Blogcritics Author: Chari Daignault

Announcement: Short-content feeds

Phillip Winn — Sun, 26 Aug 2007 12:00:00 EDT

Sunday, August 26, 2007, marks the switch of all Blogcritics.org article feeds from full-content to short-content. This is the result of several converging factors, and is unfortunately a permanent decision (as permanent as any decision can be on the web, that is). We are aware of all of the reasons that this is a Bad Idea, and we are aware that some of you will be quite upset about having to click on something to read the free content, and we're sorry. Unfortunately, despite great effort, full-content feeds are not currently economically viable. Two other factors are involved: full-content feeds have resulted in an unprecedented level of content theft, with BC content appearing on many websites, usually spam sites, without attribution or permission. This duplicate content causes a cascading set of problems, not the least of which is that search engines generally aren't favorable to duplicate content, and don't always guess correctly. Finally, our RSS advertising partner is strongly in favor of short-content feeds. We hope that you'll continue to subscribe to BC via RSS, and when an article grabs your eye, it's only a click away, still free on the BC website. Thank you for your understanding.

Flushing Nemo

Chari Daignault — Fri, 18 Mar 2005 08:22:44 EST

I attended a funeral last week. There were four of us present. Three of us work together here in the office. The fourth was the dead one. The funeral was held in the ladies' room.Our office mascot, Nemo, had kicked the bucket. He hung in for a long time, seemingly waiting for Sally, his owner, to come back from vacation. We were happy he did that, not wanting to dispose of him without her approval and attendance. Sally tends to be overly emotional [a very conservative statement] and none of us wants to be the one trapped in her office when she cries and sobs as if the world had blown up, when in actuality, someone just didn't agree with her.Nemo was a Siamese Beta Fighting Fish. He was reddish in color. He is now dead. He died of old age. As soon as Sally came back, he went belly up. Her wailing not withstanding, I was able to fish him out of his bowl easily. We began the funeral procession down the hall.We gathered in the handicap stall [it's the only way all of us could fit], looked at each other solemnly and then I carefully lowered the fish net into the bowl of the toilet. He floated out slowly and settled on the bottom. I looked at Sally and Kathy, both looking appropriately sad [Sally looking worse and sobbing, of course], got the silent nod and pushed the lever.He schwooped out of there quickly. The toilet made a horrid noise much like it was burping after a large meal. The toilets in our ladies' room leave much to be desired, such as actually flushing everything the first time you flush. Usually, you have to grab an extra handful of toilet paper and use it to "encourage" the stuff in the bowl to find the hole out of there. It's easier than it sounds, but is still an extra step I'd rather not have to continue to perform. Luckily, I didn't have to perform this with Nemo's departure.As Nemo left this plane and the toilet made its blurp, I pictured Nemo shooting back out of the toilet, smacking onto the wall of the stall, then slowly sliding down it until he blapped on the floor. All the while, we three would stand and stare in horror as this played out in slow motion.Of course, this didn't happen, but I did picture it, so I began to giggle. Right there, as the final gurgling noises came from Nemo's final resting throne, I began to laugh. Kathy looked horrified. Sally looked quizzical. I had to explain.So yes, I told them what I had pictured. Kathy laughed so hard I thought she would pee, Sally looked like I'd just farted in her face. I thought it best to beat a hasty retreat and hummed "Amazing Grace" as I left.Sally went to her office, glaring at me as she went by, and sent out an obituary notice to every.single.person in the building.This morning little Nemo took his last breath, flipped over and went to fish heaven. Nemo was accompanied to the afterlife by those he knew as family...Nemo the red Beta fish did a good job as our mascot, having lived here at the office for over a year. He was a source of relaxation and joy to those of who knew the little guy as friendly and eager to interact...at least as much as a small fish could.We are not sure what caused him to become sick, but we think that it was merely old age.I am so glad she did not name "those he knew as family".So long, Nemo.

For more bodily function malfunctions and to see what the cats are up to, visit SoapBoxBlog.

