Buster is the pudgiest pug I've ever seen. He's quite the little sausage. You can hear him breathing from the other end of the house. Poor little guy.
My roommate Maria is dogsitting this fellow for the foreseeable future, and she's taking it upon herself to restore him to fitness. As Buster is not a big fan of walking (and you know a dog is out of shape when it doesn't want to walk!), she's applying her equestrian background to getting him some exercise. You know how they'll tie a horse to the end of a long pole and let him trot around in a big circle for a while? Apparently that's called lunging. And Maria's contrived a way to do this with Buster. She attaches his harness to a curtain rod, and holds the rod while sitting in a swivel chair in the middle of the living room. Then she makes Buster walk in circles for 15 min. every day. That's fifteen minutes of serious wheezing, and a few attempts to sit down. But Maria's pretty good at the tough love with Mr. Pudge.
Depending on how much help I can wrangle from my roommates, who are technologically more sophisticated than I (surprise), I might see if I can get some recordings of the Sausage making his various noises and post them here. In spite of all my literary pretensions, I am unable to convey these sounds in words.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Misunderstood
The actual lyric: "Look at the frequencies at which I vibrate."
What my roommate heard: "Look at the freak, she says, "Which end vibrates?"
What my roommate heard: "Look at the freak, she says, "Which end vibrates?"
Thursday, May 21, 2009
And Speaking of Monsters (because I'm all about the segues today)...
I went to my first Red Sox game two weeks ago! They lost in a big way to the Tampa Bay Devil Rays, but I ordered a hot dog from one of those guys who sells them among the folks in the bleachers, so the day was a success for me.
Baseball parks are an experience, and I soaked up the smells (ballpark food!), sounds (swearing women and little kids learning to say, "Get that idiot ump some eyeglasses!"), and sights. Fenway has a big wall known as the Green Monster (or "monstah" in Bostonian). This has led to the Sox having a mascot named Wally (ha!) who is himself a green monster.
I thought about the whole mascot thing. It's probably hard being in that suit on a 90-degree day, but as I'm colder than most people, I imagine I could bear the heat more easily than most as well. And what else might be involved -- hugging children? doing goofy dances? hamming it up for a camera?
Fit the skill set of any bloggers you know?
So I decided I want to be Wally. I mean, I want to be the guy in the Wally outfit. I got really excited at the thought, though that could have been the caffeine-filled migraine pill I took hitting my system. One of my coworkers, sitting next to me, said that her roommate used to date the current Wally's brother, and that the job probably pays around $30K a year. Um, not to give y'all more info than you wanted about my finances, but if they give you benefits with that, then that wouldn't necessarily be a step down for me.
I even looked it up online. I'd thought maybe this would be the sort of thing you'd only have to do from Spring Training through the World Series, giving you several months off in between to do other fun stuff and earn more money. But I think Wally makes appearances at a lot of functions and charity events, visiting children's hospitals and such, and that probably goes year-round. Makes sense. Even so, I may check in every once in a while and see if that spot opens up.
I've already begun imagining what kind of dance moves would work in a big round suit.
Baseball parks are an experience, and I soaked up the smells (ballpark food!), sounds (swearing women and little kids learning to say, "Get that idiot ump some eyeglasses!"), and sights. Fenway has a big wall known as the Green Monster (or "monstah" in Bostonian). This has led to the Sox having a mascot named Wally (ha!) who is himself a green monster.
I thought about the whole mascot thing. It's probably hard being in that suit on a 90-degree day, but as I'm colder than most people, I imagine I could bear the heat more easily than most as well. And what else might be involved -- hugging children? doing goofy dances? hamming it up for a camera?
Fit the skill set of any bloggers you know?
So I decided I want to be Wally. I mean, I want to be the guy in the Wally outfit. I got really excited at the thought, though that could have been the caffeine-filled migraine pill I took hitting my system. One of my coworkers, sitting next to me, said that her roommate used to date the current Wally's brother, and that the job probably pays around $30K a year. Um, not to give y'all more info than you wanted about my finances, but if they give you benefits with that, then that wouldn't necessarily be a step down for me.
