47 at Forty-seven – The Mid-Life Crisis Diet Project
Part 8: Weeks Nine and Ten
Have Gut…Will Travel
This challenge has been amazing and life-changing. I’m already down 25 pounds on my way to the goal of 47. I’m getting compliments and encouragement from every corner. And...despite my April 20th day of idiocy (see part 7), I have been focused and steadfast. I’m on a roll. What could stop me now? Uh oh, TRAVEL!
I went to New York City for a week: and if there is an easy way to stay on a diet while traveling, I sure as heck don’t know it. For that matter, I’m not sure I want to know it. Travel equals vacation, good times, and a break from routine. If you’re going someplace new, you want to try new foods – the cool local stuff. If you’re heading somewhere familiar, as I was, then there’s stuff you’re already craving that you can only get there. Feed me, NYC. Don’t worry. I didn’t go nuts, or anything. I just allowed myself to enjoy.
First of all, the stars lined up perfectly for this trip. Michelle told me she had a gig in NYC with her singing group. Hmm, could I meet her? Then, my dear friend Greg offered me work at the Tribeca Film Festival Street Fair – hooray, trip paid for. At the same time, this was the week my brother and sister in-law were expecting their baby girl – their first child. Sure enough, Ellison Jane Purnick was born the day before I got to NYC. She was born with Down Syndrome, but otherwise healthy. This was a surprise diagnosis that had been missed in earlier tests, so I was even more elated that I could be there in person, to lend my love and support and share in their joy. Ellison is beautiful and will be surprising and delighting us for years and years to come.
That being said…their place was insanely filled with food. It felt like every friend, relative and business colleague sent a basket, tray or chaffing dish full of something delicious. Remember, I’m a free-lance actor. Our favorite two words in the English language are, “free food” (though, on set it’s, “that’s lunch”). So I spent hours either holding my new niece, or a plate of lasagna.
At the street fair I had a lunch of New York pizza. Man, I love New York pizza. I grew up on the New Jersey side of the Hudson, about a 12 minute drive from the George Washington Bridge. So yes, I’m a Jersey Boy. But with that kind of proximity to the greatest city in the world, I’ve always taken the liberty of considering myself a New Yorker too. And even if you don’t think New York is the greatest city in the world…food-wise, sorry it just is. Why? One word…immigration. For about a century, if you immigrated to America, you came to New York (Castle Garden then Ellis Island) – and brought your cuisine with you. Everything came to NYC. Everything competed. Everything got better.
While there, I felt like getting my Jew on. Michelle graciously accompanied me to Katz’ Deli on the Lower East Side for the best pastrami sandwich in town. Michelle – “I don’t really like pastrami, but let me taste yours.” (She tastes it) “What am I talking about? That’s delicious.” We also stopped at Yona Schimmel for knishes. And I got some of my home town Jersey bagels. Wow, just typing all that made me feel jewier than I have in years. Oy, I have such a pain, you wouldn’t want to know from it.
So, Monday, May 4
Week Nine weigh-in (drum roll)…
IT DIDN’T HAPPEN. I was on vacation in New York eating pastrami. Good thing I wasn’t near my scale. I think my weight would have gone up.
The other difficult part of the travel equation – besides eating, is you don’t exercise. You’re away from your gym, or your park, or weekly volleyball game, or whatever makes you move.
So I guess my point is…Travel 1 – Diet 0. And that’s okay.
Lord of the Ring Dings
As soon as I returned home, the healthy life-style did as well. Part of the incentive to lose weight right now, is that I’m in a show. About five years ago, friends and I mounted a show called Fellowship! The musical parody of The Fellowship of the Ring. I play Bilbo and Boromir and some other tinier parts. We won “Musical of the Year” back then. Now we are re-mounting it five years later. It’s a terrific show – one of the favorite things I have done in the last several years. Come see it. But obviously, I did not want this to be an older, slower, fatter, version of the last production. No one wants to see Bilbo Saggins, or Boromir’s middle girth. Hello, is this thing on? I probably weighed somewhere in the mid 220s last time. So when I tipped the scales at 245 – that would not do at all.
Shows are work. I need to be able to move, change costumes, dance a bit, and support myself vocally for five shows a week. And, I’ll admit it; part of this new-found resolve is vanity. People are coming to see me. I will be on display. Vanity is a powerful motivator. Vanity, not health is why I quit smoking. I didn’t like the way my voice was sounding the last time we did this show. So I set down the cigarettes. I’m not ashamed of this vanity, either. I’m damn glad it showed up. Vanity tells me I haven’t given up…on myself, on looking good, on the promise of romance, on life.
Monday May, 11
Week Ten weigh-in (drum roll)…
218 lbs. (Down 27 lbs. 20 to go)
Wow. Travel be damned. That’s still some great forward motion. Two pounds in two weeks. See what can happen when you change your bad hobbits?
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Monday, May 18, 2009
47 at Forty-seven – The Mid-Life Crisis Diet Project Part 7
47 at Forty-seven – The Mid-Life Crisis Diet Project
Part 7: Weeks Seven and Eight
What Was I? High?
Sorry. I know I haven’t blogged in a while. Like the butcher who backed into his meat-grinder, I got a little behind in my work. (rimshot). Or maybe I just needed to re-boot some brain cells. As I announced in the last installment, on this journey to lose 47 pounds, I gave myself a little reward milestone along the way. No booze – no marijuana is part of the promise of this diet, but if I was down over 20 pounds by April 20th, (4-20, the stoner holiday), I would allow myself a day off. A day-long smoke-out. A High Holiday. So, on Monday morning, 4-20 I got on the scale…
Week Seven weigh-in (drum roll)…
221 lbs. (Down 24 lbs. 23 to go)
Ha! That’s pretty damn good. Over half-way to my goal. Bring me my bong.
