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| P90X Update
I'm 6 1/2 weeks on in my plan to get TOTALLY RIPPED. Things are going well. To answer what is undoubtedly going to be your first question, no, I am not yet TOTALLY RIPPED. But I'm definitely getting a lot fitter, and my body is changing; I tend not to notice a lot since I'm kind of scrutinizing things to look for big changes. However, once or twice I've kind of caught myself in the mirror and been fairly surprised at how different I look. I'm not TOTALLY RIPPED, but I'm approaching partially ripped, I guess.
One thing is for sure: I did not get ripped off. P90X is definitely a serious program.
Over the course of the last almost-seven weeks, I've skipped a couple of days here and there, but always for good reason--traveling, inauguration. But that's only, I think, four days total that I have not worked out, and three of those were actually optional rest days. And the one time it wasn't I did the workout the next day. I've never been so disciplined in my life, literally. And it takes time; the short workouts are a solid hour and Yoga is 90 minutes. I'm proud of myself for that discipline alone.
The resistance/weight workouts are getting easier. I can do a shitload of pushups now, though I couldn't say how many as the style of pushups is always changing. Wide-arm, military-style, clap pushups, one-arm (which I have to do on my knees, obviously) and all sorts of crazy derivatives, with one arm up and one back, or these weird ones where I move from side to side between sets. I can only do about three pullups without the assistance of having my legs on a stool, pushing when need be, but I'm getting there. I'm seeing real effects from the tricep/bicep/chest/back workouts.
Hardest workouts:
1. Yoga X. Yoga is hard! I always kind of thought it was just stretching, but I couldn't have been more wrong. the yoga workout pretty well crushes me. I'm getting much better at it, but I'm still not very good. Flexibility is an issue with my fitness, though that too is improving. I can do a lot of poses. But I have to skip a few things for fear of injuring myself.
2. Plyometrics. "Jump training" is the other name. Jump up and down, knees up, thirty seconds. Jump up and down, knees back, thirty seconds. Huge jumps back and forth across a pretend ravine. Jumping jacks while in a squat. Hop in place for a minute on one leg. And a ton more. And do it all twice.
3. Legs and Back. Lunges and squats don't look like much, but if you do enough of them, and you go deep enough, look the F out. The hardest single move in the whole series is the "Wall Squat". Do this: go to the wall and lean against it. Then slide down so that the wall is holding you up, and your toes are lined up with your knees--should be a ninety degree angle at the knee and a ninety degree angle at the waist. Then sit there for fifteen seconds. Then slide up on the wall just a tiny bit--stay there for fifteen seconds. Then back down to the ninety degree angle. Do all of that, changing every fifteen seconds, for a full two minutes. You will suffer. Oh yes. You will.
Most enjoyabale: Kenpo. Martial arts. Kicking, punching, etc. Just really a lot of fun. I'm always bummed when it's over.
Overall, buying P90X was one of the best decisions I've made in a very long time. I'm getting much fitter, it's encouraging radical changes in my eating (especially snacking) habits, and I'm working out more regularly than was literally even possible before buying it. I like how stripped down it is--I have one pair of 15 pound dumbbells for some of the exercises (though I need to get some 20s now) and I use resistance bands. Other than that, I really just need a yoga mat and, occasionally, a chair. It's serious, high-quality exercise, and the variety is incredible. With the exceptions of the Ab Ripper program, which is only 15 minutes and is done three times per week, the only time you repeat anything more than once a week is during the recovery week. Which, to be clear, is not resting--it's super-hard. No resistance/weight work--Yoga, Kenpo, other things. I'm loving this whole thing. Melissa is tired of hearing me talk about it. But it's what's going on.
Clearly, my future is to be a salesman for P90X. If I can just shake this last bit of stomach fat.
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| F*ck You, Penguin
I really, really wish that I had come up with the idea of posting cute pictures of animals and than savagely mocking them. Damn it.