I even looked it up online. I'd thought maybe this would be the sort of thing you'd only have to do from Spring Training through the World Series, giving you several months off in between to do other fun stuff and earn more money. But I think Wally makes appearances at a lot of functions and charity events, visiting children's hospitals and such, and that probably goes year-round. Makes sense. Even so, I may check in every once in a while and see if that spot opens up.
I've already begun imagining what kind of dance moves would work in a big round suit.
Monster in the Making
My last post was partially about the joys of being away from one's desk during the workday. Well, last week I got to have that twice! My company brought in a fellow to give some day-long workshops on giving powerful presentations, and I signed up for both Levels 1 and 2.
I don't give presentations at work. I barely even interact with people. It's a wonder I can physically speak at all anymore. But I've always been drawn to public speaking, so I signed up with my boss's blessing.
It surprised me when I first heard that more people fear public speaking than death. But in a perverse way, I find this encouraging. I figure it means that if I think it sounds fun while the rest of the world thinks it sounds scary, then maybe it's one of the things I was born to do. And I don't have as much competition to worry about ;-).
That doesn't mean I don't get nervous. I do. But people say even that is a good sign, because it means you care, and some adrenaline, when well channelled, can keep you on your toes and make you more effective. I experienced this as a musician, so it's not utterly foreign. Always good to be reminded that nerves don't have to be a bad sign.
The guy who led our workshops was nicknamed Meech, and he's had a career impressive in its levels of fun. At least, I was envious. He'd been a radio DJ, and then he interviewed famous musicians on TV in the early days of VH1. He's chatted with BB King, Sting, Eric Clapton and Phil Collins! I wanna do that!
Can I share my excitement with you? Meech was positive with everyone, but I don't think it was all in my head that he was especially effusive in his compliments to me. He said that someday I could be a "monster" and "a force to reckon with" in the public speaking department. Golly, I'd like that.
Furry Holly Monster like public speaking. Rowr.
I don't give presentations at work. I barely even interact with people. It's a wonder I can physically speak at all anymore. But I've always been drawn to public speaking, so I signed up with my boss's blessing.
It surprised me when I first heard that more people fear public speaking than death. But in a perverse way, I find this encouraging. I figure it means that if I think it sounds fun while the rest of the world thinks it sounds scary, then maybe it's one of the things I was born to do. And I don't have as much competition to worry about ;-).
That doesn't mean I don't get nervous. I do. But people say even that is a good sign, because it means you care, and some adrenaline, when well channelled, can keep you on your toes and make you more effective. I experienced this as a musician, so it's not utterly foreign. Always good to be reminded that nerves don't have to be a bad sign.
The guy who led our workshops was nicknamed Meech, and he's had a career impressive in its levels of fun. At least, I was envious. He'd been a radio DJ, and then he interviewed famous musicians on TV in the early days of VH1. He's chatted with BB King, Sting, Eric Clapton and Phil Collins! I wanna do that!
Can I share my excitement with you? Meech was positive with everyone, but I don't think it was all in my head that he was especially effusive in his compliments to me. He said that someday I could be a "monster" and "a force to reckon with" in the public speaking department. Golly, I'd like that.
Furry Holly Monster like public speaking. Rowr.
I Feel Healthier When I'm Away from My Desk
My company is changing health insurance plans. This happens a lot. It's the third or fourth time that, for various reasons, I've had to research and sign up for a plan in the space of about 2 years. While I find this mildly stressful (will I get sick this year? how do I know?), the company did a good job of making things fun by holding a Benefits Fair today. It got me away from my desk, which is as welcome to me now as it was when I was in second grade and we got to go to the gym for an assembly about fire safety. Any change in the routine is happy.
