Category Archives: Exercise

Triumphs and Things

Well, this past week was pretty good – mostly – some things. Work was fine – especially since the holiday Monday made for a short week.

Last weekend we went off to Bethlehem for a quick visit. C found a great deal on a hotel, and we had a mostly good time. Saturday was lovely weather, but Sunday was a bit chilly. Went to the usual places – Re-Wired for coffee, a new place (Molto Pazzo), and the Bethlehem Hotel for brunch. Got some a really impressive piece of artwork made of stainless steel, and a few things for the Christmas tree. Somehow the taps on Christmas stuff seem to be a bit tighter closed – it’s not all ‘so new’ this year.

Monday I didn’t do much but we did go to lunch – with a horrible waitress.

Tuesday there was some tension at work over one of the analysts.

Tuesday night I want to my counsellor who fired me! Yes, he fired me. I’m really pissed – he’s a bit of a turd frankly for how he did it. He manipulated the conversation to say (a) you are fat (b) you are not doing anything about it, therefore (c I am done with you. Frankly he can go fuck himself.

However, Wednesday I walked for x minutes. It felt good, kinda, and bad, kinda. Thursday C was out so I didn’t – pure laziness. Friday neither. Saturday morning, x + 10 minutes and that felt better. I’m planning on doing x + 15 minutes tomorrow.

Friday boss was a bit … well, we had a ‘training moment’ about how many people I cc: on my e-mails. Much ado about nothing but it pissed me off good and proper. I don’t think my “sin” was as severe as it seemed at the time, but once Greg got into the swing of things he wouldn’t stop. I dunno. Work has been…disconcerting. Not as smooth and easy as usual. Bumpy and things. And soon we’ll start on my security investigation which has me minorly stressed.

Today we had Ethiopian food for the first time. It was … interesting. Intriguing. Basically you get some vegetables and some stewed stuff, and it’s all piled on these huge pieces of injera bread which is flat and spongy and odd but good. And no utensils. You use the injera to pick up bits of the food. The injera is very very filling.

Must remember to buy some low-carb bread at Mom’s tomorrow. Actually tomorrow should be a long and busy and tiring day. I hope I can fully take part after my exercise.

See you soon! Visit my tumbler!

And for today’s hot guy, since I’m watching SouthLAnd, here’s the sexy and talented Benjamin McKenzie. Too beautiful to live!

benjamin-mckenzie-boyle-heights-06.jpg
Dial 911, Make a Cop Come!

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Filed under Cute Guys, Exercise, Fun and Relaxation

More on Being Me

Well, this might very well be the longest I’ve ever waited to update my blog. My apologies.

Continuing the expose of me as an obese individual as we work our way to my ‘big’ decision, here’s an overview of how my life has been affected by being the size I am:

Well, let’s see. I find it hard to keep up with people when we walk along, and I have to stop and sit down all the time. At work if I’m talking to somebody, I can start to feel sore in my legs and have to sit down; if there’s no place to sit nearby it can be awkward.


I have to buy clothes on line and chose from a very limited selection and pay more than a normally-sized person. Basically I wear the same things over and over again.


I had to buy a car to fit me; which meant that it had to be larger than most people’s cars and was chosen mainly on the basis of whether or not it could ‘fit’ me, although I do like the car we have. I have to have the seat all the way back and the steering wheel all the way up and even then I am so close to the steering wheel that if the airbags deploy I will be at risk for severe injury.


At work I have to have a ‘bariatric’ chair specially ordered for me, as I am too big for the normal chairs. I hate being so singled out. At a former place of work, when we had fire drills I was to ‘wait in a safe area’ on the 13th floor to be rescued rather than hold everyone up trying to walk down stairs. Not only do I go much slower than everyone, I also am so wide that I take up the entire stairwell.


I can’t wear lace-up shoes because I can’t reach down far enough to tie the laces. It’s even hard for me to put on socks.


