Friday, February 22, 2008

Exercise the demons!

I am not a fitness freak.

In fact, anyone who knows me (which is everyone reading this) is now laughing.

However.

I just came back from the gym and am so tired I can barely type. I actually enjoy this feeling. It lowers my anxiety level which is notable and eventually, combined with watching what i eat, makes me look better.

I am going to share with you my workout regime because I know nobody cares. If you are interested in getting in shape and have a hard time doing it perhaps you can use some of this for your own regime.

I am not suggesting that I am in great shape, merely that this particular regime has helped me achieve a certain level of fitness (that level being not dead) for a few years. I used to be a jogger at a few different periods in my life and then I got plantars fasciitis (which is a tearing of the ligament that runs along the bottom of your foot) in both feet. And although my injury has healed enough for me to workout again on a regular basis I basically can no longer jog. Sad. I actually dream about jogging and wish that I could. Maybe someday.

Btw, the cure for plantars fasciitis as far as I can tell having done much research, gone to podiatrists, general physicians and fitness stores is stretching, stretching and more stretching. I stretch after every single workout and sometimes even if I don't go to the gym. I got cortisone shots, heel pads, splints to wear at night etc. Stretching out my hamstrings was the only thing that helped. That and a therapist. But that's a different story. And a different kind of demon.

1. Must do at least 4-5 workouts of cardio per week.

2. Each cardio workout should be at least 30 mins long, preferably 40-45 mins.

3. In the beginning I work up to the level at which I want to work out. I often start much lower than I end up doing regularly. Be patient. If you rush yourself you will injure yourself and have to start all over again.

4. I do elliptical machines myself - I hate the stairmaster and cannot run so they are challenging and good on my joints and feet. I do 5-10 mins of warm-up (i.e., a low resistance); then I alternate every 3 minutes from moderate levels to hard levels back and forth until I hit about 25 minutes or until I cannot do it anymore and then I workout on moderate or easy until it is time to quit.

5. Always listen to your body. If you're tired and can't do a hard workout then don't. You can do one tomorrow. I have injured myself many times forcing myself to do something because I "should".

6. (This is the other really important part.) Must do at least 2 muscle toning workouts per week. This includes lifting weights and doing situps/push-ups/pilates/yoga-type stretching. This is a key element to losing weight. Cardio alone will not do it. Not really.

7. Take a pilates class and learn some of the moves. I use them on my own and they are extremely helpful in building muscle mass and core strength and in stretching. I do 3 reps of at least 20 sit-ups and often lift weights with my arms in between each reps to break it up. I also lift weights on machines once a week.

Learn the plank position. It's fucking hard. It will help your core strength almost immediately. Photobucket

The first time I did it I could only do it for five seconds I think. I'm now at 40 seconds. 1 minutes is really good (according to me).

Always, always stretch. And always drink lots of water.

That's it. I have to shower now.

Oh, and if you want to see in shape... check out Vincent Cassel in Ocean's Twelve.

Wednesday, February 20, 2008

I realize I'm not the most fashion-savvy person...

however ...HOWEVER...

American Apparel...

are you all on crack?

Because you have just consigned me to a summer of walking the streets of New York (which is difficult no matter what the wannabe-hipsters are wearing) and seeing THIS:

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and this
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and these (altho they are not the worst they are still SEE THROUGH)
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wtf?
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oh god no
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and THIS color looks good on everyone
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this needs no comment
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this is what i wore in middle school and looked like shit in back then
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I like a lot of American Apparel's styles. I wear them. They are sweatshop-free which is awesome, but dear god!

People will WEAR THESE. And I will have to look at them. It's gonna be a looooooonnnggg summer.

I don't care what your body looks like. If you wear any of those articles of clothing, you are not my friend.

Monday, February 4, 2008

Does your chicken need some sauce?

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Well, I've got just the ticket for you. It would work well on fish and children, also.

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I grew up eating A-1 sauce on all my meat products and really enjoy it. But sometimes, during those long, winter months, I need a BOOST... you know? And so the other night I mixed A-1 with Harriett's Hotpants Mustard and ZOWIE! A miracle sauce was born.

If you don't believe me, then just try it. And you tell me. Miracle? Or fly-by-night-acle?

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

Funny!

Douchebags, Run for Your Lives!
Cloverfield Is One Giant, Incredibly Entertaining ‘Screw You!’ to Yuppie New York
by Nathan Lee
The Village Voice
January 17th, 2008 4:51 PM

“I don’t understand why this is happening,” whimpers an awestruck participant in the Cloverfield calamity. Quaking amidst the rubble of shattered condos, stumbling over piles of decimated retail, choking on burnt flesh and smoldering plastic, witness to the collapse of proud Manhattan real estate in the wake of implacable, inexplicable fury, she really ought to have said, “I don’t understand why this is happening again.”

