I don't have any idea about P90X2 but I know that sport cleaning kicks. Tony Horton, the mastermind behind P90X and the most shredded, ripped up 55 year old on the planet has really got something going on the fitness front. But what about the life front? What about all the rest?
Some would argue that if you are in peak physical condition that you'll do many other things more efficiently. You'll work better. You'll sleep better. You'll give a better and more muscular massage. I don't think that is enough. I think you need to be in peak physical condition AND peak life condition. Like is so often the case... I want more.
So many exercise programs today are one dimensional. I'm looking for multidimensional routine that maximizes efficiency and leverages productivity. It is a regime that should leave your heart pounding, a damp brow, and a clean floor for example.
I'm of the opinion that there isn't enough talk or time given to flooring cleaning in our culture. I think that a lot of people are spending a lot of time cleaning floors around the world and it simply isn't getting the press it deserves. You can argue that Jim Dyson has taken a stab at this topic but we all know that his motivation is for the dolla and not for physical powa (power). That lack of press ends now.
I'd like to address this deficiency by rolling out a new workout/cleaning program I call Sport Cleaning (or Happy Clean in Europe).
Sport Cleaning takes what we, mankind, do already and adds an advanced physical element combining resistance and cardiovascular training. All we have to do is install a series of extra-strength anchor points in our homes. In every room there shall be four anchors in each corner. The sport cleaner shall don the sport cleaning apparatus which is a double thick neoprene unitard with multiple attachment points. The cleaner shall then attached resistance bands to the suit and to the anchors in the room. Now you see the benifits.
At this point the sport cleaner simple cleans as they might normally do. Obviously the center of the room is easily cleaned. The corners are more difficult. The idea would be that to reach the corners one would have to preform as a human tether ball hurling oneself into the corner.
Try it. You'll like it. I've been doing to for days and the benefits are unmistakable.
If you like this sort of program... make sure to ask me about my other fitness programs:
Invisa-Dutch
Commuter Core
The Electric Amish
Happy New Year
Friday, December 30, 2011
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Flabbergasting Humanity
What is happening to us? To mankind? How we have ended up here?
These are questions that any thinking person must ask themselves when they watch the news or look into the mirror - the great truth teller.
The politics. The poverty. The immorality. The lies.
Unfortunately my questions aren't that deep or meaningful. They should be... but they are not. They are not deep. They are not even that interesting. They are shallow and dumb. They are the fast food of questions.
Why do my children do such strange things? I believe that given the opportunity - my children whom are usually well behaved and thoughtful - would try to light my socks on fire while I am wearing them. Of course they haven't ever done this but I credit the omission to ignorance or lack of creativity rather than capacity. And the sock lighting wouldn't even be malicious. It would be sort of a exploration into a fire and wool rather than an outright attempt to harm me... but the results would be the same.
I can't figure out why the kids haven't tried to climb our crispy Christmas tree yet. Or why they haven't managed to order a calypso drum kit off of the internet... they seem to do so many other things.
As a result of their antics I have a follow-up question:
Why does my ear hair grow with such aggression?
I'm not kidding when I say that my ear hair could be used to string and very short necked guitar. It is so coarse and unruly and grooming kit dulling that I've been forced into using our hedge clippers to do the job. You know before I had kids I didn't have this problem. My ear hair was nothing more than faint angelic fuzz. Like a miniature duckling bottom dangling beneath my ear holes. How could such a thing become so wrong. So wiry.
It is because of all the humanity around me. All six legs of it.
I'll blame the news and the world and the clear brokenness of it all as well but really I'd like to blame my children - whom I love.
It isn't associated to my age which is too easy a thing to blame. Nor my thinning scalp or my poor diet or my increasing crotchetiness.
Humanity is pushing its way out of my formally silkweed encapsulated lobes.
These are questions that any thinking person must ask themselves when they watch the news or look into the mirror - the great truth teller.
The politics. The poverty. The immorality. The lies.
Unfortunately my questions aren't that deep or meaningful. They should be... but they are not. They are not deep. They are not even that interesting. They are shallow and dumb. They are the fast food of questions.