I have to ascend and descend stairs sideways because I have limited range of motion in my knees and must go slow anyway. Ascending is particularly brutal on me as I become heavingly out of breath almost immediately.


At home I can’t keep the house as clean as I should because more than a few minutes of housework is difficult for me; it hurts my back and my knees and shoulders. Kneeling to clean floors or low surfaces is out of the question.


My sofa is basically crushed even though it’s only five years old because of my weight sitting on it. I have to use a chair when I cook because my knees and legs cannot take standing long enough. I am too big for my dining room chairs and they can hurt; I am also too big to get around the dining room easily especially if guests are sitting at the table.


Emotionally the idea of cleaning or doing any physical work is daunting; if I didn’t have my partner who shoulders most of the burden of these tasks, I’d have to pay somebody to do so.


Going shopping is difficult for me because of the walking involved so many trips involve my partner going in and scouting things out for me so I don’t have to do all the walking.


Sitting in restaurants can be difficult and embarrassing. I have to make sure I can get a table, not a booth as may times I cannot fit in a booth. Sometimes, especially outside, the restaurant has resin chairs, which I’m too heavy for.


Going to sporting events and concerts fills me with dread as the seats are normally too small. When I fly I have to buy two seats for my size, request a seat belt extension, and ask to board early as I find it hard to walk down the narrow aisle on board. Frankly I wonder if I could escape a burning fuselage, or for that matter a burning building. When I rent a car it is always a worry; the car has to be big enough (which adds to the cost) and the seatbelt has to be long enough; or else I can’t drive. I’m terrified of winding up at an airport unable to continue my journey.


I never ride in anyone else’s car because I’m afraid of making a scene as I get in or out or seeing them scared of what damage I may to do to their seats.


Because of extreme shame regarding my size I do not have sexual relations easily; I am convinced despite his denials that my partner must find me hideous. I certainly do not have sex except in very very dark rooms.


Children call me names, sometimes loud enough for me to hear them. Sometimes their parents don’t correct them. It’s bad enough for me but I am so mortified for my partner.


I find it hard to think of myself as anything other than fat. Even in my daydreams I’m large and largely immobile, and there seems to be an enormous gulf between me and ‘normal people.’


Daydreaming or awake, I feel ashamed and embarrassed nearly all the time, despite my counsellor suggesting that I value the special attention I get and the allowances that are made for me.

Very soon indeed you, dear readers, will be treated to:

1) What’s been going on since 24 December last year.

2) What my ‘big’ decision is and what it entails.

3) Who the mystery man is and why he’s a bit less topical now than when I thought of him as an obsession.

Can you imagine? All this to be revealed soon?

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A Decision

I’ve decided to pursue a radical strategy to improve my life. The reason is my obesity which seems impervious to everything I’ve tried. Before going into my decision, I thought I would share with my myriad readers some of the background.

Installment One: The health effects I’ve had from being so heavy

Let’s start with my feet. My feet often hurt on even the slightest walk. I have had to have custom orthotics made to help me with the enormous weight pushing down on my incorrect stance and gait. Obesity-caused poor circulation means they are always cold.

Upwards to my legs: I suffer in both legs from chronic venous insufficiency – my circulation is so poor that blood pools there. Both my calves and shins are brown and red in color with very thin skin and a mottled appearance due to the pooling of blood caused by being obese. I have had two very painful and difficult to treat stasis ulcers – large holes in my flesh resulting from the venous stasis. In both cases they took quite some time to heal and were very unpleasant, not to mention a lot of trouble; multiple doctor visits, dressings on and dressings off all the time. There is no guarantee that I will not develop one or more again. I must wear compression stockings to help alleviate the stasis and the continuous torture of itching that the stasis creates.

My thighs are so large they have two permanent folds in them. I have to be careful to keep my skin nice and dry.

Also I have a large panniculum; the weight of my abdomen pulls on my back especially when I’m walking; after less than two dozen steps the pain starts and it does not let up until I sit down.

