3 days till 6 months past..

Three days, in just 72 hours my not so little monkey will be six months old. Is it possible that time has moved so quickly. What may seem like a lifetime for Davin, probably because it is a lifetime for him is but a moment to me. He’s gone through most baby milestones in a breezy “was that so hard” fashion and laughing all the way. And even though I know he’s just mimicking the sounds I make when he redoubles “i-la-loo” back to me after I’ve told him, “I love you,” it still sends my heart racing.

Davin’s quite the little charmer like baby crack. He’s still working on crawling but is most interested these days with his new Elmo walker and zooming across our wooden floors. He loves to roam around in it while eating his plastic cookie. Davin is really starting to figure out the goodness of toys, even if most of them get drowned in slobber. Gnawing on things is really his favorite past time, other than watching Baby Einstein’s and hanging out with his brothers. He’s always happiest when his two big brothers are in view.

Funny, there was a time in my life when I wouldn’t have understood the goodness in parenting, even married life. When I could barely utter the words… co- co- commit- you know that thing you do when you stay with someone or something long term. To say the least, I wouldn’t have recognized myself and not for the lack of hair, I still got it even if it’s hanging on for dear life. I’m sure there are the deluded few who always expected this kind of happiness for me and the rational yet wrong individuals who never saw it coming. *sticks out my tongue to the latter*

Yep, I’m all growed up and when you’re growns up, you’re growns up. For heaven’s sake, the peeps at the credit card companies seem to think so, giving me another credit card. Whatever, could they be thinking!?! Either way, I do have to be more responsible now, the whole family life thing, role modeling, parenting, being a good husband . . . less WoW, more family time. Is it worth it? Ask me again, when my little man Nate runs up to me and gives me a hug, cocking his head to one side, exclaiming he loves me; during my wife’s running jumps into my arms at the end of a long day; those times Dean makes me almost roll on the floor with his latest Deanisms; or when I’m simply sitting on the couch holding the monkey and he says, “i-la-loo.”

That is all.

Papa’s got a brand new bag..

So, several weeks ago I put out some feelers to see if I could extend my random musings into a paying gig. No, not with advertising here, though I suppose that’s a viable option. Nah, who wants to sell out this early in the game, well, unless they offered me oodles of money. Rather, I used my trusty Google capabilities and found several online and offline publications that were looking for writers. Funnily enough, to be a freelance writer for offline magazines you have to first have a portfolio of experience, sigh, how I hate catch-22’s. Still, the wonderful world wide web is not always so picky, so long story short I’ve heard back from two of them, one is still considering (whether my random ways fit their publication no doubt), the other picked me up and now, hmm, I have even less time in my day.

Isn’t life grand, you get what you want and sometimes have that “why did I want this” moment, especially if I’m picked up by several more sites. Nevertheless, I do enjoy writing and it IS truly something I want, so, woohoo! One step closer to possibly someday writing my own column and a bit of pay along the way never hurts. Life is grand.

Links to my first two articles:

♦ Does God tweet?, and to Digg it.
♦ Haiti: our neighbor in the midst of hardship

That is all.

The 10’s

Amazing, it’s a new year, a new decade.. and the more things change, the more they stay the same. In some ways that’s disappointing and in other ways it’s extremely comforting. Without a doubt, it’s easy to distinguish the two phenomenons and their correlating effects. A wonderful and beautiful family and home life, one would hope it never changes and all the drama that comes with its extensions, well, change would be welcome. And yet, both prospects seem equally daunting in their probabilities. Of course it’s unlikely my family will stay the same forever: Davin, Dean and Nate are growing up so fast.

Davin is already five months old and is forever developing at an immense rate. That little monkey is still one of the strongest babies I’ve ever seen: don’t let him get a handle on your chest hair (not an immediate problem for you ladies). He’s extremely observant, plus, he can always recognize and often empathizes with my emotions. And my other two boys are growing like weeds, everyday they look more and more like little men. Everyday I am increasingly more proud of how they conduct themselves (that sounds like I am giving a military report right there, nah, they are just such good boys, it does my heart proud). And my wife and I are thankfully growing closer and closer everyday even amidst all the adversity and crap life throws at you. So, no, I cannot imagine wanting my family life to change, but of course it will. Thankfully, that doesn’t mean for the worst, or well, hopefully.

