I’m at that stage of a new exercise and nutrition cycle where the food deficit plus the hard running is almost to difficult to maintain in my body or mind. But it’s time. Even though I biked my ass off this year I ate whatever the hell I wanted. I haven’t moved much since the cold set in. So now I’m in the process of breaking sine bad habits.

I’m currently on the subway racking my brain to bring the funny. I can’t hardly stand much less find the energy to entertain you.

But let’s try anyway.

The last time I went to the grocery store I vowed to pick up one item that is embarrassing and not feel shame about it. I wasn’t sure what it was going to be. I figured I would surprise myself. In the past if I was picking something like four bags of SunChips (one for each flavor) I would quickly put them in my cart and spread them out so that at a cursory glance it didn’t look like I’m mega carb loading on crap.

But the SunChips weren’t on sale. None of the chips were. That’s the bummer in Chicago. Food is never on sale.

That time, however, candy was on special.

First I love how there’s such a thing as “Theatre Candy” – these are the boxes of stuff like Mike & Ike’s, Milk Duds, and Sugar Babies. First, I had a subscription to a high end theatre here. Whip out a box of Reeces Pieces during the first act of a Mamet play and it’ll sound like you’re a new ager playing a rain stick. Everyone around you will be thinking, “Well, I never!” and all that other high class “Screw you!” language. The actors will even fire a look in your direction. Then you have to pretend it wasn’t you but the dude that came in jeans one row in front.

I know the grocery store really means “Movie Candy” but it doesn’t sound as debonair.

Movie candy was 10/$10. That’s a deal, people.

So I chose the worst movie candy of them all. A candy guaranteed to offend and delight equally. I estimate 70% of this world would choose to not have this candy even in the same room as other candy.

Yes, I’m talking about Good & Plenty. I don’t understand why everyone hates these delicious candy treats. There is no middle ground. You either despise them or love them. And despite candy we can all agree sucks (Whoppers, Mounds bars, Popcorn Jelly Bellies) nothing is more heated than a Good & Plenty argument. They’re the brussel sprout of candy.

Well, even though I love them I’m normally ashamed to put them in my basket (I legitimately hide them under the spinach), tonight I walked proud. I put them on the top with an air about me that were to suggest, “No, I’m not going to the opera tonight. I’m heading home to make dinner and this is my dessert. Yes, Good & Plentys are my dessert!”

While this is a relative small victory for my self-esteem, it did have an affect on my mood. I was all bummed out at the beginning of this post. Now I’m ready to take on the world, one white and pink candy at a time.

This post was remarkably silly.

When I asked her to describe the pain (or lack of) she wrote, “It was like someone stabbed me in the back and then spun me around on the blade for six hours.” (Hyperbole much, Nicole?) If anything she’s more apt to make a joke of something that tell you how painful it really feels. She was even the hospital for a full day because it was serious.

When she let me know about her ailment I thought there could be something symbolically that would be respectful but also funny to document on the blog.

I would eat her kidney stone.

This idea is not altogether novel. I had consumed my own skin-tag years before for a laugh. You know, now that I’m thinking about it I’ve never grown another skin tag. Maybe my body learned a lesson that day. Don’t screw with me. I’ll tear you off and devour you for spite.

Well, I do have some moles. The idea of playing around with one of those does not appeal to me. Moles are serious business. I get mine checked out per  annum  by a dermatologist. I sort of want him one year to say, “Ooh, let’s rip that one off, post haste – it just winked at me!” Not because I want to be cut open and left with a scar, but to see if it would grow back. I have to admit this is interesting to my mind.

So the idea of showing my readers that I love them so much I’m willing to consume their kidney stone seemed hilarious to me. Now, before you throw up realize that this stone was only 3.5mm in length. You could toss it in my water glass and I’d never even notice. I mean, it’s not like I chew my water. So, from a “yuck!” perspective this really doesn’t chart.

I had this grand idea of filming the consumption and putting it up here. In my crazy head this seemed like a perfectly acceptable plan.

This evening I was talking to a friend about this idea. I could hardly type fast enough about how funny it would be to perform this stunt and video it. I was looking for her opinion and validation. Well, she must have been busy halfway through our conversation because she didn’t respond for several minutes.