Because of the weight of my neck, I have sleep apnea which is treated by a CPAP machine.

Systemically, I suffer from gout which is associated with obesity. Also, I become out of breath easily when walking or climbing stairs. My weight and shape mean I cannot ascend or descend stairs which do not have sturdy hand rails and even then I cannot bend my legs sufficiently to ascend or descend except crab-fashion, sideways.

I have osteoarthritis in my right knee, the onset and increasing severity of which is associated with obesity. I am in pain nearly all the time from it.

At present I do not have high blood pressure or diabetes, however, my obesity puts me at extreme danger of developing these.

I cannot take many medical tests as I am too large; I would find a full-body MRI nearly impossible to fit in. Sonograms don’t work well through my fat, nor does a doctor’s palpitation.

Not obese

Bruno Schuind is certainly not obese is he? We’ve seen him in jeans, in speedos, in undies, now here he is in something less. Sadly we must say good bye to him as our next obsession begins with our next blog post; a glimpse of him is up top:


Bruno Schuind 11_04g Bruno Schuind 11_05g Bruno Schuind 11_06g

Bruno Schuind 11_01g

Bruno Schuind 11_02g

Bruno Schuind 11_03g  

Bruno Schuind 11_07g Bruno Schuind 11_08g 11_09g

(He’s been a patient lad; how would you reward him?)


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Step 2 Part 3

A Storia Continua…

So time went on…I was getting a bit less depressed, but I of course I confused “feeling good” with “eating a lot” especially in the gourmet restaurants of Arlington, Virginia. And there was essentially nobody who held me accountable, I mean my mum and dad’s admonitions were pretty much just background buzzing to me, I mean – it hadn’t done much good until then so why would it now.

My beloved husband C came into my life then, first on line, then when he finally came to America to live with my I really was happy. He tried to support me when I declared I wanted to lose weight but the responsibility really wasn’t and isn’t his. Plus I can see he’s torn between wanting what’s best for me, what I demand (either whiningly or forcefully), and his love for me. As I say it’s really unfair and difficult the position he’s in. But I love his support for my good impulses.

A few years ago, my doctor told me that I should look into bariatric surgery. The idea intrigued me but the prospect of the battle with the insurance company, and anesthetic (!) scared me. Plus part of me wasn’t sure that I could really ‘live’ only eating a cup or so of food a meal. So I made a bargain with…um…many people, some real, some not, that I’d try weight watchers really strictly and exercise and see if that didn’t lose me some weight.

So I joined WW, and engaged a very tall personal trainer to get me out of the house and onto my feet. And I did really well; at first I could only walk six minutes before having to sit down and catch my breath; I got up to sixty minutes at a time. But he didn’t like the idea of strength training and I did. Come winter, I conquered my fear of the gym and actually went to one, and began working out, mainly on the treadmills. And everything went well, for a while. (See a pattern?)

We had to ramp the personal trainer down from twice a week to once, and then ‘let him go.’ And things haven’t held together all that well; I am too lazy, erm, unmotivated. But I did still sometimes make it to the gym and stuff and I still felt okay about things. Of course, eating was still my bête noir. Again, I lacked any form of accountability; I skipped out on WW whenever I felt like it, soaked up the praise when I ‘did good’ and whined about my ‘life story’ when I overate, and generally made an utter joke about what I was trying to do.

Recently even that fell by the wayside: (1) I had a nasty ankle condition that wound up with doctor’s order to stay off the treadmill which I used to (2) excuse myself from eating well which directly or indirectly (3) caused me to revert, emotionally back to where I was when I started; happy to spend money on fitness, feeling alienated from the gym, feeling ‘not as good’ as the guys there, feeling like all I can/want to do is eat and pretend that I’ll do something about it all manyana which never comes.

Okay, so my counsellor wants me to consider whether or not I will be alive in oh, say five or ten years. Statistically, actuarially, I won’t be. So why’m I not scared? I’m a ticking time-bomb for a heart attack, a stroke, degenerative disk disease, diabetes at the least. It’s not really a question of if I will succumb to one of these conditions, but when. And that when can’t be far off.

