Paging Seymour Butz...

In honor of April Fool's Day, here is another survey. What is the greatest prank you have ever seen and/or pulled off? Despite my appreciation for almost all humor, I have always been pretty uninventive when it comes to pranks, and I'm a little jealous of people with that ability. The first problem is that I am a horrible liar, and I think pranking is kind of ancillary to that. My brother Vance has no such limitations, however, and when he was a missionary in Korea, he had one companion in particular whose bed he would sew shut and whose personal items he would glue/tape to the chimney, just for amusement. I am a big fan of anything that doesn't do any real damage, so hearing about dumb, easily done things like that always makes me smile. I also recently watched a few minutes of VH1's Greatest Pranks Ever, and although some of them crossed the line, most were so well-staged and elaborate that even the most austere man (or woman) can appreciate them on some level. Here are a few of my favorites, in descending order:

5. Charles Barkley reading from a TNT teleprompter and calling himself a dumbass.

4. A college-age girl getting into a cab whose driver runs over a guy and then drives off, culminating in the victim hobbling over and pulling the driver out for a beating.

3. Fat junior high-ish kid setting up a beer stand and being mostly unharrassed by adults, even getting some college kids try to place an order and eventually having an old super-uptight lady tell him off and earning a comparison to Hitler.

2. Elijah Wood almost breaking down in tears when a cop interrogates him after he throws a can with a put-out cigarette into a trash bin and then it explodes on Ashton Kutcher's Punk'd.

1. A very elaborate joke on the show Scare Tactics being played on a girl working at an urgent care facility where a man brings his wife in to give birth, and it quickly escalates to a priest showing up, Satan's very creepy baby being born and committing murder fresh out of the womb, and the girl refusing to worship him. Really, it has to be seen to be fully appreciated. It was voted #1 on VH1's list and for good reason.

Anyway, I now give the floor to you. Be sure to invite your friends!

I've Been Naughty...

So, if anyone is wondering about the progress of my HCG diet (which judging by the comments on last week's update, nobody is), I've been busted.  After resuming the diet following last week's post, I spent the last 4-5 days eating basically whatever I wanted.  The damage actually isn't too bad; I've lost a half pound or so and gone down slightly in my BMI.  I visited my nutritionist, Maeli, today, and she chided me mildly and ordered me to buy a digital bathroom scale so I can see my progress.  Initially I thought not having it around would help me to focus on how I feel instead of only the numbers, but how I feel is usually hungry, and seeing my progress may be enough to keep me faithful on the weekends, which are the real challenges for me.  I am determined to get back on the stick and ride this thing out for another couple of weeks and at least be down 20 pounds.  My big concern, which I anticipated even before starting the diet, is conference weekend.  I don't think there's anybody reading this who needs the explanation, but just in case, every April and October, Mormons sit around the house for virtually the entire weekend and watch the old men who lead the church deliver sermons and inspirational messages on TV (those who are stalwart enough to resist boating or camping in favor of 8-10 hours of good solid religion).  It's usually a pretty big weekend for eating, since that goes along with sitting around, and in fact after the Priesthood Session, every fast-food place in Utah gets a gigantic rush just after 8 p.m.  So, the trick this time is going to be not cheating, or cheating only minimally.  Thursday I will have a survey post up, and a brief update of my pre-weekend weigh-in.  Until then, I wish you all Godspeed.

I Feel Hungry...

So, that's me after one week of HCG.  Mission accomplished!  Okay, I know a tub of goo like me is in no danger of looking like a meth addict, and I'll probably never be as dreamy as Christian Bale, even the disgustingly skinny version in The Machinist.  But I did lose seven pounds.  Even better, my body fat dropped from 27 percent down to 25.  And that was with a major 2-day hiccup! On Saturday, I jumped off the wagon when I had no work to distract me, and then Sunday, Amy was throwing up everything but the kitchen sink, and I started to have stomach trouble and suspended the diet for another day.  Had that not happened, it would have easily been ten or twelve pounds lost.  Now that I've seen some results, it's strengthened my resolve to be good for another week (which was getting iffy).  I thought that not weighing in regularly would help me to keep my focus on feeling better and not just a number, but if I'd have had a scale in the house, it might have stopped me from ransacking the chips and making myself a bagel Saturday afternoon.  Anyway, progress has been made and I'm extremely happy considering this weekend's lapse.

