Repost: What’s the Deal With Celebrity Crushes?

Have you ever swooned over a celebrity? Kept their photos on your walls or your desktop, or (God forbid) on your phone case? I knew someone who had a Chris Hemsworth iPhone case. It was the freakiest thing when they were texting across the table, and Thor himself was staring you down. Speaking of Thor, I have to admit that I have a slight crush on Loki himself, Mr. Tom Hiddleston. So perhaps you should take this post, originally from February 2014, with a grain of salt. Enjoy!

Originally posted February 15, 2014.

Summer camp is the scene of much stupidity, and preteen girls will argue, but no argument perplexed me as much as the one over who was ‘hotter’—Chad Michael Murray or Paul Walker.

It was the early 2000’s, we were in the spring of our youth, and were just discovering boys—my cabin mates more so than I. I had no idea who Paul Walker was, and had only seen Chad Michael Murray in Freaky Friday (not a high point of his career, or his looks). I didn’t think either was hot, so I sat on my bunk bed and kept my mouth shut.

At about the same time, Brad Pitt was in his ‘Sexiest Man Alive’ days, and my companions were equally goggle-eyed over him. “Disgusting,” I thought. “He’s old enough to be my father.”

I don’t understand celebrity crushes. I mean, what’s the point?

I’ve seen footage of the Beatles performing live, while all around young women are screaming and weeping at the very sight of them–not unlike the mania that surrounds any of Justin Bieber’s shows.

Do any of those young girls, screaming and flailing about in the crowd, think that Bieber will give them a second glance? Yet they’d defend his reputation to the death when he’s caught coming out of a brothel. That isn’t the kind of guy they should be with. Fortunately, they won’t be.

Then there was this episode of the Graham Norton Show, in which Chris Pine’s and Benedict Cumberbatch’s fan clubs compared who had travelled the farthest to see their idol. One chick had travelled from Hong Kong to England to see Benedict Cumberbatch. Hong Kong!

Why?

Did she just want to breath the same air as him? Gaze upon his face? What could she possibly hope for? I’m damn sure Mr. Cumberbatch didn’t think to himself ‘Oh, how touching. From Hong Kong? I must sweep her off her feet. She must be mine!’

I admit that, of all celebrities, the closest thing to a crush I have right now is on Benedict Cumberbatch. I think it may be the accent, because other than his fine blue eyes, I’m not much for his looks. He reminds me of my grandfather.

Not that celebrities don’t fascinate me. I watch the Graham Norton Show, read fashion magazines, and catch the Oscars. I’ve seen all the production videos for The Hobbit. I like to hear celebrities talk about their craft, see what they’re wearing, and hear their funny stories about filming. I enjoy seeing the people behind the characters.

But they’re just people—albeit successful, famous ones.

If I boil it down, what I find appealing about famous men is how they handle themselves in public—suave, gentlemanly. And which woman doesn’t like a man who knows how to behave? They’re well groomed, well dressed, and mannerly and that goes very, very far.

Ah!  That’s probably why people think Benedict Cumberbatch is sexy. He looks good in a suit.  There, solved that one.

But what if it’s all a façade? What if these men are just stuffed silk shirts, while inside they’re full of rot and decay? Time eventually tattles and tells us what they’re made of. Many lead lives worth admiring—excellence in their craft, philanthropy, a healthy family life. But others end up collapsing under the weight of their fame. Like a ketchup bottle, what is inside will come out when squeezed.

And that is a problem we all bear. After all, famous men aren’t gods, but mortals.

Just a thought.

What about you? Have you had a celebrity crush? 

My Half-Marathon Shoes

I had perhaps the most traumatic shoe-shopping experience of my life–and the most enlightening.

I prepare to lace up for the first time.

My first pair of runners were just the pair that fit the best and were the right price, bought at the local Shoe Warehouse. The extent of my research was ‘what’s the difference between a runner and a cross trainer?’ I had no idea if I’d even finish Couch to 5K, after all. The shoes were my Gideon’s fleece. If there was a pair for less than X dollars, I’d buy them and start running that day.

And there they were. Purple New Balance runners. I had no running gear, but I put on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt and hit the pavement. That was June 2014.

Today I drove to the big city to hit up the Running Room for a real pair of runners. I wanted the whole fitting experience. I wanted to know if I walked funny, supinated, pronated, whatever all that was.

