The Best of 2012

I figured since it was February, it was time to make my best of 2012 list. I know what you’re thinking: shouldn’t I have written this in 2012, or at least in January? Maybe, but I’ve been really busy doing nothing. Besides, isn’t it better this way, because instead of reading through a ton of lists, you can just read through mine with no competition? I like "best of" lists--the best movies, best books, best songs of the year. I like them because they are so forgettable.  (Oh yeah, "Call Me Maybe" was everywhere!) Shouldn't best of lists be a little more personal though? Shouldn't they help us reflect on where we have been as individuals and where we are heading? This is "The Best of 2012, Brigette’s World," and I encourage you to think about yours as I reveal mine.

Best of: My Car

#1: I would like to say that this McDonald’s receipt is the best of my 2012 car trash. It’s from August 22^nd (a Wednesday) and all I got was a medium Diet Coke. This is probably my favorite trash item because it makes me reflect on how hot and awful August was and how the aspartame in Diet Coke is probably going to kill me. Also, it’s just SO Brigette!

#2: Haley Reinhart’s Listen Up! was the best of my car CDs. Haley is really sassy and bad-ass, and when she’s playing in my car, I’m less terrified of trucks on the highway, how fast I’m going on the highway, and the fact that I’m a mortal being in a fragile body. Haley wouldn’t be afraid, and Haley wouldn’t want ME to be afraid. Basically what I’m saying is that I really need therapy and this CD helps me drive.

#3: The best of my trunk items is this broken picture frame. I put this in my car in 2007, fully intending to bring it to Goodwill where maybe they’d fix it. Over the years, I’ve become more and more skeptical that Goodwill will want my broken frame, and it just becomes more and more broken as it jostles in my trunk. If I can’t give it away, then why can’t I throw it away? Why does it torture me so much every time I see it? What’s the lesson here?

Best of: My Yard

#1: THIS LEAF. It’s so big. Look at it compared to this birdhouse. Look at it compared to my hand. It’s better than all the other leaves in the neighborhood, and just you tell me it's not.

#2: Fat Squirrel. Ok, so this picture is actually a dramatization of a squirrel that’s in our yard. I can’t get a picture of the real one because she’s too fast. I admire this squirrel because she doesn’t seem to know she’s fat—she’s completely unaware of her limitations. She chases other squirrels, leaps from tree to tree, and boldly eats from the bird feeder while I’m staring her down. She owns her curves and she ain’t afraid of NO-BOH-DAY! We could all take a lesson or two from Fat Squirrel’s book.

Best of: Exercise tools

#1: This G.D. TREADMILL. It’s been in my “office” for months. It doesn’t work. It takes up space. We don’t know what to do with it. It was one of the most hated, useless workout equipment of 2012 and the longer it sits there, the more sure I am that it will become the most hated thing--full stop--of 2013.

#2: Our video tape of Jane Fonda’s Complete workout. I missed a lot of gym time this year, mostly because I almost died every time I drove to Fitness USA, (I only survived because I was listening to Haley Reinhart) so I watched this instead. This video cracked me up so much while at the same time giving me a real workout. I tried to burn it to DVD, but it had some sort of copyright thing on it. HOW did the tape makers of the 80’s know that DVD burners were going to exist someday? HOW?  Blame the government.

                              (Thankfully, I'm "good" at filming the TV. It's possible I already shared this.)

Best of: Mind Control

#1: Twitter. I resisted getting a Twitter account for a long

time because I knew that it would take over my life. I figured I had enough life-sucking things and I didn’t need it. But then I got an iPhone. It’s so fun how you have INSTANT access to so many different kinds of people who interest you!!! Like when one of your favorite celebs takes a fart, you know!!! And you always know what’s happening in the news—ALL KINDS OF NEWS!!! And it’s not Facebook, where half the people post stuff that makes you want to murder them, because you only follow like-minded people, many of whom you don’t even know!!! I’ve gotten nothing done in months, and I blame Twitter, but I love Twitter. Twitter is my boyfriend. What would I do without Twitter?