Music Review: Michael Rose - Happiness: The Best of Michael Rose

Chari Daignault — Wed, 25 Aug 2004 14:10:48 EDT

My Hyundai Santa Fe will never be the same.We were on our way to eat a quick dinner with friends at a local restaurant. The restaurant in question was located in a shopping center near our suburban Orlando neighborhood. The vehicle du jour around there is a Lexus SUV and inside, you'll find 3.2 kids, one dog and a soccer mom with road rage.I had gotten my review copy of Michael Rose's latest CD, Happiness: The Best of Michael Rose in the mail earlier that day. We decided to bring it along with us and give it a listen. I skipped straight to the sixteenth track, "Never Give It Up." It's a favorite of mine and I was thrilled they'd included it on the CD.At at an intersection in our suburbian eutopia, we pulled alongside some construction, [and its requisite workers] and waited for the light to turn. We had the windows rolled up, and we were jamming. Heads bopping, the mirrors vibrating, we were quite a scene -- two forty-something women dressed for dinner, sitting in a silver SUV, and listening to hardcore reggae. The construction workers saw us and began dancing along. They couldn't hear the music, but it didn't matter -- we danced in our seats, they danced in the dirt, we exchanged thumbs-up signs and all was well with the world.Until the cars behind us began to honk their horns, and we realized that the vehicles ahead of us had departed -- leaving us holding up traffic and offering an interesting conversation piece for the construction workers. Feeling like ass, we sped up to the light and got through it just as it turned red.That's when I decided it would be better to listen to the CD in the comfort of my office, far from soccer moms, contruction workers and road rage.The CD is a gem. Michael Rose, former lead singer of the group Black Uhuru [who in 1984 won reggae's first Grammy], belts out his distinctive Jamaican tones on old favorites going all the way back to his days with Black Uhuru. The CD, available in stores now, is enhanced and contains the music video of track number five, "Short Temper."We're planning on having a late summer party, serving fruity drinks with little umbrellas and cranking this CD out. I suggest you give it a listen and pay particular attention to track seventeen, "Shine Eye Gal" -- it features Michael and Shabba Ranks. I guarantee you will not be able to sit still.Tracks: "Guess Who's Coming To Dinner" (Original Version) "Rent Man" (Short Version) "Sun Is Shining" "Plastic Smile" (Short Version) "Short Temper" "How You Fi Do That" (Live Version) "Be Yourself" "Rude Boys" (Dodge City Mix) "Black Maria" "Happiness" "Dance Wicked" "Lion In The Jungle (with Maxi Priest)" "Ganja Bonanza" "It's Alright" "Big Ting" "Never Give It Up" "Shine Eye Gal" (with Shabba Ranks) "Rough Life"

For more bodily function malfunctions and to see what the cats are up to, visit SoapBoxBlog.

