Offensive

Oops, I did it again. Last blog, a necessary conversation started via a thoughtful comment from a long time friend and a too-long response from me to that. It made me think. I definitely want to adjust my fitness rhetoric, although that won’t stop it from being offensive to some. Or many.

First, though I want to make it clear to anyone — friends and strangers — that I am not a thin or skinny person. I was clinically obese since about 2005. After about 9 months of strength training and changing the way I eat (primarily avoiding excessive carbs/sugars) I’ve improved. Now I’m just overweight. For now.

I’m on my way down to where I want to be. The things I want to be able to do, physically, require that I get my body fat percentage down a bit further in order to maximize my strength to weight ratio, if that’s even a thing.

This was all made possible by my coaches (directly and indirectly) Justin, Matt, Sara, Cristal and all the members at Underground Athlete.

That may sound like an ad. I mean, “endorsements” turn people off sometimes even when it’s not a sponsored endorsement. It automatically raises hackles of cynicism. This is definitely not sponsored, though.

It’s good stuff. Strength train if you can. Get a good coach if you can. It’s not necessary, but it helps big time. It will change your life and you’ll learn so many things to use for the rest of your life. Things that you can share and pass on to your loved ones. When they start seeing your results, they’ll pick up on it and may even start to make changes a little at a time.

I’m hoping and praying that I can kick off a legacy of fitness and health in my family. Lord willin’ and the crick don’t rise.

Dig it. Justin gave me an ithlete dongle.

http://www.myithlete.com/

My resting heart rate used to be well into the mid 70s. Now, on a good and rested day, I’ve seen it as low as 57. That’s amazing for me. I’m excited.

How am I still alive?

Here are some things that I used to eat in my younger days. From my 20s into my early 30s. Some bad food habits for you to enjoy and be appalled by. Ahem. By my 30s I thought I was cleaning it up, but I was eating out a lot. Not fast food, per se, but still. That is not a winning strategy. Alright. Here goes:

• Pizza Hut’s Meat Lover’s Pizza. I would order a large and eat most of it while watching my favorite sci fi TV show or a movie. With soda, of course. One of the few occasions when I drink/drank/drunk(?) soda.
• Cheesesteaks. I’ve been craving these lately for some reason. I’d get a whole. And eat it. Sometimes I would grate cheddar cheese over it first because it obviously doesn’t have enough calories or fat. Ketchup, of course. Oh! Sometimes with fries. Again, in front of a TV. With a soda.
• At UM College Park, the dining hall had late night hours sometimes. Like, 10pm to 1am. I’d get a shake, wings, pizza, crappy burger, nachos. To fuel my late night studying, in theory.
• Large Baskin Robbins milkshakes.
• Outback gorging. 12 oz. top sirloin, that whole dark mini-loaf of bread, lobster tail with drawn butter (that I would dip the bread in), french onion soup, part of a Bloomin’ Onion, a token green salad.
• For a while, before I had a clue, I’d eat an entire container of Safeway Select soup for lunch: crab and corn chowder, clam chowder, tomato bisque. I thought I was being healthy. Check out the calories and nutrition facts for a container of bisque or chowder.
• Hot chocolate and a third of a package of Chessmen cookies.
• Lots of juice. I would go to sleep with a bottle of Tropicana Twister on the night stand. I’d chug juice all day long and well into the night.
• Whenever I did get fast food, I would get pairs of things: 2 Big Macs and 2 apple pies. 2 Whoppers.
• Chipotle burritos
• Venti lattes, especially pumpkin spice venti lattes
• I almost forgot the apple pies. I’d buy a whole “fresh” apple pie from Safeway. I’d eat a quarter of eat each night, heated up with milk.
• Ben & Jerry’s ice cream. New York Super Fudge Chunk. Peanut Butter Cup. Heath Bar Crunch. I’d let it half melt. Ice cream goes down easily and quickly when it’s half melted.
• 3 or 4 bowls of cereal in a sitting

Here was my mainstay.

I loved to eat this. For a while I would eat it every day and NEVER got tired of it. Never. Only took about 10 to 15 minutes to prepare. Very inexpensive. Later, I got rid of the bread. Beans and sausage. Hold on. I know that sounds boring.

Can of baked beans. Added bbq sauce. Sauteed/browned Eckrich Sausage cut into little discs. You know, crosswise. Cracker Barrel cheddar cheese. Sour cream. It is the perfect meal. Aside from the s-load of calories, carbohydrates, sodium, fat, lack of vegetables and the food coma and potential heartburn. And flatulence.

Yes, I’m ashamed by the fact that I’m proud of this concoction. Did I mention that I would sometimes also add breakfast sausage to it?

Not with soda, though. Multiple glasses of juice of some kind.

I had no idea why I was gaining weight. It doesn’t help that when I gain weight I tend to look buff. When clothed, anyway. People will even ask me if I’ve been working out when I gain weight. They don’t realize that it’s all strategically and sneakily placed fat. Tricksy.

How the hell am I still alive? I can only hope that I didn’t do any permanent damage. Artery scarring, digestive tract ulcerations, diverticulitis, etc.

Walking the Walk

I’m doing better. I want to do better. Far from perfect, but through food logging (very approximately) I’m much more aware of what I’m eating. Part of it is because of a quote I heard a while ago. Paraphrased:

The volume of your actions drowns out your words.

Now it’s personals?

How’d that get in here?? That’s a whole separate blog series! weird. Here’s how.

I’ve been digitally called out a few times this week re: my comments about weight or body type. One was from a personals ad.

I wrote about the fact that it’s frustrating to go on personals sites and see women specify the races they’d be willing to date and they would literally list every option except for black men. (I make it a point to say that it is what it is. It doesn’t make someone a bad person to prefer what they prefer, but it’s still frustrating.)

I then proceed to state the physique/body type that I’m most attracted to in hopes of peaking the interest of said segment of population.

Hypocritical? Eh. I can definitely see the argument.

A young lady took the time to send me a message reframing my words in terms of my apparent rejection of big women. Point made. Point taken. She said that she hoped some day we’d all evolve beyond this kind of thing.

Although, sexual preference and evolution would make a fascinating and probably infuriating subject to read even if it did include social and historical factors.

This is also why I’ve given up on personals. Fail.

You can’t talk about weight and losing weight without offending or hurting people. And yet I feel compelled to do it in hopes of inspiring and motivating people, especially friends and family to get on board.

Paula Deen

I don’t really have much to say about Paula Deen that other people haven’t said. I’m not going to trash talk her because even though I’m kind of disgusted, her apparent attitude is very typical of a lot of people. Fatalistically hedonistic or vice versa. I wish she would handle her diabetes reveal differently, but she’s being true to her philosophy: “Might as well have that cookie.”

I don’t wish her ill, of course. It’s just a sad, ridiculous and avoidable situation. Like what’s happening with so many of us (see above). She affirmed our lackadaisical attitude toward our health and well-being. Like it’s someone else’s problem. Recent, random quotes by recent, random people:

“Gotta die from something.”

“I’m gonna go get me some more diabetes.”

“Cut back on sugar? I can’t do that.”

“I hate exercise.”

“Ugh. Vegetables.”

“I love soda. That’s my one weakness. I drink, like, 2 liters a day.”

Oy.

Optimal Weight

Here’s the change I’m making. Have you seen this?

