We watched Sky High as a family this evening (sort of… Patches and Gleek are another story that maybe sandratayler will tell) and at the end of the show I realized something… flying superheroes all do it wrong.

Flying head-first means your weakest limbs (arms) are protecting your most vital organ (brain) from impact, while your most critical break-point (neck) is craned unnaturally far back to allow you to see where you’re going.

Take a cue from Ender’s Game, heroes. Fly FEET FIRST.

Flying feet first is easier on your neck, you are leading with your strongest limbs (and your cool boots), and if you hit something unexpectedly, your whole BODY is between that brick wall and your precious brain. As a bonus, your cape won’t be whipping your thighs — it’ll be trailing behind you, making you look like you’re twice as big as your really are.

The only drawback is that the comic-book artists who are hired to chronicle your exploits will have to learn a whole new set of stock poses.

–Howard

I assure you, this is NOT another self-congratulatory post featuring the number 2000 or the number 2001.

This is a self-congratulatory post featuring the number 6, the number 0.8, and the number 10.

6: this is the number of pounds I’ve lost in five days of low-carb dieting.
0.8: this is the number of ounces I’m losing per hour, on the average, during that time.
10: this is the number of hours it takes me to lose half a pound, on the average, during that time.

I feel great. I’m still a little tired, but part of that is the fact that I’m fighting a cold, and part of it is the fact that four and a half months of bad sleep, diet, and exercise habits takes some time to undo. But I’m on track for shedding almost all of my unwanted pounds in time for some Christmas feasting. I’ll probably be down a total of 10 pounds by the end of next week, and down another 8 by Christmas Eve.

A few more numbers: I started at 190.5 pounds before beginning the diet. My short-term goal is to get back down below 175. Eventually I want to get down below 165, but I’ve put on enough muscle since the days when I weighed 150 that I think 165 may actually be an extremely lean weight for me. Especially if I keep up with the running, swimming, and weight training. And the weight training is critical, because I need to repair my right rotating shoulder cuff (the tendons, ligaments, and muscle-y bits that keep the humerus socketed, and which get torn or mangled in a separated shoulder injury).

I’ve had a few chupaquesos. I’ve fried several kinds of cheese in different ways. I’ve had eggs, butter, bacon, sausage, cream, chicken, pork, spinach, celery, sugar-free jello, diet sodas, lots and LOTS of water, and a tasty Subway low-carb wrap over the last week. I’m still good to go. I treated myself to a high-fiber, artificially-sweetened muesli last night, and I’m pleased to see that it did NOT knock me out of ketosis. Eventually I’ll reach the point where I can put grains back on the menu regularly. Starches and sugars, well… they may be a once-a-week thing even after I hit my target weight. That stuff just isn’t GOOD for me.

Sandra came back from a breakfast party this morning, and commented that my face looks thinner. It makes sense. The pounds I put on in the last four months weren’t going to my belly. They were camoflaging themselves in all kinds of places, giving me that soft, pudgy look that supermodels worldwide would sooner kill themselves than have to endure for a single minute. The belly fat (AKA: Howard’s Winter Survival Kit) needs to go, too, but I suspect that as long as it’s been around, it’ll be the last to go, and that’ll be a hard fight.

–Howard

So… for the first time yet, a terrorist suicide bomber has been posthumously identified as a western woman… and she’s from BELGIUM.

Where’s Monty Python when we really need them?

I had a chupaqueso this evening. Mozzarella shell (standard low-skim/part-milk stuff, not fresh) and Mild cheddar filling. Thanks to a slight pan malfunction (I should have used the griddle) I overcooked the shell just a bit, but the end result was still delicious.

I shared a few bites with the children. Patches (the 2-year-old) asked his usual “Is it yum?” question. I said yes, and gave him some.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Chupaqueso,” I answered.

He gobbled his first bite down, chewing very thoroughly (cooked mozzarella can be like that).

“I want more chupaqueso”

He got two bites before I finished it off. He asked for more, and I held up my empty plate and announced “it’s all gone.”

“You need to have more” he told me.

“*I* need to have more? For me, or for YOU?” I looked over my glasses at him.

He scowled at me. Lucky for him, Sandra was in the mood to give it a shot, and she cooked while I moved on to other things.