Going To The Gym: A Nevin Barich Blog Experience

I exercise regularly. Not everyone knows this about me, but up until the age of 15, I was fat, reaching the weight of 200 pounds. I was the chubby kid, being teased about my size and the like. But luckily, one day in the locker room in high school, I looked down at my legs, and saw that they looked like flabby tree trunks and basically ate up my underwear.

And it made me do two things:

1) Start exercising.

And 2) Switch to boxer shorts. :-)

Five months later, I had lost 60 pounds and kissed my fat days goodbye. And though I spent several years working out entirely at home, in my early 20s I started working out at the gym and today still go there three times a week to lift weights.

And in my eight years of attending a fitness gym, here is what I have discovered:

I'm like a lot of us. I go to the gym in a ratty T-shirt and sweats or shorts, do my workout and leave. Whether we're men or women, we go to the gym, do our thing, and get the hell out of there.

Quick. Easy. Simple.

But then you have these guys who spend hours in the gym showing off how strong they are to anyone who will watch. They grunt, they swear, they do that "I'm flexing but I'm trying to act like I'm not really flexing" thing. They want women to look at them and ask for their help in moving heavy weights. They want other guys to ask them how long it took them to lift so much, so they can explain their diet-and-training regimen and feel important.

If you're like me, you roll your eyes at such nonsense. Because I have...you know, a life.

And then you have these women who wear these ridiculously skimpy sports bras as their workout top, but they don't want guys to talk to them. Rather, they just want guys to look at them, watch those guys squirm as they try desperately not to gawk, and laugh on the inside at the guys' pathetic attempts to try and find something -- anything -- to say to them that sounds like the reason for speaking to them has nothing to do with the skimpy sports bra.

Now as a fellow guy, I freely admit: I look at the skimpy sports bra girls. I mean...hey. :-) But I ask my female readers: Does this make sense to you? Do you think your fellow females are helping the women's movement any by going to the gym in ridiculously skimpy sports bras and playing the "look at me and just try not to gawk at me" game?

I'm thinking of you here, ladies.

And finally: You got this thing where guys put their gym towels on the workout machine and walk away for 20 minutes. The idea behind this is to have dibs on the machine so no one else uses it.

Personally, I ignore it. I don't have time for someone to do a set of chest press, put his towel on the machine, and walk away for 20 minutes pretending to flex and figuring out what to say to skimpy sports bra chick. So I take the towel down, do my 1-2 sets, and then put the towel back on.

And you wouldn't believe the arguments I've gotten from people. "Hey man, my towel was on that thing!!" Yeah, I know. But you're nowhere in sight. And there's only one ab crunch machine here and, last I checked, you and your towel don't own it!! You don't want me to use it so that I don't "interrupt your muscle-tuning flow?" (seriously, that's what one guy said to me) Then hang around the machine and use it.

You know?

Maybe if I wore a skimpy sports bra, the gym towel guy would spend so much time trying to figure out how to talk to me that I could do my workout and leave before he could think of something to say.

Just a thought.

:-)

And now for this week's:

SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE

I'm a big believer in selling out. Unlike a lot of people, I don't look down upon a big-time celebrity who hocks stupid items for money. Hell, I would if given the chance!! Money is money, I always say.

But even I was cringing when I saw Mr. T in a commercial for The World of Warcraft. Mr. T, no one loves you more than I do, particularly after your depiction of Clubber Lang in one of my all-time favorite movies Rocky III.

But the mohawk grenade?

C'mon now. Times aren't that tough.

The Jew Who Loved Christmas: A Nevin Barich Blog Experience

Before I get into this week's blog, I wanted to say a few words about my friend Cindy's blog entitled Lab Rehab. The blog chronicles Cindy's joys and heartache (mostly joys) of fostering Labrador retrievers for Southern California Labrador Retriever Rescue. The organization helps find temporary homes for Labs, particularly older Labs, until they can find a permanent home. Many of these poor doggies suffered from abuse from their former owners, and volunteers like Cindy provide loving temporary homes and help them get adopted.

Cindy has been a member for about six months now, has already helped two Labs find homes, and is currently sharing her home with a third one, Zoe. If you or anyone you know would like to volunteer in any way to the SCLRR, go here.

