Grandpa music

Some of the music I jog to is over 50 years old. Does that seem weird?

If someone in 1940 could have jogged to music, would they have jogged to music from 1890? Did they even have music back then? Maybe they just beat sticks on rocks or rocks on other rocks. Perhaps these rocks sometimes rolled away, leading to the birth of rock and roll.

Anyway, it occurred to me that I have largely entered the phase of life where nostalgia and seeking comfort in things from olden times begins to dominate, and this is reflected in my recent music purchases. I will point out I have at least moved from purchasing my music on 8-track cassette to digital format. Here are my last three purchases, the newest of which was released 28 years ago, predating the birth of some of my co-workers.

Breakfast in America – Supertramp (1979). My defense is I never previously owned a Supertramp album, this one is considered a classic, and there’s something about the sweep of the Wurlitzer electric piano and guitar in the chorus of “The Logical Song” that I find especially groovy. But yes, the album is 36 years old. Carter was still president.

Kick – INXS (1987). My defense is I never previously owned an INXS album. I never particularly wanted to, either, but Kick is one of those albums where a band, through some combination of luck, circumstance and talent, manages to put together a collection of songs that are nearly perfect in achieving what the band wanted. The album is loaded with pop gems and is a lot smarter than you’d expect from such a slick bunch of songs. The videos, most of them recorded in Prague, are just as confidently-shot as the music was produced.

In the Eye of the Storm – Roger Hodgson (1984). The first solo album from Supertramp co-founder and co-lead singer. The album and lead single “Had a Dream” were both hits in Canada and the single is what drove me to pick up the album. The whole album is quite good and feels like Supertramp with some of the art rock sensibilities sprinkled back in. “Had a Dream” builds through a long effects-laden intro and is as cynical as it is catchy. The video ponderously delivers its message, perilously toeing the line between “serious” and accidental self-parody. At one point a fetus is floating in space, 2001-esque, and then, matching Hodgson’s scream on the song, there’s a flash of lightning and the baby suddenly becomes Hodgson, floating naked and screaming in space. It’s possibly even worse than it sounds. Other parts of the video feature Hodgson fake-running while wearing nothing but a loincloth. I don’t know, either. Maybe it was a dream he had.

Day 18 of the New Fat: Bloaty Christmas fatty time

Good news: With the Christmas break only two work days away, I will no longer be tempted by (and indulge in) assorted calorie-rich goodies regularly dropped off at work

Bad news: After going up by a pound following a workplace potluck yesterday, I indulged again today and expect to be up yet again tomorrow, erasing my meager progress. But from tomorrow forward, it’s all downhill. In a good way.

I hope.

Weight: 167.7 pounds +1
Body fat: 19.4%

Day 16 of the New Fat: Go me Boo me

Down again today, this time 0.6 pounds to 166.8 pounds. I resisted Ferraro Rocher and donuts. Go me.

I had a muffin. Boo me.

I walked enough to burn off the muffin. Go me.

Weight: 166.8 pounds -0.6
Body fat: 19.3%

Day 15 of the New Fat: Still up, yet down

Down 1.1 pounds from yesterday, which is at least in the right direction. I just need to repeat today 16 more times.

The urge to snack remains strong but has diminished slightly.

Overall, some mild progress, which is good enough for now.

Weight: 167.4 pounds -1.1
Body fat: 19.4%

Day 14 of the New Fat: Big as a blimp

As expected, weighing myself much earlier today (around the usual weekday weigh-in time of 6 a.m. vs. 10 a.m. on the weekend) meant my weight was up. By 2.2 pounds. Egad.

On a more positive and less blimp-like note, yet another box of chocolates was passed around at work today and instead of gobbling a bunch as has become my standard response when offered, I took none. I wanted a big fat serving of poutine for lunch but instead only had a Clif bar. I wanted donuts. Lots of donuts. But resisted. Hopefully I can continue this trend.

Weight: 168.5 pounds +2.2
Body fat: 19.3% —

Day 13 of the New Fat: Down and up

Good news: I’ve stopped my weight from ballooning out of control like some out of control balloon. I’ve dropped from a peak of 167.3 pounds and leveled off at 166.3.

