Once again I'm thoroughly disgusted by the current administration. While I'd read something about this a few weeks ago in the WSJ, I saw posted today on ABC's online news site that the SOBs at DHS have indeed proposed regulations that would basically equate contraception with abortion so that, as the spectacularly brilliant Mike Leavitt of DHS puts it, people, particularly health care providers, would "not be forced to say or do things they believe are morally wrong."
Well, I think the occupation of Iraq is morally wrong, so therefore I shouldn't have to pay my taxes, which help fund that occupation, right, Mike?
"But wait," some people counter to taking Leavitt and his slippery slope argument to one of its natural conclusions, "that's not what he means. Doctors shouldn't have to write contraceptive prescriptions if they think that life begins at conception and therefore preventing conception is morally wrong."
Well, if preventing conception is morally wrong, then abstaining from sex is morally wrong too.
Oh yeah, I did just go there.
F'in morons....
If you want to read more and get really pissed off, check out this site, which quotes the proposed regulations. Just make sure you don't have anything valuable nearby that you might break in your outrage, and make sure you haven't eaten because you might just vomit.
This Thursday has just not been my day. I chipped a tooth this morning, thus the needed trip to the dentist office threw a monkey wrench into my plans to both run and kickbox today. Then when I got the gym at 8 o'clock sharp, knowing that I'd have enough time to get in the four miles I had planned and get home before the dentist office opened and tried to return my voice message about an emergency visit, I realized that I'd forgotten my Nike+ sportsband at home.
Yes, Gentle Reader, I'm a total idiot.
So back home I raced--which is not easy when you've got to drag the boy out of the gym daycare, grab his shoes from the tracks, retrieve my driver's license (which you have to turn surrender in order to drop your kid off) and then get the boy into the car and buckled into his booster seat after wrangling with a safety-minded seatbelt that loves to lock up. But back home I got myself and the boy, grabbed my sportsband I did, hauled ass back to the gym, went through the rigamarole at the daycare then got my ass on the treadmill. I put in four miles without incident, dashed downstairs, retrieved the boy and his shoes and his license and, to save time, just held him for the trek to the car because, well, the boy can't put his shoes on without drama. It's really, really pathetic.
So there I am, Monkey Boy holding onto me gingerly because I'm drenched with sweat after my four miles, walking out of the daycare and toward the front door. Then he and I have this little exchange:
Me: Thank you, kiddo, for letting me come to the gym twice today. The boy: And thank you, Mommy, for getting me all sweaty. Me: Well, you're so welcome. The boy: (grinning ear to ear) I was being sarcastic, Mommy. Me: (grinning ear to ear) Yes, I know. And I'm so proud of you!
Ahh, put a feather in my cap. Pin a rose on my nose. Call me a proud mom!
Now I just have to explain when sarcasm is appropriate and when it's more than likely to get his ass handed to him....
Speaking of Hilarious Things.... I was reading in today's WSJ that Microsoft has allegedly hired Jerry Seinfeld to be a spokesperson to help counter Apple's "Mac vs. PC" commercials and convince buyers that Vista is not a total flaming dog turd and that Microsoft is hip and cool, yo.
"What's so funny about that?" you ask, Gentle Reader?
"Are you a brainless, clueless moron?" I ask right back to you, Gentle Reader.
First off, no amount of ad spending in the FSM's fantastic fettuccine bowl will ever convince the majority of folks who have experienced Windows XP that Vista is, to use an antiquated term from roughly the same period when Seinfeld was considered funny by some, all that and a bag of chips. While I was a tech editor at the local computer manufacturing giant, I had the, um, pleasure of editing the tech support training document for Vista. That document was endless because Vista just encompassed too much, took away too much, has too many useless "features" and causes too many problems. When the folks selling you your computer are already gearing up months in advance to try to deal with all the complaints and problems a new OS would bring, you know something's not right.
Secondly, what brilliant mind decided that Seinfeld is still somehow relevant, not to mention funny? I'll admit that I've never found Seinfeld, his show, the characters on the show or anything about it funny. I found the whole Seinfeld phenomenon annoying and obnoxious. His brand of humor wasn't unique and sure as hell today isn't unique.
