I was watching 'The Incredibles' last night, and I got to thinking about movies I like. That, of course, led to a "Movies I Could Watch Every Day" list.
First, Star Wars. The original, baby. Forget that 'New Hope' add on, this is the one and only. Critics say that The Empire Strikes Back is better, but I love this movie best. When I was in third grade, my parents put us in the back of our Toyotal Corolla wagon, threw in the paper bag full of popcorn my mom had made (we're talking a grocery bag here, not a lunch bag), and took us to the drive in theater. Back then, you took the speaker box and hooked it on the window. I remember sitting there, eating popcorn, completely enthralled as Luke Skywalker, Obi Wan Kenobi and the rest of the gang dared to stand up to Darth Vader and the might of the Empire. This movie started my love affair with movies.
Second MICWED: Vision Quest. Unless you're a wrestler who grew up in the 80's or you're a fan of Matthew Modine, you probably haven't heard of this one. A teenager turns 18 and is searching for his place in life. As his Indian friend tells him (and we're talking American Indian, no PC here), he's on a vision quest. In the end, he wins the big match, lands the hot older chick, and realizes what life is about. When I'm not feeling motivated, I watch this movie, and my motivation level goes right back up. Funny side story: I almost went in the Army, and went to MEPS in Spokane, WA. I stayed in the same hotel that Matthew Modine's character worked at. My piece of movie history.
Next up: The Terminator. I first saw this on laser disk at my cousin's house. I don't need to explain the plot, but the seminal moment, for me, was when Arnold first arrives and he stands up. The camera pans around him, and he...is...HUGE. This movie is the reason I got into lifting weights. Even today, I see that scene, and I STILL want to be that big and ripped. The special effects are cheesy by today's standards, but the movie still rocks.
Transformers. I'm talking about the newest one, not the cartoon from the 80's where they kill off Optimus Prime. This was one of those movies that I was so excited to see, if the theater in our small town had shown it at midnight, I'd have been first in line. I never owned a Transformer, my parents ignored requests at birthdays and Christmas, but I still loved the cartoon. In the recent movie, when the Autobots show up and transform, I got chills. And when Optimus Prime goes from big rig to hsi robotic self, and speaks for the first time, I was so emotional I wanted to stand up in the theater and scream, "Woooooooohoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!" Only the knowledge that I'd completely embarass my daughter kept from doing so.
Five is a nice number, so I'll end my list with this one: Superman, The Movie. I was in fifth grade, and our babysitter was taking us to see some movie that I can't remember the title of. So we get to the theater, and it's sold out, so she asks if we want to go see 'Superman.' From the opening credits, I was hooked. The music, Marlon Brando, a young Clark racing the train, the first appearance of Superman... throw in some Truth, Justice and the American Way, and a big serving of manliness in the form of Christopher Reeve, and you have everything you need for a Movie I Can Watch Every Day. Of course, I didn't think the chick playing Lois Lane was hot.
So, five movies I could watch every day, all for different reasons, but all with some meaning. I'm sure a psychiatrist could give you a reason why I chose those movies, but you know what? It wouldn't matter. Because what I like is what I like.
And when it comes to movies, isn't that all that matters anyway?
Mmm mmm good...or not
You know, Forrest Gump had it wrong.
Okay, it was actually Mrs. Gump who said, "Life is like a box of chocolates: you never know what you're gonna get." But she was wrong.
A box of chocolates comes with a handly little diagram that shows which candy is which. The oval one? Butter cream. The long skinny one? Caramel butter crunch. The one that looks like a chocolate covered cherry? Yeah, it's a chocolate covered cherry. So a box of chocolates isn't really much of a surprise, is it?
No, life, to me, is more like opening a can that is missing it's label. The can, which represents a day, looks no different than any other can. And yet when you open it, you don't know what is inside. Most days, you open the can, and it's the same old thing. But occasionally, you open a can, and it's either creamed corn (BLECH!) or peaches (tasty).
This last week has been one of those weeks where each can brought it's own surprise. The first can was my son's orders to his first unit. At first it looked like a can full of creamed corn, but it turned out to be not so bad. He's going to a land unit in Virginia and was hoping for a boat in Washington, but on second glance, most of his shipmates went to cold places, so it turned out to not be so bad.
The second can was definitely creamed corn. My daughter is a teenager, and if you don't have a teenage daughter, or you've never been a teenage girl, let me tell you: life is never easy. My daughter decided to take a personal day, and the night ended with her grounded, and her bedroom door residing in her brother's room. I made it thru work on about five hours of sleep, and perhaps it was that lack of sleep that made me ponder some of the things she had to say the night before. Let's just say that I'm not going to be nominated for any Dad of the Year awards.