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| January 20, 2009: Inauguration Day
I’ll admit it: I nearly didn’t go to the inauguration. Here, in the greater DC area, an opportunity to attend the most significant civic event of my lifetime, I nearly let logistics rule. After all, this was shaping up to be a colossal event, and the entire city was reshaping itself for it. Roads closed. Metro packed. And didn’t somebody die in a Wal-Mart stampede last month? If people can’t restrain themselves from trampling a greeter in order to get the best possible deal on cheap underwear and Jonas Brothers CDs, then what effect could Barack Obama have? In the end, though, I really didn’t have much of a choice, and it’s my mother’s fault. She announced her intention to attend the inauguration, and purchased plane tickets from Kansas on November 5. Giddily, I agreed that it was a great idea. Later, I had my doubts. Hysterical early projections suggested that five or six million people might attend. Security plans were intimidating. The weather was likely to be bad. Movement in and out of the city would be restricted and the system would be overwhelmed by numbers. In December, Mom learned that she’d been chosen to receive three of the coveted 240,000 tickets for the Mall standing area. That’s it, I thought. I’m locked in for sure. As the event crept closer, I felt great joy at the imminent departure of the worst President in United States history, and incredible elation about his replacement. But the event itself seemed so complicated and overwhelming that I couldn’t get excited about it. January 19. We still hadn’t fully settled on how to actually get into the city from our home in Reston, about 15 miles from DC. Driving out of the question. Buses a complete unknown in terms of likely crowds. Metro certainly overcrowded, and in any case it doesn’t come all the way out here. Too far to walk in any case, but particularly given the expected temperatures in the 20s to low 30s. Ultimately, we opted to cooperate with friends coming from this area: they drove here in their minivan, and then Melissa drove all of us—the two of them, plus their two friends from California (with four year-old daughter in tow), plus my mother, her friend, and me—to the nearest Metro station. The Vienna station is the last on the Orange line, so we rationalized that while we expected long lines, every car would be empty so perhaps it would move pretty quickly. Especially since Metro had announced their intention to run cars on a hyped-up rush hour schedule for 17 hours in a row. We made another decision on the 19th, as well: we opted not to use the prized tickets that Mom received from Kansas Senator Sam Brownback. The tickets weren’t for seats, after all, but rather for the standing area that was still so far from the proceedings on the Capitol steps that we would have watched on the Jumbotron regardless. And standing that far up on the Mall would have meant a substantial uptick in logistical complications, including massive security lines to get in and a fearsome crush to get out. Plus, my friends didn’t have tickets. There are lots of people that would have howled in frustration that three tickets went unused. Sorry. January 20. Up at 5:00. Out the door at 6:15. At the Vienna metro at 6:35. The line snaked around into the parking garage, far enough that we couldn’t see the station at all, and I estimated that it would take us a minimum of two hours to get on the train. It was cold as hell. But it was really, really exciting. People around us were chatty, happy. Everyone suffering for common purpose. And, luckily, the line moved fast. Our end-of-the-line strategy was pretty effective, it seemed; the flurry of empty cars coming into the station kept things going. And with the laughing, the joking, the excitement, things seemed easy. It only took 35 minutes to get on the train, and we got seats. Nice to be warm for a bit. People on the train were jovial. In our near vicinity, people from Pennsylvania, California, Ohio, Kansas, Virginia, and Michigan—this within a ten foot radius. And while the train moved awfully slowly, turning what would normally be a 20-minute ride into a full 90 minutes, it all seemed to be just fine. By the time we reached our stop at Foggy Bottom, the train was extremely full. A relief to exit. But that air at the top of the escalator was cold! Foggy Bottom stop is about four blocks north from the Lincoln Memorial, the opposite end of the mall from the Capitol. It was a cold walk, to be certain, but we enjoyed it. The city felt surreal; Humvees blocking off roads, soldiers all around. Helicopters circling, and it was impossible to tell how many were for security and how many were for television news. A steady stream of people joined us in our walk down 23rd street. Approaching the mall, we were met by greeters in red “Inauguration 2009” stocking caps, who seemed almost insanely joyful. “Welcome to the Inauguration! Thank you for coming!” some shouted. “Enjoy the day!” others cried. High-fives were given. The mood was becoming increasingly infectious, though it was tempered to some extent by the cold, and the awareness that we were three-and-a-half hours from the actual event. Three-and-a-half more hours of Bush. We walked to the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. Already, the upper steps were covered with several hundred people. The speakers blasted a replay of the concert from the previous day. People on the steps danced. It looked fun up there, but there was no Jumbotron in clear sight; these people had decided to sit in what was an admittedly awesome spot, but would only hear the ceremony without the visual. Their choice. We spotted a Jumbotron off to the right in a largely-still-empty spot of grass, and concluded that this was a nearly perfect spot; we could have a great view, be close to the Lincoln Memorial (which I do love to look at) and also be close to a side-gate for easy departure. We settled down, and began our long, slow process of freezing to death. 