And then there is the change I would wish for. Sometimes people cannot see farther than themselves and their own circumstances and understandably so. Although, how awesome it would be if that could change. So many times in life people get riled over the strangest things and they hold onto those imagined or real hurts (or imagined real or real imagined) to the detriment of everything or everyone else in their lives. Seriously, wouldn’t it be nice if we could all just get along. A miracle for most families. And if you noticed I am being vague on the details, stop being so annoyingly perceptive and follow the train of thought behind the details.

In my lackluster dreams of harmony something occurs to me: change is not easy in and of ourselves. 12 step programs tell you to seek, to believe in something higher than yourself to orchestrate and maintain a change in your life. And I believe that’s the key. That dusty old book somewhere on a shelf, possibly in your house, tells us that there is no good thing in us (Romans 7:18): a lot of times we want to change, do good but can’t. It also says every good and perfect gift is from God (James 1:17). “Whoa, I didn’t know you were going to get all Biblical on me!?!” Yep, caught you off-guard huh. Anyways, since we are not all inherently good (as some would believe) without God, then it might concur that with God we can be better. It makes sense, God is love (1 John 4:8), He’s good (Psalm 119:68; Mark 10:18), He wants the best for our lives (Jeremiah 29:11). All that in the dusty book on your shelf (or maybe propping up a table) somewhere. Hence, in this new year, decade, time, era, place . . . I pray for that kind of change we all desire and also stability for myself and y’all in the 10’s.

Until then:
God grant us the serenity
to accept the things we cannot change;
courage to change the things we can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

Some other Bible verses of interest: Proverbs 3:5-6; Lamentations 3:25; Zephaniah 3:17; Ephesians 3:20-21; Philippians 4:8.

That is all.

Disney’s A Christmas Carol . . . Bah! Humbug!

My wife and I went to go see the most recent adaptation of one of my favorite yule tide stories: A Christmas Carol. A movie akin to “It’s a Wonderful Life” and “A Christmas Story” on must sees during our wintery equinox. Now you may read this review and think I am being hard on Disney’s latest disaster because of my love for the subject matter, alas no, I did not have high hopes for this un-masterpiece after being witness to Jim Carrey’s last holiday wreak in failing to reinvent another timeless classic: How the Grinch Stole Christmas.

If you’re a somewhat preceptive individual you may have realized that I did not enjoy the movie: you’d be correct. It’s hard to know where to start, so I guess I’ll start with the old Hollywood philosophy and or formula: amazing special effects = no need for a plot. Though in this case the tragedy is that the story was predetermined awesomeness. How can you lose the plot when it’s literally there ripe for the taking, and yet in a splendar of CGI extravagance they lost any meaning to “A Christmas Carol” while using the original text almost word for word. I guess it goes to show, writers aren’t always the ones to blame for a bad movie. Vision, actors, directors, producers (whatever they really do) and all kinds of financers and whatnot can play a hand in ruining good material. “It only takes one call to ruin a movie”, right?

And while I agree with some critics, that a darker take on this Christmas classic may befitting of the material and warranted even (thanks Disney for the head’s up on that one, “fun for the whole family” my @$$, this movie so should of had a PG-13 Rating), it isn’t the dark place the film goes so early in the fable that bothered me. Although, if you bring children, they’ll be quivering in (possibly under) their seats before the first spirit ever shows its bobblely head. None of the ghosts: past, present and definitely not future are very comforting. The Ghost of Christmas Present dies laughing while withering away into a grey corpse and then finally a skeleton that blows away. Nevertheless, the true lack this movie portrays is that it has no heart, no innocent. Wha?? I know, I just said I didn’t mind the edginess of the film, but even in a story with dark portents there can be heart, morals, innocence. Regardless, the film is so focused on CGI effects and affecting a tensity in the audience, it skimmed over so many parts that are the heart of “A Christmas Carol.”

Going back, there are the spirits, a must have for this famous telling. Too bad, Jim Carrey couldn’t be more wrong to play them. The first spirit was played with a forced reverence comparable to what I would call the “prayer voice”, a whispery kind of tone that is meant to take on the some holy aspect but sounds more garishly fraudulent than pious. The second spirit was just creepy (not only in the aforementioned scene, but also in his constant guffaws that were, well, creepy) and the third spirit just took the whole dark place to the height of wild, chaotic terror without any finesse. Sure, they added a few unoriginal jokes to take a bit away from the last spirit, but where the audience was most likely meant to be rolling in the aisles, they were just sitting there in unbelief at the length of the “chase scene” that really had no place in the story except to serve as one more antic to distract you from the one-dimensional storytelling throughout the entire movie. It seems to me like the moral of the story told here was if you scare an old man half to death and drop him from incredible heights several times in the coarse of a night he’ll change his dastardly ways.

