And Gorged

Have you ever sat across from someone when you’re out to eat, and you watch them eat and just think to yourself:

“Ew.”

I ask friends that all the time.

“Am I gross when I eat?”

“What?”

“Like when you sit across from me and watch me eat, are you repulsed?”

“No, why are you asking me that?”

“Because I need to know these things about myself.”

I want to know if eat badly. If I snore. If I’m badly dressed. If my hair is appropriate for someone my age. If I’m long-winded when I tell a story, or if I’m boring. I need to know these things, and I count on my close friends to tell me the truth.

The first time it occurred to me that some actors just shouldn’t eat on screen was during the movie “America’s Sweethearts.” Julia Roberts, having just been jilted by John Cusack, is shoving pancakes into her face and, while talking with her mouth full, begs the waitress for extra butter. Ew. I’m aware that it’s supposed to be gross- her character lost weight by giving up carbs, so she is enjoying a gastronomic carb fest by eating the whole buffet. But just as in the movie (I hated) “Eat Pray Love,” Julia Roberts should never, ever be shown eating on screen. There’s something about her mouth that makes it look as if a wide-mouthed bass is eating for your entertainment.

Julia, stop eating on screen. Please.

Some eating scenes are pleasurable. I could watch the scene in which Anton Ego eats ratatouille a million times. Same with John Travolta’s double pizza slice in “Saturday Night Fever.” But some actors can’t pull it off.

Amy Adams in “Julie and Julia.” This movie was all about food, and watching Amy Adams talk about and then eat poached eggs is repugnant. Something about her face, her hands and her voice that makes it just not work.

Jennifer Lopez eating pizza in “Selena.” Overdone, and yuk.

Super obscure, but Andie Macdowell in the movie “Michael.” Her character supposedly loves pie, even wrote a song about pie, but watching her eat different pies at the table was more of the same: a gorgeous brunette who simply can’t convince the audience that she’s really eating and enjoying.

Jerry Seinfeld. There’s no bigger Seinfeld fan, but the Sein is way too dainty or something. When he eats a bowl of cereal or anything in the coffee shop, I’m just not buying it. His little mouse bites make me want to scream, “Just eat already!”

Uma’s cheeseburger in “Pulp Fiction.” Uma never takes a real bite of that sandwich, and it’s maddening. She just kind of stares at John Travolta over the bun. You know Uma Thurman ain’t never scarfed a burger in her life, and it shows in that scene.

Bryce Dallas Howard eating the Terrible-Awful in “The Help.” Maybe because the pie was made of shit, but watching Howard scarf chocolate pie was just so unsatisfying.

Here’s hoping this weekend that you’re enjoying. Best!

Grounding

(Enjoy this normal post, because tomorrow’s will be “Celebrities Who Should Never Eat Onscreen, Because They’re Gross to Watch,” brought to you by my twisted mind).

If you’ve ever spent hours worrying about what the future holds or dwelling on past mistakes, you know how deep and unsettling anxiety can be. When you’re caught in the right grip of anxiety, it can seem impossible to center yourself — but there are, in fact, ways to shift your focus back to the present and calm your mind.

Thanks to Popsugar for these suggestions. Full article here:

  1. Try the 5-4-3-2-1 technique. List five things you can see, four things you can feel, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one thing you can taste.
  2. Take deep breaths.
  3. Make meditation a regular part of your routine.
  4. Get outside.
  5.  Cuddle a pet. If you don’t have a pet, you can opt for a fuzzy or soft blanket, which is quite soothing as well!”
  6. Take a cold shower. Research suggests that being immersed in cold water may lower levels of the stress hormone cortisol.
  7. Speak to a trusted friend or family member.
  8. Throw a solo dance party. I’ve been telling you to do this for months, but SURE, listen to Popsugar, not me.
  9. Do a body scan.  By mindfully bringing attention to different areas of the body, you can strengthen your mind-body connection.
  10. Unwind with a bath. Throw some lavender or eucalyptus oil in there.
  11. Recite a mantra. Try listing some self-affirmations you can repeat to yourself anytime you start to feel anxiety creep in.
  12. Count backwards from 100.

Comedy Scenes

My favorite blogger just posted her favorite comedy scenes, so I’ve decided to do the same. This will reveal the depths of my low-brow humor, but by now it should be no surprise. Enjoy, and these are in no particular order.

“Forgetting Sarah Marshall.” Every so often, someone in my household will break out into some version of this song, and it’s funny every time.

“She Out of Your League.” My favorite scene from one of my favorite comedies. “Yo house ball.” “Fuckin’ roll then.” “Bring it, Brunswick.” My family when we bowl.

