Please: Save Yourselves.

I had to clean this thing out today. No worries, I only dry-heaved twice.

And, no, it's not the refrigerator from the set of "Saw."

I moved in with my fiancee last Friday  and was supposed to sell it today to a guy (I presume) who was justifiably enraptured by this gorgeous image on Craig's List. He was to arrive at 10 to pick it up. He never showed up. Or called. So there's that.

Flashback to yesterday, at the gym, where I had the pleasure of choosing the treadmill between Loud-Bluetooth-Talking-While-Giving-Her-Friend-Dating-Advice-Girl and Underarmor-Stretchy-Shirt-Bandana-Guy, who, for some reason, ferociously - and repeatedly - punched the air with an array of vicious hooks and uppercuts - grunting and grimacing with each and every stride. 

So it was cool being next to all of that. 

Later, when I went to the free weights area, all of the 20-45-pound dumbells were either:

A. Being used by non-threatening, medium-sized Jews, who looked suspiciously like me

Or...

B. Scattered about the gym in an upsetting array of dumbell madness.

Now, the first scenario I can handle - to some degree. I've finally come to terms with the fact that I possess the Honda Accord (non-hybrid edition) of bodies: It's reliable, sturdy, and generically attractive. Perceiving myself as anything beyond that would be sad and delusional. 

But the second situation is completely unacceptable, on two fronts. First, why can't gyms just have more weights accessible for people who aren't injecting massive doses of horse hormones. And, more importantly, why can't people clean the fuck up after themselves? I mean, Jesus.

Seriously, what's the matter with people? Is it an L.A. thing - that being flaky, aloof, and unreliable is irrevocably ingrained in the culture? Or has this movement toward ethical malaise imbued itself into the entire nation's social fabric? Are people more attuned to their fellow human beings beyond L.A.'s bubble of narcism, or is our entire country a heaping ball of immaturity and self-indulgence? These are things I need to know.

Because as far as progressivism goes, L.A.'s small potatoes, despite all the Obama stickers and vanity-plated Priuses jamming the freeways. Our Metro mass-transit system is riddled with incongruity and inefficiency, the school district possesses a student body with a 50 percent dropout rate, the air quality is just as poor as it's ever been, and recycling is still thought of as a quaint option to launching McDonald's wrappers out the window of one's moving vehicle. And our slick, high-profile mayor is better known for getting this done as opposed to this.

Incidentally, if you get a chance, check out this piece from today's L.A. Times. It seems that Villaraigosa has some ideas about contracting out ownership of public schools to bidders from the private sector. Uh...yeah. Would anyone care to inform Mr. Glorified Used Car Lot Salesman as to what happens when formerly public entities get privatized? Exactly. It's ludicrous to assume that private companies are motivated by anything other than profit. Thus, they should be kept far away from entities that are critical in maintaining a stable, just society. Or maybe that's just the freon talking.

At any rate, Angelenos vote largely democratic (when they vote at all), but, like the Jesus freaks who judge and scorn all of us who don't subscribe to their brand of theistic fundamentalism, there is an inherent phoniness that's made tangible in all the "Hope" bumper stickers and recycling logo T-shirts (made in China).

Donnie Baseball Never Needed 'Em...Or Did He?

First off, it’s not a doll. It’s an action figure.

Now that that’s out of the way, let’s get on with the business of The New York Times’ recent report that Red Sox sluggers David Ortiz and Manny Ramirez were found to have used performance enhancing drugs (PEDs), according to a 2003 test administered by Major League Baseball.

They weren’t alone. According to The Times’ sources, a perpetually leaking list of over a hundred PED users was compiled in 2003 as a result of a league-wide test. That list, intended to be confidential, now includes Yankees superstar third-baseman (and perpetual media whipping boy) Alex Rodriguez, former home run champion (and pathological liar) Sammy Sosa, and all-time home run king Barry Bonds (also a chronic liar).

Ortiz has been plagued by injuries over the past two seasons and is mired in a season-long hitting slump. Having a rash of career-threatening injuries that ultimately culminates with a significant drop in production and, eventually, early retirement is a hallmark of prolonged steroid use. 

(Theoretically, the increased force and torque generated by more powerful muscles creates added stress on joints, tendons, and ligaments, thus leading to a greater likelihood of injury. Another - though not necessarily competing - theory suggests that, when anabolic steroids are used, bones and connective tissues aren’t given the ample time to develop in concert with such rapidly proliferating muscle tissue. In other words, the old frame has issues supporting the new bulk. )

Another thing about Ortiz was that he was a middling player prior to the 2003 season. And that’s being nice. That he was a portly, defensively maladroit designated hitter, with limited power, rendered Big Papi expendable when the normally savvy Minnesota Twins released him following the 2002 campaign. 

