Pump You Up

  • by Drew

You know, I wasn’t blowing smoke in my beer belly post. They say that the frontal belly hanging over the belt buckle is a bad sign. And I know that a diet pill is really not the answer. That belly came from somewhere, and the source of the size is the real problem. The belly is just a visual clue.

And I know the way to lose the belly is an investment in fitness equipment or a couple exercise DVDs, but it’s not always that easy. But here’s something to think about – diet. No, I’m not talking about cottage cheese and lettuce and all that. I’m talking about dietary choices.

Hey, even the geniuses at Princeton have figured out what a few of us have known for years – the junk in our food – preservatives, sodium and especially high fructose corn syrup – are killing us slowly. Not with his kiss, but his Twinkies.

Tummy Tuck

  • by Drew

Hey, while we’re stripping oil from the undercarriages of heavy liftters, what about taking a look at some phosphacore reviews. Alright, maybe not the best option, but bellies are an issue. Seriously. To quote my second grader, “I don’t want to sound mean, but…” there’s a lot of big belly-age going on.

Now, I know I’m not one to point the pudgy finger. I’ve got my share of extra pounds after all. But I’ve noticed a disturbing trend in the arena of excess belly fat – in guys who used to be the slim muscular types. It concerns me, seriously. I know a bunch of these guys very well, and I know they get a reasonable amount of natural exercise in their every day work life. No, they’re not jogging or doing pilates, but they’re also not sedentary. Shouldn’t we be concerned that people who have relatively active occupations are displaying that particularly unhealthy frontal beer belly?

Hypertension, here we come.

Sound and Fury

  • by Drew

Me and my 7 year old, we chat. It’s the word he came up with many months ago when we started. See, after the addition was finished, I no longer had to put the two boys to sleep on an airbed in a half-demolished room with thoughts of the morning clean up before the crew arrived. Now, they have their own rooms with their own doors and and beds that don’t require 5 minutes attached to a pump for proper comfort.

The routine has evolved to this: teeth brushing, final potty break, bathing, story in the story chair, 4 year old tucked in, 7 year old chat before tucking. And oh, how we chat. We talk Cub Scouts and Summer Camp and Zero gravity remote control cars and assorted action figures and perler beads and watercolors and so much more.

Tonight, as he found a cough from this on again off again thing that is starting to suggest a need for allergy relief more than cough suppressant, we talked literature. We talked about telling stories, loving to tell stories. I told him he was lucky to figure out that his favorite thing (and this is more or less a quote) is writing…writing stories.

Hell, it took me more than 30 years to figure out that the single common element that binds all things I enjoy most is about the same aspect – telling stories. Be they stories in song or on the written page or even with photos or doodles…it is that creative act – coming up with the story and somehow sharing it. That is where I find the most fun, the most joy, the most…you know.

It’s pretty good to be a smart 7 year old, I guess.

Oh, but here’s what I was getting at with the whole chat thing. Tonight, after getting beyond the shared love of storytelling, he told me he is wrestling with his current story about a Nerf dart war. At 4 pages, it is “SOOOO much longer” than his last major work, a 3 page autobiographical piece entitled My Busted Eye.

The problem, he told me, is that there are a lot of capital letters in the Nerf story. Too many, he insisted, and for some reason I cannot totally fathom, it is hanging him up toward the end of page 3.

So I told him that famous apocryphal story about Faulkner and his editor. Upon reading a manuscript, the editor told Faulkner he must do a better job of using punctuation and such as his work was too dense and difficult to decipher – read Absalom, Absalom and you’ll know what he meant. Faulkner’s response was to send his editor several pages of typewritten periods, commas, and other punctuation marks with a note that more or less said “put these wherever you want them.”

“Don’t worry too much about the capitals,” I told him. “Tell your story and you can always fix those little things later.”

is that a phone in your robe pocket or…

  • by Drew

All this chatter about texting and shorthand and related non sequitur nonsense has led me to a real puzzle. What about monks? I mean, I have been told that some of these guys are going around with digital cameras and mp3 players and cell phones…yes, even cell phones. I’m sure we’re not talking about the vow of silence dudes. That would just be too bizarre, even if they got one of those free texting plans.

