Well folks, I've passed 25 pounds by a couple, and am down to 357 pounds. I got my 25 pound token, which is basically just a hardware washer stamped "25."
Still it means something to me. It's the most weight I've lost in life without an illness or surgery. It's something I did, rather than a side effect of something else.
I really don't feel physically all that different, though I do notice I sleep a little better, and I wake up with morning wood more than I have in years. I don't feel refreshed, or more confident, or on top of the world or anything. Just basically have looser clothing.
My current goal will be up when I get to 350, and the doctor's scale can weigh me. Soon after that, I'll get to the standard Weight Watcher's 10% goal, somewhere in the 340's. We'll see how long it goes.
Maybe I'm just a curmudgeon, but I fail to be excited over any competition in the Olympics. It's neat to watch, and I enjoy it, but there will always be someone faster, or better.
Perhaps it's marveling in what we ourselves are not able to do for some reason or another. I know a lot of people who invest themselves into sports competitions. You know the ones, those who refer to the team they like as 'we', as though they're out there playing with them. This has always disturbed me greatly.
It's not that I am against escapism, just escapism that lasts for days, weeks or years. When you finish watching a movie, or reading a novel, it's over. You mull it for a bit, but it rarely becomes consuming for say...a season.
Anyway, I don't think I'll ever be impressed by any of it until someone goes so fast, they reverse time.
So I've joined Weight Watchers. A co-worked convinced me after nearly 3 months. I've known for a while that I need to lose weight to head off various health disaster scenarios. This seemed much less drastic that the lap-band surgery I was considering; and I'm interested to see how I do on a structured diet (as it's been years since I've attempted anything like this.)
Still, while I should be excited about this, and don't get me wrong, part of me is. Mostly though, I'm feeling like a failure at life for having to resort to this. What have I done to bring myself down this primrose path? Half of the time, I feel like I'm being punished in some way. It's not that I mind eating healthier, actually, I've enjoyed it. It's just that when it's 1 AM, and I get excited about 4 Lorna Doone's and a glass of milk, I wonder what the hell is going on.
Last night I saw George Michael at the MCI Verizon Center. It was a fantastic show, he sounds just as good as ever, and he played material from his whole career, including a couple songs from Wham!.
Verizon Center, 07/29/2008 SET LIST:
First Half
Waiting (Reprise) Fast Love/I'm Your Man Father Figure Hard Day Everything She Wants One More Try Different Corner Easier Affair Too Funky Star People
Interval John & Elvis video
Second Half
Faith Spinning The Wheel Feeling Good Roxanne Kissing A Fool Amazing Flawless Outside Careless Whisper
So me and a couple of friends drove about 40 miles away to see WarGames in a movie theater through Fathom events. When they're on the island looking for a boat the movie dies, and then this comes up. You can hear a female in the projection booth say "we've lost the satellite feed, I'll call the help desk."
20 minutes later it resumed where it had left off. 15 of those were staring at this active desktop error.
I went and saw The Dark Knight at the last show of the evening tonight. It was in the big theater, and I enjoyed it. I saw it alone, not because I wanted to; but because as per usual, everyone I know decided to see it with someone else. This is the way my life goes. Everyone else has some reason that their agenda is more important. I usually go along with it; but because I do, I often see movies alone.
Most of you know I lost my father about two and a half years ago. As a family, we came to a decision, and sold his pride and joy this past weekend, a truck came and took it away yesterday. It was though a piece of my life left with it.
That pride and joy of course, is the 1967 Plymouth Satellite that I can remember my dad purchasing after some 70's college kid had taken it to college. It had rust holes in the rear quarter panels, and the vinyl interior had started to tear. My father saw something in this car though.
Up till this point, he'd been driving a 1977 Dodge Charger SE. It was huge and white, and looked like Cordoba. Rich Corinthian Leather and all. This would have had to have been 1982 or 83, he had purchased the similar bodied 1967 Plymouth GTX that would remain in pieces for the entire time we owned it until he sold it 6 or 7 years ago. The Satellite though, was the car he would restore to near mint condition.
He found body panels that were from cars in Arizona, where there was no road salt or moisture for corrosion. He lovingly took all the trim off the car to have it re-chromed, from the badging to the bumpers. I can remember him being excited about finding a company who purchased the vinyl seat molds from Chrysler, and were making the seat covers again. He found a company that would fix the radio, a guy in Texas who had the controller to the factory air conditioning, and a company who made the loop nylon carpeting that would have come in the car. He had paint custom blended from several manufacturers to make the coppery tone that the car was originally painted. He maintained the original 3 tone paint scheme.
I can remember our dining room being filled with auto parts. My mom spending weekends painting the detail into the newly chromed hood ornament and other part with Testor's model enamel. More weekends than I can count included my dad driving 30 miles across town to a friend's service station to use the lift. Sometimes, he'd let me tag along.
It took about 2 or 3 years total, replacing systems and parts, body work, interior work, and even down to tracking down a replacement pasteboard glovebox liner, and rubber trunk mat in the original houndstoooth print.
The car ended up being a daily driver for him. He drove it all over the state. It became our family car. When other kids were piling out of minivans, and Tauruses, and Celebrities; my family was piling out of a 67 Plymouth that you could hear before you could see.
This would go on to be the vehicle I learned to drive in, and even drove for a temporary spell.
It would throw you back in the seat, and hold a curve like no other car I ever drove. It was made before shoulder straps. The ignition lock was on the dashboard. It was the coldest car air conditioning ever. The chrome vents would frost over.
The restoration started to show its age over time, and we'd have a few major repairs along the way. Dad's employment situation would change constantly for the last 10 years of his life. Most of this time included a lot of travel, and he moved on to the safety and convenience of a newer car, this time in 1997, a 1995 Grand Marquis.
The pictures below were taken a couple years ago, after cancer had taken my father, and we had decided as a family, that it was best to sell the car to someone who could appreciate it and take car of it. That journey took 2 years. We still have many parts to the car, nearly 50 boxes.
Nothing will replace the Mopar sound, or the look on my Dad's face when drove that car.
I have more pictures, but I'm sure that 3 will suffice. Now they're all I have of that time of my life.
Not wanting another night alone in my apartment, I opted to go be alone at a movie. I saw Wall-E based on the hype. It left me sad. Now I sit in an O'Charley's eating alone. I just saw an old couple come in in bedroom slippers. It's storming outside. I'm going to have my salad now.
Sometimes, people like the covers, and sometimes the originals are better. I've started posting some examples of where I feel the originals are better than covers by others. This is not to say that there are not situations where I prefer a cover, because sometimes, I like the cover version, but sometimes, the original is better!
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