As you can see here, Ortiz’s hitting stats from 1998 to 2002 were mediocre, at best, although he didn’t technically become a full-time player until ’03. Which brings up the chicken-and-egg conundrum: Did David Ortiz become a full-time player with his new team - the Red Sox - in 2003 due to better performance, or did he perform better because he was finally given ample chance to do so? 

(An alternative theory: Ortiz was so intimidated by the city of Boston’s historical “discomfort” with minorities that he was terrified of upsetting his new team’s overzealous, lily-white fan base, which, in turn, brought upon a renewed focus and enhanced work ethic.)

Things get even more dubious when one considers the utter havoc Ortiz wrought upon American League pitchers between 2003 and 2007, each year finishing in the top five of the MVP voting. His stats between those years were Ruthian, and his reputation for hitting in pressure situations became legendary. Statistics also reveal that Ortiz reserved a special place in his heart for pounding Yankee pitchers into a creamy yet savory pinstriped paste. Without mercy, of course.

Did David Ortiz ever make me cry? Yes. On more than one occasion? Yes. Do I hate him for it? Hate is a very strong word. So yes.

But now Ortiz is a known cheater, though he claims otherwise:

''I've just been told that the report is true,'' Ortiz said in a statement after contacting the union. ''Based on the way I lived my life I'm surprised to learn I tested positive.''

Source:

And that, my friends, is called prevarication. 

Nevertheless, it’s important to note that Major League Baseball fully implemented its drug policy in the spring of 2006, the year in which Ortiz launched over 54 bombs and OPS’d over 1.000 (A 1.000 OPS is the modern benchmark for truly dominant hitters.) In ’07, Ortiz also achieved an OPS over 1.000, so if he stopped using steroids in ’06 to coincide with the new policy, the residual benefits of them remained significant.

Which makes one wonder if Ortiz could’ve accomplished any of this without using PEDs in the first place. I say this not due to my repulsion of all things Boston but because Ramirez - his teammate for six years on the Sox - has compiled even more astounding statistics throughout the entirety of his career, playing at an MVP level before and since the advent of the official testing policy. The same goes for Alex Rodriguez and could be said about Barry Bonds as well.

It’s been claimed that Manny, A-Rod, Roger Clemens, and Bonds would’ve been all-time greats, irrespective of their PED usage. They were great when they were zygotes. So, the thinking goes, whatever physical benefits they derived from steroids were merely the icing on the cake of their already superhuman DNA. On the other hand, PED users such as Ortiz, Jason Giambi, the now deceased Ken Caminiti (who once claimed that at least half the players during his playing days were juicing), insufferable attention whore Jose Canseco, and Andy Pettite, while exceptionally talented, were never destined for the Hall of Fame. If anything, using PEDs enabled them to creep temporarily into the hallowed pantheon of superstardom, a place already occupied by the likes of contemporaries Ken Griffey Jr., Randy Johnson, Albert Pujols*, and Greg Maddux.  

* There have been whispers lately about Pujols - inarguably the greatest player in the game at this moment - possibly making an appearance on The List. I realize it would be devastating from a fan’s standpoint, but would you really be all that surprised at this stage?

Although aren’t we making a huge supposition here - that some of the greatest ballplayers of the modern era - Manny, A-Rod, Bonds, and Clemens - began taking steroids at some point during their respective careers in the Majors? You know - a little something extra to stave off the undesirable physical effects of the dirty thirties and to boost on-field performance in order to get that $100 million free agent contract? 

But what if they’d been taking PED’s the whole damn time, throughout the duration of their careers in both the Majors and minor leagues? Hell, who says A-Rod didn’t start popping Dianabol in high school? I mean, granted, the circumference of Barry Bonds’ head expanded three-fold over a five-year span, well after he’d already established himself as one of the game’s premier all-around players. But what of the others? Couldn’t they have conceivably started using in the minor leagues, where attitudes and oversight were even more lax?

If one considers that anabolic steroids have been widely available for consumption in the U.S. since the 1980s, then it’s reasonable to speculate that all of these players had at least the opportunity to ingest steroids throughout their storied careers. 

Since we still don’t fully know the extent to which anabolic steroids improve an athlete’s performance, it is reasonable to at least consider the possibility that there are at least a few superstars, past and present, headed to The Hall who owe their entire careers to the juice. 

And what about those beloved players from the 80s and 90s, whose career spans fortuitously averted the now infamous 2006 MLB PED dragnet?

Yankee icon Don “Donnie Baseball” Mattingly was never forced to endure scrutiny due to his retirement following the 1995 season. But his playing days coincided with the “live ball” era and his career arc includes two telltale signs of known MLB steroid users: A precipitous rise to superstardom converging with a window of greatness cut short by a rash of muscular-skeletal injuries. Now that Mattingly’s a New York folk hero, it’s blasphemy to even suggest that he could have been in the same building with a vile of Deca-Durabolin (much less injected a syringe full of it in his saintly ass), but the possibility remains for anyone who played at any point over the last 25 years.