But, hey, if you want to appeal to those consumers who think Seinfeld is the greatest thing in comedy since the prat fall, then more power to you. These consumers most likely weren't contemplating Mac purchases anyway.
Yup, Gentle Reader, it's a theme post. Brace yourself.
Power Songs I mentioned the other day something about my gym iPod and its ability at times to play songs that "inspire my arse to move." Nike (and I'm sure many others) calls these power songs, and, yeah, I find power in me that I didn't think I have when they play.
Thinking that you may be curious what kind of songs inspire me to make it through another mile, another fifteen minutes (no, that's not how long it takes me to run a mile) or whatever, I thought I'd share with you, Gentle Reader, a list of my top power songs. They're not ranked because I don't like ranking things like this and because each song's "power potential" depends on the circumstances of when my iPod shuffles it up. Nor is this list exhaustive: a song that may do nothing for me for months may suddenly be the stuff that, say, gets me to increase my speed instead of decrease it from that playing of it and onward.
If you're looking for fodder for your own gym music playlist, check these out:
"Given to Fly" by Pearl Jam. Yeah, not a big surprise to see this one given what I wrote about it earlier.
"Stomp!" by DJ Aligator Project. This little gem came from a BodyPump release--a squat track, if memory serves. There's nothing like a little "Colonel Bogey" (and images of meticulously built bridges exploding) to get you to run or squat or whatever.
"The Rising" by Bruce Springsteen. Sure, the circumstances surrounding the writing of this song aren't exactly cheery, but I've found this song puts the surge in my blood ever since the first time I heard it. Yeah, I'm a sucker for some good pathos. And I even managed to love the song after Les Mills stuck it in a BodyFlow release I taught; that company should be brought up on crimes against humanity charges for setting faux-Pilates movement to it.
"Autumn Song" by Manic Street Preachers. Yeah, it mentions running in the chorus, but this is one of my power songs for more than just that. I love the ebb and flow of the tempo. I love the swell of the choir that leads into the chorus. This song just does it for me. So sue me.
"Everlong" by the Foo Fighters. It's David Letterman's favorite song, and it's my favorite song from the Fighters of Foo, whom you can always trust to put out solid, dependable rock. They're coming to ACL this year, but I won't be going. Will I be missing the opportunity of a lifetime? Perhaps. Do I care? Not in the least. I guess I live in the wrong city because while live music is fun and powerful, I'm fine listening to it at home.
"Gonna Fly Now" by Bill Conti. Yo, Adrienne! Sure, it's cliche, but can ya really resist this song? And it beats Survivor's "Eye of the Tiger" any day (although that's another oldie but goodie, I'll admit.) Enjoy a craptacular "video" for this one:
"Fluorescent Adolescent" by Arctic Monkeys. I didn't really go gaa-gaa over the Monkeys when they hit...was that last year? Typically my interest in the next big Internet thing is inverse to its hype, ergo I had zilch interest in them. But I heard this ditty late last year and just laughed so hard that I cried because, well, we'll all reach an age when we realize that we too took a left up Last Laugh Lane. But I'm still getting it in my fishnets, thank you very much.
"Let the River Run" by Carly Simon. Ahh, this classic power movie ballad doesn't get old, does it? Sure, it's about filthy capitalist pigs, and it was co-opted by the Postal Service to reassure folks it wasn't delivery anthrax-laced letters to every good 'merican, but I still find when that boy's choir starts caterwauling in my ears, I kick up my pace. And often hit the back button on the iPod so I can hear it again.
"Stayin' Alive" by the Bee Gees. Whether your a brother or whether your a mother, you can't resist this song. Or maybe you can--it too is highly cliched. But sometimes, just like Travolta's Tony Manero, ya just gotta strut. And when this song comes on, yeah, you bet your ass I strut, Gentle Reader.
And last but not least....
"America" by Neil Diamond. I know, hard to believe anti-'merican 'ol me can find motivation to run in this song, but I do. Like I said, I likes me some good pathos. Well, bathos, in this case. Plus I grew up with Neil Diamond on the turntable, right there in the stack with Carol King, Bee Gees Greatest, John Denver (we whipped out the infamous Christmas album at the right time of the year), Kenny Rogers and Air Supply. (Faint not, Gentle Reader. In the mid-80s, we added a 45 with Billy Idol covering "Mony Mony" live. It played a bit too fast, but it made for a helluva mix with 'ol Kenny and The Gambler.) But Neil knows how to put on a vocal chord-straining, panty-throwing show, don't he?
