churro sense

One of my latest hobbies and pastimes has been to peruse the Daily Herald's comment forum. It leads to great and entertaining reading because you have far extreme right wingers and far extreme left wingers and they engage in name calling. It's a hoot.

Anyway, today, I was reading the comments on an article about Keith Barton, the poor lawyer who, after embezzling from his law firm to the extent that he almost drove it under, is unfortunately having to sell his multi-million dollar house. Of course, why this is a top news item, I don't know. However the discussion about it has been entertaining. And then, the happiness of all happinesses, we are treated to the following post by Diane Rudding:

I am the mother of four and grandmother of six and I think that it is a shame that the Barton's are moving. Paul, my husband, and I love driving through town and gawking at the elegant enormity of their home. It is so relaxing for me to look at beautiful homes; it is almost like looking at good art. Sometimes, there is nothing more soothing than sitting in front of a Rembrandt or a Norman Rockefeller and just losing yourself in the incredible use of color and shape.

Paul used to love to go to art exhibits and museums with me, so much so that it became somewhat of a monthly tradition for us. He now refuses to go because of a bad experience we had one year at the Alpine Arts Festival.

The kids were adolescents and so they went off with their friends to visit the assortment of booths. Paul and I sat and watched the various musical performances for a while and soon after decided to get something to eat and browse through the booths. Everything was going fine until we were unable to find the Churro cart. Paul is a huge Churro lover and claims that he can smell them from a mile away.

When we couldn't find the Churro cart, Paul decided to ask around at every booth to see if anybody knew where it was. Unfortunately no one had seen a Churro cart, but Paul was convinced there was one there somewhere. I could see that Paul was getting upset, but I wasn't sure if it was because he hadn't eaten anything or if he was mad at the crowd (he gets angry when he is around a large gathering of people). When the person at the last booth said that he hadn't seen anyone eating churros, Paul blurted out, "Listen, I have a churro sense--I know they're here. I can smell the cinnamon!" The man suggested Paul talk to the Festival Director, so that is exactly what he did. I pretty much stayed out of the whole thing, because I have learned through the years that Paul gets what he wants, and little old me getting in his way would be like a kitty cat taking on a sixteen wheeler.

Paul finally tracked down the Festival Director at one of the candy apple carts. By this time Paul was furious and demanded that he know where they were hiding the Churro cart. The Director calmly informed us that the Churro Chief, as they called him, had to attend a wedding and was unable to come to the Festival. Paul fell silent and the Director, seeing the extreme disappointment, quickly offered him a candy apple for the inconvenience. What happened next was one of the most amazing and terrible things that I have personally witnessed. Paul took the candy apple and threw it as hard as he could into the crowd of people watching the musicians. Paul threw that apple so hard and so fast that the stick on the apple impaled a rather large lady in the back. The amazing thing is, nobody saw the apple hit her except for Paul, the Director and I. The lady then began screaming and jumping up and down and trying to look at her back. She moved her arms up and down and back and forth but because of her girth, couldn't reach the apple. The musician didn't notice either and kept on playing. The musician was playing a rather upbeat song, so the crowd thought that the lady was just dancing. A large circle formed around the lady and some young children and older adults began laughing and pointing at her silly dancing. It took a couple of minutes before the Director could call the Paramedics and then break through the circle to offer medical assistance. By that time everyone began to see what was wrong and the circle of people dispersed.

Luckily the lady didn't press charges because the stick had missed vital organs and Paul was extremely apologetic. She did however sue Alpine city for their slow response and the ridicule she endured. When we got home that night, we sat on the couch and just reflected on the days events. Paul was rather quiet but eventually said, "Diane, I don't think that this incident was entirely my fault. Had this festival been planned and organized the way it should be every year, none of this would have happened." It was one more close call for Paul and I. Later that night I told Paul that I thought he was like a cat on its fifty-sixth life. To which he replied, "Meow." Ha What a character!

Diane Rudding

What this has to do with Keith Barton or any of the posts preceding hers, I will never quite know. However, it did provide for interesting watercooler chit chat. In the end, we have come to the conclusion that the story has to be fabricated. But then that disappoints us, because we were looking forward to drawing straws to see who gets to offer this story up as a scene in one of our authors' books, and we're unsure of the ethical guidelines in using a fictitious story posted in the public domain as a historical accounting of an event.