Now let's talk about Jews and Christmas. :-)

All Jews loves Christmas. That's a fact. If you've met a Jewish person who acts nonchalant about Christmas, believe me when I tell you: They're putting up a brave front.

I mean, what's not to love? Christmas lights are awesome. Christmas trees rock. Egg Nog is one of the greatest drinks known to man. Christmas cookies are yummy. Santa Claus brings you gifts. And everyone gets the day off work!!

But if you're Jewish like me, you've heard the following statement from people a million times in your life:

You like Christmas? But...you're Jewish!!

Now let's back up just a bit.

When was it decided that Jews weren't allowed to celebrate Christmas? Why am I not allowed to sit on Santa's lap? Why is Christmas for Christians, Catholics and Protestants only?

(I'm probably missing a whole slew of people with that last statement, but you get my point)

I love Christmas. I do Christmas shopping. I wear the red hat on Christmas day. I've taken a photo with Santa, both at age 4 and age 23. I listen to Christmas songs incessantly -- in fact, I had an argument the other day about whether Christmas Canon was really a Christmas song (it is, people). And every Christmas season, I take Egg Nog, pour in some chocolate syrup, add a touch of milk, stir, and create what I call:

Nev Nog.

That's right.

Nev Nog.

Created by a disciple of Abraham.

And I'm sick and tired of being looked upon like I'm a psycho because of my association with Moses!! Christmas is for everyone, damn it!!

Here's the deal:

Jews have always been secretly jealous of Christmas. Oh sure, we have Chanukah. But the facts are: Chanukah gelt (chocolate) sucks, dreidel gets old, and even though we get eight days of gifts, most of it is schlock.

(Note: "Schlock" is Jew for "crap")

Non-Jews, meanwhile, are secretly jealous of Chanukah, because they feel like it's an extra holiday that they simply don't get to celebrate. And they're mad that several Jews are getting double the celebration.

So here's my plan to bridge the gap:

Non-Jews: Feel free to partake in potato latkes every year. Add Chanukah to your holiday regimen. There's room at the table!! Join us. We'll eat gelt.

Jews, meanwhile, should feel free to celebrate Christmas without persecution.

Because I want to listen to These Christmas Shoes this holiday season, and do so in peace.

:-)

And now for this week's:

SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE

OK, Tiger Woods is the biggest dumb ass known to man. Besides the obvious that has been occurring this week, he cheated on this woman.

I mean, dude. Seriously. What the hell? When is enough enough?

Thanksgiving Corn's Dramatic Comeback: A Nevin Barich Blog Experience

(Nevdogg Note: Last year, I wrote about how corn had once again returned to my Thanksgiving meal after an absence of several years. I love corn, and never did understand why it was somehow eliminated from the Thanksgiving meal menu. Because I have so many new readers from last year, and because what I wrote was pretty damn funny in my opinion, I have opted to re-post my blog from last year about Thanksgiving corn's dramatic comeback. Enjoy!!)

Last night at my Thanksgiving table, I greeted an old friend. It had been years since I'd seen him. Years since he and I shared a turkey day together. It had been far too long, and seeing him yesterday truly warmed my heart.

I call this friend:

Corn.

:-)

Ah, corn. Sweet, tender, buttery, delectable corn. The perfect side dish on my Thanksgiving plate.

Study your history. The Indians gave the pilgrims turkey, potatoes, gravy, yams, Ruffles, french onion dip, chocolate-covered cherries, diet pepsi and...

Corn. :-)

As a kid growing up, I spent several Thanksgiving getting acquainted with this wonderfully starchy vegetable. But something happened over the past several years:

Corn disappeared from Thanksgiving.

The turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy remained in abundance, but corn for some reason was no longer on the menu.

:-(

At first, I confess: I didn't think much of it. Perhaps someone had forgotten, focused on making more yams. But the following year, corn was again missing. The year after that, same thing. And the year after that, no corn.

So a few years back, I began my campaign to get corn back on the Thanksgiving menu. But a process I thought would take little time took six years. Unbeknownst to me, there's a lot of anti-corn sentiment in this world. 2003, 2004, 2005, 6 and 7: Each year, I argued for the return of corn on Thanksgiving and each year I was brutally rebuffed.