The biggest surprise of the week was how easy it was.  I was hungry, but I really didn't feel like I was starving.  A few days in, my stomach felt a little flatter and I felt trimmer.  Eating oranges became a delicious treat, and diet soda (which I have hated for a long time) tasted amazingly sweet.  And my energy was a lot better without all the sugar I'd been taking in the previous week.  I'd still prefer not to be on this thing, but I am looking forward to getting all up in Gina's face as she swallows another mayo-slathered fried Twinkie whole. She'll be so proud.

Anywho, just checking in.  I'll try to put together another survey before the start of the weekend.  Until then, think skinny thoughts and enjoy all the wonderful things I can't have.

Just Call Me Fatty McButterpants

I've known this day was coming for a good six months. Tomorrow I start the three-week HCG diet. Most of my marriage I've been around 225 pounds, but I gained a bit whilst in New York last summer, and a couple of weeks ago, I weighed in at 240. Then I drank soda almost every day last week and ate a ton of sugar, and got all the way up to 243, and 27 percent body fat. For my height and age, that is starting to get into some bad territory. Not orca territory, but I've seen the writing on the wall. The HCG diet has you on 500 calories a day for three weeks, and 500 very specific calories at that, and taking HCG and a couple of other supplements every day to help control appetite and maximize results. I was able to get a nutritionist on trade, and she swears that you don't feel hunger if you are consistent in taking the supplements and that it is much easier to keep the weight off by using her services instead of trying to do it by yourself. But I'm kind of eager to test my mental toughness. I might not feel that way in 24 hours, but I have every intention of succeeding, and plan to keep the world in the loop via the blog. Before long, I may be the runt of the family. Vance is pretty hooked on Mountain Dew and is all domestic, while Gina has gotten hooked on fried lutefisk. Anyway, tomorrow is Armageddon, hence the choice of music. I am sticking with this thing no matter what.

I did, however, abort the moustache. I let it grow for five days and it was getting fairly noticeable. The thought of being seen by clients and prospects was too much for me to take. If I were a computer programmer, I would do this, and get away with it. Computer programmers and web designers are supposed to look like slobs. I don't know how to trim facial hair that is that long, so it hurt like a bitch to take off. I guess that's what I get.

Lastly, some of you have mentioned that I failed to crown a winner for the Embarrassment Olympics. The consensus, between Amy and I, at least, was that Julia's moment was the most spectacular. I was totally in that moment and have played it over and over in my mind to cheer myself up, partly because I have a brother-sister relationship to Julia and take joy in her humiliation, and partly because she is kinda special, so she deserves a prize. About that, though, after ordering a box full of the Scarface keychains, I found out that virtually every line has one or more F-bombs. I traded for them using the Trading Floor my company's software provides, and figured there would be a "Say hello to my little friend," and a "Say goodnight to the bad guy," among others. Nope, it's basically eight very vulgar phrases. So we may need to come up with a replacement prize. If I don't find a good trinket, perhaps we can host your family for dinner at my house (after my three weeks are up). Anyway, I've gotta figure it out. Congratulations, Julia, on being super-clumsy to the point that people openly wonder if you are retarded. Anyway, until next time, I bid you toodles...

Dude, Where's My 'Stache?

I've been bored lately. The winter can't go fast enough. Amy spent most of January and February curled up with morning sickness, and it's been no fun. Obviously, in her normal state Amy can hardly keep her hands off me (who could?), but out of sheer boredom, yesterday I was inspired to grow a moustache for at least a week or until she is feeling 100 percent. So I dedicate this moustache to you, babe.