Unfortunately, despite the help of a nice young gentleman, I didn’t find any shoes there. I have weird, freak feet apparently. As a sidenote, you won’t see skinnier legs than in a running store. Not even on the catwalk in Paris.

Anyway, I moseyed on down to City Park Runners. Or I should say, I tested the full limits of my iPhone’s navigational skills. That was the traumatic part. When I finally ended up in the right store, the sales girl measured and observed and studied (I have one neutral foot, and one that pronates it seems) and then started pulling out shoes. Oh did I try on shoes, and none of them fit! Finally I found one pair to test on the treadmill. They were okay, though a bit clunky. Electric blue, too (that was fine, though). Then I found the winners, my beautiful Mizuno Inspires.

And dang, they didn’t come cheap. But I suppose education costs money. Before today I didn’t know about neutral shoes, or stability shoes, or different types of heel padding. What I wanted was a full shoe education, and it seems I got what I wanted.

And on the way home, my phone died. That was traumatic. Fortunately I was in sight of familiar territory. 🙂

I realized then, that I’d just bought my first half-marathon shoes. I’m pretty pumped about that. I’m a bit sentimental about retiring my first pair of runners, but I’m excited about where these new shoes will take me.

Repost: Motivate Yourself to Work Out in 5 Easy Steps

Oh, it makes me giggle to see how far I’ve come. I wrote this one year ago, before I’d ever dreamt of running. Now, well, It seems I’ve become a gym rat. The horror! Enjoy these 5 workout tips, from a former no-worker-outer. 🙂

Me no work out. And when I do, it must be short. Fifteen minutes max. There’s no point in buying me a gym membership because I won’t go. If I can’t work out in my pyjamas in my living room, well, it ain’t gonna happen because I ain’t doing my beached whale moves/crunches where any skinny gym rats can see me.

Science has proven that wearing something made by Lululemon causes you to burn 25% more calories

Nevertheless, I’ve worked out for two months straight now, because I have my motivation strategy all worked out. And now, you can be motivated too! Here are five steps to motivation:

1. Tell Yourself How Good it is For You

You’ll sleep better, you’ll have better
circulation. It’ll clear the mental fog–but most of all, it will keep you limber. And for me, being able to finally sit cross-legged is a big deal.

Not kidding.

That failing, move to:

2. Stand in Front of a Mirror–In Your Underwear

First, flex your muscles and admire the biceps you have developed. Second, squeeze the jelly roll around your middle. Those reverse crunches? Oh yeah, it’ll be gone.

But if that doesn’t work.

3. Kick Your Own Butt

I say to myself “Who’s the boss? Who’s the boss?”

**meekly** “I am.”

“Then get out there!”

I’ve got my game face on.

But if you’re still on the couch, try:

4. Promise Yourself Something

If I work out four times this week I’ll:

Eat chips.

Fail.

Buy the next book in The Mortal Instruments series. Ding Ding Ding!

But, if you cannot possibly bring yourself to do a squat, lunge or a step on the treadmill, there is one last maneuver you can try.

5. Watch Extreme Makeover: Weightloss Edition

If this doesn’t scare you into your workout gear, at very least it will inspire you. They always look so beautiful at the end, and they have so much confidence!

That’s all we want, right?

Friends, I’m a royal wimp when it comes to working out, but if I’ve learned anything, it’s that doing what you said you would does wonders for the mind, body and soul.

So put on the sweats. Tie back the hair. Off the couch in three, two, one… go!

How to Make People Talk

I am told I would make a good interrogator.

The other evening, midway through a long shift at the factory, I joined a conversation between coworkers including one, rather eccentric, Russian gentleman.  “I didn’t realize this, but so and so can really talk,” one said, “He came to my house to borrow something, and he wouldn’t shut up.”

“It’s often like that. You wouldn’t suspect [my trainee] of being talkative,” I interposed, “But if you ask him about cricket, he’ll talk for an hour.”

“Cricket?  Like the game?”

“Yeah,” I said, “I like finding out what people like to talk about and then getting them going on the subject. You can learn so much.”

“Thats just what the KGB do,” the Russian gentleman said.

I stared at him.

“They get you talking about what you’re interested in, and before you know it you’re telling them everything.”

“That’s not why I do it!” I said in great alarm, “I do it because I’m genuinely interested in them.”

