So that's why they make 1lb weights...

I woke up at 4:30 this morning which wasn't surprising as last night I'd gone to bed 30-45 minutes earlier than usual and I have a pretty reliable internal clock whose schedule allows me 7 1/2 to 8 hours of sleep--and trust me I need atleast that to keep me energized.

The normal morning routine these days is to leave for the gym at 6am, but with the headstart allowed by the early wake-up I sauntered out at 5:30 deciding to walk to the gym rather than hail a cab. The gym opens at 6am which sometimes isn't early enough, but today with the added walk there, I arrived as it opened.

The womens locker room is on the 4th or 5th floor and upon entering it I am loaned two towels in trade for my gym card as collateral. The ladies that run the locker room are quite kind, one knows me by name and the other is a short and round (in a cute way) busy little worker who seems sweet.

Upon "towel pick-up" I was told the hand towels weren't ready yet and 'would I be willing to get it later?' I countered by asking whether I could just have a second large towel and she obliged. I didn't think it seemed a logical plan to interrupt my workout 10 minutes later, climb 2 flights of stairs just to be able to wipe the sweat off my face.

Later, when I'd been on the treadmill for 15 minutes or so, she approached me with the towel. "Here you go Beth." she said. I was kinda shocked. Didn't expect her to treck down to hand me a towel, especially when I'd found a workaround by lugging around my bath towel through the gym. Was nice of her.

Back to the treadmill. I had a good workout today. I walked 35 minutes and ran 25. Yes, I know, you're thinking: 'what? She ran?' I have my German heritage to thank for the fact that my body structure is better suited for lumberjacking than it is for running. I see these military-svelt type guys and girls jump on the treadmill and jealously wish I could make running a few miles look so easy. But for me a minute of running is likely equal to 2 or 3 for them, as keeping 200 pounds in motion for that long is quite a feat.

When I leave the treadmill after a more-than-five-minute run I usually get stares from these teeny Asian chicks who can't pony up the muscle to press the stairclimber step down more than an inch. It cracks me up. These girls are in the gym, obviously for some reason other than weight management and yet they aren't strong enough to use the equipment. As for the stares, it's not likely that they're surprised to see a girl run. It's that I'm the 'fat girl running.' (Think I found a new nick-name)

I'm the girl who has 2 tree trunks attached to my waist and yet strangely, for as long as I've been alive people have referred to them as my legs. It's kinda awkward when you can press 135 pounds between your thighs and then a guy comes by after to use the machine and has to move it down to 65.

It's not every day I can run close to a 1/2 hour. My average is around 10-12 minutes but thankfully each week sees a bit of improvment as I knock my weight down from 200 to 199, 198, and so on.

Anyway, I think I found a new world record to break: longest running German.

Steve: stick to reading other peoples scripts

I saw one of the most poorly scripted/badly written movies this weekend. But then again I have yet to see "White Chicks" and that, I'm sure, promises to hold untold tragic dialogue.

What is the name of this poor excuse of a movie you ask? =Shopgirl.

It is first I suppose a novella written by Steve Martin, turned movie directed by Steve Martin; and personally I think he succeeded with neither.

Most suprising was that upon finishing the movie (yes, I watched the entire trainwreck) I googled for reviews expecting it would be fodder for critics who'd enjoy ridiculing it's wannabe "soap opera / drama / third-grade level" text--but shockingly every review I've read has labeled it either "somewhat enjoyable" or "Ok. Not bad." Personally, neither of these descriptors even comes close in measuring the reality of this talentless flick.

I am unwilling to award it even one full "star." Seeing as that I've mentioned other folks didn't find it quite so horrible--yes, I advise you watch and decide for yourself. But should you not have much time on the calendar set aside for "falling asleep to bad movies" here are some quotes to give you a taste...

It opens with:

Steve Martin is narrating: "Mirabelle Buttersfield moved from Vermont, hoping to begin her life. And now she is stranded in the vast openness of L.A. She keeps working to make connections, but the pile of near misses is starting to overwhelm her. What Mirabelle needs is an ominated voice to illuminate and spotlight her." [End]

Steve Martin's first mistake was in naming the main character "Mirabelle Buttersfield." It does sometimes work well to give a character a unique name, like say Sterling. But taking both the first and last name from your seven-year-old daughter's barbie doll family is like wearing royal purple eyeshadow with bright red lipstick.

The tragedy doesn't end with the opening scene. Though Steve plays a love interest in the film, he goes on to also play the narrater who speaks in the third person. How awkward is that?

Here's the script where Steve's character first meets Mirabelle and takes her to dinner:

"Mirabelle sizes him up and no alarm bells sound. She asks him several questions and gets a particular kind of checklist for a man of his age. Divorced, two houses, one in L.A. and one in the computer-oriented Seattle, which is the source of his wealth... But the one question she does not ask him, which is foremost in her mind is, why me?"

