Cafe Leone

…NOT BIRTHDAY! I will be 43 next week.

Today, I have officially lost 60 pounds!

Yay me!

I know I eliminated many of my favorite foods, but that is fine. I have had to make fundamental changes with my relationship with food more for health reasons than simply losing weight.  Many people think that my diet sounds boring…and it is! But, for now, it is so freeing to not have food on my brain 24 hours a day. I no longer eat refined grains, almost all sugars and sweeteners, meat and dairy. I even limit the amount of whole grains due to gluten issues. I predominately eat fruits and vegetables, nuts and other rabbit food. Occasionally, I will have some fish and yogurt.

But I honestly have never felt better. I have suffered from gastic distress, dermatological issues including pyoderma gangrenosum as well as VERY painful  and even more embarrassing cystic acne as an adult. Those have MOSTLY disappeared. There is no medically proven association between food and some of these issues, but if I feel OK for now and am clearly getting all the nutrients I need to stay alive, then who cares if science can prove it? (Listen to the atheist making choices without using science! Hypocrite!). Not to mention that I LOST 60 POUNDS!

I am also running a lot and secretly planning on a Fall marathon this year (shhhh!  Don’t tell anyone!). I even did a12 mile run a couple of weeks ago.

Of course, I know that I could easily fall back into more destructive eating habits again, but I am allowing myself to ride this wave for as long as I can.  It is not a struggle right now and who cares if it is a struggle. That’s life.

Thanks for listening.

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The ever-so-lovely and inimitable Terri has written about her experiences as a parent sending her child off to college. You can read about it here. Go there now and read it. I promise not to type another word until you get back. Luckily I cannot afford to send my kids to college so I will never need to worry about this stuff. ESPECIALLY with my daughter as she is currently chained to the radiator and will never be allowed to leave the house. Perhaps she can venture out ONLY with adult supervision…when I die.

I am looking at the story from a different perspective. For all you stalkers out there, you already know I live in Boston (I realize I am flattering myself here). In the corner of Boston I live, I am approximately 2 miles from Boston College and Boston University. I am 3 miles from Harvard University and 5 miles from M.I.T. For any full-time resident of Boston, this past weekend was the dreaded moving-in day for approximately 1 billion students (official estimate). What this means is that you take streets that are too narrow and combine them with moving vans that are too big and this yields a recipe for something called traffic. There is traffic everywhere! On my run the other day, I had to stop and move myself around the vans and the metal ramps projecting to the front steps of double and triple decker houses. I dodged kids lifting and contorting couches up three flights of stairs. My favorite part of all this was the inevitable piles of trash removed from previous tenants onto the already-too-small sidewalks.

I know I am very lucky to live within 2 miles of my job so complaining about my commute might be irrelevant to those of you who battle real traffic every day, but I can tell you that even in the 4 minute ride, the traffic is noticeable and annoying. 4 minutes turned into a 6 minute commute! AAARGGGH!

The house next door to me is a two-family also. When I say next door, I mean approximately 15 feet from my living room is their living room. Currently, there are about 168 college boys living in there. The other night they had their first party. I was subjected to thumping gangsta rap music that rattled my windows until 3AM, one kid throwing up in the street, two girls peeing in the driveway, a clear-as-day view of a group of them smoking pot, a girls gone wild style dance-fest and, somewhat interestingly, a window shade up view of a couple taking care of business in a way that would put porn stars to shame. I wanted to high-five the kids when they were done….and then wash my hands. Yuck!

Did I mention I have kids? Luckily, the baby goats stayed asleep during all this. They heard none of the rape music (based on the lyrics I heard, I am allowed to call it that. Sorry) and they did not see the police arrive when I called and they definitely did not see their dad pulling a Mr Roper from Three’s Company:
So, sweet Terri says good-bye and I say hello. Just be grateful he didn’t go to school in Boston!

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This is a true conversation I had with someone I work with. The weather in Boston is glorious with low humidity and lots of sun. Spectacular day. I was sitting outside with our usual lunch group and this is a paraphrase of what I heard:

Me: What a beautiful day! It is a good day to leave early.
She: Yeah, but I am pissed (that might be a Boston term. It means angry)
Me: Why?
She: Because I am going to be stuck inside.
Me: Oh….you need to work late?
She: No, I am leaving here to go to a double spa appointment.