The week ended with us having my mom over for dinner. I love my mom, like any good son, but at the same time, I have TREMENDOUS resentment towards her. Besides the fact that I had to buy a place for her to live (because she couldn't live in my house or I'd have had to kill her), her attitude towards my dad, and the 'I'm the victim' thing she pulls, drives me batshit crazy. At times I want to give her a shake and scream, "It's been 20 years, get over it!" But I don't. Because I'm the good son, the one who has it together, and that whole 'Family comes first' mantra, while cliche, still means something to me.
I suppose life would be a lot less stressful if all of the can were labeled. But if that was the case, not all of them would get opened, and the surprise that waits inside each one would be left to rot. And that would make life pretty boring. Each can holds both good and bad, and opening each can, while sometimes painful, makes us into the people we are. Of course, it's obvious that some people are eating cans that are...um, tainted. But we'll talk about that at a later date.
So I will continue opening cans, waiting to see what is inside that unlabeled container, fully aware that I could be getting creamed corn, or something worse.
But I always hope for a can of peaches.
Okay, it was actually Mrs. Gump who said, "Life is like a box of chocolates: you never know what you're gonna get." But she was wrong.
A box of chocolates comes with a handly little diagram that shows which candy is which. The oval one? Butter cream. The long skinny one? Caramel butter crunch. The one that looks like a chocolate covered cherry? Yeah, it's a chocolate covered cherry. So a box of chocolates isn't really much of a surprise, is it?
No, life, to me, is more like opening a can that is missing it's label. The can, which represents a day, looks no different than any other can. And yet when you open it, you don't know what is inside. Most days, you open the can, and it's the same old thing. But occasionally, you open a can, and it's either creamed corn (BLECH!) or peaches (tasty).
This last week has been one of those weeks where each can brought it's own surprise. The first can was my son's orders to his first unit. At first it looked like a can full of creamed corn, but it turned out to be not so bad. He's going to a land unit in Virginia and was hoping for a boat in Washington, but on second glance, most of his shipmates went to cold places, so it turned out to not be so bad.
The second can was definitely creamed corn. My daughter is a teenager, and if you don't have a teenage daughter, or you've never been a teenage girl, let me tell you: life is never easy. My daughter decided to take a personal day, and the night ended with her grounded, and her bedroom door residing in her brother's room. I made it thru work on about five hours of sleep, and perhaps it was that lack of sleep that made me ponder some of the things she had to say the night before. Let's just say that I'm not going to be nominated for any Dad of the Year awards.
The week ended with us having my mom over for dinner. I love my mom, like any good son, but at the same time, I have TREMENDOUS resentment towards her. Besides the fact that I had to buy a place for her to live (because she couldn't live in my house or I'd have had to kill her), her attitude towards my dad, and the 'I'm the victim' thing she pulls, drives me batshit crazy. At times I want to give her a shake and scream, "It's been 20 years, get over it!" But I don't. Because I'm the good son, the one who has it together, and that whole 'Family comes first' mantra, while cliche, still means something to me.
I suppose life would be a lot less stressful if all of the can were labeled. But if that was the case, not all of them would get opened, and the surprise that waits inside each one would be left to rot. And that would make life pretty boring. Each can holds both good and bad, and opening each can, while sometimes painful, makes us into the people we are. Of course, it's obvious that some people are eating cans that are...um, tainted. But we'll talk about that at a later date.
So I will continue opening cans, waiting to see what is inside that unlabeled container, fully aware that I could be getting creamed corn, or something worse.
But I always hope for a can of peaches.
Do clothes make the man? Or does a man make the clothes
Carrying on a recent clothing theme…
I was at the mall the other day (being a child of the 80’s, I love the mall), and I’m a bit perturbed and jealous.
First, the perturbed. Have you noticed (and if you’re not a man, you probably haven’t) how LITTLE there is for men at the mall? Clothes wise, I mean. It seems like unless you’re a twiggish teen or middle aged duffer, your choices for clothes are pretty limited.
Since I’m not a twiggish teen (I am, after all, the Gym Dog), I’m not going to find my clothes at the same store as my 18 year old son. Anchor Blue, Hollister, American Eagle…cool looking clothes, and if I was 20+ years younger, I’d be shopping there. But I’m not, so I don’t. And let’s face it, is there anything more pathetic than an adult man who has not realized that dressing like a teen is just…well, wrong? (Okay, an adult man who dresses like a teen but also dates teenage girls is creepier, but that’s something we can discuss later.)
