Low Fat, Low Cal...Taste Debatable

So you may have, from time to time, gone down the aisle of your preferred grocery establishment in search of a sweet treat like chocolate milk...only to discover they only offer "reduced fat" or "low fat" chocolate milk. To me, that is disappointing. Even tragic.

Sure, that cow on the bottle looks happy, but in truth he hates himself.

Similar things happen when you're looking for ice cream, candy, and even soda. You've got coke zero, diet coke, stevia sweetened ginger beer, candy with no sugar or trans fats. On the one hand you could get fat (if you go with the regular), while on the the other hand you could get cancer (with all the phenylalanine and like diet sweeteners).

I mean, if you're looking to eat something sweet and satisfyingly delectable, you probably aren't too concerned about the fat content. And if you are, please go eat some quinoa, buckwheat, amaranth, and then go do your yoga/pilates/tai chi and leave the fat foods for those of us with the restraint to enjoy them without forcing them to become crappy. Or just leave them for the fat kids who don't care.

So do I.

And so does this guy.

I didn't make you fat America. You made you fat. Like that grammar? I like my regular, whole milk chocolate milk. I like my regular, delicious food. I don't like diet anything. I don't like fat free, sugar free whatever. And guess what America, I'm not fat. I have it both ways. I have my cake, and eat it too (But actually I'm a bit particular with my cakes. I'm not a cake guy. I like pie. If I have to eat cake I like angel food cake or that dark chocolate mousse cake...or ice cream cake). I digress...

The point is this: If you want to lose weight, be aware of what you're putting in your body and how much exercise you get. Eat fresh fruits, vegetables, whole grains, and get fresh air and sun and work out as often as possible. And, it's not about losing weight, it's about being healthy. But you won't do it by eating tons of diet stuff. That's the problem. People go, oh, they're "mini" cupcakes, or it's "diet" and proceed to eat the whole bag, box, or case. So, to avoid that, don't eat diet stuff in the first place. Smaller regular food portion size is better than larger diet portion size.

Not everyone is going to be a nasty, emaciated, twig-type, and that's ok. In fact, it's probably good. I should never have something stuck in my teeth, look around for a toothpick, and find you to be a suitable substitute.

She drank the wrong kind of chocolate milk.

It's also ok, and even good to splurge every now any then. As long as butter pecan ice cream and cupcakes don't become your staple food items, and you don't eat your cereal with Dr. Pepper instead of milk, you'll probably be ok. Don't quote me on that though. I know some people who have Dr. Pepper fed intravenously into their arms and they do fine.

And the moral of this diatribe: EAT UP FATTIES!

Extreme Sandwich Eating

While some people are naturally inclined to believe that anything extreme is bad, crazy, reckless, stupid, careless, etc. I, on the other hand am inclined to believe otherwise. At least, in the case of eating sandwiches.

Yes. Eating a sandwich can be extreme. I'm not talking about eating a sandwich made out of plutonium, or eating a pig foot sandwich in downtown Jerusalem, but rather, eating seemingly normal sandwiches, in less than normal circumstances. Allow me to provide an example.

This past weekend I visited Yosemite National Park. It's my favorite park and it is a beautifully magnificent place. And, consequently, an ideal location for extreme sandwich eating. And, as it so happened, I had a magnificent sandwich made by my favorite butcher Albert. So, I declared to all that would listen (the one other person in the car with me), that I would eat my sandwich under a waterfall. So we went to Bridal veil falls, got soaked, and I ate my sandwich. And, wouldn't you know, it was delicious. Did the bread get soggy? Yes. Did it start to fall apart a little? Yes. Would I have traded that experience for anything? Possibly. But, I would not have traded it for eating a sandwich at a table.

And so I challenge you readers. Eat sandwiches. Eat lots of them. And do it in crazy places while doing crazy things. Here is a list of ideas for the non-creative normal people who read this blog:

Playing scrabble in a tree with a capuchin monkey

Riding a unicycle with an eye patch

Walking the plank after being captured by Somali pirates

Riding a horse backwards with a funny hat

On a pogo stick with a "little person" on your shoulders

None of the following situations qualify:

PS - "Little person" is the unfortunate political correct term for people who suffer from dwarfism. Typically I would use the word midget, but I am cow-towing to social pressure.

How Did Dinosaurs Go Extinct?

Everyone has a theory about the dinosaurs. And by that I mean everyone thinks something different about why they went extinct (Not to be confused with those who think the dinosaurs were alien God creatures that begat Xenu, or those who think fossils we strategically placed on earth by God to test us, or those who think they are dinosaurs). Some say it was a giant meteor, or comet that wiped them out.

Others think is was volcanoes.

Others think they annihilated each other with nuclear weapons in their own Jurassic World War III.

But to these simple-minded theories I say, "No." And, what's more, I said it in quotations.