All I know is that should you ever plan a festival, make sure you organize the way it should be.

time

Some people seem to have too much time on their hands. I, unfortunately, am not one of those people. During the last few minutes of work today, when I no longer felt like working, I made a list of the various blogs I think I need to write. My list had six blogs (this effectively takes care of one of them, but only if you clicked on the link to the absurd but cool video) that I figured I need to write. And then the carpool home inspired another, especially when considered in conjunction with Tolkien Boy's blog of yesterday. Maybe I'll write some tonight. Or maybe I'll write them all tonight and then set the time and date thing to post them over the next couple days. Hmm.

Regardless, I hope you got a kick out of the video.

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

I assume by now that everyone has seen this film and formed an opinion of it. Therefore I'm going to forego a summary; we all know what happens.

I watched the movie this weekend. My hope was that by the time I got around to seeing it, enough parents would have heard that they weren't supposed to take their ten-year-old children that there wouldn't be a lot of kids at the movie. I was wrong. Or perhaps Utah is just filled with a lot of really, really bad parents. Especially like the ones who let their kids whine and whimper through the last hour and a half of the movie. Years down the road, some shrink is going to be quite happy. And then there was that woman down at the bottom of the theater who let her baby cry through the last half hour of the movie. Why is it that Utah parents don't understand movie theater etiquette? I never had this issue at movies in New York. Or Wyoming.

Anyway, I digress.

Everyone has come out of the gates singing the praises of this installment in the Harry Potter movie franchise. My dad claims it's perhaps the best movie he's ever seen. Hmm. I think many of these people are delusional.

Don't get me wrong--the production values of the film are great. I enjoyed the cinematography. I enjoyed what they tried to do with their adaptation of such a behemoth, intricate text. Some of the text changes they did to consolidate the cast and special effects worked quite well. I like how they used Barty Crouch Jr. I like how they used Neville for the gillyweed instead of Dobby. In fact, I find myself wishing that Rowling had done that to begin with. Perhaps it would have spared us the misguided discussion of colonial politics and slavery. The kids' acting has improved, even if Emma Watson (Hermione) has a tendency to give herself over to Shakespearian melodrama. Maggie Smith (Professor McGonagall) was as brilliant as ever, as was Alan Rickman (Professor Snape). Ralph Fiennes was chillingly charismatic as Lord Voldemort; I think I have a much better understanding of how he could have amassed as many followers as he did.

But many other elements of the movie turned it into an abysmal mess. I'm disappointed with some of the adult actors' portrayal of their characters. Brendan Gleeson (Mad Eye Moody) was far too flippant and jocular. Perhaps this was the director's way of demonstrating to the audience that Crouch Jr. was using the polyjuice potion. But that doesn't work for the audience if we never see what the real Moody--the paranoid, conspiracy theory obsessed Moody--is like. And then there was Michael Gambon's destruction of Dumbledore's character. Through the entire book series, Dumbledore is always level headed. He is never emotional, particularly in front of the students. Such a breakdown as he gave us in the movie was an utter betrayal of Dumbledore's character.

Despite my dad's disapproval tone when I criticize the movie, calling me a purist, I'm really not. I have no qualms with whittling out the subplots--merciful heavens there were more than enough in the novel. I do have qualms with the editing that was done with the storyline they decided to run with. I have a sneaky suspicion that the director left a half hour on the cutting room floor that should not have been left on the floor. I felt that far too often we got the results of the action instead of seeing the full action. For example, the Yule Ball. Sure, we can gather that Hermione and Ron are having relationship issues because Ron's a bit thick. But in the film, Hermione storms off in a huff, completely put together. In the next scene, she's chastising him on the steps, and she's a mess. How did she get to be a mess? She lays into him for "completely ruining the evening." Just because he wouldn't hang with Krum? I don't think so. But this type of thing happened quite often throughout the movie. And perhaps it was more apparent to me since one of my friends kept leaning over to ask why something was happening or why someone was behaving a certain way. Holes. Holes are bad.

Some characters who take on fairly significant roles in the book were noticeable absent. Molly Weasley and Sirius Black, principally. With how they decided to run this story, I can see taking out Molly, though I disagree with it since the book places her in the role of a surrogate mother to Harry. The missing Sirius Black is a bit more problematic. In order to prepare for his death at the end of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, they really needed to establish Harry's affection for him in this movie. But that didn't happen. Hopefully they've already taken this into account and will focus more on the headquarters of the Order at the beginning of the next movie. It can work, as they'll both be confined to the house and will therefore be able to wallow in their self-pity together.

