Half the Man I Used to Be

JP exactly 82 pounds ago.
It's also clearly JP from the mirror universe since he's sporting a hideously evil goatee.

As a few readers have hinted in the comments to my previous posts, I could be undervaluing my own achievements lately (curse you, Impostor Syndrome!). So to counter my feelings of career-oriented inferiority, this post is completely and unabashedly dedicated to tooting my own horn and gloating proudly.

In the last four years, I've lost 85 pounds! And Jenny Craig, Subway, and Atkins had no part of it. This was all done with diet, exercise, and an overabundance of free time.

The weight loss scheme began way back at the end of my junior year of undergrad. Back then I weighed 335 lbs (oh yes, that's a lot). At the time, I wasn't happy with my weight, but I had no immediate plans for losing it, and I never truly pursued any long-term plans for a diet. Then one day that all changed. A friend's girlfriend's friend needed a date to a sorority formal at Thiel College, so me being the charming and single one in the vicinity, I was asked to go. I guess she was so desperate to go that her standards just went right out the window. Unfortunately, the only suit I had stretched pretty snugly over my doughy physique. Rather then shell out money for a new suit, I figured I could fit into it pretty well if I lost five pounds before the formal, which was still three weeks away. Apparently my frugality trumped my desire for tasty treats because I pulled it off, and the suit fit well enough for me to go out on the dance floor and make a fool of myself.

But I didn't stop with just five pounds. For some reason, this little jump motivated me immensely because during the summer between my junior and senior years, I lost 40 pounds. I've since been told that it's not uncommon for that initial burst of motivation to almost feel like a light-switch coming on, and the reasons can be downright bizarre in retrospect. That certainly held true in my case.

My long road to being a slimmer giant wasn't always easy, but I had a lot of help. My mom being a respected and very talented dietician and personal trainer certainly made things a lot easier, though I'm sure she got sick of me whining all the time about how hard my paltry bench presses were using just the bar in those early days. She has my unending gratitude!

I didn't keep up the frenetic pace of that first summer, but by the time I started graduate school, I'd lost another 20 lbs. and was sitting comfortably at 269 lbs with high hopes of losing more during my two years at WVU.

Then grad school started, and I learned what it means to be a "stress eater."

Apparently, I have the dietary habits of a middle-aged woman, because when I get stressed out, I want to curl up on the sofa with a container of Ben & Jerry's and a bag of Salt & Vinegar chips while I watch cartoons and complain loudly to whoever might be nearby. I'm filled with murderous envy at people who *can't* eat when stressed. I saw the weight gain happening, but with papers to grade, books to read, papers to write, and a swirling abyss of a future filled with fail hovering ahead of me, I just didn't care. Over the two years in grad school, I gained back 30 lbs. I just tipped the scales at 300 lbs. last summer when I decided that it was time to buckle down again and get this flabby bulge off of me.

The snacking was the hardest thing to eliminate. I was loving my daily combo of evening snacks and TV. It was hard, and I still fall into old habits from time to time, but now I can watch TV at night without feeling the compulsory need to snack at the same time. I try not to deny myself any kinds of food. I just try to limit the amounts. That way if I'm really jonesing for an Oreo Klondike, I can just eat one and not sit there angrily munching on carrots. But now I can stop at just one.

It's been 10 months, and I'm 50 lbs. lighter. I'm a happy little unemployed blogger. At 253 lbs, I haven't been this light since before I was in high school. I can wear reasonably-sized clothing now. I fit comfortably into theater seats. My sardine-can-sized car actually seems roomier. I have more energy and stamina. And I'm looking damned good. I'm a very pretty man!

Though I will admit, I really want the man-boobs go away. I was hoping they'd do so on their own, but they're still noticably present, and while it can be fun to flaunt a nice perky rack, I'd rather they weren't there. I still have plenty more weight to lose so we'll see. My goal was once 250 lbs, but having essentially achieved that goal, I think I can do better. My new goal is now 230 lbs. That may or may not have something to do with that being the maximum weight for being able to skydive. I can certainly hold a grudge. :) If the aforementioned he-hooters are still around then, I may consider having them removed through other means.

I just hope that I can keep up my new healthier lifestyle. I now know that my dietary habits respond very poorly to stress, so I do worry about what will happen once I start taking classes in the fall and then teaching after that. It's a constant battle, and while I'm sure I'll bugger it up from time to time, I like to think that I'm generally on a road to a better place.

Or at least I might end up being the thinnest guy in the unemployment line!