I spent the morning shopping for snacks. Since I was getting ready for a high day (and so were my guests), I bought out the store. I had already asked a few of my fellow celebrants if they had a favored munchie. This was a smart move, as it steered me to a few things I wouldn’t have necessarily purchased. Jen – fruit roll-ups. Susan – watermelon. I also got fresh strawberries and pineapple. Tortilla chips, Fritos, cheese, crackers, twizzlers, kosher salami, my poor-man’s trail mix (lightly salted roasted peanuts, semi-sweet chocolate chips, golden raisins)…a bunch more I’m forgetting, oh and of course, Teddy Grahams. I also had two boxes of Matzah left from Passover, (with butter - don’t laugh, it was gone in minutes).
12:30PM I loaded the Brandy Bong - that’s where the liquid is ½ water, ½ brandy for a sweeter draw. I took a huge toke and turned on Cheech and Chong’s “Up in Smoke”. I couldn’t think of a better choice to start the day. Within minutes I was giggling and feeling really high. Then higher. Then higher still. Damn, this was really strong stuff. Was it just that I hadn’t smoked in weeks? No, this was heavy duty bud. Gulp.
About an hour later the first guest came, and like the good host my momma raised, I didn’t let him smoke alone. Within minutes he was insanely high and could barely communicate. Fine with zombie me. And so it went for the next few hours. I would get stupidly baked, then just be coming back into my body, when someone new would stop in. Let me join you. Puff…stupor…forage…regulate…lather…rinse…repeat. Late afternoon (close to 4:20PM) quite a few folks stopped in close together. I kid you not; the back room had a thick cloud of smoke hanging low and obscuring the ceiling. You didn’t need a pipe; you could walk in and take a drag off the room. No lie. I had to walk outside for air. This is smoggy, Southern California in the middle of a heat wave, and it was so much more comfortable outside. “What am I doing? I’m not a 20 year-old frat boy.” I’m thinking that now. At the time I was thinking, “Um, wait. What?”
The way too much food I had purchased was all but gone by 5:30PM. I ordered Pizzas. Thanks for walking with me to pick them up, whomever you were. So many amazing friends attended, or so I hear. A dear old improv friend I haven’t seen in at least a decade came by. He told me about his life, and I told him, “Um, wait. What?” The party was epic. 12 hours, 25 guests, 8PM Lebowski viewing. Nirvana.
Looking back on it though, I’m of two minds. Part of me feels like it was fabulous, harmless, debauchery. Hooray for us. I’d love to do it again next year (though, perhaps with some milder stuff). The other part of me worries that this is just arrested development, and that I should grow up already. Screw it. I’m listening to the first guy.
The High Price
The next day I felt like crap – the next two, actually. In my best Danny Glover, “I’m getting too old for this stuff”. And…when I got on the scale the next morning, it was 4 pounds up. Are you kidding me? 4 pounds! I hadn’t intended to full-on binge, but I guess I did anyway. Now I’m looking forward to a week of hard dieting, just so I don’t backslide. Dumbbass.
But here is the hardest thing I had to contend with the day after. There was still quite a bit of weed in the house. I took the bulk over to a friend. But there was still a freshly packed pipe, and mostly packed bong – just sitting there – calling me. “Steve. Yoo hoo.” I had opened the door a crack. There was a little hole in the dike. All day long, and especially in the evening, I had angel and devil shoulders. The devil would say, “Go on, just finish off what’s already been packed. How is one more night gonna kill you?” The angel said, “No, you made deal. You gave yourself one day. That one day is over. A deal is a deal. You need to be true to your word.” And…for some unknown reason these two little guys looked and sounded like Fred Flintstone.
I am proud to say that the angel won out. I didn’t touch the stuff after 4-20. After that first day, that test, not wanting it became easy again. I still have a bit of it in the house, but I don’t go near it – just like the chocolate in the candy bowl I keep out for guests, or the liquor in the liquor cabinet. It’s there for folks who stop in, and maybe for me again someday, but not until I reach my goal. Final answser.
The binge weight came off fairly quickly. And I am oh so proud to report that I did not backslide. Monday morning April, 27…
Week Eight weigh-in (drum roll)…
220 lbs. (Down 25 lbs. 22 to go)
I’m back on track, feeling good…but I never did find out how that Cheech and Chong movie ends.
Part 7: Weeks Seven and Eight
What Was I? High?
Sorry. I know I haven’t blogged in a while. Like the butcher who backed into his meat-grinder, I got a little behind in my work. (rimshot). Or maybe I just needed to re-boot some brain cells. As I announced in the last installment, on this journey to lose 47 pounds, I gave myself a little reward milestone along the way. No booze – no marijuana is part of the promise of this diet, but if I was down over 20 pounds by April 20th, (4-20, the stoner holiday), I would allow myself a day off. A day-long smoke-out. A High Holiday. So, on Monday morning, 4-20 I got on the scale…
Week Seven weigh-in (drum roll)…
221 lbs. (Down 24 lbs. 23 to go)
Ha! That’s pretty damn good. Over half-way to my goal. Bring me my bong.
I spent the morning shopping for snacks. Since I was getting ready for a high day (and so were my guests), I bought out the store. I had already asked a few of my fellow celebrants if they had a favored munchie. This was a smart move, as it steered me to a few things I wouldn’t have necessarily purchased. Jen – fruit roll-ups. Susan – watermelon. I also got fresh strawberries and pineapple. Tortilla chips, Fritos, cheese, crackers, twizzlers, kosher salami, my poor-man’s trail mix (lightly salted roasted peanuts, semi-sweet chocolate chips, golden raisins)…a bunch more I’m forgetting, oh and of course, Teddy Grahams. I also had two boxes of Matzah left from Passover, (with butter - don’t laugh, it was gone in minutes).
12:30PM I loaded the Brandy Bong - that’s where the liquid is ½ water, ½ brandy for a sweeter draw. I took a huge toke and turned on Cheech and Chong’s “Up in Smoke”. I couldn’t think of a better choice to start the day. Within minutes I was giggling and feeling really high. Then higher. Then higher still. Damn, this was really strong stuff. Was it just that I hadn’t smoked in weeks? No, this was heavy duty bud. Gulp.
