Stupid diet

Day . . . 12.

The cravings have passed (save for the perpetual craving for the sweet release of death), leaving behind only a dull awareness of foods uneaten. 

I used to eat at one point, didn’t I?  I MUST have!

Must constantly remind myself that while technically allowed under the dietary restrictions, cannibalism is frowned upon socially.

(Of course it’s not REALLY that bad, but I realized today I’ve been neglecting to chart my descent into madness.)

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(Unless you count yesterday’s entry, that is.)

Splitting hairs

I know I already mentioned this thought over on Facebook, but still . . .

HAS there ever been a male alive that decided to have the hair on his head transplanted to his stomach because his stomach hair was thinning?

(By the way, this is what’s known as renewing the posted”Dangerous place to wander” sign for my mind.)

Simply . . . Not (Part 2)

The children’s author in question was none other than Roald Dahl.

A peach flavored chocolate bar is your reward if you already knew that.

(Hosting a guest today, hence the pre-planning for this short entry.)

Simply . . . Not (Part 1)

I was thumbing through a copy of a favorite childhood book of mine the other night, and noticed that the author’s description described him (somewhat breathlessly, I thought) as  “quite simply, one of the best-loved authors of children’s books of all time.” 

“Pretty high praise,” I thought.  “But it’s not true.”

Now . . . this is one of MY best-loved authors of children’s books we’re talking about here, and if I were in the mood I might nitpick over the phrase “of all time” (How do you objectively measure something like that anyway?), but last night I wasn’t in that kind of mood.

No . . . the “not true” part of that description for me was definitely the “quite simply” part. 

Whatever you think of the man . . . “simple” just doesn’t describe him.  This was a man who had first hand experience with war, espionage, and personal tragedy.  An inventive man best known for his children’s books, but his name is also attached to a medical cerebral shunt valve, two well known screenplays (NOT based on any of his own work), as well as an acclaimed series of  macabre adult short stories.

As near as I can tell, he was ALSO a domineering and opinionated character in his own right, and if you look you can find more than one hint of what delicately might be described as “racial insensitivity” in his makeup.

In other words . . . he was a LOT of things, but he was NOT simple.

Who was he?

I’ll tell you tomorrow.

About Yesterday’s Title

If it makes you feel any better, feel free to consider that string of asterisks as marking musical beats before the title continued.

That’s not how *I* intended them, mind you, but if you want to think of them that way . . . hey, I’m not ******* inclined to stop you.

Breaking Up Is ******* Hard To Do

One of the benefits of long life is the chance to revisit past events and view them with a fresh perspective.  Pretty much no matter WHAT you’ve done, if you live long enough you’ll start to watch the people around you experience things similar to what you’ve already been through.  Be it friends, family, children . . . what have you . . . from watching them sooner or later you start to realize that no matter how painfully isolating those past events may have seemed to you at the time, they really are a fairly standard part of living.

Currently I’m watching a friend go through the break up of a relationship.  It’s the end of her first real relationship . . . a relationship that began in high school and lasted well beyond, which is actually a significant victory given the usual duration of high school relationships.

Of course, right now that victory doesn’t feel much like a victory . . . just a painful loss, and a terrifying and unimaginable change of her world.

And as she turns to me for support, I hear words coming from her mouth that I remember coming out of mine in similar situations . . . and sometimes I hear her relaying words from her soon to be ex that I also find familiar . . . sometimes from one of my ex’s lips . . . sometimes from mine, and I hear them all with a fresh perspective brought on by distance and time. 

So this candle is for her . . . and for him . . . and for me . . . and for all my ex’s. 

And specifically to MY ex’s, I want to say that we weren’t perfect . . . neither separately nor together . . . but we really tried our damnedest, didn’t we?  Our pains and our fears got in the way, and eventually we had to move on, but we really did love each other to the best of our ability.  I couldn’t always see that at the time, of course.

But I want you to know that right now . . . I can see it.

I Could Go From Some Red Rum Right About Now . . .

You know those stories where a writer or blogger starts off sane, and over time you watch his/her descent into madness?

Well . . . I hope you’re a fan of that sort of thing, because I think I’m living one of those stories right now. 

No, not because of the book schedule challenge . . . but because I agreed to help someone stick to THEIR diet by joining them on it under the “How bad could it be?” clause.

Well . . . it’s day 5 for me on the South Beach Diet, Phase 1, and by this time I’ve gotten a pretty good idea of the answer to that question.  I’m told I should be over the proverbial hump “any day now,” but that “any day” doesn’t seem to be today. 

Why did I agree to do this again?

Oh right . . . a girl asked me. 

Well at least she didn’t ask me if I’d like to try cliff diving.

Because . . . the way I feel right now, I’d probably do it.

What’s In A Name?

So you know how I alluded to not having the best of weeks a while back?  (And if not, just humor me.)

Well . . . I’m not going to be talking about that.

But AFTER that series of unfortunate events that I’m not talking about right now, I needed to vent to someone outside the situation, so I called Mom.

BIG MISTAKE!

Now my mother is a wonderful and caring person, but I just happened to call her at a time that she was particularly . . . frazzled (She was driving to an important appointment AND she was running late AND she only had like three minutes before she arrived.).  Despite all this, she tells me to go ahead, and since I need to vent, I figure I can hit the highlights in three minutes or less.

BUT . . . about a minute into my rant she gets a call from the person she’s supposed to be meeting, obviously inquiring why my Mom is late.  So Mom tells me she REALLY needs to take the call and explain the situation, and that she needs to go.  Which is hardly desirable news to me, but fine . . . except for one thing.

She didn’t say “Robert . . . I’m sorry, I need to go.”  She didn’t say “Robert” at all, in fact.  (Those of you with siblings and/or multiple children may be able to guess what happened.) 

She called me by the WRONG NAME! (My brother’s.)

So here’s a candle for my Mom . . . a BIG candle . . . with the name ROBERT carved into it.  (1)

You know . . . my NAME . . . the one YOU gave me, Mom.

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I’ll bet Christina wouldn’t forget my name . . .  (2)

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(1)  For the record, I DID get permission from Mom to tell this story when we laughed about this about a week after the incident.

(2) Last Christina Ricci joke . . . I promise.  (3)

(3) Promise only applicable for the duration of this current week, no further promise should be taken as stated OR implied.

A Quick Clarification About Yesterday

On the off-chance my comments from yesterday ever come to Ms. Ricci’s attention, I want to clarify for the record that no disrespect was intended.

I meant every word, mind you, but they WERE written with respect.

Just thought I should make sure that was clear.

News of a Wednesday

It has come to my attention that Christina Ricci is engaged.

http://www.eonline.com/uberblog/the_awful_truth/b104791_inside_christina_riccis_crazy.html

While I wish her the best, I DO want her to know that if she would ever like me to make a dishonest woman of her, she should definitely give me a call.

Seriously.