My big beef with the movie was the ending. Dumbledore gave the school the rousing Voldemort Is Back and We Must Stand Together speech. Great. However, the end of the year and the students' good-byes are a very sober moment in the book. Not in the movie. There was far too much chipperness and smiling going on. I realize this is Hollywood, and so we're obliged to get the sappy happy ending (just take a look at this year's Pride & Prejudice where they added 8 minutes to the American version for a sloppy romantic kiss), but it destroys the feel you're supposed to leave the movie with. It minimizes the concern that Voldemort's return is supposed to bring.

Anyway, that's my review of Harry Potter. I still enjoyed it, even though I don't think it was nearly good as everyone around me seems to be claiming. And I do take into consideration that, despite its flaws, book four was the best book in the series, followed closely by book six. So I'm biased. Still, I'll be buying the DVD when it comes out, and I'll be hoping for an extended version ala The Lord of the Ring.

nose-picking lexus

Coworker:

Oh, my gosh. Was he? Where's his finger? Is his finger really a foot up his nose? No . . . He's not . . . He wouldn't . . . You can't drive a Lexus and pick your nose! There's a rule against that! Think about the leather steering wheel.

Ten miles (and as many conversations) later:

I can't believe he would pick his nose like that! The nerve!

Revenge of the Witch

The Last Apprentice: Revenge of the Witch
by Joseph Delaney
MG fiction. 343 pp.
Greenwillow. 2005.

Thomas Ward is the seventh son of a seventh son. Because of this, he is qualified to become the apprentice to Old Gregory, the Spook for the county. But this is a difficult apprenticeship--Thomas is the Spook's thirtieth, and likely last, apprentice. As part of his training, he must learn to bind boggarts, drive away ghosts, and capture witches. Unfortunately, due to a promise Thomas made to Alice, a girl in pointy shoes (despite the Spook's warning against such girls), he must immediately learn to capture witches.

This is a well-paced and enjoyable book. Told in the first person, you are immediately drawn to Thomas and his fears of the supernatural and natural. It's difficult to leave your family behind to train for a thankless and lonely profession, one so dangerous that it will ultimately keep him from his family and from forming close friendships. This is also a rather good ghost story. Some of the witches are rather creepy and scary, but not so much to make the book inappropriate for its age range.

get into heaven free

shared correspondence:

Coworker: It's nice to know that I am not obligated to write in my own journal, because all I have to do at the end of the day is print Edgy's blog. ;)

I think this gets him a Get Into Heaven Free card (Don't Pass Peter), despite the swearing. I mean, taking care of the "write in your journal" commandment for several people has got to count for something in the eternal scheme of things.

Coworker2: Yeah, he's really going the extra mile to catalog our lives to and from work.

Edgy: Can I blog about this?

more thoughts from the carpool

It's become official . . . I am only interesting because the people I hang out with are interesting. Yeah . . . Sucks to be me, I know.

from Coworker:

Have you noticed that white truck with the Porter Rockwell decal? We see it every day. I've realized that we probably drive to work with the same ten people every day. That means that I don't hate general stupid drivers but ten specific stupid drivers. Do I need to repent of that?

also from Coworker (because she's brilliant):

That cover not only killed the book, it killed the pope.

rule of thumb

When making phone calls at ungodly hours, say 5:58, it is always best to double or even triple check to make sure you are dialing the correct number.

And the guy didn't even apologize for misdialing.

Of course, the worst part of the experience was to go back to bed and somehow dream of work today. I made it to 11:30. When the alarm went off at 7, you can imagine my disappointment. Sigh.

thoughts from the carpool

Tonight, while leaving the parking lot.

Shootthegapshootthegapshootthegap! Ah, man. Even I could've made that gap in my big honkin' SUV.

This morning. (Contextual note: Coworker2 and his family are living with his parents while waiting to close on their new house. Oh, and Coworker2 doesn't have a cell phone because he doesn't believe in them.)

Calling him is weird. "Hi, can Coworker2 come out and play?"

Last week, while discussing interoffice power dynamics.

I could see her wearing solid gold panties.

Are We There Yet?