The story claims that it was Tiny Tim who changed Scrooge’s heart, yet Tiny Tim is mostly glossed over and looks like a healthy little boy who happens to use a crutch. Even the meal served in Bob Cratchit’s house didn’t look at all that meager to me. Nor did the performance make me care much for either of them. I think to sum it all up, if this was the way the tale was originally told, it would have never been timeless nor a classic. More over, I think it’s a sad commentary on where Disney is today, they simply don’t have the heart or the “magic” anymore to regale us with the legend of a once hopeful youth turned into a greedy, misery old man that is made to see the error of his ways when they have yet to learn that lesson themselves. To be honest, I’m not even sure they understood the significance of Tiny Tim being able to say “God Bless us everyone” in the midst of his circumstances, it seemed to be added as merely a staple to the time-honored classic they tried to reinvent.

Digg it

That is all.

Cry Havoc

I know some of you may be rife with the little green monsters about how I ofttimes go on and on about how serene and wonderful the latest addition to our family can be, but put away those voodoo dolls, my wife and I have experienced the other extreme as well.

My oldest son had Esophageal problems when he was a baby, something the Doctors failed to diagnose for a long time chalking it up to a hyper and worrisome new mom (some doctors, not all, should be shot for using that as an excuse to be lazy and not take parental concerns seriously). Nonetheless, my (oldest) little munchkin who was literally screaming 24/7 for months and months was not just a cranky baby, he had Gastroesophageal reflux disease. And even today, as we have our two beautiful toddlers who are as rambunctious as ever and love to fight one another over everything, we still have a bit of the other side: yet they are still absolute blessings and we love them.

So, it is fitting that my wife and I experience another more peaceful extreme, and probably also fitting that those little green monsters attack you until you’re poking needles into devilish moppets out of unbearable envy.

*ouch, quit it!*

Though as Murphy’s Law or merely some cosmic sense of humor would have it, the moment I rave about my monkey’s peaceful nature he shows Dad that he will not be put into a dinky box and labeled, he’s only four months old and is already rebelling. For two days after my last blog about him, the monkey was as crotchety as a baby can get. Although, he had reason other than some cosmic balance needing to be set, he had his four month check up and some newbie who couldn’t do something as simple as stab him quickly with a needle in his sparse bit of baby fat jabbed him twice in the leg muscles and sent my wee youth into overdrive. If that wasn’t bad enough, they also had to yank on his naughty bits because his circumcision was reattaching. Poor baby, yep, they made him bleed profusely. Good thing I was at work, I might of returned the favor.

And all this hoopla brings me to my point in the most roundabout way I think I could have concocted: cranky baby = sleepless night. Ordinarily, Davin isn’t up half the night, he will cry several times throughout mostly wanting comfort. And normally if we go in there and reposition him and plug him up with a pacifier, he’s good to go. But at what point do we let him cry himself to sleep. We tried it once for all of five minutes, if that, it seemed like five minutes and that itty-bit rocked his teeny world. Let me tell you, he was not a happy camper, oh if looks could kill. He definitely gets those expressions of annoyance from my better half. They both know how to show their discontent with a single mind-melting stare.

I figure maybe we’ll try again at six months, I mean, we don’t want to damage his psyche or give him abandonment issues. And it’s not that I’m afraid of hearing my monkey scream and carry on, as much as it breaks the heart, I can endure the noise. I just wonder what’s best for him. Any suggestions are always welcome.

That is all.

The best most romantical places in OC, Part 2..

Part two of Certifiably Random’s three most romantical places in OC is an escalation in romanticalness and relationships. This isn’t for the faint of heart in amorous like endeavors, for it entails a much deeper level of co- commit- you know, the big “C” and or interest in being alone with your significant other. Hopefully the latter still applies years down the line after your fiftieth plus anniversary.