During that time I got quiet and something bubbled to the surface. I reread what I had written about eating the stone and noticed how absurd it was. It was a publicity stunt and a poor one at that. As far as being “shocking” I’d have to go a lot further to make the national press. Maybe if I inserted the stone into my body the way that it came… You get the idea.

First, I don’t do “stunts.” This blog is about integrity and honesty. That would be a contrived, “Look at how gross and funny I am!” display. Immediately it became clear that I will not be performing this act. It’s dumb and insincere. I have no true desire to eat a kidney stone.

When she finally came back to the chat window I had already written a, “I am so embarrassed. Can’t believe I wrote all of this. Ignore.”

Now, what it took for me to get to this point was to quiet my brain and go to my feelings. Once I did this the answer was obvious and clear. So, why don’t I use this emotional internal compass more often? First, I suspect I don’t trust it. Instead of believe my body to tell me how much to eat and what foods it prefers, I rigorously plan out my meals and portions. The times I have listened internally I instinctively know when to stop eating. It’s an amazing mechanism that I’ve avoided my whole life.

While this is a silly example – my gut telling me not to fill it with someone else’s calcium, it’s a reminder to get quiet and pay attention.

Now, I actually do have a stunt coming up as I do every year around this time, but it’s fun and in total alignment with my values. I’ll be announcing it in the next few days, and I hope you participate.

Oh, and if you’re a pregnant woman do not make plans to eat the placenta. Nobody likes that person.

photo credit: TedsBlog via photopin cc

I hired a guy about six months ago for a position. He was in his early sixties and one of the nicest people I had ever met. His past career had been in education and he was a dean at a university prior to working with us. He would come in every day and sit at his desk  working  to  build a business in real estate.

Then, suddenly, he died.

His daughter called me on a Monday morning to tell me her dad had collapsed during dinner over the weekend. They were at a restaurant on Navy Pier. He was rushed to a hospital and passed away.

This was a few months ago and he’s sort of faded from my memory.

Today I was in my office and a Jimmy John’s delivery guy was ringing the doorbell. This is not unusual as people in the office often order subs from Jimmy John’s. Too boring for my taste.

I just realized how ludicrous it is for me to say Jimmy John’s is boring when I bring the exact same lunch to work every single day. Two turkey sandwiches with a slice of American cheese, spinach, and tomato on whole grain. I’m not exaggerating when I say every day. I probably brought something different maybe a dozen times this year. The rest were turkey sandwiches.

Anyway, somebody yelled throughout the office looking for whoever had ordered the lunch. Nobody answered.

I was on the phone at the time and didn’t really see what was happening. The next thing I knew I saw a huge platter of Jimmy John’s sandwiches being set down on a table. I assumed it was a freebie as from time to time they do this as a thank you for all the business we give them.

Well, it turns out the employee that died had put his card in a fishbowl months ago to win lunch for ten people. Apparently he had won. When the delivery guy arrived nobody knew what to do. I guess the thought was, “Well, we have ten people… They already made the sandwiches… Uh…”

So, we ate them.

I’d love to say that we sat around a break table silently reflecting, but we all eat at our desks and business was still going on. I, myself, grabbed a few turkey sandwiches (shocker) in between a video I was editing.

I felt sad and confused about eating subs which were really meant for a dead man. He might have planned on taking those home to his family – might never have been intended for us. The Jimmy John’s deliverer was not told that the man had passed on. I don’t know about the rest of the guys, but it sort of felt like we got away with something. There was never any malicious intention to steal food. I guess they didn’t know what else to do.

Thus far I haven’t had anyone close to me pass away. I’ve lost grandparents I hardly knew and a dog that was eighteen and a half, but it wasn’t devastating. When I got divorced, that was devastating, and it is loss. But I can still call my ex-wife if I need something, and I actually spoke to her this weekend about pet medicine. To lose a best friend, though, that’s coming my way eventually. Whether it will be my future wife or my buddies from gradeschool or my dad. It’s all in the plan.

I was reminded that intimacy is the only thing that matters when we’re alive. Or, at least that the best “meaning of life” I’ve deduced. Or induced. Whatever the right one is. I think it’s deduced.