Oddly, I seem to be a kid in this area, and in many areas. I have the same attitude that my Godson has; I hide behind the effects of my irresponsible behaviour by figuring it can never happen to me. He smokes, which I consider crazy due to its health effects; I stay heavy, which anyone else would. In fact, my counsellor has asked me to do the following:

1) Take a picture of myself now, mostly naked, quite objectively. (For one of the fitness programs I’ve bought and am a bit enthusiastic about following because again, I’ll have constant qualified cheerleading, although I guess that could be mere exteriorization of motivation and doom me to fail).

2) Compare that to any pictures of myself pre-bloat (which will be hard to find) when I was thinner or at least closer to normal sized.

3) Work out how I can be less child-like in my thinking (with relation to my self-destructive eating and exercising, and my parents).

(All this by the 27th!)

More to come!

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My Story

This is part one of a series of posts I’ll put up as part of my implementing a program of losing fat.

Don’t worry, eye candy will be back soon!

I was always averse to sports. One reason was that I never knew how to play the games. I remember the times that I was sent out to play football (soccer) in school in England having no idea what to do, except an idea that I was wrong. Oh, and it was cold all the time.

But then we came to America and it got worse. I was always shy about my body and I hated having to change in gym class. But that was only half of it. First off I was totally unprepared for how hot it was. Then because I was different I was (quite ironically) called the class faggot which was very traumatic. I think then I began to really think of a huge gulf between me and ‘normal guys.’ The teasing and verbal abuse was constant. I remember feeling very disgusted and almost raped when we had to play ‘shirts versus skins.’ Why was I made to partially disrobe? I felt so annoyed. I can remember the feeling today. I went from not quite knowing how to play soccer and cricket to having no idea how to play baseball or basketball.

And of course home life was full of turmoil. I think that this is when I began to ‘sneak’ food from my parents’ fridge and kitchen cupboards. I remember it was my way to have something ‘special’ in my life, and in some way it was my role in the family–in that I always did it, and they always moaned. It didn’t matter what I ate; cheese or savory things, or sweets. It was all the same. I thought of myself as very clever avoiding sometimes getting caught, but I was caught and moaned at all the time.

Things got a little better in high school and I was even in the marching band, but my sense of being utterly out of place in athletics was pretty much set. I did have one gym teacher who set me to running around the track, but then I got shin splints and between that and my moaning he gave up. In high school I pretty quick figured out that if I took ‘recreational games’ for my mandatory gym class, I would get to see the football studs (oh, Stewart Brandenburg how gorgeous you were) taking a PE class without exerting themselves, while not exerting myself. One horror though; I was mistakenly placed in a weightlifting class. I show up and all I hear is about sweaty balls in jock straps and stuff – again with the unwanted sexual references – and I skedaddled to the guidance and scheduling office toute de suite to get back into my desired class. Why all this emphasis on sexual innuendo when you’re teaching a skill and encouraging performance? And at such an age when these things are shameful for being too developed or not developed enough…or as in my case, developed in the wrong direction.

PE teachers, please, treat your students like students, there to learn and not to hear about testicles or to be forcibly stripped. Honestly. Try.

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Monday Monday

Just a quick little blurt today. We took my mum out to dinner at ‘The Blue Dolphin’ in Crofton. It was fine but I’m not in a hurry to get back.

Okay so everyone’s going bananas about this health care reform. I have also heard about how one big thing is that our obesity epidemic needs to be tackled by ‘individual responsibility’ or addressed by a ‘fat tax.’

So let’s look at that.

First off at first blush it would appear that the problem is very simple. One becomes overweight when one creates a caloric surplus – when one takes in more calories than one expends. Therefore, and it’s no secret, that to lose weight, one should create a caloric deficit – one should expend more calories that one takes in. Simple, right?