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They say pride cometh before the fall, so hopefully my gloating won't be followed by an ice cream and taco binge of epic proportions. Besides, fall doesn't come for another four months.

By the Book

Look closely: he's reading a book called "Enemy Pie"

My current career path towards a glamorous and financially rewarding life as a high school English teacher occasionally gives me pause. While I'm conflicted on how to continue my long-running heroin addiction while teaching and moonlighting as a whale poacher, I think I'm most concerned by the fact that there is a significant portion of the so-called "classics" of literature that I've never read.

I stumbled upon a list of books that all high school students should read, and that got me thinking about all of the "traditional" books that have, for one reason or another, failed to be inserted into my scrambled brain. I've never read any of these:

Moby Dick
The Grapes of Wrath
For Whom the Bell Tolls
Anything by T.S. Eliot, Henry James, or James Joyce (though I once attempted Ulysses and failed spectacularly)
Catch-22 (despite two attempts to get through it)
The Divine Comedy
Anything by Dickens (except A Christmas Carol)
Little Women
Pride and Prejudice
Most of Faulkner
Anything by Mark Twain (except Huckleberry Finn)

The last one really irritates me because Mark Twain is full of win. His essays still bring chuckles even if they're only taking acerbic potshots at opponents of the Knights of Labor or Freemasonry.

I'm a product of a literary education that emphasized a more varied approach to teaching literature. In high school we read things like Cry the Beloved Country and The Joy Luck Club - books that would never have been assigned 50 years ago. Of course, if my English degree is worth even slightly more than the paper it's printed on (and that's a dubious claim even now), I can say with some certainty that the traditional or "canonical" works of literature are not necessarily required anymore. A lot of different stuff is available to teach, and I think it would make class more interesting because you get to read material written by folks who may not have been as respected in their time.

I know that anyone who hires me will understand if I haven't read one book or another. Administrators can't possibly expect for their candidates to have read every single book in the literary canon. But I worry that students and parents may not be so understanding. Suppose some ambitious student read Moby Dick the previous year and wants to blab about it in class. My knowledge is limited to a phenomenal summary a guy at grad school came up with, ("They killed a whale... it took awhile") and Khan growling to nobody, "From hell's heart I stab at thee!!!" in Star Trek II. How am I supposed to look like an authority when I haven't read some of the most well-known "Englishy" books out there.

I will say in my favor that I have an unnatural affection for Shakespeare. And that has nothing to do with the eyepatch-wearing, Shakespeare-quoting, bald Klingon from Star Trek VI. In fact, I even know quite a bit about some of the plays I never even read (Thanks Wikipedia!!). I'm a big fan of bombastic theatrics, and nobody does theatrics quite like Billy S. (Save perhaps Gilbert and Sullivan, but I still have some masculine pride). Shakespeare is still the tops. Nobody fucketh with thy Bard!

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Three Star Trek references (including an obscure one) in a post that has nothing to do with Star Trek! I've outdone myself! (And I'm never getting laid again.)

We Few, We Happy Few

As I've mentioned many times before on this blog, I don't believe in God, an afterlife, or any sort of ethereal realm containing spirits and the ascended form of Zombie Jesus. Most of the time, I'm content to simply ignore questions of life-after-death since I'm not confronted with it on a daily basis, but since today is Memorial Day, I figured the topic might be worth a few imaginary beard scratchings.

Memorial Day is a tricky thing. The idea behind it is that we honor the soldiers who have given their lives in service of their country. But what does it even mean to "honor" them? Today I marched with the Firemen's Band in the Memorial Day parade. I love those old Sousa marches, and I always get a thrill out of playing "The Stars and Stripes Forever" (even though the trombone part is out of my range and surprisingly complex). The crowds really seem to love them too. We always get big cheers wherever we play.

But you know who I don't see anywhere along the parade route? Dead soldiers.

For all the talk we have about Memorial Day being for the dead, it's really about people who are still alive. The dead don't care. Even supposing that there is some spirit realm where they're deading it up with Jesus, Budda, and the Flying Spaghetti Monster, I would think that the soldiers would have a lot more interesting things to do with their disembodied selves than to watch a parade down in the asscrack of the Allegheny Valley.