#2: Dexter. I’ve been a fan of Dexter since I started watching it, but this past season—season 7—okay, I’m not going to give any spoilers, but I feel like my feelings could better be described by half sentences anyway. The part where she remembers the—AH! The part where he walks in and all his—AHH! Is—AHH! The scene in the parking garage!!! The GAS station! THE VERY END! And I SO predicted that one event would go down like Selena, right?! I recently made the choice to re-watch the whole series, which was either the best decision or the worst decision I could have ever made. I’m almost done with season 5 & I’ve only been at this for two weeks, so you tell me. The worst part is, I know the series can only end in tragedy, so caring this much will ensure that when the show ends, I will slump into a deep depression.

Why did I want to include this picture so badly?

Best of: Day Dreams

#1: Basically every day on my way to work in 2012, I day dreamed that I was taping a segment for one of Oprah’s shows on OWN. It went like this. Me: “This used to be my drive to work every day.” Oprah: “What does this feel like?” Me: “Wow, it’s crazy. It’s been so long since I’ve even driven down this street.” Oprah: “Could you ever have imagined that you would be such a successful writer? That you would be the household name that you are now?” Me: “You know, I felt like I should be, but maybe everyone does. How can you tell the difference between feeling like something is destiny and just being delusional or narcissistic? Honestly, no Oprah. All this success felt impossible." Then, I'd get out of my car—in  real life—and  remember that none of that was real. Am I a narcissist? Did I just make you cry?!?!

#2: I wouldn’t really call this one a day dream, because it’s not something that I WANT to have happen, but I did find myself playing it in my head a lot in 2012. Backstory: my friend Kathryn and I text each other constantly because we’re basically fourteen-year-old girls. We also have a really boarderline sense of humor that has led us to write “I hope the government doesn’t read our texts” several times. I won’t share them with you, but I will say we made a lot of seriously amoral jokes during the summer of the Casey Anthony trail. The following text exchange is a completely fictional--and tame--representation of something we may text. I imagine this:

Kathryn is on trial for murder. I think it’s ridiculous. The prosecutor has me on the witness stand and is asking me about our text messages to verify her alibi.

P: At 1:25, you texted Kathryn, ‘I gots the diabetis. I just got out of a coma.’ She texted back, ‘Great, I’ll visit you in the hospital right after I do this drug run.’

Me: We texted that, but we were just joking. Kathryn doesn’t sell drugs.

P: Then you texted, ‘Shouldn’t you stop by the liquor store first though? To rob it? I can’t decide what I want for dinner. All I want is more ice cream.’

Me: I didn’t really mean she should rob a liquor store.

P: Really? Because the suggestion looks pretty infused into a normal conversation.

Me: (laughing)

P: Is something funny, Miss Thornes?

Me: Yes. This whole thing is ridiculous! Kathryn did not murder anyone and you’re wasting everyone’s time.

P: So you don’t have diabetes, then?

Me: No.

P: And you were never in a coma?

Me: No!

P: Well, that’s interesting. Because we have a signed statement where Kathryn says where she was the night of the murder. ‘I was visiting my friend Brigette in the hospital. She just got out of a diabetic coma. If you don’t believe me, check our text messages.’

I look at Kathryn in disbelief. Her face is full of fear. She lied to me. She did kill Horatio in a jealous rage. Kathryn is found guilty of murder and is sentenced to death.

Now, it’s time for the breakdown.

Best of inside jokes that I’m not going to explain: “Grilled chesse? Grilled cheese?!”

Best of places where I spent the most time: The reclining sofa chair closest to the fridge.

Best of places where I spent the least time: The gym

Best of places where I went the most: Biggby

Best of places that made me smell the worst after I went there: Biggby

Best of addictions that I couldn’t break: caffine

Best of type of pants that I basically stopped wearing altogether: jeans

Best of national events that almost killed me: waiting to see the presidential election results
Best of temporarily life ruining events: my doctor telling me my swollen foot was RSD when it actually was not RSD.

Best of epiphanies: My skin was so much better when I was an undergrad, but it was also really doughy. Like Pilsbury doughy. I’d rather be spotty than doughy because you can’t cover up dough with make-up. You have no idea how much milk I drank the first 20 years of my life.

