Where's the Beefcake?

I know you've seen it: there you are, innocently stalking people on Facebook, when a very unexpected photo pops up.  It’s Patrick, an old friend of yours, who is showing you a “before” and “after” shot...with his shirt off.  Initially, you figure that the “after” picture is showing some type of body-swelling disease.  But then you realize it’s not a mistake at all; Patrick is ripped!  How could this be?  He either really bulked up, or there are a number of giant bird-eating spiders trapped in his biceps.  Below the photo is some encouraging phrase like, “Thanks to the AgonyZT MaxiBody System, I can now bench-press a car...with your mom in it!  Join the club, freaks!”  You stare in disbelief.  And then wonder why someone would want to bench-press your mom’s car in the first place.

A series of recent occurrences have inspired today’s post.  First of all, I’m trying to find a somewhat different way to work out than solely running.  Running is ridiculously awesome, but I need to find something new that balances me out a little bit.  And by “balance me out”, I am referring to making my arms somewhat thicker than uncooked spaghetti noodles. Secondly, these Facebook beefcakes are getting to me.  Part of me wants to throw them all in a wrestling ring and watch what happens.  I’m sure they have already come up with fancy Wrestlemania nicknames for themselves like, “Doctor Writhe”, “Ribcage Ripper”, and “Really Strong Guy”.

But don’t get me wrong.  I really do admire these Facebook Beefcakers.  I am impressed by how hard they've worked in order to bulk up and give themselves the unique ability to flex their pecs to the beat of songs such as these.  They've put the time and effort into it, and I salute them using my scrawny fingers.

But what gets me, though, is some of these exercise programs.  If you do anything long enough and intensely enough, of course you’re going to see results.  Honestly, I think I could make an exercise video.  It would go something like this: There is Beefcake Dave in his sweatband and HotVelvet workout pants, and he shouts to all his weakling viewers, “Okay, now, I want you to pick up this really heavy bag and lift it over your head.  Good.  Now put it down again.  Okay, now keep doing that...until Thursday.  Then repeat.  Just you wait, folks.  In a month you will be able to lift heavy bags above your head!”  And then I would get rich because people will share Facebook photos of themselves being super ripped and holding big bags above their heads and wearing HotVelvet pants.  And then everyone would buy my video cassette and I’d be totally famous.

Before 

After

"Thanks ChexMix Diet!"

Now let me use the real-world example of workout guru Jillian Michaels. She is a fitness expert who apparently helps very fat people on TV become not as fat. As I prepare for a half marathon, I spend my non-running days cross-training with one of her DVDs.  I think it’s called, “How to snap every muscle in your body in half.”  It consists of a series of punches, jumps, lunges, and twirly-dos (which, by the way, can appear a bit feminine at times...but luckily that’s offset by my manly sweatband). These drills are repeated over a period of about 800 minutes.

And of course, she is yelling at you the whole time to do it faster, harder, and more feminine.  Normally it would hurt my feelings, but I’m too busy trying to get feeling back in my chest cavity to pay much attention.  And as much as I hate to admit it, it’s a great workout.  Not “display-my-bronzed-body” on Facebook great, but it gets the job done.  And if I did this workout daily like she recommends, then I would probably look as good as Jillian Michaels.  Then I’d finally be sexy enough for Facebook, which is widely considered the pinnacle of human accomplishment.

So the next time you peruse Facebook and happen upon a very buff-looking redhead who is a specimen of muscular achievement and physique, please remember that you, too, could look just like me.  Just buy my video and a really heavy bag.  I promise it works, freaks!

Beware the Perfect Parent

We are the proud owners of a new baby girl. Yes, another one. Kaylee Something Meyer was born on February 17th 2012 in Murray. She has a lot of dark hair when washed. She is healthy and doing well. She doesn't seem to eat as much as Aubrey did, but then again, I’m pretty sure no infant ate as much as Aubrey did. Aubrey drank so much milk that her blood had the consistency of sour cream. (by the way, I just checked the records and Kaylee’s middle name is Elizabeth...I must have been playing Angry Birds when we decided that).

So now that I have two children, you are probably thinking, “Man, you guys have it all figured out! Parenting must be a snap. Just hop in the minivan and cruise Easy Street from here on out.” Unfortunately, you would be very, very wrong about that. We have not lived up to the many Perfect Parents who surround us. As an example, let me relate to you a very typical conversation that Sheri and I have had with many other parents of two children:

Perfect Parent: “So, how is your baby sleeping at night?”
Me: “Well, so-so. But last night she slept for 3 hours straight, which is pretty good.”
Perfect Parent: “Oh. (Long pause) Yeah, our baby slept for like 8 hours straight the day we brought her back from the hospital, and has only improved since.”
Me: “Wow, that’s...amazing (with a hint of growing despair)”
Perfect Parent: “Yeah, isn’t the transition from one child to two just so easy?”
Me: “Well...something like that” (the despair has now blossomed and in my imagination is shooting poisonous darts into the soul of Perfect Parent)

Perfect Parent: “I know, right? I mean, I’m not even sure I would recognize the sound of my own baby crying because she’s never really fussed before.”

Me: “That’s fantastic. Hey, could you excuse me? I've got to find a pencil and stab myself in the gizzard.”

Now, let’s get something straight. I realize, Perfect Parent, that your newborn sleeps all through the night. And she never cries. And her diapers smell like springtime and unicorn feathers. And you wake up in the morning to her singing in your ear as she...somehow...hands over a cup of orange juice and a croissant. Yep, I get it. But believe it or not, there are some parents out there who would read Twilight just for their child to sleep a few hours at a time...the ultimate sacrifice. Some parents (who will not be named) yearn for the days when they didn’t wake up feeling like they had slept next to Muhammad Ali. Or that the house didn’t look and sound like a llama festival.

I’m not sure how you keep it all together, but I’d love to learn. Maybe you could take care of my newborn while I attend a seminar in Cabo or something like that. Then I would come back all rested and find to my great relief that my child is a calm little angel, and also fluent in Chinese.

**As a side note, I would like to mention how cool little kids’ clothes are. You could seriously print anything on a baby’s shirt, and people think it’s the most adorable thing ever. Even if the phrase makes no sense whatsoever, which most don’t. Some examples: “Cute as a Bug”, “Daisy Girl”, or “So Phat and So Phun” (I may have made that last one up). You could put just about any creative phrase on a baby’s shirt and people would think were incredibly charming, like: “(Almost) Too Little to Lie”, “I Don’t Bargain, Moron,” or “Daddy’s Little Anxiety Attack”. You could make a fortune off this stuff! (patent pending)

So in conclusion, I guess what I’m asking you, Perfect Parent, is to refrain. When talking with a set of particularly bedraggled parents, instead of mentioning that your toddler recently arranged the spice rack, maybe you should just change the subject and talk about lizards or something. It may save you from witnessing someone stabbing themselves in the gizzard.