I don't even think Memorial Day is really for Veterans even though they always seem to be very emotionally invested in the festivities. They don't need a day to remember the military. Getting your ass shot at by hoardes of Nazis is probably something you can remember without my ass tooting "Semper Fidelis" on my horn. In fact, I think Memorial Day is ideally directed toward we cowardly folk who never had any desire to serve in the armed forces. Willingly choosing to be shot after enduring basic training at the mercy of a drill instructor whose force of will could probably shatter my spine is no small sacrifice.

I'm a cowardly sort of fellow, and I know I would have crumbled immediately under fire. I imagine myself curling into the fetal position, sobbing loudly, and giving up valuable American secrets to any inquisitive interrogator who threatened to tickle my feet. I also don't think that those aforementioned drill instructors respond well to snarky backtalk or childish giggling in the ranks. Back in days of yore, they'd round up all the peasant folk and force them into battle against whatever nearby fiefdom the king had managed to piss off that week. As a penniless peon who happens to be the size of a small moose, I know I'd be drafted under that system in no time. Thank you soldiers for ensuring that my laissez-faire lifestyle can continue uninterrupted.

I do get annoyed when remembering fallen soldiers is conflated with celebrating America. That's what the Fourth of July is for. Stay in your own damn month, America. Sometimes soldiers do die during noble American missions, but oftentimes, soldiers die because America fucks up. Should we remember the soldiers who liberated concentration camps more fondly than those who got us cheaper gas prices? Not at all. In fact, that's why I respect those in the armed forces. You've signed up to follow the orders of someone you'd never met beforehand, and you may end up dead for a completely worthless cause. People line up in droves to volunteer for military service when they believe in the cause (WWII being a prime example), but how many of us would sign up for ANYTHING we were asked to die for. Theoretically, you could die because some general sent you into battle because his cousin, who happens to command the opposing army, slept with his wife last week (I think that may have been the plot of a Shakespeare play or two).

Sometimes young men and women sign up for the military for stupid reasons. They may not care a whit about protecting anybody. They might be in it for the benefits, to escape a bad home life, or because they need a job. In which case, their deaths should weigh even more heavily on us. There are probably a great many soldiers overseas who hate being there, but even if they would have preferred not to sacrifice, they still do. Some poor guy might have signed up for the Army Reserve, confident that he'd remain stateside, but then he stepped on a landmine on his first trip abroad. Memorial Day is exactly the time to think about the complexities of military service - the pros, cons, and TV shows - that are typically ignored.

Even if a soldier dies for a lousy reason, that has value to we breathing humans. We can think back on it and realize that maybe we don't want to go to war for just any old reason. Save our soldiers for raiding chocolate and cheeses from Switzerland. In fact, I think I'm going to write a very strongly worded letter to the Pentagon asking for exactly that.

Don't just remember the dead, today. The dead are dead. Think about their history and how that affects you. And support your local tromboners who play at Memorial Day parades. We're a charming and dashing bunch!

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"Never worry about the bullet with your name on it. Instead, worry about shrapnel addressed to 'occupant.'"

Incriminating Trek Pics: Volume 1

KHAN NOONIEN SINGH

LOVES A GOOD BLOWJOB!

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SCOTTY
JUST RAPED AND KILLED A MAN

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JAMES T. KIRK
SAYS HIS CAPTAIN'S LOG IS SO MUCH BIGGER

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Q
GOT CAUGHT MASTURBATING

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"I'd like to get my hands on her ample nacelles if you'll pardon the engineering parlance."

No Brains, No Talent, No Service

My employers seldom fail to come up with interesting ways to exploit my meager collection of skills. Today's task was by far the most explicit reminder of my past life: I graded papers.

Now these were not just any papers. Mr. Employer is a proud member of the Rotary organization, and they award a reasonably-sized scholarship to a deserving student in the area who has demonstrated a commitment to community service. Students wishing to apply for this scholarship have to submit an essay explaining why they deserve it, and then the Rotary members are supposed to read these essays and rate which is the best. Well Mr. Employer/Delegator decided that I would be perfect for this task, so I was given roughly 24 essays on the subject of "Service Over Self."

The 17-18 year-old age group has a writing style with which I am intimately familiar, but it's been so long since I've been wrist deep in a steaming pile of essays that I'd forgotten just what terrible writers the vast majority of high school graduates are. But this wasn't simply an exercise in assessing their writing styles, so I turned my attention to the content and tried to see who could best write about the personal and social importance of community service. I'm hardly a noted humanitarian, so I felt like I was headed into difficult waters. These were seas best left to an expert navigator like Virgil, who essentially pioneered the service learning program in the English department down at Dub-V. I only got the briefest taste of that world, and I don't know how she chews on it every single day.