My wife and I have always loved getting away for a night or weekend to simply enjoy each other’s company. And to that end, we’ve experienced a vast array of crash pads in varying degrees of quality and status: everything from 2 stars to the highest of accommodations is our fair County and I’d have to say, well, never go below 2 and a half stars although I’d also add it seems pointless to me to go over three. The higher end locations seem not to deliver to the average joe. I’m not saying I am so without class that their amenities are lost on me. I’m saying that their actual room amenities are bare minimal, they spend most of their luxuries on the activities in the hotel itself, whilest your room is left lacking. The beds are always nice and that is a definite plus, but the rooms while a splendid display of decor, have little else to offer. For some, this is ideal, but for my wife and I, we enjoy the details, and we don’t often like to leave our room. *smiles wryly*

That being said, one of the Hotels I’ve always enjoyed is the Holiday Inn Express, seems like a cheap option, and price wise it is, but their suites are extremely nice with all the amenities that make for an amazing stay. Plus, they have more than your continental breakfast fare each morning. We stayed in one of these hotels during our trip to Idaho, in fact the 2.5 star location was the highest rated hotel in the Idaho Falls area, making the choice a little easier on my part, especially with the reasonable rates.

Although, this is about the best most romantical places in OC, otherwise I would be going on about the Downtown Doubletree (a 3 star option) in San Diego or the mecca of all hotels, the Hotel Del Coronado. The latter is the exception to the rule in lavish stays, it’s a costly place but well worth the money. And yet, other than our San Diego oasis, my favorite OC hotel isn’t in Newport Beach or near Disneyland, they sport some fine stop offs for a weekend caper, but no, for me the best most romantical place in OC for lodging purposes is the Ayres Suites at Yorba Linda. It’s a smaller four story Hotel and best described by their website:

Ayres’ first rate, friendly service meets the elegance of a European-style boutique hotel. Ayres Suites at Yorba Linda is everything you could ask for in a home away from home. Enter the French Provencal hotel lobby, the perfect drawing room for guests to meet. The carefully selected antiques, imported art and fresco painted walls exude refinement and good taste. Relax in our plush, floral upholstered furniture. Feel the warmth of our large marble fireplace. And the hospitality of our daily complimentary breakfast.

My wife and I enjoy this place so much that we opted to spend our wedding night there. The rooms, decorated in the style of a European bed and breakfast are spacious and emaculate with extremely comfortable beds. The service is unrivaled and they too have your more than normal continental fare in the morning: a breakfast buffet that is plentiful and yummy. In addition they always put out wine, cheese and delicious cookies in the evening and in room there is everything you might need for a comfortable stay: including those small things you never see in the nicer accommodations of 4 star hotels, like a refrigerator or a microwave. I suppose the rich may find these things trivial, but I love having those type of niceties in my room. And I would be amiss to mention our favorite amenity, the Jetted bathtub.

So, Certifiably Random’s not-so humble recommendation for romanticalness is to actually get away and spend your time together in blissful comfort at the Ayres Suites in Yorba Linda.

Digg it.

That is all.

Happy Holydays

A season of thanksgiving is upon us and there are so many things to be grateful for during this time of year governed by annual equinoxes, or as I like to call it: the seasons of seasons. This late fall early winter time between that is in perpetuum (forever) magical. And not just because of the massive opportunities for gorging yourself on craptastic food: described thus because while it almost all tastes fan-freaking-tastic, it is most definitely usually junk, save of course the tryptophanic induced coma several of the feasting occasions induce. Mmmm, turkey.

So I am thankful for the clump of holidays at the end of the year and consider them as the original word, hāligdæg, would imply: holy days. A sacred time set apart for family and joy and love, and well, all that good yet mushy stuff. Not to say you won’t get a heaping dose of helpful reality to bring you back down to earth in a plummety kind of way. Within these times set aside for family and friends there is bound to be dissent in the ranks with so many people set close together in the utmost stressful conditions of trying to make their once a year celebration come off without a hitch amidst all the drama and constant problems that don’t get a vacation simply because you do.

Nonetheless, tis the season, and the big mother of them all has yet to rear its magnanimous head. The one time of year we should be able to put aside differences and petty plights and come together as the king of Christmas Carols attests, “I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round, as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable time; the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely…”

And as you’re plowing through someone for that perfect gift at a more than perfect price, remember “the Grinch, with his Grinch-feet ice cold in the snow, stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so? …[Christmas still]… came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes or bags. And he puzzled and puzzled ’till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before. What if Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store. What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more.”

Christmas isn’t merely about lavish gifts. I’ve received my far share of gifts in my 33 (yikes) years, and the best ones usually didn’t cost much if anything at all. Some kind words, time, a truly needed item all represent the greater ideal: love. And the one thing I would disagree with my favorite seasonal flicks on (I own practically every Christmas movie ever made), is that Christmas cannot die. Even when it faces the harsh light of reality, it thrives under such conditions as long as we remember, the Spirit of Christmas is divined from the heart (and maybe that’s the lesson they’re trying to teach).

