A Dull Weekend in March

Not real cold, but not springlike. I sat on the Dupont Circle fountain this afternoon after the gym. The temperature at the bank showed 56F, but there was a cold breeze bringing a chill. I'm not a big fan of these early spring Saturdays, as they bring out the extreme dullness in me. And I am just a bit bored.

The weekend started on a bad note, as I completely blanked out on my debit card pin number as I was getting cash to buy a drink at Halo last night. In my panic, I tried a couple of number combinations, forgetting that if I entered three or more improper pin numbers the bank would shut down access to my money. I think I exceeded the maximum number, because the giant steel teeth at the ATM quickly closed and I had to snap my hands back quickly so my arms would not be bitten off.

In reality, it wasn't that exciting. My card just didn't work. That's all. And now I have to go through all kinds of rigamarole to get the thing working again. I'm wondering if I can get through a week without any cash at all. I still have my credit card.

I think the reason I blanked out was: for a couple of weeks now I've been setting usernames and passwords both at work and here at home. All kinds of letter/number/character configurations have been forming in my head and I think my brain is just tired of Qz**&blotto.$RPM-zert. And why hasn't anyone figured out a method of keeping all these codes straight? We've got this entire information superhighway, and vehicles to move us through it, but nobody's figured out what the keychains look like.

Living in DC
I just attempted to file my DC taxes online, through their Electronic Taxpayer Service Center. After I entered my itemized deductions and clicked "save and continue," the deductions screen re-appeared with this note: "Please verify your DC deductions." However, there was no button with "verify" on it, no link to what this sentence means, no identifiable way to move the process forward. I called the DC tax office, and was given a phone number of the ONE person who can help in these online matters. I said "You mean you only have ONE PERSON who can answer questions on the web site's tax form?" "Unfortunately, yes, that is the case," the person on the end of the line said. "You'll have to leave a message and have her call you back." I told the tax office I wouldn't even bother to call. Doesn't DC realize that, when you're offering an online service like this, that there will most likely be THOUSANDS of people with THOUSANDS of questions, who don't want to wait around for someone to call them back? Oh, yeah, right. I forgot. I'm in DC.

In the end, I did call the number I was given, and got voicemail. I didn't leave a message. DC needs to learn a lesson from grants.gov about effectively building an online system of forms and customer service.

PD took me through a workout today that was notable for the level of
EXCRUCIATING PAIN
I experience during the 90lb calf raises.

Screaming, searing, apocalyptic pain.
Pain that flowed like lava up from my ankles
shot along my shins
and gathered, spinning
like hot gas at the beginning of the universe
right there in my gastrocnemius.
And that was during the rest phase of the superset.
PD saw that I was letting the weight touch the floor,
taking off some tension.
"Oh, no," he said. "Don't let it rest!
Guess I gotta watch you like a hawk!"
So he started counting down from 30, again,
and the big bang started, again,
and whole galaxies must have been forming in my lower legs,
that's how much pain I felt.
Yeow.

ONE ODD MOVIE
It’s Leave it to Beaver gone all wrong.
It’s Dr. Seuss’s only live-action movie (that he actually wrote.)
It’s on TCM TONIGHT! (Thursday):

The 5,000 Fingers of
Dr. T

When I was a kid, my elementary school would show movies on Saturday afternoons. For a dime, plus a couple of nickels for candy (which they sold right in the open in those days), we were treated to a string of grade-C westerns, grade-Z 3 Stooges flicks, and once, a Hammer-produced pirate flick which I remember mostly being about piranhas eating wenches, mostly. Only two movies they showed stand out in my memory as being any good – The Incredible Shrinking Man, featuring 50’s hunk Grant Williams, and "The 5K Fingers"...

Now the Shrinking Man was exciting stuff. The 5K Fingers was ... well ... LSD for those of us who weren't removed in the first 15 minutes. I remember thinking “cool!” when some kids started crying and their moms had to take them home. Hopped up on Sweetarts and Junior Mints, my “fragile little mind” eagerly scooped up this Hollywood accident of good intentions and subconscious boyhood trauma.