Bad news: The body fat percentage continues to creep upward. It’s now at 19.3%. This wouldn’t be so bad if I wasn’t normally a skinny guy. But I am normally a skinny guy and the tire developing around my gut is resplendent and awful.

Fortunately (?) I’ll probably be too busy this week to do much snacking, even if I wanted to (and to be perfectly honest, I still want to because I haven’t gotten to the point where I’ve curbed my appetite yet).

Weight: 166.3 pounds
Body fat: 19.3%

Ghost bluster

By coincidence, a bunch of paranormal investigation shows have started airing around dinner time and because I love UFOS, ghosts,  and Bigfoot the way a kid loves candy, I have been watching a few of them. Sadly, the experience has been underwhelming.

The main problem is the shows are not scary. Most of them are kind of dull, the paranormal equivalent of having to watch your aunt and uncle’s vacation slides (think how blessed we are now–your aunt and uncle post their vacation pictures on Facebook and you can easily–and without repercussion–ignore them, no painful, awkward visits necessary).

The formula is roughly the same for each:

  • a group of people (sometimes an “official” ghost investigation unit, sometimes not) finds an allegedly haunted asylum/hospital/prison/hotel, etc to investigate. Usually the place is abandoned or closed, but not always.
  • the investigators get a tour of the location by the owner.
  • the investigation takes place. It happens almost exclusively at night, typically using night vision cameras, motion detectors, and other fancy electronic equipment to find and record spooky shenanigans.
  • the investigators meet again in the day to examine the results and tell the owner that yep, their place is haunted, thanks for letting us check it out!

The meat of each show is the investigation. Here you watch grainy monochrome footage of the investigators walking around in the dark and sometimes you’ll hear a noise off in the background or an unintelligible voice. Sometimes their equipment will light up to indicate something, though nothing is visible or otherwise apparent. Occasionally there might be a little blip of light or something that only shows up on the video replays done in the post-investigation analysis. Does this sound exciting? It could be, if the voices were intelligible and shouted things like, “GET OUT OR I’LL BEHEAD ALL OF YOU WITH MY SPIRIT SWORD!” or if you saw translucent figures float up to dudes with their FLIR cameras and giving them the finger before dematerializing.

But these things do not happen. In fact, the best evidence that the shows are not faked is in how little actually happens. You don’t need to fake a non-event. Which makes me sad. I kind of wish they were faked because they’d be more interesting. Instead, I watch because the alternative is one of the approximately billion reality shows based in Alaska, or something about cars. Americans (all of this programming hails from south of the border) seem to love ghosts, cars, and Alaska. It’s only a matter of time before someone cleverly combines all of these into the ultimate reality show.

Here is how I rank the shows I’ve seen:

  1. Ghost Hunters. One of the oldest shows. It’s low key and a couple of the guys are cute. Nothing much happens. The science angle is there but not pushed much.
  2. Ghost Stalkers. This one is weird. It’s two guys who have had near death experiences and believe there are portals that let the dead come through. One of them seems to be genuinely afraid of everything and jumps and cries out a lot. I don’t think it’s supposed to be funny, but it sort of is. He also seems to get minor scratches or marks on his body because the ghosts won’t stop touching him. As I said, weird.
  3. Ghost Asylum. A bunch of southern boys investigate, and play up the science angle a good bit, but then there’s always a segment where they go to a local store to buy material for ghost traps because they want to catch the ghosts and then free them from the place they are haunting because what ghost wouldn’t appreciate a change of scenery? Usually they return to their home base, use some gizmo to get a reading on the trap, get nothing and shrug, figuring the ghost never got trapped or it got away. Good job releasing tormented spirits into the neighborhood, guys! Each episode ends with someone putting up a framed picture of the group posing in front of the asylum/scary place. I think more people should do that, put up framed pictures of themselves after visiting some place. It doesn’t have to be a haunted asylum. It could be McDonald’s.
  4. Um, I can’t remember the fourth one. Ghost Adventures, maybe? Anyway, people investigated haunted places and stuff and nothing much happened.

Day 11 of the New Fat: Fat++

Imagine if the Titanic had crashed into a mountain of donuts instead of an iceberg and you have a decent summary of the second half of this week with regards to my weight and attempted weight loss.

I started the week trending down but by week’s end I was up on both body weight and body fat percentage. This makes me not so much a sad panda as a fat one.