Ok, I could keep going, but I know you’re all dying to jump in now. What was the best of your personal world? Your car, your thoughts, your epiphanies? Let me know in the comments! And aren’t you glad I waited until February to post this?

Presents!

So I don’t know about you guys, but I’ve been having a really hard time with Christmas presents this year. Usually, Christmas shopping makes me energized. I get a lot of joy and satisfaction from picking things out, and if I’m doing well, I can’t stop. Usually, I’m crocked-full of good ideas (is that an expression? Like a crock pot. Like, if you put my ideas in a crock pot and cooked them, there would be a lot to eat) but not this year. I feel like every few days, I go to the mall and I leave feeling irritated and defeated. Sometimes I feel like I’ve accomplished something because I have a gingerbread latte in my hand, but let’s face it, that’s just accomplishing diabetes.

My shopping angst got me reflecting on Christmases past and different approaches we take to not only selecting gifts, but also to the act of giving them.

Approach #1: Overdoing it

I grew up in a family that mastered the art of “overdoing it.” I think my sisters and I turned out to be pretty nice people, which is amazing, because we were spoiled as all-get-out. (Is that a phrase?) I recall Christmases that would start at around 4AM and end at 7PM. None, however, was more epic than Christmas ’92.

Here’s my sister Danielle (Little De back in the day) literally trapped in a pile of gifts. “Albie! Albie!” We mimick. “You’re so cute!” She’s clearly saying HELP ME.

(Will I ever figure out how to properly put home movies on my computer? This blog is so low class.)

My Mom says she absolutely hates this video and it makes her sick to her stomach, filled the with regret of overindulgence. I absolutely love this video. Every child should know that feeling of waking up and seeing a room filled with gifts just for them. It’s the best feeling in the world. But it does come with a price.

 Complications with overdoing it:

1) There’s a weird kind of depression that can come with overdoing it. I don’t really know how to explain it. One Christmas, I asked for Littlest Pet Shop, and on Christmas morning, I opened up, like, 20 Littlest Pet Shop. I felt overwhelmed by it, like I wished they had just gotten me a few so I could really enjoy those. I think I even complained, said something like “You got me too many Littlest Pet Shop.” What a bitch.

TOO MANY OF YOU FOR MY PET SHOP!

2) “Perfection anxiety” was also a factor. Because our Christmases were so epic and cozy, I was always terrified that something was going to ruin the ambiance. I would have nightmares every Christmas Eve that Mom decided to sleep while we opened gifts, or that Dad wanted to take us to some new, weird church before we could celebrate.

Most Christmases, we celebrated early so we could spend the real Christmas with family in Ohio. In fifth grade, my class play (Christmas at the OK Corral) was scheduled for “our” Christmas Eve, and since I didn’t want anything to invade that family time, I didn’t go. Then Mom said that a family friend was going to drop by on “our” Christmas to give gifts. I was so upset about the intrusion that I spent the whole fake Christmas Eve crying and watching Rescue 911. I still regret not going to that play. I loved the songs. I used to sing them in the shower.

3) What is the realistic aftermath of all of this? Because once you open everything, you have to put it someplace. For years long after my sisters and I were grown, every single room in my parent’s house had toys in it. A few years ago, my sister decided that we were going to spend a few consecutive weekends de-hoarding. She was ruthless. We looked through bags and boxes of things, many which had been given to us during the holidays. Liz said, “We don’t need this. This is dirty, it needs to be thrown away. This can go to Goodwill” while Mom moaned and moaned about Christmas ’92. What would we have said if we could have seen a video of the future while we were indulging in our overindulgence that fated Christmas morning? “Albie! Albie!”

(Do I need to explain why I put this here?)

Approach #2: Make Stuff

It’s hard to find original gifts these days, especially if you live in a generic town with generic stores. (Yes, I could get Mom a Yankee candle, but I get everyone Yankee candles, and Yankee candles are everywhere.) It’s also frustrating how expensive the things are that are a little different and unique. Noticing this in my youth, I decided I wanted my friends and family to have personal, meaningful things, so I got crafty.

