CALIFORNIA...CALIFORNIA...HERE WE COME! Where else but...Red Carpet Club, getting ready to jump a bird back to Los Angeles. There until Friday AM, when I head back home.

GIVE PARIS ONE MORE CHANCE: A little more than a year ago I theorized that Paris Hilton would be more than just a blip on the radar...and might emerge as a major face of her generation. (I have this presentation I give, called "Paris Hilton Rules," that outlines some of the reasons she's so resonant for so many of today's teens.) Anyhow...toot toot...looks like I might have been right.

WE SPEND OUR DAYS LIKE BRIGHT AND SHINY NEW DIMES: My straightforward posts are boring me, so I feel the need to compose a rambler.

I've been thinking about weight of late, clearly, and so was wondering where that came from, what was the spark of this latest (and recurrent) bout of "I am not perfect -- file under WEIGHT" feeling. And, as often happens if you just give feelings (which are made of gas, right?) long enough to rise to the top of the liquid mess that is your consciousness, well, they do, and so here's the gas:

I was watching some celebrity weight loss show -- and it really doesn't matter which show -- and they had this guy on it, Willie Aames, I think -- and it really doesn't matter which guy -- and he was talking about how his wife had intimated to him that she expected sooner or later to simply find him lying dead somewhere on accounta the fact that he'd let himself go from his heartthrob days of yore (insert picture of long-haired hearththrob version of Aames, complete with visible musculature peeking out from underneath taut young skin), to the extent that he now weighs almost 200 pounds (emphasis mine, on oh-so-many levels).

And I'm sitting there, knowing that I'm somewhere a touch north of 200 pounds, thinking: How tall is this little motherscratcher, Aames, and does he really need to sound so freakin' concerned over being the perfect weight? And, for sure his wife's a nutbird, right? She's gonna drive him to his grave, not to mention find him there...

Etcetera.

Which brings up: What is the right weight? BMI? Did the McDonald's #9 with fries just shorten my life on accounta cholesterol or bad carbs or too much sodium...or did it just lengthen my life on accounta happiness and carefree consumption...the zen of fast food, my mobile mojo workin', etc.

And is living longer any reward anyway?

One advantage of my almost 38 years in this life -- as compared to when I was, oh, say, ummm, younger -- is that this angstiness is familiar now, is sort of a companion and a pesky pal moreso than something to wrestle and defeat.

So that was rambling enough. I feel better. And so I'll stop for now.

WE RUN SO HARD AND ALWAYS END UP IN THE SAME PLACE: I did the big weigh-in this morning. Dunno whether my coupla glasses of wine last night (McManis Family Merlot, 2002 -- a really nice, fruit-forward glass of grape juice, for about $10/bottle) helped me (by flushing out water-weight) or hurt me (by encouraging my body to retain water).

The bottom line: 200 lbs., even. Same as when I started a week ago.

What did I accomplish? Three cardio sessions over the course of the week, the most I've done in at least a year if not more. Less junk food. Less late eating. General weight/health consciousness.

Thing is, even though my weight number is the same, I'm convinced my jeans fit a little better and my stomach is less posh. Call it the power of positive thinking -- or the reality of minor weight/muscle redistribution, perhaps from gut to glutes or legs.

Any changes for the coming week? Hmmm. Well, I'd like to lengthen my cardio sessions a touch...at some point I want to get back to being able to run comfortably for an hour, so I need to start gradually building up...and maybe just start keeping track of my sugar-cola intake. That'll do.

Meanwhile, my friend Isaac tells me he's also engaged in a bit of a weight-watching exercise on his blog, and that his has been reported on by a syndicated newspaper columnist named Mark Bazer. Maybe y'all will see it in a paper near you.

HEAVY IN HERE? Got in another cardio session yesterday, bringing my week's total to three. If I can get one in tonight, that'll be a respectable four for my first week of actually paying attention to my health again.

Yesterday's session was 40 minutes on an Elliptical trainer. Love that machine! Watched the end of the Talladega race on it, and almost leaped into the air when my driver (in fantasy NASCAR) Jeff Gordon held off a couple late charges and notched the win.

Ate after eight again last night -- my wife ripped into a raspberry/cheese danish from Whole Foods, and I felt compelled to join her.