Why do my children do such strange things? I believe that given the opportunity - my children whom are usually well behaved and thoughtful - would try to light my socks on fire while I am wearing them. Of course they haven't ever done this but I credit the omission to ignorance or lack of creativity rather than capacity. And the sock lighting wouldn't even be malicious. It would be sort of a exploration into a fire and wool rather than an outright attempt to harm me... but the results would be the same.
I can't figure out why the kids haven't tried to climb our crispy Christmas tree yet. Or why they haven't managed to order a calypso drum kit off of the internet... they seem to do so many other things.
As a result of their antics I have a follow-up question:
Why does my ear hair grow with such aggression?
I'm not kidding when I say that my ear hair could be used to string and very short necked guitar. It is so coarse and unruly and grooming kit dulling that I've been forced into using our hedge clippers to do the job. You know before I had kids I didn't have this problem. My ear hair was nothing more than faint angelic fuzz. Like a miniature duckling bottom dangling beneath my ear holes. How could such a thing become so wrong. So wiry.
It is because of all the humanity around me. All six legs of it.
I'll blame the news and the world and the clear brokenness of it all as well but really I'd like to blame my children - whom I love.
It isn't associated to my age which is too easy a thing to blame. Nor my thinning scalp or my poor diet or my increasing crotchetiness.
Humanity is pushing its way out of my formally silkweed encapsulated lobes.
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Things I Want from My Beard
I love beards. I have a beard. I have a beard that I wish that I loved - but I do not. If there were such a thing as beard buffet and my beard had the good fortune of being served, I would walk past it, picking one more plump and succulent.
My beard is similar to the beard worn by actor Keanu Reeves, who's greatest acting achievement came during the filming of Point Break, and who has been managing a slow decline since that point. Mr. Reeves beard is so wimping and patchy I question its beardyness. Perhaps he dropped his keys under his car, and while reaching for them, rubbed his face lightly against the outer surface of his tire. Perhaps, during the course of a charcoal sketch, he inadvertently brushed away a fallen eyelash.
I have beard envy.
When a man with a thick full beard is in my presence I marvel at it. When I stumble across well cared for face candy I'm griped with unhealthy urge to run and buy some a volumizing product and apply it liberally and hope for the best.
I want a beard that glistens in the sunlight.
I want a beard that is think and rich and luscious and severe.
I want mean spirited pirates to beckon me back from the plank because of my beard.
I want my beard to appear as if its been soaked in motor oil - golden and viscous.
I want my beard to feel like I'm pouring ice cold chocolate milk onto it - all the time.
I want my beard, if removed from my face, to have actual monetary value.
I want my beard to have a following, that people who don't know or like me, will like it.
I want my beard to be able to punch me in the face.
These are the things I want from my beard.
My beard is similar to the beard worn by actor Keanu Reeves, who's greatest acting achievement came during the filming of Point Break, and who has been managing a slow decline since that point. Mr. Reeves beard is so wimping and patchy I question its beardyness. Perhaps he dropped his keys under his car, and while reaching for them, rubbed his face lightly against the outer surface of his tire. Perhaps, during the course of a charcoal sketch, he inadvertently brushed away a fallen eyelash.
I have beard envy.
When a man with a thick full beard is in my presence I marvel at it. When I stumble across well cared for face candy I'm griped with unhealthy urge to run and buy some a volumizing product and apply it liberally and hope for the best.
I want a beard that glistens in the sunlight.
I want a beard that is think and rich and luscious and severe.
I want mean spirited pirates to beckon me back from the plank because of my beard.
I want my beard to appear as if its been soaked in motor oil - golden and viscous.
I want my beard to feel like I'm pouring ice cold chocolate milk onto it - all the time.
I want my beard, if removed from my face, to have actual monetary value.
I want my beard to have a following, that people who don't know or like me, will like it.
I want my beard to be able to punch me in the face.
These are the things I want from my beard.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Two Wheeled Humility
Weakly Adventure.
Fuzzy is an avid mountian biker and part-time torturer. His tool of choice - the rocky trails and hills of Virginia. Fuzzy is my friend... or so I thought.
We met up at the TOP of the mountian ready to go for what I thought would be a pleasant jaunt through the canopy. I could here Thoreau in my head - fresh mountian laurel swirled in my nostrils - The Indigo Girls sang sweetly in the background.