It started off easily enough with Christmas ornaments. Then for my friend’s 18^th birthday, I made her paper doll-puppets of herself. Then in college, I learned how to crochet, so everyone got hats.

De doesn't get a hat. Albie!

There was the time I made some of my friends Albion College black squirrel stuffed animals. (Black squirrels are all OVER that campus! It’s hilarious. Is it?)

Another year, I decided to make my best grad school friends shrunken elf heads of themselves. As you can tell by their expressions, it was the best gift they’ve ever gotten.

Last Christmas, I made my brother-in-law a calendar of pictures of his dogs photo-shopped into pictures of classic moments from history, like the Invasion of Normandy and The Monica Lewinsky Scandal.

Screenshot of February

Making gifts is fun, and the gift-giving itself creates memories. But it does come with a price.

Complications with making stuff:

1) It’s expensive. The thing is, you think it WON’T be, which is part of why you do it. You’re like, “I’ll save so much money.” But then when you take your fleece for the tie blankets up to the counter at the craft store and the lady is like, “That will be $50,” you’re like, “What now?”

2) It’s time consuming. Just like with the expense factor, you have this idea in your head that it will be easier to just make something while you watch your Arrested Development DVDs than it would be to spend time and energy at the mall. But then when you’re on your 15^th hour of sewing squirrel legs together and you have multiple pin pricks on your hands and you can’t find that needle that got lost in the couch, you wonder if maybe you should have just spent two hours at the mall.

3) I would say “being creative enough” but that’s not really a problem for me! Hahaha! *Flips hair* *Judges non-creative people *

4) Going along with that last one, there’s the narcissism factor. Is this gift really for the person you’re making it for, or is it also for some sort of affirmation of your own worth? Sometimes, I think I just want people to be impressed with the weird shit that I make them. At the same time, I know that they’re probably thinking, “Why is Brigette so weird? I really just needed new socks.” I don’t even care if they’re thinking that though, because I need to hear the other side of it: “Wow Brigette, you’re so creative! I love you!” Like what is ANYONE going to do EVER with paper doll-puppets of themselves?!

Wow, I feel like this blog hasn’t been helpful at all, when we really know the purpose of these entries is to find SOLUTIONS! (?) But don’t worry. I’m creative, so I’ll just pull something out of my ass. I got it.

Approach #3: THEMES!

Everyone gets pajamas. BOOM. Everyone gets monogrammed luggage. BOOM. Everyone gets slippers. BOOM. Everyone gets gourmet coffee and a new mug. BOOM. Everyone gets shrunken elf heads of themselves BO— what? Everyone gets a computer program that tells them when they’re going to die. No—Everyone gets an empty jar that’s personally decorated and says “Farts” on it so they can put their farts in a jar. OH MY GOD, I’VE LOST IT!

Okay, I need help. What strategies do YOU take to Christmas shopping? What are your thoughts on overdoing it (or underdoing it), making your own gifts, and themes? You need to give me ideas NOW. I’m leaving soon to go to the mall to drink a gingerbread latte and pretend like I’m shopping. I can’t come back empty-handed.

Dolls

I’ve been thinking lately that I should really do a blog post about dolls, but I don’t even know where to begin. I think I’ve mentioned before how I had a horrible time being a teenager for various reasons, but the main reason was because no one wanted to play dolls with me any more.  Getting older did not stop me from playing dolls, and I know it didn’t stop you either. Over the years, I’ve gotten many confessions out of you. See, we’re not all as different as we think.

But as I said, I don’t even know where to begin, so I’m breaking this up into chapters.

Chapter One: Dolls as children

I’ve had many special dolls over the years, but in forth and fifth grade, me, my sister, and my cousin were very attached to our Baby Talk dolls and our Hot Tots dolls. Every month, my sister and I would dress up our three children, pack them their own suitcases (old lunch boxes), grab our giant brief cases and tape recorders because we were “detectives,” and head off to Ohio to see our cousins. Our entire visits revolved around fake lives where my name was Abigail Bishop. We had emotionally controlling ex-husbands wanting custody of our children, busy jobs solving crimes, and days spent taking care of our kids. We never forgot our Polaroid cameras, with which we carefully documented our children growing up.