I wouldn’t see it again for almost thirty years...in a now-defunct U-Street bar, the Andalusian Dog. Flying baguettes all along the ceiling, multiple video monitors throughout. The Washington Psychotronic Film Society programmed it and, along with the $1 Rolling Rocks and the festively attired crowd, I sat on a bar stool and the movie worked on me. Again.

I suspected the Dog’s patrons were ready that night to laugh post-modernly at the onscreen battle between Bart and his prissy piano teacher. They didn’t. They loved it.

The film is now considered “cult.” Some people even believe that the Bart Simpson/Sideshow Bob Terwilliker conflict owes its origins to this movie, although this has been disputed.

I own Dr. T now, and I usually watch it every third Christmas Eve.

Things to look for:
On top of Bart’s piano, at the beginning and end of the movie – notice the two framed pictures - of the roller-skating bearded guys.

Mrs. Collins criticizing the “beanie-makers” for producing a limp-wristed “Happy Fingers” skullcap.

Also her “half and half” outfit in the same scene.

The nonchalance with which the flick introduces its most bizarrely Freudian concoction – the “Lock-Me-Tight.”

The somewhat-shirtless boxing guys in the aforementioned dungeon dance.

The bear-ish guards who need to shave twice each day.

The pre-diva era snap-and-leap Dr. T’s impossibly broad-shouldered valets execute in the “Dress me, Dress Me, Dress Me” number.

IT MIGHT BE THE FIRST DAY OF SPRING
But it's still cold.

I found a great recipe for turkey meatballs on bodybuilding.com. Scroll down past the Falafel and the Dal Masala to the "Baked Yam with Turkey Meatball Marinara." Actually, now that I look at it, I didn't follow this recipe. Using it as a rough guide. I procured a pound of ground turkey (from Whole Foods, dark meat, claimed it was 4g fat per serving unless they're lying sacks of circus peanuts), and mixed it with a couple of egg whites, some chopped onion and garlic, onion powder, salt, pepper, and the universal ingredient Mrs. Dash. The resulting concoction was a bit sloppy and formed into meatballs rather messily. I baked them at 400 for 20 minutes (got that from the recipe). They stuck a bit to the cookie sheet (note: gotta get more Reynolds Release foil) and they looked like turkey macaroons, but they tasted FANTASTIC. At least to me. My kitchen was a mess afterwards. And now the leftovers are beckoning, sirenlike, which is just fine, since it's time for dinner.

SO IT'S ST. PATRICK'S DAY

The only way I know? GW students in bright green are bar crawling all along M Street on this one day of the year I'm embarassed about my mostly Irish heritage, mostly. The rest of the year I really don't think about it. On this "holiday," if I'm really bored and so sick of winter that I could kill myself with the handle of a butter knife, I pull out my LETTERBOX copy of Finian's Rainbow and marvel at the breeziness of this 1968 movie musical. The flick was produced at a time when the major studios were smashing themselves over their heads with sledgehammers trying to make money out of a dying art form (just try to watch Dr. Dolittle, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, Star!, Hello Dolly! and Camelot to see what I'm talking about). Francis Ford Coppola of all people lensed this 40's property on a relatively small budget and delivered the goods. I remember seeing it, first run, at the Rialto Theatre in New Hampshire over summer vacation, and it added about 2 billion DNA strands into my musical comedy homochromosome. Notice how REAL SINGERS were engaged to play the parts (not like Camelot!) Notice how the whole thing TAKES PLACE OUTDOORS. Notice the not-so-subtle take on RACE RELATIONS through 60's sensibilities. And revel in the BEST 11PM SONG EVER TO GRACE THE BROADWAY STAGE when Tommy Steele's (annoyingly overacted) Og the Leppercon sings to Susan the Silent. And not a mug of green beer in its entire 141 minutes. (Oh yeah, Fred Astaire's there too.) That's entertainment. I'm turning into such an old fart.