About an hour later the first guest came, and like the good host my momma raised, I didn’t let him smoke alone. Within minutes he was insanely high and could barely communicate. Fine with zombie me. And so it went for the next few hours. I would get stupidly baked, then just be coming back into my body, when someone new would stop in. Let me join you. Puff…stupor…forage…regulate…lather…rinse…repeat. Late afternoon (close to 4:20PM) quite a few folks stopped in close together. I kid you not; the back room had a thick cloud of smoke hanging low and obscuring the ceiling. You didn’t need a pipe; you could walk in and take a drag off the room. No lie. I had to walk outside for air. This is smoggy, Southern California in the middle of a heat wave, and it was so much more comfortable outside. “What am I doing? I’m not a 20 year-old frat boy.” I’m thinking that now. At the time I was thinking, “Um, wait. What?”
The way too much food I had purchased was all but gone by 5:30PM. I ordered Pizzas. Thanks for walking with me to pick them up, whomever you were. So many amazing friends attended, or so I hear. A dear old improv friend I haven’t seen in at least a decade came by. He told me about his life, and I told him, “Um, wait. What?” The party was epic. 12 hours, 25 guests, 8PM Lebowski viewing. Nirvana.
Looking back on it though, I’m of two minds. Part of me feels like it was fabulous, harmless, debauchery. Hooray for us. I’d love to do it again next year (though, perhaps with some milder stuff). The other part of me worries that this is just arrested development, and that I should grow up already. Screw it. I’m listening to the first guy.
The High Price
The next day I felt like crap – the next two, actually. In my best Danny Glover, “I’m getting too old for this stuff”. And…when I got on the scale the next morning, it was 4 pounds up. Are you kidding me? 4 pounds! I hadn’t intended to full-on binge, but I guess I did anyway. Now I’m looking forward to a week of hard dieting, just so I don’t backslide. Dumbbass.
But here is the hardest thing I had to contend with the day after. There was still quite a bit of weed in the house. I took the bulk over to a friend. But there was still a freshly packed pipe, and mostly packed bong – just sitting there – calling me. “Steve. Yoo hoo.” I had opened the door a crack. There was a little hole in the dike. All day long, and especially in the evening, I had angel and devil shoulders. The devil would say, “Go on, just finish off what’s already been packed. How is one more night gonna kill you?” The angel said, “No, you made deal. You gave yourself one day. That one day is over. A deal is a deal. You need to be true to your word.” And…for some unknown reason these two little guys looked and sounded like Fred Flintstone.
I am proud to say that the angel won out. I didn’t touch the stuff after 4-20. After that first day, that test, not wanting it became easy again. I still have a bit of it in the house, but I don’t go near it – just like the chocolate in the candy bowl I keep out for guests, or the liquor in the liquor cabinet. It’s there for folks who stop in, and maybe for me again someday, but not until I reach my goal. Final answser.
The binge weight came off fairly quickly. And I am oh so proud to report that I did not backslide. Monday morning April, 27…
Week Eight weigh-in (drum roll)…
220 lbs. (Down 25 lbs. 22 to go)
I’m back on track, feeling good…but I never did find out how that Cheech and Chong movie ends.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
47 at Forty-seven – The Mid-Life Crisis Diet Project Part: 6
Part: 6 Weeks Five & Six
Gym Friends and Gym Neighbors
It began on March 2nd – this public project to lose 47 pounds (an f-ton of weight) at forty-seven years of age. What was I thinking? Since then I have been weighing-in every Monday morning. So here’s where we are as of April 6.
Week Five weigh-in (drum roll)…
226 lbs. (Down 19 lbs. 28 to go)
Okay, that’s more like it. 4 pounds this week, this is still really working. I’ve decided to keep running my 3.5 miles despite my groin pull. Work through the pain. Man up.
This, I must confess, has been the only real struggle for me. Quitting weed – easy. Quitting booze – easy. Changing my eating habits hasn’t been as difficult as I worried it might be. Luckily for me, all of these things were about bad habits – not addictions. I know that isn’t the case for everyone, so I mean it when I “luckily for me”. The piece I haven’t yet fully put into place is the exercise regime. This still eludes me.
My neighbor Jeff took me up the steep walk at Fryman Canyon this week (which kicked my ass), and consistently offers to go for runs. Holly McB., Matt L. and Kevin B. have offered themselves up as exercise partners. I need to avail myself of these generous offers. I know exercise is one of the most important components to this whole project; I just haven’t made it a priority yet. So far I’ve been doing it here and there, when I can.
New goal – get habitual about my exercise. Set schedules and stick to them. Who’s up for a jog around Balboa Park? Call me.
You Can’t See Dick
Ha! Actually, I can. I have to suck in my gut, but still. If I stand up straight, look down, suck it in – hard…there he is, Orville Red-and-Tender (Yep, that’s still his name). He’s a little smaller than I remember, but that’s him. I could pick him out of a “Line-up”, but I sincerely hope it’ll never come to that.
Sure, I’ve told you my face has gotten thinner, and I have more energy…yeah, yeah. Of all the ways to register my progress…this, THIS! Sniff. Give me a moment, will ya? I feel like John James Audubon just having spotted the rarest of species – the miniature Jew pecker. Eureka!
Rewards and Re-Wardrobes
They have been taunting me, calling to me from deep in the closet. “Hey Chubbo, you’ll never wear us again”. My Nat Nast jeans. The good jeans – the ones that almost make it seem like I have an ass. I tried to pinch myself into them a few times early on. I quickly realized these jeans were a 20 pound milestone goal. Once I lost 20, I would try again. Well guess what, M-er F-ers?
Week Six weigh-in (drum roll)…
223 lbs. (Down 22 lbs. 25 to go)
The jeans fit pretty damn well. I still have a bit of Dunlop’s Disease (when your belly done lops over your belt), so I don’t tuck in the shirt. Not yet. But I will. I will, M-er T-ers.
I made another secret bargain with myself. If I lost more than 20 pounds by April, 20 (4/20), I would celebrate the HOLIDAY. Wait, what holiday, you ask?