Going to the beauty parlor!

Our children playing dress-up!

Fun on the swing set!

Going Camping!

One Easter, we spent a VERY long time setting up this wagon picture, then taking turns getting shots with our Polaroids. My aunt witnessed this and told our moms that she was genuinely worried about us. We were too old for this. We got waaaay too into it. Maybe so, but what's wrong with being passionately enthralled in your own imagination? We had a good year and a half left before it was institutional-level. No lie, these days are some of the best memories of my entire life. Should I admit to that?

                                                

Chapter Two: Dolls as actors

For me, dolls were not just about playing pretend and having a good time--oh no-- they were means to a creative craft. Does that sentence even make sense? Of course it does. Don't question me. I wanted to create films, high-quality films, where I could control every aspect, including set design and actors. Step in dolls.

My first group of actors were the American Girl Dolls. I was an amateur. I had my big sister film, and she did a TERRIBLE job. My scenes were too long and boring. Nothing about them worked. Well, except the dialouge.

In case you didn't catch all that, here it is:
"Well, are you rich?"
"I don't know what rich is."
"If you flew all the way across--"
"Well, we live in an apartment."
"An apartment?"
"Yes, we do."
"Well, apartments are rough and dirty."
"Man, who would want to be your friend? You're nothing but a poor old immigrant."
"I'm not a poor old immigrant! What's an immigrant?"
"Oh you ARE a poor old immigrant!"
"Yes, you are a poor old immigrant."
"My mother and my father say that only the ones who come from different countries are the ones who are jealous of us."
"Yes, but I don't think you're jealous of anybody. Except for maybe a rock. THEY have more brains than you do."
"A rock does not have a brain."
"Oh. Well. Come on. Let's get away from this Swedish rubbish."
"Yeah."

Confused about who says what? I blame the camera man. WTF Liz?!

I realized as soon as I saw them these that the scenes were way too long. I was able to recognize at ten that they were painful to watch. That was a good sign.

By twelve, I found myself some new actors: The Playskool Dollhouse Dolls. I loved how realistic they looked, how creases in their clothes were molded into the plastic, how expressive their faces were. I even developed a crush on one of them: Handsome Doctor. We recently reconnected.  Don't we look cute together? 

The amount of videos I made with these dolls is obscene, and I’m sharing some with you now.

Not wanting to repeat the mistakes I made with my inadequate American Girl Doll actors, I knew the solution would be simple: keep it short. I was so desperate to keep my scenes short that I created a series called Saturday Night Mini Mysteries-- yes, "mini" was in the title. This series was widely successful amongst me, my sisters, and my parents.

Every episode was the same. The boneheaded basketball player, Hugh, did something awful, and Chuckey Lee, the Sheriff, came in to save the day.  Here's a sampling of one episode:

I even experimented with special effects, such as thunderstorm sounds and a red filter indicating nightmares, like this one where I totally rip off that episode of Cosby where all the men give birth to submarine sandwitches. I know you know what I'm talking about. 

My favorite though-- and the most popular Playskool Dollhouse Doll film of my career-- is UFO's and Aliens: The Real Thing, Little Chiddy, hosted by Black Grandma.

Screen shot of the man waking up in a crop circle with a cow...

And then there's this:





Did I enjoy doing accents? Yes, but my fear rewatching these as an adult is that I was borderline racist. Chong Wong Louie? Really, Brigette? Why does Black Grandma sound like a South Park character?
And how come the only thing we can make out Chong Wong Louie saying is "nightmares?" 

I exercised this craft until my creative needs were fulfilled...or until the video camera broke. Then, I just admired dolls from afar. I watched as the cool looking dolls in stores were replaced with ugly alien looking things. Aliens. What am I saying? I went to high school.