The truth is, dinosaurs were wiped out by robots. Both in actuality, and proverbially. Back when they roamed the earth they had a terminator dinosaur scenario, just like the movie, except John Connor the dinosaur didn't make it. T-1000 the T-Rex, liquid-metal clawed his face off. So that is obviously disheartening, and to make things worse, the consequences are readily apparent today in museums, exhibits, and universal studios: animatronic dinosaurs/secret spies from the prehistoric past. Proverbially speaking, things aren't much better for dinosaurs. Back in my day, every little kid loved dinosaurs. Children everywhere had plastic dinosaurs, watched "Denver the Last Dinosaur," and thought they were T-Rexes. Some still do. But, unfortunately it seems the heyday of the dinosaur has been taken over by robots. And these robots are the following non-people: Miley Cyrus, Dora the Explorer, and Lady Gaga.

So, sad face for dinosaurs. But, on the bright side, at least we now know what happened to them.

Next week: How dinosaurs preceded the Romans in developing indoor plumbing

Art Or Crap?

There I was. Standing in the bathroom of a little restaurant called 'Breakfast Club' in Mammoth Lakes, California, relieving myself while staring at a clever bit of graffiti on the toilet paper dispenser. It said 'Cruz Control', but spelled in such a way that the 'cruise' part was written like someone's last name rather than the feature found in most cars.

Graffiti in public restrooms is one of those things I've tried to wrap my head around for some time now. I mean, as cool as it is to chisel nonsensical symbols and misspelt words on toilet seats, mirrors, toilet paper dispensers and trash cans, I don't quite understand the allure. Maybe I just need to embrace the subculture.

Maybe I could be a leader among them. I could start an underground public toilet graffiti gang and call myself Muad' Dib. Then we could ransack whole towns, pillaging and defacing all of their public restrooms, wreaking untold havoc and creating fear and panic among the citizenry.

Soon they will all fear Cruz Control.

Muahahaha.

Why not?

Sometimes this is the best way to talk to your parents.

Agreed, but bad punctuation.

Did I "borrow" this picture from Flickr? Yes. Is it worth it even with that annoying line though it? Absolutely.

Early Morning Epiphanies

Everyone knows all the best ideas come after 1am. Always.

Start an offshore bank account in the Caymans. Write a book about an Amazonian river dolphin named Tim. Start a circus of flying squirrels and train them to steal people's wallets while one is jumping through a flaming soda can hanging from a birdcage.

The possibilities are limitless.

For instance. Let's say you write a blog. It's past 1am, and you think to yourself, "Self, you are indeed thinking to me, and you should write a blog about this genius idea you just had." Then, instead of writing about that genius idea, you write about having genius ideas after 1am and chalk it up as some misguided attempt to inspire the masses. Good work self.

Here are some more successful ideas:

Bringing your pet monster on your road trip of the UK.

Telling Coco he was adopted, and that you were the one who farted.

Poorly photoshopping tea pots on Mr. T photos and then calling him to gloat.

Getting rid of those hairy pits the FUN way.

EXTREME TEXTING! LOL WTF. TTYL.

We live in a world of extremes. Extreme temperatures, extreme politics, and of course, extreme sports. But there is a way to become part of the extreme fun without going inside a volcano, fomenting an insurrection, or doing a 1080 on a riding lawnmower while jumping a tank of alligators.

How?

Extreme texting.

Not to be confused with extreme ironing.

No, I don't mean texting from your car while driving on the interstate (not extreme, just dumb). Neither do I mean sending texts from outer space. No. If you want to be an extreme texter you have to think outside of the box. Beyond 160 characters. Beyond human. For instance, let's say you wanted to involve space travel while texting. Well, no one cares if you send a text from space, but if you send a monkey or an overweight orangutan to text from the moon, that is extreme.

Becoming a zombie, and then texting is not extreme, especially if you work at Best Buy.

The possibilities don't end there though. You could also text from inside the belly of a shark. How? Figure it out. This is not rocket surgery. You could also text while doing a contortionist stunt while being launched out a torpedo tube on a submarine. And if that doesn't float your boat, then create the world's largest cruise ship/cell phone (ie: a cell phone that is also a cruise ship or vice versa) then become a jet pilot and launch missles at the keypad so that it sends a message to your grandma in Pocatello.

Texting while squatting on a manhole cover and eating icecream is pretty extreme (especially once the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles jump out and surprise her with some pizza)

Yeah. Sweeeeet.

A Changing World

The world is changing. And sometimes, it changes in leaps and bounds rather than incremental ticks and tocks.

A prime example is that of our mutual friend "Ichabod." Well, let's call him Ichabod anyway.

There are certain thresholds that many of the male gender promise to themselves never to cross. But then either curiosity or a woman beguiles them to eschew their otherwise rock-hard principles.

Such was the case with Ichabod the other night. His first foray into this unknown world was when he was reassured and even beguiled by attractive women to buy "skinny" jeans. Sure, they were labeled "slim" jeans, but he knew what this was all about. He entered the fitting room a curious man, and left a redefined beast of modernity. Some might just call him a metro.

