if you like making love at midnight

(1) Has January felt like a long month to anyone else? I think back on some of the big things I’ve done recently and they’ve all happened in 2008. Not that I’m complaining; I prefer to stretch each second between here and the grave as long as possible. But it’s hard to believe there’s still 3 days left before February. Who knows what could happen in that time?

(2) Per a website I found the other day, I’m going to start incorporating the phrase “I … drink … your … MILKSHAKE! I DRINK IT UP!” into conversation. It’s really only suitable for the most epic level of owning imaginable – someone walks blindly into a perfect punchline, someone gets completely schooled in Guitar Hero, Eli Manning throws 5 picks and gets sacked twice, etc.

(3) I think I’m at the closest to 2000 calories a day that I’ve ever been. And that’s coming up from below, not dropping down from above. I’ve just never been a big eater. I hate taking time away from whatever I’m doing – reading, talking to people, doing work – to prepare a meal. I prefer to stretch each second between here and the grave as long as possible. This explains why I prefer easy-bake bachelor chow: just stick it in the oven, set the timer and walk away. Considering you can still count my ribs by sight and I posted cholesterol in the double digits – that’s LDL, not HDL – the last time I tested, I don’t think I’m doing anything wrong.

(4) I bought a jumbo bottle of generic Men’s One-a-Day vitamins the last time I visited BJ’s Wholesale Club. The instructions recommend taking them after a meal, something I regularly forget to do. I think my average is about 0.300-A-Day, which would play well in the Major Leagues but doesn’t quite cut it for the home game.

(5) Updated Nerds on Sports with what may be my nerdiest post yet. Comment there, not here.

(6) Postscript media blow: I don’t think I ever reviewed Where the Truth Lies, one of my 50+ books from last year. It’s a murder mystery that stretches between 1950s Florida and 1970s Hollywood, told from the point-of-view of the ambitious young reporter investigating it. The book read all right and moved at a decent clip, but there are a few … weird … points that just didn’t sit with me:

  • The protagonist is writing a biography on one half of Hollywood’s most famous showbiz duos. I finally figured out about one hundred pages in (later than most, I’m sure) that the characters were obvious stand-ins for Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis. And while I don’t mind the notion that there were dark and twisted secrets to the Martin/Lewis partnership, and while I appreciate the need to use stand-in characters to avoid a libel suit, it’s still weird. Reading about how one of the two is phenomenal in the sack, I mean an absolute knock-out, and then remembering, “oh wait, she means Jerry Lewis” just throws a bucket of cold slime on the back of your neck.
  • The protagonist is a 25-year-old female reporter in the 70s. She’s smart, witty and comfortable talking about sex with strangers. Fair enough; not out of character for the time period. However, I couldn’t help thinking that her tone – her word choice, her tendency toward irony and verbosity – would work better coming from a 25-year-old female blogger in the 21st century. This struck me so many times that I began wondering if the author wasn’t cribbing from Mimi Smartypants or the latest chick-lit offering.
  • The back-cover text notes that this is the author’s first novel. Minor stylistic hiccups aside, I found it pretty impressive. Then I learned that Rupert Holmes, the author, was also Rupert Holmes, writer of “Escape (The Pina Colada Song). That means he was between 50 and 55 years old when he started writing this book. And while there’s nothing wrong with entering the writing field late in life, it makes every time that the protagonist (25 years old, female, sexually liberal) examines her naked body approvingly – in the mirror, in the bathtub, while being nailed by Jerry Lewis – really really creepy.

So … yeah. It’s a murder mystery that goes down like a David Lynch movie. I recommend it … maybe? I don’t know.

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