OK…perhaps this dialog missed its mark. Perhaps you simply needed to be there. BUT, if you are going to complain about being indoors, don’t complain that it is because you have a DOUBLE SPA APPOINTMENT! By the way, WHAT THE EFF IS A DOUBLE SPA APPOINTMENT.

Question for BoMR (Both of My Readers): What is the weather like where you are?
Have you ever had a double spa appt?

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I spent a lot of time reading (because I was very busy not-writing) this weekend. One line that I read was a description of a specific automobile. They called it a “late model” car.

I feel like an idiot, but what is a late model car? Is it a car that was made recently? As I am writing this, it is becoming clear that is what it is, but I cannot believe I have heard that term all my life and I did not pick up on what it meant.

On that note, I never get the phrase “15 years her junior” correct either. I always have to stop and do math.

Question for BoMR: What phrase or word always stumps you?

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For all you bloggers (since it seems we spend a lot of time blogging about blogging), this is a REAL post from a REAL blogger! Lozzie, the Aussie (I know that doesn’t rhyme) has done it once again. He writes about what we all think about.

The mission statement of my blog is to point both of my readers (BoMR) to posts like Loz’.

Go HERE stat!

blogging, blogs way better than mine | 6 Comments »

I was thinking this today as I pushed my daughter on the swing-set at a local park:

How hard would I have to push my daughter on the swings so that she goes completely around in a circle?

Is it a function of her mass or is it simply the force of the push? Is Conservation of Angular Momentum at play here? I never really understood that chapter in physics way back in the days when I was smart (remember my motto: The older I get, the better I used to be). Of course, I didn’t try to push her so hard that she flew around in a circle….well, I was pushing the envelope by pushing her until the chains slacked. It was then that I wondered if I could push hard enough to give her the ride of her life.

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Originally uploaded by danleone.

They storyboard. This what I have been doing all morning on the kitchen table as the Baby Goats were allowed to eat breakfast in the living room. The pink cards are flashback scenes. I wanted to make sure that while I am not writing my novel, that I do not include too many of these flashbacks.

This is the literary equivalent of Mrs Wiggins in the old Carol Burnett Show when she would come in and spend her morning sharpening the pencils.

Gotta run! I need to rearrange these cards again so I can get back to the task of not writing.

Wish me luck!

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“You are being hypocritical!” - That, my friends, is how my most recent comment began. It was not a comment about any of my posts. It was about the small SECONDARY tag line on my blog, Cafe Leone - Words unRead or Thank God I Am An Atheist. It appears that she believed she caught me in some form of logical trap. “How can you call yourself an atheist but infolk [sic] his name?” She then proceeded to tell me that she didn’t care if I believed in capital H, Him, or not because “the time will come” when he will judge all of us. But she was clearly proud of her logical prowess as evidenced by her final line: “atheists are really good at talking circles around the issue, but it the F A C T of the Lord’s love that will A L W A Y S prevail.”

Now, I think I am a reasonable man. Many of the people I hold close to my heart are Christians and Jews. I am not trying to be antagonistic. I also know that this woman does not represent a reasonable Christian and certainly does not speak for most believers. But, I will take the bait and explain the tag line of my blog: Thank God I Am An Atheist.

I have not had the luxury of a personal visit from God. He has not come into my house and broken bread (is this cannibalism?) with my family. No doubt, many of you are saying that He in fact has visited me, but I was too [insert appropriate adjective here. IE, distracted, close-minded, not-ready-to-accept, blinded...whatever] to pay attention.. The point is that the only concept of God I have is what I have experienced in Church, reading the Bible (which I have read front to back three times in my life), toying with New Age-y spirituality in the 80’s, lengthy conversations with my theistic friends and whatever the Jesuits wanted to throw at me at Boston College. None of these experiences were negative. In fact, they have without a doubt all been VERY positive experiences.

“Thank God I Am An Atheist” is nothing more than a mere, silly play on words. I once believed I was the one who invented the phrase and wanted to use cafepress.com to create and sell some T-Shirts. I was proud of the word-play so I kept the tagline. I am merely saying that based on the concept of God, certainly as conceived by the institutions of religion, I am glad I don’t believe in Him.

I am simply, stupidly and with a bit if irony saying, that I do not believe in the concept of God and because of that, I am an atheist.

As I have said in other posts, God does not exist as far as I am concerned. Until I know he exists, there really can be no discussion on which God is the correct God or how to best utilize his infinite, but fickle, resources.