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2085226/PLUS-Model-Magazines-Katya-Zharkova-cover-highlights-body-image-fashion-industry.html

What a contrast. It’s worth checking out but … you know. The comments. They epitomize the way we think about and talk about body image.

I read a Paula Deen quote. Someone was asking her about her cooking and she said something to the effect of, “People are going to eat.”

As if there are two options. A stick of butter in every meal or water, rice cakes and celery sticks. Vomitorium vs. hunger strike.

That’s how we talk and think about weight. You can’t talk about weight without everyone picturing one extreme or the other and then being offended.

I would not in any way condone what appears to be a glamorization of near-anorexic models. A lot of them look anorexic even if they’re not. I don’t know who picks these body types and encourages women to be dangerously thin but they need to stop. Or better yet, can’t we all just agree to not pay attention to that crap?

I honestly don’t understand who is idolizing these people and internalizing that imagery as their own standard and ideal of beauty. Don’t get it.

On the other hand, I would not in any way condone the glamorization of obesity even as a response to the tall, gaunt runway models. (I mean that in general. I’m not referring to the model in that article.)

Beauty and health come in many shapes and sizes. I’ve been hearing the term “optimal weight” recently. It’s pleasantly subjective and acknowledges that your best you isn’t the same as someone else’s best you.

Not Clever

At one point I thought I was being clever and mete when I stopped saying “weight loss” and starting saying “fat loss”. It’s more accurate, but talking about fat loss — are you calling me fat?

Instead, going forward, I’d like to shift my focus to talking about being fit. There are, of course, thin and skinny people who aren’t the least bit fit.

I’m not going to stop talking about weight or fat loss. It’s critical to so many of us. I believe that it is extremely difficult to be overweight and healthy, longitudinally speaking. Over the course of a few decades and into mid-life and old age.

I’ve come to realize that fitness and health isn’t just about now. It’s really about ten years from now. Twenty years from now. Thirty years from now.

I think that everyone should be able to jog a mile, ideally without shin splints or muscle cramps. Everyone should be able to do pushups, situps, chinups and/or pullups. Everyone should be able to sprint for, I don’t know, 50 yards?  Ugh. I need to take swimming lessons.

In other words, everyone should have the minimal ability to run or fight for their lives.  Or run and fight for those who are unable to.

Run to safety from a deranged lone gunman while carrying a child in your arms. Run long enough to get the license plate of an abductor. Sorry, I’ve been watching the news too much. It is dark.

Climb over a fence or, even better, a wall. Walk or hike a few miles to safety. Bicycle 20 to 50 miles to civilization. Jump down from a height without breaking anything. Pick an aging loved one up off the floor.

If you work to achieve some level of physical capability– and that’s the important thing — the weight (i.e. fat loss and/or muscle gain or improvement) will follow. That’s my philosophy.

Pick up the Pieces

I’m going to stop here. I don’t think many are going to make it this far. Never stopped me before, though.

I just want to add this. I’ve driven up to Baltimore to visit the family and arrived just in time to pick an elderly relative up off the floor. By the way, that’s not an easy thing to do. There’s a whole process to it because you can’t just pick up someone who’s already in pain and set them on their feet or even in a chair.  I’ve tried.  Google how to do it and you will quickly become depressed by all the complications involved with senior citizens and gravity. Jesus Jones.

Someone said to me recently, “I’m so afraid of falling.”

I didn’t know what to say because if or when it happens again, chances are I won’t be there and there aren’t many around who can help other than to hopefully find someone who can. The smart thing to do is to call an ambulance anyway, so … meh.

When there’s a family function, they wait for me to arrive because I’m one of the only family members in the Mid-Atlantic region who can raise or lower a person in a wheelchair up or down a flight of porch stairs. Y’know. Change a water bottle, take air conditioners out of windows. Get heavy things out of the attic or basement. That’s just the benign stuff. I have daymares about possible emergency situations.

Do you see what I’m saying, though? I can’t afford to not be fit and fast and strong. For what it’s worth, and I don’t think it’s much, I’m currently the paladin of my family in that regard.  Kind of a downer considering that I live an hour and 20 minutes away on a good traffic day.

I hope to reach my goals. I hope it’s infectious. That way, so many more of us will be physically functional and reliable. And when you reach that point, just imagine all the fun you can have. Limitations removed. Options of exploration wide open. You can go places you couldn’t before. You can keep up or lead your friends and family on outings. You’ll be closing down the party with energy instead of fading early on. I can not wait to get on my mountain bike again.

Man o man. I’ve got work to do.

Keep up your good efforts, people. I know you’re out there doing your thing. You inspire me.

If you’re not, feel free to get on board any time. It’s all good and it’s never too late.

From Twitter to SoulBounce to this blog entry:

http://www.dirtyprettythangs.com/2012/01/08/fat-girl-fairytales-the-amazing-transformation-of-jennifer-hudson/

It’s a critique of this commercial (that I don’t necessarily recommend watching):

Now, you know this is like a salt lick for an ovine to me.  I can’t not blog about it.  The trick for me is to maintain the intended tone.  I have passion and compassion here but it’s so easy to be sarcastic and dickish when blog writing.  I may fail.

Personally, I’m not crazy about that commercial because of all that blowing.  ”Blowing” in the musical sense.  Despite all of her talent and vocal technique and power, after a point it’s … caterwauling.  Neat concept, though.

I was kind of blindsided by this blog and some of the comments.  I mean — well, first let me just queue up my brain stack.

1. In the ad in question, Jennifer Hudson isn’t skinny, per se.  Relatively, yes, but she’s still curvy.

2. The contention that you have to be rich and privileged to lose weight.  And/or the implication that she only looks better due to fashion, makeup and dollars.

3. Body policing and fat shaming

Quotable:  ”It’s a trap!”

I’m going to try to keep this short so if you didn’t have time to read Pretty Brown Girl’s blog — but I hope you did — here’s the next to last paragraph.

Stop telling us through these awful commercials that tired ass “This could be you story”. The average woman (who is a size 12/14, by the way) is not going to be able to transform like Jennifer did without Jennifer’s funds. And those funds came to be via the success she enjoyed with her Fat Body.

I don’t know much, if anything, about fashion or dress/clothes sizes for women.  But this is just wrong.  So wrong.  Well, let me step back from that.  Yes, money helps.  Yes, rich and famous people have access to more options for whatever their body goals are.  But the contention that you can’t transform like that without her money is all kinds of wrong.

It may be a sincerely held belief, but it’s a lie.  It’s an insidious bit of mind f*ckery that’s all too easy to believe because it lets us off the hook.  The most effectively destructive lies are the ones we tell ourselves.

Look.  I mountain bike in the Summers.  Tough, enjoyable exercise — I can burn 1,000 calories per hour — that I love to do.  Burn a lot of calories that way.  Never lost much weight doing it, though.

Last year I started semi-private functional strength training.  First, I got sore.  No, first I was embarrassed.  Then I got sore.  Very sore.  Then I felt old and broken. Then I got stronger and faster.   It does cost money per month.  It’s another bill.  Not everyone can afford that.  BUT!  I didn’t start losing weight (fat) until I changed my diet.  What change did I make?

Limiting my carbohydrates to around 100 grams per day.  Most people could transform their bodies starting there.  Then if you up your daily activity a little bit with walking or get some activity buddies, you’ll be shocked at the progress you make over the course of a few months.  And years.