Oh, and Jimmy John’s needs to have a wheat sub bread. This white bread crap is over. It’s almost 2013 for chrissakes. I got a near-hallucinogenic  sugar high from three half-subs. And I eat candy all the time. I need to show them my lunch sandwich. They’d be so impressed.

photo credit: cobalt123 via photopin cc

I am secretly (although now it’s public) jealous of those dudes that can put their feet up on their thighs in that weirdo pretzel thing. A few weeks ago I was in a group that I attend of the support variety and one of the guys just busts that out while on his chair. It looked so easy and confortable.  Symmetrical.

Reminded me once when I was in fourth grade. I was sleeping over at my friend Chris Shaffer’s house and the next morning while we were watching cartoons he put his legs into that position. Chris was always flexible and athletic. After locking in he then got on his knees and walked around from knee to knee. It was marvelous and disgusting at the same time. I had never seen the leg thing nor the walking on the knee thing.

I asked him to help me get into position. He pushed my feet up but they just wouldn’t budge. Finally, with all his might he got them up and in.

I started screaming.

The pain was sharp and filled nearly every part of my legs from the crotch down. Even though I was screaming I wasn’t a pussy so I attempted to walk on my knees. The must have stretched the muscles even further and I bellowed louder. Chris’ mom came running down the tri-leveled stairs and demanded he return my feet to their proper position. She was a nurse. She knew about stuff.

She explained that some people (me) weren’t flexible enough to do those sort of moves. I was dejected. Clearly my body didn’t have the bendy perfection of his. Mine couldn’t do something cool.

Now, I’m 6’2″ with long legs. I’m slender and relatively fit. Even though I exercise almost every day I have yet to even come close to touching my toes. As stupid as this sounds I know all my problems will melt away the day I marry fingernail to toenail.

I struggle with the idea of goals. Every personal goal I’ve set for myself has resulted in a short high followed by a, “Eh, what’s on after Mama’s Family?” There’s a strange letdown after a major victory that envelops me. It’s just not fulfilling after the event. Example – I’ve written every day this year. On Dec 31st I’ll be able to say I made it without a miss. But, I know it’s not going to be a big deal.

It’s the journey, not the end, right?

I’m really trying to adjust my thinking to being present for all the hard work that results in goal achievement. Realizing that I won’t get a high from flossing, but can I appreciate that I took care of myself instead of giving the finger to the floss from my bed which looks directly into my master bath? I actually did this last night. Gave the finger to the Glide.

Yes, it will be great not to have gum disease as a senior, but I think being present for the flossing now might allow me to realize I’m taking care of myself. And, while not the biggest victory, it should feel at least a little bit good.

Stretching every night may or may not unite hand to foot, but I can at least acknowledge the pride of doing something healthy for my muscles.

Can I actually get present enough to have fun with this post instead of just crossing it off the to-do list? Hmm… no. Not tonight. Pizza is in the oven.

Wow – this didn’t have one funny sentence. Tomorrow I will bring something awesome like the time I was at the grocery and a hot girl started talking to me in the checkout line. I had just placed a jumbo box of Good n’ Plenty on the moving belt and was so ashamed I put my hand in front of the box when talking to her. As the candy moved closer to the cashier I walked backwards to keep it hidden.

I put an event together at our office recently to offer free headshots to employees. I realized that I had not updated my own headshot in over eight years.

Since then I’ve become fatter which is something I can fix at anytime except I started eating candy three years ago and have only occasionally come up for air.

Everyone needs a professional headshot that makes them look way more attractive than they really are. Women are masters at this and every one of them has a photo where they’re a ten. I have no problem with this strategy as my Twitter and Facebook photo is one of these. I didn’t purposely try to take a sexy photo. It was a band photo from the great C.B. Lindsey and just came out that way. It’s my “ten.”

In real life I’m much more non-ten. My friend J.C. Little said, when she saw me for the first time, “You don’t look like Ken [Barbie’s beau] at all!” She assumed I was hunky and sorely disappointed.

I hired a photographer for this work even and she brought all her crap – you know, the lights, backdrop, and the weird thing that flashes on the stick. I had to bolt out of the session early to drive to the other office so mine was done in thirty seconds.

My intention was to lose a bunch of weight before the shoot, but I decided to eat my feelings that month (girls, you know how we do) and shot up a good five pounds.

