ?

Dark charm.
What the hell is that?
I don’t know, but I have an idea. Or two.
Dark charm. The concept took root in my mind earlier tonight.

Rather than lose the thought, rather than write it down half-heartedly in a notebook which would most likely disappear into the papery graveyard that is my computer desk, I’ve decided instead to gather my mental semen and unload it on you right now.

This is the torment I choose for you this evening.

You lucky people. Lucky.
You can watch and take this in…watch the machinations of my mind, get a rare glimpse of the gears turning in my thick skull.

Dark Charm. Back to the lesson at hand. Enough of this random stream of consciousness BS (that is why I have a Moments in Time category).

Forget the Dark for now…let’s concentrate on Charm.
A quality.

Charm…a baffling and elusive set of personality characteristics which all come together in a melange of ingredients which dictate whether a person will garner adulation or elicit disgust. It can be the difference between getting laid and waking up drunkenly and groggily at 3:15 in the morning in the passenger seat of your car which sits in the middle of an emptied parking lot next to a deserted nightclub. Uh yeah, honestly it was scene I was familiar with in my 20’s.

For a lack of charm.
Dark, light, shady, illuminated…I had no fucking charm of any shade. No charm that mattered. If I was charming it was only because I stumbled upon it, backed into it, revved it up those moments when it did me no good, like family events with doting old relatives or rambunctious kids. My charm had no steering wheel, no gas pedal and no brakes.

For what is charm really? I’ll say it’s the ability to make people like you by a process of sympathetic identification; to charm people is to make them believe that there is no one else in the world besides you and them. The degree of your charm is a function of how well you can suspend their disbelief at the possibility that there are others who you may charm as well. Your supreme charm appeals to the ego and the basic human need to be valued. But how do qualities come together in a person’s character which allow them to generate such charm? That is the mystery.

Those charms I talked about, the ones I stumbled upon? They were really nothing but illegitimate bumps in the road over which I had no control.

Lacking the means to channel my charm I found it eluded me when I needed it most.

Charm. It’s a tool of social survival. It is the common glue which the fittest of the species have cultivated and learned to direct with the ostensible aim of rising within the ranks of the group; thus increasing the likelihood of procreating. Survival of the fittest.

That is my evolutionary psychology spin on Charm.

And that’s where Dark Charm creeps in.

Ah…but some other time :)

My issue with them dar Homos

Man, remember when queer men were men?

Remember when you couldn’t tell if your neighbor preferred rump roast which had stewed in the “cock pot” overnight?

The days when you were wary of that bachelor neighbor who was a little too old and too friendly for your taste and who couldn’t reciprocate the unbridled female T&A lust that could easily bring you to your horny knees?

Man, remember when homos walked and sat like men and cussed like men, when they could round up steer (the kind that roamed the pasture, not Santa Monica Boulevard) and get a little dirty?

Yeah, those days are long gone.
Now you get this Queer Eye For The Straight Guy crap and our culture has suddenly made gay men the official arbiters of “taste.”

Whatever. I think the whole thing is nothing but a fallacy that has taken root in the popular mindset, unquestioned and accepted as a common truth. Without an ounce of skepticism! Such is the state of our sheepish and soulless pop culture. Don’t question, don’t doubt, accept everything your equally clueless classmates proclaim as truth. It’s fucking high school, writ large. And in keeping with the shift of this homo paradigm it seems gay dudes are now living some kind weird self-fulfilling prophecy because they, of all people, lack the balls to be their own men. They’d rather be everyone’s men but their own…so very womanly of them.

Why can’t queer dudes just act like…uh, dudes maybe? Why the swishing and womanlike bullshit? Why the high-strung and bitchy female behavior? Why must they act like they are on the rag and deny their testosterone-endowed even tempers? That’s my problem with homos.

Looking at the bright side…you can now see a queer from miles away so you can head off your neighbor by throwing your rump roast in the freezer if he comes knocking at your door.