Am really curious what my weight will be tomorrow morning. I don't feel much different, so I'm guessing it'll be somewhere between 198 - 201. Whatever.

I am wondering whether I need some kind of shock-to-the-system approach, where I do something drastic to get this weight-loss kicked off and in motion, so that I drop like five pounds in a week.

Screw that.

ANY KID CAN CHATTER, FEW CAN INFORM: A friend, Keith, sent me this link to the most astounding piece of inadvertent comedy I've seen in a long while. It's almost impossible to screw something up as badly as this guy does.

THE LAST PARTY I ATTENDED, I GOT DRUNK BEFORE IT ENDED: Okay, Laurel, try and Google that. A great line by a great band.

PROMISED YOU A MIRACLE: My lifestyle-change regimen has been imperfect, as expected. So far I've had fries twice, eaten after 8PM twice, and only done cardio twice. Luckily the week's not over yet. At least I can squeeze in a few more cardio sessions...and hopefully no more fries or late eating.

Why am I eating fries? No excuse other than that I love 'em, and some of the meals I've eaten just don't seem right without french fries. (Think of a big fat veggie burger with everything including grilled onions and liquid cheddar cheese...or a McDonald's #9 fish combo in the airport.)

And the late eating? Gimme a break. One was a night I was flying back from the West Coast, and when I arrived home after 8PM my wife had a huge salad (with hard-boiled eggs and avocadoes) already made for me. And then there was last night, when the neighbors and their kids were over and we were too busy being the cops (with the kids) to feed ourselves.

Can you blame a guy? The guy doesn't blame himself. Much.

MIXED FEELINGS ABOUT THE FUNCTION AND THE FORM: I picked up the latest Beck record a month or so ago and have been wrestling with it. This review is the best explanation for my mixed feelings. It's also one of the first interesting and artful reviews I've read in a long while. That Pitchfork site has really gotten good.

ONE LESS TOOTHBRUSH HANGING IN THE STAND: A quick two cents on what went down on IDOL a few days ago: Farewell, Constantine! And Scotty the Body is in the top three!

What killed the long-haired pouty-cat? Song selection. That Nickelback crap is crap. Any of those bands with the basso mumble-singers, they just ain't right for IDOL. No Creed or Trapt or Nickelback need apply. Also, lay off the Whitney and Christina and other totally signature diva shit. You need to bring MOR pablum, my peeps, like what my boy Scotty did with that Luther track, like he did with his Hall & Oates track, n'ahm sayin'? Old Constantine got lucky with his over-the-top "Bohemian Rhapsody." Turns out his voice fits over Freddie Mercury like lycra pants over microphone-straddlin' thighs.

And it turns out America will turn on a favorite if he/she doesn't "bring it," as that genius Randy Jackson puts it.

One of the greatest things about that show are the trainwrecks that are Paula and Randy, btw. You almost feel sorry for Simon. Simon is like the one guy at work -- okay, me -- that actually has his shit together. (On the off chance somebody from my work ever reads this, please note that the previous comment was satirical in nature, pointing out the idea that we all sometimes feel like we're the only one on the ball at work, while everyone else is a bunch of chimps, just like that great commercial.)

I used to loathe Seacrest, but over time he's kind of grown on me, like a too-taut tag in my favorite shirt that I'm afraid to cut out for fear of wrecking the shirt, and so you kind of grow a callous back there, or maybe you even start to like the little itchy-scratch of the tag dragging across your the top of your spine.

TV PARTY TONIGHT! Swiped from Trisha, a cool game:

a. Post a list of 10 TV shows you follow (current or canceled).
b. Have your friends/readers guess your favourite CHARACTER from each show.
c. When guessed correctly, bold the line and write a sentence about why you like that character.

