My own evolution is forever ongoing.
For long, it seemed most natural to distinguish myself from the general Paleo by relying on my blogging experience, going back to 2003 (Paleo didn’t enter the scene until mid-2007—5 years later). Paleo definitely grew the blog substantially; but only to a point (quadrupled, essentially), where it has remained for some time.
It’s time to evolve, again. In know: it’s so unseemly. Evolution stopped 10-12,000 years ago and our job, now, is to contrive doctrines (‘X ways to Y’), because people still want their Neolithic spoon feeding. But I got into blogging in the first place simply because I enjoy writing what I think in any given moment and the fact that I have hundreds of thousands—millions even—eyeballs on that over time is a welcome reward. And I’m not kind or placating or pandering, or blogging about the “popular,” even.
It really is. It’s amazing, when you think about it. I’ve never, ever had the misfortune of this idea: oh, I have to blog something. Usually, I have to sit on my ideas for a while. I tend to email those ideas to myself, let them age and ripen in my inbox, and then see a few days later if I still want to blog about them. That’s a lot of my posts. And then there are the others—ironically the most popular, at least in terms of comment hysteria—where I have an idea, and 30-60 minutes later, it’s a post. I never limit myself. I never second guess myself: I shut my eyes, grit my teeth, and hit Publish. Let chips fall.
Way back in the Paleo of Paleo (we’re in the Neo-Paleo, now), everyone was so excited. I’ve always embraced such excitement. …In 2nd grade, I became enamored of dinosaurs. For two years, it was all I could talk about (ask my mom)…until volcanos came into my sphere of awareness around 4th grade. That lasted until I discovered motorcycles in the 5th. Cars overtook that in the 6th or 7th. Eventually…finally and, even concurrently, I noted that girls did indeed exist and by some inexplicable miracle of the way things out to be, they had been cured of cooties.
Thank Venus and Aphrodite. …All yooz, too.
There are many ways to reflect upon a life lived. My preferred way is in the context of passions embraced and acted upon. That’s ultimately a recognition of the finiteness of life—to me, an aesthetic and atheistic ideal wrapped in one; and if not in theory: at least in practice. I’ll take it.
In terms of the quotidian nature of the blog and its comments, I myself have become weary of the sort of “moderation” of comments I’ve used over the years. Rather than delete or ban, they get a “fuck off;” or, ‘I see you have some point,’ “fuck you.” That kept things honest to my mind, because I always go out of my way to celebrate really contributive or thoughtful comments to balance everything out: keep the gods placated and the entire Universe as a whole in balance because, y’know, we’re “all in this shit together.”
Alas, there are still too many monkeys screeching in trees, and so my passion for that sort of ideal has really been a failure, ultimately. In reality, there are less than 1% of regular readers who actively comment. In a sense, they are partners with you (me) in whatever you’re (I’m) trying to achieve. And, they get to know each other, which creates a coffee shop or pub, of sorts…if not hookups, and mum’s the word.
…Sock puppets, on the other hand, only scan for masturbation opportunities (they just use their sock on a different appendage).
Nonetheless, I’m tired of it in the general evolutionary scheme of things and so I just delete any comment I don’t like and that doesn’t contribute to the general positive discourse. From here out, I’m going to do this differently, since if I delete a comment that has replies under it, they go away too. I’m simply going to edit the comment:
“This moron’s comment has been redacted to zero by this blog’s owner.”
See, I always do things differently.
On to the practicalities
I love how someone needs to tell me in comments they’re not going to read anymore, and why. I’m deleting or redacting those, too. Just stop reading, if that suits you. I agree to not come into your living room and tell you why I think you’re a pathetic reader in the first place.
Richard is so fat. That he had a serious injury causing chronic pain over many months—and much self medication—doesn’t matter. I’m disqualified—by 20-somethings who never helped anyone—from helping anyone, in spite of helping very many…a lot kinda just like me. …I’m at a disadvantage in this because of the Neolithic idea of ideal body comp. For instance, my legs, arms, back and ass are quite lean. For example, quite easy for me to have a ripped back.
That was over a year of progress, mid 2009 – mid 2010, about 6 months before the injury that changed everything physical and mental for me. Sock Puppets Don‘t Care; Sock Puppets Don‘t Give a Shit.
Nope: frontal 6-pack, or you’re fucked. Yea? Fuck you. In fact, I come from complete ice age, northern European stock, according to 23andMe, on both sides. Every single relative of mine, male and female, has the bulk of body fat on their stomach. Everyone, me included, has lean feet & legs, hands & arms, and backs. None of us store any appreciable fat on buttocks, hips, or back.
But I just move along. It is very difficult for me to explain the complexity of my state of mind when I get a sock puppet like that in comments. I used to engage for fun, but at 52 in January, I’ve come to realize they aren’t worth anything more that a smile and delete. I have a ton of projects on my table, including a hopeful departure from “The Land of the Free,” eventually. My life will be a complete failure if I don’t get off this sinking ship (if not in practical terms, philosophic, which is important to me). My abiding passion is to be an emigrant from the United States…to film the burning of my US passport. I don’t want to die an American, anymore. I don’t want to be an American, anymore.
…But I’m excited about a lot, again and finally. So, with my milk escapades and back in the gym, I’ve gained 2 nice solid pounds in the last three weeks. That is, my shirt is tighter around the shoulders, back & chest, my pants tighter around the thighs, belt in a notch. In a word: fucking amazing. OK, two words… (you only have to listen to the fist 1:30 to get the reference).
Eventually, I’ll want to look to lean a bit—but maybe not a lot. Frankly, I’m a solid Northern European mesomorph and I prefer big & strong. I got down to 175 (pics here), looking almost ectomorphic, and that was really the turning point for me from feeling great all the time to feeling like shit all the time—cold hands, feet, bad attitude, etc. And I still didn’t even have “abs.”
..In other news, the workouts are sublime and I have managed to avoid even a hint of further injury. Even though it’s so difficult to not push myself, I’ve gone from deadlifts at 205 for 3 sets of 5 reps, to 255 for 3 sets of 5 reps, and even that was fucking easy. Thanks for all the concern and I appreciate it. I love DLs above all, and I’m going to do them classic, and I’m going to get over 300# once again. I’m built for it. I love it, and I have no fear, just caution.
A modest goal: 300# DLs or better, up until the very last breath.
Fuck sock puppets.