Except. We know it’s not. Obesity and the behaviors which lead to it are understood as mostly involving something other than a lack of will power. (If it were merely a lack of will power then surely obese people have only themselves to blame and it would be a simple matter of encouraging them to find the will power or dealing with their irrational choices. Pretty cut and dried. But it never seems to work that way.

Rightly or wrongly the medical establishment, and countless speakers and writers on the subject, have analyzed the behaviors which seem to create obesity as a disease. Certainly it’s an irrational self-harming behavior as much as alcoholism or gambling addiction, or drug addiction. But what cures does modern medicine offer? It’s an important question because the only rational basis for assigning blame and responsibility for this condition would be if there were a cure available. You can’t blame somebody for refusing a cure which doesn’t exist, can you?

The most efficacious cure is bariatric surgery. Interestingly this is not automatically covered by insurance, nor have its long-term effects been studied, nor is it without risk (any surgery to an obese person is risky), nor is it a firm cure; a dedicated overeater can defeat it over time. So there’s the best cure.

Okay so we don’t want to rely on that and insurance mostly doesn’t cover it and when it does you have to (get this) demonstrate that all else has failed. Because of course any invasive procedure should be the last resort.

But the first resort, recommending that the person exercise more and eat less is not what you’d call universally effective. Most people who try it (or who say they’re trying it) fail. Not everyone fails. But what most people get – exhortations, dire warnings, little brochures, etc. – doesn’t seem to be enough.

But we may say, well, if overeating is an addiction (which chemically it seems to be) why not treat it like other addictions, like alcoholism or gambling addiction or drug addiction. Here’s the rub though: None of the treatment programs for alcoholism involve the sufferer having three drinks a day. Nobody suggests that the compulsive gambler place bets but only morning, noon, and evening. And I’m not an expert but I doubt people get over heroin by having only three fixes a day. But the overeater still has to eat. The drunkard can stop drinking. The bettor can never wager again. The drug addict can abstain totally. Only the overeater has to revisit his or her compulsion three (or more if you follow fitness experts’ advice) times a day, day in and day out.

It seems to me that the overeater is told the following:

  1. You have a disease, one which is manifest in chemical reactions in your brain (release of seratonin).
  2. We don’t know how to treat it conclusively. We may or may not be able to cure it.
  3. But if you don’t get better, you’re lazy. it’s all your fault and you should pay in higher premiums or a fat tax.

Fair? I guess it’s in the eye of the beholder.

More to come on this topic in my next post.

How about that Phil?

Yes, how about our edible entrepreneur? I’ve found some more pictures of his hotness for your delight:
First he’s with his fiancee, the lovely and accomplished Ilona (a top flight attorney for lesbian civil rights):

Next, discussing what looks like either the internet, or technology, or business or the intersection of them all (where he really shines):
And finally, cutest of all, half asleep but totally cuddly:
(That brainy head needs a massage, don’t you think?)

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Week Weak

Well, it’s been a week or so since I last regaled you with my semi-organized thoughts and it’s been quite a week. Mostly ups, glad to report, but some downs, including one big one which is the reason I say weak.

Ups

We’ll start with the ups; celebrated my mum’s birthday with a lovely meal at my brother’s house seeing his exceptionally cute kids, Rowan and Remy. We had crab cakes, fresh corn and asparagus and a lovely carrot cake. Since mum and dad were a bit late, Marc and I had time to discuss things, including things from the past that he remembers and I don’t. I honestly don’t. Maybe I’m repressing these memories but it doesn’t feel like it. Would it?

The Friday before that C and I played hookey – the weather was extraordinarily nice – and went for the afternoon on a lovely drive in the Shenandoah National Park. Would you like pictures?

Downs

The big down is my darmed (damned) heel and foot (left). After the shot of cortisone from the doctor I really expected it would be all better and that I could go back to the gym toute de suite. Alas. It got a little better and then got worse. So today I went to the doctor and said “it’s worse.” (Well, what else, right?) He pokes and prods and stuff and decides it’s both bursitis and tendonitis. Yippee.

