All right, did anyone actually READ the article noted below, because what it really says, beyond the sensationalizing headline is: exercise won’t necessarily make you thin – because – when you exercise you get hungry and think it’s okay to PIG OUT afterward, or to drink sugary beverages while you exercise, giving you a net calorie loss of zip, zilch, zero.
Here’s the real truth according to what I’ve lived, learned and observed:
Most people lie about what they really eat and how much exercise they get, to everyone who asks AND, more importantly, to themselves. Have you ever done a food diary and figured out what you’re actually eating, and just how close you are (or are not) to consuming the number of calories you need to merely maintain your current weight? My lord, you’ll be shocked, truly shocked at how many calories you’re really consuming. I pride myself on eating well and being fairly active, and I’m nowhere close to burning off the number of calories I take in, NO WHERE CLOSE. I’m consuming a lot of calories, absolutely shed-loads of calories; way more calories than I need to fuel my body’s basic activities, like breathing and pumping my blood, or propelling me from car to my chair at work and from my work chair back to my car and from car to couch.
From what I’ve seen, a lot of people just don’t work hard enough when they do exercise to achieve substantial calorie burn; compounding the problem, they do a lackluster workout where they don’t push themselves and barely break a sweat, that burns say 150 calories tops, then reward themselves with 500 calories of wine and dessert because they “worked out.” Have you ever computed how long you’d have to work out walking on a treadmill to offset the calories from a piece of cheesecake? Okay people, go use those internet calculators to do the math and you’ll see why exercising isn’t making you lose weight – because you EAT MORE CALORIES than you can possibly burn off with those tepid attempts to move your sorry carcass around.
Deep down inside we all know it. We know that the “science” of our forebears, or the “science” of “brown fat” doesn’t really factor in if we sit all day in front a computer, then retire to the sofa for a night of television, bending over twice in twenty-four hours, once to feed our porcine pets, then again to lift our pants up around our bulging waists.
Hey, my jeans are so tight they leave an impression of each and every seam and stitch on my doughy belly fat; I love to suck down sugary Gatorade while I coast my bike down a hill; I don’t work out that hard because it makes me feel like I’m going to barf up the nachos I had for lunch; and I sit all day and all night on my ever-expanding behind. And I know precisely why I don’t lose weight: because I’m eating more calories than I’m burning off, day in and day out, which makes weight creep on ever so s-l-o-w-l-y, slow enough that I can pretend I didn’t have anything to do with it, and that it’s my brown fat’s fault, or my genes, or my ancestors, and that, uhuh, yup, exercise is a sham.
All of our self delusions aside, the point of exercise is to maintain cardiovascular health (so you don’t faint if you have carry your niece past a scary dog); improve strength (so you can push your own couch around when you need to feng shui your living room) and flexibility (so you don’t pull a muscle when you try to bend down and pick up the 940-calorie plastic-wrapped Costco muffin that rolled under your car seat).
We’re a sad, frustrated, angry lot of nearly immobile people constantly exposed to the siren song of more. It’s time to tell “science” to shove it and move for the joy of moving. Move because you can. Move in any way you can. Get up, get up, get up, get up! Just don’t head straight for the refrigerator
So the AP is reporting that “Cocaine contributed to Billy Mays’ death”…
It turns out that the medical examiner “concluded that cocaine use caused or contributed to the development of his heart disease, and thereby contributed to his death”.
Which makes his passing doubly sad, or at least it does for me. As I’ve said before, I love infomercials. And while Billy Mays’ were pretty much limited to 60-second commercial spots, he managed to get a lot of information and enthusiasm into his sales pitch.
Still… he was an icon. There will never be a pitchman that will quite live up to his boisterous energy (and I don’t care if it was “induced” or not).
From Orange Glo to OxiClean to Mighty Putty… I’ll still remember him fondly.
- boots, the infomericalaholic
Ok, I am so not in touch with any of those very nice kitchen ideal items of great splendor. I did get one of my dearest wishes as the local tomboy and had my very own Mattel plainsman gun n holster set. Complete I might add with bullets that would shoot plastic tips that you could snap into real-like bullet casings. Not to be too braggy but you also could put “greenie stick em caps” onto the bottom of the shell casing. And voila!, you had one of the most dangerous toys of our age…projectiles and explosives! Now I wouldn’t let any child or adult have one of these…lol… well maybe the holster, it was real cowhide! Roy and Dale would be proud, yipee kiyeah… well you know the rest….
I’m a sucker for infomercials. Sure, I know a lot of that stuff they sell is crap, but they’re just so EXCITED! about the product. I don’t buy most of it, but once in a while, I fall victim to their sales pitch. The ShamWow guy does nothing for me. I know I’ll miss Billy Mays, but for now I still see him everyday hawking some miracle product…
About a month ago, I’m watching Cathy Mitchell sell that Redi-Set-Go contraption in a 15-minute spot.
How can you not trust a woman that looks like your favorite Aunt? I was resisting pretty well, until she got to the part where you can make little tiny pizzas.
OMG. Little. tiny. pizzas…
Flashback to the early 70s. I am begging my mother for an Easy Bake oven.
My mother, being the practical woman that she was, decided that baking “dessert for one” — using the power of an ordinary light bulb — was a waste of resources. Her solution was to hand me a box of Betty Crocker cake mix and a big ol’ cake pan. Under her supervision, I baked my first cake. I was certainly proud of it… but it didn’t satisfy my desire for baking tiny cakes in a tiny oven.
Sadly, I was never the proud owner of an Easy Bake oven. I never made tiny cakes, cupcakes or cookies. I never opened my own “Little Princess Bakery”. In time, I grew older and let those memories fade into the past. That is, until Aunt Cathy and her Redi-Set-Go thingy appeared on one of my rarely-viewed cable channels at 3:15 in the morning. Aunt Cathy knew me. She channeled my childhood memories and hooked me… reeling me in was a piece of cake pizza.
I sat there in my jammies, my eyes glued to the TV, watching her make all sorts of tiny goodies. There were bite-sized cinnamon rolls, little eggs with a tater tot cooked inside, tiny cakes, pigs-in-blankets, burritos for one, appetizers for a crowd of 2, and of course — little, tiny pizzas! It was shiny! It was bright red! It was easy to use, and it was going to be mine! All mine — because I am no longer 10 years old, I don’t have to wait for “Santa” to bring me one, and (most importantly) I have a CREDIT CARD!!!
My Redi-Set-Go dohicky arrived yesterday. I have my grocery list ready, and soon — SOON! — I’ll be making little tiny pizzas. Weeeeee!
what’s news today? victoria beckham will be a guest judge on american idol! good idea! the only problem is i like to keep track of victoria’s (1) shoes (OMG her shoes!) and (2) her knees — they have an interesting set of wrinkles that seem to wax and wane and which everyone freaks out over but i think are fascinating (google search “victoria beckham’s knees” if you don’t believe me) and i won’t be able to see either her shoes or her knees if they’re tucked under the idol judges desk. maybe she’ll stand on the desk, or take to the stage. just hope she doesn’t wear the crazy boots with no heel, they freak me out!
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