No surgery necessary.  No pre-packaged foods.  In fact, you’d be a lot better off with natural foods.  The outer aisles of the grocery store.

If we all took a week to log what we eat and then looked through it later, it would be easy to see where all of the extra, refined calories are.

Releasing Toxins

This is the part where I have to be careful.  First, please note I’m intentionally omitting any discussion of physiques that I’m most attracted to.  I’m keeping my body type preferences out of this because that’s not what this is about.

It is largely about health.  That may be separate from body image but it’s extremely important.  I ask myself these kinds of questions, thinking a few decades down the road.

1. How old do you want your child(ren) to be when you die?  Before they graduate high school?  Before college?  Before they’re married?  Before they retire?
2. Do you want to be a part of your grandkids’ lives?
3. How many knees do you want to have replaced?
4. Where do you want your chronic pain to be?  In the back and neck?  Maybe inexplicable internal pain.  A generally debilitating, overall body weariness?
5. Do you want to increase or decrease your chances of getting cancer, heart disease, diabetes, etc.?

There are things we need to let go of, culturally.  The way I try to maintain a reasonable tone is to imagine one of my relatives reading this.  Because this is about health.  And it is about body image.

What’s your body image going to be when you have your leg amputated below the knee due to diabetes complication?  Y’know?

Not Fat isn’t the same as Skinny

Please, please, please do not buy into the notion that you’re either fat or skinny.  There is such a thing as being overweight.  There’s such a thing as being underweight.  You can be overweight and healthy.  You can be skinny and unhealthy.  You can be skinny and have a high body fat percentage; skinny fat.

You’ve heard the saying:  Strong is the new skinny.

If you are overweight or obese, you need to work on losing fat.  Period.  No excuses.  You need to.

No one (in their right mind) is saying that you need to be rail thin.  I can pretty much guarantee you that no one out there is looking at you thinking you need to look like one of those tall, scarily thin models on fashion runways.

Your best you isn’t going to be Hollywood thin or magazine cover thin.  Hell.  They, usually, aren’t that thin.  Most of the images we see are all kinds of edited.  Freakishly so, in my opinion.

What I’m saying is, to defend one’s self by citing an opposite extreme is a tactic of distraction.  To be indignantly anti-skinny is self destructive.  To be militantly overweight is insanity.  It’s an excuse.  It’s suicide.

Fat Shaming & Body Policing

I guess a lot of this comes from the media.  Maybe personal interaction.  Messages from every which way.  I mean, no one has the right — well, they may have the right to do it but it would be a real a-hole thing to do — to come up to you and say, “Hey, you’re really overweight.  You need to lose a few pounds.”

I guess family members do that kind of thing more than anyone should.  That does not help, though.

I do not want to be fat.  I do not want to be overweight.  The image in my mind of myself is still circa 20 years old.  My body doesn’t match that image + 19 years.  My body, up until March  2011, matched the habits of someone who got in good but unvaried exercise seasonally or in phases but ate anything he wanted when he wanted and spent 10 to 16 hours a day in a seated position and 8 more hours supine asleep.  (In my next LGN blog I’ll post some of my horrible eating habits from years past where I ask, “How am I still alive?”)

Yeh, it’s painful to see famous women be scrutinized inch by inch all over the media.  Lose weight, gain weight, too fat, too skinny, pregnant, not pregnant, eating disorders.  It’s crazy.  It’s much less intense for men.  For men, it’s whether or not there are six pack abs.  And if not, does he look good with stubble and/or in an expensive suit.

But that’s not an excuse for us, as individuals, needing to take responsibility for ourselves and our loved ones.

We can NOT sit around and say that losing weight is a matter of privilege.  No.  It’s a matter of personal responsibility.  It’s not easy.  Getting started isn’t easy.  The urge to lose weight quickly is probably the biggest destroyer of weight-fat loss efforts.

I mean, being overweight does not make you a bad person.  You’re not overweight because of some horrible character flaw.  If you’re overweight — like I still am, by the way, although steadily approaching my phase 2 goals — it’s because you’ve developed bad habits.  We’re swimming in cheap fattening (fast sugar) foods.  It’s amazing if you think about it.  We have to go out of our way to NOT eat too many calories because they’re all around us in densely packed, conveniently portable snack and fast food form.  Better living through chemistry!

Also, I’m in no way putting down women who are naturally thin or skinny.  I don’t want to imply that there’s something off about healthy and thin women.  You also rock.

Do Sumpin’

Make a change for the better.  Stick with it.  Eat unprocessed or minimally processed foods.  Be more active.  That’s all it is.   It’s not complicated but it’s hard to swap out routines and habits.  For most people.  There may be some hormonal issues and medical issues, but … you know.  That means that it’s even more important to try to maximize one’s health because of those unfair odds.

But hey, if you have the money, take a fun class of some sort.  Zumba people always look like they’re having a good time.

At the risk of losing some of you, get a personal trainer (or semi-private personal trainer like I do) and lift weights.  It’s hard work but it will work wonders for your physique if you stick with it for months and listen to your trainer’s dietary guidelines.  Ladies, you will not bulk up like Ahnold.

But seriously.  Whatever little change you make for the better is progress.

I’m so inspired by all of my friends and relatives who have taken steps in the past few months and years to get a handle on their health and fitness.  It keeps me going.  Seriously, despite all of the progress I’ve made I still feel demoralized sometimes for one reason or another:  still have a too-high body fat percentage, still lack confidence with the ladies, still get tired after long hard exercise, still get very sore after some workouts and take a long time to recover, etc.

Seeing you all make small changes to your habits or big changes in your activities and goals — people are walking, jogging, cooking, training for races, racing for training, weight lifting, yoga-ing, dancing, replacing bad foods with good foods — it’s amazing.

Whenever I lack motivation I can go on Facebook and look at my Facebook friends’ feeds and it doesn’t take long (even if I exclude my gym people) to see someone doing something kickass.

Keep it up.

If you haven’t gotten there yet, what’s to wait for?  We’re here for you when you’re ready to jump in.  You’re not alone.  That’s for sure.

Click here to see all of my LGN (I want to Look Good Naked) and functional strength training posts.

What is Tough Mudder?

I really don’t want to do this. Did I mention that? And it’s not because I don’t think that I can. I’m sure I could get through it. Maybe. With extreme cramping. Okay, I would probably not make it all the way due to extreme cramping, to be honest with you. It’s easy to be strong and fast in short bursts. It’s hard to be strong and fast — even for bursts — over a long period of time.

So if I don’t want to do this, then why’d I sign up for it?

I have two answers for that.

1. I figure that it’s easier to do it than to resist doing it.

There’s a lot of momentum at UA since Justin put out the call. When some of them did it back in the Fall, I was at home that morning — after I got back from training with Matt — watching various Tough Mudder videos and such. Something about that was intensely lame.

I’m usually an anti-peer pressure kind of guy.  I guess I’ve had a tendency to tack against the wind.

But in this case … why?  Fun, health, good people, big goals.

2. It’s good to have a goal.

This is a goal that’s way out of my comfort zone. I’m also not much of a joiner. I told Justin last year that I was thinking that 2012 should be a time for me to participate instead of only observing. I meant that in a generic sense. Participate in life instead of — or in addition to — observing and contemplating life.