“Bridesmaids.” You are sooooo beautiful. An underrated scene from a great flick.

“Billy Madison.” Fun fact: Adam Sandler and his SNL buddies would go out on the weekends, or sit in the writer’s room, and everyone would try to top each other to see who was the funniest. Unless Chris Farley was in the room. Because then there was no contest. It was widely agreed that Chris Farley was the funniest person in the room wherever he was. The reason I love this scene is because if you watch closely, you can see Adam Sandler working very hard to stay serious when appearing with Chris Farley in his scenes. He could barely look at him. “Funniest guy in any room, any time,” said Sandler.

“Stepbrothers.” This movie should be the litmus test for any new relationship. You don’t think it’s funny? Move to the left, please. You like? Move to the right. Every so often you can hear my boys whispering some version of this to each other. I have really funny sons.

“Animal House.” You knew it was coming. ZERO. POINT. ZERO.

“Dumb and Dumber.” The most annoying sound in the world.

How It Be

(Warning: Golfing metaphors enclosed)

What is it like to shoot 33-under in a golf tournament, one of the best scores ever, and not win?

Ask John Rahm.

He downplayed his 33-under at Kapalua, and said it was not surprising that he shot so low, as there was no wind, the conditions were optimal, and everyone was shooting low. He was more impressed with the guys who had less than optimal conditions and still shot low.

“I know we did a really good job and we shot low, but I think those 30- and 31-unders deserve a lot more credit than my 33-under.”

I’m not a John Rahm fan, nor is this post really about golf. I supposed it’s more about life- when you follow the rules, you play your goshdang heart out, and still only go home with a second or third-place trophy.

Or no trophy at all.

I no longer understand this planet. A self-help guy perused through my Instagram feed this morning, and he said something prescient. It went a little like this:

“When you feel anxious, or helpless, or fearful, it’s because you’re not getting your way with something you want. As soon as you realize that you can’t always have your way, those feelings dissipate.”

Yikes.

I insist on getting my way, more than most. Not because I’m spoiled (well, maybe I’m a little spoiled) or entitled, but because I work hard, really hard, and I try to follow the rules I’m asked to follow, as long as the rules are sensible. I pay attention to due dates, to directions, to precautions, and try to do as I’m told, as long as I can see the long-term benefits of what I’m being asked to do.

I don’t expect to play in perfect conditions. I don’t mind a little wind, some adverse weather. But I’d better have something to show for it at the end.

But nope. The past three years have shown all of us that we have no control over universal forces. None.

I mean, I’m sitting here working on my video script for my TED-talk, wondering if the TED conference will end up being cancelled for whatever strain du jour the media decides to promote in the spring. Am I going to put all of this hard work into this talk for nothing?

Who can say.

I’m sitting here reading an email about my spring writing residence being rescheduled for October, which now cuts into a trip I was going to take in the fall.

Pity.

I no longer know what to plan in advance. Should I make my plane reservations for spring break? Plan to attend this symposium I was invited to? Plan to teach classes? Not teach classes? What will get cancelled, rescheduled, moved around? Everything I plan is tenuous, and I’m so sick of it. There is no solidity. Every morning I wake up and think: what I can control today?

Well, I can control my reactions. My workouts. My diet. My mental attitude. So that’s what I focus on.

You can have perfect conditions, bust your ass, and still not win. You can have poor conditions, get lucky, and win. You can have any combination of conditions and effort, but you just have to surrender to the forces that be.

And as John Rahm said:

 “You get the same golf course with no wind, what do you expect? You have 50-yard fairways, soft greens, we’re going to shoot low. It’s just kind of how it goes.”

The Look

Sunday night caught me, er, unawares. So I’m going to cheat and share one of my favorite videos with you.

It would be tough to explain to our kids now how cool and hot Sheena Easton was, and how mind-boggling it was to watch her and Prince together on the stage. I’m pretty sure I duplicated Sheena’s outfit at a school dance. Enjoy this 80’s throwback, “You’ve Got the Look.”

The 80’s were the best.

Co-Operate

Email:

Hi Mary, Bradley from your REI Co-Op! Looks like you’re doing some skiing this season, congratulations! But remember, staying in shape for winter activities is much easier when you have your cardiovascular conditioning! We’d like to invite you to join the local REI running club, and to sponsor our brand. So whattya say? Want to be a better runner this winter?

Response:

No.

Hard Labor

Why is shoveling snow after a snowstorm such a thing? I can see if you own a business, and you don’t want someone falling and breaking their neck outside your store and suing you, but why is everyone so hell bent on shoveling their sidewalks and driveways, sometimes while it’s still snowing?