1. The Andy Griffith Show. Barney Fife indeed, as guessed by Dave. Don Knotts is a genius, and Barney Fife was his best role. You'll never convince me Barney Fife wasn't a real person.
2. Three's Company. Stanley Roper, as guessed by Trisha. Norman Fell's facial expressions alone were hilarious. His eyes were comic characters.
3. Surreal Life (I have a favorite character across all the seasons). Nobody guessed Christopher Knight (Peter from the Brady Bunch), but he was my favorite (although I only saw like two episodes from this season). What did I like? He's old, but he's still in shape, seems very nice, and scores the model chick. Good for him. A close second? Erik Estrada, who, as my brother Eric suggested, "gets it."
4. Happy Days. Al's my man, as Trisha guessed. I love the hangdog character actors. With one simple phrase (yep yep yep), this guy steals every scene he's in. He's ugly beautiful, as the French say.
5. Welcome Back Kotter. Mr. Woodman (as guessed correctly by Eric) is another one of these character-actor guys. He has a face for radio, as they say. I just remember that every time he entered a scene I smiled. And when he would have a spasm of laughter it would just kill me.
6. NYPD Blue (I have a male and a female favorite). Sipowicz, as guessed by Trisha, is correct. Life is hard for the Dennis Franz character, and you can see it on every inch of his body, hear it in the timbre of every word. Still, he gives goodness everything he's got.
7. The Sopranos. I'll give Paulie Walnuts to Eric. On a show of superstars, Paulie stands out as real, funny, and real funny. His simmering outrage is a sight to see.
8. Arrested Development (hard to pick just one favorite!) Nobody guessed Gob, and he's my favorite. Gob's manic sense of self -- one minute he's sure he's a genius, the next he's convinced he's a vulnerable idiot -- strikes a chord with me. That said, I could have easily gone for Tobias, Buster, or Lucille, who are all brilliant. And although I'm not a big Martin Short fan, his cameo as a crippled Jack Lalanne-ish fitness guru ("Shoot me!") was inspired comedy.
9. David Letterman. Yep, Paul Shaffer, as guessed by Trisha. Dave is funny, but Paul's knowing presence takes the edge off the host's smarm and reminds us that's it's all a great big game in the business of show.
10. Law and Order. Trisha's right. Lenny Briscoe is the man. He's like a less tortured Sipowicz, a man who seems to have endless cheeks for the slaps of life, yet who retains a punch-drunk sense of humor that gives us all hope.

THESE BIRDS CAN'T FLY AWAY: The rumors are true -- I've been watching AMERICAN IDOL intently this season. Last note I voted for the first time. In fact, I voted twice...for Scotty the Body.

I thought last night's performances were the worst of the season, across the board. Although Vonzell looked hot as hell (as always), even she sounded kinda sloppy. Bo Bice and Constantine, as much as they trouble me, both have oodles of star quality. But Constantine's song was horrible. Horrible. And Bo's was sort of a meandering mess of attitude, devoid of any highs or lows. "I gotta be me" is a tough pose to pull off an a show like AMERICAN IDOL. I was like, whut-EVER. Tired of it. I liked the country chick with the great-butt-in-jeans, but I won't pretend that had anything to do with her performance. I just think she's cute. Fedorov was better than usual, and I like him, but I don't dig a guy singing Celine Dion. Heck, I don't dig Celine Dion singing Celine Dion.

So why did I vote for Scott? Granted, he has some vocal issues. He seems uncoached, mostly. But when he's on, I think he's got the purest vocal sound of anyone in the competition. I think he's versatile. I think he could undergo a makeover as a star that would make him fun to watch. And I just like him. I think he's the least fake of anyone in the competition, the least calculating. The guy just likes to sing.

I'm sure his days are numbered, but he's got my vote(s) for now.

WORK 'TIL YOU'RE MUSCLEBOUND: At the risk of feeling even mildly self-congratulatory after just one day of paying attention to my diet/weight/exercise, let me just say: It's working!

No, I didn't break my promise not to get on the scale 'til next Tuesday. But I can just sense it. Yesterday I steered around McD's and Taco Bell at the mall and opted for a shitty veggie half-sandwich at some little no-name place. Last night I hurried up my high-priced sushi order so it would arrive pre-8PM. And then, grudgingly, I ambled out in short-pants at 10PM to commence running. I really only ran for about 20 minutes or so, but my heart-rate was definitely (and sadly) up for 30 minutes.

Am really curious who will nail the above reference...and want to add a bonus: The band in question plays one of my Top 10 favorite songs of all time. Name the band...and the song!

DISEMBODIED POETICS: My friend Vince (who runs a really cool web business called Reusable Bags, and who once painted Trisha's house, if memory serves) just sent me an e-mail that, even devoid of context, is just hilarious. It's one line, and it says:

Let's beat that ape senseless.