They had nifty goings-on. First, I went to a seminar about how what you eat affects how you feel. A lot of it was obvious: Sugar is bad, unprocessed foods are good. Kinda knew it, but what was helpful was knowing some of the facts behind it. Like, unprocessed (or "whole") foods work better with your body in the breakdown process, whereas processed foods (e.g. refined sugar) actually force your body to hand over the nutrients it got from other foods, like some kind of digestive mugging. I doubt this will stop me from eating chocolate -- OK, who am I kidding? it won't stop me at all -- but depending on my financial situation, I may be willing to spend a few extra bucks here and there for unprocessed items. Any step in the right direction is a little victory, right? I'm all about the positive motivation, having previously driven myself to the unproductive depths that guilt and obligation lead to.
The next thing I went to was a half-hour session on yoga moves you can do at your desk, and even in your chair. Neato! I feel like I'm still way at the beginning of the process of learning to use my body more and my head less (in my journey to become a well-proportioned human being, and not some kind of bobble-head), so even short classes like this feel like a big deal to me.
Then there was the kicker: Chair massages! How can you pass that up? Way to butter up the workforce!
I also stopped by a table set up by one of the local gyms. They were clever, in that they had a device you could hold that would, when given your height and weight, measure your body-fat percentage. Silly, cocky Holly, thinking that being narrow would give her a good number! I should have realized that I'm not necessarily thin because I'm low on fat, but because I'm also low on bone, muscle, and probably the size of my internal organs. So when you go to percentages, my loose clothing the heeled boots don't give me an advantage. The girl at the table, who may have been trying to be nice, said there was an error margin of 5 percentage points in either direction. The device said I was 25.8% body fat, which I thought was good for a woman until I looked at the chart they had. Apparently it's only "fair," which is isn't so great. Less than "good," in fact. Rats. I don't like bad grades, even when they're for fitness. I should probably start drinking raw eggs and pumping lots and lots of iron or something. Except I won't.
But I do like a nice distraction from work. And when you look at the big picture, isn't avoiding work really what it's all about?
They had nifty goings-on. First, I went to a seminar about how what you eat affects how you feel. A lot of it was obvious: Sugar is bad, unprocessed foods are good. Kinda knew it, but what was helpful was knowing some of the facts behind it. Like, unprocessed (or "whole") foods work better with your body in the breakdown process, whereas processed foods (e.g. refined sugar) actually force your body to hand over the nutrients it got from other foods, like some kind of digestive mugging. I doubt this will stop me from eating chocolate -- OK, who am I kidding? it won't stop me at all -- but depending on my financial situation, I may be willing to spend a few extra bucks here and there for unprocessed items. Any step in the right direction is a little victory, right? I'm all about the positive motivation, having previously driven myself to the unproductive depths that guilt and obligation lead to.
The next thing I went to was a half-hour session on yoga moves you can do at your desk, and even in your chair. Neato! I feel like I'm still way at the beginning of the process of learning to use my body more and my head less (in my journey to become a well-proportioned human being, and not some kind of bobble-head), so even short classes like this feel like a big deal to me.
Then there was the kicker: Chair massages! How can you pass that up? Way to butter up the workforce!
I also stopped by a table set up by one of the local gyms. They were clever, in that they had a device you could hold that would, when given your height and weight, measure your body-fat percentage. Silly, cocky Holly, thinking that being narrow would give her a good number! I should have realized that I'm not necessarily thin because I'm low on fat, but because I'm also low on bone, muscle, and probably the size of my internal organs. So when you go to percentages, my loose clothing the heeled boots don't give me an advantage. The girl at the table, who may have been trying to be nice, said there was an error margin of 5 percentage points in either direction. The device said I was 25.8% body fat, which I thought was good for a woman until I looked at the chart they had. Apparently it's only "fair," which is isn't so great. Less than "good," in fact. Rats. I don't like bad grades, even when they're for fitness. I should probably start drinking raw eggs and pumping lots and lots of iron or something. Except I won't.
But I do like a nice distraction from work. And when you look at the big picture, isn't avoiding work really what it's all about?
Monday, May 11, 2009
Who Lives in a Pineapple?