I’m going to resume regular walks/runs soon, though the runs will be slower and shorter until I get my left foot sized up for a zany (and undoubtedly expensive) orthopedic device to prevent it from causing terrible and unpleasant pain. I also need to start stretching to prevent a repeat of the Summer Leg Muscle Tragedy or SLMT. The gist of all this is it’s time for me to get more active. It’ll be fun and hopefully injury-free.

I’m also going to try a reboot of the no-snacking thing this weekend. That will be less fun and more of a trial. But perhaps it will be a fun trial.

Weight: 167.3 pounds
Body fat: 19%

Where I go to get sick and lost

This morning I went to Royal Columbian Hospital to have an echo test (more formally, an echocardiogram) done. This is due to my doctor detecting a slight murmur in my heart and wanting to get it checked out now as it could become an issue down the road. The booking was made in August so that gives you an idea of a) how backlogged the system is and b) how urgent the concern is.

I was still nervous, even though I knew the procedure is simple, non-invasive and doesn’t even require donning a hospital gown and exposing your backside to one and all.

I arrived early as requested and was proud of myself for successfully navigating my way to the registration counter. After a minute or so of waiting, the clerk took my card, looked me up and told me I was in the wrong place. I needed Cardiology. I was apparently not there. She gave me directions, which I asked her to repeat just to be sure.

I set off down the hall, turning right, turning left, following just as directed. I rounded the corner and approached the registration counter.

The same registration counter.

If I was in the Labyrinth, the Minotaur would be giggling somewhere around the corner about now.

The woman took pity on me and actually escorted me far enough to insure I could not get lost again. I told her I was a total guy when it came to directions, hoping that would give me a pass at the expense of my gender and approximately half the population of the planet.

I arrived at the correct registration counter, took a seat, expected things to run late and they did, but only a little. A short woman with a thick accent escorted me to the room where the test would be done. Several times we passed patients being wheeled around on gurneys with tubes and bottles and looking frail and sick and it all reminded me of how hospitals are built on a foundation of depression.

The test room had low lighting, either to facilitate the test or to put me in the mood. The mood for stripping from the waist up and laying on my side on a gurney, with multiple electrodes stuck to my hairy flesh. Although this proved surprisingly uncomfortable because I had nowhere to put my left arm except kind of over and behind my head, the test itself was unremarkable. I had gel smeared strategically on my chest and a small ultrasound probe was pressed into the gel and moved around while the Philips Heart-o-Matic™ mapped out the organ that helpfully keeps me alive. Several times I was asked to hold my breath. This was as complicated as it got, which suited me fine. At the end I had to lay on my back and two more checks were done, one near my stomach, one near my throat.

Every few minutes some audio played. It sounded like water sloshing around and was presumably my flowing blood. It was disturbing because I imagine the sound of my pumping blood as being gentle and reassuring, not like water sloshing around a basin. Maybe this is what ultrasound sounds like, water sloshing around a basin.

I was done, she handed me a towel, I wiped down and left.

Actually, she walked me to the nearest exit and then I left. In my short time at the hospital I had already developed a reputation for getting hopelessly lost.

Now I wait to discuss the results with my doctor. My dad died of a massive heart attack at 58–I’m 51 now–so I’m a wee bit concerned about genetic shenanigans. On the other hand, my dad did not jog thousands of kilometers in his 40s and 50s, either. On the other other hand, Jim Fixx, world famous jogger, died while running–because of a bad heart. On the other other other hand (this is more an octopus now) the person doing the test did not gasp in horror at any point or mutter “Poor bastard” under her breath. On the fifth hand/tentacle, maybe she is just a consummate professional and expertly conceals such observations from the emotionally fragile patient.

I’ll know soon enough.

NOTE: The machine used for the test is not actually called a Philips Heart-o-Matic™. I did notice it was made by Philips, though, and had lots of dials, all of them thoughtfully labeled in plain English to better terrify anyone not familiar with its operation.

A few more bad prompts

After my abject failure with National Novel Writing Month 2015 perhaps what I need to get back into the swing of things is to tackle a writing prompt or two.

Or I could just come up with a few more “interesting” ones of my own. And here they are!