“But that’s what they do,” he insisted, “They interviewed me once.  They’d seen my school files.  They knew I like the sciences so they tried to get me talking about that.” He then launched into a diatribe on Einstein’s theories of relativity, and I was ready to listen attentively, but a coworker interrupted with a question for me.  That was the end of that.

Half an hour later, my coworker and I were sitting in our process room with the tablet coater running and nothing to do but monitor it. I had asked my coworker, a recent immigrant from India, about his native languages and how the looked written.  He proceeded to provide examples.

I had a view of the windows.  As I nodded and asked questions, the Russian fellow walked past.  He stopped and grinned at me.  Then he made wringing motions with his hands.

I giggled, and then had to explain the whole thing to my coworker.

It isn’t a psychological technique for me.  I don’t know any better way of gaining trust and building rapport, especially with someone whom I don’t naturally relate to.  As a trainer, I need the trust of my trainee–both to accept my teaching, and also to like me.  We spend a lot of time together. We might as well be friends.

Dale Carnegie said, “So if you aspire to be a good conversationalist, be an attentive listener. To be interesting, be interested. Ask questions that other persons will enjoy answering. Encourage them to talk about themselves and their accomplishments.”

Sexiest Man Dead?

People Magazine recently crowned Chris Hemsworth the “Sexiest Man Alive.” I can’t deny that the magazine is hitting nearer the mark than usual.  But ‘sexiest alive’?  That’s a pretty sweeping statement.

He was alive last year, right?  What was wrong with him then?

Adam Levine was last years Sexiest Man Alive, and though he was rumoured to be dead, he is still alive and making generic pop music.  What’s wrong with him now?

In fact, if you peruse the list of Sexiest Men Alive from 1985 to 2013, you’ll see that darn near all of them are still alive.  What happened?  Did they gain weight?  Get a bad haircut?  Publicly announce that they hate kittens?  It doesn’t matter.  They’ve lost their mojo.  They’ve lost their crown.  What a demotion that must be.  One day you are the sexiest man in the world, the next… pfft.  You’re just a guy on the street.

Exactly how do they decide anyway?  Do they fill out questionnaires?  Have a swimsuit contest?  Compare bank statements?  I don’t follow their logic.

I propose a sensible solution to both quandaries.  Kill the old sexiest man and instate a new one.  Decide by good, old fashioned duel.  The winner takes the title, and the loser is the Sexiest Man Dead.  Imagine the spectacle, the press coverage, the wailing of women.

Oh wait!  I have a better plan. The newly crowned Sexiest Man Alive goes into hiding, and all eligible candidates have a year to hunt him down and assassinate him.  Winner takes all.

That sounds like the Hunger Games, you say?

We’ll call it… the Handsome Games.

 

 

The Week Without Running

This week I took my second sick day of the year, and the third of my lifetime.  Yes, I consider myself to be indestructible, and when I do get sick I go to work anyway.

Last Saturday I woke up with burning lungs, like the feeling you get after you’ve inhaled caustic cleaner (been there, done that).  “No!” I said, “I can’t be sick.  I have a 5K.”  Cue browsing articles on ‘should you run while sick,’ of which there was no unanimous conclusion.  So, I said ‘to heck with it,’ went to the drugstore and bought the highest-powered lozenges I could find.  Back in the car, I popped one in my mouth.

My tongue went numb.

“What the heck is in these things?”  I flipped over the box.  Hmm, Benzocaine.  Isn’t that what they use to freeze your mouth at the dentist?

Well, you don’t need to feel your tongue to run.  So off I went to the race.

I almost burned out in the last mile.  My lungs hurt so bad, and I had to force my oxygen-deprived muscles to keep firing.  My time was lackluster, but I made it.

Monday, I went running again.  Tuesday I was still sick, and on Wednesday I was dragging myself around work like a zombie.  I decided to call it a day and go to the walk-in clinic.  Chest X-rays and EKG’s and blood work couldn’t tell the doctor what was wrong with me.  “You have a virus,” he said.

I could have told myself that.  At least I wasn’t dying.  I’d already been imagining the end of my running ‘career’ because I had scarring of the lungs, or a hole in my heart, or something (just making up stuff, here).

So this week has been one of extra sleep, extra writing, and extra Harry Potter watching.  After much self-lecturing, I’ve decided I’m sick.  No speed-work midweek.  No long run on the weekend.  I’m getting antsy.  Based on the way my chest feels right now, I might collapse midway.  But it’s autumn in Manitoba, and that means six months of winter are almost here, and if I don’t enjoy the snow-free roads now, I won’t get to!