My nephew's party was the perfect mix of kids and adults -- enough of each for people to be able to hang out with their peers. The kids (except for my nephew, they were all older, like 8-ish) could entertain themselves in the backyard without a ton of entertaining or supervision, and they didn't have to listen to the boring conversations of the big people. My brother had also planned a water balloon toss, which the kids could do with their parents. Wow, are water balloons popular with kids. This was that really hot weekend we had, too, so it was the perfect setting for getting wet.
Now, I knew my brother was pretty good with kids. What I hadn't realized was that he may be the coolest grown-up ever. The kids figured this out pretty quickly, and paid him the compliment of making him the focus of plotting, scheming, and connniving. It started with extra water ballons, which they wanted to focus entirely on him. So he headed outside and made a show of bending over to look for drinks in the cooler: "Hmmm, let me get a beer. Here I am, looking for a beer..." The kids were so well behaved that they didn't pick up on the opportunity and were patiently waiting for him to finish. I waved them in, "Get him in the butt!" Boy, they didn't need to be told twice. But the balloons weren't breaking easily, and as they followed him around the yard throwing, the shots kept bouncing off him like bullets off Superman. Eventually he tried putting them in his back pockets and sitting down, and it still didn't work. Weird. But a valiant effort!
Next, they tried to give him a candy that was sweet and most definitely not sour at all, which he obligingly fell for.
The part that impressed me the most, though (perhaps because it veered into a skill set that I appreciate) was when he sang the complete Sponge Bob theme song, word perfect. In that Sea Captain voice.
It should be noted here, especially as we just passed Mother's Day, that my sister-in-law pulled off impressive feats of her own. She made Martha Stewart cakes! I didn't know people could do that. And the woman has gone without cheese for over a year-and-a-half because my nephew has had a problem with dairy, which I think should qualify her for a medal or something.
Now, I knew my brother was pretty good with kids. What I hadn't realized was that he may be the coolest grown-up ever. The kids figured this out pretty quickly, and paid him the compliment of making him the focus of plotting, scheming, and connniving. It started with extra water ballons, which they wanted to focus entirely on him. So he headed outside and made a show of bending over to look for drinks in the cooler: "Hmmm, let me get a beer. Here I am, looking for a beer..." The kids were so well behaved that they didn't pick up on the opportunity and were patiently waiting for him to finish. I waved them in, "Get him in the butt!" Boy, they didn't need to be told twice. But the balloons weren't breaking easily, and as they followed him around the yard throwing, the shots kept bouncing off him like bullets off Superman. Eventually he tried putting them in his back pockets and sitting down, and it still didn't work. Weird. But a valiant effort!
Next, they tried to give him a candy that was sweet and most definitely not sour at all, which he obligingly fell for.
The part that impressed me the most, though (perhaps because it veered into a skill set that I appreciate) was when he sang the complete Sponge Bob theme song, word perfect. In that Sea Captain voice.
It should be noted here, especially as we just passed Mother's Day, that my sister-in-law pulled off impressive feats of her own. She made Martha Stewart cakes! I didn't know people could do that. And the woman has gone without cheese for over a year-and-a-half because my nephew has had a problem with dairy, which I think should qualify her for a medal or something.
Wicked Ink
Whaddup, peeps. I know it's been a while since I've posted. I've been a busy little bee. Oh, the irony: The more I do, the more I might have to blog about, but the less time I have to do the blogging. So I have some catching up to do! Let's start with my nephew's fire-themed first birthday party, which included tattoos! Here's me and my dad looking all tough with ours:
I know we're hard to tell apart, so I'll help you out: I'm on the right. My dad wanted me to be sure to tell you all that the picture cuts off part of his arm, and therefore does not fully capture the massiveness of his bicep.
I know we're hard to tell apart, so I'll help you out: I'm on the right. My dad wanted me to be sure to tell you all that the picture cuts off part of his arm, and therefore does not fully capture the massiveness of his bicep.
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