For those you not “in the know” – 4/20 is code for smoking weed…and April 20th, 4/20 (pronounced four-twenty) is National Pot Smokers Day (unofficially, of course). This is basically Stoner Christmas. There are several myths as to why 4/20. One – apparently an urban legend is that a 4-20 was the police code for marijuana use. “We have a 4-20 in progress.” The most widely held belief is that 4/20 was student code for “smoke time” at some California High Schools in the seventies. It was the time of day 4:20PM, when detention got out, and the toking could commence. Whatever. Now, it’s the High Holiday.
AND…my reward for being such a good boy, is to give myself, on 4/20 a happy blaze-a-thon.
Open Invitation: to my local happy friends. I will be hosting an all-day open house. 12 to 12. Monday April 20th. You must come by. I have many RSVPs already. Lemme know.
As for the diet, there are no calories in weed, and I don’t intend to binge. I imagine I may go slightly off diet – but I truly intend to keep the ingesting in check and just enjoy my high. Still no booze for me, though. Booze is completely off the table until the goal is reached
For those of you worried that this will re-ignite a habit, don’t. Any weed left over will leave the house. The diet project will resume. God will be in his heaven. After I quit smoking cigarettes, I allowed myself our big New Years Eve party every year as my “cheat night”. Then, the next day I was a non-smoker again. No problem. And, I repeat, nicotine is addictive, weed is not. Happy High Holidays!
Saturday, April 4, 2009
47 at Forty-seven – The Mid-Life Crisis Diet Project Part:5
Part: 5 Obsession Sets In &Week Four
Slowing Weigh Down
Week Four weigh-in (drum roll)…
230 lbs. (Down 15 lbs. 32 to go)
So, I got off to a great start, with 12 pounds in the first two weeks. But the next two weeks – only 3 pounds. Damn. My body is regulating. “Oh, we’re only taking in a thousand calories a day – when we used to take in a MILLION! I’ll slow our metabolism, then.” The body wises up. Millions of years of evolution have encoded us. We go into “famine mode”. We don’t slow up quite as much as bears or other hibernators do; but we do slow nonetheless. Our bodies don’t understand “diet”, that’s a relatively new concept. Our bodies understand “starvation”, and act accordingly.
So all my wise friends and blog-followers are telling me, “One to two pounds a week is good and healthy weight-loss. Don’t be impatient.” I’m also hearing there will be weeks when almost nothing changes, and weeks when there is suddenly a big drop. Yeah, yeah, blah, blah.
A Watched Pot Belly…
I am impatient. I’ve gotten a couple of compliments – and compliments are like laughs…or potato chips…once you’ve had one, you want them all. Am I looking skinnier yet? Is it showing? Let me ask everybody I come in contact with. I’ve made a pile of clothes I can’t wear yet, but know I will…and I want to wear them next week. I weigh myself every day – and sometimes multiple times a day. Aaagh! That’s so dumb. I know I’m supposed to weigh-in only once a week. I know that. So I’ll see that I’m a pound higher this afternoon than I was this morning. Panic. Well, no shit Steve, you just had a Diet Coke. Chillax. Now I’m really mad at myself. I just used the word “Chillax”.
And I’m mad at myself because I put my weekly weigh-ins on Monday morning – the first thing after a weekend. Why didn’t I make it Friday morning at the end of a regimented work-week? Idiot. And believe me; I approach those weigh-ins like I’m Matthew Modine in Vision Quest before the big wrestling match. “Do it before you eat a spot of breakfast, Steve. First do some calisthenics, see if you can sweat out an ounce. Now try to make a number two. Now get completely naked. Now shave your body hair…and don’t forget the taint.”
My dad got like this during a diet. A phone conversation would go something like this:
STEVE: Hey Dad, haven’t talked to you in a couple of weeks. What’s new?
DAD: Well this morning I skipped breakfast. All I had for lunch was a half a cantaloupe with some cottage cheese. And for tonight I picked up some grilled salmon.
Intimate and riveting.
So, my new challenge, my secondary challenge, is to give my weight…well…less weight. This diet sadly, has become the thing I’m doing – the primary thing. I’m not sure that’s a good way to frame this weight-loss project. “Life” should be the thing I’m doing (whatever that means from day to day). And “healthier” should be the way I’m doing it. Good. Lesson learned, now I wonder if I lost any weight while typing this.
A Smattering of Hyperbole Regarding Your Female Parent’s Mass
This is as low-brow as it gets, but go ahead. Read them rapid-fire, OUT LOUD. I defy you not to laugh.
Your Momma’s so fat…the back of her neck looks like a pack of hotdogs.
Your Momma’s so fat…her cereal bowl has a lifeguard.
Your Momma’s so fat…when she sits around the house; she really sits AROUND the house.
Your Momma’s so fat…when she gets done having sex, she smokes a turkey.
Your Momma’s so fat…her high-school yearbook picture was aerial photography.
Your Momma’s so fat…when she jumped in the air, she got stuck.
Your Momma’s so fat…she has more chins than a Chinese phone book.
Your Momma’s so fat…she has a smaller fat woman orbiting her.
Your Momma’s so fat…she eats Wheat Thicks.
Your Momma’s so fat…for her baptism they had to rent out Sea World.
Your Momma’s so fat…she bleeds gravy.
Your Momma’s so fat…she needs a shoe horn to get into the bath tub.
Your Momma’s so fat…when I’m done fucking her and roll over, I’m still on her.
…
Slowing Weigh Down
Week Four weigh-in (drum roll)…
230 lbs. (Down 15 lbs. 32 to go)
So, I got off to a great start, with 12 pounds in the first two weeks. But the next two weeks – only 3 pounds. Damn. My body is regulating. “Oh, we’re only taking in a thousand calories a day – when we used to take in a MILLION! I’ll slow our metabolism, then.” The body wises up. Millions of years of evolution have encoded us. We go into “famine mode”. We don’t slow up quite as much as bears or other hibernators do; but we do slow nonetheless. Our bodies don’t understand “diet”, that’s a relatively new concept. Our bodies understand “starvation”, and act accordingly.