Payback Is A Mutha

Chari Daignault — Thu, 4 Sep 2003 08:13:44 EDT

A while back, my sister decided to initiate what she called BlogWars�.This consisted of Melanie posting pictures on her blog of me during various times in my life when it was painfully obvious I was still finding my way to the perfect portrait of coolness that is now me.She insinuated I had started the whole thing... Sure -- as if I'd post pictures of her at her expense. Right.Melanie has recently gotten married -- for the second time. Not that it's a recurring event... I'm sure Big Jim is HIM for her.Anyway, her first marriage was many moons ago. She was still too young at that time to purchase alcohol. She relied on me for that. We were living in Hawaii at the time and the year they changed the drinking age to 21 was the year I became 21. Poor Mel. She'd been able to legally buy alcoholic beverages since she was 18. Now at the age of 20, it became illegal overnight for her to imbibe. Heh.Back to the wedding thing.My mom wanted to throw a wedding shower. I was tasked with removing Melanie from the house so mom and Mel's friends could get the place decorated and set up. Removing Mel from the house was no easy task. She didn't feel like hanging out with me that day.I had to bribe her. With alcohol. It worked.We jumped into my Datsun pickup and drove with the windows down -- real fast. Real fast is relative, you know. A 1982 Datsun pickup truck doesn't actually go real fast.We drove to a liquor store and purchased Melanie's favorite adult beverage at the time -- MD 20/20 [a most favored bum beverage]. I brought the brown paper bag out to Mel and we proceeded to share. We drove all over the place, singing to the radio and drinking MD 20/20. Actually, Melanie was drinking the lion's share of it... afterall, I was driving.As we drove over the Pali, heading back to the windward side of Oahu [and home], the radio was blasting Toni Basil's "Mickey". Mel and I were screaming singing at the tops of our lungs, "OH MICKEY, YOU'RE SO FINE. YOU'RE SO FINE, YOU BLOW MY MIND. HEY MICKEY - HEY MICKEY!"...Meanwhile, with the windows open, the wind blowing our hair, we felt good and life was wonderful. Then just as I went to inhale an extra large breath of air so I could belt out another round of "Mickey", the roach clip hanging feathered rearview mirror decoration ended up going VOOMP! down my throat.So, "OH MICKEY, YOU'RE SO FINE. YOU'RE SO FINE YOU BLOW MY MIND!" ended up sounding like, "OH MICKEY, YOU'RE SO FINE. UCKGAAAAAACK!" and we swerved back and forth across the road as I struggled to dislodge the damn thing.By the time the two of us arrived home for Mel's wedding shower, we were two hours late. My mother glared at me as we stumbled in. Melanie's eyes were glassy as she exclaimed, "HEY!! What the hell is going on here?", with a big, dumb smile on her face."She's DRUNK?!" My mother hissed at me. "Yes.... it was the only way to get her out of the house." I attempted to explain. Let's just say I stayed away from mom the rest of the day.Mel had a grand time. She ate with her fingers [chop suey -- the rest of us used utensils], she opened her gifts with her teeth and she passed out on the couch afterward.Before she passed out, though, her friends, mom and I did the time-honored tradition of dressing her in the wrappings left over from her shower gifts. You know, how you take the wrapping paper and make a wedding dress, then take the ribbons and bows and make a boquet?Here's the result: Don't Hate Me Because I'm BeautifulHeh.

For more bodily function malfunctions and to see what the cats are up to, visit SoapBoxBlog.

Are We There Yet?

Chari Daignault — Wed, 2 Jul 2003 09:26:36 EDT

By now, everyone and their mom has heard about the landmark decision handed down by the Supreme Court with regard to sodomy. It's obvious this will impact several other issues homosexuals and lesbians have on the table at this time. Gay marriage may become a reality in the very near future.What's upsetting is the constant implication that gays and lesbians are fishing for "special" rights... as if wanting and expecting the same rights, privileges and benefits as heterosexuals are "special" rights that heteros may consider giving us. As Americans, we should be guaranteed these rights, with no questions. But many people are allowing their religious beliefs to cloud the issue.It's fine if you want to quote a line from Leviticus as "proof" that God despises homosexuals as abominations. It's fine if you want to call homosexuality a "behavior". That's your opinion or your belief. We all have them...Just as we all have assholes. But please, don't try preaching at me that your asshole is better than mine.Our country was founded on the idea of religious freedom. This means you can express and practice your spiritual beliefs or non-beliefs without fear of reprisal. This does not mean you can shove your religious beliefs or non-beliefs down another's throat.I'm not shoving my being a lesbian down your throat. My being a lesbian doesn't affect your life at all -- especially in the Grand Scheme of Things. It's not for you to judge me or anyone else. Just as it's not for me to judge you. However, what if your religious beliefs start affecting my life?Truthfully, when it comes right down to it, a person's religious beliefs should not come into play when determining something that will possibly limit another person's ability to live their life to its fullest.My wanting to marry another human being does not limit nor harm your life in any way, shape or form. Just as your wanting to marry another human being does not limit nor harm my life in any way, shape or form. Yet, just because the person I choose to marry is a female (as am I), many would rush to keep me from being able to marry... or raise children... or live where I choose... or work. You get the picture.It's not "special" rights. It's rights afforded to all Americans.Just because someone can quote the Bible line-by-line doesn't mean they understand Christianity: True reading is in the comprehension of the subject matter. Read about Jesus and his teachings again.Judge Not, Lest Ye Be Judged -- Love Thy Neighbor As ThyselfLove, MeJust for reference: Bigot Sodomy Tolerance Hypocrisy Teachings of Jesus on Religious Hypocrisy

For more bodily function malfunctions and to see what the cats are up to, visit SoapBoxBlog.