Wouldn’t it be nice if as we say, “Happy Holydays”, “Merry Christmas” or whatever cheery or miserly winter greeting you give, if we were to possibly pick out one person in need to give them more than just words this year. Even Scrooge found the amelioration (betterment) to himself in giving for that warm fuzzy feeling and tax deducting benefits. I’m just saying.

“May the spirit of Christmas bring you peace,
The gladness of Christmas give you hope,
The warmth of Christmas grant you love.”

That is all.

Replete

The last two months have been a whirlwind of plague, seasonal bliss and merriment. So contradictory and yet still true. Because of the marvelous Family Medical Leave Act, I was able to spend quite a bit of time with my sons for baby bonding time with my little monkey. And I also spent quite a bit of time quarantined away from my three sons. It has been a bitter sweet season.

And now the munchkin is 4 mos old, 14lb and a whopping 27 inches long or tall as the case may be. Those are his statistics, but they don’t give much information about Davin himself. Davin is as adorable as ever and can melt any heart with a single smile, but more than that: more than his cuteness, his strength, his obvious intelligence and certain “je ne sais quoi”, he is simply Davin. And to me that Davin-esqe quality, the one word I would sum up my son with, is peace. I believe everyone has a gift or two, maybe three, and my son seems to have inherited an aura of serenity. He is one of the most zen babies I have ever encountered, but more so, he tends to imbue that ability into his surroundings. Even when he is a little out of sorts, starving for his next bottle and cries till his face turns red and sound no longer comes out (daddy is always slow making those bottles). Even then, my nerves have by no means been frazzled by his outbursts of need. He is a normal baby and will at times cry his little heart out for a myriad of reasons, and yet no matter how hard a day I’ve had, when I hold my little man I cannot remember any of the heartache, even on the rare occasion he’s cranky.

Of course, that sounds like coincidence and indeed if that effect only happened with me I would agree, but I’ve seen his affect on others and have witnessed my lil’ zen master at work. Just like my son Nate permeates joy and my son Dean love, the triunity of these three brothers create a profusion of goodness and our family now seems complete. Well, on the other hand, I don’t know if I would yet say our family is complete, if we’d ever try for a forth, maybe a girl. But for now, I am content with my lovely wife and three boys and feel wondrously blessed.

That is all.

The Strain..

..of reading another book with way too much description. Sigh, and I don’t want to stop reading this story of a vampiric virus rampaging New York. Seriously, vampire stories = good times. Although the convoluted start that alludes to way too much research and an awful amount of character and suspense building is starting to get annoying. Much of it reading like a text book on CDC, hospital, airport and any other procedures that someone can throw in there just to throw in. Is it really integral to the story that I get a complete framework on every minute detail of the inter-workings of baggage handling or the canary division of the CDC and even the full background of why miners used canaries in the first place. I am tired simply recalling those details. And do we need to know the plenary unconnected upbringings of various individuals without even a hint as to how they’re connected to the story. Without a doubt, they’ll be connected later and most likely play a pivotal role (even if they’re 80 and couldn’t possibly battle vampires with a heart condition and mangled hands: suspension of disbelief, suspension of disbelief), however as of right now it’s extremely disjointed. Of course, that sounds like a funny complaint coming from me, the king of random sidelines and mental offshoots. Still, get to the point.

To any budding writers out there, or if by a one in a billion chance there are any official like famous writers reading this, please just do me one favor: don’t get so full of yourself and your massive store of adjectives that you write three pages on what a tree looks like in your world. It could be the most exquisite thing I’ve ever read in my entire life and I would still just be super annoyed reading it because I know it wouldn’t be the only three page description on something in your book, something that is for all intents and purposes meaningless to your story and its advancement. For sure, a certain amount of detail is wonderful and the descriptions and or information to some aspects of your worlds are vital, nonetheless, we’re not mental midgets incapable of imagining your world. Give your readers some credit, lead us into your world, don’t just pour it down our throats.

And truly the most ironic part of this is almost all my favorite authors are guilty of this heinous crime, probably why I detest such deplorable vanity, like reading the umpteenth description of one of many feasts in your books Mr. Lawhead, or when Brandon Sanderson (the man finishing The Wheel of Time series for the late Robert Jordan) stretched the beginning of the twelfth book beyond reckoning so they could amplify Robert Jordan’s last book into three. The rest of the twelfth book was superb, but you can tell there is quite a bit of filler that ends up being no more than simple fodder.

