Fat Shank

This past Wednesday night I faced my arch nemesis -- the scale -- and lost. But this wasn't an ordinary scale. Oh no, this was a mechanism that calculated not only weight, but height, body mass and fat mass. It was the ultra deluxe car wash of scales, and all for the low, low price of one dollar.

I eagerly fed the machine my wrinkled Washington and waited for the results. I felt like I was at a slot machine; lemon, lemon, cherry! Oh! So close. Both fingers were crossed as I chanted "No whammy, no whammy, no whammy!" The scale pulsated and rotated; analyzing my awesome body and asking me probing questions like my sex and age. (Those are the same questions I drunkly ask at bars. Was this machine hitting on me?)

Finally, all the waiting -- nearly a whole minute -- paid off, and the numbers started to print out. I weigh 149.2 lbs. Not bad. I'll take it. Apparently, I'm only 6'0.8" tall. Hmmm, this I'm going to contest. I am totally 6'1". My body mass index is exactly 20.0 - thank god! If i was any lower, even 19.99, i would be in the "underweight" category. Once again, I barely squeak by. I'll take it! At 20 I'm sitting pretty at "ideal weight." This is the first time the words "ideal weight" have EVER been used to describe me.

At this point I'm thrilled with the results. Then i read the portion of the receipt marked "Fat Index." GULP! Survey says...23% TWENTY-THREE PERCENT! Which makes my fat mass 34.3 lbs. (Christ on a cross that's a lot of fat. Cats don't even weigh that much.) A fourth of me is NOTHING BUT FAT. Over thirty pounds. So let's see, if pork is 5 dollars a pound, carry the one...Jesus! And again, I'm on the cusp of two different categories. Currently, I'm considered "average," at 23%, but "poor" isn't far away at 24.4 percent.

Finally, the machine informed me that the ideal weight for me is between 150.8 lbs-188.6 lbs. Piece of cake! Mmmmm, cake. "Poor," here I come!

A New Post

After a much needed hiatus, I have returned to my blog, only to abandon it again six months from now -- just a heads up. So what's new in my life you ask? Uh...wait...I know this one...uh...uh...I got nothing. A week or two ago I spent about a day working out; trying to get rid of this parking meter of a body, but to no avail. I continue to eat and drink enough for 10 men, but nothin. Oh well.

But you know what really grinds my gears? My subscription to the Post ran out this week. At first I just thought someone was stealing my paper, it's happened before, but after a few days of not seeing it on my doorstep, or at the bottom of the stairwell at the back of my apartment building -- which I can only assume is where the driver leaves it when he's drunk -- I realized I'd been cut off.

So why didn't I renew my subscription you ask? Oh, but I did -- two weeks ago. I had to call the contact rep. for my neighborhood to find out what the fuck was wrong. He asked for my address. As soon as I told him my apartment number I could immediately hear his tone change to indicate that my account on the computer screen was flashing "did not tip delivery man for Christmas." Maybe that's why my paper occasionally ends up in the stairwell, all askew. Whatever, I need that ten dollars!

Anyway, he said they were backlogged in processing subscription renewals. What is this, the passport office? How time consuming is it to punch in some credit card numbers? Hell, it only took me 5 seconds when I did it myself on the Post's Web site. But much like my day of working out, it was apparently a waste of time.

It's The One!

I'm totally speechless over Kylie's new song "The One."



I also LOVE the ballad version of "I Believe In You"

You Give Me Fever, Still

This week mark's the 15th anniversary of the release of Madonna's "Erotica" album and her sex campaign. Accompanied with the SEX book, Girlie Show world tour and the film "Body of Evidence," 1992-93 found Madonna at the height of her fame, landing her on the covers of Vogue, Vanity Fair and Newsweek. Sadly, this publicity saturation eclipsed a very phenomenal album. Upon its release Rolling Stone gave "Erotica" 4 stars, calling it brilliant. Other critics were not as kind and the album was a commercial "disappointment," selling only six million copies.

It's one of my absolute all-time favorite albums, which, after 15 years, still gives me fever.

Groundhog Day

Another Monday, another day at work.

New Kylie!

Finally! Kylie's new single and video, 2 Hearts!

Banks For Nothing

This past Sunday, as I was enjoying the extended weekend, I swung by a Bank of America ATM with some friends to get some more booze money. After reluctantly accepting the inexplicable three dollar surcharge, the machine failed to fully eject my card; leaving it visible but unobtainable. A friend of mine, who works in the banking industry, carelessly said, “No problem. I can get it out with my keys.” Immediately after jamming his keys into the machine it swallowed my card and informed me it was keeping it. I can't believe that didn't work. It also failed to give me any money.