So all my wise friends and blog-followers are telling me, “One to two pounds a week is good and healthy weight-loss. Don’t be impatient.” I’m also hearing there will be weeks when almost nothing changes, and weeks when there is suddenly a big drop. Yeah, yeah, blah, blah.
A Watched Pot Belly…
I am impatient. I’ve gotten a couple of compliments – and compliments are like laughs…or potato chips…once you’ve had one, you want them all. Am I looking skinnier yet? Is it showing? Let me ask everybody I come in contact with. I’ve made a pile of clothes I can’t wear yet, but know I will…and I want to wear them next week. I weigh myself every day – and sometimes multiple times a day. Aaagh! That’s so dumb. I know I’m supposed to weigh-in only once a week. I know that. So I’ll see that I’m a pound higher this afternoon than I was this morning. Panic. Well, no shit Steve, you just had a Diet Coke. Chillax. Now I’m really mad at myself. I just used the word “Chillax”.
And I’m mad at myself because I put my weekly weigh-ins on Monday morning – the first thing after a weekend. Why didn’t I make it Friday morning at the end of a regimented work-week? Idiot. And believe me; I approach those weigh-ins like I’m Matthew Modine in Vision Quest before the big wrestling match. “Do it before you eat a spot of breakfast, Steve. First do some calisthenics, see if you can sweat out an ounce. Now try to make a number two. Now get completely naked. Now shave your body hair…and don’t forget the taint.”
My dad got like this during a diet. A phone conversation would go something like this:
STEVE: Hey Dad, haven’t talked to you in a couple of weeks. What’s new?
DAD: Well this morning I skipped breakfast. All I had for lunch was a half a cantaloupe with some cottage cheese. And for tonight I picked up some grilled salmon.
Intimate and riveting.
So, my new challenge, my secondary challenge, is to give my weight…well…less weight. This diet sadly, has become the thing I’m doing – the primary thing. I’m not sure that’s a good way to frame this weight-loss project. “Life” should be the thing I’m doing (whatever that means from day to day). And “healthier” should be the way I’m doing it. Good. Lesson learned, now I wonder if I lost any weight while typing this.
A Smattering of Hyperbole Regarding Your Female Parent’s Mass
This is as low-brow as it gets, but go ahead. Read them rapid-fire, OUT LOUD. I defy you not to laugh.
Your Momma’s so fat…the back of her neck looks like a pack of hotdogs.
Your Momma’s so fat…her cereal bowl has a lifeguard.
Your Momma’s so fat…when she sits around the house; she really sits AROUND the house.
Your Momma’s so fat…when she gets done having sex, she smokes a turkey.
Your Momma’s so fat…her high-school yearbook picture was aerial photography.
Your Momma’s so fat…when she jumped in the air, she got stuck.
Your Momma’s so fat…she has more chins than a Chinese phone book.
Your Momma’s so fat…she has a smaller fat woman orbiting her.
Your Momma’s so fat…she eats Wheat Thicks.
Your Momma’s so fat…for her baptism they had to rent out Sea World.
Your Momma’s so fat…she bleeds gravy.
Your Momma’s so fat…she needs a shoe horn to get into the bath tub.
Your Momma’s so fat…when I’m done fucking her and roll over, I’m still on her.
…
Friday, March 27, 2009
47 at Forty-seven – The Mid-Life Crisis Diet Project - Part 4
47 at Forty-seven – The Mid-Life Crisis Diet Project
Part: 4 Me minus the Highness & Week Three
Instead of Couch Potatoes, Can I get a Salad?
Life looks a little different when completely sober. Did you all know that the economy is in a free-fall? And why is Jimmy Fallon in Conan’s chair? Moreover…how come that second question troubles me more than the first?
My buddy Adam asked something very intriguing. “Do you feel sharper from no booze and weed?” Wow. Great question. Booze and weed for me were almost exclusively at-home, evening habits. I have never shown up to a gig under the influence of anything. For me, that is inexcusable. Mortal sin time (even though I’m not Catholic).* But, they say THC can stay in your system for weeks. So am I sharper? I don’t know. I will say, I’ve had a couple of killer improv shows at ComedySportzLA these past weeks – although I wasn’t super proud of my work in last week’s long-form show (which oddly enough, is called “The High”).
I do know this much. I have more energy throughout the day, and more focus. Let’s be honest, weed saps your ambition. Picture the stereo-typical stoner. He’s out-of-work, sitting on a threadbare couch, in his mess of a living room. There’s probably a pizza box and an open bag of Doritos lying about. He’s wearing sweats or pajamas, underneath a ratty, Lebowski bathrobe, and listening to Dark Side of the Moon. I call that “Thursday”.
So, hopefully we’re losing a bit of that ambitionlessness (is that even a word?). Part of this whole challenge is motivation – motivation to lose weight, to make life changes, to feel better, to be better. I’d like to think I’m on my way.
*Full Disclosure - When I was with the SynD’Cats, as part of the performance, we had a bar on stage and would drink during the show, which was a Rat Pack-style revue…BUT we were self-produced. Any corporate shows with the SynD’Cats, I didn’t touch a drop. (I can only speak for myself on that account.) So when I say I never drank and performed, I mean except in this show – where I drank and performed.
Celibate Good Times, Come On
I have never been a sex machine, but I like to think I had a decent run with the ladies for a while. In my 30’s, in Orlando, I was feeling good about myself. I was working all the time, making decent money. I was a bigger fish in a smaller pond. Some may have thought I was a “reel” catch. Ah, metaphors, how I love to beat you into the ground.
But my 40’s have been a little different. I haven’t exactly set L.A. on fire. Two major deaths in my family, I got a little sadder, a little older, put on weight, and – romance-wise, I stopped putting it out there. This is what happens when we don’t feel great about ourselves. What am I saying? The last time I was getting it regular, America was watching Herman’s Head! Hello? Is this thing on?
My point is, I have hardly got a libido – for a few years now. This is NOT who I used to be. A girl could raise an eyebrow at me, and I would raise something of my own, IYKWIM. Will getting my body-image back have an effect? Will getting the THC out of my system have an effect? Is this just male menopause? I’m anxious to find out. I must confess, I bought the blue pill, the bone pill from an on-line pharmacy. I’m 47, not dead. Stella needs to get his groove back. I think I’ll go rent a movie with Carla Gugino in it. She always seems to show the goods. I’ll let you know how it goes.
