You Mean Vegetables Don't Always Come Out of a Can?

I'm on a new health and fitness kick. I'm bound and determined to get myself back in shape, feeling good and looking at least ALMOST as non-repulsive as I'd like to in a bikini by the time the weather warms up. In the past 6 months, I've been eating more organic foods, paying more attention to things like vitamins, whole grains, fiber and all that stuff... and I've managed to stumble on a few resources to help me out. While I can't credit all of this motivation purely to my own higher level of consciousness, I've found that knowing and sharing is half the battle. If you have even a passing interest in any of this information, here are a few links that I've found particularly helpful in my new resolve:

The Daily Plate - Here you can basically keep your own food and exercise journal online, see where you're going and where you've been.

Eat Better America - Lots of recipes, fitness, health and diet information.

Grist - Environmental news, humor, resources and information. You can discover how to live, eat and even vote more Green.

Cranky Fitness - A Blogger with a refreshingly sarcastic approach.

Whether you look at this an laugh or take a peek... at least I'm doing my part to pass on the good mojo. May it inspire you as well if you happen to be looking for inspiration.

Have Your Cake... And Sweat It Out Too!

Birthday Observation: It takes a lot longer to burn off cake and ice cream than it does to eat it.

Dear John

Dear Grossly Under-Qualified Transfer Student,

I understand that you're confused - transferring to the particular institution that I work for is a complicated process. Transferring to any institution is usually a bit of a process. I'm doing my best to change that, and one day when I rule the world, it will be easy as pie. Today, however, is not that day. I also understand that your confusion isn't entirely my fault. According to the essays, transcripts, grade reports, and letters that make up your application packet, you're a bit of a moron. If I were in charge, you most likely wouldn't have been accepted to the rigorous program you've chosen, let alone a 4-year college of any kind... but the institution I work for is tuition-driven, and sometimes that's reflected in the caliber of student we continue to bring in the week before classes start. It's also reflected in the quality of student that decides to apply the week before classes start. In my experience, the future neurosurgeons aren't the ones applying on January 8th when classes start the 12th. Because of all of these things, I'm begging you to stop asking me the same questions over and over again. I can explain procedures, policies and requirements until I'm blue in the face... you simply lack the brain capacity to comprehend the content of the response. It would really save both of us quite a bit of time and frustration if you just... stopped talking.

Thank You,
The Blogger

Black Hole Sun

In my city, there's a bar. It's a bar that any and all of the local regulars know well - so well, in fact, that it has at least half a dozen nicknames, so recognizable that a passing stranger on the sidewalk would know where you were headed if you happened to mention any of them. Everyone you meet, either native or transplanted to this city, knows this particular watering hole, and everyone has a story to go along with it. These stories usually involve some degree of nudity, projectile vomit, sexual indiscretion, extreme overindulgence, minor or major physical damage, complete blackout, or a volatile combination of the above. A local musician actually made headlines not long ago after being hit by a car crossing the street in front of this magical mystery land, thankfully "only" breaking a leg (you'd think at this point, motorists would avoid driving anywhere nearby Thursday through Sunday). Because of this startling similarity among patrons, I've come to think of it not as a bar, but as The Black Hole of afterhour activities. I now almost exclusively refer to it as The Black Hole.

I'm guessing every city, town, and oasis has just such a place. What makes this particular bar, unlike dozens and dozens of others, the one with the reputation? What is it about this place that makes it such a powder keg of sin? Is it the location? The lighting? The pool table and dartboard? The back alley, perfect for sneaking a drag on a cigarette, hidden from the eyes of a disapproving lover, brother, or friend? Do the surly bartenders, crappy jukebox, or never ending supply of popcorn make a difference? Is it just dark enough, just loud enough, just warm enough that the urge to misbehave or cross the line flows without hesitance? Or is it just that it's a tantalizing short cab ride and no-cover charge away from oblivion?