I have short range and mid range goals for training. But having something big and daunting as a goal … that’s some serious motivation. I am part engineer, too, so as usual I start obsessing over logistics. I mean, look at this:

I’m most worried about the fact that I can’t really swim. I don’t want to have to skip obstacles, though. (Ha. I say that now.) But I will if it’s a choice between a watery grave and bruised pride.

3. I trust my coach.

A bonus reason. I told Justin that I expect to be over-prepared. He said, “Oh, you’ll be ready.”

Let me translate that for you. I’m about to get my ass kicked, people. The training is going to be intense for the next few months.

I’m going to have to do some intentional bike riding, too. I’ve been given a prescription of hill attacks.

Picking up the pieces

Actually, I’m most worried about dropping dead from some unknown heart thing. You know, how people do after marathons. Or otherwise fit joggers do occasionally. But that’s the same kind of “worry” like when you worry about getting struck by lightning when a storm gets close.

Life is unpredictable. Eh, what’reyougonnado? NOTE:

By the way, if for some reason I drop dead while working out, I will consider it an accomplishment. It’s an honorable, if not tragically ironic, way to go. Don’t let it deter you. Be smart, be safe, work hard. All to increase your quality of life so you can live, love, play and work (i.e. pursue your passions) to the fullest.

So, I did absolutely nothing over the holidays. I took an entire week off. I went nowhere, did nothing, and saw no one. (That’s only a very, very slight exaggeration.) What the hell happened?

I should have been working out on my own. Hell, the weather was great. I could have gone hiking, biking, walking, jogging, whatever. But I was too busy doing nothing and regretting it. What is up with that?

I realized in a way that I can now put into words, that without structure in my life I undergo a process of psychic atrophy.

I couldn’t think of where to go. I wanted to be hanging out with friends but I couldn’t think of who I could call. I become like Lilith’s son in Octavia Butler’s Xenogensis Trilogy (aka Lilith’s Brood). He’s abducted at one point, becomes distraught and wanders off into the forest. But he’s a shape shifter. He subtly but steadily absorbs the traits of those around him and without social contact he begins to turn into a formless gray slug.

Kind of like that. Hm. That’s much heavier-sounding and dramatic than I intended. Oh well. I got to drop Octavia Butler’s name, though.

Spastic

Anyway, I thought that taking a two week break from training would help me to recover fully, but after a week or so my leg muscles in particular started twitching. A few days later the twitching was becoming annoying and distracting. Then a few days later they started cramping. Small bundles of muscles would twitch and mini-cramp at the slightest provocation.

My working theory is that my protein levels were crazy low since I wasn’t eating like I usually do when I’m thinking about the fact that I have workouts.

It was a ROUGH night in the gym last night. Sled suicides followed by Rear Foot Elevated Split Squats. It was the last workout of the last week of a cycle. That’s when you’re supposed to be performing your strongest and best. I was not. Warning cramps all night long, light-headedness, nausea, fatigue.

I was told that I should bounce back quickly. I hope so. I was feeling pretty darn good for a while there last month and I start a new cycle tomorrow.

Happy New Year, America! World!

It’s time to get back to it. Time to bounce back. Time to get ready. Tough Mudder is only five months away.

I really like this video. MustacheMan’s Tough Mudder Training video. Dig it. It gets into it at about 1:30.

Click here to see all of my LGN (I want to Look Good Naked) and functional strength training posts.

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2011 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 2,100 times in 2011. If it were a cable car, it would take about 35 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

You can talk someone out of something pretty easily, though, if that something involves leaving one’s comfort zone, a leap of faith, or a lot of work/discipline.

You can very easily talk or tempt someone back into their status quo.

If you don’t have time to read all of this, here’s the point.    I can tell you from experience that a good personal trainer … well, let’s make this less abstract.

When I walked into Underground Athlete for the first time I was intimidated and embarrassed by how I looked.  During the analysis I felt awkward and demoralized by how out of shape I was.  I went in at least 30 – 40 lbs. overweight, dangerously un-flexible and ridiculously out of shape, aerobically speaking.  Justin let me do the 5 minute warm up with the class to get a taste and I was winded and a little muscle crampy just from that.

That’s what Justin had to work with.

Originally, my goal was to get down to 200 lbs. in three months and then stop the semi-private personal training and maybe take a class once a week.  Along the way, I got stronger, faster, and more flexible and I liked the way it felt.  I wasn’t shedding pounds quickly, though.  Steadily, but not quickly.  Well, not magically-quick.

The changes were slowly coming and my clothes were getting looser.  The pounds alone became less important.  I stopped focusing on that alone.  And when I saw how strong and fit other people are, I knew that poundage alone wasn’t going to cut it.  I want to live up to my physical potential, if that makes sense.  I want to see what I’m capable of and reap the benefits of getting there.

I’m still training at UA, of course.   In much better shape but with a long way to go to keep up with the fittest of the fit and get leaner in the process.  I can button the top button on my dress shirts now plus it’s just about time for me to buy smaller sized jeans and shirts — again.  And to dig into my closet to see if I can fit into those khakis I bought a few years ago.

But that isn’t what this blog entry is about…

Click here to see all of my LGN (I want to Look Good Naked) and functional strength training posts.

Crabs in a Bucket

Anywho.  As soon as you start to change your habits, people around you will become self-conscious.  I do not mean this in a nasty way at all, but the people around you are much more comfortable when you do what they’re used to seeing you do.  As soon as you start to change, it introduces stress into their lives.  Not unhealthy stress, but that gnawing feeling that things are changing around you.

Change is a stressor, especially if that change — somewhere in the back of your mind — brings your faults to light like when someone else’s self improvement makes us feel guilty, ashamed or inadequate.

So despite themselves, they’re much more comfortable if everyone keeps doing what they’re doing.  That goes for all of us.  Some are more welcoming and conducive to it.  Some aren’t.

They will say things without even realizing it that are like nails in the road beneath your treads.  (There may be a few people who are actually spiteful or resentful enough to intentionally try to keep you from improving yourself but I don’t think it’s many.  Anyone who is that toxic shouldn’t be a confidant or adviser anyway.)  Most of the time it’s people who do care about you.

It’s tricky, too, because if you’ve been on a lot of diets or fad diets and lost and re-gained weight they may have a good point in trying to talk you down from something unhealthy — the zero calorie a day diet — in favor of something actually health and more realistic (meaning, not too good to be true).  So when they see you jumping on to some new exercise program they may think you’re running off to tilt at windmills again.

This strength training and conditioning thing, however, isn’t too good to be true.  Trust me.  It’s work.  There are no magic pills.  There’s no one super effective move that’s going to make you look like a swim model.  It’s long term working on it with a good coach training you with you and your goals in mind.  It’s the real deal.

I don’t come from a strength training background either.  Nine months ago was the first time I ever joined a gym of any kind or worked out for real (except for a stint in phys ed in high school where I tried to do a maximum bench press every day).

The Conversation

The thing is, I’ve had the same conversation with variations on a theme about functional strength training, conditioning and other exercise programs like yoga with a number of people over the past few  months.  They all say they’re too out of shape to start something like that.  Or they want to lose weight first.

They want to get down to a certain weight before they start yoga or join a gym.  Sure, who wants to be the overweight person at the gym.  I was.  And still am, frankly, although much less so.  It’s embarrassing at first.  But so what.  When I die I’m sure I won’t be thinking about the fact that the coach and fellow trainees saw that I have love handles/excessive abdominal fat.  So a lot of people want to reach some kind of milestone before they train.

