Calorie Counting

G. Sax

The title of this entry should be sung to the tune of “Domino Dancing” by Pet Shop Boys.

I declared Independence Day on the 4th of July. Independence from a reliance on fatty foods, sugar fixes, salt licks, and a generalized pattern of overeating for the last 14 years.

The lament goes on for many of us… “I used to be something,” we say.

Oh, I was never an Adonis like my friends Paul and Laci, but Paul himself once said—in a typical homosexual lean—”you’re good looking in a unique sort of way.” And you know what? I’m not terrible to look at. Although…

My face is puffy, my chins are doubled up, my saddlebags could hold change for laundry, and my ass is all chumbawamba. I finally decided that that’s not working for me anymore.

I’m doing pretty good so far. Much better than my infamous Weight Journal of 2002 in which I documented my struggle to get below 200 pounds. I’m being more methodical in my efforts this time.

I’m focused on exercise and diet more than I’ve been in several years. I’m actually monitoring what I eat rather than just guessing at it. Progress is good and (for once) healthy. My weight fluctuations are natural but always encouragingly in the right direction, and I’m not cheating (too much) on calories or exercise routine.

The new regimen is time-consuming but invigorating. Time will tell if I can stick it out. I feel as though I have to this time. I deserve liberty from chumbawamba.

St. Paul Saints

by G. Sax

“Do you want me to scare you?” That’s what my pal Paul was asked by a guy standing right next to him in front of the piss trough at Gabe’s. Paul had the hiccups, you see, and maybe the fella was just trying to be nice. But when he followed Paul into the john the next time up and said a few other strange-ass things, we knew it was time to leave the traditional Saints afterbar.

Last day of my Minnesota visit, and I finally got to one of my favorite places on the planet: Midway Stadium. The Saints are no longer the only darling of independent minor league baseball, but the atmosphere, stadium, and tailgating still help the Saints rate as “the Harlem Globetrotters of the Northern League,” as dubbed by Bill Tyler, longtime chronicler of the Northern League and fanboy extraordinaire of St. Paul Saints. This is not to say that the Saints don’t play good ball. It’s just that a trip to Midway is often so festive that the casual fan doesn’t care about the opponent or the strategy of each game from a pitch-by-pitch perspective.

The Saints won, I enjoyed the parking lot, I didn’t pay for my ticket, and I was served a beer after inning curfew (but, shhh, nobody’s supposed to know that.)