This area, near the back of the Mall, was not especially crowded. But it was filling up relatively quickly given that we had hours to wait. Portable toilets were everywhere. And I mean all over the place. Is there anything uglier than a line of port-a-potties? Other than a line of open port-a-potties, of course. At least fears of having to hold it for seven straight hours were assuaged. 
Behind us, people continued to stream through the makeshift crowd control gates in front of Lincoln. We weren’t in a secure area—those were closer up, near ticketed areas. However, the Park Service had a number of gates and fences to keep things under control. 
Waiting, getting colder, I walked with two of my friends. We strolled past the seemingly endless line of portable toilets toward the Washington Monument. A large crowd had gathered around the two Jumbotrons at the WWII Memorial, and many had climbed all over the stone pillars of the thing, IMO the single ugliest monument on the otherwise awesome National Mall. 
Near the Washington Monument, we were passed by a group of Gitmo protesters. Very, very powerful. 
At the Monument, we ran smack into an enormous sea of humanity. It was virtually impossible to take pictures. Around us, people were holding cameras as high as they could. My friend Lesya stood on a fence to take this one, and it isn’t bad, but I don’t think anyone without a very, very high vantage point—the steps of the Capitol, a helicopter, top of the Monument—could have fully the captured just how crowded it was there.
And the TV shots make it clear that we were on the edge of a sea that ran full up to the Capitol. We briefly discussed moving, because there was a more palpable vibe of excitement and jubilation among the masses. But, again, these people at the back of the huge crowd, standing in the middle of the Mall near the Washington Monument, didn’t have a Jumbotron. We were there to be with the masses, but we also wanted to see. So we made our way back. Festivities were beginning. Onscreen, various VIPs were introduced as they exited the Capitol to sit down. The crowd went bananas for Sasha and Malia, then Michelle Obama. Mum for most of the Congress. Applause for Clinton, Carter, Gore. The news, unfortunately, completely ignored what happened when Bush and Cheney were introduced. It wasn’t respectful silence. Nor were boos scattered. Around us, they were nearly universal. I booed my heart out. It’s possible, of course, that the rowdier, more crowded sections in the front were quiet. But you know what? I don’t fucking think so. All around, people gave their final salute to the WPE and his malevolent, wheelchaired taskmaster. Shame on the media for not covering that crowd reaction. Rick Warren gave a dull, personality-free invocation. A man near us garnered applause when he shouted that Warren would have to respect his marriage one day. Then, Biden . Applause. Then, Obama. Eruption. The Biden oath was smooth, met with cheers, shouts, screaming for joy. Cheney: former Vice-President. You may have noted that between Biden and Obama there was a lovely song played by Yo-Yo Ma and other accomplished musicians. It may have seemed very sweet. But you know what? For those of us there, that song sucked. We were excited, joyful, happy, and the tune was somber, almost mournful. It was totally, totally inappropriate in relation to the mood on the Mall. We were there to celebrate and hoot and holler and embrace the end of one terrible era and the beginning of a better one. I joked that it was like interrupting New Year’s Eve with Mozart’s Requiem. Then, the moment: Roberts tried to screw it up, but it did nothing to change the reaction of the crowd. Hard to describe. Embracing, yelling, jumping up and down, arms outstretched. Primal joy. I don’t understand the reaction of the pundits, who seemed to call Obama’s speech average. From where I sit, that speech was freaking incredible. So many great lines—the bit about extending a hand to dictators willing to unclench their fists. The absolute body-slam put on the Bush Administration. “We reject as false the choice between our safety and our ideals.” The call to sacrifice hit precisely the right tone with the undertone of optimism. And, as a political junkie, I absolutely adored this bit: Now, there are some who question the scale of our ambitions -- who suggest