But the regular, less orthodox monks who occasionally kick back and have a little light discussion about what type of rope makes the best robe belt, or whether an old school straight razor is better for shaving the cranium than a five-blade name brand with disposable cartridges.

I wonder if these guys are sneaking around with iPhones, downloading apps and texting their brothers. Somewhere it must be happening, right? Probably in some particularly lenient temple. Even so, though, there’s got to be a lot of quiet time in a place like that. And even if they allow a little time for chat, you know it’s got to be quiet and meditative. So if one monk is texting another monk a little humorous anecdote about enlightenment or the afterlife or whatever, and the second monk responds LOL…you know he’s probably not actually, literally laughing out loud, right.

So, is that a lie. Seriously. Wouldn’t that kind of screw up your whole karmic balance?

The Lingering…

  • by Drew

That sounds like the subtitle to Highlander Part 6, doesn’t it?

Thinking about phones and texting reminds me of something I saw at dinner. We went to a kid-friendly establishment with a deal on kid meals and had a pretty good time. While we were waiting for our food, I noticed a girl who was maybe 18 at a nearby booth. She had long, straight hair, and one hand against the side of her head. Her elbow was bent and she leaned on it. It was a perfectly common pose, a young girl on the phone.

At least, that’s what I thought. There was something odd about the way she spoke, the tilt of her head. I have both witnessed and experienced the cell talker phenomenon. Even if they are sitting right across from you in a restaurant booth, the talker will avoid looking at you as mucha s possible while they chat. There is an exception for guys (and possibly gals) who make a deliberate call to their significant other trying to get out of some prior engagement so they can hang out with their friend. In those instances, the guy (or possibly girl) will usually make frequent eye contact with the friend, since they are usually getting a phone reaming and require moral support. 

Anyway, this girl was not looking away, but rather was making regular eye contact with her dinner companion (a woman, possibly her mother) who had her back to me. There was something unfamiliar to me in this combination, the phone hand to ear coupled with dinner companion eye contact did not seem right. And then I realized what was going on.

The girl was not on the phone. Yet her hand was in phone position, against her head. Two fingers to her temple, her hand fisted, but in a sort of open way. Almost like she was holding an invisible phone. Everything about her posture suggested a phone call, with the exception of the aforementioned companion-eye-contact.

It was like a nervous tick. Or a habit born of such frequent repetition that it becomes unconscious behavior. It was really a little troubling. I mean, I’m not suggesting she wasn’t a perfectly nice and sweet young lady. Surely she is just lovely. But this need to mime phoning, like some bizarro telecommunications security blanket or something…I don’t know. It was weird.

So many people are looking for quick weight loss tips. Here’s one: lose the phone. At least for a while. I know it is only a few ounces, but it’s a start. And if nothing else, breaking the holding habit will free up your arm to do something mildly athletic.

Like curling.

Acronymic

  • by Drew

So I didn’t actually precedent the word acronymic. But you have to agree it’s pretty unusual and you probably never would have used it right? Of course, with all the texting and shorthand going on, maybe I’m wrong and it will find its way into everyday speech. Then again, the texting generation is so full of slackers they will probably resort to calling them letter-wordy-things or something equally idiotic. I predict that the Merriam-Webster is going to roll downhill fast in the next few years.

In the meantime there is surely an opportunity for earning extra home income for anyone who can come up with a new acronym that can find its way into everyday texting – and then copyright it.

Seriously. Think if the first dude to text OMG had thought to file paperwork. Think of all the t-shirts and mousepads and trade-show giveaways he could be collecting royalties on. We’re talking millions, I’m sure.

Granted, he (or she) wouldn’t want to go after individuals using the acronym – litigation would be costly and borderline insane. And anyway, it would be much better off to keep it in the popular vernacular, lending attractive credence to all those people out there deciding if it would be better to tag their giveaway foam visors with OMG or LOL.

Tell the truth now, don’t you want to say you’re ROTFLMFAO.

(I never know if I should include the ‘t’ from the ‘the’ – can I get a style ruling?)

