Dark day in Texas
Several friends got hit in a mass layoff at the Very Large Metropolitan Newspaper. I'm sad about it, and very pissed, because it's largely the result of high-level mismanagement.
More on this topic later.
Thursday, October 28, 2004
Saturday, October 09, 2004
Needing some music
My iPod count stands at 504 songs -- pretty weak for a guy who claims to love music as much as I do.
So: I'm asking for your help. Recommend five songs to me -- from any genre; you don't have to know or care what I like. I want to know what YOU like, and I want to share it.
I buy songs pretty much exclusively from the iTunes music store, but if you happen to spring a song on me that I can't get there, let me know where I can get it.
Anyway: Five songs, from each of you. Click on "Enlighten us" and enlighten my iPod before my next road trip.
For the record, here's five from my playlist:
Baby Girl, Sugarland: Newly created "supergroup" featuring three notable singer-songwriters from Atlanta's music scene. They put together a helluva band. Their CD is scheduled for release Oct. 26. Another good song, not yet generally available: "Down in Mississippi (and Up to No Good.)
Love Means Never Having to Say You're Hungry, Charlie Robison: From his new album, "Good Times." Raunchy, not-safe-for-the-minivan paean to ... well, let's just say you won't be able to hear this song without thinking about a certain Dixie Chick's, um ... well, just listen to the song.
Lough Erin Shore, The Corrs: Instrumental from an Irish band of siblings. The rest of their stuff is a little too poppy for me, but man, what a bunch of great musicians. Amazing violin, piano and tin whistle evokes the best of Irish music without making you think of "Riverdance."
Kick my Ass, Big and Rich: Actually, this whole album is worth a listen. Big and Rich is heading for some serious commercial success, which means you should take a listen before Nashville beats them down and turns them into everyothercountryradioact. You won't find too many albums that combine straight-up country, hard rock, rap in Spanish and Bon Jovi-style power ballads.
Pocahontas Proud, Gretchen Wilson: "I'm the biggest thing that ever came from my hometown," hollers the Redneck Woman, and it's hard to argue against that statement when one's hometown is Pocahontas, Ill. I like Gretchen Wilson mostly because she reminds me of every third girl I knew as a teenager in Anytown, girls from the surrounding small towns who drove Chevy 4x4s and would beat you up as soon as hold your hand. I like that in a woman. (A little bit about my taste in women: I think this picture is just about the hottest picture of any woman on the Web.) I like this song because I appreciate people who understand where they came from and are proud of it.
Your turn. Five from you.
My iPod count stands at 504 songs -- pretty weak for a guy who claims to love music as much as I do.
So: I'm asking for your help. Recommend five songs to me -- from any genre; you don't have to know or care what I like. I want to know what YOU like, and I want to share it.
I buy songs pretty much exclusively from the iTunes music store, but if you happen to spring a song on me that I can't get there, let me know where I can get it.
Anyway: Five songs, from each of you. Click on "Enlighten us" and enlighten my iPod before my next road trip.
For the record, here's five from my playlist:
Baby Girl, Sugarland: Newly created "supergroup" featuring three notable singer-songwriters from Atlanta's music scene. They put together a helluva band. Their CD is scheduled for release Oct. 26. Another good song, not yet generally available: "Down in Mississippi (and Up to No Good.)
Love Means Never Having to Say You're Hungry, Charlie Robison: From his new album, "Good Times." Raunchy, not-safe-for-the-minivan paean to ... well, let's just say you won't be able to hear this song without thinking about a certain Dixie Chick's, um ... well, just listen to the song.
Lough Erin Shore, The Corrs: Instrumental from an Irish band of siblings. The rest of their stuff is a little too poppy for me, but man, what a bunch of great musicians. Amazing violin, piano and tin whistle evokes the best of Irish music without making you think of "Riverdance."
Kick my Ass, Big and Rich: Actually, this whole album is worth a listen. Big and Rich is heading for some serious commercial success, which means you should take a listen before Nashville beats them down and turns them into everyothercountryradioact. You won't find too many albums that combine straight-up country, hard rock, rap in Spanish and Bon Jovi-style power ballads.
Pocahontas Proud, Gretchen Wilson: "I'm the biggest thing that ever came from my hometown," hollers the Redneck Woman, and it's hard to argue against that statement when one's hometown is Pocahontas, Ill. I like Gretchen Wilson mostly because she reminds me of every third girl I knew as a teenager in Anytown, girls from the surrounding small towns who drove Chevy 4x4s and would beat you up as soon as hold your hand. I like that in a woman. (A little bit about my taste in women: I think this picture is just about the hottest picture of any woman on the Web.) I like this song because I appreciate people who understand where they came from and are proud of it.
Your turn. Five from you.
Monday, October 04, 2004
That's him. The fat guy
I'm generally a pretty average guy. The one thing that has always made me different from you is that I'm really, really thin.
I didn't weigh 100 pounds when I graduated from high school. The first time I had my body fat measured, during a physical for my track team, my body fat registered 1.8 percent. I could buy my clothes in the children's section until I was 26.
Even with the inevitable settling that comes with adulthood, I still tipped the scales at around 130. (I'm just shy of 5-foot-7). I took great pride in being able to maintain a slim profile, despite eating large quantities of whatever the hell I wanted and drinking enough beer on some nights to make you puke just from watching me.
I knew it was going to catch up to me eventually, I really did. And I probably should be glad it took this long.
I stepped on a scale a few days ago for the first time since February. That time, I weighed 134. I almost had a heart attack when I saw the number that popped up the other day. (OK, the heart-attack thing might have been because of the clogged arteries, but anyway ... )
One-fifty-seven.
Damn near 160 pounds. Once again, just shy of 5-foot-7.