TV auteur J.J. Abrams may have played coy with the marketing campaign for his ultra-mysterious, mega-hyped monster movie, but now that the thing looms fully into sight—whoa—it’s clear he isn’t beating around the Bush-era iconography. Street-level 9/11 footage would fit seamlessly into Cloverfield’s hand-held, ersatz-amateur POV; the initial onslaught of mayhem, panic, plummeting concrete, and toxic avalanches could have been storyboarded directly from the CNN archive. Cloverfield never stops to identify the why, whence, or whereto of its rampaging meanie—this relentless thriller stops for nothing—but as for what to call it, behold . . . al-Qaedzilla!

And how delicious that it comes to feast on the neo-yuppies. Cloverfield devotes the first 20 of its 73-minute runtime to a party—HOLY SHIT. Stop. Let me write that again: 73-MINUTE RUNTIME. Can we just take a moment to pause the action, set aside our differences, drop all beefs, join together as one, and give thanks, all praise due, shout joy to the world and hey, hallelujah—something has found us! Something that isn’t three fucking hours long!

As I was saying, the neo-yuppies. Cloverfield enacts its deft simulation of that infamous September morning in order to brutalize the society that flourished from its ruin like some tacky, tenacious, condo-dwelling fungus. The movie opens in the giant downtown loft of Rob (Michael Stahl-David), a fuckable, upwardly mobile, exceptionally boring twentysomething VP of some white-collar soul-suck. Recently promoted to the Japan office, and tenderly besotted with a Central Park West banality named Beth (Odette Yustman), Rob grins open his front door to the cheers and cameras of a surprise going-away party comprised of fellow smug, self-entitled whitest-kids-you-know.

The narrative conceit of the movie is that we’re watching a certain quantity of consumer-grade video retrieved by the government from the area “formerly known as Central Park” after an “incident” code-named “Cloverfield.” Plying a sly twist on this Blair Witch–craft, director Matt Reeves devises a meta-“cross-cutting” strategy: The main story, largely shot by a wiseass meathead named Hud (T.J. Miller), alternates via camera glitching with the original footage on the tape. This shows us Rob and Beth falling semi-plausibly in lurv while day-tripping to Coney Island. That, in toto, is the motivation for the swift, brutish thrust of the movie: Rob & Co.’s absurdly ill-advised odyssey to save Beth, wounded in her midtown high-rise, as all manner of giant-lizard, military-reprisal, angry-insectoid-parasite hell breaks loose.

This latter menace, a breed of vicious, super-charged, spider-like descendants of the Bugs from Starship Troopers, provides Cloverfield a nifty guerrilla threat. Shaken loose from the hide of al-Qaedzilla as he howls through the city, they pop up willy-nilly to deliver short, uncontrolled bursts of back-slashing, toxin-injecting, mega-hemorrhaging terror. Their introduction speaks to Cloverfield’s chief excellence: a shrewd, scary, playful sense of scale that locks the action in place and propels it forward whiplash fast.

Aside from an apparent space-time rift in the uptown No. 6 tunnel granting an impossibly convenient jaunt from Spring Street to 59th, the movie keeps faith with Manhattan reality. The specificity stings: a breathless regrouping hilariously staged in front of the upscale cosmetic emporium Sephora; a frantic emergence from a subway-tunnel nightmare into the over-lit horror of a triage center in Bloomingdale’s; an acknowledgement that the Time Warner Center at Columbus Circle is, indeed, a very deep circle of hell.

With its emphasis on corporate infrastructure and the unimaginative consumer class that enables it, Cloverfield makes for a most satisfying death-to-New-York saga. Which is to say, the fatal flaw of Drew Goddard’s script—shallow, unlikable heroes—can be flipped to an asset: death to the shallow, unlikable heroes! Cynical, sure, but in any case the movie doesn’t belong to its writer, but to the macro-vision of Abrams as executed with micro-dexterity by his team. Michael Bonvillain’s cinematography is a tour de force of avid FX–laden pseudo-verité. Coupled with Kevin Stitt’s complex cutting, Cloverfield is a sustained triumph of expanding and contracting perspectives, its whip-pans from human-scale panic to skyscraper-toppling spectacle raising the bar set by Spielberg’s War of the Worlds—if not Sokurov’s Russian Ark.

The mechanism is the message in Cloverfield, a movie so aluminum-sleek, ultra-portable, and itsy-bitsy sexy, it’s amazing Steve Jobs didn’t pull it out of an envelope at Macworld.

NOT funny?
The actual film.

Sunday, January 20, 2008

Now, I'm no nurse...

but this is fucked up.

Teeth Trailer

This dame's got trouble. Big trouble.

And I wanna piece of that action.

Nibble, nibble.