An A-HA Moment

Chari Daignault — Tue, 24 Jun 2003 12:36:58 EDT

Earlier, I was sitting in a co-worker's (and friend) office chatting a bit. She and her girlfriend had just gotten back from a small vacation and I came by to see how it went. We usually end up talking about all manner of things and ultimately, one of my stories ends up being told.Those of you who have visited this blog on a regular basis have read some of my stories. But according to our friends, you haven't lived until you've actually heard one in person. I tend to get very animated, both physically and facially... and have been known to use accents and sound effects.As I was planning my exit, so I could head back to my office to finish up some maintenance that was running on the server, an old 80s song by the group A-HA came on the radio on my friend's desk. It was "Take On Me". It's one of those songs you love to hate.I love to hate it for a reason most others don't. We went to their concert in Hawaii at the Waikiki Shell back in 1986. "We" meaing my ex and I. I can remember bringing bottles of vodka and orange juice in with us in brown paper bags. Didn't they check shit like that back then? Anway, the only song I can remember from the actual concert was "Take On Me". Can't remember a thing other than that.However, I do remember the events following the stupid concert. We stumbled to the car only to find we'd lost our keys. We stumbled back to the auditorium only to find it was locked up and everyone was gone. Don't ask me how time flew like that -- I was quite drunk.We again stumbled back to the car. The locked car.We sat on the hood in the dark, griping, groaning, mumbling and barfing. Yes, barfing. Over the side of the car as we sat on the hood. Yay. Then, we both passed out. On the hood.Next thing I remember, the police were rousting us out of our drunken stupor. They asked us what we were doing. I attempted to calmly explain about the lost keys. My girlfriend ranted about what the hell did they think we were doing -- sleeping, obviously. She then proceeded to inform them that her (estranged) father was the captain of the police. He was, but at that time, he didn't know her from cat poo.This ploy, however, apparently worked, because the police pointed to a nearby house and suggested we go over and ask to use their phone and call someone for a ride. They then left us there on the hood of our locked car with the barf puddles surrounding it.My girlfriend stumbled off toward the house belonging to an unsuspecting family. She planned to ask to use their phone. I followed. She banged on the front door. A small, older Japanese gentleman opened the door. He didn't speak a lick of English. My girlfriend was yelling slowly at the man, "WE...NEED...TO...USE...PHONE". She made a "Y" with her hand and placed it along the side of her head -- sort of like a phone. He looked at her as if she were an idiot... she was.Having lived in Japan for several years prior to my moving to Hawaii (where almost everyone was Japanese anyway), I knew the word for telephone in Japanese was "denwa". So, I shoved my moron girlfriend out of the way, smiled and slightly bowed. I then said, "denwa"? The Japanese gentleman smiled and motioned for us to come in. He then led us down a hallway to a large family room, where his family was watching a movie.The movie was the 1978 hit, "Superman". My girlfriend exclaimed, "I've been wanting to see this again!" and plopped her butt down next to the kids on the couch and excitedly began watching the movie with them. This poor Japanese family was trying to be so polite while this drunken little jerk was taking over their family room.I was shown the phone and began dialing my girlfriend's home. Her ex at that time was still living there (with us). She hated me. She answered the phone. I'll call her D. "What the hell do you want?", D asked. I explained what was going on. D asked what I expected her to do about it. I then explained that I knew she had a spare of the key for the car... however, I also explained that the police suggested that someone come and pick us up.Having to admit that we were both stupid and drunk to my then girlfriend's ex was quite humiliating. Meanwhile, my idiot girlfriend sat there watching a movie with perfect strangers, seeing nothing wrong with it or the fact that I was having to deal with her angry ex.D finally said she'd come by. I told her where we'd be waiting -- next to the locked car with the puddles of barf. Under protest, I was able to wrest my girlfriend away from her new buddies and out of the house. We left, with me apologizing profusely and thanking our hosts just as much.About an hour later, D drove up. She stopped, reached over and rolled down the passenger side window of her car. I bent down a bit and started toward her. Suddenly, the spare keys flew out the window, hitting me in the chest. Tires squealed, and D was gone. "Thank you", I yelled at the disappearing tail lights, while flipping her the bird.My girlfriend was sleeping, standing up, against the locked car. Her right foot was in a puddle of barf. I thought long and hard about leaving her there. I figured I could carry her over to the playground in front of where we were parked. I could pose her on the merry-go-round, and then just head home. Some little kid could find her in the morning, all hung-over and with dried barf on her right shoe.Of course, I didn't do that. I unlocked the car, picked her up and placed her in the back seat. I then drove us home. Home -- where D still lived. Ugh.Anyway, I related this story to my friend at work this morning. All while that stupid ass song was playing from the radio on her desk. Of course, she was laughing so hard, tears were coming down her face. Like I said, it's much more funny when you get to hear one of my stories in person.I really hate A-HA.