He has me get up on his exam table and prepare for another cortisone jab. Whee – relief is on the way! Alas. He trots back into the room with the golden news that he’s run out of cortisone. But he wants me to have physical therapy and it’s not killer so I’m to go to the physio and if it’s not better after two weeks of it, he’ll have me back in for a jab. So, not so bad. Alas.

As I’m coming down off the exam table, I go to step on the little step stool provided for the purpose. I put my left foot on it, but the ball of the foot, and the heel of the foot descends, stretching my achilles tendon. It fucking hurt. It hurt so bad. It felt like my tendon was being replaced by a cold river of pain flowing in waves down the back of my leg. I let out a rude word, see the previous sentence, and nearly passed out. OMG it was the worst pain I’ve felt in ages. Maybe ever. Except for a dry socket. I felt nauseated for about five minutes and really wanted to pass out.

Respect your tendons. Apparently all I’ve done is over-stretch it. If you rupture it, it’s comparable to being shot in the heel, and it doesn’t get better.

In any event, after assuring himself (me not so much) that I was ambulatory I was sent on my way. Walking to the car was not pleasant, getting into it was not pleasant, going to lunch was not pleasant, and walking from my car to my desk had me whimpering. (It didn’t help that it was 95 F and humid, and there I am limping along which is actually more tiring and sweat inducing than walking properly. Or so it seemed.)
It’s a little better now; I iced it well when I hobbled home and will do again just before bed.
A related down is that Pat Savage (the handsome kind sergeant at work) is back from his holiday to London and was eager to meet up with me to teach me how to use the frightening-looking type free weights at work. And not only because of that, or the fact that I keep gaining weight, but I miss the gym. Not at all only because of the EC, but because I miss the simplicity and honesty of the place, the leveling atmosphere, the community. Yes, it disrupted my evenings, and yes I would be a bit sore in the aftermath (nothing like this pain I’m in now though) but it was good, it was a good thing and I enjoyed it. And for the next three weeks at least I can’t go.

Or can I – I could go do upper body exercises, swim (ugh) and/or use my portable pedal thingy to work with my arms for (light) cardio. Who knows?

Edit / Update:  It feels a lot better today (8/12 or 12/8 depending on where you live).

A small down: I hear a rattle or squeak from the driver’s side front of the car. 😦

So, AngloAm, you’ve been mentioning this new obsession

Yes, and he’s not going to be to everyone’s taste but he is to mine. He’s the creator of FuckedCompany.com which chronicled the end of the dot com boom (and is really missed). He’s a talented entrepreneur, a great drummer (hard rock), has a killer sense of humor, great eyes, a devastating smile, and is all around a great guy. He’s known to many as ‘pud’ but his real name is Philip Kaplan and yes, he gracious gave me permission to highlight him.

Here he is and any comments about his resemblance to a certain rabbi will be received ironically. Click on him and he’ll grow like magic before your very eyes.

We’ll be swapping between Mr. Kaplan and Mr. Schiund….
(Down boys, he’s engaged to a very accomplished lady)

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Gain

I gained 3.6 lbs when I weighed in. (Drag your cursor over the white space to see what the number is.)

😦

And I’m soooo hungry right now. I think it’s nearly time for me to have my frozen lunch.

I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything else; I didn’t record points, had three birthdays with cake and ice cream at work, and didn’t get to the gym because of the sore heel.

But the sore heel has started to get a lot better (not completely) and I’ve counted breakfast and mid-morning snack (cheerios with skim milk, coffee, a fat free yogurt adn a small bag of baked cheetos (uh oh, but I still have 35 out of 44 left, but I’m going to try to eschew 5-7 points a day or so).

I’m looking forward to the clean simplicity of working out. Not to any pain in my heel (left side) or knee (right side).