And where is it written that when you hit a certain age you have to start dressing like a Jimmy Buffet fan (no offense to Jimmy Buffet fans, of course)? Tommy Bahama? I think now. There’s a time for stuff like that, I suppose, but as a form of clothing to wear on a regular basis, I respectfully decline. I might BE middle aged, but I don’t FEEL middle aged, and I’m not ready to buy into the whole dressed-like-a-retiree-playing-shuffleboard thing. Which leads me to the jealousy comment.
I am jealous of women. I don’t walk around seething about it, of course, but really, if you’re a woman, you have SO many choices. The mall is all about women! Walk into Dillards and you literally have half of the store to wander thru in search of the perfect outfit.
And check out the women’s shoes section! All those colors and styles, each saying something different. As I walked thru Dillards, I couldn’t help but notice how much the shoe section just…glittered. The men’s section, by comparison, is pretty much browns and blacks, with the same styles offered by diffent companies.
And have you been to a DSW shoe store, or Famous Footwear, or any of those other places? Easily 90% womens shoes, and the other 10% is men and kids.
On a side note, there’s not much sexier than a nice pair of legs in a pair of high heels (and I mean WOMENS legs, you perverts).
Yes, yes, women have it harder. I do not envy women all of the waxing, shaving, plucking, dying, stretch marks, and all of the other things that go with being a woman. But when it comes to updating their wardrobes…well, there is where I have to admit that I feel the world of men needs improving.
Have you ever noticed that in old video footage from the middle of the last century, the men are always in suits? When, exactly, did that change? Probably the 60’s, when it was seen as being a conformist for a young person to walk out of the house in a suit. And I’ll admit, the suits weren’t that impressive, mostly greys and blacks, but the simple fact of the matter is men CARED about how they looked when they left the house.
Don’t get me wrong. I am not advocating a return to the 50’s and the era of slim ties and fedoras. The racism and sexism of that time is best left there.
Sadly, there is little you can do when it comes to offering men more choices. Calvin Klein said it best: “Nothing earth-shattering has happened in men's fashion. How much can you do with men's clothes?”
But how about somebody comes up with some stuff that says, “I am a strong, confident man, and I may not be a teenager, but I’m not ready for Bingo Night at the Senior Center.”
Now, if you’ll excuse me, Guitar Hero on the 360 is calling my name.
I was at the mall the other day (being a child of the 80’s, I love the mall), and I’m a bit perturbed and jealous.
First, the perturbed. Have you noticed (and if you’re not a man, you probably haven’t) how LITTLE there is for men at the mall? Clothes wise, I mean. It seems like unless you’re a twiggish teen or middle aged duffer, your choices for clothes are pretty limited.
Since I’m not a twiggish teen (I am, after all, the Gym Dog), I’m not going to find my clothes at the same store as my 18 year old son. Anchor Blue, Hollister, American Eagle…cool looking clothes, and if I was 20+ years younger, I’d be shopping there. But I’m not, so I don’t. And let’s face it, is there anything more pathetic than an adult man who has not realized that dressing like a teen is just…well, wrong? (Okay, an adult man who dresses like a teen but also dates teenage girls is creepier, but that’s something we can discuss later.)
And where is it written that when you hit a certain age you have to start dressing like a Jimmy Buffet fan (no offense to Jimmy Buffet fans, of course)? Tommy Bahama? I think now. There’s a time for stuff like that, I suppose, but as a form of clothing to wear on a regular basis, I respectfully decline. I might BE middle aged, but I don’t FEEL middle aged, and I’m not ready to buy into the whole dressed-like-a-retiree-playing-shuffleboard thing. Which leads me to the jealousy comment.
I am jealous of women. I don’t walk around seething about it, of course, but really, if you’re a woman, you have SO many choices. The mall is all about women! Walk into Dillards and you literally have half of the store to wander thru in search of the perfect outfit.
And check out the women’s shoes section! All those colors and styles, each saying something different. As I walked thru Dillards, I couldn’t help but notice how much the shoe section just…glittered. The men’s section, by comparison, is pretty much browns and blacks, with the same styles offered by diffent companies.
And have you been to a DSW shoe store, or Famous Footwear, or any of those other places? Easily 90% womens shoes, and the other 10% is men and kids.
On a side note, there’s not much sexier than a nice pair of legs in a pair of high heels (and I mean WOMENS legs, you perverts).