I turned, followed orders and it was over. Two weeks went by and she finally sent over the pictures. I’ll spare you the color version as my pale complexion will offend your sensibilities.

First the photo of me in my mid-late twenties.

Next is the photo recently taken referenced above.

Neck fat. Goddamned neck fat.

So, now, here’s what I have to do – hit up one of my buddies (or you readers) for whoever can crush out some neck fat lines on Photoshop. That’s an embarrassing conversation.

Hey, I’m really ashamed that it looks like my neck is bubbling over into my lapel and I need you to use computer magic to change it so that my neck isn’t doing what my neck actually does. I need you to lie for me!

I’m being a little dramatic. Hey, I had to write about something tonight. The photo itself is good. So, if you want to airbrush out the two neck vaginas I currently have, I’ll send you something special in the mail. A gift. Like a pair of avocado earrings the  Mexican Hass Avocado Importers Association  gave me for doing a video commercial on their website for avocados. Yes, you can have that.

Also, for some reason I have a sad smile. That smile is not a good smile. It’s like I’m fighting back crippling depression. I swear I wasn’t. Well, at least not at that moment.

Here in the city living in a condo I guess that’s the way it goes. Well, now that I think about it, there’s no way for someone to get in the building anyway. Oh yeah. Forgot about that. Hmm… One sentence in and now I have nothing to talk about.

Well, let’s keep going in real-time and see what happens.

On the way home from the subway I passed a number of kids with their parents trick or treating. Since gang violence is prevalent in Uptown, anything that resembles healthy family activity is a welcomed addition, if even for just one night.

I remember when candy was about the most important “get” in the world and how much Halloween meant to me.

We didn’t have a candy drawer in our house. Once in a blue moon someone would deposit a five-stick pack of Extra gum in a kitchen drawer. It was something but sugar-free gum doesn’t exactly get you high. I remember thinking that candy must only be for rich people because we didn’t have it just sitting around. I once saw a friend of mine put a Snickers in his mom’s cart at the checkout line and I couldn’t believe when he didn’t get backhanded. My mom didn’t hit me, but putting candy in the cart without asking would not have been well-received.

Candy was a treat. The same with soft drinks. Actually, I think we did always have Coke and Pepsi in our  refrigerator   But it was wasn’t something encouraged and wouldn’t have been allowed for dinner. We had a diet Crystal Light crap that you could drink all day long. To me that stuff tasted like chemicals. I stayed with water.

I was listening to Adam Carolla recently and he was suggesting that the most important quality that separated the friends of his that became successful the friends that did not had to do with immediate gratification. He said that your ability to put aside receiving short-term pleasure is critical to “making it.” He’s right, of course. Discipline and sacrifice win the game. Having the candy drawer open to you at all times required no motivation to do something to earn the candy drawer.

Halloween was one of the few times a year you received unlimited candy. You worked for it, too, getting dressed up and hanging out with your pals going house to house. In a way it was a reward for being a kid and putting in some hard work. Also, I’m pretty sure I wasn’t allowed to eat the candy until I got home. Another sacrifice.

I’ve decided that when I settle down and have kids, I’m going cool. Each year I will build a candy budget and give out full bars of candy to kids on Halloween. But, the twist is… I’m only giving out Mounds or Skor. So, I’m going big and terrible.

“Old man Paris is giving away the big bars!” they’ll cry in the streets! “Let’s egg that f**ker’s house!”

It will be the biggest letdown on a child’s candy route. When the kids get back to their Halloween parties it will be first traded. In theory it should hold a lot of value since it’s a $1.09 item. In reality it will get traded for a mini-KitKat to the someone who doesn’t understand yet how much those candy bars suck.

Or, here’s another funny move. Get a huge sack of M&Ms and then when trick or treaters come to the door, just dip your hand into the plastic pumpkin bowl and drop a handful of loose chocolates into each bag. Notice how the parents react to this. There will be confusion and mistrust. Loose, unwrapped candy is not a parent’s ideal for Halloween.

Anyway, that’s all I have tonight. I hope your kid’s pillowcase wasn’t stuffed with only Dum-Dum  lollipops  and those cheap off-brand jawbreakers. If so, then next year go over to the rich area of town. Your kids deserve it.

photo credit: memoflores via photopin cc