For more bodily function malfunctions and to see what the cats are up to, visit SoapBoxBlog.

Survival And Paranoia

Chari Daignault — Thu, 13 Feb 2003 09:45:46 EST

With all this build-up toward war, you begin to think about what would happen if we were struck here at home. I mean, as far as I know, we've only been hit three times on American soil by foreign "attacks". Once at Pearl Harbor, and twice at the World Trade Center. The last time we had an actual war here in America, it was the Civil War... and we were fighting ourselves.But what if we were attacked in an all-out war by another country? What would we, the citizens of the United States, do?Do you have a plan thought out? Should we even bother having a plan? Is it silly, paranoid, survivalist bullshit to even consider it? What about a natural disaster? Would your plan for that be flexible enough to adapt to war? Do you have a plan for a natural disaster?Fire... earthquake... tornado... hurricane... urban warfare... whatever?Makes you think. Would you and your family be able to survive three days, a week, a month or even longer if the country as we know it changed abruptly? What about medical supplies, food and water?Yikes. I only ask because The Princess had a horrible nightmare last night. It was about war on American soil. It was about everything falling apart. It frightened her. And in the wee hours of the early morning as I comforted her, it scared the hell out of me. It made me wonder.I'm not the paranoid type. I tend to chuckle at the survivalist mentality. Y2K was enough to show me that all the gloom and doom wailing was silly and not researched fully enough. Y2K made several highly-respected, well-educated folks look like Chicken Little... or The Boy Who Cried Wolf. And it made me miss a great New Years' Eve party as I sat in front of a server waiting for a melt-down that never came.But this isn't Y2K. It's 2003 -- and it's terrorists with no fear of death and certainly no respect for life. It's oil, weapons of mass destruction, religion, ignorance and fear.What are your plans? Do you have a meeting place? A place to wait for your loved ones to count heads and blessings... home would be the first logical place. But what if home is gone?Tonight, I want to dream of puppies and flowers.

For more bodily function malfunctions and to see what the cats are up to, visit SoapBoxBlog.