Yes, yes, women have it harder. I do not envy women all of the waxing, shaving, plucking, dying, stretch marks, and all of the other things that go with being a woman. But when it comes to updating their wardrobes…well, there is where I have to admit that I feel the world of men needs improving.
Have you ever noticed that in old video footage from the middle of the last century, the men are always in suits? When, exactly, did that change? Probably the 60’s, when it was seen as being a conformist for a young person to walk out of the house in a suit. And I’ll admit, the suits weren’t that impressive, mostly greys and blacks, but the simple fact of the matter is men CARED about how they looked when they left the house.
Don’t get me wrong. I am not advocating a return to the 50’s and the era of slim ties and fedoras. The racism and sexism of that time is best left there.
Sadly, there is little you can do when it comes to offering men more choices. Calvin Klein said it best: “Nothing earth-shattering has happened in men's fashion. How much can you do with men's clothes?”
But how about somebody comes up with some stuff that says, “I am a strong, confident man, and I may not be a teenager, but I’m not ready for Bingo Night at the Senior Center.”
Now, if you’ll excuse me, Guitar Hero on the 360 is calling my name.
They come runnin just as fast as they can...
Friends, Americans, countrymen, lend me your ears.
Okay, paraphrasing from Julius Shakespeare might be a bit overdramatic, but I've been feeling a bit put out lately. Why? Because of a shirt.
Yes, I'm serious. A shirt.
First, let me say that I am not a metro-sexual. Okay, maybe a little, but not completely. I take care of myself, and I use the occasional man product (especially post shave lotion with sunscreen), but I'm not taking a bath with scented oils or getting a manicure and facial at the local spa (although I would like to try this microdermabrasion thing one time).
And when I walk out of the house, I like to look good. No baggy jeans with my crack showing, no grungy shirts, or backwards ball cap (FYI, that's a look for the bar on game day, college frat boys, and teenagers, not adult men to sport on a regular basis. Case closed). Nope, it’s jeans that fit and look good (but they have to be comfortable, too), a nice shirt (a collar is nice, but optional), and shoes (there comes a time when you have to realize that your shoes have exceeded their life expectancy). I live in
I think how you look says a lot about you, so I take some pride in looking good when the door closes behind me. When I walk into a room, I don’t want to stand out for the wrong reasons. I suppose that can be considered a bit snobby, but that's how the Gym Dog rolls. Remember that ZZ Topp song, ‘Sharp Dressed Man’? I’m not THAT sharp looking, but I do my best, you know?
So how, you're wondering, does this relate to a shirt? Well, I'm always on the lookout for a good shirt. Pants are pretty easy to find, as are shoes (I think. Maybe I’m just lucky in that department). But shirts aren't as easy as they seem. Is it the right size? What fits better, Large or Extra Large? Is it cheap material, or will it last for a while? Can I wear it all year round, or is it a warm-weather shirt only? All kinds of things make buying a shirt a bit of an ordeal. So when I find a good shirt, I buy it. And the other day, I found a good shirt.
I was at the local mall, and there it was. It was a dark purple shirt by Hugo Boss. Like I said before, I'm not a snob, but I like a good shirt, and this one was right up my alley. Even with the purple color.
Actually, I've been wanting a purple shirt, and this one was perfect. It was a dark, dark purple. That new liquid cotton material that’s all the rage. And it fit nicely (being broad across the shoulders, it’s hard to find a shirt that doesn’t hang and make me look like I’m wearing a gunny sack. What’s that, I should tuck it in? I’ll save that answer for another day), and I looked good (damned good). I had entered Shirt Nirvana. And then I saw it.
No, not another shirt. The price tag. $95.00. Yes, you read that right. NINETY. FIVE. DOLLARS. For a shirt. One dark purple, size XL, Hugo Boss shirt.
I didn't buy it, but that struck a nerve. Is any shirt worth $100? Especially in today's economy when unemployment is headed for 10% and food banks and churches are running out of food due to the increase in people seeking assistance? Even when it’s got a Hugo Boss label on it? My answer is simple. No.
So I'll continue my shirt quest. Maybe I'll get lucky and find a purple shirt that I like, and I'll definitely be back at the mall in the late summer/early fall to see if that shirt is on sale.
Why?
Stop the insanity!
As you can tell by the blog title, and the picture at the top of the page, I'm a gym sort of guy. I love it. I can go into the gym feeling completely unmotivated, but a few minutes into a workout and I'm a changed guy. And when I'm done working out, I always feel pumped up. I'm no musclehead, but I certainly do enjoy that feeling.