But they don’t, usually.  They don’t lose weight.  They don’t eat more healthily.  They just keep doing the same crap they’ve been doing.  Their reasoning becomes defense mechanism/excuse.

My family sees the amount of progress I’ve made over the past nine months training at Underground Athlete and following the recommendations/analyses Justin makes.   Every time they see me they have something to say about the weight I’ve lost or that I look great.  I always say, “So far, so good.”

This is a marked change from before when every time they saw me — I don’t know why they feel so comfortable talking about peoples’ bodies but, there you go:

“Oh, you’re putting on weight.”

“You’ve got a little gut there, mister.”

“When are you due?”

“Damn, boy.  You’re getting big!”

Now that I’m moving in the right direction, they think about changing something.  They may even make a tweak here or there.  They also have living and ailing examples of what happens if you don’t make a long term change.  An elderly relative is just shy of being bed-ridden due to being overweight and complications from inflammation/arthritis.  Another relative had an organ transplant last weekend.  Multiple cancer survivors — and deaths — in the family.

And yet when I say that my weight loss comes from limiting my carbohydrates somewhat — not eliminating but lowering — they look at me like I’m crazy.

Sitting in the hospital room at someone’s bedside, they say,  ”I can’t do that.”

I slipped for a second.  I try not to be preachy or overbearing, but yesterday I slipped and said, “Yes, you can.  You better.”

I’m not saying that you can’t do it on your own.  I’m saying that you don’t have to and chances are you’ll make more progress if you don’t.  You’ll also get better and quicker results if you’re willing to invest some time and a little money.

You’ll also learn good habits, warm ups, form, and technique.  Aside from getting more fit and reaching your goals, you’re also getting an informal education.

Anyway, talk is cheap.  These are things I try to communicate to my family but they’re kind of old school.  Now with actions and photographs instead of words.  They equate sugar and starches with home, affection and love.  They equate “exercise” with boredom and being active with luxury/entitlement.

They’re wonderful, loving people but … if you tell them you walked a mile they’ll ask you why.

Transplant

An immediate family member had a kidney and a liver replaced this past weekend.  He’s doing remarkably well.  I visited him yesterday and my mom was there plus an aunt or uncle.  My mother asks me what I’m doing to lose weight every time she sees me.  How much have I lost.  What kind of diet am I on.  I was telling her that the most important thing for me, diet-wise, was to limit my non-vegetable carbohydrate intake to 100g per day.  (I’ve been veering closer to 200g lately so it’s time to buckle down again and get serious.)

At that very same moment there was a knock on the door and a woman with a tray of food came in and offered some items: Lorna Doone cookies, peanut butter crackers, apple juice, orange juice, a few other items.

I was not happy.  Here, a patient who just had a kidney and liver transplanted, partially due to diabetes, recovering from surgery was offered in a hospital all refined carbohydrates/sugar.  Jesus Jones.

A few days ago, some of us were in the waiting room following the 8 to 10 hour surgery and one of my relatives — talking about the amazing recovery and recovered quality of life — said, “And he won’t have any more dietary restrictions.  He can eat whatever he wants.”

I had a sinking feeling in my gut.  Oh god no.  No, he can NOT eat anything he wants.  Please, no.  I mean, the point was that he wouldn’t have to avoid anything with phosphorous – or was it potassium — and so on, which severely limited his food choices.  But still.  I cringed to hear that sentence.

I wanted to say, “Don’t you dare.  Someone died — a 14 year old girl died — in order for him to have a new lease on life.  Don’t you dare make the mistake of allowing the mindest of mis-using or abusing this chance.”

Picking up the Pieces

My shoulder hurts.  I’m not sure what to do about that.  I can rest for a few more days.  Maybe I should.  Or maybe I should go and train hard.  I kind of like resting up, though.  I rarely have (or give myself) the time off to completely recover, whatever that means.  Then come back and hit it hard in 2012.

Anyway, I’m supposed to be out and about right now.  Just saw something that helped me bring these thoughts together.

Have a great week, friends.  America.  World.  And a Happy New Year.

I saw that somewhere.  I wish every woman would read that.  Well, not read the article, but skim it and look at the photo.

Too many beautiful women think 1) they’re fat and 2) they need more makeup.  I’m not really comfortable with my appearance, although that’s improving, so I kind of get it.  Well, more about this below.

This is going to be pretentious, artsy whatever, but what can you do.  I should put this in my painting/art blog but I didn’t.

Moments

A cousin who has been into photography for years now said something to me that changed the way I see the world.  I showed her some photos I had taken and she said, “You really captured some great moments.”

Epiphany.  Up until that point I had been taking pictures of things.  A bird, a flower, a bee, a person, a dog, a skyline, etc.    Things in themselves aren’t necessarily art.  Photos of things tend to be flat, not especially interesting unless there’s some innate quality to them.  It’s the moments, though, the interactions and behaviors of things that make art.

It could be the way light hits the subject or even the quality of light.  It could be a person doing something interesting — jumping, running, singing, emoting.  Or people interacting with one another (maybe the photographer).  Sure, there’s some great photographic art that is more mathematical and technically interesting, but it’s really about the story.

What does this photograph say to you?

On one level you look at that and say, “Oh, that’s pretty.”

But on another level — lights, pine, color.  Christmas.  An intricately designed ornament in the shape of a heart.  Love.  A home decorated for the holidays.  This ornament is more arts and craft than Nativity or Kris Kringle.  I wonder what the other ornaments look like.  Are there presents under the tree?

Even though there’s no action or human interaction in this photo, the context alone can spin off a narrative.

Light

Model

Personality

It’s very possible that this is the reason that I don’t identify strongly with groups or organizations.  It would explain a few things.  Like why I think black people need to get over our/themselves.

Whose Slavery is It?

Por ejemplo, some of the Occupy Wall Streeters have held up signs saying that we, as a society, are sick of being slaves of a corporate dominated oligarchy.  Subsequently, I heard a radio show host complain about privileged young white kids co-opting “slavery”.  You know, like, they can’t understand what slavery really means.

There are black people who want to own the legacy of slavery??   The same way some — even a lot — of black people want to own the word “nigger”.  I’ve been reading about that kind of a thing a lot in various ethnic and orientation groups.  No one can use the word “nigger” or any variation except for black people?  But black people can use it in the most derogatory ways possible against each other and that’s okay?  Or even as a mindless filler or rhyme shim?  It’s our word?

I want to own the word “nigger” for my own private use the way I’d want to be the only person who can legally declare himself bankrupt.

I am perplexed.

First of all, black people weren’t the first people to be enslaved on a massive scale.  It used to be a de facto state of affairs.  You go to war, you keep the people you didn’t kill and made them your servants/slaves.  Sometimes it was more of an indentured servitude thing, I guess.  Other times it was brutal and deadly.  Sometimes it was unthinkable exploitation, sexual and otherwise.  Sometimes it was an arrangement of skilled labor like a contract.  Sometimes it was a holocaust.

The American form was particularly brutal and among the worst enduring episodes, I think, especially considering the period of history and the supposedly enlightened Capitalist Democracy.  Okay, Democratic Republic.  I know.  Constitutional Representative Democratic Republic.  Whatever.

