Humor me for one second...

I just have to say this. To someone. But you know, it's not the kind of thing I'd want to put on MySpace. So friends-o-mine, sorry.

I've mentioned before that I've been working out. But seriously, I feel great. I go to the gym 3-4 times a week, run for 40 minutes, lift some weights. Nothing very impressive, but... I've lost four pounds and one belt notch! Go me!

I'm really not, you know, a crazy weight-obsessed body-image-problem type, but you know, I feel like I'm accomplishing something. The dissertation never gives me that feeling, darn it!

OK... back to serious stuff, sorry.

Home-less - but happy! - dog owner

Huh?

Ok, I can understand loving your pet. Maybe even enough to clone it. But selling your house to clone your pet who's been dead for two years?

Michel Callon and the Elliptical Machine

I've been reading Michel Callon recently -- he's a science studies guy, interested in exploring the systems created by both human and non-human actors. "Non-human actors" include things like machines, technology, and... elliptical machines?!

I mentioned before that I am becoming a proto-gym-rat. On my second day at the gym, I mistakenly pushed the "cardio" button. It was ok for a while. Me and the machine, human and non-human actors, me running, it pumping, lights flashing.

And then the resistance goes way up. I'm pushing down with all my feeble might, flabby leg muscles straining.

RESUME WORKOUT

"What?"

RESUME PEDALING

Dammit, I AM pedaling!

NO, SERIOUSLY, FEEL FREE TO START EXERCISING ANYTIME.

This is where I decided to exert my humanness and lower the resistance on the machine with the little electronic button, so that I could, in fact, bend to its dominating will. And after that the pedaling went very well, thank you.

Gym-Rat-in-training

I always hated gyms, so I never went. But a couple days ago I hit a low point with the dissertation. Really low. And I thought, screw this. I'm not happy with things the way they are, so something has to change -- and I don't mean the font on this d*** thing. I need my life to recenter itself.

So, DG dragged me to a gym.

And I got on the elliptical machine.

And I liked it.

Flashback to college -- my roommate (hi there!) would go to gyms and talk about her amazing feats of stairmaster-ly endurance. Of course, she looked (and looks -- nothing has changed) a lot better than me because of that.

Now, I'm not competing with her -- we're talking 20 minutes at a time; it's hardly military-training type stuff I'm doing here. And I don't really care about changing my appearance -- although that would be ok. But seriously, I felt better all day. I even wrote more. It was amazing.

So, maybe I'll become a gym rat after all.

Punk by Proxy

I was invited to a clothing swap several months ago, where people who have more fashion in their little toe share their cast-offs with the clothing clueless such as myself. I took a bag of clothes to give away, but no one wanted any of them. One was a professional outfit I bought in the early 1990s, probably designed in the late 1980s, complete with shoulder pads. Someone modeled it (I no longer can fit into it) but no one took it home. In the words of another participant: "Yeah, I think we all had that substitute teacher."

There were bags and bags of leftover clothes. Some were saved for next year, in the hopes that someone will then both fit into and wear with pride items like the red leather pants with a dragon blazoned across the butt. Practical things were sent to The Spouse's hospital workplace to be given away. The rest? Donated.

Of course, I went home with two bags of clothes, and hopefully enough courage to wear them. I'm a conservative dresser, but truth is I wish I were a punk. I dyed part of my hair purple a few months ago but... no one noticed. Disappointing, to say the least.

Matthew Sunshine

We were walking on the Northwestern campus the other day and came across this:


A memorial to undergraduate Matthew Sunshine, found dead of alcohol intoxication, although we didn't know that at the time. I stopped to read what Matthew's fellow students had written about him. A compellingly complex picture emerged: a young man who was endlessly cheerful, modest, enjoyed an argument, gave everyone high-fives instead of hugs. I saw some of younger myself in those descriptions: a young person still finding his way, a little social awkward albeit well-meaning, unsure of his own place. He was a lucky man to have friends who loved him in spite of, perhaps even because of, all his weaknesses:


May we all be blessed with friends such as these.

Perhaps it was the unexpectedness of it, walking through an empty summer campus and coming upon a reminder of human tragedy, of life cut short. I never knew this young man, but my thoughts are with his family. May he be at peace.

I KNEW it!

Don Gusano always makes fun of me for losing things, but now I know it's not my fault. If it's not elves, then maybe it's a very quiet Japanese woman.

Oh, you want Zombie Food do you?

The contents of the vending machine in the ER waiting room:

Pretzels and pretzeloids

Snyders Old Tyme pretzels
Rold Gold Tiny Twists

Chips

Cheetos, Chedder Jalapeno (2 slots)
Baked Lays Ruffles
Doritos Spicy Sweet Chili
Ruffles Thick Cut
Lays Classic
Doritos Nacho Cheese
Lays Kettle Cooked Mesquite BBQ
Cheetos Crunchy
Fritos Chill Cheese
Cheetos Flamin' Hot

Cookies/Cakes/Candies

Zingers
Suzy O's
Snickers
Twix
Reeces Peanut Butter Cups
3 Musketeers (2 slots)
M&Ms (peanut and regular)
Fig Newtons
Chips Ahoy
Danish Shortbread Cookies
Knotts Raspberry cookies
Hostess Pound Cake

These fall into a few discrete categories:

1) Your child shouldn't be eating this if they're here for abdominal pain.

This might include the Flamin' Hots (sadly, so commonly consumed by children ostensibly in the ER for 'nausea and vomiting' that the nurses have an unofficial lobby to get 'eating Flamin' Hot Cheetos' printed on our forms with a yes/no check box).

2) I can't believe they couldn't get Twinkies!

The brilliant marketing folks who came up with 'Hostess Pound Cake' I suppose, that since there's no actual pound cake in the product, it still doesn't violate the Marketer's Oath.

3) Mmmmm....no, no, there should be apples and celery...well, maybe just one...

I think Snickers and Twix fit here best.

4) Why is your kid eating this at all? Why are you eating it? Why does it even exist???

Of course, I suppose these products are the ones that are most in demand, most profitable, and most long-lasting. I guess people would be complaining too if we sold expired egg-salad sandwiches out of an unrefrigerated vending machine. But as a whole, it seems like this is another example of the health care profession shooting itself in the foot. Head shots people! Head shots!