Dame and Weigh-ins
I got my first compliment this week (thanks Amber). She said she could absolutely tell I was losing…and she could especially see it in my face. Happy happy, skippy jump.
Week Three weigh-in (drum roll)…
232 lbs. (Down 13 lbs. 34 to go)
Only one pound this week. Not to make excuses, but after hitting the gym pretty hard, I pulled a groin muscle (guess I had to do it some way, having no libido and all; oh I am hilarious!). So this has been a rather sedentary week. Also, I had a lovely visitor from out-of-town. Sweet Michelle was here, trying to wake the dead. I ate fairly healthy during her stay, but a couple of meals were definitely off-diet. Heck, even if I do one or two pounds a week, I’m moving in the right direction.
Thanks to everyone for the advice and well-wishes. More to come...off.
Part: 4 Me minus the Highness & Week Three
Instead of Couch Potatoes, Can I get a Salad?
Life looks a little different when completely sober. Did you all know that the economy is in a free-fall? And why is Jimmy Fallon in Conan’s chair? Moreover…how come that second question troubles me more than the first?
My buddy Adam asked something very intriguing. “Do you feel sharper from no booze and weed?” Wow. Great question. Booze and weed for me were almost exclusively at-home, evening habits. I have never shown up to a gig under the influence of anything. For me, that is inexcusable. Mortal sin time (even though I’m not Catholic).* But, they say THC can stay in your system for weeks. So am I sharper? I don’t know. I will say, I’ve had a couple of killer improv shows at ComedySportzLA these past weeks – although I wasn’t super proud of my work in last week’s long-form show (which oddly enough, is called “The High”).
I do know this much. I have more energy throughout the day, and more focus. Let’s be honest, weed saps your ambition. Picture the stereo-typical stoner. He’s out-of-work, sitting on a threadbare couch, in his mess of a living room. There’s probably a pizza box and an open bag of Doritos lying about. He’s wearing sweats or pajamas, underneath a ratty, Lebowski bathrobe, and listening to Dark Side of the Moon. I call that “Thursday”.
So, hopefully we’re losing a bit of that ambitionlessness (is that even a word?). Part of this whole challenge is motivation – motivation to lose weight, to make life changes, to feel better, to be better. I’d like to think I’m on my way.
*Full Disclosure - When I was with the SynD’Cats, as part of the performance, we had a bar on stage and would drink during the show, which was a Rat Pack-style revue…BUT we were self-produced. Any corporate shows with the SynD’Cats, I didn’t touch a drop. (I can only speak for myself on that account.) So when I say I never drank and performed, I mean except in this show – where I drank and performed.
Celibate Good Times, Come On
I have never been a sex machine, but I like to think I had a decent run with the ladies for a while. In my 30’s, in Orlando, I was feeling good about myself. I was working all the time, making decent money. I was a bigger fish in a smaller pond. Some may have thought I was a “reel” catch. Ah, metaphors, how I love to beat you into the ground.
But my 40’s have been a little different. I haven’t exactly set L.A. on fire. Two major deaths in my family, I got a little sadder, a little older, put on weight, and – romance-wise, I stopped putting it out there. This is what happens when we don’t feel great about ourselves. What am I saying? The last time I was getting it regular, America was watching Herman’s Head! Hello? Is this thing on?
My point is, I have hardly got a libido – for a few years now. This is NOT who I used to be. A girl could raise an eyebrow at me, and I would raise something of my own, IYKWIM. Will getting my body-image back have an effect? Will getting the THC out of my system have an effect? Is this just male menopause? I’m anxious to find out. I must confess, I bought the blue pill, the bone pill from an on-line pharmacy. I’m 47, not dead. Stella needs to get his groove back. I think I’ll go rent a movie with Carla Gugino in it. She always seems to show the goods. I’ll let you know how it goes.
Dame and Weigh-ins
I got my first compliment this week (thanks Amber). She said she could absolutely tell I was losing…and she could especially see it in my face. Happy happy, skippy jump.
Week Three weigh-in (drum roll)…
232 lbs. (Down 13 lbs. 34 to go)
Only one pound this week. Not to make excuses, but after hitting the gym pretty hard, I pulled a groin muscle (guess I had to do it some way, having no libido and all; oh I am hilarious!). So this has been a rather sedentary week. Also, I had a lovely visitor from out-of-town. Sweet Michelle was here, trying to wake the dead. I ate fairly healthy during her stay, but a couple of meals were definitely off-diet. Heck, even if I do one or two pounds a week, I’m moving in the right direction.
Thanks to everyone for the advice and well-wishes. More to come...off.
Monday, March 16, 2009
47 at Forty-seven – The Mid-Life Crisis Diet Project Part 3
47 at Forty-seven – The Mid-Life Crisis Diet Project
Part : 3 Weeks One & Two
Changes in Attitudes, Changes in Fattitudes
Well, we are officially underway. The journey to drop forty-seven pounds (at age 47) began March 2nd. I weighed-in at 245 lbs. That’s right; I actually gained 2 pounds during my pre-diet binge. Thank you. Thank you. You’re too kind.
Now here’s a great Day One strategy – root canal. That filling I lost was worse than I hoped. So, I had my first root canal, which really can kick-start a diet, I’ll tell you what. Why someone hasn’t touted the “Oral Surgery Weight Loss Plan” before now, I have no idea. There is no better appetite suppressant than feeling the throb of your pulse in your face.
The other thing I did to kick-start the diet, the real thing, the lazy-ass thing, is…I ordered food. The Chef’s Diet (formerly “Zone Chefs”) is a delivery service in NYC and L.A. They deliver your food for the day, right to your door. I get 3 meals and 2 snacks all based on The Zone Diet. This is great. For the first month all I will eat is what they give me, nothing else. This gets me used to proper meal ideas, how much to eat and how often. It’s a tad pricey and I really can’t afford it, but as my dear friend Mark Miller would say, “Steve, you can’t afford not to.” (Only he’d be talking about getting my butt to some drunken “Pirate Festival” in St. Pete.)