that our system cannot tolerate too many big plans. Their memories are short. For they have forgotten what this country has already done; what free men and women can achieve when imagination is joined to common purpose, and necessity to courage. What the cynics fail to understand is that the ground has shifted beneath them -- that the stale political arguments that have consumed us for so long no longer apply. Hell yes. The ground has shifted, indeed. Afterwards, we clapped like maniacs, screamed, shouted, and started walking. Being in the back was a giant advantage, as we were able to stride right out, over the Memorial Bridge, and into Virginia. We caught a bus back out to Reston, where Melissa picked us up. I was exhausted, sunburned. My back hurt like hell from standing for so many hours in a row. I went to bed at 9:30, though I did regret not heading into the District for what was undoubtedly some incredible revelry. Just too old, I guess. But not too old to appreciate the first time in my life being able to truly call myself a witness to history. What a day for the world! | | |
| P90X
I'm out of shape. Not in wretched shape, not super-fat or anything, but I've put on some unwelcome pounds and I feel flabby.
So a few weeks ago I was trudging away at the gym and I saw an infomercial for an exercise program called P90X. I pretty much watched the whole thing while I did my elliptical trainer or whatever the hell. And I was sold.
Now, I'm not an infomercial guy, and I've never, before this, purchased an exercise program. But I found the explanation for P90X to be very, very persuasive. Plus, it enables me to work out at home, which--given the hectic nature of life with three kids and their various activities and schedules--is priceless.
P90X is a 90 day exercise program (and diet, but I'm not following the diet so much as trying to wholesale reject junk food, sugar, and such--we eat quite healthfully other than those things that I have a weakness for). The kit comes with twelve different DVDs, each of which is a workout. And the workouts vary wildly--the first one was Chest and Back, with either dumbbells and a pullup bar or resistance bands. Day 2 was Plyometrics, which is basically a shitload of jumping around and lunging and stuff like that. The idea is to spend the first four weeks doing the same six workouts in order, then a rest day, then repeat. Then the next four weeks sub in some workouts, repeat others, and change the order around.
I sound like Tony Horton, the infomercial guy, but whatever. The idea is muscle confusion, which is the notion that your body will plateau if you repeat your same workouts all the time--doing wildly different things will force the muscles to adapt to more variety, and thus shape up continuously. Allegedly, in 90 days I can be TOTALLY RIPPED.
I did quite a bit of reading of reviews of P90X from a ton of websites before taking the plunge, and people universally said the same things--it really, really genuinely works but it's really fucking hard. I can't speak yet to the first, but after only two days I can attest to the second. The first workout, Chest and Back, basically involved an ungodly number of pushups in different styles (regular, wide arm, hands very close together, feet on a chair) and pullups (but I don't have a bar yet so I used reistance bands) and weightlifting (I did the bands, again--they have clear instructions for how to replace weights with bands). The workout obliterated me. You repeat everything, and the second time around I was doing girly pushups with my knees down, and by the very end I was doing like 2 or 3 in every set. Saturday night I woke up in the middle of the night and realized that for all intents and purposes I could not move my arms. Now, two days later, I still have a very difficult time getting my arms up enough to feed myself. Which is somewhat embarrassing now that it's written down like that.
Three times a week you're supposed to do the AB RIPPER workout, in order to get truly ripped abs. It's only twelve minutes long, but in that twelve minutes you do about fifteen or sixteen different kinds of ab exercises, 25 times each. I did about a third of them on Saturday after the Chest and Back thing. It was indescribably difficult. But I did it right--Tony Horton doesn't berate you when you can't finish--just keep on keeping on.
