Grave Concerns

I’m about two-thirds of the way into my 90-in-90 exercise plan (see 5-30-08 posting). I’m not gonna lie and say I’ve been to the gym EVERY day since I started, but what I have tried to do is make up any days I miss by doing two workouts—eg. Weights + Cardio. Trying to find something different to do every day has forced me to sample some different exercise regimens. I tried Bikram (hot) yoga and sweated my butt off. I also revisited Cardio Kickboxing, but still found my enjoyment of the class was very dependent on the instructor, which is why I quit going originally.

One thing I have enjoyed is jogging in the cemetery. A guy I met recently thought that was totally creepy, but I disagree. Southerners are quite good to their dead, and the cemetery where I run is no exception. It’s very lush and green and well-tended. There is a paved road that winds through the grounds, and never any traffic. I’ll take that over jogging in the city streets any day of the week. Plus, being around all those skeletons makes me want to stay skinny too.

I can’t help but read the headstones as I run around, and the competitive side of me finds myself pitting my possible age of death against the age they died:
52 years old—I think I can beat that
77 years old—That’s gonna be a bit tougher
96 years old—Now that’s just showing off….
If I get a vote, which clearly I won’t, I think 85 is a good time to move on. Hopefully you’ll have had plenty of years to enjoy, some mistakes from which to learn, and someone younger to whom you can pass on your wisdom. By the time you reach 85, I’m assuming, your health issues will most likely be overshadowing your happiness. I can’t imagine you’ll be missing out on too much fun if you kick it at 85. Not much left to do after that but lose your teeth and poo on yourself.

As I look at all the tombstones, I do wonder if there’s not a better way to dispose of our dead. Dead bodies take up a lot of space. Will we eventually run out of places to put them? I’ve seen some of the cemeteries in Europe where bodies are packed upon bodies like a posthumous orgy. No thanks. I think I want an eco-burial.

Basically what they do is freeze your body to -321 F and grind you into powder. Then you are dehydrated and filtered (coffee, anyone?) to rid the powder of any heavy metals, etc. In about two hours you become compost, which can be used to fertilize a garden or forest. You can have a little memorial garden planted in your name, or just be scattered in the woods—if you don’t want to call attention to yourself. Either way, your remains will be useful, and not just cluttering up the place. I like that idea.

It does make me sad that I may not end up in a beautiful Southern cemetery with hot young joggers passing by, but maybe I can be scattered along a trail in the woods where there are hikers or something to keep me company. I could go for that….but hopefully not until I’m 85.

Old Maid

This week was my god-daughter’s 4th birthday. I wasn’t sure what to get her until I stumbled across a deck of “Old Maid” cards at the gift shop. I remember loving that game. The package said ‘3+ years’ so I went ahead a bought it. It didn’t hold my god-daughter’s attention for very long (I was competing with a Strawberry Shortcake scooter and stuffed animals, so I didn’t take it too personally), but I was fascinated once I started poring through the deck. There was no longer a picture of a sad looking spinster on the “Old Maid” card! Instead it was a group shot of all the characters, and the words “Old Maid” written across the top. WTF????

I’m guessing that in these politically correct times, it just wasn’t acceptable to show an unmarried woman on the loser card. But speaking as a single individual of a certain age, I can’t say I was ever really offended. First of all, it’s a children’s card game—get over it! Secondly, I don’t think I ever identified with the grey haired woman in the Victorian gown that I remember seeing on the Old Maid card.

In my “Old Maid” deck, I’d put a much different woman on the solo card. First of all, she’d look terrific. She doesn’t have children waking her up at night and running her ragged during the day. She also has reams of disposable income, since there are no colleges to pay for, no day care, etc. This cash reserve is used to buy a kickin’ wardrobe, highlights for her hair, and a swanky uptown condo. She would be wearing unusual jewelry purchased on one of her many trips to exotic lands. My Old Maid would be of an indeterminate age—she’s had work done! And her social calendar would be filled with dinner parties, concerts, and (if she’s so inclined) the occasional date. She’d be laughing and toasting the great life that she built single-handedly.

