Two Jillian Workouts & Gottman’s Seven Marriage Principles

Jillian Michaels is, in the words of my brother-in-law, “the woman who chases the fat people around.” And indeed, as one of the main trainers on the TV series Biggest Loser, she gets those folks moving. But I didn’t know anything about her or the show earlier this year when a friend recommended her 30-Day Shred DVD workout (thank you, Mr. Dayton).

I’m a cave dweller. I sit in my little basement office and do my thing. And I have to make sure I get some type of exercise lest I turn into a great jelly. So I’m always on the lookout for a good workout. But it’s got to meet certain standards. I don’t want anything that’s Mickey Mouse. And I don’t want any froo-froo.

So I asked this friend if these workouts featured a bunch of women dancing around in fruity outfits, because I can tell you right now, as open to new experiences as I am, I wasn’t going to buy a leotard and tip toe through the tulips with them. My friend assured me it was froo-froo free. And boy was he right.

Jillian shows up with two other gals, gives you a two-minute warm up, and then proceeds to bust your hiney with three circuits of strength, aerobic calisthenics, and ab exercises. The strength exercises include things like push-ups and squats with dumbbell military presses or curls. The aerobic segments have you doing jumping jacks and jump rope. The ab portions run you through all manner of crunches and lower ab exercises. The three circuits take twenty minutes to complete. And there are three different levels of workouts on the DVD.

I walk or hike three miles a day four days a week, and so I thought I was in reasonably okay condition. Jillian disabused me of that silly notion. I couldn’t keep up. Heck, the first dozen times through the workout I think I spent half the time either catching my breath or trying not to faint.

But I kept with it and got stronger. And then I found Jillian’s No More Trouble Zones. This is a forty-minute workout. And I defy any of you he-men out there to try it and tell me you can keep up with this broad in this DVD. I still pant like a dog and have to take breaks when I do the workout. My only consolation is that Jillian and her two smiling evil pals work out with three-pound dumbbells while I work out with seven, fifteen, and twenty-five pounders.

Like the shred workout, this forty-minute workout is comprised of circuits. But in the trouble zones workout there is no jumping about. It all double-whammy exercises that have you working both your upper and lower body at the same time or doing some killer ab maneuver. You’ll do pushups, squats, curls, a vicious plank circuit, and a dozen other exercises. You’ll work your triceps, biceps, shoulders, back, abs, and legs multiple times. This workout is no joke. 

If you’re looking for an intense workout that doesn’t waste your time, I think you’ll enjoy either of these Jillian DVDs. All you need are a few dumbbells, a mat if you’re working on a hard surface, and prayer beads for those moments when you suspect you’re about to give up the ghost in a muscle-burning cardiac arrest.

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Back in April of this year, Dr. Liz Hale, a licensed clinical psychologist, started her remarks to a local audience of more than 100 mental health professionals by saying, “Dear fellow colleagues, you are in danger of having an affair.”

Her point was that every marriage, even those of the marriage gurus, is vulnerable to infidelity–be it sexual or emotional. Individuals have to actively curb all the subtle and often innocent beginnings that lead to unfaithfulness.

“We make the mistake of thinking (marital) vows will keep us safe; and they don’t,” she said. She went on to say that couples cannot depend on love or similarities to keep their marriage intact. It’s not enough.

Emotional or sexual infidelity isn’t as rare as we might think. But even if we don’t stray into some type of unfaithfulness, that doesn’t mean a marriage will stay together. Like anything worth having, a good relationship takes work.

But what kind of work? What are the key principles for making a marriage last?

For many years the prescriptions of marriage gurus were based on anecdotal evidence and rules of thumb—on opinion. Because the opinions weren’t tested, they led to all sorts of errors. For example, many yet believe that the road to marital bliss is through communication, specifically through successful conflict resolution. According to this idea, happy couples are those that have learned to resolve all their conflicts in a nice manner. The problem is that when conflict resolution was put to the test, the studies showed it didn’t work. Marriage therapies based on conflict resolution share a very low success rate—over the long haul they only work about 20% of the time.

So what does work?

John Gottman is a marriage counselor who took a different approach and started to collect rigorous scientific evidence on over 650 couples, tracking the fate of their marriages for up to fourteen years. The results of his work are startling.

He uncovered a number of relationship myths, including the one about communication. He found that happy marriages were never perfect unions. These satisfied couples often had differences in temperament, interests, and family values. They argued over money, kids, and housekeeping, just like unhappy couples did. They had problems and faced issues. However, all these satisfied couples also practiced seven principles, even if they didn’t know it, which helped them navigate their way through all the difficulties and keep their marriages happy and stable.

