Friday Jams: Teachers, Leave Them Kids Alone

Posted on August 22, 2014 by tosabarbell

I was in 6th grade when Pink Floyd’s The Wall was released. My older brother was in 8th grade. The perfect age to gravitate towards musical resistance to the man. It was a life changer for Jerry. He bought his first high end stereo and turntable with his own money which I guess gave him the right to blast the album. I loved it. I remember him bringing my Uncle Dennis downstairs on one of our evenings together to listen “Mother” on the album. ‘Mother do you think you’ll drop the bomb.’ This song spoke to him for some reason, dunno why. I should ask him some day.

Anyways.

Matt and I were talking the other day about an episode of Law & Order I had on as I was getting ready to leave to pick him up from the Airport. The Ice guy (I can never remember if it’s Ice T or Ice Cube. I’m such a square) was offering some little kid a donut and when the mum freaked out and confronted him about offering her kid a donut he dug right in and was cop asshole. “Why SHOULDN’T I offer him a donut” Ice man came back with. Uhhhhhh, cuz it’s not your place dickhead to give my kid sugar. Duh.

Which led to the discussion of kids going back to school in the next week or two. Ahhhhh, school. Where teachers teach you right from kinder care that food is related to rewards. Be a good boy Johnny and I’ll reward you with sugar. Do your spelling words little Annie and you’ll get a cookie at the end of the week. Food=job well done. If you don’t get the sugar, you’ve failed. Think I’m exaggerating? Ask adults why they think food=emotion/reward and the majority will trace it back to their childhood.

What happens when I tell someone (who asks by the way) that they need to give up the sugar for a while and they will honest to god believe I am punishing them. It is quite common to hear responses such as: “Well I NEED something sugary each day or I won’t make it.” Uhhhhh, NEED? You NEED water and oxygen. You’ve been CONDITIONED to believe that you need sugar. True story.

Now, I am not anti-sugar. Obviously, I’m Hawaiian. Ever see this commercial?

I grew up with this believing, of course, that since I actually WAS Hawaiian, I had some special bond to sugar. Cuz that’s what the commercial said and it had a Uke playing in the background. (To this day I buy C&H, marketing at it’s finest.) Anywhooo. I’m not anti-sugar. Just this morning the big guy ran and bought some Cranky Al’s donuts for the crew.

But a donut isn’t a reward. It’s just a sometimes treat. If we had them every day they wouldn’t be a treat. They’d be the chicken and broccoli and pasta I had for breakfast. Everyday food that actually fuels us. A Cranky Al’s Crueller? A treat. We like treats. But they’re not rewards. Food has nothing to do with rewards, these do…

teacher

Gold, Silver, or Bronze. Medals. Rewards for hard work. These things are valued. If they weren’t, the Olympics wouldn’t be a big deal. Duh. Sugary treats provided by teachers that are probably either skinny fat or just plain fat aren’t rewards. It’s them passing on their shitty food relationship to your kids. Why is this acceptable? Why in the world do you guys put up with this crap?

Cuz if you didn’t, your kid would be the only one in the class who wouldn’t get the sugary treat and then they would FEEL bad. Food and feelings. Raising yet another mindless generation of folks with crappy relationships with food. Goodie.

Did you KNOW you have a say in what goes on at school? Did you KNOW that you can tell the teacher that you don’t believe food has anything to do with rewards and you don’t want your kid being brainwashed by them thinking it does? Too hard?

That’s okay. Fitting in is important. It gets you here:

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And then they get on tv. Score.

Think I’m harsh? (Lots do.) Think I’m wrong? (I’m not.) Think a crappy relationship with food built in childhood can be easily outgrown?

Think again.

 Obesity is, well, bad.

Emily Levine

Training Log

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38

Posted on August 20, 2014 by tosabarbell
oldage

These immigrants are probably just a little older than 38. Too bad they didn’t have the FB to bitch and moan about how hard it was to leave their home country, settle in a new one not speaking the language and building a life for themselves and their families and aging in the process.

It is a weekly occurrence when I pass over some silly person in their 30’s complaining about how old they feel. It is annoying enough for me to comment on, cuz, ya know…if I were in my 30’s I’d be storming castles and leaving a trail of dead in my wake. (**Writing ramped up for dramatical effect.)

Today’s inspirational came from some 38 year old dude I don’t know that was complaining about how destroyed his back is after so many years of squatting. First off, you’re 38. Even if you started squatting heavy before you were 18 (most likely squatting like a dickhead if you were taught form by your local high school football “coach”) you only have 20 years or so under the bar. That’s actually not a very long time. 20 years. See, when good S&C coaches teach someone to lift, we have the intentions that they’ll be lifting into their 80’s…or so. 60 years. 60 years is a long time to squat. And these folks will actually be feeling BETTER instead of used up at 38.