I’m not denying any of the ongoing effects of a people being oppressed, suppressed, repressed and victimized.  There are obvious and major ramifications: psychological, economic, spiritual, philosophical, legal.  I’ve written about this stuff before so I won’t here.

Whose Nigger is It?

I was at a venue where rap music was being played.  I just heard the word “nigger” more times than I could count.  And no white people were involved.

I’m not going all Uncle Ruckus on you.  I firmly believe that those who don’t know their past are doomed to repeat it.  But we consider it important to pass on a legacy of outrage against America and white people.

Are we raising achievers or are we creating victims?

The Pacifica radio network, for example, is a great resource.  It really is.  Pacifica and what not.  I may complain about it sometimes or disagree with things I hear, but it’s the same way you’d complain about an uncle with strong opinions.  And that’s an apt comparison because the average age of listeners, from what I understand, is up there.  A lot of the hosts come out of the Civil Rights Era or even the more militant approach from the late 60′s and early 70′s and they’re still holding it down.  Impressive.  Important voices to have around.

But every time there’s a pledge drive they play speeches and shows that are basically about how blatant racism was.  No duh!

A young white friend said to me not too long ago, “What’s the point of teaching and talking about all of that if all it does is make people mad and depressed?”

He has a black friend who was outgoing and relatively carefree.  Until they had classes where the legacy of racism was discussed.  (I remember going through a Public Enemy phase in high school which kind of freaked out my white friends a little bit.)  After that his black friend had a chip on his shoulder.   And shame.

It’s a good point.  What are we teaching and why?  And how?

Are we empowering black kids with our history?  Or are we demoralizing them and planting seeds of spite and resentment in their impressionable little minds and hearts?

Are kids — black kids in particular — learning to work hard and learn hard to achieve.  To create a social backbone and begin or continue the process of creating wealth?  Or are they learning to value trendy material things and to take what you want because you can?

Context is King

Whenever cultural(?) shortcomings are acknowledged by and about the black community (or communities), the question of context comes up.

How dare you judge without first acknowledging the racist, white supremacist, patriarchal system?  It’s a worthy diversion or exercise, but NOT if it ends there.  Because if that’s a conversation killer then I say, “Racist, white supremacist, patriarchal system?  So what.”

You know what I mean?

“These flash mobs are out of control.  What are these kids doing?  Where are the parents?  This has got to stop.”

“See.  There they go again.  Talking down to black people.  A curfew/harsh punishment/new law?  Racists.  This whole system is racist.”

Drugs, AIDS, HIV, test scores or any other statistically unfortunate phenomena that affects black people in particular.  I don’t mean to sound callous or completely detached.  I’m only partially detached, to be honest with you.  I care about these things.

What do I know?

Not much.  All opinions here.  Take ‘em for what they’re worth or not worth.

I do know that ”The System” is not going to solve these issues.  The “racist patriarchal” system is not going to rush in and save the day.  We already know that — whatever we think of the powers that be — our socio-economic-political environment is toxic.  That’s cynical, I know, but it’s a given.  I’m not arguing with that.  And we should try to change it, influence it, improve it, participate in order to get a foothold.

There are also many non-profits and street level organizations doing their part.  They’re doing their share and more.

It’s time to let go of bickering over semantics.  It’s time to stop being shocked every time someone says something mildly ignorant or racist.  Or even overtly racist.  We are just shocked — shocked, I say — that someone would possibly say something ignorant and hurtful.

Yawn.

It’s time to move on.  ”Wow!  That was racist.  He just assumes that all black people grew up on food stamps in a single parent home.  Wow.  Logical fallacies, anyone?  Now let’s see that math homework.”

When I was a we’en, I had black kids throw rocks at me because I was nerdy.  I had white kids tell me that everything they liked about me was inherently white — intelligence, affability, articulate, uh, -ness, etc.  I was a “good one” to them.

Maybe I’m still confused because sometimes I think my views about race are alienating.  I’m glad to read comments that let me know I’m not alone, though.  Oh.  Context.

Speaking of Context

Black Voices on Facebook — I don’t remember subscribing to that page — had some thought provoking articles (and comments, of course) today.  That’s what got this mental ball rolling for me.

Some Dutch Newspaper thought it was okay to refer to Rihanna as a “nigga bitch”.  Kind of tongue in cheek considering that she referred to her inner nigga coming out during an altercation in a previous tweet.  There were some other interesting ones, too.  Terence Howard’s former wife was apparently a racist who would call him “monkey” and “nigger”.  Haha.  I laugh because that raises sooooo many questions.

My brain is all over the place tonight so I don’t know if this is cohesive.  I’ll just say one last thing.

It’s like when the Church, Catholic or otherwise, gets all bent out of shape every time someone says/creates or does something overtly and intentionally offensive about Jesus.  They’re counting on you to make a big stink about it in public so that they get more attention/hits/money/ads/play time/air time.

It makes me glad to read comments that are saying, let’s stop being reactionary.  We’re past that.  Let’s move on and get working being a better us.

I’ve come a long way.  I’ve still got a long way to go.  I’m going to have to turn up the heat again, huh.  It’s not time to rest.  Not time to slow down.  It’s time to get busy.  I’m hoping that this post will help motivate you somehow.  I’m hoping that it helps motivate me, this conversation with my former self.

Click here to see all of my LGN (I want to Look Good Naked) and functional strength training posts.

Babyji

Okay. Maybe it isn’t just because of the carbs. I swear that I’m part bear.  This time of year when I get home to my cluttered apartment — I really want to move closer to the city or at least inside the beltway — all I want to do is sit in the dark on the floor wrapped in comforters and surrounded by pillows.  Watch a goodbad movie.  My social metabolism, which is mellow at best, slows down to a crawl.  My dog, Leika, used to be a good motivator to get outside regularly, drive around, go home to visit my family and relatives in Baltimore, and interact with strangers.  I really do miss my pack.  It was a pack of two, but it was a damn good pack.

Now I have to hack my psychology.  That’s part of what the strength training is about.  Aside from all of the pragmatics, it gets me out of the house and around other people.  Energetic, encouraging people with a similar mindset and drive even though our goals are variations on a theme.  It’s fun.  It gives you a boost — the challenging workout, the humor, the learning.  Is good, da.

For me, it’s a start.  These are the kind of people I want to be around.  Here’s the thing, though.

Alone Time

I like being alone. I don’t like being lonely but I’m more comfortable alone than I am in a crowd, for sure. I hate bars and clubs.  In fact, unless I have something g to do — like take photos — I can’t stand being in a bar or similar setting.  Even at casual parties, you may notice that I wander off every once in a while.  To explore and to catch a breath.

So, I really enjoy and need to have copious alone time to recharge and stay sane and yet I want a vibrant social life and relationships.  It’s a conundrum.  I get stuck.  And this time of year especially my motivation to do anything can seriously lag.

But you have to get out of your comfort zone, right. If you want something you’ve never had you have to do things you’ve never done. And I have at points but I suppose you can never stop challenging yourself.

I am perfectly content to sit or lay on the floor in the dark wrapped in comforters watching TV with popcorn and a drink of some kind. Diet Coke with a splash of unsweetened cranberry juice.  But I’ll start to feel guilty about it and by the evening I start getting cabin fever.  After a day and a half of that, it dawns on me that homo sapiens are social by nature and isolation can be a kind of pain.