Another New Workout

Chari Daignault — Thu, 24 Oct 2002 14:41:29 EDT

The Princess, on her never-ending search for a newer, better and even more improved workout, has come upon Balance Balls. They're being touted as the workout of the future. Here's what the latest media blurb says Balance Balls will do for you: Build core muscle strength and flexibility. Challenge your cardiovascular system. Improve your coordination and balance. Develop better posture and spinal health. You know, I remember these things from 12 years ago when I was in physical therapy for my lower back. My therapist used a balance ball to teach me to find my "center spine" and to develop proper alignment. It was a way to bring me back to "good spinal health". I just remember bouncing around on it like those things we used see on TV on "Romper Room". Only those had a handle. My therapist finally gave up on me and put the balance ball away. I hadn't seen one since. Now, they're everywhere.It took an hour for The Princess to inflate her Balance Ball. I was busy running around doing "handyman" things, so I wasn't able to assist in the inflation process.The Balance Ball comes completely delflated and folded in upon itself. The BB is stored in a plastic bag which becomes quite friendly with the ball during storage, and refuses to part with it unless you tear it to shreds. Once The Princess finished shredding the BB storage bag, she opened up the pump. It looks like a rather small bicycle hand pump, or a large pastry tube. You have to screw a pointy plastic tube thingy onto the end, and then insert the pointy, plastic tube thingy into the hole in the BB.You then commence pumping. And pumping. And you pump some more. (Personally, I think that's the workout part.)After The Princess had completed the inflation of her BB, she decided it was time to pop in the accompanying video tape and do the workout. It seems lately that every new workout The Princess comes up with has an accompanying video tape.Wind chimes played, and a view of the red rocks of Arizona with a beautiful creek running in the foreground could be seen."C'mon! Get your ball blown up!" The Princess encouraged.I looked at her through slitted eyes, put my tools away, shredded my storage bag, got my pump and began to fill my BB. My BB was one size larger than The Princess' (they go by height). This meant an hour and fifteen minutes of BB pump pumping for me.The Princess (apparently forgetting about the boo-boo on her knee) began the BB workout. It was a compilation (sampler) of three workouts offered on other video tapes which you could purchase by calling a 1-800 number. There was an Ab workout, a lower body workout and an upper body workout.She did quite well until her boo-boo knee got rammed into the carpet. Then her eyes crossed and she became quite disgusted and bored with the workout. She decided I was taking too long to pump my BB up, and was ready to return everything to the store. I asked her to calm down and rewind the tape, as I was almost done. She did so.Finally, my BB was ready for action. I sat on my big, purple ball and waited for the workout to begin again. The Princess, having already been through the workout, did well with the exercises this time. Unfortunately for me, the exercises involved quite a bit of balancing. I was rolling all over the place.At one point, while balancing with my stomach on the BB and trying to lift my head up with my arms crossed behind it, I began a slow roll. It was so slow I didn't notice at first, but by the time I did... it was too late. I rolled into The Princess, knocking her off her BB and into the couch, where her knee smacked into the leg of the end table.Her BB whopped into my face, embedding my glasses in the bridge of my nose. My BB shot out the other side, flying across the room and smashing into the wall with our wedding pictures on it. They all fell to the floor in a heap. Meanwhile, The Princess' BB had continued past my mangled face and was heading for the kitchen, where the cats lay sleeping in a little tangled mass in a pool of sunshine on the floor.The green BB bopped smack into the center of the little feline pile, sending them into a screaching, hair-shooting frenzy in all directions. It was like three furry bolts of lightening went flying out of the kitchen. We didn't see them for at least two hours after that.We sat there on the floor of the family room, too stunned and too pained to say or do anything. Meanwhile, the video tape played on... wind chimes and new age music as the pretty lady rolled around expertly on her BB. I'm sure if you looked real close, you'd see a wire attached to her to keep her from rolling off.Without saying a word, The Princess and I collected our respective BBs, pulled the plugs on them and crammed them back into their boxes. My mission for today is to return them for a refund. If I ever do buy another one, it damn well better have a handle on it.

For more bodily function malfunctions and to see what the cats are up to, visit SoapBoxBlog.