Argh.

Someone tie me down, or hide my sneakers.

3 Videos to Lighten up your Tuesday

I don’t feel like being serious today.  I am being serious.  But I don’t feel like it.

Face it, it’s been a long week and it’s only Tuesday.  I’m in the thick of publishing my first novel, We are the Living, and this is only one tiny problem in the sea of troubles this world is in.  I’m not here to discount those.  I’m just hoping to give you fifteen minutes of relief.  Here are three videos that give me the giggles.

1. Thunderstruck, Redneck Edition.

Admit it, you’ve always wondered what AC/DC would sound like with banjos.

2. I’m My Own Grandpa

And speaking of rednecks… one of the most convoluted family wreaths… er, trees you’ve ever seen.  This song has entertained my family for hours.

3. Seth MacFarlane does the ‘Taken’ phone call as Kermit the Frog

“I don’t have any money, but what I do have are a specific set of skills…”  This makes me giggle like a maniac every time!  Kermit starts around 5 min, but the first half includes other voices, including Tom Cruise imitating Donald Duck.

And there you go.  I hope this gladdened your heart.  I’m always looking for hilarious YouTube videos.  If you have ideas for me, please comment.  Keep them clean please!

Have a wonderful day.

Must We All Grow Up to be Humbugs? 5 Fun Things Challenge Wrap-Up.

Will I eventually become a boring adult?

I fear it is inevitable.

You know the ones.  They spend 80% of their lives on their butts.  The other 20% is spent shopping or mowing their front lawn.  They go to work via the Tim Horton’s drive through, and then come home through the same coffee-filled avenue.  They spend the evening in front of the TV, or on better days, at their son’s hockey game.  They’d never lift a finger to play a game.  They’d rather die than run.

They probably would die if they tried to run.

They talk about their deteriorating health and bash their bosses, and they think Tim Horton’s makes good coffee because they haven’t had anything else in two years.

I’m painting with a brush as wide as a football field.  I know.  But that is who I fear becoming.

When I was a kid, it bewildered me why the adults I knew only wanted to sit around and visit with each other.  Why would they never, ever participate in the fun game that we had going?  I realize now that adults are tired folk.  And why not?  Many work a minimum of forty hours a week and then come home, cook dinner, and do laundry.  Most of them eat absolute garbage, and don’t have time to exercise, and can’t sleep because they’ve had too much Tim Horton’s.  They spend every evening taxiing their kids to soccer and ballet and piano lessons.  I know this is because they want to give their kids the best shot at life, but I fear they’re living their lives vicariously through their kids because they gave up on their dreams long ago.

If that’s what it means to grow up, I don’t want to do it.

I’ve come to the end of my 5 Fun Things Challenge.  I ended the challenge on an 11 hour work day, which admittedly makes fun a little more difficult.  It’s fitting.  Most of my days are work days, so I need to learn to make them fun.  I’m a grown-up now.

Day 3, Monday:

I went to Folklorama and visited the Chilean pavilion.  I enjoyed lively music, sublime singing, and dancing that was a mix of courtly and all-out love for life.  The empanadas and drinks were good too. 🙂

Day 4, Tuesday:

I had to wear a respirator to spray caustic cleaner, so I breathed like Darth Vader.  Disclaimer: laughing under a half-mask respirator may break the seal.

I caught a ride on a pallet as it went by.  Then I got scared and jumped off.

I watched this video and giggled like a maniac in McDonalds.  If you don’t have time to watch the whole thing, skip to about 5 minutes in and see Seth McFarlane do Liam Neeson’s Taken phone call in Kermit the Frog’s voice!

To sum up the experience…

Why end now?  Tomorrow I’m going to try to make it a fun day.  I know that tomorrow will have just as many adult experiences–a work day, important business stuff, cooking dinner, and going for a run.  But I’m grown-up, not dead.

And I’ve got a dream, and thus, a lot to live for.  Why not have fun–BE fun while doing it?

On my Way from Couch to 5K

“Oh yeah? I’ll show you.” Those were my famous last words.

I’ve always claimed I didn’t have the body type to run. Runners are graceful like gazelles, all legs and arms. I’m more of a clydesdale. That was my excuse. I’d never run–I couldn’t.