I’m back to the gym. I’m doing 3 and a quarter miles on the treadmill…in a row. So, after one week (drum roll) I weighed in at…
237 lbs. (Down 8 lbs. 39 to go.)
I just heard a chorus of females shout, “Men suck! Weight just flies off men. And they leave the toilet seat up and start wars.” Sorry. It happened. First week – 8 lbs.
TheTryin’, the Switch and the Wardrobe
“Has the eating been hard? Late-night cravings? Are you starving?” A lot of people have been asking. The answer is – not at all – so far. To paraphrase Yogi Berra, “It’s one half physical and ninety percent mental.” It’s weird but something might be hard for you until one day you just flip a switch. My chain-smoking friend Jody couldn’t quit to save her life, but the moment she suspected she was pregnant, down went the cigarettes – not a puff (that is until Emily was born - then, right back). My switch is flipped. This is what I’m doing now.
The weed and booze haven’t been an issue, either. It’s a case of habit vs. addiction. When I quit smoking – HUGE cravings. That was over four years ago, and I STILL get them. Tobacco is addictive. Marijuana is not; it’s just fun. Here is the “Duh Factor”, though – the obvious thing that never occurred to me. When you smoke a bowl most evenings, when you have a few drinks most evenings – these are sleep aids. Hey Idiot, you removed your sleep aids. So, for the first week, my sleep was f**ked.
Week Two weigh-in (drum roll)…
233 lbs. (Down 12 lbs. 35 to go)
The key now is to not get pleased with myself and relent. The only real change so far is that I’ve gone from nothing fitting at all – to a few things fitting poorly.
Me, me, me-ness and Stevie P-ness
Lastly, I would like to say a word about blogging, because here I am doing it, now. Some people actually seemed to be invested, and are asking me to hurry with updates and installments. (Thank you and bless you all.) But I must confess – I have always had a tolerate/hate relationship with blogs. Why? Because 90% percent of them are crap-ass exercises in self-obsession. “Look at me! I’m writing about me. Read about me. Me, me me.” It’s usually someone’s poorly-written therapy – pointless drivel, with no real audience. Wait a minute, I can write that!
But then there is the 10% that are well-written, or funny, or insightful, or moving. Kellie’s beautiful blog about her struggle with stage fucking four Lymphoma, brought me to tears – had me barking out surprising laughs, and made me love and care for a woman I’ve never met who is hundreds of miles away. Check her out and send love.
(http://www.cancerbecomesme.blogspot.com/) The fact that she or any of you, for that matter, are tuned in to my trifle about pot brownies and pot bellies is, quite frankly, humbling.
So I’m asking you to keep me honest, gang. I don’t want this to devolve into an inventory of weigh-ins and menus. And if you see me driving down Narcissistic Blather Lane, GPS me back on course, will ya?
Part : 3 Weeks One & Two
Changes in Attitudes, Changes in Fattitudes
Well, we are officially underway. The journey to drop forty-seven pounds (at age 47) began March 2nd. I weighed-in at 245 lbs. That’s right; I actually gained 2 pounds during my pre-diet binge. Thank you. Thank you. You’re too kind.
Now here’s a great Day One strategy – root canal. That filling I lost was worse than I hoped. So, I had my first root canal, which really can kick-start a diet, I’ll tell you what. Why someone hasn’t touted the “Oral Surgery Weight Loss Plan” before now, I have no idea. There is no better appetite suppressant than feeling the throb of your pulse in your face.
The other thing I did to kick-start the diet, the real thing, the lazy-ass thing, is…I ordered food. The Chef’s Diet (formerly “Zone Chefs”) is a delivery service in NYC and L.A. They deliver your food for the day, right to your door. I get 3 meals and 2 snacks all based on The Zone Diet. This is great. For the first month all I will eat is what they give me, nothing else. This gets me used to proper meal ideas, how much to eat and how often. It’s a tad pricey and I really can’t afford it, but as my dear friend Mark Miller would say, “Steve, you can’t afford not to.” (Only he’d be talking about getting my butt to some drunken “Pirate Festival” in St. Pete.)
I’m back to the gym. I’m doing 3 and a quarter miles on the treadmill…in a row. So, after one week (drum roll) I weighed in at…
237 lbs. (Down 8 lbs. 39 to go.)
I just heard a chorus of females shout, “Men suck! Weight just flies off men. And they leave the toilet seat up and start wars.” Sorry. It happened. First week – 8 lbs.
TheTryin’, the Switch and the Wardrobe
“Has the eating been hard? Late-night cravings? Are you starving?” A lot of people have been asking. The answer is – not at all – so far. To paraphrase Yogi Berra, “It’s one half physical and ninety percent mental.” It’s weird but something might be hard for you until one day you just flip a switch. My chain-smoking friend Jody couldn’t quit to save her life, but the moment she suspected she was pregnant, down went the cigarettes – not a puff (that is until Emily was born - then, right back). My switch is flipped. This is what I’m doing now.
The weed and booze haven’t been an issue, either. It’s a case of habit vs. addiction. When I quit smoking – HUGE cravings. That was over four years ago, and I STILL get them. Tobacco is addictive. Marijuana is not; it’s just fun. Here is the “Duh Factor”, though – the obvious thing that never occurred to me. When you smoke a bowl most evenings, when you have a few drinks most evenings – these are sleep aids. Hey Idiot, you removed your sleep aids. So, for the first week, my sleep was f**ked.
Week Two weigh-in (drum roll)…
233 lbs. (Down 12 lbs. 35 to go)
The key now is to not get pleased with myself and relent. The only real change so far is that I’ve gone from nothing fitting at all – to a few things fitting poorly.