Bruce Lee Meets His Match

Chari Daignault — Thu, 3 Oct 2002 11:17:32 EDT

Way back when we were dating, The Princess and I started this "thing". It was a kind of goofy joke between the two of us, actually. We would do "pretend" karate on each other. In slow motion.We'd make Bruce Lee faces and sounds and we'd do punches to the face, tummy and groin. We'd do kicks, chops and head-butts. Nothing actually connected with anything, and no one got hurt. We'd just laugh and try not to pee ourselves in the process.Once, we even did it while we had company over for dinner. I opened the refrigerator door and accidentally bopped The Princess with it. She, in her dinner dress and heels, proceeded to "chop" me in the throat. I countered with a swift "kick" to the head. All of this complete with Bruce Lee faces and sounds. Our guests watched, too stunned to speak and not too sure if we were for real. Or just insane.Last month, The Princess was all excited over this VHS tape she'd bought over at Target. It was an exercise tape with some goofy-looking chick on the cover. This chick had a big smile and looked like she was marching or something. I was not impressed."You've got to try this with me! It's a great workout." The Princess twittered as she scooted up the stairs with her new tape."What kind of workout? I don't do those stupid step things -- or fake kickboxing." I screamed up after her."It's walking!" She answered from upstairs.Walking? Why the hell would we need a VHS tape to help us walk for exercise? We do it every day on the trails (when they're not flooded) or through our neighborhood... I declined the invitation.I could hear stomping upstairs and the muffled sounds of aerobic-inspired music. I resisted the temptation to go up and see what this "walking" tape was about. How can you walk around in your room? How stupid is that?The next day, The Princess shot out of the house and zoomed on over again to Target."I've got to get the other tape!" She exclaimed. "It's an even farther distance, and a harder workout." She took off.Farther distance? Harder workout? I went upstairs and looked around our bedroom. Nope. No hidden tunnels or running tracks. Still the same 'ol room. I waited for The Princess to return. I was going to try this new tape with her.When she returned, I was all dressed-out for my walk with the VHS tape. The Princess plopped the tape down and got herself ready. Here's what she did: 1. Turn thermostat off. 2. Go upstairs to master bedroom, close door. 3. Open window in master bedroom. 4. Close bathroom door in master bedroom. 5. Wrap cling-wrap around midsection. 6. Get dressed-out for major workout. 7. Stand with hands on hips wondering what the hell I was waiting for. I smiled, and nodded toward the VHS deck. She opened the new tape's package, and put the tape in. She turned on the TV, changed it to channel 3 and hit "Play". She placed herself on one side of the bed and motioned for me to go and stand on the other."Walk Away The Pounds" started to play. It was the "3 Mile Fat Burning" workout. Yeah, right. The goofy chick on the tape cover came out, yakking away. She had about ten other people behind her, all different ages and shapes. They were marching away to music.The Princess gave me "The Look", so I started marching along with them. How stupid did I feel? Quite, thank you.The chick's name was Leslie. Leslie continued yakking away while we marched to the music. Then, Leslie barked some command, and we all started doing "side steps". Kind of like speed skating without skates or ice... kind of. Back to marching. Now, front kicks. Back to marching. Now, knee raises. Back to marching. Now, back leg-lifts. Back to marching.Every now and then, a meter would appear on the bottom of the screen, telling us how far we'd "walked". 2 miles already. I looked over at The Princess. She was lightly glowing and was enjoying this walk tremendously. I saw myself in the mirror over her dresser. I looked like a melting wax dummy. The sauna The Princess had created in our bedroom was causing every pore in my body to spit up.I smiled weakly and gave The Princess the "Thumbs Up" signal from across the bed.Leslie yelled, "It's time! Go get your Walk Away The Pounds Weight Balls!" After a three second pause, she and the ten doofs were back. They all had a blue ball in each hand and of course, they were marching. These balls were weighted. They weighed two pounds each. I looked around. No blue balls here.The Princess brought some two pound, padded hand weights up from the floor. She kicked mine over to me. Oh. Three pound ones. I can handle this. There's only one more mile to "walk" anyway.March with balls. Now, kick with balls. Back to marching with balls. Now, DOUBLE side-steps with balls. Back to marching, while lifting balls (weights) over head. Up, down. Up, down. Now, knee raises while twisting and lifting balls to knee that is up. (did I mention that in addition to weights, you need coordination and balance, too?) Back to marching. Now, side-steps with lateral arm raises. Back to marching.When we hit three miles, I threw my weights down and fell to the floor. Fuck the cool-down. I'm just going to pass out right here.So anyway, I was originally talking about our "thing", right? You know -- the fake karate complete with Bruce Lee faces and sounds...Last night, The Princess and I were cleaning up in the kitchen after dinner. For some reason, we started our "thing". In the middle of it, I did the Karate Kid "Stork" stance. The Princess countered this amazing feat with a knee raise to the head -- ala "Walk Away The Pounds" (WATP).This meant war. I immediately went into WATP front kicks. She then did WATP side-steps and flitted across the kitchen, for a better location with which to continue our battle. I did the ultimate -- the WATP DOUBLE side-steps. Complete with a "Ha!" as I shot my feet from side-to side two times each way. She was impressed and completely taken aback.Then, it happened. With all this athletic prowess being displayed, I had forgotten I was wearing my house slippers. Upon the completion of the first set of double side-steps to the right, I began my journey back to the left. My right foot stomped down and embedded itself into my left slipper. This caused the obvious reaction of my left foot not being able to lift itself up.Of course, with my inherent, cell-deep, instinctive uncoordination, I fell quite beautifully and loudly (smack!) on the ceramic tile floor. With my right foot still firmly lodged in my left slipper.The Princess wet herself. I think I broke my wrist. There's also a pretty, colorful bruise on my back where it met with the corner of a kitchen cabinet.I am convinced Leslie is the devil incarnate.