So there you have it, Gentle Reader--further proof that I'm a complete freak.
Power Tune-age, Power Bars Although I'd bookmarked a few power bar/energy bar recipes back when I first started my culinary misadventures, I've never made any until today. Why today? Well, Mum shared with me the recipe for some she got from these great nuns she knows (who are the boy's honorary great grandmas). They got it, if I recall the story correctly, at a recent reflexology conference they attended.
Yeah, I know. Nuns and reflexology. Not exactly something you'd put together, huh, Gentle Reader?
I whipped this recipe together after this morning's trip to the gym. I'm sure it wouldn't have taken terribly long if I hadn't been on the phone with Mum and trying to get the boy squared away with his post-gym viewing of The Phantom Menace. And perhaps the initial goo wouldn't have looked so disgusting if I'd paid more attention to it while melting it. Not terribly appetizing to look at, is it?
And I had my doubts that the ingredient I'd chosen for the bulk of the recipe--Kashi's GoLean, a box of which I've had in my pantry, unopened, for many months--would make these things edible. If you've ever had any of Kashi's cereal, you may think they taste roughly like cardboard and have the consistency of cardboard left out in the elements for many months. For many years, I lived off Kashi's Good Friends, and the boy when he was younger was convinced the man and woman on the red box were his Nana and Papa (and I'll agree that they look a scary lot like my 'rents). But would the GoLean be crispy enough to withstand the melted goo? Or would it wilt like soggy Rice Krispies dunked in a toilet? (No, I don't know why you'd do that, Gentle Reader. I'm stretching for an allusion here. Just go with it.)
I was surprised by the mass of the finished recipe. I didn't expect it to damn near fill the 9" x 13" pan. See for yourself:
Amazing texture, don't ya think?
Unfortunately, the things didn't set up after chillin' in the back of the 'fridge (i.e., our third freezer) for some eight hours. I cut into them after supper, and it was obvious there would be no bars from this pan. The best I could hope for would be lumps. For this photo, I molded with my fingers the portion I scooped out--also with my fingers. (Okay, not really. I used a small plastic turner.) But lemme tell ya this, Gentle Reader: For as big a failure as these bars appear to be, they're damn delicious. Just the right combination of sweet and salty, crunchiness and gooeyness. Here's the recipe if you want to try to make some for yourself:
Power Bars
2 t vanilla 2 T butter 1 C honey 3/4 C any nut butter 1/2 C raisins 1 1/2 C oatmeal 4 C Minute Oats or whole grain cereal 1 1/2 t cinnamon 1 C sunflower seeds 1/2 C chopped nuts
Heat the butter, nut butter and honey until melted.
Add the vanilla, seeds, nuts, cereal, oats, raisins, and cinnamon, stirring until blended.
Pat firmly into a greased 9" x 13" pan.
Let chill in refrigerator until set, then cut into bars.
I can't provide any nutritional info, but if you work the ingredients right, you can come up with a pretty darn healthful bar from this very basic, very modifiable recipe.
The Faudie's Futzings
As always, I used Promise fat-free butter. I wasn't worried about the extra moisture too much since I wasn't sure the other melted goo would be enough for all that Kashi cereal and oats and nuts and seeds and raisins.
I used Better 'n Peanut Butter, which only has 2 grams of fat per 2-tablespoon serving. Yeah, 2 grams of fat. That beats the hell out of Peter Pan's 12 grams per 2-tablespoon serving for its reduced fat product.
I used agave nectar in lieu of honey. Hey, lower that glycemic index whenever you can!
Even though I find the Better 'n Peanut Butter a bit salt (it only has 190 mg of Na per serving), I did use the full cup of sunflower seeds, which also were lightly salted. Sorry, I couldn't afford the organic, unsalted ones.
For the half-cup of nuts, I just used some chopped mixed nuts Fisher puts out for ice cream topping. Yummy.
Mum assured me this recipe is very easy to modify, so whatever you have in your pantry you could probably throw in. Bon appetit!
And for No Reason Except to Maintain the Theme....