On their second date Steve's character says "nice watch" and Mirabelle replies with "it's a timex." Steve proceeds to remove the watch and place his hand around her wrist saying, "Now I'm your watch."

Now, what the bleep is "I'm your watch" supposed to mean??

I will end in saying that should you decide to watch it, there is plenty more to laugh at. I can only hope that Steve Martin writing this book isn't a sign he's fighting off bankrupty as this venture isn't likely to support him, or his legacy in any way.

Bathroom Frustrations: Part II

My loyal blog readers will recall I made a post awhile ago which addressed common bathroom logistics errors--e.g., impractical proximity of sinks to toilets.

Part II:

Adding extra frustration to the bathroom experience are sinks whose faucets jet out maybe a centimeter from the back edge of the sink. So flippin', f$!#ing annoying it is to akwardly squish my hands up against the back side of the sink trying my earnest to get the flow goin' over my hands without pickin up extra germs from a possibly dirty sink basin. Aaaacckk! And don't even get me started on what it's like to try to wash my hair under one of these crappy pieces of plumbing...

Someday I will host my own TV show which will combine the themes of two of today's greatest: "Extreme Home Makeover" and the Donald's "Apprentice."

And on it I will have the pleasure of saying things like: "You're fired, you dumb a$$. Who finds it acceptable to have such a short-necked sink faucet??" Not flippin' me! Pack up your useless supplies and get out of here!!

I tell you, the word restroom should be canned. There is in fact no rest to be had in today's flushed toilet facilities.

Germs: an added flavor component? Don't buy it.

So you know I love watching cooking shows. Even duck or fish based recipes which I'd never make myself are entertaining. I like informal chefs more than those who have a show on the side but their main gig is managing an upity 4 course dinner kinda place...

Anyway, the more formal the chef the more control is wanted--acheived by tasting after addition of each herb, spice, citrus, etc. Introducing several flavorful components becomes essential (especially when justifying the $30 per plate price tag) and therefore the delicate balance of these less hearty flavors must be carefully managed, I get that.

I mean it's not like making a casserole where you throw cheese, milk, garlic, S&P, and a starch in a pyrex dish and call it dinner... (no, I'm not knocking casseroles--love 'em)

Ok, so my peeve? It's what happens to the spoons these chefs use to taste! When watching, the voice of my obsessive self starts talking. I watch them dip the spoon in the sauce and taste and immediately I think: "Now, dump that spoon in the sink!"

But no. They place it on the counter beside the pan. I don't see any reason why that'd be the place to put the spoon unless you plan to use it again soon and I sincerely hope they don't.

I read an article recently that mentioned a good restaurant should always be agreeable to a request to tour their kitchen. I think I might begin asking for tours as I am very curious. It always makes me nervous to eat food made by someone I don't know...

These questions run through my head:

Does this person think it's ok to lick brownie batter off the spoon and then keep stirring with it? Does this person wash their hands before cooking? Does this person use poorly washed dishes in preparation? Does this person look for mold on the cheese before adding?

I know, your thinking my fears are extreme. But I argue they are not. If someone comes to work, church, wherever you happen to know them from, in wrinkly clothes, kids severly mismanaged, their house is terribly messy or car looks like a garbage can--I think you can rightly surmise their standards in the kitchen would not match your own...

Which I guess gets back to the notion that you are who you really are when no one is looking and I for one, think people need to begin paying more attention to who they are when alone.

I think George should've been a Tom...

I'm blogging wirelessly and the surprising fact is that the connection is actually working! I'm sitting here watching Seinfeld season five (on DVD) which Nick got as a birthday present...

Elaine: Listen to these symptoms for rabies--Anxiety, irritability... I've got those, I'm irritable!

Kramer: I had a friend who had rabies.

Kramer: May I have one of those (pretzels) madam?

George: Madam! What are you calling me madam for?

Kramer: It's these glasses, they're womens, Gloria Vanderbuilt! *says as he grabs the frames of his face*

George: He sold me womens glasses!

Note to self: don't bring chewing gum

Conference calls at work often involve teams from around the globe which of course introduces the obvious quandry of "which time zone do we show preference to?"

Generally it's Asia that gets the shaft. London dials in mid-afternoon, NY early morning and Asia late evening. It was Wednesday that such a call was had keeping me in the office until 9:30pm.

But, before you call me crazy my americans friends for suffering through such seemingly atrocious conditions, the positive news--the biz is sending me to Singapore this month!!

I leave late July and will be spending 3 days in the local office soaking up all things relative to Singapore and it's financial market after which I will spend 4 days as a tourist.