Two days without a debit card is a long time, especially when there's beer to be had. Cut to Tuesday -- when the real fun begins. I arrive at the Bank of America and inform the teller of the bank’s ravenous ATM. He sifts through a large stack of cards the machine has gobbled up only to tell me that mine is not there. I describe the card to him. “It’s a dark blue Wachovia card and the machine took it Sunday,” I slowly and loudly explain to him. “Oh,” he gasps. “Since it happened two days ago and it’s not a Bank of America card, it was destroyed.”

Super. So now I have to order a new card. I hop across Dupont Circle and head to the Wachovia on Connecticut Ave. After being directed to costumer service I tell the employee my card was destroyed and I need a new one. She immediately cancels my account and starts to create a new one when I tell her I just want a new card. “Oh,” she says, “You need costumer service for that.” “But you are costumer service,” I remind her. “No, you need national costumer service.” Jesus. She takes me to a corner desk with a phone, dials the number and takes a step back. At this point I’m glad I didn’t shower before I started my journey. A few minutes later my account has been restored and my new card ordered, which will be swiftly delivered to me in seven to 10 business days. I should have it by Christmas.

Sadly, my bank excursion did not end then. Inside my backpack I was carrying a box of change. I should have known to not even ask the tellers at Wachovia. Such a task as dumping a box of change into an automatic coin counter is far too strenuous for them. So I headed to Commerce bank, where I proudly converted my nickels and dimes into quarters so I can finally do laundry.

And by noon I had visited three banks in one hour, two of which I don’t even have accounts at.

A Final Plea For 'Liza With a Z'

Will no one go with me to see Liza? Tickets are only $50 and you know it's going to be an amazing show that we'll never forget. Sadly, the same can't be said for Liza. That old girl doesn't know where she is half the time. The show is Saturday, Oct. 27, in Baltimore and this is the LAST chance you'll ever get to see her. She's already half dead. I hope she sings Don't Drop Bombs!

Work Those Delts Baby

This is how I start my day every single morning.

Masterpiece Theater: Vol. 3

Like a cold sore that won't go away, Undressed is back! And this episode has the best romantic line ever; it involves badminton.

Well Fuck Me!

After a bizarre dream last night that consisted of my family stealing a boat and me running around with a naked baby that wouldn’t stop shitting, I woke up this morning craving Cracklin’ Oat Bran. I don’t see the correlation either but I had Cracklin’ Oat Bran on the brain and I wasn’t going to stop until I had some Cracklin’ Oat Bran.

After dressing myself in whatever clothes I found on the floor I ran to Safeway without brushing my teeth. Despite my horrid morning breath I didn’t want anything to deter from the sweet taste of Cracklin’ Oat Bran.

I was shocked when I came across the newly redesigned box of Cracklin’ Oat Bran in the appalling under-stocked cereal aisle in the super market. It was more surprising than a rusty trombone. There it was; a box of Cracklin’ Oat Bran, $6. Six dollars! Six dollars for a box of cereal that was only 17 ounces; barely larger than a pound. What the hell is this world coming too when Cracklin’ Oat Bran costs more than actual crack?

Ray Of Greenlight

I normally don't like covers, especially of Madonna songs. Why bother trying to alter perfection? But this is truly the most beautiful rendition of Ray of Light I've ever heard. Sadly, Darren Hayes' pitch-perfect voice reminds me of the days when Madonna used to be able to hit the high notes on her own songs. She hasn't sounded this good in too long of a time.



And in non-Madonna related music news, as if that's possible, I'm currently obsessed with the Freemasons remix of Greenlight.

Happy Birthday Madonna!

Madonna Nation: Vol. 3

So here it is, my all-time favorite Madonna video. It's really a no brainer. It was directed by my good friend Mary Lambert. We're tight.

Like A Prayer. Directed by Mary Lambert (1989)

Madonna Nation: Vol. 2

Before revealing my all-time favorite Madonna music video, here are numbers three and four on my list. Once again, Jean-Baptiste Mondino, who has only directed seven of Madonna's videos, pops up again on the list, twice.

Human Nature. Directed by Jean-Baptiste Mondino (1994)


Justify My Love. Directed by Jean-Baptiste Mondino (1990)