I respect BoMR (Both of My Readers) and respect their beliefs. We are all on different paths. I get that. I am happy, downright ecstatic that there is a broad spectrum of opinions on this issue and I would love to hear what your thoughts are. I also respect that God is a deeply personal experience and not worthy of sharing with me on my irrelevant blog. But, anyone that agrees or disagrees with me is invited to comment or send me an email. I truly love hearing your thoughts. In fact, I believe the only reason I post anything at all is to hear what you have to say (that sentence is more sincere than you will ever know).

To believers and non-believers everywhere, as always, thanks for listening.

My opinion until I change it.

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I went to Starbucks this morning. I understand that it is the evil empire, but in Boston the only alternative is Dunkin’ Donuts. I am not about to patronize a company that uses their donuts as a coffee filter (that is what the coffee tastes like to me). Besides, I really am off the coffee for now so all I drink is an occasional shot of espresso. For those who don’t know, an espresso is about 1.5 ounces of liquid gold. It is heaven in a cup. It also forms the basis of ALL their fancy coffee drinks.

I stepped up to the multi-pierced cashier and ordered a “For Here Doppio.” Doppio is Italian for double.  I wanted a 3 ounce coffee orgasm. The multi-pierced cashier squeaked the order to the multi-tattooed barista and in 3 minutes I was presented with the requested 3 ounces of velvety-love BUT IN A LARGE MUG! They “ran out” of demi-tasses! The store was opened 15 minutes ago! Why are you out of demi-tasses? That would be like McDonald’s running out of hamburgers. “Sorry, Sir, I gave you a McFish sandwich made with nothing that was ever a fish because we ran out of hamburgers!” But instead of McDonald’s price of a nickle for the sandwich, a double shot of silken magic costs about $493!

To put an espresso (smooth death) in a large mug is the equivalent of drinking the finest champagne from a Nalgene water bottle. The espresso (creamy hugs) in a large cup means that it will be cold in 3 seconds and the ever-so-delicate crema that forms on the top is broken and sloshing around like sea foam in a fetid tide pool. If I went to a fine restaurant and ordered a cheesecake and they threw it into the blender, and gave it to me in a tall glass with a straw and said: “Sorry, we are out of plates”, it would be the EXACT SAME THING!

Now, under no circumstances did I complain to the woman. I NEVER complain to service people. I have had MANY service jobs in my life and unless she spit in my coffee,  she can do no wrong. BUT what I did do was write a kind note to the district manager in hopes that they understand that an imperfect espresso (black manna) can only lead to imperfect EVERY OTHER DRINK ON THEIR MENU!

I am ashamed that I wasted both of you valuable times with the rant.

Question for both of you: Tell me something that will trip your trigger (make me feel good by keeping it trivial)

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As both of you know, I used to be an EMT. If you stick around long enough, you realize that I begin many conversations with that exact sentence. I tend to use that card when I am at a party because it inevitably results in “what’s the grossest thing you ever saw” conversations. For a brief, shining moment, I am the center of the universe as I relate story after story in the “The Older I Get, The Better I Used To Be” saga that is my life.

The point of this pointless post is that I have seen a lot of stuff. By “a lot”, I mean “A LOT!” Lots of capital letters and exclamation points. Blood, guts, pieces and parts. I have been puked on, shat upon, beaten up and even managed to save a life or two.

So, when my 6 year old came up to me and showed me his loose tooth, wiggling it furiously and bending it so that it was horizontal, I must have said “That is fantastic, Marc! You are getting to be a BIG boy now. Can I wiggle it too?”

WRONG! What I said instead was: “Holy crap! That is gross! Get that away from me! YUCK! ICKY!” and almost had my knees give out on me.

Luckily it fell out when I wasn’t near it.

From tough guy to p*ssy! Remember my motto: The older I get, the better I used to be. 

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I am sitting at the kitchen table and 18 inches from my face is a PLATTER of Greek cookies, Italian cookies and chocolate chip cookies (leftover from CoCo’s birthday) and I am not in the least bit tempted. Well, I am tempted….but I am not succumbing to it.

Instead, I am eating two bananas, two dates, two Brazil nuts (”prescribed” by my dermatologist) and a hard boiled egg [insert retching sound here] and I LOVE IT!