Me, me, me-ness and Stevie P-ness
Lastly, I would like to say a word about blogging, because here I am doing it, now. Some people actually seemed to be invested, and are asking me to hurry with updates and installments. (Thank you and bless you all.) But I must confess – I have always had a tolerate/hate relationship with blogs. Why? Because 90% percent of them are crap-ass exercises in self-obsession. “Look at me! I’m writing about me. Read about me. Me, me me.” It’s usually someone’s poorly-written therapy – pointless drivel, with no real audience. Wait a minute, I can write that!
But then there is the 10% that are well-written, or funny, or insightful, or moving. Kellie’s beautiful blog about her struggle with stage fucking four Lymphoma, brought me to tears – had me barking out surprising laughs, and made me love and care for a woman I’ve never met who is hundreds of miles away. Check her out and send love.
(http://www.cancerbecomesme.blogspot.com/) The fact that she or any of you, for that matter, are tuned in to my trifle about pot brownies and pot bellies is, quite frankly, humbling.
So I’m asking you to keep me honest, gang. I don’t want this to devolve into an inventory of weigh-ins and menus. And if you see me driving down Narcissistic Blather Lane, GPS me back on course, will ya?
Monday, March 9, 2009
47 at Forty-seven – The Mid-Life Crisis Diet Project Part 2
Part 2: The Last Hoorah
The Curious Case of Binger Man Glutton
As you may know, I announced quite publicly my challenge to lose 47 pounds (at 47 years of age). “I’m not only dieting”, I said, “But I’m also giving up booze and weed!” And, I remain quite committed to this noble venture, rest assured. But I’m not a total masochist. I made my announcement on a Wednesday that the diet would start Monday – leaving me four full days to smoke, chomp, and guzzle to my bacchanalian heart’s content. For three nights in a row I went to bed feeling no pain. But I knew Sunday would be my last day – a “wake and bake” binge for the ages.
I must confess, I approached my binge with the same determination as my forthcoming weight loss. If I was going to smoke the last of my dear cannabis, I needed to do it with reverence. Any dedicated stoner understands that the pot munchies should be treated with respect. Cravings will arise – and attention must be paid. So I stocked up on snacks. And not just snacks, I’m no amateur – snack groups.
You stoners know what I’m talking about – and you late-night bingers, too. Snacks have groups. So, I needed something from the “Chip Group” I went with Fritos – a classic, something from the “Candy Group” I chose Peanut M&Ms, which gets your chocolate craving and Twizzlers, for the consistency. (Sometimes when you’re high, you need something gummy). I bought Pretzel Nuggets, which I put in the “Bread/Cracker Group”, cheddar cheese for the “Dairy Group”, and finally for the “Cake/Cookie Group”, perhaps the perfect stoner food product – Teddy Grahams.
Noon til Midnight was the plan, and at 11:30AM I patted myself on the back for not procrastinating. It was a great lazy, blazey Sunday. The incense was lit; the iTunes were on…ah joy. Many friends came by – Kurt, Tasha, Luis, Kat, Eric, Brian, Leslie - to either wish me well, or join in some degree of debauchery. I toked, made Cranberry Martinis, toked, and if I remember correctly, I toked.
The Perfect Ending
11:30PM - The place has cleared out. I am watching Big Love in bed on the DVR, the nearly-killed box of Teddy Graham Minis rests on my enormous pot belly. Pretty, right ladies? I am spent. I have consumed more than once-thought humanly possible. The grub is gone. The weed is done. I grab the last handful of Nabisco’s nirvana, knowing that my diet starts in moments, and my binge is about to come to an end. As I bite into them (and I swear this REALLY happened) my biggest filling comes out, leaving a giant hole in my upper left molar.
How poetic is that? My body had had enough of my stupid binge and angrily Broke My Mouth!
Report on the first week coming soon.
The Curious Case of Binger Man Glutton
As you may know, I announced quite publicly my challenge to lose 47 pounds (at 47 years of age). “I’m not only dieting”, I said, “But I’m also giving up booze and weed!” And, I remain quite committed to this noble venture, rest assured. But I’m not a total masochist. I made my announcement on a Wednesday that the diet would start Monday – leaving me four full days to smoke, chomp, and guzzle to my bacchanalian heart’s content. For three nights in a row I went to bed feeling no pain. But I knew Sunday would be my last day – a “wake and bake” binge for the ages.
I must confess, I approached my binge with the same determination as my forthcoming weight loss. If I was going to smoke the last of my dear cannabis, I needed to do it with reverence. Any dedicated stoner understands that the pot munchies should be treated with respect. Cravings will arise – and attention must be paid. So I stocked up on snacks. And not just snacks, I’m no amateur – snack groups.
You stoners know what I’m talking about – and you late-night bingers, too. Snacks have groups. So, I needed something from the “Chip Group” I went with Fritos – a classic, something from the “Candy Group” I chose Peanut M&Ms, which gets your chocolate craving and Twizzlers, for the consistency. (Sometimes when you’re high, you need something gummy). I bought Pretzel Nuggets, which I put in the “Bread/Cracker Group”, cheddar cheese for the “Dairy Group”, and finally for the “Cake/Cookie Group”, perhaps the perfect stoner food product – Teddy Grahams.
Noon til Midnight was the plan, and at 11:30AM I patted myself on the back for not procrastinating. It was a great lazy, blazey Sunday. The incense was lit; the iTunes were on…ah joy. Many friends came by – Kurt, Tasha, Luis, Kat, Eric, Brian, Leslie - to either wish me well, or join in some degree of debauchery. I toked, made Cranberry Martinis, toked, and if I remember correctly, I toked.
The Perfect Ending
11:30PM - The place has cleared out. I am watching Big Love in bed on the DVR, the nearly-killed box of Teddy Graham Minis rests on my enormous pot belly. Pretty, right ladies? I am spent. I have consumed more than once-thought humanly possible. The grub is gone. The weed is done. I grab the last handful of Nabisco’s nirvana, knowing that my diet starts in moments, and my binge is about to come to an end. As I bite into them (and I swear this REALLY happened) my biggest filling comes out, leaving a giant hole in my upper left molar.
How poetic is that? My body had had enough of my stupid binge and angrily Broke My Mouth!
Report on the first week coming soon.
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