Monday, January 29, 2007

"I'll have a Peanut Butter and Turbo Jam on white."

Saturday my wife got “Turbo Jam” in the mail.

Turbo Jam is not something that goes into a peanut butter sandwich for kids with A.D.D.

It’s another one of these sadistic exercise programs that people with “Abs” do.

Every time my wife gets one of these programs she insists on hopping, jumping, skipping, punching, kicking and stretching herself into odd shapes in the living room in front of my big screen T.V.

Just once I’d like to see that in the bedroom.

Well maybe not the punching and kicking.

Jane Fonda started this crap.


Here’s the first thing you see when you open the box “Turbo Jam” comes in:

“Guaranteed to burn 700 calories in just 45 minutes, as seen on TV!”

The only way you’re going to burn 700 calories in 45 minutes watching TV is if you spontaneously combust.

So my wife, who takes Aikido, boxing and kickboxing now wants to “Turbo Jam.”

God help me.

I’m already afraid when she comes home and says, “Want me to show you what I learned today?”

Now she’s going to learn this stuff right in my living room. So help me god this thing better not come with a sword.

So while my wife was at work. I popped in the “Turbo Jam” DVD just to see how bad this was going to be.

What they should say is “Guaranteed to turn you into a cripple in well under 45 minutes.”

You never see that, “As seen on TV.”


Who the hell smiles when they exercise like that?

It’s not normal.

What kind of freak enjoys this?

Here’s a warning to all of you. Never try to do any kind of exercise workout where the DVD starts out with the caption, “Learn and Burn.”

And $50 bucks says the woman who is the trainer in this video was a cheerleader in high school.

Anyone that happy should be beaten to death with a large salami.

Now I will give my wife credit. At least she uses the crap she buys on TV.

I on the other hand have my “Turbo” food dehydrator, “Turbo” grill, “Turbo” Juicer, “Turbo” slicer, “Turbo” Can opener, “Turbo” ice scream scoop, “Turbo” deep fryer, “Turbo” hot dog toaster, “Turbo” pasta maker, “Turbo” blender, “Turbo” meat tenderizer, “Turbo” panini maker, “Turbo flip and grip, “Turbo” chopper, “Turbo magic knife, “Turbo” bread maker and… my “Turbo” S’mores wizard.

Put them all together and what have I made with them?

Apple chips.


“Tony, how come you only buy food related products?”

I didn’t always.

Once I bought something called an AB – DOer.

My ABs – Don’t.

This may have been the single dumbest piece of exercise equipment since the Body Blade.

The Body Blade was a stick.

A stick.

$99.95 for a stick.

You should hand the “Body Blade” to a friend and then have him smack you over the head for being stupid enough to buy the thing.

The AB-Doer is based on the same principal that makes the “Tea Cups” spin at Disneyland.

Only you get to look like an idiot and puke in the comfort of your own living room.

“As seen on TV.”

I bought an AB-Doer because they said it was tested at San Diego State University.

Proving once and for all that more alcohol and drugs are consumed at that school than at an Oakland Raiders game.

By the way the weight limit on virtually every piece of exercise equipment sold on TV is 250 pounds.

Which is the average weight of anyone that would actually watch exercise on TV.

I also bought a “Bow – Flex”. That thing could be used to hunt wild turkey on the “Outdoors” channel.

My wife caught me going through her “Turbo Jam” stuff.

“What are you doing with my “Turbo Jam”?

“Uh… I’m practicing “The Secret”.

“The what?”

“The Secret.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Like attracts like.”


“That’s “The Secret”. I saw it on TV. The Law of Attraction, like attracts like. You see all I have to do is think happy thoughts and I’ll be rich, thin and healthy. So if I watch your “Turbo Jam” and think to myself, “I’ve done that, I’ve Turbo Jammed” then I don’t have to actually “Turbo Jam” which means I won’t be tired sore and hurt myself.”


“Power of the mind baby, power of the mind.”

“Would you “mind” giving me back my “Turbo Jam” box?

“You need to relax more, meditate be one with the universe, you know, like Buddha.

“Buddha was fat.”

“Probably should have used a “Buddha Blade”.


“Never mind, just hand me the remote. I need to see what they’re selling on the knife show.”

Friday, January 26, 2007

50 cent and Trans Fat live and in concert!

They say “fifty” is the new “thirty”.

Who the hell are “they”?

Since I’m turning fifty this year I’m trying to embrace the whole “fifty” is the new “thirty” thing.