I heard every excuse in the world. It's too much trouble. No one eats it. It's boring. It's yellow. It's no good cold. Our old people can't eat it off the cob.

But I don't give up easily. I was determined to see corn and Thanksgiving united again. And so, I continued to fight the good fight, and in 2008 I went to my mom and asked her this:

Mom, I have wanted to see corn on the Thanksgiving table for so long. Would you be the one to stop the madness and unite corn with Thanksgiving once again?

And you know what she said?

Sure. I'll make a corn casserole.

NO!! Jesus, how complicated can this possibly be? I'm not asking for kobe beef or homemade cheese. It's corn!! Freakin' corn!! Go to the market, head to the frozen food section, and grab a bag of Jolly Green Giant.

Without putting it into a God damn casserole!!

Jews and their casseroles. A topic for another blog. :-)

And I know what some of you are thinking:

Nev, if you wanted corn so bad, why didn't you just make it yourself?

Because it defeats the entire purpose of the ideal male Thanksgiving!! If you're a guy, the best Thanksgiving food is the food you don't make yourself. It has to be made by someone else, preferably a woman (that's right, I said it), to bring out the ideal flavor. Otherwise, it's just not the same.

Men reading this blog know what I'm talking about.

But luckily, fate stepped in.

I got a call from my mom two weeks ago. She tried making the corn casserole. It didn't come out good (shock of shocks). So as a fallback, she was going to make corn.

The casserole taketh. And the casserole giveth.

So last night, corn returned to Thanksgiving.

And it was goooood.

:-)

And now for this week's:

SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE

Recently, a man married a video game.

Yep.

A man married a video game.

In another sign that the world is about to collapse, a fan of the Nintendo DS dating sim Love Plus liked his virtual lady so much that he decided to marry her. For real.

I hope he didn't buy her a ring. That's all I got to say.

Being One Of The Last People On Earth To Own A Flip Phone: A Nevin Barich Blog Experience

I own a cell phone that flips.

Otherwise known as the flip phone.

You remember the flip phone, don't you? It's a cell phone where you flip open the front to reveal the number keypad.

Then you call someone.

The flip phone.

I own one. And it serves me well.

I don't own one of these fancy phones. I don't own an iPhone, where you can take pictures, check traffic, shoot video, instant message people, check the weather in Singapore, and simulate swinging a golf club for the latest game application you downloaded.

Conversely, I don't own a Blackberry, which simulates a mini keyboard like you would find on your computer and is meant to make it easier to text, but is in fact 100 times harder because -- if you're like me and your fingers are the size of, you know, a human -- you keep pressing five keys at once.

So instead, I stay with my flip phone. And it can perform the following functions:

Dial.

You should see people's reaction when they see me whip out my flip phone. They look at me like I'm an Amish woman in a gay-and-lesbian bar...

(apologies to my Amish readers)

...and treat me like I churn my own butter.

Among the comments I receive:

You don't own an iPhone?

They still make those?

You text with a number pad?

Can that thing...do anything?

Can "that thing" do anything? Yeah, dumb ass, it can call a person!! And it wasn't long ago that that was all we needed a phone to do!!

Here's the problem with America today: We've become a society where your phone has to do everything for you. It's not a freakin' tool box, it's a phone. It should have one function. It should not act as your camera. It should not act as your music player. It should not act as your television.

And it sure as hell shouldn't act as your lighter!!

Have you seen this application on the iPhone? Apparently, you can download an app that simulates a cigarette lighter. So when you go to concerts, instead of taking out a regular lighter during the "take out your lighter and sway it around" moments, you instead can whip out your phone, turn on your lighter app, and move that back and forth.

I mean...c'mon.

All I'm saying is that I don't want "calling somebody" to be feature No. 26 on my phone. I want it to be its primary use. Because damn it, that's normal.

And I like normal.

The rest of you aren't normal.

I'm normal.

Unlike you.

One day, you're going to expect your phone to raise your kids.

And I'll tell you right now:

Your kids are going to grow up fat.

:-)

And now for this week's:

SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE

I now have 13 followers on Twitter!!!

And I only know six of them.