Singapore is the place to be in Asia should you have a thing for clean streets and reasonable shopping--and call me strange but both sound great to me. In fact, this country boasts the highest rates of ex-pats and for good reason, I suppose, as in many ways it mirrors western countries.

Will post an update with pics upon my return!

Are 2 bad banana's better than 1?

I went down to the cafe this morning to purchase a banana. After paying my HK$8 I proceed to walk out when I hear the barista/cashier calling after me.

"Miss, miss, take another banana. Those batch of banana's not so good, so you can take two."

What? I thought as I smiled inside. I wish I'd known her opinion on the state of the fruit being offered before I bought it--they didn't look that bad... And, I didn't need a second banana, good or not. But I grabbed the extra banana anyway, almost feeling obliged to and proceeded upstairs wondering what the heck I was gonna eat now.

Why would anyone think a buy-one-get-one free sale would eclipse the fruit being bad? Did she think I'd have a shot at getting an OK one with two in my hands? Was it better odds she was after? Seems no as she said the whole "batch" was not so good...

Humorous I say. Thankfully the one I did consume turned out to be edible.

Happy Birthday Sis!

Can you believe it, the family summer birthdays are not over! Yesterday marked the end of the Nordberg summer birthdays while today marks the start of DeLand summer birthdays!

With that, Jessica, I wish you a happy birthday. Nick says his first day as a 28 year old has been a good one, so take it from him it's a fine age to be...

What I know about the year of '78:

January: Sweden became the first nation to ban aerosol sprays
February: China (PRO) lifts a ban on published works by Aristotle, Shakespeare and Dickens.
June: Comic Garfield debuts in newspapers
July: First human birth conceived from in vitro fertilization
September: Pope John Paul I dies after only 33 days of papacy
December: First Susan B. Anthony dollar entered circulation

Also born in this year: Ashton Kutcher (Feb), Kevin Federline (Mar), Kobe Bryant (Aug), Katie Holmes (Dec) and a bunch of American Idol contestants: Ruben Studdard (Feb), Elliot Yamin (July), Justin Guarini (Oct), Clay Aiken (Nov) and LaToya London (Dec).

Aww, aren't we cute? Also, Janelle (july 1st baby) belated birthday wishes to you...

Happy Birthday Nick!

Well, I think we successfully had a day full of birthday fun. Nick says so and that's what matters. Here are the highlights: lunch at Hard Rock Cafe where he was arguably humiliated in trade for a free sundae-after our lunch of beers, appetizers, salad (me), BBQ burger (Nick)

FYI, the sundae pictured below is yesterday's home-made pre-birthday dessert.

If we're both odd, then maybe we're not...

I might be an oddball. I often care about very silly things. You want an example right?

This morning I had 2 vegetarian bruschetta for breakfast. For lunch I had 2 vegetarian bruschetta. It's what I wanted for breakfast and what I wanted for lunch.

These guys are tasty and cheap ($9HK each) and the line at Starbucks downstairs is generally tolerable.

How does this specifically make me weird?

Well, I considered buying something else for lunch only because I didn't want to order the same thing, from the same guy for the second time within a 4 hour span. Bruschetta has become traditional breakfast fare for me and I guess I have a phobia of becoming the "bruschetta-obsessed-girl" amongst the Starbucks staff.

Yes, yes I realize there is a high likelyhood the guy doesn't recall my orders from day to day (although aren't coffee staff particularly trained to remember the "usuals" of their regular customers?) and yes I realize that even if he does, he likely doesn't care, but for some reason this doesn't stop me from caring. And this is only one of my many social phobias.

Facing this particular worry is common for me cuz I am a very routine kinda girl. I know the foods I like and when something's working for me I stick with it. I've been through an Italian food obsession phase, followed by Mexican, followed by Thai food and then low-cal bean wraps, and now apparently veggie topped-bread.

Anyway, I walked into SB's and decided that I'd go for it--order what I wanted rather than let my weird worries talk me into having something I wanted less for lunch. And the really weird part is that it took a bit of bravery to do so.

I share this because I think often we think we're weird (when we may not be unusual) cuz people don't share their 'lil oddities. Not just cuz because they're afraid to, but often because there is no forum to.

I invite you to use this post as a confessional. Feel free to post your comment airing the odd thing(s) you worry about, though you know you shouldn't... Be brave! No judgement.

You've had 4 months to ask dumb questions...

This is perhaps the most brilliant write-up on Hong Kong from a foreigner's perspective. And because I too am tired of answering dull questions from people back in the US (yea, you know who you are--wait, except the guilty don't tend to read this blog) please refer to this before our next conversation...

Don't bother buying nice things...

When you drop an oily noodle on your new skirt it reminds you to be thankful you don't have nicer clothes. Seems the tragedy of an oil stain (no matter how tiny) would only be compounded should I have been wearing a Chanel or Gucci garment instead.

*sigh*