And it’s not just opinion. The success rate for the type of marital therapy based on his research is 80%. He knows what makes marriages work and has written it up in a fabulous book called The Seven Principles For Making A Marriage Work.

Every marriage is vulnerable to failure. It takes work to enjoy a satisfying relationship with a spouse. But it’s so much easier to improve and maintain a relationship when you’re working on the things that actually make a difference. If you want to improve your marriage, give Gottman’s book a read.

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  • Good Stuff: 8 Awesome Movies

    Summer is a great time to catch up on great movies you haven’t seen because sometimes the movies that are released to the theaters during this time are contenders for the dud award.

    I shall leave films such as Transformers: The Franchise Could Have Been So Cool or Pirates of the Caribbean: Johnny Depp Is Now Acting Really Weird nameless.

    Instead of watching duds, try a couple of these fantastic movies, all of which are based on true stories.

    Queen of Katwe. A tremendous film based on the true story of depicts Phiona Mutesi, a girl growing up in the slums of Katwe, a city in Uganda, who gets a chance to break out of that life with chess. You will come away having laughed and cheered and been touched in a poignant way. Highly recommended.

    The Eagle Huntress. A fascinating documentary about the first girl in Mongolia to compete as an eagle hunter—these are folks who capture and train golden eagles to hunt game like fox or rabbit. You’ll be introduced into a new and interesting culture that triggers you to think about your own.

    The Founder. Ever wonder how McDonald’s got started? No, neither had I. Who cares, as long as the food is good, right? Well, if you’re like me, you’re in for an eye-opener. This tells the story of how Ray Kroc started McDonald’s, except, hint, he didn’t. Kroc is played by Michael Keaton. He’s one of my favorite actors, and I loved his performance. This story will fascinate you, and then make you think, and then make you really appreciate folks like Dave Thomas of Wendy’s.

    Concussion. An engrossing, suspenseful film about the true story of Dr. Bennet Omalu and the tie between football and brain degeneration. Omalu was working as a forensic pathologist (one who figures out the cause of death) in Pittsburg, Pennsylvania. In 2002, Omalu performed an autopsy on Mike Webster, a former NFL star who played for the Pittsburg Steelers and is considered by some to be one of the best centers in NFL history. And his worked opened up a can of worms the NFL wanted to quash. I loved this film.

    Hacksaw Ridge. This one is based on the true story of Desmond Doss, a Seventh-day Adventist who did not believe in killing, but wanted to support his country and all those going to war. So he goes into World War 2 as a medic and is sent to the Pacific theater. His first engagement is the Battle of Okinawa. And, oh my holy heck, what he did during that battle is nothing short of amazing. There’s one part of the film in boot camp that seemed out of place. Really, some dude back in the 1940s was going to do pull ups in the barracks naked (nothing but a bum is shown in the film)? But then I recall that growing up in the 70s and 80s that we guys showered in communal showers. And that wasn’t a big deal. And earlier than that, swimming at the swimming hole often meant shucking your clothes and jumping in. So who knows? We have a similar funny scene in Mulan, but for some reason that one felt more organic. This one felt tacked on. It was a gag for humor and then, thankfully, Mel Gibson, who directed this, got on with the awesome story of Doss.

    Deepwater Horizon. This one is based on the true story of the Deepwater Horizon, an oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico that encounters a catastrophe. The details of how such rigs work and the issues involved are fascinating. But what will really get you is the heroism of the captain and crew.

    In the Heart of the Sea. This is based on the true story of the whaleship Essex that was sunk in the Pacific in 1820 by a sperm whale and what the few that survived did to remain alive. Back in the 1700s and early 1800s, sperm whale oil, which was contained in the whale’s large head, was highly prized for lamps because it burned bright and odorless. It was also a great lubricant. Later the oil was replaced with kerosene and other and petroleum-based lubricants, but in those days there was a whole industry dedicated to harvesting it. I watched this with my teenage daughter, and we both found it a powerful tale.

    The Finest Hours. This last one is based the book The Finest Hours: The True Story of the U.S. Coast Guard’s Most Daring Sea Rescue by Michael J. Tougias and Casey Sherman. It chronicles the 1952 United States Coast Guard rescue, in a dinky boat, of the crew of the SS Pendleton, a big tanker, after the ship split apart during a nor’easter off the New England coast. The movie was thrilling and heroic.

