Ba da Ba Ba Ba

I read a study online this morning that was conducted by interviewing 63 low-income pre-schoolers (certainly this means they hail from low-income FAMILIES… I don’t think my ego could ever take hearing of a HIGH-income pre-schooler individually…) between the ages of 3 and 5, which asked them to rate food – 3 items from McDonald’s and then regular vegetables and fruits… some of which were served on a tray and some of which were wrapped in McDonald’s packaging – based on taste.

The food that was not wrapped in McDonald’s wrappers lost ALMOST EVERY. SINGLE. TASTE TEST. Even carrots, milk, and apple juice tasted better when wrapped in McD’s wrappers. In fact, 77% of the kids preferred the McDonald’s-wrapped French fries to the McDonald’s-UNWRAPPED French fries.

The results of this taste garnered a wide variety of reactions, most notably the lambasting of McDonald’s advertising for hooking these kids at such an early age, while the other camp hung the parents of these kids out to dry for not practicing responsible parenting.

The fact of the matter is, not one single reaction asked the largest question that popped out at me: Is this really a smart study? By asking that, what I really mean is – are 63 kids truly representative of the overall? Not only that, but the study clearly indicated that these were low-income families, and only 2 (2!) of the kids had never eaten at McDonald’s, while one-third ate at McDonald’s once a week.

I’ll go right out on a soapbox here and say that McDonald’s is not to blame. But everyone else is.

I say that not because I am a marketing professional and thereby make my living creating marketing and advertising campaigns (though not to sell French fries or hamburgers), but as a marketing professional who understands pricing structures and business models to know you can’t hold them responsible when they’re doing business.

Granted, it’s subsidized business, and therein lies the problem.

I don’t eat at McDonald’s, with the sole exception of road trips to Ohio and a somewhat-ritualistic swing through one at the Breezewood, Pennsylvania changeover. However, right before I entered into my Renaissance Year here and made a pact to eat crazily healthily, I considered a ceremonial stop right before as a send-off… if only because I realized that of all my choices, nothing would signify “unhealthy” quite as powerfully as the Golden Arches. I never made it… and I can’t remember what I even settled for.

I think the problem isn’t McDonald’s doing business and advertising their products; I think the problem is the fact that in order to eat as nutritionally as possible, your budget for food needs to be considerably larger than if you’re going to take advantage of a well-publicized dollar menu.

This is highlighted pretty strongly by the fact that the potato industry is highly subsidized – the entire industry is assisted enough by the government that McDonald’s is able to sell French fries at artificial (read: affordable) prices. (The counter argument is that the ENTIRE industry is subsidized, so places like Whole Foods or Kroger also pay artificial prices.) The kicker of course is that then again, the items available at McDonald’s versus a wholly nutritional diet are all presented at less than market prices.

This is pretty relevant to me these days… Fresh foods and fruits don’t seem to last as long as sodium-charged soups or snacks. Convenience is inexpensive when held up against the right diet. Hey – Styrofoam takes a while to break down in the environment… can’t we just start throwing strawberries and grapes and asparagus into McDonald’s old Styrofoam packaging and let it keep for a month or so?

SIDENOTE: One of my recent birthday purchases for myself was – via the power of Ebay – a complete set of all 8 McDonald’s Happy Meal toys of the Legion of Super-Heroes. It’s a sharp, rare day that the Legion of Freakin’ Super-Heroes is available as a toy at McDonald’s, but not enough of a rare day to get me to eat there during Renaissance Year.

And I do very well when I don’t think about how those same toys were intended for the same pre-schoolers surveyed above.

Chipping Away

I came to a realization this morning in regards to some potential fall plans I was expecting to come to fruition: I don't think I'll be going to Los Angeles this year to pitch projects.

There are a couple of reasons - some financial, some scheduling-related, and so forth - but the biggest reason is that I haven't worked hard enough this past year on my screenwriting or my film pursuits to warrant that trip. In a weird way, I don't think I earned it, but most importantly, I don't think I'd make the most of it this go-around, whereas I can use that time and that money much more wisely. In fact, all of the plans I'm making now and changes I'm instituting inspire me for next year's trip and to re-double my efforts.

So it looks like a pass for this year, after all.

But wait - all is not lost! Knowing I'm not going in two months has kick-started some inspiration after all... as evidenced by the email I just sent off to my best film agent contact out west, pitching a new project and reinforcing my desire to work with her one day. Hopefully by reaching out I'll have maintained that connection and possibly garnered some interest in a project I've been picking at for a little while now.