Yesterday, Plyometrics. I jumped up and down, I lunged, I squatted. I found it way easier than the chest thing, but I was REALLY sweating by the end.
Today I'm supposed to do Arms and Shoulders, but my arms hurt too much for that, so I'm switching in tomorrow's workout, which is Yoga, and postponing Arms and Shoulders and AB RIPPER! until tomorrow. This is one thing I like--the inclusion of Yoga. I've never done Yoga, but I'm not very flexible, and it will be good. Plus, this tells me that this isn't some workout that only builds mass--Yoga is a whole different direction and the variety is awesome.
Anyway, I'll keep you posted. If I don't die, I do expect to look very different in a couple of months. And I'll post a picture once I'm TOTALLY RIPPED. Assuming I can, you know, lift my arms up at all.
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| Taste Test
I think in the six years I've been blogging my all-time most popular feature, hands-down, has been the Taste Test. (Scroll back to However, I haven't done it since 2005 when we were still living in Dubai. Ethiopia simply didn't offer the awesome array of appalling and mysterious snack items. If you look back at the other Taste Tests, all of which can be found by going to this page (except number five, which has a broken link because I somehow duplicated it, but you can fix that if care to), you notice that the worst items are almost all from East and Southeast Asia; Ethiopia paled in comparison. Now back in Northern Virginia, however, I’ve found an enormous (and awesome) ethnic grocer with a huge number of options for actual cooking and tasting. Today’s sample is pretty mild. I have to get back into practice. Product 1: Brazilian Pudding Pocky
Ingredients: Wheat Flour, Sugar, Hydrogenated Vegetable Oil (Shea Nuts Oil, Rapeseed Oil, Palm Oil, Sunflower Oil), Lactose, Whole Milk Powder, Shortening (Rapeseed Oil, Palm Oil), Sweetened Condensed Milk, Seasoning, Cacao Mass, Cocoa Butter, Salt, Dehydrated Egg Butter, Yeast, Cocoa Powder, Soy Lecithin, Artificial Flavor, Trisodium Phosphate, Sodium Bicarbonate
Production Location: Tokyo
Label Languages: Japanese, English Pocky is known to me. But I saw the “Brazilian Pudding” flavor in a Chinese grocer in NYC and had to pick it up. I honestly have no idea what to expect from Brazilian Pudding flavor. What the hell is Brazilian Pudding? And why are there no Brazil nuts? Do I have to get a Brazilian afterward? Look at that ingredient list! 25 separate things listed, with a real abundance of Rapeseed Oil. Apparently, the Brazilians adore rapeseed. The kids are helping me out….let’s break it open.
Hmmm….it’s a totally boring stick with about an inch of some sort of white and brown coating. Mysterious. The stick is kind of sweet. The Brazilian pudding dip at the end is very sweet, and it’s really not bad. I can’t describe it exactly, but I feel let down that it’s not disgusting. The kids are demanding more. They’ll eat the whole thing. I might help. I’ll keep my pubic hair, though. Product 2: Unknown 
Ingredients: Unknown
Production Location: Unknown
Label Languages: Korean Apparently, Koreans absolutely adore these hollow tubes, served up by a fat white European in a chef’s outfit. Look how pleased the chef is! I do not know what these are, but they’re probably safe; they look like random potato snacks. I can’t imagine they’ll be very good, however. The picture doesn’t make it very clear, but there is a small chili in the corner above the sunflower, so maybe they’re spicy? The only thing I know from the package is that these things are 100%.