So what’s an advanced introvert to do?

Motivator

When I get in a rut, here’s what I do.  I look at these pictures.

That’s me.  Like a fine wine, huh?  I can’t find the pics of me as a toddler with an afro.  When I do…

I look at that little guy and imagine having a conversation with him.  I’d ask him, like:

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

“A fireman!  Or a policeman or a race car driver!  Or a doctor!”

I’d say, “One of these things isn’t quite like the others.  A doctor, huh?  Why?”

He’d think about it a little and say something kid-like.  ”Because they help people.  And because Mommy is a nurse.”

“That’s right.  She is.  Well, leave your options open, buddy.  There are a lot other ways to help people, too.  Doctor is good.  A lot of school, but it’s good if you want to help people.”

He would think about that and look at me.  ”Are you a doctor?”

“No.”

I imagine a flash of disappointment on his face.  You know how kids will just decide to move on from something that troubles them.  Abrupt subject change.

He asks, “How old are you?  I’m four years old.”

“Well, you’re only holding up two fingers but I get the point.  I’m, uh, 39.”

“Wow!  That’s almost one hundred!”

“No it is not almost one hundred.  It’s almost forty.”

“And forty is almost one hundred million billion fillion!”

Then I would change the subject.  ”So you’re going to be a grownup some day, yeh?”

“Uh huh.  I’m going to drive a motorcycle when I grow up.”

Dare to dream, little me.  I would ask him, “So if you could give yourself some advice.  If you could talk to grownup you, what would you say?”

“I talk to myself sometimes.”

“Oh yes.  Yes you do.  What would you tell grownup you.  Here.  Let me see that.  Is that a Lego man?  Pretend that this little yellow Lego man is you all grown up?  What would you say to him?”

Little Gary thinks about it for a while trying to think of a right answer.  I say, “There’s no right or wrong answer.  Just — what would you say?  Anything you want.  What would you want him to know?”

Little Me says, “When I grow up — that’s me?”

“Yes.  Pretend that’s you.  But later.  What would you say?”

His eyes would get wide with the possibilities and he’d say, “Be a superhero!!”

“Whoa!  A superhero?  That’s a tall order.”

“Because a superhero can fly.  And has strong muscles that go all the way to the moon and  helps people.  And’s super smart.  And I doesn’t have to eat yucky things and do anything I want.”

“Yucky things like stewed tomatoes and cream chipped beef, right?”

“Yuck!

“No, I’m with you on that one.  So what if I told you that I’m you?”

Can you imagine the puppy-like perplexed look I’d get?  I would ask him, “What do you want to be like when you grow up?  Do you want to be a daddy?”

“Yes.  I want to be a daddy and be married to a mommy and have fiveteen babies.  And a dog.  And a cat named Bert and Ernie.”

“Two cats?”

“No!  A cat named ‘Bert and Ernie’.”

Ah, kids say the darndest things.  He’d interrupt my attempt to not laugh out loud by saying, “Are you a daddy?”

“No, but I want to be.  I definitely — I mean, some day.  I’m kind of running behind here.  Time flies.  You get — I mean, it’s easy to get caught up in things and before you know it, y’know, you’re, like, 39.”

Some kids are more empathetic than others.  He’d say, “You look sad.  Are you sad?”

“No.  I–”

“Are you happy??”

How do you answer a question like that from a little mind?  Poorly.  ”Well.  I’m happy to be alive.  Happy to be able to do so many things and to see so much in the world.  We get to see new things that never were before.  We can do lots of things.  Like write and play music and draw.  You’re going to love the mountain bikes.  They’re going to blow your mind, little man.  And you’ll meet so many amazing people and make friends all over the country and even all over the world.  And your family will take care of you and love you and …”

Of course, at that point he’d get distracted by his Legos or Lincoln Logs or PlayDoh or Lite Brite.  Kids will be kids.

“Well, okay,” I’d say.  ”It was good to see you.  You’ve got a lot to look forward to.”

Even as I’d say it, I’d feel a pang of sorrow for all those who he’ll lose some day.  The hard things in life that you can’t be prepared for.  And I would think about sitting here alone in my apartment on the floor in the dark wrapped in comforters.  I would think about all of the things going on out in the world that I’m missing out on.  I’d think of all the people in relationships or experiencing the excitement of meeting someone new.   The giddiness of a new attraction.  I’d think of what I could be doing to not be overweight and uncomfortable with myself.

“Okay, little Gary.  I’m going to go now.  I’ve got some things I need to get cracking on.  You give your mom and dad a big hug for me, okay?”

“Daddy doesn’t live with us anymore.”

“I know.  It’s okay.  You’ll see him before too long.  And you know what?”

“What.”

“You’ll get a stepfather, too.  It’s like having two fathers.”

“Two.  Daddies?”

“And some day, a little sister.  You’ll have a big sister and a little sister.  But look.  I have to go now.  You be good.  Be.  Good.  Okay?”

He would sense a little gravity and then say, “Are you going to go be a superhero?”

“Tell you what.  I may not be a superhero.  But I will do what I can to help people.  And I will be strong and smart and I’ll use my not-quite super powers to make the world a better place.  And I’ll take care of you.”

Maybe that would distract from his toys for a second.  ”Take care of me?”

“Yes.  I’ll see to it that you have a good life.  Hopefully, a good long life.  You’re going to live up to your potential.  That’s a promise, dude.”

I’m sure he’d be wondering what “potential” means.  But that’s okay.  He reads a lot and learns his way around a dictionary.

Potential

I mean, really.  How can you let a little kid down?  How can you just sit on the dreams of your inner child?

I get frustrated sometimes.  Working out can be the perfect metaphor for the rest of your life.  The other aspects.  What are you willing to do?  How much discomfort or even pain can you take?  How hard will you push yourself to reach your goals?  What stops you?  How do you get around that?  Where do you get your information?  Who do you spend your time with?  Are you willing to accept and follow advice?  Are you willing to step up?

I’m very concerned about living up to my physical potential right now.  Because I know it’s a linchpin for so many things.  Being and feeling confident in your appearance.  Having the energy to pursue hobbies and interests.  Being able to physically do the things you want to do.  Setting the timbre of the rest of your life.

Is it going to be full of pain and discomfort?  Will I have all kinds of mysterious ailments and write it off as bad luck/karma and ignore the fact that I’m either dangerously or uncomfortably overweight?  Will I let bad habits destroy my quality of life?

That’s unacceptable.  And knowing what I know, I have no excuse.  Stuff happens, sure.  You never know what’s going to happen.  There are no guarantees, but that’s not an excuse.  It’s not a license to not make an effort.

Feel free to hold me to that, friends.  And feel free to join me.  If your conscience is panging, maybe it’s time.

Rome Wasn’t Built in a Day. But Rome was built.

This is about music and women.  Bear with me.  I’ll get there.  You’ll see what I mean.

“On Why Jazz Isn’t Cool Anymore”

A few musicians on Facebook shared this link:

http://nicholaspayton.wordpress.com/2011/11/27/on-why-jazz-isnt-cool-anymore/

If you have time, please read a little bit of that.  It’s an oddly circuitous prose.

I kind of agree with the sentiment.  Kind of.  Jazz is now in the same category, largely, as classical music.  It seems to be in a state of preservation vs. innovation.  Whatever that means for music.  No.  Let me restate that.  It’s a nostalgia industry, which explains why a lot of photogenic Caucasian musicians with styles channeling the old jazz masters and legends are at the top of the charts.