When playing with my “Old Maid” deck, the person holding the “Old Maid” card may have lost, but the woman on the card is still in the game!

Illegal Smiles

Sometimes you have one of those nights where the stars just seem to line up and everything is groovy. The Bruce Springsteen concert the other night was one of those times. I’d gone with some friends, but instead of assigned seats we just had tickets for the floor in front of the stage. As expected, it was really crowded and hectic and soon I found myself separated from my posse. No worries, I had a cold beer in hand and Bruce was kicking into my favorite song, “Girls in Their Summer Clothes”, off his new cd. I was singing along when I suddenly noticed an arm around my shoulder. I looked over and a young (college-aged) Latino guy was drunkenly singing along with me. We finished our little duet (along with Bruce and the many other concert attendees) and the boy smiled real big and patted me on the back. Next thing I knew, he pulled out what appeared to be a hand-rolled cigarette, winked at me and said, “Make my night, dude. Split this with me!” So I did. By the end of the show, he & his friends had adopted me into their clan and we were taking pictures together and singing along with every song. It wasn’t until after the final encore that I remembered I had actually come to the show with another group of friends that I would have to track down (which I did very easily thanks to the miracle of cell phones). When I found them, I recounted my story with them and they were appropriately jealous. All in all, a perfect evening.

There seems to be something about music (and dare I say, what appears to be hand-rolled cigarettes?!) that brings people together. I’ve always found that to be true. A few months ago I was going through old photo albums trying to decide which pictures to scan for my online profile. I stumbled across a picture of me with a very regal looking African-American woman. I had no clue who she was, at first. Then I remembered and had to smile. I had gone to another show (the Who, I believe) back in the ‘80’s while I was in undergrad. It was a similar dynamic—I was with a group of my fraternity bro’s, we lit up, and found ourselves dancing and singing along with this super-cool couple (one of whom was the woman in the picture). We hung out with them the entire night, took some pics, and then never saw them again. But still, it was another perfect evening.

As you probably assumed, I haven’t seen the Latino guy since the Springsteen show. I don’t even remember if I gave him my email address so he could send me copies of the pictures. I’m fine with that. Part of me hopes, though, that one day—years from now—he’ll be going through his old photographs from when he was in his twenties, and he’ll stumble across the one of me with him. I’m sure he’ll wonder who the hell I am. And if and when he remembers—I hope he smiles.

Potent Potables

I have to admit, I was recently jealous. I went to Playa del Carmen for a friend’s 40th birthday. The trip was perfect. That didn’t bother me. The weather was great. I was fine with that. He was surrounded by people who love him. I was one of them. What I envied was that during the course of the festivities, the party planner that put together the event worked with a bartender and came up with a signature drink in his honor. A drink named after him! I couldn’t stand it! So of course I came home and got out my junior chemistry set to come up with a drink of my own. I googled the ingredients and as far as I know, nobody has mixed these before. Where’s the *%$!! Patent Office???

The Branchula (Branchula is a nick-name of mine, in case you’re wondering—rhymes with tarantula)

1 part Irish whiskey (an unexpected ingredient that is both exotic and memorable)
1 part Canada Dry Green tea ginger ale (for effervescence AND some healthy antioxidants)
1 part Cranberry juice cocktail (for color and necessary fruitiness!)

Mix together in a lowball glass and serve over ice. Hopefully you will find it light and refreshing—especially those of you who shy away from dark liquors!

And for those of you who are more health conscious, here is my secret pre-workout power drink. It’s great for those days you don’t really feel like working out—by the time you get to the gym you’ll be bouncing off the walls!

Brant’s Energizing Work Out Shake

3/4 cup chilled coffee (I like a bold coffee like Starbucks Sumatra)
3/4 cup 2% milk
1 scoop chocolate protein powder (lately I’ve been using American Sports Double Dutch Chocolate Supreme—20 g protein per scoop)

Mix in a blender and enjoy 45 minutes before you go to the gym. By the time you get there the caffeine will have kicked in, and you’ll have the protein available to build muscle.

So whether you want to work out or pass out, I have a beverage for you! Drink up, sweeties!