The skinny jeans fit by the way and didn't even look skinny. Or maybe he was just equivocating to make himself feel better about his dwindling masculinity. But the jeans were just the beginning.

Later that evening while flipping through the channels he saw a title he had sworn to never read, watch, or even do anything to except ridicule as often as possible: Twilight. He flipped to Twilight and then quickly back to some show called "The World's Most Haunted Places," so that he could click the 'recall' button, promising himself an avenue of escape if the movie turned out to suck as much as he had been led to believe.

He watched the whole thing. And while it was at times mind-numbing, and terribly absurd, the stinging rebuke that stayed with him was that he didn't hate it. What had happened to this man Ichabod? Was he still a man? Or had he morphed into a self-loathing, shiny vampire promoting, ball of sexual ambiguity?

Who knows?

But what thing we can be certain of is that he purchased skinny jeans, watched Twilight, and then didn't hate it.Step 1 - Ichabod wears questionable "skinny jeans."

Step 2 - Jeans become leggings. Jeaggings.

Step 547 - What happened to step 3?

Step 548 - You've gone and done it now.

Am I the internet's tumor? Or is it mine?

(This is the world's largest meatball. It is relevant to this article because it looks like a tumor and the guy who made it seems pretty happy about it)

I'm pretty sure the internet has latched itself onto my brain. It has done so incrementally, and what seemed like a symbiotic relationship may have become a parasitic one: a tumor. However, it's hard to say which is the tumor, the internet or me. Fortunately there is Arnold Schwarzenegger's famous line from "Kindergarten Cop" that reassures me, "It's not a tumor." If only I could pretend and be that little kid who hangs out with the ferret and brings his toy to the carpet.

But this little boy may never make it back to the carpet. He has found far too many toys and cannot decide (And, he also seems to have continued to speak of himself in third person for far too long). Really. I am writing this revelatory blog entry after 1:00AM.

Some of you might come to my defense and say, "Aw that's nothing man, you're fine. I stay up until 3 or 4AM." Others of you might be appalled. Others of you stopped reading a while ago due to the fact that you don't stay up this late, or just have short attention spans.

Well, I tell myself all the time that I'm going to go to bed earlier EVERY night. And, every night I always find some movie to watch, article to read, friend to chat to, place to go, etc. to etc. Tonight really is no different. Sure I could blame it on the fact that often times my shifts end at 9PM or even close to 11PM or beyond and I still have to make time for exercise. Then I have to clean myself up, eat, veg out, and/or pretend to have a life beyond work.

But I don't have to do anything. I just do.

I also tell myself things would be different if I were married and had a job with normal hours. Maybe so. But who's to say? Maybe I'm just caught up in being caught up for no reason other than a subconscious curiosity or at least some sort of deeply rooted dissatisfaction with the present moment. Or maybe I just want to prolong the moment and live each waking hour as long as possible.

Well that last idea cannot be. I tend to sleep in when I can. But even that's a precarious assumption. Often when I think I get to sleep in I get woken up after being in bed a mere 3 or 4 hours, and then have to pretend like it was 8, and trying to get back to bed is never the same. The dreams, the REM, the beautiful tapestry of synthetic subconscious reverie sifts like sand through my finger tips.

What is the solution? Probably eating more, staring more out the window, and watching Judge Judy reruns. Yeah.

BIG WORDS.

I was reading a magazine the other day when I came across a word that I found amusing. Well, it wasn't so much the word, but rather the somewhat interesting use of the word put together with my understanding of the author's intentions through the cynical prism that I sometimes call a brain.

The word was 'detritus' or in other words: debris, odds and ends, decaying or disintegrating stuff, AKA: trash.

The reason I was amused was because here was a writer describing something seemingly valueless in order to ascribe some sort of literary value to himself. It's like when anyone uses the word 'esoteric'; the word is self-fulfilling. Esoteric is esoteric. It means: requiring or exhibiting knowledge that is restricted to a small group. The people who understand and use the word esoteric would most likely qualify as a somewhat small group. And, in a similarly laughable (but inaudibly laughable) way, using the word detritus to say trash to look good is amusing to say the least.

Of course I may be reading into this too much. Maybe the author uses the word detritus in his everyday speech. In fact, maybe everyone does. Maybe I'm the dumb one...or just jaded. Cue that mediocre Aerosmith song.

This was apparently on the same sidewalk as the previous picture:I almost got mad at whoever wrote it. Don't tell everyone where the factory is!

Hello Person

Hello person who is reading this. I bet you don't get a personal "hello" every time you read a blog. But that's because this is a different kind of blog, and you're a different kind of person. Most likely the kind that I do not know. Or maybe I know you, but only vaguely. Or maybe I know someone who looks like you, but we'll probably never know that because you're reading this and I'm not actually talking to you in person. And don't think it's going to happen on skype either.

So back to you.

What do you think of this?:You're welcome. And it's not even Christmas.