Chapter Three: Dolls as Children, pt. 2

A few months ago, my big sister and I were talking about my friends with children. I said, “I feel like we’re so young to be having kids.” My sister replied, “28? That isn’t young.” Oh god. It was like, the most shocking thing I had ever heard. I wasn’t young?!

I always wanted to have children, but women have this window. How many fertile years do I really have left? And while I want kids, babies terrify me. Basically, your body is taken over by an alien and then you have to push the alien out of your body. (Aliens again!) It’s completely dependent on you for EVERYTHING and then one day it grows up and decides to blame you for all its problems. 

Someday, my parents are going to die. Whose soccer practice will distract me from the fact that my parents are dead? I need to start building a family to replace the family that I will inevitably lose. Why am I still alone? Is it because instead of going out and meeting people, I sit in my room and write long-ass blogs about dolls? MAYBE.

Oh, this is too stressful. I should take pictures with my children. I’m going to get them out right now. Let’s pose on the couch and take a picture, kids. Smile! Ohhh this one's a beauty!

I’m fine, Auntie. Everything’s fine I’m great I’m healthy and well-adjusted I’m a functional adult woman. Shelly, stop hitting your brother! Bobby, stop pulling Megan’s hair!

Shelly, you were always my favorite daughter. Com'ere, schnookems! Let's get some candid shots!

Ohhhh maybe I should start a Facebook page for my alter ego, Abigail Bishop, and upload a million pictures of me on vacation with my children. No one will know it’s not real, right? Because the internet is realer than real life. Anyone seen that movie Catfish? No one will ever know. WHERE'S MY POLAROID CAMERA?!

I bet I can enroll my dolls in school and they can pass as real children. Especially if I creep by the door and make them talk and answer questions. Everything’s fine haha!

HANDSOME DOCTOR LET'S GET MARRIED YOU AND ME FOREVER WE CAN RAISE THE KIDS TOGETHER WHY NOT?!

So.....

What I want to hear from you now is obvious. How old were you when you stopped playing with dolls? Did you ever make movies with your dolls? Why are dolls better than real people? Why should we all have doll rooms as adults? Why can't we just be turned into dolls? And if we CAN be turned into dolls, how do you know this and who should I contact?

Roll credits!

"Brigette, this isn't Charlotte Townsend."

Exercise

Like most people, I notice that when I exercise, I feel better. I feel less anxious, more strong, and I have more energy. When I don't exercise, I feel like I'm made out of water, but in a bad way. The problem I have with working out is the same problem a lot of people have; the gym is far away.  I spend the same amount of time working out (if not more) as I do driving there and back, parking in the shopping center from hell, and changing my clothes. It would be ideal if I had a home gym, but until I make my millions from this piranha mill that I'm trying to get off the ground, I have to consider other options.

Have you ever looked through your parent's old video tapes to find ways to change your physical structure? Have you ever looked to fitness mentors in days gone by, ignoring the ones that exist today? Well if you have, then boy, do you have a friend in me! When my laziness innovation pushed me to look no further than my own backyard, I found so many solutions to my fitness dilemma, starting with Jane Fonda's exercise videos.

The first one I found is from 1985, a year after I was born. A lot of the things Jane tells you to do are bad for you. For example, she starts the video with neck pulses. We know now that you are not supposed to pulse-- who knows why, it probably causes blood deterioration-- then moves on to a very long shoulder-shrugging session, then aerobics. Much of the aerobics involve hopping from foot to foot and doing other things quickly, which meant I just sort of walked around on my tip toes and flailed my arms. But BOY, did I feel the burn from those shoulder shrugs the next day!

The best part of the video is singing along with Leslie Lillien, as Jane tells you to do, so you can make sure you are breathing properly.

The next workout tape I found, and the one I prefer, is Jane Fonda's workout from 1988. This one opens with a claymation Jane Fonda bopping her head to the beat before the workout begins. As a child, I was enchanted by this claymation person. I wanted my very own live, claymation playmates. I imagined making them water beds out of plastic bags. When I was bored in class, I imagined claymation people running across the desks and light fixtures and black boards. Can't you imagine the cool sensation of a little claymation hand wrapped around your finger? No. I mean, what?