But my friend had to put out a challenge to all of us Trim Healthy Mamas, telling us of an upcoming 5 kilometre run. “It’s not too late to start training,” she said. “I haven’t run since highschool, but I’m starting on Monday.”

I could do that, I thought.

No you can’t.

Yes I can.

I ran the idea past my family, and they said “Well, you’re pretty busy,” and “Five kilometres is farther than you might think.”

Oh yeah? I’ll show you.

Monday found me picking out purple running shoes (for price not vanity, I maintain). I downloaded the ‘Couch to 5K’ app, learned a few stretches, and prepared to bound out the door.

“Wish me luck,” I said to my sister.

She just looked… skeptical.

I’ve been running for four weeks now. Tomorrow I’ll be halfway through the program. I’m constantly asking myself, “This will get easier, right?”

If you’re on the bike paths in town and you hear clumping footsteps and wheezing behind you, fear not–’tis I. I have the grace of a chicken and less endurance.

I try to run in privacy so no one sees my cherry-tomato face, but at eight in the evening, every elderly couple, young parent and gaggle of teenage bff’s is on the bike path. I play it cool. THEY don’t know I’ve only been running for two minutes when I blow past them. But in the last quarter of my run, there’s no way to hide how poor of shape I’m in. I grimace like I’m in the last leg of a triathalon. I can’t muster a smile or even gasp out ‘hey’ as I pass.

But when the app says “cool down by walking five minutes,” I pump my fist. Every completed run is a victory.

Yeah, I want to prove to my family that I can do this. But it’s become more and more about the actual accomplishment. I visualize crossing the finish line and I choke up. And when the app says ‘well done’ I’m thrilled.

I think of the Apostle Paul, who said “I do not run like a man running aimlessly… I beat my body and make it my slave so that after I have preached to others, I myself will not myself be disqualified for the prize” (1 Corinthians 9:26).

Paul knew what awaited him at the finish line and he’d do anything–he’d “put up with anything rather than hinder the Gospel of Christ”–to obtain that goal.

In running I’ve found that mental strength is every bit as important as physical. Self-talk and visualization push me past the pain threshold. Clearly, Paul was a disciplined man who would rather deprive himself of physical happiness than of spiritual gain.

But mental strength isn’t enough in times of emotional and spiritual hardship. Then we must tap into the unlimited strength of Jesus. We were designed to exceed our human limits through our relationship with Him. “When I am weak, then I am strong,” said Paul. It was Paul’s relationship with God, ultimately, that allowed him to endure. He endured to the end–his execution–and gained his prize.

A big deal compared to my 5K.

I’m not expecting this to get easy any time soon. I’m not sure I even like running. But I like the prize, I like how I feel about myself after I run, and I like what it’s teaching me about life.

I’ll keep you posted on how the race goes. August 17th is the day!

Mind Altering Drugs at the Mall

I think they must gas us at the mall–spray us with some mind-altering substance.  I went in feeling great about myself, and now I feel like a slob.

I smelled something strong around the Abercrombie and Fitch.  I thought it was cologne or the scent of those special people who can actually wear Abercrombie.  But now I know what it was: drugs.

Nothing is right anymore.

My shoes don’t match my bag, and they don’t go right with these jeans.  That doesn’t matter, because the jeans are saggy around the butt so they must go.  I will slip into a pair of these hundred-dollar jeans and then all shall be well.  My t-shirt doesn’t hug my curves right, so I’ll trade it for another.  I’ll drop a hundred bucks on jewelry.  I’ll buy new makeup, I’ll…!

Collapse at Starbucks, exhausted and broke.

The coffee soothes my nerves and washes away the drugs.  I see myself for what I am: a foot-sore consumer among thousands.  No one is looking at my clothes.  No one is looking at my hair.  They are busy looking at themselves, and their saggy jeans, and their outdated shoes.

Where has my reason gone?  Wasn’t I a fiscally responsible, ‘un-shallow’, free-spirited person just yesterday?  How did I get swept into this?

Drugs, I tell you.  They alter your mind.

So I sip my iced coffee and I resolve to smile bigger, to greet the sales people with more enthusiasm, to thank them for their help, to move with grace and peace, and mostly, to slow down–to stop this frantic acquiring and actually enjoy myself.  It may be the only way I stand out in the crowd.