:-)

The Obsession With Twitter: A Nevin Barich Blog Experience

Would someone explain to me this obsession with Twitter?

Here's how I understand it:

Someone signs up for a Twitter account and he or she does nothing but let you know what he or she is thinking or doing or seeing or eating or drinking at any point throughout the day.

And people can sign up and follow you on Twitter, so that you can know what someone other than yourself is thinking or doing or seeing or eating or drinking at any point throughout the day.

Sound about right?

My wife -- Daily News sports columnist Ramona Shelburne -- has a Twitter account and more than 1,200 followers. She's always asking me to follow her on Twitter and my answer is always the same:

Honey, we're married. I already know what you're thinking or doing or seeing or eating or drinking at any point throughout the day. Now you want me to follow that online?

When you said we needed to communicate more, I assumed you meant, you know, talking.

But apparently, I'm living in the past.

And beyond that, why is it so interesting to following the twits...

Is it twits or tweets? Is it tweets? It's tweets, isn't it? Jesus.

Why is it so interesting to follow the tweets of people you don't know? At least on Facebook, I know these people (or have at least met them). But I really don't care that Shaquille O'Neal has finished a burrito. Or that Jessica Simpson found great shoes. Or that Jennifer Aniston insists that she and John Meyer are still good friends.

I just don't care. And I don't know why others care when I don't care.

By the way, while writing this blog, Ramona walked into the house, found out I was writing about Twitter and told me that the reason I don't get Twitter is because I'm not following her on Twitter and maybe if I joined the 1,200-plus other morons who followed her on Twitter, I would become a moron who understood it too.

I'm paraphrasing a smidge. :-)

Listen, for those of you who tweet regularly, let me say this:

I know you have thoughts.

I know you have feelings.

I know you have a voice yearning to be heard.

But no one gives a damn.

I mean, I'm sorry, but you're just not interesting. You did the laundry? Good for you. You LOLed at the latest episode of Glee? Great. Got bad gas? Maybe you should keep that to yourself.

The world was less complicated when folks didn't share anything. Simple were the days when we kept everything inside.

One final note:

I have just joined Twitter.

Because I'm actually funny.

:-)

And now for this week's:

SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE

To be honest, this isn't a real SOTS, but I had to share: A few months ago for my birthday, Ramona got me tickets to the USC-Stanford football game today. I'm a longtime USC fan and she's a Stanford alum. USC lost 55-21, the most points they've ever given up.

Thanks for the tickets, babe.

But next year for my birthday gift, get me a colon cleansing. I think I'd enjoy that more.

Video Games Are Getting Too Complicated: A Nevin Barich Blog Experience

Have video games today gotten too complicated?

My oldest friend Josh and I had an in-depth conversation about this the other night outside of a Burger King in Northridge, where he was smoking a cigarette and I was nursing a diet coke. As we took to our respective vices, we reminisced on how there used to be a Malibu Grand Prix just down the road -- featuring a huge arcade center -- and it got us talking about the video games that kids today are growing up on and how there's a whole generation out there who have never heard of the Nintendo Entertainment System.

Ah, the Nintendo Entertainment System. Now that was a system!! Lots of different games, lots of different premises, and most importantly: Simplistic. Consider the controller the Nintendo used. It consisted of:

---A directional pad, which had the following options:

Up.

Down.

Left.

Right.

---An "A" button.

---And a "B" button.

That was it. That was all we had growing up. And you know what? We were happy.

You ever see a video game controller today? It's insane!! There's this impossible-to-use joystick for you to do required diagonal, vertical, horizontal and circular maneuvers; there's an "A" button, "B" button, "C" button, four buttons at the top, a trigger on the back, and a tiny red button in the right corner that looks like it will give the order to launch nuclear weapons; in short, if you want to play a home video game today, you essentially need to be an octopus, there are so many things to press.

And then there's the video games themselves. To my older readers: Do you remember the game Double Dragon? Here was the premise: Guy's girlfriend gets captured by gang. Boyfriend goes after gang to rescue girlfriend.

Quick. Easy. Simple.

And forget fancy maneuvers or powers. All your moves consisted of punching or kicking. There were bats, weapons and knives. The only guy who had a gun was the final boss, and that's what made him so powerful.