They look like dehydrated freedom fries. They smell like a kind of chili Pringle. They taste like Funyuns with a light ketchup coating. This is not a good combination. Too sweet, and not spicy enough. And I don’t want ketchup on my Funyuns. I also don’t want my Funyuns. The kids, again, love them, which tells me that I’m not going gross enough. Mercedes is taking the leftovers to school tomorrow for a snack. Product 3: Muscat Gummy 
Ingredients: Sugar, Corn Syrup (Corn Starch, Water), Concentrated Muscat Juice, Gelatin, Oblate Powder, D-Sorbitol, Acidulant (Citric Acid, Malic Acid), Pectin, Artificial Muscat Flavor, Palm Oil, Emulsifier (Glycerin Fatty Acid Ester, Soybean Lecithin), Artificial Coloring (FD&C Yellow No. 5 (Tartazine), FD&C Blue No. 1 (Brilliant Blue FCF), CONTAINS MILK INGREDIENT
Production Location: Nagoya, Japan
Label Languages: Japanese, English Questions: A) What the hell is a muscat? Isn’t that in a Captain and Tennille song? B) What does “CONTAINS MILK INGREDIENT” mean? C) Where can I get me some Oblate Powder? The front of the package reads as follows, awesomely: “Its translucent color so alluring and taste and aroma so gentle and mellow offer admiring feelings of a graceful lady. Enjoy soft and juicy Kasugai Muscat Gummy.” (Italics mine). I am definitely looking for some admiring feelings from a graceful lady. Let’s open up the package. Individual packets with a heart-shaped, vaguely green piece of gummy candy inside. The smell is overwhelming—a clear combination of artificial grape flavor and D-Sorbitol. So unbelievably chemical-y. The fake grape flavor actually isn’t bad. I’ve had way, way worse gummy products, especially chocolate-covered gummy bears. But I can’t shake the suspicion that I will soon have advanced stomach cancer. The whole thing, though, does remind me of a gentle, mellow, graceful lady. Like Pamela Anderson. Product 4: Maeda-En Red Beans Azuki Flavored Ice Cream 
Ingredients: Milk, Cream, Sugar, Cooked Red Beans, Corn Syrup Solids, Whey, Water, Guar Gum, Beet Powder Color, Caramel Color, Mono and Diglycerides, Natural and Artificial Flavor, Cellulose Gum, Locust Bean Gum, Carrageenan
Production Location: Irvine, CA
Label Languages: English Melissa’s comment upon seeing this was “Oh, that’s probably good.” The Japanese have this whole schtick with bean desserts—little dumplings stuffed with sweet red bean paste, etc. Melissa loves it. I hate it. We’re pulling the kids in different directions on these desserts. I’ve never had the ice cream, though. I only wish I knew what Azuki was. I haven’t opened the package yet, but the “beet powder color” is a little terrifying. But now that I have looked, it’s not that interesting. I expected it to be bright red, and I had the camera ready. But it’s sort of tan. It has no smell at all. Trying it, though I feel like I should have a little wooden spoon….. Not bad, really. Grainy, too sweet and OH NO THE AFTERTASTE IT BURNS IT BURNS OH SHIT IT’S LIKE SOUR MILK MIXED WITH SUGAR SYRUP PLEASE KILL ME NOW Product 5: Calpico 
Ingredients: Water, High Fructose Corn Syrup, Sugar, Nonfat Dry Milk, Lactic Acid, Natural and Artificial Flavors, Citric Acid, Soy Fiber, Sodium Citrate
Production Location: Tokyo
Label Languages: English, Japanese (I assume, though it looks like Korean) Ah, Calpico, where have you been? All my life I have longed for a non-carbonated soft drink. And in original flavor, no less! Seriously, though, there is nothing whatsoever on the can to reveal to me what in the hell this is going to taste like, excepting the ominous inclusion of nonfat dry milk in the ingredients. “Original Flavor” is pretty meaningless. Apparently, it’s refreshingly sweet and tangy, but that’s not really very clear. Of course, the picture above reveals that “Calpico” is apparently Japanese for “semen”. Smells kind of like 7-Up. But milkier, and more disturbing to look out. Shit. Here we go…. FUCK THIS STUFF. It’s exactly like a totally flat, cheap 7-Up or Sprite imitator….with a milky aftertaste. Honestly. It is not refreshing, though it is sweet, and unappealingly tangy. In a semeny sort of way. Christ. | | |
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