It is these little realizations like this that make me happy. 50 pounds lighter, a simplified, clean diet and no sign of stopping! talk to me next week as I inhale a Burger King Whopper for breakfast!

(This post officially contains 3 exclamation points. You know I must be sincere! Oops 4 exclamation points! 5…OK STOP NOW! Aargh!)

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Nicole (aka CoCo) is 4 on Tuesday! We had her party yesterday and she was completely psychotic.

What ever happened to the pea-soup vomiting, head-spinning baby I remember? Oh right, she became a pea-soup vomiting, head-spinning 4 year old.

Happy birthday bug-eyes!

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While continuing to avoid doing my writing, I have had a very difficult time coming up with names. On the one hand, I want people to relate to them, but on the other, they need to be reasonably random. For example, I have been struggling to find a name for my protagonist, who is Italian. I finally settled in on Dino “Dean” Cedrone. The problem is that I feel like I know a million Dino Cedrones. So, it is obvious that I should not rely on my own memory to come up with a name.

Now, there is a website, called Fake Name Generator. This site will generate a name based on certain criteria such as gender, nationality and country of origin. It not only generates a name, but a completely believable address, social security number, email address, mother’s maiden name and even a birth date.

In a matter of seconds, I have some purely appropriate names of characters in my novel:

Pantaleone Napolitani

Filomena Arcuri

Filiberto Giordano

Guglielmo Colombo

etc

Give it a shot, it helps.

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A toilet should never be placed in view of a full length mirror. Talk about performance anxiety! Sorry. I would think that is obvious…but then again, this is VEGAS!

Also, I am vehemently against men in flip-flops but I was fearful of contracting some sort of scheavy disease if I traipsed about my room barefoot.

As you can also see, I no longer fit in my jeans and have refused to buy another pair without proof that I can maintain this weight (I recently went from morbidly obese to merely profoundly obese this year).

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I am sure both of you missed me as I certainly have missed you two.

 Let me begin by saying that I HATE VEGAS! It is such a cesspool and once I got back to my own bathroom and shower, I had to give myself an ammonia dip in order to wash Vegas out of my pores. I don’t gamle and I don’t have a billion dollars to go see a show and I have been extremely careful of the foods I eat lately that even the restaurants did not iinterest me.  All I did was watch people.

 I have a quick story to tell and will share with you some other interesting moments and pictures of the trip once I get settled.

As both of you know, I am an insomniac. Actually, I am more of a random sleeper than an insomniac so one morning at about 3 AM, I woke up to walk around the casino at the Paris Hotel. The cigarette smoking, the loud noises and flashing lights were the obvious things I noticed. But then I began to see that there were a couple of different types of gamblers. The first type, the ones I call the “social gamblers”, I had no problem with. These are the groups that are out all night to have a good time and do not have a lot of expectations of winning money. These were the bachelor and bachelorette parties. Everyone was having a good time and were drunk beyond drunk.

The other type truly scared me. These were the little old ladies sitting by the slot machines playing all alone…at 3 AM. They were in a zone of just pushng the two buttons required to play the slots and they NEVER stopped. I can’t imagine how much money they won/lost. It seemed really pathetic and I think it highlights that addicts, of any sort, are truly alone.

But I got on the elevator to go back to my room and with me came an older man; short and fat and what little hair he had left, it was gray. He had a woman with him who VERY clearly was someone who was charging by the hour. She was at least 18 inches taller than he and was about 22 years old and had shorts on that left nothing to the imagination. As they entered the elevator, they were having a conversation about a tatoo on the back of her neck and she was showing it to him.  Here is a paraphrase of the conversation:

Idiot Guy: Wow! What is that?

Hired Wench: Oh, it is a tatoo that means a lot to me.  You see, my brother was diagnosed with cancer and he was bed-ridden the last years of his life. The only thing he enjoyed doing was drawing cartoons. [her voice obviously breaking up] When he passed away, I had one of his drawings made into a tatoo.  Now, I always have something to remind me of him. [visibly teary-eyed]

Idiot Guy: Oh….[3 second pause]….are your tits real?

She sort of snapped out of her fog and thew herself together and reached down and grabbed his hand and placed it on her chest and said “what do you think?”

Then they got off the elevator.

WHAT THE EFF WAS THAT?! I just stood in my corner trying to process the last 30 seconds of my life. Blink…blink blink.

 I have other stories to share with both of you. Stay tuned.

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