I haven't been on a bicycle of any kind for at least two years. There was a time in my life that I rode bicycles with vigor... but that time is long past. Long past.
I do happen to have some special sort of mountian biking shoes that have a sort of clip on them that attaches to the bike so that one might attain optimal pedal purchase. As it turns out these clips are part of Fuzzy's diabolical torture regiment. Very clever indeed.
The riding began. I fell off the bike within the first 5 seconds. I knew that things were not as they seemed. You see many of the trails in the beautiful Shenandoah Valley are rocky. They are covered with rocks. There are spring-loaded rock cannons that are set to fire upon all unwitting Thoreau reciting softies. And they fired at will.
I cannot recall the last time I had so much difficulty with anything. I was on and off the bike so many times that I lost count. I had to push the bike through many sections. I fell off the bike many times. Many times the bike feel on top of me while I was falling off of it. I wept openly twice. Thankfully Fuzzy was so far ahead we couldn't hear the sobbing. When I realized what was happening... there was no turning back. Only more. Only more of the sweaty sadness.
I only went over the handlebars once during the down hill portion of the ride. Again the bike landing on top of me. The downhill was a simple affair. All we had to do was navigate a one foot wide dry creek bed full of rocks at a forty-five degree angle for two miles while our muscles started to cramp. Did I mention that I didn't have any water.
And at last the only thing that lay before us was the ride back to the top of the mountian. Thankfully this was on a series of gravel roads. Unthankfully I could barely move. Imagine a staircase where all the steps are 10 feet high. Imagine that the only way for you to get up the staircase to to throw your bike up the 10 feet and then crawl, and scratch, and bite your way to the top without hand holds, or rungs, or hope. Just you and a jelly covered melamine wall with a looping laugh track.
Next week we're going to try and achieve unassisted bicycle flight.
Fuzzy is an avid mountian biker and part-time torturer. His tool of choice - the rocky trails and hills of Virginia. Fuzzy is my friend... or so I thought.
We met up at the TOP of the mountian ready to go for what I thought would be a pleasant jaunt through the canopy. I could here Thoreau in my head - fresh mountian laurel swirled in my nostrils - The Indigo Girls sang sweetly in the background.
I haven't been on a bicycle of any kind for at least two years. There was a time in my life that I rode bicycles with vigor... but that time is long past. Long past.
I do happen to have some special sort of mountian biking shoes that have a sort of clip on them that attaches to the bike so that one might attain optimal pedal purchase. As it turns out these clips are part of Fuzzy's diabolical torture regiment. Very clever indeed.
The riding began. I fell off the bike within the first 5 seconds. I knew that things were not as they seemed. You see many of the trails in the beautiful Shenandoah Valley are rocky. They are covered with rocks. There are spring-loaded rock cannons that are set to fire upon all unwitting Thoreau reciting softies. And they fired at will.
I cannot recall the last time I had so much difficulty with anything. I was on and off the bike so many times that I lost count. I had to push the bike through many sections. I fell off the bike many times. Many times the bike feel on top of me while I was falling off of it. I wept openly twice. Thankfully Fuzzy was so far ahead we couldn't hear the sobbing. When I realized what was happening... there was no turning back. Only more. Only more of the sweaty sadness.
I only went over the handlebars once during the down hill portion of the ride. Again the bike landing on top of me. The downhill was a simple affair. All we had to do was navigate a one foot wide dry creek bed full of rocks at a forty-five degree angle for two miles while our muscles started to cramp. Did I mention that I didn't have any water.
And at last the only thing that lay before us was the ride back to the top of the mountian. Thankfully this was on a series of gravel roads. Unthankfully I could barely move. Imagine a staircase where all the steps are 10 feet high. Imagine that the only way for you to get up the staircase to to throw your bike up the 10 feet and then crawl, and scratch, and bite your way to the top without hand holds, or rungs, or hope. Just you and a jelly covered melamine wall with a looping laugh track.
Next week we're going to try and achieve unassisted bicycle flight.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Electronic Infidelity
Deal thundertoucher.blogspot.com,
I have been unfaithful to you.
I have been doing things that you may find quite upsetting.
I have been less than faithful.
I don't write as much as I'd like.