I also recently learned that I was apparently a finalist for a From the Heart Productions Writer's Grant I applied for way back when. My script advanced to the top 20% before ultimately bowing out. Damn. Two to four weeks tucked away in a cottage in New Zealand always sounds nice.

****

It's Sunday, which means I should be holing up in the kitchen this evening for a new recipe. That's the plan with my first-ever lasagna attempt, but I found time this week to break out a spinach souffle-stuffed chicken as well, which, if anything, is keeping with my intention of trying to expand not only what I eat but also how I make it.

****

If you're going to be in the D.C. area the first weekend in October, make sure you check out the Green Festival at the D.C. Convention Center. There'll be a lot of great tips and exhibits on sustainability and conservation... oh, and I'll be there volunteering, as well.

****

I think my options are too limited for that big race next year... so San Francisco it is. Come see me on August 3rd of '08. I suppose my watching of the documentary "The Bridge," about those who commit suicide by leaping from the Golden Gate Bridge might have been ill-timed. That, coupled with my ultimate fear of bridges and the recent Minneapolis collapse really strike me as overly coincidental.

F it, who wants pie?

(That above last line is a joke.

I can't even have pie.)

Conundrum One

A year in advance, and it’s time to analyze some options and make a decision…

The marathon I was starting to eyeball for next July, the San Francisco Marathon, has released its event date, and it falls on Sunday, August 3rd, 2008. Ten days after my 30th birthday.

This, of course, poses a potential problem. I’d sort of “unofficially selected” the San Francisco event since it presented the largest option out of all the July marathon events… and that means it has the potential to be better organized, better attended, and better stocked with fluid stations and such along the way. Plus, more runners would be there, which would help me hide my tears of immense pain amongst a throng of strangers.

The other options felt more like it’d be me, crying alone in a field full of moose. And that’s happened far too many times in my life for my tastes.

I’m kidding.

It’s only happened twice.

Ahem.

So I have to weigh my options again, and determine how badly I want to pull off that part of this year before the actual birthday and whether or not I can give it a 10-day reprieve. I’m leaning right now towards finding a race within the July-to-July timeframe here, but that means my next best bet is probably the Calgary Marathon.

And there are serious moose in Calgary.

A tough part of the challenge of the next 12 months isn’t going to be my organizational skills, of which I brag incessantly and tout repeatedly via multiple To Do lists and page after page of plans. Instead, the ravages of time are going to be the toughest battle from sunrise to sunset each and every day.

Staying motivated is one part, but fitting said motivation to check off every To Do item in three hours before you’re allowed to downgrade to a slower speed is the heavier task.

I found this to be wholly self-evident yesterday, when I had intended to play basketball, straighten up my apartment, do dishes, clean my shower, cook a brand-new meal I’ve never tried before, do laundry, AND go into work for a few hours to finish up a project that was thrust on top at the last minute for this coming week. I had these lofty goals and the secret ambition to read and get some writing done all on tap for the day’s work, and when the dust settled… the results weren’t as fascinating as their expectation.

I straightened up in the morning, then went into work for a few hours. The humidity in D.C. was such that I wasn’t a pretty sight by my arrival downtown, but five hours or so later all was wrapped up there.

With that deadline-oriented task out of the way, I marched home and…

And…

And didn’t accomplish very much. I rationalized away a Sunday workout, and the three hours laundry would most likely have taken with the laundry room back-up. Before long the shower cleaning slipped away and I settled on cooking dinner and doing the dishes.

My day was a “Just Barely Over 50 Percent” day. And as I’m expecting, being just over fifty percent isn’t going to get me one hundred percent of where I want to be.

But tick tock, tick tock.

And we're off!

She laughed as she folded and stapled the paper.

“Why do you think this is so funny?” I asked.

“I don’t! I think it’s great that you’re doing this. I may have to do the same,” she replied.

She handed me the folded and locked down strip and I quickly scribbled “JULY 2007” on the top.

I had just had a body fat percentage test completed, but I refused to hear the results. I won’t need to know them anyway, until 12 months from now, when I retake the test and compare the Aaron of ’07 with a hopeful new one of ’08.

And thus my Renaissance Year is completely up and running. I’m back in the gym and my diet has improved… gone are the breads and the pastas and the potatoes and sweets. Present are the fruits and actual vegetables and meats.

I’m happy to report that I haven’t set foot in a Starbucks since Monday… despite my co-workers proffering up a gift card for my birthday. The birthday itself was completely unforgettable… with some nice surprises along the way.