  1. You and your nerdy friends suddenly find yourselves thrust into a real life Dungeons & Dragons adventure. Write about your daring exploits as you gouge evil from its shell. Actually, don’t write this. Don’t ever write this. Forget I even mentioned it. Did you start writing this? Well, stop. Right now. OK.
  2. After winning millions of dollars in the lottery you discover that money can’t buy happiness. But it can buy lots of really cool shit. Write about all that really cool shit.
  3. Explore the previously unknown connection between the horrifying visions of HP Lovecraft and the horrifying taste of HP Sauce.
  4. Write a story featuring the following items: a ball of yarn, the Hadron supercollider, a manic pixie-like woman and a giant wheel of cheese.
  5. A plate is knocked off a table and smashes into a thousand tiny pieces. Write from the perspective of each of the thousands of tiny pieces.

Review: In the Tall Grass (short story)

In the Tall GrassIn the Tall Grass by Stephen King
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Buyer’s note: This is a long short story, not a full novel (or even a novella). Consider this before spending your $4.99. I used a gift card because I was curious to see how the second King/Hill effort shook out. Plus the title is just plain interesting. What could be in the tall grass? The mind boggles at the endless list of awful things that could be there.

Spoiler note: I’m spoiling the story. If you want a quick take, read the rest of this paragraph then skip the rest: “In the Tall Grass” is much like the other father/son collaboration King and Hill did (“Throttle”) in that it’s a solid, entertaining read, but nothing more than that. There is no re-inventing the wheel, no characters that will stay with you for days or weeks after reading. It’s a tight horror story that preys on a fear most of us have: getting lost.

Specifically, the people in the story get lost in a huge field of tall grass that grows next to a creepy church somewhere out in Kansas. Brother and sister Cal and Becky are driving cross-country so Becky can carry her giving-up-for-adoption baby to term with at their aunt and uncle’s home. The journey is unremarkable until they approach the grass and hear a boy calling out for help. Being good sorts of people, they park and separately enter the grass to find the boy. For a time they hear what may be the boy’s mother warning them to stay away but of course it is too late by then, for the mother and, well, everyone.

The field and the grass seem to shift, creating an ever-changing maze where escape can be only feet away yet still impossible. Eventually Cal is found by the boy, who leads him to a strange, large rock in a clearing. Touch the rock and you suddenly know your way out but never want to leave because that rock is crazy and it loves spreading the crazy around.

It all ends horribly for everyone and the postscript has an RV full of potheads (the pot aspect is emphasized to a strange and almost absurd degree, maybe for comedic effect?) being lured in like Cal and Becky, suggesting the grass will continue to feed for some time to come. Or at least until winter, because a lush field of tall grass in the middle of a Nebraska winter is bound to draw a little attention from people maybe not so willing to dive in feet-first.

Oh, and don’t ask what happens after Becky gives birth in the field to her three-month premature baby. You don’t want to know, especially if you’re pregnant. Or eating. Or sane.

“In the Tall Grass” does a nice job of playing on a fear many might have–wading into a large field of grass or some other maze-like structure, becoming lost, and realizing we have no reliable way to navigate out. Then comes the crazy and cannibalism. Well, or maybe you just use your cell phone to call for help–except that doesn’t work, of course. And other than being decent but not compelling, that’s probably my only other nitpick with the story. Everything that might help the doomed siblings is waved away. Of course the cell phone loses its signal. Of course they immediately separate instead of heading into the grass together. It’s convenient but feels a little lazy. I’m not asking for Cal to have loaded a flamethrower in the trunk of his Mazda. I suppose I’m just not fond of watching helpless victims be helpless as they march to their inevitable demise. It’s more depressing than horrifying.

Well, except for the baby. That was definitely horrifying.

I wouldn’t necessarily recommend dropping five bucks on “In the Tall Grass” but if it shows up in a collection it will make a fine addition. It’s a classic horror tale, just one that does nothing new or extraordinary.

View all my reviews

Day 6 of the New Fat: Going down with a trend of up

Today I was bad and had a snack that technically put me over my goal for the day. It was still better than spending the day stuffing cakes into my mouth, but still. I was not overly active, either, though I did get out to the store. Exciting adventures all around.

I was down but will likely be up tomorrow due to weighing myself earlier in the morning and also that snack thing.

Weight: 164.6 pounds
Body fat: 18.6%