Second of all, if you hurt so bad from squats that you need to complain on the FB like a teenage girl or some attention whoring ice bucket dumper (don’t even get me started on that shit), then you’re either A) bone diseased in some way in which case you need to adjust your programming or 2. squatting like a dickhead. Obviously. Duh. But you’re a big strong guy so it couldn’t possibly be the fact that your form is atrocious. It couldn’t possibly be beneficial to go back to the basics and relearn a proper squat, right? (And no, I’m not talking about high bar/low bar. Good lord that argument is so fucking boring that I can’t believe people still argue it. I’d write about how boring it is but I’d be too bored when I’m writing. True story.)

Squats don’t hurt. Unless you’re at a meet and a girl and squatting 670 pounds at 168 pounds. Then it probably hurt a little. But  it’s at a meet. And you’re a girl. (Another boring as fok argument, geared v. raw. BORING! My girl Shawna put 670 pounds on her back…bent her knees and squatted down…then came back up. You squat 515 raw and that makes you better? No dick, it doesn’t.)

Anyways.

Shawna had a right to bitch about being sore. Oh, but she didn’t. She talked about how pumped she was for her best squat ever. But see, she’s in her 40’s so is beyond the “I’m in my 30’s and sooooo sore that I have to bitch and moan about it” phase.  (By the way, Congratulations Shawna!  You’re amazing!)

I think maybe if you ride bulls for 8 seconds you get to complain about how sore you are if you actually make it to your 30’s and are still riding. (I also think you’re crazy but that’s another post.) I think if  you’re a stunt man/woman you get to complain. I never see these guys complain but I think they’ve chosen paths that make you hurt, all the time.

Squatting? In your 30’s? STFU. Just stop and become another ‘merican couch potato cuz if you hurt this bad at 38? Just wait until 48…and 58…and 68. But maybe by then you’ll outgrow your need to attention whore about stupid stuff and just be thankful that you’re still squatting and contributing to society.

Maybe.

When I was a boy the Dead Sea was only sick.

George Burns

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Monday Bacon: Peanut Butter & Jelly Sandwich: $99.00

Posted on August 18, 2014 by tosabarbell

There used to be a restaurant near my stomping grounds that opened up when I was in my early 20’s. It was called Kixx on the River and was on the banks of the Mississippi in Brooklyn Park. We’d club a bit over there at times but mostly I’d have business lunches there.

At the time, I was a purchasing assistant for a mail order company. Admittedly, it was not the greatest environment for me to start out my professional career. There was a lot of drinking; unprofessionalism; nepotism (which created a crazy atmosphere); bosses cheating on their wives with other assistants; and taking kickbacks for putting different items in the catalog each month. That doesn’t even touch the nightly happy hours or liquid lunches. Uck. I was burnt out by the time I was 23 and ready for a change. Which happened when I got fired from the next catalog company I was a purchasing agent for when I refused to agree to work with a crappy refurb computer company who bought my boss a new boat. Memo to me: the boss is always right. Even when he’s a crook. So noted.

Anyways. Back to Kixx. The first time I went there, the purchasing/marketing departments were celebrating (pre-maturely) a merge with a major competitor. The owners took us over to Kixx for lunch, told us to order whatever we wanted and that getting back to the office that day wasn’t an expectation. Giddyup. Drinks were flowing and ordering any food I wanted was a pretty good deal for this starving little assistant. (Actually, I wasn’t little or starving but when someone else was buying, I ate up.) True story.

As I was contemplating my order, imagine my surprise when the Buyer next to me ordered a Peanut Butter and Jelly sammich. W!T!F! A sammich??? When the bosses are buying?

peanutbutterjelly

I mean, a PB&J is good and all, but geez. I tried to find out A) why all the buyers were ordering PB&J while laughing hysterically and 2. why the owners were mock flipping their shit. And then I saw the price…$99.00.

Uhhhhhh, huh? A PB&J for $99.00? Is this a joke? I mean, I’m young and all and naive in the ways of how folks in their 40’s eat but…srsly? And then I saw the catch…

peanutbutterjelly1

…each PB&J came with it’s own bottle of Dom Perignon. Um, that’s an option? Fok the steak, I want my own bottle of Dom! (I ordered the steak and a beer. I was an assistant, we didn’t order $99 lunches that included Dom Perignon.) It was my first experience with over the top spending. I liked it. Hence…not a great place to begin my career.

I remembered this last night as I was thinking about gyms that are all fake Dom and no PB&J. Shiny equipment that cost thousands of dollars with televisions and mirrors all over the place cuz gawds forbid that you miss your soap and not be able to check your hair as you ellipt.

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I’m pretty sure that the total cost of the gear in the above picture is worth more than my little black iron gym. The televisions alone probably are but it may be close. The elliptical machines put it way over the top. It’s their version of the Dom, I’d call it Lambrusco. Unnecessary; useless; but seemingly adds enough flash to the basics to make the general public overpay for membership. And what does it come with? Well, certified trainers of course. All hip to the latest trends and gimmicks. Here to protect you from muscular imbalances; prepare you for battle with muscle confusion, and can make you a smoothie afterwards. (Okay, honestly I’d kinda like it if someone made me a protein smoothie after I trained. The whole scoop in a shaker and shaking it up myself is pretty low rent.)

Compare that to this…

But we usually have warm Gatorade for you if you train here.