I don't write as much as I could.
I have so many ideas that I keep to myself.
I have been less then I could and should be.
And so now I lay my infidelity bare before you.
I have been flirting with other blogs.
I have been considering writing to them as well.
www.maccaronisandwiches.blogspot.com
www.mustaches.blogspot.com
www.marthastewartlookalikes.blogspot.com
www.cardtricks.blogspot.com
www.theperfectsausagepatty.blogspot.com
www.internetdatingsecrectssunleashed.blogspot.com
www.ethernet.blogspot.com
www.couchexerciseexplosion.blogspot.com
www.divasnameddavid.blogspot.com
www.moutianbikingforfools.blogspot.com
www.spatula.blogspot.com
Forgive me thundertoucher.
I will never stray again... for obvious reasons.
I have been unfaithful to you.
I have been doing things that you may find quite upsetting.
I have been less than faithful.
I don't write as much as I'd like.
I don't write as much as I could.
I have so many ideas that I keep to myself.
I have been less then I could and should be.
And so now I lay my infidelity bare before you.
I have been flirting with other blogs.
I have been considering writing to them as well.
www.maccaronisandwiches.blogspot.com
www.mustaches.blogspot.com
www.marthastewartlookalikes.blogspot.com
www.cardtricks.blogspot.com
www.theperfectsausagepatty.blogspot.com
www.internetdatingsecrectssunleashed.blogspot.com
www.ethernet.blogspot.com
www.couchexerciseexplosion.blogspot.com
www.divasnameddavid.blogspot.com
www.moutianbikingforfools.blogspot.com
www.spatula.blogspot.com
Forgive me thundertoucher.
I will never stray again... for obvious reasons.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Amusement Park: Lazy Thumb
There is a universal set of Amusement Park Laws that I think you'll find are undeniable.
When visiting an amusement park of any kind there are several laws at play. One of the laws: Lazy Thumb.
All dangerous rides at amusement parks have a rather sophisticated safety system in place to protect the passengers. Many rides are staffed by a crack team of well-trained, clean, and courteous gurus who are obsessed with providing the riders with a thrilling experience. I have a lot of respect for these workers. Their quest for excellence. Their ability to consistently stand upon the safety pedal that others might live.
But these workers have a problem and today I bring it to the fore. Today I speak out for those who cannot type as I can - deca-digitally.
It is because they suffer from the horrible amusement park operator injury known as lazy thumb. Once the riders have been securely harnessed into their particular ride, the operators will give each other a "thumbs up" to indicate that all is well. "Today we will ride in safety", they say. This ride is going to be the best ride of the day... so far.
But they cannot. They can only meakly hold their palms to the heavens but with very little thumb extension. They can no longer confidently and with joy-filled aggression thrust their lateral-most digit upward. Their hands lay flat. Their thumb lazily close to the rest of the hand.
What would Arthur Herbert Fonzarelli say?
What would he say?
Remember these thumbs today my friends. Your amusement comes at a high price... the price of the thumb.
VS.
When visiting an amusement park of any kind there are several laws at play. One of the laws: Lazy Thumb.
All dangerous rides at amusement parks have a rather sophisticated safety system in place to protect the passengers. Many rides are staffed by a crack team of well-trained, clean, and courteous gurus who are obsessed with providing the riders with a thrilling experience. I have a lot of respect for these workers. Their quest for excellence. Their ability to consistently stand upon the safety pedal that others might live.
But these workers have a problem and today I bring it to the fore. Today I speak out for those who cannot type as I can - deca-digitally.
It is because they suffer from the horrible amusement park operator injury known as lazy thumb. Once the riders have been securely harnessed into their particular ride, the operators will give each other a "thumbs up" to indicate that all is well. "Today we will ride in safety", they say. This ride is going to be the best ride of the day... so far.
But they cannot. They can only meakly hold their palms to the heavens but with very little thumb extension. They can no longer confidently and with joy-filled aggression thrust their lateral-most digit upward. Their hands lay flat. Their thumb lazily close to the rest of the hand.
What would Arthur Herbert Fonzarelli say?
What would he say?
Remember these thumbs today my friends. Your amusement comes at a high price... the price of the thumb.
VS.
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