I knew something was up during one of my road trips earlier this summer. I packed my normal bunch of clothes, and suddenly, my slightly snug 31-waist pants didn't fit at all. They weren't "slightly snug," nor "really tight." They would not snap around my waist, despite my best efforts to suck it in.
This happened, I swear to God, overnight. I found myself in Washington state suddenly having to shop for pants. In a 33.
So, now, I'm faced for the first time ever with the idea that I might have to care about getting my weight down, or at least making sure it doesn't go up any more. I actually might have to start somehow forcing myself to eat fat-free stuff. (God, I hate fat-free stuff.) Two words: Light beer. A few more words: A lot less of it. And, oh yeah, exercise ...
Part of it is more of the Inevitable Settling, now that I'm closer to 40 than to 30. Part of it is my new job, where I find myself sitting a lot in 757s and in airports and behind desks, and eating restaurant food on other people's money.
Don't get me wrong; I'm not in danger any time soon of being the blubberbutt you see walking away in a TV news story about how we're making the planet sink because we're all so damn fat. And vanity was something I gave up when I started losing my hair, anyway.
The reason it concerns me, mostly, is because I have heart disease coming at me from both sides of my family. I don't really need to make things any harder on my ticker than my genetics already dictate they're going to be.
I'm easing into this. I'll mix a few diet sodas in with the four or five regular sodas, and maybe even a glass of water occasionally. I'll eat well one day, and like I usually do the next day. I had a morning walk for a while as part of my routine, but time and the need to sleep has been stealing that. I need to get it back.
And in that paragraph above, I just mistyped "steak" insead of "steal." And I paused for just a second and I thought, "Mmm, steak ... "
I'm generally a pretty average guy. The one thing that has always made me different from you is that I'm really, really thin.
I didn't weigh 100 pounds when I graduated from high school. The first time I had my body fat measured, during a physical for my track team, my body fat registered 1.8 percent. I could buy my clothes in the children's section until I was 26.
Even with the inevitable settling that comes with adulthood, I still tipped the scales at around 130. (I'm just shy of 5-foot-7). I took great pride in being able to maintain a slim profile, despite eating large quantities of whatever the hell I wanted and drinking enough beer on some nights to make you puke just from watching me.
I knew it was going to catch up to me eventually, I really did. And I probably should be glad it took this long.
I stepped on a scale a few days ago for the first time since February. That time, I weighed 134. I almost had a heart attack when I saw the number that popped up the other day. (OK, the heart-attack thing might have been because of the clogged arteries, but anyway ... )
One-fifty-seven.
Damn near 160 pounds. Once again, just shy of 5-foot-7.
I knew something was up during one of my road trips earlier this summer. I packed my normal bunch of clothes, and suddenly, my slightly snug 31-waist pants didn't fit at all. They weren't "slightly snug," nor "really tight." They would not snap around my waist, despite my best efforts to suck it in.
This happened, I swear to God, overnight. I found myself in Washington state suddenly having to shop for pants. In a 33.
So, now, I'm faced for the first time ever with the idea that I might have to care about getting my weight down, or at least making sure it doesn't go up any more. I actually might have to start somehow forcing myself to eat fat-free stuff. (God, I hate fat-free stuff.) Two words: Light beer. A few more words: A lot less of it. And, oh yeah, exercise ...
Part of it is more of the Inevitable Settling, now that I'm closer to 40 than to 30. Part of it is my new job, where I find myself sitting a lot in 757s and in airports and behind desks, and eating restaurant food on other people's money.
Don't get me wrong; I'm not in danger any time soon of being the blubberbutt you see walking away in a TV news story about how we're making the planet sink because we're all so damn fat. And vanity was something I gave up when I started losing my hair, anyway.
The reason it concerns me, mostly, is because I have heart disease coming at me from both sides of my family. I don't really need to make things any harder on my ticker than my genetics already dictate they're going to be.
I'm easing into this. I'll mix a few diet sodas in with the four or five regular sodas, and maybe even a glass of water occasionally. I'll eat well one day, and like I usually do the next day. I had a morning walk for a while as part of my routine, but time and the need to sleep has been stealing that. I need to get it back.
And in that paragraph above, I just mistyped "steak" insead of "steal." And I paused for just a second and I thought, "Mmm, steak ... "
Innocence rules
The Old Daughter finally unleashed her first curse word.
She didn't say it to her teacher, or to her mom, or to her gramdma. Nobody heard it at all. She whispered it to herself in her bedroom. Several months ago.
We would never have know had she not come out of her room this evening, sobbing. "Mommy, I gotta tell you something," she blubbered. "I said a bad word. I feel terrible about it."
Then she told us the part about having whispered it to herself in her room several months ago. "I just" snif snif "wanted to see" snif snif "what it felt like."
I'm not too worried about teenagerhood, all of a sudden. I think she'll be OK.
And frankly, as far as I'm concerned, as long as she doesn't say it to any of the aforementioned authority figures listed above, she can say whatever the fuck she wants to say.
The Old Daughter finally unleashed her first curse word.
She didn't say it to her teacher, or to her mom, or to her gramdma. Nobody heard it at all. She whispered it to herself in her bedroom. Several months ago.
We would never have know had she not come out of her room this evening, sobbing. "Mommy, I gotta tell you something," she blubbered. "I said a bad word. I feel terrible about it."
Then she told us the part about having whispered it to herself in her room several months ago. "I just" snif snif "wanted to see" snif snif "what it felt like."
I'm not too worried about teenagerhood, all of a sudden. I think she'll be OK.
And frankly, as far as I'm concerned, as long as she doesn't say it to any of the aforementioned authority figures listed above, she can say whatever the fuck she wants to say.