…I mean COME ON! Name me ONE Anytime Fitness that has Minions and a War Hammer? Or a poster signed by Big Z and the rest of the Champions League crew. Or a picture of SpongeBob SquarePants colored by your 20 year old daughter. Or barbells. And bumpers. And Iron. And platforms. Etc.

The most useful gyms are peanut butter and jelly. Where’s the Dom? Here:

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Or here:

peanutbutterjelly4

Or here:

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Okay, a birdie waving Ditka doesn’t have anything to do with it. But it’s Ditka. Flippin’ the bird. How can that not hurt a Monday?

The point is, the Dom is the coaching. You can get Lambrusco, that was good back in 9th grade.  But now you’re a grown up, get the Dom. It may be more expensive. It should be. You’ll get stronger/leaner/bigger/faster/more athletic/cooler quicker and more efficiently by working with them. Pay for the Dom…in the peanut butter and jelly setting.

And you’ll be fine. Fill yourself up with all the other garbage being offered and you’ll understand why Americans are fatter and weaker than ever. True story.

Here’s what I tell anybody and here’s what I believe. The greatest gift we have is the gift of life. We understand that. That comes from our Creator. We’re given a body. Now you may not like it, but you can maximize that body the best it can be maximized.

Mike Ditka

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Easter Island…or Insular. Both Crappy Choices.

Posted on August 14, 2014 by tosabarbell

easter island

A fun pre-bedtime story for us at times is House Hunters International. We get to see and learn about lands far away (that Bigg actually HASN’T been to yet) and then make fun of the people who are uber picky about it’s homes for sale (fucking Americans.)

Easter Island is 14 miles wide by 7 miles long. Soooooo, a road trip is like going from our house to Lake Michigan. Only natives may own land (which makes for a boring episode of House Hunters) and there are nearly 900 (I think I heard 887) of the statues around the Island. Which means you pretty much have a view of a statue no matter where you live. And as for the living conditions? Uhhhhh, scarce. You could have a modern home or a hut with no water or electricity. Land is passed down from family member to family member and it is completely common for folks to never leave the Island. To never know a world beyond it’s beaches. 

Ummmmmm, no thanks. It’s like when folks hear I was born on Maui. ‘Oh my gawddddd, don’t you wish you lived there instead?” Well no, of course not. If I wanted to live there I would. Duh. I kinda like packing up the family Tahoe and road tripping from Minnesooooota to Seattle with a backseat full of kids. A four hour road trip around an Island? No. That’s not a road trip. That’s a battle with the foking tourists who are not watching the road AND believing they are entitled to act like adorable assholes and just stop in the road to take a picture of a waterfall. . Haoles. 

Anyways. 

Another version of Easter Island syndrome is right here in good ‘ol Milwaukee. No where else have I lived where folks are so completely insular. The drivers? They actually believe this is THEIR road. So if merging is necessary, it becomes a fight to the death (literally at times) to ensure that they do NOT let anyone merge into traffic. Of course these silly people aren’t developed enough to understand that had they just let folks in one at a time, traffic would flow much smoother. No. This is a question of honor. To let someone merge is a show of weakness. THIS IS WHERE WE HOLD THEM! THIS IS WHERE WE FIGHT! Seems to be the common mantra on the local roads. Fok.

Another awesome characteristic of the Milwaukee silly person whose life has revolved around a 5.2 square mile circumference is that these folks know all the answers to the Universe. No, foShizzle. Just ask ’em. In fact, you won’t have to. Cuz even though they have never ventured off the exact same path to the exact same grocery store for the last 20 years, they’ll let you know how others in the world (the world being at least 5 miles outside of Milwaukee) live. Uh huh. 

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And gods forbid you bring the real world into their lives. Like, if you need help with something but it’s unpleasant and doesn’t reek of Unicorns and Cotton Candy? Forget it. Real life is not something this little sector of Cheeseheads like to deal with. If we could just ignore each other until the crisis has passed that’d be great kthxbye. 

At the end of the day, there are two realities (okay, more than that but stay focused.) A. We do not live on Easter Island. 2) We are not insular. 

We live in the world. We are the world (I feel like if I made a song with that lyric it’d be really huge. Like, if I got really hyooge stars to sing it it’d be a video that was played at Christmas time each year or something like that. I dunno, it’s just a feeling.) But what I mean by that is that we are what we put into it. If we joke with our neighbors (like when they are walking over to say hey and I’m in the middle of a really good rant using the F word and they laugh) and we know we have each others backs; that’s good. Or when a friend calls and says they need “X” right now you drop everything and jump in the car to get to them with wine as soon as possible. Ya know, the world. Or when someone presents a situation they are going through that is even a little bit inconvenient for us, we leap in feet first to help cuz that’s what people do. 

But if you choose to live on your own little Easter Island, don’t be shocked when folks don’t want to join you. Cuz the bulk of us live in the rest of the world. The one with people; and problems; and needs; and wants; and taxi’s; and stupid training videos; and Monty Python (thank gawds.) 

Our prime purpose in life is to help others. And if you can’t help them, at least don’t hurt them.

Dalai Lama

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