Maybe one day you’ll be eye candy, AngloAm

Maybe. But until then and in keeping with the general idea of fitness and athletics, here’s tennis pro Robby Ginepri, showing us why guys should never ever shave their chests. I’d make it illegal.

RG3

RG2 RG1

(Maybe some day)

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Hey, How’s It Going?

Well, it’s been great for me, but maybe a bit disorienting. C had to work late a bit so I really wasn’t home most evenings, especially the one on which I went to a market research group on <subject redacted>. We discussed <redacted> but it was a bit disappointing – the one cute guy in the waiting room was sent home. (The one cute one except me of course.)

Meanwhile I continue(d) to feel my bursitis get better and better. I think this week I’ll be able to return to the gym which will be very good. Last week at work there were three birthdays, three days ice cream, two days of chocolate layer cake and one of cheesecake. Mmmm good. But I took a points-recording vacation last week, and we all know how that works out.

Weight gain. I already fatter. I imagine I’ve gained at least five pounds. 😦 I dread WW weigh in tomorrow. I’ll tweet my results (yes! Follow me on Twitter for it first).

So now even though I don’t particularly want to, I will be going to the gym tomorrow and I’ll try to do as many minutes as I can. It’s a bit of a pisser since I promised to buy bread as well, so we’ll have to see what happens – whether I can wriggle out of it or will have to run out after I get home and clean up.

Note: Wriggling successful. Will get bread Tuesday evening. And I forgot I have a loaf of rye.

So anyway, apart from gasping in pain a bit less with every step, the work week was really quiet. The weekend was a bit less quiet; Friday night we went to Mongolian Barbecue with our friends; I overate. (See a theme here?) Saturday we went to our friends (see another) for dinner. They did ribs in their smoker. I’m really fond of ribs and their smoker did them very well. Mmm good. Now, I am inspired to try ribs at home in the crock pot. Anyone know a good recipe? We had a great time and after dinner and while eating a really really delicious cake (really delicious..memorably) we watched “Crossing the Line” about a US Army defector to North Korea and his life. Okay, so as it was said last night “you know if AngloAm’s involved it will have to do with eye candy” and I have to say the son of the defector is really a cutie. But a commie cutie. It’s so amazing that he speaks English with such a thick Korean accent, while looking so blondly American. You can see him at the beginning of this little clip from 60 Minutes:

[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_jBPKkhSzJs&feature=related]

Today (Sunday) I’ve done really nothing. C made us lunch of lots and lots of smoked salmon on toast with cream and horseradish. Oh, goodness was it good. (All the toast is why we need the bread!)

How’s that hipster PDA working out?

Well, here’s something. A WaPo writer is whining about one of my most favorite sites on the web, Gawker. According to to the author, Gawker “stole” his story by quoting it (excerpting, which even the Gawker rep said was done particularly heavily in this case). (The Gawker story. The Post writer’s reply.) The subject of the story is Ann Loehr, who has what Gawker called the fakest job in the world. She charges between $500 and $2,000 to explain to Gen-Xers and baby boomers how the millennial generation (teens and 20 year olds) behaves in the workplace.
The Post author, Ian Shapira, is complaining that he did all the grunt work which Gawker used, but didn’t pay for. He:

  • Made an hour-long phone call to Loehr and typed up 3,000 words of notes. (Is it normal to type up every singe word of a conversation? Is it needed?)
  • A half-hour drive to attend one of two-hour long Loehr’s seminars and typing up notes for about four hours.
  • A day to write the story.

Now the first thing that comes to mind is that Shapira’s boss read this. So there is a teeny incentive for him to … not exaggerate exactly … for him to ensure that his efforts were highlighted. I’m not saying he exaggerated. But.

Secondly he’s whining not because there was no attribution, but because there wasn’t enough. Although there were links to his story, and the Washington Post was credited at the bottom, it wasn’t enough for somebody who fears loss of his 401(k) and salary (but still has a job) despite admitting that the main problem was that newspapers didn’t innovate when the internet first started changing the game. What he wants is bigger better credit and some cash if they ‘heavily excerpt.’ He’d like the law changed to provide this.