    And after you watch all of those, if you want some more great films based on true stories, well, you won’t go wrong with Tom Hanks in Sully or Captain Phillips or Bridge of Spies.

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    Buffett’s Letter to Berkshire Hathaway Shareholders on 2008

    I got my masters degree in accounting and information systems. While going to school I started an investment club and learned about a man named Warren Buffett.

    Warren Buffett is humble, full of folksy humor, and trades places with Bill Gates as the richest man in the world, depending on the year you’re counting. His annual letters to his shareholders are a delight to read. This year’s is full of wisdom about the current financial crisis. Moreover, within a few minutes of reading you will be able to get some key insights that can help as you evaluate the plans being hatched in Washington and how to prevent this particular type of crisis from happening again. 

    If you’re not that into finance, I recommend reading:

     

    1. The introduction starting on page 2 and ending on page 3
    2. The “Finance and Financial Products” section starting on page 10 and running through page 12

    Once you’ve read those, if you want to laugh and see Buffet’s humor, skip to page 21 where Buffett talks about the annual meeting of shareholders. Tell me you wouldn’t want to attend.

    The Berkshire Hathaway homepage

    This year’s letter to shareholders (you will click on 2008 because he’s discussing the results of that year)

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  • Good Stuff! A Different Kind of Prom

    The first time I attended a high school prom in Rich County, I thought the Rich County people were from another planet.

    I was married. My wife Nellie had grown up in Rich County, and said that we had to go to her little brother’s prom.

    “Your brother’s prom?” I asked. Like, what?

    “Yes, my brother’s prom.”

    Weird, I thought. Because in the big city, older brothers and sisters who have graduated simply do not go to high school proms.

    But I’m always up for strange new experiences, and so we went.

    And I can report that it was indeed strange. In the big city, grandma and grandpa do not attend the prom, nor do mom and dad or little brothers and sisters. And they most assuredly do not sit in the stands and watch the junior class perform a dance.

    But that’s what they did in Rich County. And so I sat next to grandma and grandpa who were nigh unto eighty years old and watched an announcer present the junior class. There was a makeshift stage. And the announcer would announce the names of a young woman and a young man. On the stage, the young woman would take the arm of a young man, and then he would escort her out to the center of the floor to the applause of everyone in the gym. The couple would then perform a little action—he might twirl her, or she him, or she might jump in his arms, or he in hers, or she might lift her dress enough to show she was wearing cowboy boots that matched his, or dozens of other little creative things, and then they’d walk to the side to make room for the next couple.

    In Rich County, there are only forty or so kids in a class, so it didn’t take long. When the juniors were all announced, the whole junior class, in their tuxes and dresses, spread out and took their places on the floor. A song began to play, and then they performed a dance that had been choreographed specifically for the occasion.

    When it finished, the mother or father of each junior went out onto the floor and danced a slow dance with their son or daughter.

    They then presented the seniors in the same way, after which the parents of the seniors went out and danced with their sons and daughters.

    Only when that dance ended did the lights dim and the “normal” dancing begin. Nellie and I danced a few songs, and then she said it was time for us to get some refreshments and go.

    And that’s what we did, leaving the teens to their evening.

    I had never before seen anything like it. I laughed and wondered. Those funny hicks, I thought.

    I took a job in San Francisco for a few years, then another in Columbus, Ohio. And then, years after that hick prom, Nellie and I moved from the big city to Rich County. That was almost thirteen years ago.

    This last Friday I watched as my third daughter was announced and walked down from the makeshift stage. She was escorted by a young man, looking handsome in his tux. I watched him twirl her and another girl (he got to escort two). And when all the seniors had been presented, I got to dance with my girl at the prom.

    I cannot tell you how sweet that was to look in her eyes, to see my little girl grown up into this beautiful, strong woman. I thought about how she was soon going to leave us, and tears threatened to spring into this papa’s eyes, but she smiled and said, “Don’t you dare.”

    What’s a man to do? I obeyed. And instead of blubbering, we danced.

    When we finished, I gave her a hug and a kiss on the forehead and returned to the stands.

    I’ve danced six times with my girls at these Rich County proms—once when each was a junior and once when they were seniors. And I love this tradition.

    I love that a huge part of the community comes out to the dance. I love that we honor and applaud these great kids. I love watching the juniors in their gorgeous dresses and handsome tuxes perform these beautiful, formal dances that remind me of something you might find in Victorian England, something that seems to have stepped right out of Pride and Prejudice.