St. Siggy

  • by Drew

I made a WWJD joke in my last post. So, you ask, what’s next? An exploration of the Jesus fish versus the Darwin fish? No, no, no. But it reminded me of a question I posed a friend a week or so ago. He is an avowed and unapologetic atheist. I had a random thought after an exchange of acronymic nonsense (yes, I just precedented that word) and sent him a one liner hoping to elicit a bemused chuckle.

Instead, he fired back, without hesitation, a fantastic response.

I asked him what a texting pagan uses as short hand instead of OMG.

His immediate response:

STSGA

Maybe you’ve heard this one before? I had not. And rather than invest in eye cream for dark circles from the hours of lost sleep puzzling it over, I simply asked for an explanation. Now, when my Valley Girl sounding bells ring and I want to be all like “Oh My God!” I can instead invoke a little prayer to a new phraseological friend I call St. Siggy.

Haven’t heard it? Want to know what it stands for?

Shit! The sacrifice got away.

Did You Ever Notice?

  • by Drew

Did you ever notice that the people who roll the holiest, who shout things like ‘God and Country’ the loudest, who complain about low-class ‘other people’ and claim they are all about their local community and the well being of their region…did you ever notice these are the biggest schlong-tokers around?

Seriously. I’m not just talking about common sense stuff here, like if you need proactiv solution, you shouldn’t be munching on fast food and chocolate bunnies every day. I’m talking about the people who wave their flags and sticker their bumpers with statements of patriotism and religious ferocity. Why is it that these are the people who seem the least tolerant, the least forgiving and the least patient?

WWJD? Probably not freak out and condescend to the hostess who sat him at the wrong table. Even if it was thattable, you know, the one Da Vinci painted. 

These colors don’t run? Maybe not, but they have no problem waddling around looking for a manager to complain to about your fries that were not warm enough…even though you polished the entire plate off in 2 minutes flat. I guess you were so busy stuffing your patriotic little squirrel cheeks to take a breather and ask for a heat-up.

Spayed

  • by Drew

I saw an interesting license plate the other day. On a rather small Honda hybrid car, a 2 door with the back wheels covered by the body, was this plate. NEUTRD. This was a fairly small vehicle, like something you’d not be surprised to see a dozen clowns exit.

After laughing a bit, I had to imagine the driver. In my mind it was one of two types. On the one hand, it could be a tweed jacket with suede elbow patches wearing veterinarian with a salt and pepper beard, neatly trimmed micro ‘fro white guy who’s running into the mall for an Orange Julius and maybe some patio furniture.

The other possibility, as I imagined it, would be a burly, tattooed dude with a sleeveless flannel shirt and possibly a starter mullet. He traded in his Charger, or maybe restored Cougar because he fell in love with a hippie chick in a crunchy sun dress.

Spring is in the air and with it comes thoughts of attracted opposites, Romeo and Juliet/Hatfield and McCoy type romances. I’m such a sucker for melodrama – even when it’s just in my head.

Targeted

  • by Drew

I understand targeted advertising. I understand the presumption of qualified consumers. I worked two of the primary areas in the advertising world, both on the agency side and on the media property side. So I get it. I really do. No need to explain the value proposition.

Still, I think that technology, the answer to the prayers of target-marketing professionals sometimes fails. MISERABLY.

Lately I’ve been playing an iPhone game called Crack the Code a lot. It’s about figuring out a pattern of colored dots in a limited number of moves. It’s not ridiculously challenging, but occasionally you need to stretch your cranial muscles a little. The funny thing is that I have been playing the ad-subsidized free version, and one of the most frequent ads to scroll below the application promises Effective Cocaine Rehab.

Get it? CRACK the code. COCAINE rehab. Really. this is the best the Google-style keyword advertising module can come up with?

Or maybe they think I’m playing too much and need some sort of addicted gamer rehab.

What’s next, ads for loose diamonds on Bejeweled? Flight Simulators sponsored by Dramamine? How about diet pills shilling while you play Hungry Hungry Hippos?

© 2026 Drew Bancroft. All rights reserved. Totally.