Disclosure: I love Gawker mainly because of Richard Lawson’s snarky recaps of the Housewives shows.

Anything else good, AngloAm?

No, not really. Other than today’s marvellous model eye candy bloke, Bruno Schuind. Here he is showing us that even models need to drink healthily:

Bruno Schuind 05_01
Bruno Schuind 05_02Bruno Schuind 05_03 Bruno Schuind 05_04 Bruno Schuind 05_05
Bruno Schuind 05_06
(I guess they need the strength to do up their jeans, huh?)

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Upsan Downs

Well, it’s been my share of both since we last met up, you the great Internet and me. Mostly down.

Friday (shall we start there?)

Friday was a strange day. It started off quite normal actually, even though I was a little bummed that we wouldn’t be meeting up with our friends for dinner. However. Halfway or so through the day I got this horrible feeling of sadness and … well … self-pity wash over me. My poor facebook and M&G Forum friend J.d.H. was the person on whom I fixated this feeling – he’s young, brainy, and really handsome, and I decided that he was “better” than me somehow. So I “defriended’ him on facebook and sat around feeling very gloomy with myself. I’m sure I was an utter pain to all around me. I did perk up when we went to my mum and dad’s house for our niece R’s birthday celebration.

But the main thing

But the main thing that bothered me was my horrible heel pain. See (yippee) my nasty stasis ulcer has all healed but now I have a more painful thing – what feels like plantar fasciitis in my left foot. What it means is that I can’t go four or five steps without shooting pains in my foot and the resultant change in my gait means my back and hip hurts on that side as well.

So Saturday I went to the gym, full of optimism and managed a measly, a pathetic, a shameful 15 minutes before I succumbed to pain. Then that evening we were scheduled to go to our friends over on Kent Island, to swim in their pool and to have one of their great dinners and hang out. But I bailed at the last minute because I frankly didn’t feel up to it; I was uncomfortable at the idea of being in such pain and thereby being a pain. Of course, I bailed after they’d set aside dinner for us all so I felt awful and the way I bailed made my friend think I was upset with her so I felt worse, and finally, near tears, called her up very late to make sure she knew I felt dreadful and that I hoped we’d be invited back. I fully understand it won’t be next weekend; she’s got a family barbecue and C & I want to get away for a drive.

That evening, I decided to watch the second disk of The Grafters and broke our expen$ive DVD player. I fell against it while the disk drawer was open and now it won’t switch DVDs or release them and so last night I felt lower than a ball of worm excrement.

Sunday

Today C and I have been very lazy but I needed the prolonged hugging. Tomorrow I will go to the doc’s about the fasciitis, and I need to do a few errands on the way back from the docs (a new lock for the gym, assuming I’m allowed back, gel inserts for my shoes). I expect I’ll be referred to a podiatrist again and I expect I’ll have to get a very painful cortisone jab into my heel and then get measured for orthotics. 😦

But I’m keeping my chin up

I’m hoping that tomorrow will be a better day and that Dr. A. will be able to tell me what’s wrong, what to do, and how he can stop the pain.

Listening to L’Aquila E Il Condor from the album “Stilelibero” by Eros Ramazzotti. And considering today’s Handsome Hunk of Home Improvement, Marc Bartolomeo. Italian, handsome, self-effacing, charming, and skilled with his hands, he’s an electrician and carpenter and model, he was on “In a Fix” (I repeat – that show was like soft-core porn for me) and now ‘Save My Bath” on HGTV. Mmmm he’s got lovely classic looks and he’s quite funny.

The first set of shots are kinda arty from his own website (click on the thumbnails to make Mr. B bigger):

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Then there are the others on the web…like this NSFW one, infamous among Bartolomeo’s fans. 🙂 Or like this actually quite sweet one:

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(Lucky bottle!)

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Filed under Cute Guys, Exercise, Family, Friends, Health