I don’t want to be thirty again. I make way more money now than I did when I was thirty. My kids are out of the house, I can play with my grandkids, spoil them rotten and just hand them back. And I’m finally figuring out when my wife says, “I put it away” where “away” actually is. I have my place at the table, my place on the couch, my side of the bed, by little portion of our bedroom closet.

I earned all that.

Why the hell would I want to be thirty?

A friend answered this question like this:

“Because Tony, they mean “physically” that being fifty today is more like what being thirty used be. It’s a whole lifestyle and attitude thing as well.”

Bull poo.

Fifty is fifty. I know that because I’m turning into my father. I’m starting to look like “Al” from “Happy Days.”

And if “physically” fifty is the new thirty, then there are a whole lot of twenty nine year olds that are screwed.

I’m really not worried about turning fifty because they’ve addressed the whole “Trans Fat” issue.

When I first heard about the evils of “Trans Fat” I thought they were talking about an Asian street gang or a Vietnamese rapper.

But no, it’s some evil kind of fat.

Crisco announced this week that they are eliminating “Trans Fat” from their products in order to make them healthier.

Um…. It’s Crisco. They sell fat. That’s what they do. They make fat.

Has anyone really ever thought that Crisco was good for us?

Is anyone rushing out to buy Crisco because now it’s healthier?
It’s FAT!!!!

And guess what?

It makes things taste good.

You can eat the worst food in the world. You could eat pickled eel face. Cover it in fat, it’s amazing.

But let’s face it everything that tastes good is bad for us and everything that’s healthy tastes like pickled eel face over sawdust.

How come they can’t make a vegetable that tastes and crunches like a chocolate chip cookie?

How come they can’t make spinach the same taste and texture of pizza?

Because you have to have fat. The fat is the flavor.

Deep fry a lima bean it would probably rock!!!

Now I’m not going to rush out and eat pork rinds or fatback. I’ve never even seen fatback…. well there was that one girl in high school… man that was a bad drunk….


Where was I?

Oh yeah…

Fast food restaurants are all voluntarily eliminating Trans Fat. Thank god. I was worried that a Jumbo Mac Western Char Burger with Cheesy Curly Fries might be bad for me.

But as long as the Trans Fat is gone….

Take a moment to think about that. One has to ask the question. How bad is this stuff?

When was the last time an American corporation of any kind voluntarily removed anything unhealthy from a product?

This stuff must be pure poison.

It wouldn’t surprise me if the cigarette companies were buying up the entire surplus of Trans Fat and soaking tobacco leaves in it.

I wonder if it’s flammable?

$50 bucks says we’re going to ship the stuff to some third world country to feed their starving millions.

We’ll ship them wheat and Trans Fat to fry it in.

Why do we always ship wheat?

Wouldn’t beef jerky be a better idea?

Well I have to go eat an apple now.


I wonder what a deep fried apple tastes like.

Monday, January 08, 2007

How would Jesus decorate?

My father was a healer.

“What’s wrong with you today?”

“I’m feeling a little depressed.”

“Well… pull your head out of your ass.”

That response from my father is what we medically call “a given” and it has no discernable side effects.

We all have many “givens” in our lives. Some “givens” are good “givens”. Like it’s a “given” that you love your children until they learn how to drive and develop their own taste in music.

Then there are bad “givens”.

Three of my bad “givens” are also the three things in my life that I have to do that I can actually say I hate with a passion.

It’s a “given that I need to diet…

It’s a “given” that I need to exercise…

It is a “given”, that at some point, while putting up or taking down the Christmas decorations my wife is going to utter the following phrase:

“I’m missing a box.”


I would rather watch the movie “Ice Castles” thirty times in a row than put up or take down those stupid Christmas Decorations.

Now in truth I don’t actually decorate anything. My job is to get down the boxes and to assemble the tree so that someone with actual decorating ability i.e. my wife, can make the house look all “Christmassy”.

That’s right I have a fake tree.

I get a fake tree every year.

For those of you who hate fake Christmas trees I understand. I really do. As a matter of fact until four years ago we had a real Christmas tree every year. It’s not that I hate real Christmas trees. I hate going out and getting a real tree and then having to make sure it’s not deformed in some way. Even if I got the perfect tree I would have to spend an entire day trying to get the thing not to look like the “Leaning Christmas Tree of Pisa”.

So I made the switch to an artificial tree.

“But Tony why do you get a fake tree every year?”

Because I can’t get the thing to fit back in the damn box and I would rather spend a couple of hundred bucks than make myself crazy.