Of course, if I could ever if find the time to finish my own book, I would love for someone to rip me a new one for such blunders. Especially if, even with those cardinal sins, they still couldn’t put it down. Now, that’s a compliment to an author. So even though you irk me to no ends: my hat’s off to you, my Captains of Literature. Per contra, I would be abundantly grateful if you kept those wordy ramblings about the grace of a tree branch or how the king’s wondrous ale was made in supreme detail to your notes.

Anyways, the book has been drawn out and reeks of gettothepoint-itis and I’m not even that far in yet. My best guess is Guillermo Del Toro and Chuck Hogan wrote one book and then someone decided to tremendously pad it out for a trilogy. Honestly, money ruins art every time. Despite the fact, I’m trying to give this “masterpiece” the benefit of the doubt, and yet it still makes me wonder why so much time is spent building up the suspense when the cover of the book tells you it’s about vampires. I feel like they we’re going for the whole Stephen King’s “Salem’s Lot” thing, but why ruin that by giving it away for free on the cover. That’s one revelation that isn’t going to hit me like Jack’s Mack Truck.

Digg it.

That is all.

Plus Size?..

I don’t want to write a super long diatribe on this, but man, society kills me. I was shopping with my wife the other day, taking advantage of our day off and enjoying each other’s company in a pre-Christmas purchasing frenzy. I know, I’m a guy and I am stereotypical, for the most part, in my dislike for shopping, such as wandering aimlessly throughout the woman’s section, but on the other hand it is always fun to spend money (on things I like). My wife is actually the frugal one: I had to fight with her (not fisticuffs or anything) to buy a new pair of shoes because her shoes have a hole in them. Her excuse, “it doesn’t go all the way through.” Sigh, and most guys would kill for a wife like mine, but she’s mine so back off.

Anyways, were going through the woman’s plus sized section and my beautiful wife had a panicked look on her face, she’s on the cusp of that clothing genre having just had a baby. But there she was, eyes bulging looking at me with a dazed and confused-like expression. And I asked her what was the matter as I was also talking to my mom on my cell about gift ideas for the boys. And she said her sizes were gone. Wha? They only had sizes 1-4. I studied the sign for a second and saw how they grouped plus sizes into those four numbers. Weird, and well, wrong on so many levels. Seriously grouping sizes like that only means they cut out all the smaller sizes in the group and make all the 16 through whatevers the largest size, since in a one size fits all situation you cannot go to the smallest size. Myself I just wish they’d make more extra large talls, I hate buying XXL’s even XXXL’s for their length, even then, only to have them shrink to too short once again. Ofttimes, I only get one maybe two wears out of a shirt since I have no wish to show off my midriff. So, I can sympathized with the badly made and or grouped sizes.

Though why the change, what’s the point, are they simply grouping plus sizes into a small, medium, large and extra type genre. Nah, then they’d simply use those sizes. In my not-so humble opinion, they’re trying to give larger wimmenz a chance to wear a size one or two without the work. Akin to giving a laborer a title but no raise. What’s the benefit, who are you fooling if you wear a size one but it’s really a size 16. Now, I have nothing against the not so skinny. Damn, I wish my Hollywood girlfriends would stop losing so much weight, it looks like their bones might slice through their skin at any second. What’s with this waifish obsession? How men got duped into thinking the 12 year old boy look was a good thing is beyond me. And how women bought into the same ideals, I’ll never know, they’re supposed to be smarter than us guys. And if so, can you see the idiocracy of such measures this possible new trend is taking to falsely boost your self esteem.

I guess it was inevitable, I remember in the old days long, long ago when I was in elementary school and they first started introducing the idea of participation ribbons to our “Olympic” type events. Participation ribbons? Wha!?! I mean, we knew they didn’t mean jack anything and threw them out on our way off the field for the lameness they imbued. Yet nowadays, kids try to “talk” to the ones in charge to exchange their participation ribbons for better trophies. We didn’t throw them away because they were ribbons (although that did add to the tomfoolery), we threw them away because the very idea was a joke. A medal for participating, doing something that anyone else in the world could do. Now there are exceptions to the rule: a 26 mile marathon, give anyone who participates and finishes a medal, because that’s a freaking accomplishment.

Not to mention, the 500 pound (or any weight) person, such as Ruby Gettinger, who has lost the weight by good ol’ hard work, healthy eating and will power. That woman deserves a medal. But giving someone a different label just for label’s sake is a worthless ribbon that should be thrown in the trash.

Digg it.

That is all.