BITCHES

Nicholas Payton is going out on a limb, kind of, to say bump all that.  I’m going to do my thing.  Like it or leave it.  His latest release is titled “Bitches”.

I listened to most of it today.  I think Nicholas Payton is brilliant.  He’s multi-talented, creative, with a sly yet raw sense of humor.  A friend once told me a quote about how one can’t truly be an artist if one is hindered by what others will think of one’s art.  I respect Payton for going his own route and acting on his vision to make the music he wants to make.  Labels be damned.

I looked online for some reviews.  They were all glowing.  But I’m not into “Bitches”.

I realized that the album is a true reflection, or vice versa, of Payton’s blog entry.  There’s a theme and a cadence and inner cadence.  A statement.  A story arc.  A conclusion.  I definitely got the sense that the same process of creation produced his blog and the songs on the album.

Musically, it has a consistent vibe but much of it is groove oriented to the exclusion of chord changes.  (I don’t mean blistering ii V I’s either.  I’ll take a two or three chord jam over a one chord jam any day.)  That’s a personal pet peeve of mine.  Most people wouldn’t notice and wouldn’t care about that.  It makes me feel like I’m sitting in a car in traffic, though.  I just want to go somewhere.  Just want to move.

GETTING ATTENTION

This whole thing is ingenious.  Step away from the jazz rut.  Making more of a R&B album with singing and grooves.  Give it a controversial name that will definitely start much conversation.  Keep your blog in the loop while you tour and promote.

It’s great marketing.  Much respect.  I mean, heck.  Along with many others I’m talking about it, right.

CONFUSION

But I’m kind of confused by the reviews.  They all state that there’s nothing misogynistic about the release.  I mean, if you listen to the whole thing as a concept it’s like watching a black romance movie that’s written from a male point of view and without any moralizing.

But the song “Bitches”, lyrically, is … you know.  Bitches ain’t s—, basically.  The hip-hop generation brand of misogyny.

It’s the resentful dude after a break up vibe.  Uh.  Sausage meat?   Really?

I mean.  Lyrically, the album is sometimes a little crass and, for lack of a better word, immature in the way that Cee Lo is crass.  You never know what’s going to come out of his mouth but he manages to make it entertaining somehow.

You know.  In truth, I guess it is like the arc of a lot of relationships.

“Bitches.”  Attention grabbing, yes.  Misogynistic.  Yeh.  Tame compared to a lot of the bullcrap out there, though.

CONTEXT

[2 days later]

I couldn’t find the right words so I was stuck on this one.  Then I saw this on Facebook and that got the wheels rolling again.  It’s a blog entry titled “Where is the love in R&B music?“

Exactly!  R&B isn’t about romance anymore.  That’s not just old man ranting either.  There’s a marked change.  In the late 60′s and early 70′s many black men referred to black women as “queens”.  For all the good that did in the long run.  But there was a kind of respect of sorts.  ”We made it through.  Post-civil rights struggle.  We’ve got freedom.  We’re black and we’re proud.  Of ourselves and of each other.  Now … come on over to my place and turn off the lights.”

Whereas it used to be about seduction, romance, maybe consummation, break ups, heart break, infidelity and reconciliation; it’s now about “I’m rich, bitch.  You’re a dime piece.  %$@! my %$#@!”

Followed by descriptions of from which angle the lyrical narrator is going to hit It and the approximate duration — all night.

It’s more … I don’t know.  Feral.  Nihilistic.  Selfish.  It’s a step back.  Back a few centuries for some of us.  Not so much for others.

The R&B blog on CNN also helped to tie in some other things I read the day that I started this entry.

Karzai orders release of rape victim

No.  That’s not a typo.  You read it correctly.  A woman was raped by her cousin’s husband and subsequently she was PUT IN JAIL because she didn’t want to marry her rapist.  You rape her, you own her??  Then later, after international outcry, they said she was in jail because she didn’t report the rape immediately.  Blood beginning to simmer.

And that led to this:

Gunmen spray Afghan woman with acid after refusing marriage

Self explanatory.  Blood … boiling.

That internet rabbit trail happened to take me to Afghanistan, but there are plenty of US news stories along similar lines over the past few years.  Woman rejects man.  Man does what?   Throws bleach on all her clothes.  Kills her and her child.  Or throws flammable liquid on woman and sets her on fire.  Kills woman, woman’s relatives, sometimes then kills himself.

Man finds himself in financial trouble.  What does he do?  Kills his entire family and then himself.

What kind of twisted, pathologically, maniacally egocentric asshole  is that fragile that he feels that another human being shouldn’t be allowed to live without him?  Where are these dudes learning this?  Who is affirming these notions, intentionally or otherwise?  Consciously or otherwise?

This isn’t Fair

So that’s what was on my mind when I was listening to “Bitches”.  I’m just not into this adversarial R&B “love” song thing.

It’s not fair to put all that societal baggage on display and then refer to Payton’s CD.  I know it.

But that whole “I love you, baby” thing followed by “Oh, I’m disillusioned.  Bitches.”

Brilliant, creative, fun or otherwise.  I’m not diggin’ it.

But you don’t have to take my word for it.  (Hi, Levar.)

I’m curious what other people think.  On a scale from 1 to 10, how much should I lighten up?

I didn’t expect it to be good news but man. Grandma Young, my father’s mother passed away yesterday.

The last two times I saw Grandma were at Aunt Norma’s funeral back in March and my dad’s funeral (and funeral home meeting) last October.

Her memory wasn’t what it used to be. I hadn’t seen her in a long while so every time she saw me she had to be reminded of who I am. I forgot sometimes and would give her a hug and kiss on the cheek and she’d have a expression like, “Oh what a friendly stranger.”

Then someone would say, “That’s Gary, grandma.”

And she’d say, “Oh! You fool me every time.”

When I was a kid my big sister and I would stay with our father every other weekend and we’d spend time at Grandma Young’s house.

I used to love that wraparound porch — it made games of Tag and Hide and Seek interesting — and all of the warm energy there.  The big trees with roots buckling the pavement.  From the basement to the attic there’d be some family there. Or family friends. Sometimes she wouldn’t have much room because she’d have so many people over.  Like, living there.   She was a devout giver and a nurturer.

Kids out in front playing Double Dutch, Chinese jump rope, or hopscotch. And the food! The food.

My father’s side of the family has always been very affectionate whereas my mother’s side is more stoic. But all of that love and warmth and affection — grandma was the source of that.

My car is in the shop today so i thought I’d capitalize on the opportunity to spontaneously wander. I’m sitting on the big steps on the side of the Lincoln Memorial right now. It’s a beautiful day. The sun is shining through the the columns and casting a long, framed shadow of me down on to the grass and trees.

It’s great to see all of the people out today. Some from very far away. Kids are running around me right now and making life and fun out of a relatively somber memorial.

Point taken, kids. Keep up the good work.

Being that yesterday was Thanksgiving it reminds to say that I’m thankful for her. And to Mia and Junie for taking such good care of her. And the Young family in general.

I do not look forward to yet another funeral, but I do look forward to seeing the family, despite the circumstances.

Rest in peace, Grandma.

Live in joy, everyone.

Take care of yourselves, people. Live long and prosper.