In other trivia, note that the above headline refers to a school founded by a bunch of beat writers. Any reference of any kind will win you The Glory. Oh, and I just downloaded a new Coldplay single, a new New Order record, and the new Ben Folds record. Hooray!

FONZIE CAN'T RUMBLE, AND BY THE WAY... According to my favorite gossip-hound, Lloyd Grove, Bryant Gumbel is Matt Lauer's best friend. Huh? Lauer embodies likability, whereas Gumbel embodies the opposite. How odd. Makes me think I need to rethink my feelings for one of 'em. Which one?

NOT SUCCULENT, TASTY, OR KIND: One of the many reasons I chose my ovo-lacto-pesco-veg diet is my family history of heart disease. First, I quit smoking (several years ago). Then, having addressed that, I went after my diet. It certainly helped that I was very sympathetic to the idea of animal rights and such. Turns out, at least as far as cardio-health goes, I might have been ahead of my time. (And my love for red wine also works with the linked article!)

TAKE A LOAD OFF, FANNY: There are all manner of studies that show that carrying extra weight is bad for one's health. (I'm talking corporeal poundage here, fat cells that are attached to the body -- not carrying the laundry up from the basement, although I'd argue that's not so great for you either. I have actually argued that, but my wife's not buying it.)

Anyway, as I mentioned yesterday, I'm kind of a fat f--- right now, and after a week of semi-nudity (toplessness) in a tropical location, there's simply no denying that I need to get my shit together, so to speak.

My plan is this: Weekly weigh-ins, posted here, so as to shame and motivate myself (and to celebrate my efforts!). Truth be told, I'm the kind of self-obssessed loser who weighs himself every day. You'd think this would be a good thing, but I find that it sort of blinds me to the big picture, has me focused on a pound here or there, the effects of one meal or one run rather than of a lifestyle.

As Camel readers and friends and family already know, I stopped eating all meat save for fish some three or so years ago, maybe more. If you want to label me, I'm an ovo-lacto-pesco vegetarian. (I eat eggs, dairy, and fish, plus veggies.) It was an ethical/mindfulness/health decision, and I feel it's served me well. One advantage is, as friggin' fat as I am, I don't seem to have quite an unsightly a midsection bulge as I did several years ago at this weight. That said, although this diet-style seemed for years to make it easier to maintain my desired weight, that effect has abated somewhat and I find myself a fat-fuck all over again.

So in addition to posting my once-weekly weigh in, I'm going to do the following:

- No eating post-8PM.
- No french fries.
- No chips or other bagged bullshit carbs.
- At least 30 minutes of cardio/day.

These are my four little resolutions, the stuff I'm going to implement this week. I'll keep you posted on my progress, my struggles, etc. I fly to L.A. on Wednesday evening, and then again next week, and then somewheres else the next. The travel will make it tough to adhere to my nuanced lifestyle change program. But so what? Life's tough all over. Let's see if I can unfat myself somewhat!

I weighed in at a scrumptious 200 lbs. even this morning. My jeans are snugger than I want them to be. Let's see if a week makes any difference at all. I'll weight in again next Tuesday AM. Until then, I'll share a gripe or two, my progress and pitfalls. Good luck to me!

BECAUSE I'M PROUD TO BE BACK Y'ALL, AND THAT'S A FACT Y'ALL: So I'm just back from the vacation and buried at work and about to head up to Milwaukee for the rest of the day, but wanted to sort of leave a placeholder post in here about what's next:

Blogging about my big fat weight and about how I'm going to address it. Blogging about notebooks I keep that aim at self-awareness and such but seem not to make a difference. About Sundays. About writing poetry. This and that. Oh, and about the books I bought yesterday (Nick Hornby, this guy Harris writing about THE END OF FAITH, and Franzen's seductive HOW TO BE ALONE).

LOOKIN' DOWN ON CREATION: We're loving our place. It's a big old joint with a lofted living room, a huge master bedroom, and two more smaller bedrooms. Granite countertops, new stainless steel appliances, and a great tile floor. The highlight, literally, is a widow's walk at the top that offers a great view of the beach, which seems to feature more dolphins this year than ever. I am so not ready to head home.

GLORIFIED VERSION OF A PELICAN: A mom, a naked kid, and a pelican. Bliss! Picture deleted. [Too many creepy incoming links to it.]