Quick. Easy. Simple.

And your mission didn't change midway through. You don't find out in level 3 that your girlfriend isn't really your girlfriend, or that this is part of an international conspiracy, or that you were secretly given a drug beforehand and everything that's happening is really in your mind. No, your mission was always to save your girlfriend. In fact, when you got to the final boss, you saw her tied up on the left of your screen, just to reinforce the fact.

Quick. Easy. Simple.

Today's video game premises are insane. Plots and subplots and subtitles and choices and misdirections and chapters and unforeseen developments. Everyone is involved, everyone has a role, your mission changes 18 times in the first seven seconds of the game, and by the end you're so blown away by everything you've seen that you've forgotten one important part:

What the hell the game was about in the first place.

And finally, there are the graphics. Honestly, how real does a game have to look? You want reality? Go outside. Me? I'm happy with two dots on a screen and a couple of colors. I'm easy to please, and so should the rest of video game America.

My point is: I come from a time where I would get up on a Saturday, go to a buddy's house, and me and other buddies would play a game that required little thought, few graphics and a couple of buttons. And it was this generation that developed the Internet, made Texas Hold 'Em a household name, and introduced flat-screen TVs.

In short: We made the world a better place.

But today's generation, with their fancy Wiis, are threatening all that my generation stood for. Soon, everything that we created -- that I created!! -- will be destroyed, replaced by a sea of complicated plots, space-age like controllers, and graphics that don't allow you to separate fantasy from reality.

Today's video games are destroying the fabric of everyday life.

And they must be stopped.

:-)

And now for this week's:

SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE

L.A. Lakers star Lamar Odom wants to have a kid with new wife Khloe Kardashian soon.

And that's more ammo for those who think a license should be required for those wanting kids.

The 'Evolution' Of Halloween Candy: A Nevin Barich Blog Experience

Shopping for Halloween candy has taken on a life of its own.

Back in my day...

(note: "Back in my day" is probably like 1990)

...there were the following main Halloween candy options (and I'm not counting candy corn):

---Snickers

---Milky Way

---That Hersheys miniature pack that consisted of little Hersheys, Krackel and that yellow-wrapped candy with nuts that no one liked.

---Almond Joy and Mounds (which, to me, is the same damn thing).

---And Three Musketeers.

That was it. That was essentially the extent of Halloween candy.

And you know what? We were happy. We were content with the limited choices of Halloween candy we had. Because damn it, it was Halloween candy!! It's like Thanksgiving turkey. It's never bad no matter who actually makes it or how many times it falls on the floor. We were just happy to have it.

It was a simpler time, back when kids were easier to please.

Today, in the 21st century, kids are spoiled. My sister Blake (who, by the way, forbids me from mentioning her in my blog without her permission. I don't have permission here, so I have to hope she actually means it when she says "No, I don't read your stupid blog") is a high school teacher in south Boston and thus has first-hand knowledge of how selfish kids have become. Kids today, she says, have more choices of main Halloween candy. Snickers now comes in several varieties, including peanut butter. Hersheys chocolate can now be white. Three Musketeers now features mint.

Mint!! WTF?

And because these kids are now given so many choices, they're more likely to lift their noses high in the air when you offer them candy from their bowl than they are to say "thank you". What the hell am I supposed to think when some snot-nosed 3 year old named Gus gives me a "you cheap bastard" look when I offer him a small box of Milk Duds?

F*****n Gus.

I'm not in favor of beating up little kids, so I'm just gonna hope the minty Musketeers bars gives him diabetes.

That's OK, right?

So today, as an adult, I have one of two choices: 1) Continue to give kids who come to my door on Halloween the stuff I got as a kid. Or 2) Give in and give the Guses of the world the fancy stuff.

I'm gonna give these kids the fancy stuff.

Because the world changes. And I can no longer live in my comfort zone. I can't fight what the world of Halloween candy has become. And if kids demand better, then I will give better.

Right after I scare them senseless with my Grim Reaper costume when I open the door.

Complete with plastic sickle.

That's something...that's timeless.

:-)

And now for this week's:

SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE

Iceland has said goodbye to McDonald's.

There's actually a place in this world with no McDonald's.

If that ain't an SOTS, I don't know what is.