PERSONAL BUTTKICKING CONTINUES
PD put me through his workout today, and the amazing thing about it is: he doesn't spend all day throwing weights around! And he's training for a major bodybuilding competition! We worked out each body part once... in massive sets that blew the muscles out. I think it has something to do with the miracle of DYNAMIC mic mic mic TENSION shun shun shun... I mean, Hyperacceleration and Hyperadaptation. He's keeping me on the edge between stagnation (undertraining) and chaos (overtraining). It has something to do with the body's natural inclination to stay at whatever weight and musculature it already is. Although why the body seems naturally inclined to put on massive amounts of adipose tissue and not fast- and slow-twitch muscle in response to even minor amounts of Krispy Kremes is beyond me, since Krispy Kremes take so little effort. But PD is huge, while I don't look like Jason. But it's only been a little over a month. And even Charles Atlas wasn't built in a day.

BUT WILL IT KEEP GOING?
So far, the combination of
Blogging
Protein-enhanced diet (3 meals/3 snacks per day)
PBK (personal butt kicking w/Pump Daddy)
and two (2) vacations in warm climates this year so far
Equals:
Less television zombie-ness
Less alcohol consumption
Less food cravings
and...More NRG!
(plus I've gone down one belt loop but I'm sticking with my usual weight.)
Let's hope this all continues!

A LITTLE BIT OF DC IN FORT LAUDERDALE
Was denied entry into the Fort Lauderdale Gold's Gym because "you don't have a transfer pass and you can't come in." The front desk guy there could not have been ruder. He mentioned something about "franchises," but did not say anything close to "why don't I give a call to the DC gym and verify that you're a member there. This'll just take a minute." No, he chose to say "If you get your gym to fax you a transfer card, we'll let you in. Otherwise, you can't come in." Checked the Gold's web site and can't find anything that says you need a transfer card to visit any other Gold's. But I keep forgetting the #1 rule of customer service: Make the customer memorize every single detail about your operation, even the ones you don't have written down.

Even though it's Presidents Day (Observed) and I have the day off, that doesn't mean it isn't PERSONAL BUTTKICKING DAY. So, I have a session with Pump Daddy in just a couple of hours. It's low weights/high reps, and I will be reduced to sugar-free Jell-O.

I've been training with PD for a week now, and following the meal plan he gave me. It looks like this:

Meal 1 - Breakfast: Myoplex w/banana
Meal 2 - Whey protein
Meal 3 - Lunch: usual foods, just keep it healthy
Meal 4 - Myoplex or Myoplex bar
Meal 5 - Dinner: see lunch for regulations
Meal 6 - Whey protein or cottage cheese (nonfat)

So far this meal plan has been very effective at reducing my intense food cravings (especially during prime couch potato hours), as well as reducing my overall appetite to normal levels. PD said "if you follow this plan for two weeks I'll give you a day where you can eat whatever you want." I have until Friday of this week.

Also...I haven't had any alcohol since getting back from vacation (oh, allright, I did have a beer a couple of days after I returned but that was before I started PBK.) I've gone out, and ordered nothing strong than diet soda. And I keep telling myself "summer's gonna get here...summer's gonna get here."

TODAY AT THE GYM: It was Day 1 of Personal Buttkicking with Pumpdaddy. I went in thinking "this is gonna be painful," and the session was as I expected. Except for the lightheadedness and nausea, which, if I really think about it, I experienced last year when I started training under Dustin. But I survived, and with good form - so said the trainer himself. The endorphins kicked in about an hour after I got back to work. I was happy.

Didn't get my butt kicked today at the gym. It was merely a consultation. With Jerry. Who used to be a WWF or WWE wrestler. Under the name: Lucian Bagwell. He gave me a diet to follow and briefed me on the kind of workout he'll be leading me through in the next six weeks. I am full of excitement at the possibilities ahead...which I felt last year at this time when I was going into Personal Training with Dustin. After the first workout, however, I was singing a different tune. IT HURTS! One thing I did notice last year - I was having to wash my workout wear more often. Since I was sweating. Buckets. So, in preparation for next week, I'm going to Sports Authoritah this weekend and loading up on inexpensive gym clothes. With my name on them in big block magic marker letters. Just like gym class in 7th grade. With Mr. Menninger. Blond, muscular, tall, tanned Mr. Menninger. More about him later. For now, I will follow Mr. Bagwell's instructions to a T. Even if I lose all my mon-nah and it kills me. First workout: Monday.