Since then I’ve gone and bought some of the new items I need along the way… such as a real, honest-to-god spice rack for my plan to cook a brand-new recipe once a week and expand some culinary abilities. And a tea kettle so I can finally be that guy who gets up on the weekends and reads the paper and drinks tea. Plus I’ve even started my fight against wastefulness, as I’m reducing my power intake by 20% just by unplugging appliances when not in use and avoiding “vampire power.”

You’re probably laughing yourself. But – a year from now… the results will speak for themselves.

Baby Steps, Baby Steps

I reached up and felt the back of my neck for the twelve thousandth time around seven o'clock. It was instinctive. It was obsessive.

It was yielding results.

For years now, since I moved to the East Coast, I've watched the back of my neck undergo an unfortunate transformation to something akin to psoriasis. Red, dry bumps dotted the landscape with no explanation, and the toll this newfound condition took on my self-esteem was apparent, if not overwhelming.

Instead of taking a simple step and visiting a dermatologist years ago, I did what any other non-commital individual would do, particularly in the early 70s -- I grew my hair longer.

Truth be told, the short length I'd preferred up to that point looked horrendous, but no one ever told me. And in fact, some length in back looked much better, not counting the fact that it served to conceal the back of my neck, except when a barber or stylist was going to work and made the expected yet depressing observation.

"You've got a large number of red bumps on the back of your neck."

Sigh. Yes. I know. Please, never ever mention it again.

A couple of weeks ago, I started a new full-time position in downtown Washington, D.C. A true respite from my last job, this new place of employment provided me with not only a strong argument for happiness, but also instant insurance.

I began calling dermatologists the very next day. And one week ago, with my Renaissance Year looming, I stopped into one at 7:45 in the morning and told them it was time to clear up the psoriasis after all.

Only it wasn't psoriasis, it was some other long and clinical condition that required 3 prescriptions and triple figures in co-pays.

But a week later... and it's working. I can't see if the back of my neck is red, but the bumps are subsiding rapidly. Between an anti-biotic and a solution and a cream, I'm waging all-out war against some tiny little piece of me I was never truly happy about, even if I did my best to just not acknowledge it at all.

Such is the next year, hopefully. Which begins in about 2 hours, but I'll hopefully be fast asleep and on my way.

T-Minus 36 Hours

I’m taking my time today with my tasty Starbucks beverage. After all… I’m not going to be able to have it anymore, in just 2 short days.

On Tuesday, I turn 29 years old.

This isn’t a major birthday accomplishment, certainly… it doesn’t end with a zero, and I gain no new rights or abilities that I otherwise haven’t been allowed these previous 28 years. But yet, when I dig much deeper, this birthday is huge. This birthday is the biggest one yet.

This birthday is the Renaissance Birthday.

(By Renaissance I certainly don't mean I'm becoming a minstrel this year. Maybe next year. Hell, I knew there was no way to make it sound good.)

Starting on Tuesday and for a starter period of the next twelve months, I am setting about on a pretentious period of dynamic and sweeping change… to my health, to my career and finances, to my relationships, all the way down to my surroundings in society (and if you take that to mean I’m going to be doing a lot more recycling, you’ve got me dead to rights).

Some of these changes will be small and sublime – for instance, me purchasing energy-saving light bulbs, which is one of the early items on the list – won’t necessarily affect my screenwriting projects, but when taken all toll, the entire twelve months are going to produce a leaner, happier, healthier me… just in time for my 30th birthday.

A sample of the tasks include:
* Radically overhauling a diet to say goodbye to some LONG-TERM staples… such as non-whole grain breads and pastas, sugar, beer, those ridiculous Cinnamon Mini-Bagels from Pepperidge Farm that I'm convinced are laced with black tar heroin, and the most difficult goodbye… Starbucks
* Creating a savings account and preparing for actual adult purposes… such as a new car and possibly real estate... unless I just move back in with my parents
* Expanding my worldview to include much more culturally diverse offerings – museum stops, a reading list that would choke a horse (provided you attempted to make said horse eat a pile of books), learning Spanish, and more
* The Big One – training properly and completing a marathon next July… right before the 30th birthday. This serves a couple of purposes… it will instill better discipline in my physical life, it will give me time to focus on a large goal, and it will exorcise the Philadelphia Marathon Demon that looms still to this day.

And I’ll be here… from time to time… keeping myself honest and moving 12 months forward into the 30s and out of the period of quarter life crises and malaise.

Kennedy once said “If not now, when?” The time is definitely now.

After this visit to Starbucks, I mean.