The spring in Portland shows glimpses of itself many times over before fully revealing it's gloom shattering nature. Days of 43 degrees and a kind of ethereal drizzle drone on and on. It was a night like this one. Wet, cold and just perfect was the kind of day that saw me see Wesley Willis perform live. EJ's was a rock club off of Sandy Boulevard, which occupied a building having been relegated to the inglorious task of housing a pawn shop. Sandy takes a diagonal approach as it passes over Burnside, the north-south dividing line, due northeast. It used to be a deer trail connecting the Columbia and Willamette rivers, which meet and mix on their journey to the mighty Pacific. In the year 2000 it was a mixed use major thoroughfare, off of which, in a quirky brick gilded building, yours truly was about to witness one of the greatest performances of his life.
Wesley Willis, may God rest his soul, was a man I'd never heard of before I sauntered into EJ's that cold and rainy night. Occasionally I indulge myself and ponder the various ways I can divide and organize the various phases and, at times, significant differences between these phases I look back and think that this was a "pre-9/11" night. I lived in a relatively care-free and hopeful future, on that was built on 8 years of consistent economic boom under the Clinton administration (oh the good old days when Christians and Republicans saw a clandestine blow-job as an impeachable offence -- oh, and the lying thing, too) and did not understand the looming storm that was to come in the wake of 9/11. Perhaps I think this because this was one of first nights out with what was to be a long-time girlfriend and group of friends I had many good years with.
Back to Double-Dub. He had a callous on his forehead that lore said was due to him headbutting a line-up of fans after his show. And indeed, I stood in line and when it was my turn he said something and headbutted me. It was a night of significant revelry and celebratory partakings and I can't honestly say I remember what he said but it was kind of like a laying-on-of-the-hands, of sorts.
Early in the set we heard his ode to the Double Arches with this tune:
Later he followed this up with "I'm Sorry That I Got Fat," which is at the top of the post. Other insightful, popular songs include:
"Cut The Mullet"
"Suck a Camel's Poody Hole"
And of course, "My Mother Smokes Crack Rocks"
Out of all of these beloved classics, the one that continue to speak to me and help guide me is the confession of remorse concerning one's body habitus. And in my ongoing efforts to get "un-fat" this song is a component of my war chest that serves as my motivation ammunition. My initial commitment was 100 days to a strict way of eating. I set a ridiculous goal of losing 50lbs in 100 days. Aiming to burn one half of a pound of fat per day. That is, essentially, a 1750 caloric deficit, per day, as 1 lb of fat has 3500 calories. Well, I'm 38.4% of the way to that goal and this is the 44th day. That is correct, nearly 20 lbs down in just over 6 weeks.
I've found a successful way, a sustainable plan that has provided much more than just turning me into a fat burning blast furnace -- my mind continues to be functioning at a level that surprises me as I round the last corner of intern year. My sleep is higher quality, and I am naturally waking up before my alarm clock slaps me in the fact before 5 am. I occasionally have hunger pangs, but in general I can fast an entire day with very little hunger and even better, my energy is amazing on those days.
But I've already said too much. I've found that talking about accomplishments prematurely, even in the setting of good progress is unsettling; 55 days to go for my first preordained milestone. No more posts for the next 55 days concerning this topic. '