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My First Mister

Chari Daignault — Wed, 2 Oct 2002 09:06:09 EDT

The title of this post is the title of a movie I finished watching on DVD last night. The Princess had chosen it. Which in itself is odd, because she truly does not like comedies.This comedy, however, isn't anything like the gross-out humor flicks that have been coming out lately. This comedy has a heart, it knows where yours is and it will tug on it.Without giving the story away, just keep in mind that first impressions aren't always correct. It's not a girl meets older man, December - May romance thing. Ick. It's a wonderful, quirky friendship that evolves and blossoms, in spite of the two main characters and their flaws.Albert Brooks plays Randall, dubbed "R" by Jennifer (known as "J"), played by Leelee Sobieski. Brooks is an excellent comedic actor, choosing to get his humor across subtly, without sight gags and always with a humble dignity. Sobieski's goth, pierced she-creature is wholly believable. You find yourself liking her immediately, even though your eyes tell you to run the other way.Carol Kane is J's mother. She's perky, flighty and frightened to death of her daughter and what she might really think. Yet she desperately wants to be a part of her daughter's life and choses to ignore the rude way she's often treated.Christine Lahti directed the film and did a great job. The first few scenes have some hysterical computer-generated effects, based on J's point-of-view of her world. Throughout the movie, you'll find yourself laughing, wincing, crying and saying "aww....".Go rent it, buy it, borrow it -- whatever you have to do. Just see it. All the characters will remind you of someone you know in your life... and they'll also remind you of why you love them so.

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We Workout For Our Health

Chari Daignault — Fri, 27 Sep 2002 08:46:17 EDT

The Princess brought home another workout video to torture me with. You know, I've worked out my entire life. The only time I can remember being out of shape was when I was working for Planet Hollywood Corporate.I installed networks in thirteen new restaurants across Canada and the U.S. in twelve months. I lived on MacDonald's fast food and Starbuck's coffee. No wonder I was tipping the scales at 160 pounds by the time I moved on.Any way, back to the workout video issue. For some reason, these goofy things kick my butt. Not so much in the sense of killing me physically... it's more the whole coordination thing. I think some of these video workout divas assume too much when it comes to their viewing audiences.Like assuming we inherently know dance steps and can do them balanced neatly on one toe with our arms outstretched while straddling a step thingie. This was what I went through last night. Even The Princess had difficulty with it.The video she had brought home is the Kathy Smith - Weight Loss Workout... at least that's the one I think it is. It should be the "Kathy Smith - I Can Dance and You Can't Workout".I was doing cha-cha's, spinning dooma-flotchies and ballet-esque moves across the family room. This of course was when I wasn't kicking the wall or getting one of my heels wedged under the love seat behind me. Not to mention the times I would inadvertently hurl The Princess a few feet if she were to step within range of my whirling, pin-wheeling arms of death.Lucky for me, we don't have the step device Kathy Smith was using in the video. We were just doing the workout "as if". I could just imagine if I were in fact using the step -- twisting my ankle and flying over the top of it, smashing sideways into the wall unit, all in the throes of an air-borne cha-cha.Eventually, it got to where I was so lost and behind everyone on the tape that I was just hopping up and down while waving my arms in the air. This move caused me much physical harm, as The Princess was actually able to follow the tape and came slamming into me while performing a backward spinning flippie-fling.Once I dislodged her elbow from my ear and assisted The Princess to her feet, I gracefully bowed out of my futile attempt at a workout and exited the premises. I was just glad to still have all of my pieces parts.The Princess has assured me that eventually I'll get the hang of it. It'll just take practice. We are to attempt the tape again tomorrow night. So today after work, I'll be going to Sports Authority to purchase a full set of football pads.

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