Are We There Yet?
by David Levithan
YA fiction. 215 pp.
Knopf. 2005.

Brothers Elijah and Danny, who used to be quite close, have grown apart as they've gotten older. Now in his early twenties, Danny is a rising professional and workaholic. Elijah, entering his senior year in school, is much more laid back. Trying to repair the rift in the boys' relationship, their parents trick them into going to Italy for a 10-day vacation. Initially disgruntled at having to spend this time with each other, they eventually begin to understand one another again and learn who they are.

This is an interesting and well-written book. Levithan takes on the difficult task of writing it in alternating third person omniscient present. At first, it's an odd voice and perspective to adjust to, but Levithan works well with it. You get to understand both Danny and Elijah, and you feel who they are in a compelling way as you being to understand how each boy thinks and why he can't grasp who his brother is.

In terms of Levithan's work, this is a good book. It's far better than Boy Meets Boy (I thought the world Levithan created there was unrealistic) but not quite as good as The Realm of Possibility (but I'm a sucker for narrative free-verse poetry).

post-game wrap-up

By popular demand (because I define popular as requests from TexMom and Theric), here is the report of my Experience in Stupidity. This is actually a rather long post. If I were smarter, I would put together a little table of contents with cool little links so you can skip over the boring stuff, but I'm not smart enough to do that.

Thursday
All good travel logs start with the journey, right? Okay. Not much to tell here. My flight left Salt Lake at 11:15. I had my bag packed by 7ish; I wasn't leaving for the airport until 9:30ish. That meant I had two and a half hours to fret over what I was forgetting to pack. Oh well. Such is life sometimes. Fortunately, I didn't forget anything.

The plane trip itself was rather uneventful. Surly Boy next to me was a bit obnoxious, but only in that I'm Disgruntled Because I Actually Have to Sit Next to Someone sort of way. And after he finished hogging the armrest, he flipped it up. I'm not sure why. I guess it was his and he didn't want me to use it. Or he wanted to cuddle and the armrest was in the way. I don't know. But he didn't cuddle, which is fine with me because who wants to cuddle with a surly boy anyway?

Friday
I arrived in NYC at 5:25 in the morning. Yeah, short flight. And because of Surly Boy, I actually didn't get much sleep on the flight. And that's a shame. Why else would you fly redeye? Redeye exists so you don't have to waste valuable vacation time with silly little particulars like travel.

My bag actually popped out in bag claim rather quickly. That was nice. So I caught the air train to Jamaica Station, and, at the recommendation of my Generous Friend Who Let Me Crash on His Couch, caught the train into Penn Station instead of taking the subway. Why I've never done this before, I don't know. But that was a nice, wonderful, happy, quick trip to Manhattan. So travel trip: Take the train (15 min. and $7) instead of the subway (45 min.) or a cab ($45).

Moving right along with far more details than you care about, I went to Generous Friend's apartment and caught a few winks. Then I went to the Marathon Expo to pick up my race number. At that point, the Impending Event of Stupidity was truly beginning to become real. I did some wandering there. I find it interesting that some of the merchandise only came in large and extra-large; most of the runners I saw there are smaller than me. I watched a scary video that traced the marathon route showing the mileage and the altitude.

After the expo, I met up with my NYU friends for dinner at Burger Heaven. Yummy. It was good to see old friends and get caught up on life and things. After dinner, we went back to one of my friend's place for a rousing game of Scene It. At least my partner and I weren't thoroughly trounced.

Saturday
I think I slept in Saturday morning, which was probably not an ideal thing to do since I was supposed to go to bed early that night. There was nothing spectacular about Saturday. Well, except for the shopping. Sigh. I love H&M. H&M is my bestest friend ever. I did some reading in the afternoon.

I fell asleep in the late afternoon. Oops. There was another hour and a half there. Fortunately, I was woken by a phone call. Granted, it was an odd call. (Saturday was my cousin's birthday, and her boyfriend was calling me for help in figuring out what size to buy for my cousin's birthday present.)

Following the call, I got myself up and out to the Tavern on the Green for the pre-marathon dinner. I figured I shouldn't pass up free food, even if it was pasta, considering that I, as a general rule, do not eat enough to sustain normal daily activity let alone absurd non-daily activity. I got to stand in line behind some Germans and in front of some Brits. As I got closer to the tent, I was attacked by Crazy Face Painting Woman. Apparently I really really needed a pink heart painted on my face. Which I guess wouldn't be so bad if everyone didn't continue to ask me for the rest of the night why I had an L on my face. Of course, the greatest part of the attack was when she insisted on putting one on the faces of the Brits. Te he he. One of them apparently didn't want any face painting, but that didn't stop her from chasing him around the park.