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    Juniors performing dance
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    Parents dancing with kids

    What an excellent evening.

    How lucky I am that places like Rich County exist, and that I get to live in one of them.

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  • Good Stuff! The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes

    Alfred Noyes (1880-1958) wrote poetry that thundered and sang. It’s the kind of stuff that begs to be read aloud. And I want to share with you one of my favorites–“The Highwayman.” I love it for the sound, the story, and the awesome images (note all the color).

    All you need to know is that back in the 1600s and 1700s, a highwayman was a robber, often on horseback, who held up travelers. And that when it mentions “priming,” it’s talking about the charge of powder used to ignite a musket.

    For maximum pleasure, let me suggest you start Loreena McKennitt’s killer ballad version I’ve embedded at the end, then scroll back up and read along as she sings.

    THE HIGHWAYMAN
    By Alfred Noyes

    The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees.
    The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.
    The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
    And the highwayman came riding—
    Riding—riding—
    The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

    He’d a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
    A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin.
    They fitted with never a wrinkle. His boots were up to the thigh.
    And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
    His pistol butts a-twinkle,
    His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

    Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard.
    He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred.
    He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
    But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
    Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
    Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

    And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
    Where Tim the ostler listened. His face was white and peaked.
    His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
    But he loved the landlord’s daughter,
    The landlord’s red-lipped daughter.
    Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say—

    “One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I’m after a prize to-night,
    But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
    Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
    Then look for me by moonlight,
    Watch for me by moonlight,
    I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.”

    He rose upright in the stirrups. He scarce could reach her hand,
    But she loosened her hair in the casement. His face burnt like a brand
    As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
    And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
    (O, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)
    Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.

    He did not come in the dawning. He did not come at noon;
    And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,
    When the road was a gypsy’s ribbon, looping the purple moor,
    A red-coat troop came marching—
    Marching—marching—
    King George’s men came marching, up to the old inn-door.

    They said no word to the landlord. They drank his ale instead.
    But they gagged his daughter, and bound her, to the foot of her narrow bed.
    Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
    There was death at every window;
    And hell at one dark window;
    For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.

    They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest.
    They had bound a musket beside her, with the muzzle beneath her breast!
    “Now, keep good watch!” and they kissed her. She heard the doomed man say—
    Look for me by moonlight;
    Watch for me by moonlight;
    I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!

    She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
    She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
    They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years
    Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
    Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
    The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

    The tip of one finger touched it. She strove no more for the rest.
    Up, she stood up to attention, with the muzzle beneath her breast.
    She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
    For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
    Blank and bare in the moonlight;
    And the blood of her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love’s refrain.

    Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horsehoofs ringing clear;
    Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?
    Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
    The highwayman came riding—
    Riding—riding—
    The red coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still.

    Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!
    Nearer he came and nearer. Her face was like a light.
    Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
    Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
    Her musket shattered the moonlight,
    Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him—with her death.

    He turned. He spurred to the west; he did not know who stood
    Bowed, with her head o’er the musket, drenched with her own blood!
    Not till the dawn he heard it, and his face grew grey to hear
    How Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
    The landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
    Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

    Back, he spurred like a madman, shouting a curse to the sky,
    With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high.
    Blood red were his spurs in the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat;
    When they shot him down on the highway,
    Down like a dog on the highway,
    And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.

    . . .

    And still of a winter’s night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
    When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
    When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
    A highwayman comes riding—
    Riding—riding—
    A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

    Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard.
    He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred.
    He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
    But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
    Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
    Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

     

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  • Thai Crystal, Rothfuss, Daily Life in the Middle Ages, Perot Charts

    Thai Crystal Stick - Large, 4.2 ozI don’t like anti-perspirants because they gob up in the underarms of my undershirts. Which means I eventually go walking about with pebbles in my pits. And, yes, we do have a washing machine and use it regularly. There’s something in there that defies anything less than hydro-chloric acid.

    I don’t like deodorants because they wimp out on me. I’ll put on my bracing Speedstick in the morning and be sniffing myself by lunch. And if I put some industrial perfume on it only leads to rashes.

    Someone might be saying that I should just be a real man and smell like a real man smells. But how about I be a real, smart man. See, if you’ve got dog poo in your carpet, you wouldn’t spray it with cologne, hoping to deal with the smell. No, you go to the source. Clean up the stuff and forego all the scents. In fact, if you keep the dog from pooping in the first place, you’re ahead of the game. So why not do the same with underarm odors? Just get rid of the stinkers.

