gatorade

There are a lot of things in life that annoy me - that's probably evident by now - but maybe none more so than Gatorade. I hate it.

"But it's so innocent," you're saying. "It's just Gatorade." And that's true. I don't even dislike the flavor(s), and I guess it's thirst-quenching, and I've never heard of someone having an allergic reaction to it. So what's to hate? Well, to my mind, Gatorade is the epitome of everything that's wrong with our consumer culture. It's a product that no one really needs, endlessly marketed, ceaselessly modified, vastly overpriced. Do people really buy it because it has more "carbs" than other sports drinks? It's a shame that so many people don't realize that carbs = sugar, and that's all they're talking about. Put a couple of packets of sugar in a bottle of Powerade, and suddenly it has more carbs than Gatorade.

Nutritionally, Gatorade is a complete bust. There's no fruit juice, no vitamins. Those electrolytes they brag about? Put a little salt and a few drops of lemon juice in a glass of water, and you'll have just as much sodium and potassium. In fact, you can make the nutritional equivalent of Gatorade at home for a few cents. Pennies, for chrissake! So why are people paying 2 bucks for a bottle of Gatorade? It's all marketing, all hype.

I exercise every day, and I sweat more than about 95% of the people out there. I never drink Gatorade, and I'm fine. I don't really drink much water, either - it's boring. I drink iced tea, and I'm fine. Same carbs, same lytes, 1/10 of the cost. And I'm not even talking about G2.

Don't. Drink. Gatorade. Don't. Be. Dumb. Trust me, I'm a doctor ...

the spark plug guy

People who know me, know that two of my favorite things in life are recycling and ingenuity (not necessarily in that order). So imagine how tickled I was when I went to a local art show a while back and found a guy who incorporates both into his work. His name is Dick Cooley, he hails from Wisconsin, and he makes all sorts of cool little sculptures and objects with discarded spark plugs, silverware, wire, metal scraps, etc. Rather than go into detail, I'll just link to his website: http://www.sparkplugguy.com/.

And yes, I did get some stuff from him. Not just for myself, either. B-Phat, your Xmas present this year is coming from the Spark Plug Guy. And the same goes for you, Dean and Caroline ...

tales from the trenches

Good evening. Tonight witnesses the birth of a new feature here at Mad City, "Tales from the Trenches." The other day, I realized that many of my posts here - hell, nearly all of them - don't really capture a lot of the turmoil and challenges in my day-to-day life. On the one hand, life ain't easy for a lot of us; on the other hand, they don't call this place Mad City for nothing. I haven't consciously tried to sanitize my posts for you; my goal with this blog is just to entertain. But entertainment isn't always puppy dogs and ice cream; many people out there revel in the grittier side of existence, the sturm und drang of our daily affairs. "Trenches" is for those people.

So, I was at the farmers' market today, right? Because that's what I do on Saturday mornings, a lot of the time. Deal with it. Anyhow, I'm a single guy, and when I go to the market I shop for one. So today I was looking for carrots, among other things. And yeah, there was some serious carrot action going on there. So there I am, about to close the deal on a pound bag of carrots, when I thought to myself, "What the fuck? Why not lock in on a 2-pounder?" Because they did in fact have 2-pound bags as well.

So you're saying to yourself, "Well what's the issue here?" Well first of all, I'd just gotten to the market, and I still had a bunch of shit to pick up. So that meant hauling an extra pound of carrots all the way around the farmers' market. Which is not a small market: the one here in Mad City pretty much bitch-slaps just about any other F-market in the country. And also, I'm a single guy! And I ain't Bugs Bunny. I'm not chewing on a damn carrot every time you turn around. So bringing an extra pound of them all the way back to the crib is no small deal. I don't want these things to go bad on me. If there's one thing I cannot stand, it's a skanky carrot.

But at some point in your life, you've just gotta say "What the F," right? And that's what I did. I rolled the dice and picked up a deuce.

There's a 2-pound bag of organic carrots sitting in my fridge right now. I'm not boasting or anything; I just want people to understand that it was a tough decision, and that these things are not always easy. But now, I've got a way to discuss them. And that concludes this installment of "Tales from the Trenches."

the height of futility

Just what is up with these people who take pictures of paintings at museums? I mean, it's one thing to snap a shot of the Mona Lisa if you're at the Louvre - you're kind of obligated to do it, almost - but another thing entirely to take pictures of every damn Monet at the MOMA. And you want to know what's even more looney than that? Having someone take a picture of you, *next to* the painting. What's up with that? You don't have a good potrait shot of yourself, because everyone's like, "Hey, is that a Monet next to you?" And at the same time, you don't have a good photo of the Monet, because your ordinariness and mortality are presented in stark contrast to the timeless masterpiece next to you, thus diminishing its aesthetic impact.

I saw this happen time and again while I was in New York City. And you know who the biggest offenders were? Yep, you guessed it: Japanese tourists.

things i can't say on facebook

Good morning. Today heralds the initiation of a new feature here at Mad City, "Things I Can't Say on Facebook." These are witticisms and bon mots which I would just love to post on Facebook, but which would inevitably offend some friend or another for whatever insignificant reason. Good thing I have this blog as a safety valve ...

Anyhow, here is today's entry:

"Trevor is a fan of the page I've got more than my share of horse sense! Which is appropriate, because my ass is about 3 yards wide."

That's for, you know, these people out there who are highly opinionated, despite the fact that they're just ridiculously, morbidly obese. And, uh ... well, maybe it's better not to overexplain this kind of thing. But obviously, it's the kind of thing that I can't say on Facebook.

high line park, part II

big city heat

This was the kind of shizzle I was dealing with all month in the Big Apple. Or should I say sizzle?