Dinner was pasta. If you know me, you know that I didn't derive too much joy and pleasure from this. But everyone says pasta is good for you before endurance events . . . Believe it or not, I actually finished all the pasta and soggy salad on my place. And I made a new friend, Kathleen from Michigan. Or Minnesota. Hmm. I don't remember, but I'm going to go with the Michigan. She was One of Great Enthusiasm, and that was pretty cool. We bonded over her brother who lives in Provo--he's a recruiter for one of the schools there, though she couldn't remember which one, even when I asked her if it was BYU or UVSC, considering that those are the only two schools there. But she was crazy fun. And she was in love with me because I was a marathon virgin.

After eating, I wandered over to the bleachers to wait for the fireworks show. The five Brits in the row ahead of me kept trying to get a wave going. It didn't work, but that didn't change it from being rather amusing to watch. The fireworks were good, but not spectacular. I then returned to the apartment to pretend that I could go to bed at 8:30; I was finally in bed at 10.

Sunday
After a basically restless night, I got up at 4 and showered and shaved. Normally I don't shave before I run, but normally I don't have to look pretty for pictures when I run. I was out the door a little before 5 and off to the bus to ride over to Staten Island. That put me there in plenty of time to eat the provided breakfast of bagels and lemon lime Gatorade. Twice. I brought a small container of peanut butter with me. I caught another few winks lying on the ground there. I made good use of the portapotties. Numerous times. But my bladder does that prior to stress-inducing events.

We finally started lining up in our corrals about 9:30ish. Well, I assume it was about then. I figured it would be a bad idea to wear a watch because then I would stress about how slow I was running. Anyway, we started moving around 10ish. The starting cannon went off at 10:10. I crossed the start line at about 10:15. The race was on.

The race goes through all five boroughs of New York City, starting in Staten Island. Granted, you're not in Staten Island very long once you start running. The race starts by crossing the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge. Just for your gee whiz file, from 1964 until 1981, the bridge, at 13,700 feet (2.7 miles) including approaches, held the world's title for longest bridge. It is still the longest span in North America and ranks seventh worldwide. The lower deck of the bridge is 237 feet above the Narrows at mid-channel, and the upper deck is 274 feet, marking the marathon's highest point above sea level. Besides the marathon, the only other event that allows people to cross the bridge without a motor vehicle is Bike New York.

Those first couple of miles are rather nice. It's quiet and peaceful. And you have the satisfaction of knowing that you're hitting the highest altitude for the race. But then you get to the end of the bridge and are greeted by the roaring crowds in Brooklyn. That was a pretty amazing experience. Everyone is excited to see all these crazy people who are going to run 26 miles. Little kids stand on the curb with their hands extended. Thinking back on it, that's kinda gross--little kids standing on the curb to collect sweat from heap loads o' random people? Eww.

Brooklyn was a good race until about mile 10 when the race enters Williamsburg. I know this will sound racist, but Hasidic Jews make very poor marathon spectators; black and Hispanic women make awesome spectators. That mile through Williamsburg was deathly silent. This isn't to say that running in quiet is bad--the bridges are quiet because spectators aren't allowed to watch the race on the bridges. But the bridges are a peaceful quiet. Williamsburg was a creepy quiet. And the runners' energy level just dropped.

Really, the race is surprisingly uneventful. It was a good race for me. I really didn't have any of my standard pains. And the beauty of training in the mountains and running at sea level was that I never got winded. The only thing that really affected my pace was muscle fatigue. That was a pleasant change. There were bands along the route. That was pretty cool.

The greatest part of the race was coming into Central Park at mile 24. Through most of upper Manhattan and the Bronx, the crowds were sparse. That all changed in Central Park. So cool. Lots of energy. Of course, at 24 miles, you're wondering when this thing is going to ever end. Finally you come across the half-mile mark. Then the 400-yard mark. 300 yards. 200 yards. That's where I started sprinting. I still had the lungs, considering I had never gotten winded. And adrenaline can override any muscle fatigue, especially when you can actually see the end. I crossed the line at 5 hours. I think I even remembered to try and smile at the camera. I guess we'll find out when pictures get posted.