Seems like a lot of unnecessary work to me.

My method is much easier. First I check the weather report, because in south Jersey you don’t have to wait too long for it to melt or get rained away, like it’s doing now. Then I put on my snow boots and clomp a path to my car, and continue to walk that same path for every trip to my car, until it’s clear. I clear the snow off of my car with a great snow remover, and then I pull out of my driveway a half dozen times to flatten the snow, and pull in and out until there’s a clear path.

Once I have cleared a path out of my driveway, that’s it. I will no longer deal with any snow on my sidewalks or driveway.

Arguments?

I have an elderly parent.

I want to walk to my car to go to work without my feet getting soaked.

Simple courtesy, you dumb bitch.

I happen to like the physical labor.

I don’t want it icing up.

All duly noted. I’m just saying for my purposes, I don’t need a clear driveway and sidewalk, not in this geographical area.

In my generation, we walked around our neighborhoods on snowy days and shoveled driveways and sidewalks for money. Times have changed. When my boys were young snow days should have been relaxing and fun; instead, they were shouting matches, because their father could not understand why they did not want to get dressed, grab shovels and make money like he and I did when we were young.

Every. Single. Snow. Day. A shouting match. After shoveling our property all my boys wanted to do was stay in their pajamas, play in the snow, come in and drink hot chocolate, play video games, have their friends over, and go sledding.

But we heard the same line Every. Single. Snow. Day.

“Must be nice to be rich, and not need money. I HAD to shovel when I was young, because we were broke.”

Yeah, right.

All four of them remained stubbornly devoted to their own positions, no one giving an inch. He would yell, they would ignore him. He would yell, they would put headphones on and watch a movie. He would yell, they would leave with their friends. He would yell, they would pretend to nap. He would yell, they would play Legos.

They did not want to shovel and make money. Period.

Maybe that’s why I don’t care about the sidewalks or the driveway. Because I listened to them argue about it for almost two decades, and now it’s a sign of rebellion. I’ve heard talk of some more snow headed our way.

I’ll believe it when I see it.

Think Mas

Today’s post was supposed to be about the lost art of snow shoveling. But it can wait. I would like to regale you with something that happened to me yesterday. Please understand that this is a true story, and not embellished in the slightest.

Yesterday, as my house filled with the piquant aroma of a vegetable stew simmering in my slow-cooker, I looked up from my work realizing I needed tomato and beef bouillon. I texted my son to let him know I was headed out to the produce store and predictably, he asked if I could bring him back some lunch.

No stew? I asked.

No stew. Taco Bell, he said.

Ugh, fine, I answered.

The road Taco Bell resides on houses several fast food restaurants and banks, and I was careful to pay heed to signs and entrances. When I finally pulled up to the drive-through, the lanes were not moving at all. I watched as several cars in front of me actually pulled out of the drive-through lanes.

Admitting defeat, I thought. As my son had already ordered his food from his phone and paid, I had no choice but to wait.

And wait I did. I waited, and waited, and waited. I had never seen a drive-through line take so long. I texted him to complain about the delay, and to provide the insight that perhaps they were short workers. He apologized for wasting my time, and thanked me for taking time out of my day to bring him food.

Satisfied, I continued to wait. After twenty minutes, the lanes began moving and branching off, and I wondered how the outside lanes got their food. I had never been in that drive-through before, and thought there was some kind of methodology I was not privy to. I stuck to the left lane, and soon I was blocked in on all sides with the building on my left, and two lanes of cars on my right.

My inching forward was excruciatingly slow, but soon I finally turned the corner. I wondered where the ordering station was, so I could give the cashier my son’s pickup order number, but there didn’t seem to be one, or a menu either. It was all so strange, but familiar. Like I had been there before, but couldn’t place it. Had Taco Bell changed its ordering procedures?

WHAT WAS GOING ON?

I finally arrived at the window, and turned to the cashier, hoping she could shed light on my befuddlement. As the sliding drawer came towards me, I got a quick glimpse at its contents.

A TD Bank pen. I had spent a half hour in the TD Bank line.

I turned to the cashier and said, as casually as I could muster,

“Nothing for me, thanks.” And drove away.

Snowed In

I’ll be honest, I didn’t take the threat of the snowstorm seriously yesterday. Why would I? When year after year after year passes with no snow, you kind of stop getting your hopes up.

Everyone kept telling me. Storm coming. Storm coming. Storm coming. Yeah, right, I said. Next subject. I got up yesterday morning and did what I normally do, and paid no mind to what was outside the window. Looked like slush to me.