    Well, that’s what I did. Many years ago I found out that natural mineral salts kill underarm bacteria. If the underarm bacteria can’t exist, let alone breed and excrete, then you don’t get underarm odor. What’s more, you can get those mineral salts in “rock” form. Just wet and wipe under your arms and you’re done. It works just like regular anti-perspirant and deodorant, it’s just that you’re delivery bacteria killers instead of perfumes.

    Another good thing about mineral salt deodrant rocks is that they last a LONG time. And I mean looooong. My last rock took about 4 years to use up (heads up all you one-year’s supply people). The problem with them is that you can’t find the rocks in the grocery store next to the big brands. But you CAN find them in health stories. I got my latest from Shangri-lah in Logan. The brand is Thai Crystal (named after the location where the US companies discovered this method of deodorizing).

    Folks, it’s 3:09 PM. I just did the sniff test–aah, the sweet smell of nothing!

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    The Name of the Wind (The Kingkiller Chronicle, Day 1)I heard all the hype about Rothfuss and picked up his The Name of the Wind  in a Hastings book shop. The first few pages didn’t grab me and so I put it back. But then I kept hearing the hype. I finally decided, okay, okay, I’ll give it a go.

    By “go” I mean something like five pages. See, I’m impatient with books. If you can’t grab me by the bottom of page one, I’m outta there. I read too many stories in my undergrad program that bored me to the very last page. Sometime after I graduated (why did I wait so long?) I realized that I could increase the odds of reading something interesting me if I only read things that interested me. (You only arrive at this level of brilliance after many years in college.)

    I’m not going to overview the plot here. Just know it’s a fabulous read. For you writers, note that what drives the reader’s suspense is not an overarching plot, but his situation of being alone and destitute. So while there are villains, that really isn’t what keeps the reader going. It’s the wonder of a new place and our hope for this kid.

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    Daily Life in the Middle AgesI read more non-fiction than I do fiction each year. I need to so that I have something to say in my writing. And I will tell you that I haven’t found a finer source of cool ideas to huck into stories than Paul Newman’s (no, not the actor cum cookie man) Daily Life in the Middle Ages.

    He breaks up medieval life into topics like Eating and Cooking, Building and Housing, Clothing and Dressing, etc. It’s full of wonderful stuff.

    Did you know that they played football back in old England? Not sissy European style, but hog style, like rugby or American football. Except it was often between two towns and the playing field was miles long.

    Did you know that respectable women wore hats? Those who let their hair go free were young girls and prostitutes. And that if a man knocked a woman’s headdress off it was tantamount to accusing her of prostitution and might result in the woman’s husband or family taking the man to court to exhonorate her. 

    Did you know that the word “curfew” came from the old French “covre feu,” meaning “cover the fire.” Since open flames were such a fire hazard in the old cities, many towns had regulations that required people to douse their lights and carefully bank their fires at a certain time in the evening which was often marked by the tolling of bells.

    I pulled these beauties out just randomly flipping through the pages. The book is full of such delights and you can be sure many of these will be finding their way into my stories.

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    I didn’t vote for Ross Perot the first time. I certainly wouldn’t vote for him now. But James Maxey just pointed me to an excellent on-line explanation of the current government budget. It’s worth your time to check this out to be able to understand what folks are talking about when it comes to our money and how Congress spends it. The charts are narrated, compelling, non-partisan, and incredibly easy to follow. Here are more Perot Chart presentations.  

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  • Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog

    I enjoyed Joss Whedon’s movie Serenity as well as many of the TV episodes of Firefly which featured the same characters and world. So when I saw Whedon had put up another movie called Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog and made it available over the internet, I had to watch it. And then watch it again, and again.

    I loved the characters. I couldn’t get some of the songs out of my mind. Some of the plot turns simply delighted. Here’s a preview.

    And here’s where you can watch it right now for free. It’s only 42 minutes long. Give it 4 minutes (literally). If you’re not hooked, let me know right here. I’d give it a PG-13 for some language and thematic stuff.

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2 Comments

  1. I really need to get back on the Jillian exercises again. My wife and I, after talking with my doctor and getting a very very enthusiastic approval, have actually gone vegan. That’s right, no animal products. I thought it would be terrible, but after a couple of months the only things I really still crave are cheese and the occasional donut. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not because I love fluffy bunnies and can’t stand to see a delicious steak or two. No, it’s because I’ve lost and kept off something like 25 lbs for a few months now, and my blood pressure is normal and my blood sugar looks pretty darned good, too. Now I’ve just got to get back into my exercise routine….and now I want a donut. Stupid comments!

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