Unfortunately, virtually nobody appreciates a good moustache any more, and there are very few who can pull it off aside from cops and former porn stars. It makes me wish I had lived through more than four months of the seventies. I mean, everyone had one then. It was sexy; so help me God, it was sexy! And it's the only full-length facial hair I can pull off without looking like Joe Dirt. So here is my ode to the fashionable look of yesteryear and its many varieties.

Now, you can't tell me that's not cool. Daniel Day-Lewis abides. And he created two movie icons, Bill the Butcher and Daniel Plainview. I can only wish I were that awesome.

Okay, the handlebar. It only works for cowboys and bikers, but this guy is bringing sexy back.

And of course, the walrus. This doesn't work for me since my sideburns are sparse, but I would love to try it. There are so many possibilities. From Ned Flanders to Goose Gossage to Ron Burgundy, the world is much more manly with moustaches. Let us not forget.

The Embarrassment Olympics

This post is brought to you in honor of the Olympics, which I haven't watched a minute of except for a few minutes during the opening ceremonies wondering why k.d. lang was performing "Hallelujah" and wondering why k.d. lang was the biggest star they could get to perform.  Then I saw Steve Nash, and I was like, "Oh yeah!  They have to use their people!"  I mean, after ice hockey and Alex Trebek, what has Canada given the world?  Anyway, I haven't done a survey in almost six months, and I think this one is gonna be a humdinger.  I am even offering a prize.  I want to know your most embarrassing moment.  The winner gets their very own Tony Montana talking keychain.  The contest lasts through the end of the month (which is Sunday), so tell your friends.  I want at least twenty entries.  They don't have to be regular visitors to the blog, or even know me.

I have to say, I'm kinda hard to embarrass.  If I do something outrageous that wasn't on purpose, I do a pretty good job of laughing about it.  But that wasn't always the case.  I was pretty self-conscious growing up.  The story that comes to mind happened when I was 14 and our church took a waterboating trip to nearby Willard Bay with all the young men and women.  I took my turn, and I felt the wake ripping my trunks off, but was unable to let go because another kid was using the same tube and had his arm across mine.  Eventually we wiped out, and we switched off.  The leader who had been driving asked, "Do you want to get in?"  I remained silent and sat there just kinda drifting and hoping they would forget about me and let me drown with dignity.  Making things worse was that my number one junior high crush was in the boat, and the water was cold, so if she got the full monty, I wouldn't be at my, ahem, best.  Then a lady drove her boat up holding the offending trunks up and asked the passengers if they belonged to someone there.  I became a punchline even for those who hadn't witnessed it.  As years have passed, I've developed the ability to laugh at my own expense, even more so than I do at others.  But I still want to laugh at you, too.  This is a celebration of pain and humiliation.  Ladies and gentlemen, the floor is yours...

A Movie Worth Checking Out

I really dig Jeff Bridges. And I love authentic country music (not to be confused with most of the crap that comes out of Nashville), and Western movies and Old West lore. It just so happens that Bridges has two roles within a year of each other with a Western theme (the next one being a remake of True Grit). Crazy Heart has been the only movie on my radar for quite some time. I did eventually cave to the Avatar hype, and found the hullabaloo maddeningly but predictably overdone. And today, for the second President's Day in a row, I took off a few hours early for a matinee. It's not exactly flying under the radar, since Bridges is the favorite to win the Oscar for Best Actor next month, so I won't try to pretend I discovered it like Oprah, and I won't be too long-winded, but I will recommend it, and provide you with some music from Ryan Bingham, who wrote most of the film's music (which was sadly unavailable on Playlist; Google The Weary Kind or watch the Crazy Heart trailer to hear the theme song), and who I've been familiar thanks to my cowboy friend Kyle. At any rate, I wasn't sure how to feel about the film's ending at first, since it's not the standard predictable neat finish, but after marinating a little, I think it was perfect. At any rate, I hope everyone got plenty of nookie over the Valentine's weekend. Have a great short workweek, and see you soon with a survey I have been putting together. Invite your friends! Ciao.

P.S. Just one interesting side note. Colin Farrell plays a country singer in Crazy Heart. And amazingly, he pulls off not only the accent, but the singing. So, major props to our favorite drunken Irish lout.