The worst part of the race is after you cross the finish line. Suddenly everyone stops. Instant wall of people is not good. Especially after sprinting 200 yards. It took an hour to get from the finish line to the medal to the post-race photo to the chip clipping (everyone is tagged with a computerized chip like an animal so they can keep track of you at various points throughout the race) to the food bags to the luggage pick up and through the family reunion area. Oh well.

I went back to the apartment and took a nice, long, hot shower. I was actually rather surprised at how much I didn't hurt. Muscles were tight. I think every ounce of fat I may have once had was gone. But I wasn't tired. I lounged around anyway.

My unofficial results:

Finish time: 5:00:58 (time from the cannon start)
Net finish time: 4:55:17 (time from when I crossed the start line)
10K split: 1:06:55
Half-marathon split: 2:18:01
20-mile split: 3:45:46
Overall place: 24689

Monday
In the tradition of lazy New York vacation, I slept in a bit on Monday. I packed my bag. Personally, it was somewhat of a miracle that I managed to fit everything into my bag (too much shopping on Saturday). But because I'm an amazing packer, I did it. I popped off to the spa to see if I could get a little leg massage, and I did. Was it worth getting? Yes. Was it worth how much I paid? Not really. But I think my legs didn't completely cramp up on the plane because of it.


So that was my adventure. A marathon isn't so bad. I could do it again. I don't think I will though. I'd much rather get back into ballroom. Multiple rounds of five-dance competitions are so much easier.

impending event of stupidity

It's only 7:00 and my bag is packed and I think everything is ready to go. I wasn't expecting to be ready so early, so of course I'm now in panic mode trying to figure out what I'm forgetting.

I can't believe the marathon is just a few days away now. It just snuck up on me there at the end. Anyway, I'm going to be gone for a few days inflicting odd torture upon myself. Who in their right mind runs 26 miles anyway?

Then again, it almost sounds like a party. Apparently there are bands playing along the entire route. And there are banquets and meeting areas and everything. What I anticipate the worst part to be, though, is the 26 miles of people. I think there should be designated No Spectator sections. So that I can walk. (I think the competitive ballroom performer in me is no longer dormant. Bad news.)

But the first 10 miles should be good. After my run this past weekend, I noticed that 10 miles is a very good, natural distance to run. Miles 11 and 12 weren't so hot. But those are natural walls for me. Things usually pick up again at 13.

Oh, and there are porta-potties at 4.5 miles. That's good, because that's always where I have to, well, you know . . . drain the bladder.

I think I'm rambling now. If you care enough to know anything more about the race, you can look here. Oh, and for kicks, check out the men's bios to see why I'm just running this for fun. You've got to be kidding--2:10? I don't think so. I'm personally aiming for 4:30, assuming a Good Run Day.

Okay. That's all. Really it is. And I do not have excess nervous energy right now. Sheesh.

M or F?

M or F?
by Lisa Papademetriou and Chris Tebbetts
YA fiction. 296 pp.
Razorbill (Penguin). 2005.

This is a rather enjoyable adaptation of Cyrano de Bergerac. Girl likes Boy. Girl sees Boy in the high school chat room as he's trying to recruit volunteers for a service project. Girl gets nervous and has Gay Best Friend do the typing in the chat room for her. Comedy and High School Drama ensue from there. There are some fun twists here and there leading up to the final resolution.

admittedly, I was a bit hesitant about picking up the book at first because it has two authors who alternate chapters. This can be done well or it can be done quite poorly as a copout for an author incapable of creating multiple characters to narrate through. I was pleased to see that it worked in this instance. Marcus and Frannie have distinct personalities and the story is nicely integrated and tied together. There were a few glitches here and there that should have been caught by a good editor or a decent copyeditor. Of course, maybe I'm just noticing those because I'm not giving enough attention and devotion to my own books.

fat liars

The gym's fat liar and my personal fat liar don't agree with one another. Today, the gym's fat liar told me that I'm 11% body fat. My personal fat liar fluctuates between 14.5% and 17.5%; today it happens to think that I'm 16%. I have decided that the gym's fat liar is my friend because it tells me that I am only 2% away from my goal of single digits. Maybe this weekend's Upcoming Event of Stupidity will take off those last little percentage points.