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As 2005 soon becomes a number we mistakenly write and type for a month or two, just a quick last shout to the holidays. The houses of Astoria are always festooned for the holidays to varying degrees of beauty and vulgarity. As someone who will probably never own a 'home' with a 'yard', who knows if my own yard would ever look as such. But as a lover of excess, my props go out even if it is just for making an effort. Take the tour.
Happy New Year.
184 is not a magic number. It is the number on the scale that tells me that the holidays have taken their toll. The threshold has been crossed where my shirt must stay on at the club. The only good thing about 184 is that my jeans are not falling off as two lumps have formed which are apparently called an "ass". And although this feature is nice addition to the package, it cannot exist in a world also occupied by a "belly" and "sad titties".
None of this is surprising as the gym has been bypassed of late and the sampling of goodies at holiday parties has been ample. It's simply a process that happens every year as the winter hibernation period proceeds. Other agenda items take precedence over personal vanity leaving body hair untrimmed, muscles depleted, and calories stored rather than burnt.
When 184 rears it's ugly head though, vanity is resurgent. Enter: The Manhattan Offender Workout Plan.
Is it professional and doctor approved? No. Does it work? Like a charm.
By Friday, using a combination of the above the number on the scale will be 179. If I were to continue, 172 (my optimal weight, unless beefed up, which is about 178) would be achievable by January 10. My methods work, but are so totally bad for you. It's merely a crutch to push down to a weight that is more manageable. Then you can go about that whole "eating a balanced diet and regular exercise" razzmatazz.
After seeing article after article about the movie for the past several months, it was with little surprise that I paid my ten and change to see Brokeback Mountain last night. As it was a known quantity that Ang Lee never disappoints (Hulk being an aberration), an effort was made to not read much of the write-ups, as surprise is highly valued.
In the appreciation of this value, don't look for details of the movie here, as it is better to let the experience wrap around you. The strength of the storytelling here is that you are shown much and told little, more effectively bringing you into the story. In short, the recommendation is to not wait for the DVD and to see this now.
As the credits began to roll, the biggest surprise for me was the blooper reel my companions were out of their seats and ready to go just as Ang Lee's name appeared on the screen. Being a total wreck in public is never one of my goals, but here I was, coming out onto Third Avenue, sniffing and wiping my eyes.
Being away for the holidays and being with a two and five year-old for the weekend have encouraged a cessation of smoking. The cigarettes were in the car, and at one point the excuse of walking the dog was made to go out and smoke. Arriving at the car though, the internally posed question was, "But, why?"
On one side:
On the other:
Regardless of the decision, it is mine and mine alone. No support is expected from anyone and, rest assured, none will be given in my group of friends. Already, after just a few days, my sense of taste and smell have improved. (Smell unfortunately returned while at the Joyce Kilmer Service Center bathroom along the Jersey Turnpike.) Lung function and circulation are supposed to improve after two weeks, which will be just in time as the weight will start gaining and necessitate a return to the treadmill. The other improvements over time include sinus clearing, decrease of coronary heart disease (which killed my grandpa at 60) and decrease of cancer risk (which killed my dad at 62).
Although there will be no dramatic resolution to quit smoking or the ancillary "final puff" or similar bullshit, there will be two promises if the cessation of smoking is started:
Typical. Just as a new skill is acquired, the need for that skill is removed. In this case, the skill was navigating the streets and avenues to avoid traffic jams, and success was mine. This morning we left the house just before eight, picked up a friend and one stranger to make our quota of four, navigated over the bridge and downtown. My passengers were dispatched and the car in the garage just after nine. Traffic was, in fact, pretty much not bad after some trouble spots were identified in the previous days.
With transit workers seemingly going back to work, these new skills are for naught. Add this to the fact that we will be out of town as of tomorrow morning and this brief episode will just be a fading memory soon. All the drama and the hype were easily composed human-interest stories in the press. Perhaps in retrospect, some analysis will be done as to how the situation was able to devolve to a strike.
In celebration of the trains restarting though, we certainly hope that everyone will don their white furs and panties to celebrate. Although we'll be in a car heading for someplace called Virginia (yes, there is a Santa Claus), we'll try to dress as close to same as possible.
It seems that press coverage has been biased against the union. Where is the outrage against Kalikow? Is it just that the MTA has a better PR team than the TWU? My opinion is obvious here, but I am curious to read what others think.
Waking up to find the christmas tree sprawled across the floor? The ornaments, all gifts from friends throughout the year, scattered beneath the eight foot beheamoth? The Barbie 2003 Annual Edition Ornament's hand severed from her wrist, yet her eyes beam on, defiant of her obvious pain?
It's finally beginning to feel a lot like christmas!