Still, there's a few things at the gym that bother me, and generally make the gym experience less than exhilarating.
People who don't put away their weights? Hate 'em. It's no big deal for me to grab a big weight and slide it off the bar, but I've helped a lot of women put weights away that some idiot left behind. And the culprits range from the young to the old, male to female. IT'S NOT YOUR HOUSE, PICK UP AFTER YOURSELF!
Teenage boys? Banish 'em. The majority of them are posers who are more interested in preening in front of the mirror than working out, and they tie up equipment. And why do they dress like they're going to school vice the gym? And do you blame the parents or the kids?
The list of people with poor gym etiquette is something that most gym regulars have, and I could go on about the people who monopolize one piece of equipment, the sweaters who don't wipe, the grunters, the weight droppers, and more. But while these things are irritating, and easily correctable with a word to the facility rep, there's one thing that is both gross AND puzzling. And that, my friends, is the flesh belt.
I know you've seen the flesh belt. Take one woman, add a pair of shorts or workout pants that are a size (at least) too small and a sports bra or a t-shirt meant for a first grader, and voila! The flesh belt. And the flesh belt knows no boundaries!
I've see the belt on young girls, old women, and every age in between. And when I see somebody with a flesh belt, my first instinct is always to sing the Jell-o song at the top of my lungs. You know, "Watch it wiggle, see it jiggle...." Fortunately, I was brought up right, and that coupled with my desire not to get punched in the nose keeps me from singing that catchy little jingle.
It makes me wonder, though, what went thru the person's head when they got dressed. "Workout pants too tight? Check. Sports bra? Check. Flesh belt? Double check." I mean, do these people have no sense of modesty? Do they honestly look in the mirror and think, "Oh yeah, I look goooooood"? Do their husbands or boyfriends tell them, "Ooh, baby, you are looking HOT!" Somehow, I don't think so (although I've been known to be wrong before).
Thus , my friends, I implore you to put an end to this eye trauma that dots the landscape of every fitness facility in the country. If your abs don't look like a six pack, and more closely resemble an inner tube inflated to 6 PSI, then I beg you...I beseech you...I plead with you to do the right thing and lose the flesh ring. Or at least put on a t-shirt. A long one.
You're welcome.
Still, there's a few things at the gym that bother me, and generally make the gym experience less than exhilarating.
People who don't put away their weights? Hate 'em. It's no big deal for me to grab a big weight and slide it off the bar, but I've helped a lot of women put weights away that some idiot left behind. And the culprits range from the young to the old, male to female. IT'S NOT YOUR HOUSE, PICK UP AFTER YOURSELF!
Teenage boys? Banish 'em. The majority of them are posers who are more interested in preening in front of the mirror than working out, and they tie up equipment. And why do they dress like they're going to school vice the gym? And do you blame the parents or the kids?
The list of people with poor gym etiquette is something that most gym regulars have, and I could go on about the people who monopolize one piece of equipment, the sweaters who don't wipe, the grunters, the weight droppers, and more. But while these things are irritating, and easily correctable with a word to the facility rep, there's one thing that is both gross AND puzzling. And that, my friends, is the flesh belt.
I know you've seen the flesh belt. Take one woman, add a pair of shorts or workout pants that are a size (at least) too small and a sports bra or a t-shirt meant for a first grader, and voila! The flesh belt. And the flesh belt knows no boundaries!
I've see the belt on young girls, old women, and every age in between. And when I see somebody with a flesh belt, my first instinct is always to sing the Jell-o song at the top of my lungs. You know, "Watch it wiggle, see it jiggle...." Fortunately, I was brought up right, and that coupled with my desire not to get punched in the nose keeps me from singing that catchy little jingle.
It makes me wonder, though, what went thru the person's head when they got dressed. "Workout pants too tight? Check. Sports bra? Check. Flesh belt? Double check." I mean, do these people have no sense of modesty? Do they honestly look in the mirror and think, "Oh yeah, I look goooooood"? Do their husbands or boyfriends tell them, "Ooh, baby, you are looking HOT!" Somehow, I don't think so (although I've been known to be wrong before).
Thus , my friends, I implore you to put an end to this eye trauma that dots the landscape of every fitness facility in the country. If your abs don't look like a six pack, and more closely resemble an inner tube inflated to 6 PSI, then I beg you...I beseech you...I plead with you to do the right thing and lose the flesh ring. Or at least put on a t-shirt. A long one.
You're welcome.
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