I realized while exercising to this video that I wasn't flailing as much; I could actually do some of the dance moves. I worked up a real sweat! It was fun! My confidence was BLOSSOMING! But then I tried to convert it to DVD and a notice popped up: COPYRIGHT PROHIBITED. How on earth were they able to make a tape in 1988 that contained the technology to repel a DVD burner that HADN'T EVEN BEEN INVENTED YET? Damn you, crazy tape scientists!

One thing that I've noticed about both of these videos is how often people scream, "Ow!" and "Woo!" Because they're really feelin' the burn, except if you actually look at the mouths of the people working out, those noises are coming from NO ONE, which means they were all added in post. Can you imagine if that were your job? You wake up in the morning, have a bagel and coffee, then go into the studio and scream, "Woo! Ow! Yeah baby!" for twelve hours. Picture the woman who dreamed of being a Broadway star, but this was what she did with her life instead. Picture her riding home on the subway, crying silently into the gyro sandwich she bought on the sidewalk outside the studio.  I'm sure this job caused a lot of strained vocal cords and suicides.

Who doesn't workout with a tissue paper butterfly?

It's comforting, though. These tapes make me feel like I'm traveling back in time when I was blissfully ignorant, when I put on my bright red tights, polka dot leotard, and watched the Fonda tapes with Mom. Should you do outdated, possibly dangerous exercises just because of accessability and nostalgia? Of course you should.  Beats driving to that wretched gym!

Hey, speaking of nostalgia, anyone remember Get in Shape Girl and Bangle Bops? How in the hell did those help ANYONE get in shape?

Mousercise, anyone?! You Tube is so helpful for finding new old ways to get your workout on.

It's interesting when you think about how low-impact these exercises are. (Ignore that the last two examples are for children.)  Consider how we view working out today. My sis got P90x for Christmas, a really intense workout regimen that nearly killed her. I'm half kidding. (At one point, she was so skinny that when she came up behind me in the bathroom and I saw her reflection in the mirror, I thought she was a gaunt, middle-eastern man.) Think about all the heavy weights people buy, all the marathons they run, and all the diets they try to maintain their weight.

None of this would be necessary if we were still an agrarian society. Who needs Jane Fonda when you've got cows to milk, barrels of hay to throw up into piles, and wheat to sow? (I have no idea what you do on a farm.) Why don't we get back to BASICS!? There needs to be a workout video that requires you to buy farm props, then do workouts where you do things with the farm props to mimic what we used to do on the farm. Again, I have no idea what these props would be or what you would do, because I don't know how a farm works.

But would I, a dainty woman, really be working outdoors on a farm? Maybe I'd need a workout that would mimic the hard labor I would do to maintain the home, like kneading dough and scrubbing laundry over a wash board. I would need to churn butter-- but be really careful not to eat the butter! Wow, looking at that list, how did agrarian women NOT have man-arms?

What about workouts for children? Get your obese child off the couch and tell him he has two options: he can do the agrarian child workout where he mimics helping his father and siblings plow feilds and birth cats (?), OR he can be a city child, living in the industrial revolution, working in a sweat shop folding paper flowers and crushing electrical wires (I have no idea how child sweat shop factories work). I guess the fact that he would be standing the whole time would help strengthen his glutes.

This video needs to be made. However, can we please still wear the workout attire of the 1980's? Colored tights and animal print leotards are so much fun. I don't really want to wear those corsets and long calico dresses, and I'm sure none of you men out there want to wear suspenders. I am accepting monetary donations to fund this project, and I hope it's completed by April 41st, 2038. Oh, which one of you is going to scream "Ow!" and "Woo!" in post? Don't worry, you won't be like that sad subway lady. It will be really great.

What do you think, friends? Do you remember any of these videos? How do you stay healthy? What workout videos SHOULD be made? Do you think it's possible for scientists to shrink a human brain and put it in a claymation body? Now, don't automatically say 'no.' Consider the fact that we've been to the moon and have smart phones. It could happen in our lifetime, right? But I mean, whatever, it doesn't really matter, I don't even care.