Personal discipline is a must for me this winter, and my January and February work schedule must be very very rigid.

I’m not sure what people think writers do inside their houses or offices, but I’m sure it’s wrong. And while I can’t speak for other writers, I am very regimented and disciplined with my writing schedule. I have to be. I simply cannot mentally and emotionally squander free time only to sit around loosely and convivially. Bad things happen when I am not busy.

My writing life is not my blog. My blog is my warm-up, like an athlete stretching before an athletic event. Like a comedian doing random stand-up in smoky New York comedy clubs to keep from getting rusty, a guitarist tuning his guitar on stage before a set, or a chef making a meal for the staff before his Big Night of cooking for a food critic.

Blogging is something I do to stay limber and to avoid cramping up. It’s an invaluable tool for me, each blog only requiring about fifteen minutes at night to complete. Even if no one read it, I’d still write it.

My real writing schedule would sound boring if I printed it here for you. Maybe one day I will write a book on writing and my publishers will ask me to write a chapter on the importance of maintaining discipline during the writing day. Then I’ll print it. For now, let’s just say every part of my day from 5 a.m. to 5 p.m. is accounted for.

It contains what you think it might. Meditation. Exercise. Reading. Responding to emails from ten different accounts. Submissions, contacts, networking, postings, Youtube videos, blogging. No television during the day, as in none. No snacking, no phone usage. Constant water, coffee at predetermined times, but never after 3:00 p.m. A creative instrumental playlist, a clean work area, a vanilla candle. And then there’s the actual writing. Sometimes an outline, sometimes an essay, sometimes the Big Project, my memoir. 

That’s what you’ll read when it comes out. I mean, if you want to. Or you can wait for the Netflix series.

All of this was on my mind yesterday morning, not some wildly over-reported snowstorm that we weren’t liable to get, anyway. I was thinking about staying on schedule. Being disciplined with my workouts and diet. Adhering to strict itineraries. Not snow storms. Snow storms are something familiar to Colorado, Montana, and Wyoming. Not to us.

But I drove to the gym, and thought:

“Wow, this is actually snow.”

I worked out, and left the gym, and thought:

“Wow, we’re really getting a lot of snow.”

I drove to the supermarket to buy a few items for my son’s breakfast, and thought:

“Wow, it’s really hard to drive through this snow.”

I worked from home all day and thought,

“Wow, this is really beautiful. I’m actually snowed-in.”

I haven’t been snowed in since last year in Lake Placid, and it made me happy. This post was for no other purpose other than to say that.

Unaccompanied Majors

The morning of December 26th found me skulking around Cherry Hill. I can’t really recall why I was there. It was a different lifetime, and I was a different person. But I think it’s reasonable to assume that it probably had something to do with unwanted cured meats, or pesky security sensors.

Enjoying a leisurely cup of coffee in a café, I enjoyed the view of the quiet almost deserted parking lot. The preparation leading up to Christmas finds me a veritable prisoner in my own home for days at a time, so it was refreshing on this day to be out and about in the post-apocalyptic world. Holidays done, travel imminent, I sighed in satisfaction and sipped my coffee.

I soon noticed an inordinate amount of unaccompanied men running in, out and around the specialty food store. Never having witnessed the world on December 26th at 9:00 a.m., I hardly knew what to expect, so the appearance of so many unaccompanied men made me pause and jot down some insights.

They were alone. I know you know what “unaccompanied” means, but it was jarring. ‘Lil wifies are always lurking around their men, and until you’re single, you probably don’t notice that. The men I saw on the 26th looked so vulnerable, like the pale pink flesh of feet freed from ski boots at the end of a long ski day. I imagine the convo went like this that morning:

Him: (opens fridge) There’s no milk.

Her: So go get some.

Him: Why me?

Her: Because I did every other fucking thing leading up to this holiday. Ya think you can handle grabbing some 2%, or is that too tough for you?

Him: Be right back.

They looked dazed and confused. No kidding, every single one of them looked shell-shocked. Whether from overexposure to family or from holiday buyer’s remorse, they all looked like they were considering throwing the 2% onto the lawn then driving off to begin new families and careers.

They were all in workout gear. Some were running around the building, some were on bikes, some looked like they were on their way to or on the way back from the gym. They were all wearing sneakers and breathing heavy.

Him: I think I’ll run there.

Her: Why in the world?

Him: I can get my workout in and get your milk in one trip.

Her: How are you going to run with milk?

Him:

Her: Take the car.

Him: I’ll bike.

Her: You’re ridiculous.

Him: So are the credit card bills.

Her: Take your time.