By the way they tend to get a tad upset when you drop off an artificial tree down at the recycling center.

So every stinking year we have to go through this ritual of putting up and taking down the decorations that nearly leads to divorce or a capitol crime.

“That’s it, that’s all of them.”

“I’m missing a box.”

“No you’re not, this is all the boxes.”

“If I go look for that box and I find it Calabrese I’m going to smack you on the back of the head.”

“Look honey, these are the SAME EXACT boxes I took down when we decorated in the first place. That’s it. That’s all of them. Why would I not take down all of the boxes? Why? Do you think I live for this moment? Do you think it’s some type of conspiracy? Maybe the decorations just swelled up. It’s been unusually dry. Everyone knows that red and green things swell up in a dry heat. Maybe that’s the reason they all don’t fit back in those boxes! Maybe the Christmas decoration fairy came along and duplicated all of them. Maybe that’s the problem. Why? Why? Why? Do you just assume I didn’t get down all of the boxes down?”

“Are you finished?”

“No I’m not. What if I’m up on that stepladder looking for that stupid box and we’re hit by an earthquake and I fall off and crack my skull open on the garage floor? That would be on your head woman! Merry Christmas your husband is dead. Here’s your stupid box. Are you happy now?”

“Uh huh… Okay sport here it is. Every year I say, I’m missing a box. You tell me that’s all the boxes. And what happens next?”


“That’s right! I find the missing box! Why? Because you’re an idiot. So why don’t you stop whining and get me the damn box???”

“Fine, but I’m changing my religion to something that doesn’t decorate. Has it even dawned on you that there where no decorations on the actual Christmas day? Unless the guy that owned the barn that Jesus was born in was a jolly old fat Jew that liked to dress in red I don’t think these decorations are appropriate.”

“Calabrese you’re pushing it.”

“Really… am I? Maybe next year I just want to celebrate the true meaning of Christmas.”

“Uh huh. What are you going to do? Bring farm animals and a manger into the house next year?”

“I’m just saying we should give the decorations to the homeless or something. A Christmas gesture so to speak.”

“Give the decorations to the homeless? So they can what? Decorate their shopping carts? Just get up there and look for that box!!!”

“Fine. Stupid decorations. Stupid, stupid decorations. I hate this. Stupid boxes.”

“Enough already.”


“What now?”

“I felt a tremor. Hold the ladder.”

“I swear I’m going to bop you in the head Calabrese. What is that right there?”

“Um…. A box.”

“The missing box?”


“So if you had just looked for the box instead of whining and causing problems you could have been done an hour ago?” Is that what you’re saying?”

“Uh… no… not exactly….I was just… it was just…”

“Uh huh…”

“At least I don’t have to do this for another year.”

“You’re forgetting Easter.”


Wednesday, January 03, 2007

"Carpe Abdum"

It’s here.


The year of the……..

I don’t know but it’s probably some animal that tastes just like chicken.

I been listening to people drone on and on about how this year is going to be different and this year their resolutions going to be to lose weight, eat right, save money, be a better husband, wife, mother, father whatever and blah blah blah….

Well not me.

In the past I would be all Gung Ho about diet and exercise and I would just end up hungry and injured.

Well I’m not setting myself up for failure again.

Not me.

I’m setting my sights on an actual doable resolution.

By the end of this year I’m going to have an…


That’s right.

None of this “kill myself” at the gym crap.

“We’ve got to work on your “Abs” to strengthen your core Tony.”

That’s what they always tell me.

But what if deep down at my core I’m a fat guy? What about that? Did they ever think of that?

So I’ll exercise.

A little.

But I’m not shooting for a “six pack”.

I just want one good “Ab”.

If I do that every year then six years from now I’ll be good to go.

My second, and only other resolution, is to get this song out of my head.

It’s from that Heineken Beer TV commercial.

“Don’t you wish your girlfriend was hot like me?”

Dammit! I can’t even type it without thinking of that stupid song.

My wife won't let me even have a girlfriend.

Do you have any idea what it’s like to be a forty-nine year old Italian man in line at Home Depot and have that stupid song come out of your mouth?

I don’t even realize I’m singing the damn thing.

It’s almost as bad as when I was hooked on, “You make me feel like a natural woman.”

Why me?

With my luck I’ll be at the gym working on my “Ab” and one of those songs will pop into my head.

Oh well, at least when I have the one good “Ab” those gym rats will have to give me some R.E.S.P.E.C.T.