These kids have no concept of what community service means. As I said, I'm a terrible person with regards to helping others, but at least I know and understand the causes that I'm being completely callous towards. A surprising number of essays referred to community service as "burdensome" (in some cases that was the exact word used), and even though they quickly followed that with some variation of "but it was extremely rewarding," I couldn't help but sense that they felt forced to do the work. I may not be involved with any official organization, but I've occasionally decided to ignore my disdain for humanity and help others. While the work can be difficult, I always feel really good about it. Granted, part of that comes from my inner voices telling me what a great person I am for helping, but I like to think that some part of me enjoys seeing the impact that my work has on others.

The best parts of these essays were the moments where they tried to convey just how selfless they are. As I mentioned, the topic of the essay was "Service Over Self," so I suspect that these budding humanitarians were trying to squeeze every last drop of sincerity into explaining how they always put others over their own well-being. My favorite line has to be, "I always put myself last." I guffawed out loud at that one. Apparently someone needs to put Sally Selfless on the suicide watch list. Not only is that statement highly unlikely, but it also sounds like the person has the self-esteem of a grapefruit. Another fine young student said that helping to find a cure for cancer was one of the most rewarding experiences of his life. Of course, his contribution to the ongoing research involved selling candy bars when the proceeds went toward cancer research. I wouldn't award him the Nobel Prize just yet.

A few snowflakes really never seemed to grasp the concept of "volunteer" work. One gentleman said that while he got paid to be a lifeguard, his dedication to the job invoked the spirit of community service. I spoke to the Spirit of Community Service on my Ouija board, and he said you're a ball-bag. Yet another claimed that working at the hospital snack bar could be described as "helping the less fortunate."

I was not alone in my project. Mr. and Mrs. Employer have company this week, and they recruited two of the women to read essays as well. One of them couldn't have been more qualified - she's a professor of social work at the University of North Carolina and now works with the continuing education department. On the off chance that maybe I'd been away from students too long and was being too critical of their work (or maybe that I was just uninformed in the ways of service), I asked her what she thought of the essays. Her opinion of the essays made me look like the most understanding reader on the planet. I've never heard such sadness and despair (bordering on contempt and vitriol) for student writing. While there was clearly a winner in the pile (thus allowing us to successfully complete the task), she and I agreed that the whole process made us simultaneously fear for the future of community service and writing.

Sometimes I can't believe I want to get back into teaching, but then I read stuff like that, and I'm actually more committed to being a teacher (or more likely to be committed to an asylum), because SOMEBODY has to try to stop the pandemic spread of stupidity in high school essays. I mean, good gravy!! Some people actually have to read this shit!

Virgil, if I wore a hat, I would tip it in respect to your skills. I imagine you have to sit down with just about every one of your special little learners and say, "I'm sorry, darlin', but y'all can't consider helping grandma in the kitchen as community service."

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HIGH SCHOOLER WISDOM: "In these modern times, helping the less fortunate is very important." -- Because in the past, nobody ever needed help.

I Give It Two of Your Earth Thumbs Up

Was there a Gorn fight? No, but I'll restrain myself and not hold that against the movie.

All things considered, the new Star Trek is a truly epic movie. I loved every minute of it, and I really think that you will too. This is easily the most public-friendly Star Trek movie since The Voyage Home (AKA the one with the whales). You don't have to know jack about the Star Trek universe to understand the film, though there are dozens of little tidbits thrown in for those of us who have a better understanding of the border disputes between the Federation and the Cardassians on Setlik III than any real world political situation.

I didn't think that I'd truly buy the new cast. Oh sure, I figured they'd be fine actors, but I thought that I'd constantly be comparing them to the originals. But after a few minutes, you completely believe that Chris Pine is a young Captain James T. Kirk. He even beds an green Orion girl. Despite his public reputation, Kirk never actually did hit on any Orion Slave Girls in the TV series, so new Kirk already has one up on Kirk Prime.

The new movie doesn't completely disregard the old Star Trek universe. Nero, the primary villain, is a Romulan from the future in the original universe (like the timeframe of The Next Generation movies or thereabouts). The Romulan sun goes supernova and obliterates Romulus. Nero happens to be near the black hole that was created by the star's explosion and is sent back in time. He's really jacked that the Federation did nothing to help the Romulans, and he's going to take his revenge by blowing shit up real good. Meanwhile, someone else from the original timeline (a fairly well-known someone) has traveled back in time to help defeat Nero.

The dialogue offers a lot of very clever and funny bits. Bones and Scotty are particularly hilarious, and they even manage to make fun of Chekov's inability to pronounce the letter "V" (a dilemma that Batmite will sympathize with, I'm sure).

The movie has a relentless pace, which is both a plus and a minus. On the one hand, there is never a dull moment, so if you're checking your watch at any point, then you're either in the wrong theater or suffering from some serious OCD. However, the fast pacing of the movie also keeps the emotional impact of some moments from being fully realized, and Nero's motivations are occassionally glossed over. For instance, I don't think that the inital "planet-shattering" distress call early in the movie builds the tension as well as it should; however, the payoff to this part of the movie is phenominal so I can deal. Also, if you have a problem with spinning and hand-held camera shots, you may want to bring a vomit bag. It's not that distracting, but it's noticable enough that I could imagine some people being sensitive to it. This is, after all, the same director who brought us Cloverfield.

The audience wasn't quite the cavalcade of costumed freakdom that I'd been hoping for, but they certainly didn't seem out of place at a Star Trek screening. One gentleman several rows behind me looked like a Klingon in human form - complete with a burly beard and long flowing locks. The only person in costume was one guy that I saw entering the theater just as I was leaving. He was wearing an old school Captain's uniform as his shirt with faded blue jeans. I commended this man's half-assed commitment to his ensemble. It's like he said to himself, "I'll wear the Captain's tunic complete with rank insignia and Starfleet logo, but I'll be damned if I'm going to wear the black pants and boots. I still have my dignity!"

While waiting for the movie to start, I heard the general plot summary to the next movie that I have to see. As the gentleman behind me explained to his friend on the phone, a humanoid alien played by the guy who played Jesus in The Passion of the Christ comes to Earth to join forces with Vikings to take down an alien creature from the future. Is there anything in that description that doesn't sound sweet? By Googling "aliens" "vikings" and "space," I was able to determine that the movie is called Outlander. This B-movie is definitely going on my A-shelf next to Santa Claus Conquers the Martians and Death Bed: The Bed That Eats.

But that's a movie for another post. For the time being, do yourself a huge favor and buy a ticket to the new Star Trek movie. They won't make another movie for me unless enough of you go see this one. And in this case, the needs of the one outweigh the needs of the many.

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"My ship, whom I love like a woman, is disabled."

Gorn Porn Not Included

That's right, normies! It's a GORN BOBBLEHEAD!! It's only the most rocking gift ever, and that's not just because the Gorn's primary attack is throwing large boulders. Proving that she understands the geektastic existence that I lead, my mom bought me this bobblehead. I don't care if the website for these bobbleheads claims that they're recommended for ages 5 to 8. It fits right in with my Hot Pink Jesus and Green Lantern plushy. My mother gave me the choice between this and a talking Mr. Spock bobblehead that says three lines: "Live long and prosper," "Fascinating," and "You are, after all, essentially irrational." (The last one is a bit of an odd choice, I thought) I was tempted, but I just couldn't pass up the Gorn.

The Gorn has gained something of a cult status as being the worst foe ever faced by Captain Kirk. In fact, if you Google the words "Worst fight scene ever," this will be the first result:

The timing of the gift was exceptional. In less than 19 hours, I will be sitting in an IMAX theater enjoying the brand new Star Trek movie. I purchased my tickets last week for the earliest possible showing, which turned out to be a day before the full release. I know the kinds of people who will go to this kind of showing, and those are the moviegoers that I want to be surrounded by. I want to share the auditorium with Mr. Spock's bespectacled Asian doppleganger and the tubby balding guy who's loudly bitching that he doesn't need the subtitles to understand the Klingon dialogue. The general public will likely wait until the actual Friday release date content to fill their Thursday night with sports that aren't Romulan in origin and fantasies about women who aren't painted green. You well-adjusted folks are not welcome at my screening!

When I decide to shout at the screen because the screen on the Enterprise's bridge isn't displaying the warp factor properly, I want a room full of people who will join me in their outrage. I don't need people shushing me or pulling their offspring away from any adjacent seats. This will be my chance to get my geek on without worrying about what anyone else thinks.

And if some recreation of this scene occurs...
Then I'm immediately going outside and leaping in front of a bus because life can't possibly get better after that.

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"After a time, you may find that "having" is not so pleasing a thing, after all, as "wanting." It is not logical, but it is often true." - Spock wisdom that will hopefully not be true of this new movie.