And then there’s the melancholic ballad of Nomar Garciaparra, one of the most popular players in Red Sox history. A Rookie Of The Year shortstop in 1997, in which he slugged 30 homers, Garciaparra  finished top-ten in the American League MVP voting four years in a row, between 1997 and 2000 - a span in which he was considered arguably the second-best shortstop in all of baseball (right behind A-rod). So what happened?

Injuries. Pulled groins, torn hamstrings, blown-out wrists - injuries that have come to typify steroid use. In 2004, he was traded to the Cubs (If articulated to a Sox fan several years earlier, such a scenario would’ve no doubt produced large quantities of a.) unbridled rage b.) tears c.) Samuel Adams d.) more rage e.) unintelligible mumbling and whimpering, interspersed with an occasional “Why, No-mah - Why?”) Since then, Garciaparra has become a journeyman, bouncing around the league to teams looking for a versatile, part-time veteran presence. Even when healthy, he’s now a shell of his former self.

Once again, the telltale signs: A small window of excellence, coinciding with (in Nomar’s case) an inflated physique, followed by a rash of career-scuttling injuries.

Don’t be mad: They’re baseball players, not gods. They’re buffed-out mini-corporations who have been sheltered from normal society since they were able to pick up a bat. And because humans are perpetually searching for saviors, we deify them. I know I often do.

You do not love these guys. In fact, you probably wouldn’t even want them over for a late lunch and polite conversation. Professional athletes are paid handsomely to be physically dominating specimens. Do you recall, to any degree, the prevailing dispositions of the most physically dominating individuals at your high school or college? Exactly: Total raging douche bags. So don’t magically think that some of these guys are any better just because they get their uniform grimy and run hard down the first base line like they’re supposed to do.

That Mattingly and Garciaparra are purportedly good guys among all the avaricious prima-donna egomaniacs in pro sports doesn’t preclude them from being PED junkies, as evidenced by Andy Pettite’s admission in 2007.

So does any of this really matter? Are there justifiable reasons for fans’ outrage over all this? The answer is, it depends. 

If it matters to you that anyone under the age of 25 has probably never seen a Major League baseball game played in which at least some of the players were using either steroids or Human Growth Hormone, then perhaps your outrage is just. Keep in mind, though, that baseball players have been finding new and innovative ways to cheat since Ty Cobb (racist) first conceived of sharpening his spikes to impale opposing infielders with. Then there are the corked bats, spitballs, and sign stealing that have always been emblematic of our National Pastime. And, as recently as 2006, players popped amphetamines (aka “greenies”) like potato chips to stave off the drudgery and physical toll of playing a 162-game season. So it’s possible that your grandpa didn’t even have the luxury of watching a cheater-free game.

If it matters to you that, since the game of baseball is tagged with the honor of being America’s Pastime, it should, to some degree, reflect our nation’s alleged dedication to excellence, hard work, and fair play, then you have a right to be steamed - just as long as you don’t ignore the other virtue the sport holds sacred: greed. The average Major League baseball player makes over $3 million a season, the average teacher approximately $45 thousand. 

And if it matters to you that the hallowed statistics and records upon which the game of baseball rests its prodigious foundation have been irrevocably stained by the era of steroid use, then let your outrage be justified. But also understand that many of Babe Ruth’s historic home runs were hit while his body was liquor-soaked, hungover, and/or STD-ravaged.

And these are only the players whose transgressions we know about. No one’s innocent.

And so my advice is to enjoy the games: Appreciate the escapist element with which professional sports provide us. Root for laundry. And, for Yahweh’s sake, don’t look for professional athletes to be your beacon of rectitude. That’s what rappers are for.

The Elephant in the Room is One-Third of All Americans

Before I begin, let me first refer you to Ken at Wonkette for this hilariously scathing post on obese Americans. 

Now then...

Lost in all the hullabaloo over health care in Washington these past few weeks has been any sort of substantive dialogue or policy proposals addressing the strain placed on the health care system by the systemic outbreak of American obesity. 

This past decade has seen an across-the-board spike in heart disease and an alarming surge in the number of young children being diagnosed with type-2 adult-onset diabetes. 

And the costs associated with these ailments and others associated with obesity - hypertension, cancer, and even stroke - are staggering. So it stands to reason that finding ways to get Americans healthier will contribute greatly to tamping down the stratospheric costs of an already flawed and overburdened health care system. Right?

Not so fast.

That our esteemed lawmakers do their late-night horse trading while pounding chocolate-covered potato chips, eskimo pies, and french fries says a little something about this country’s prevailing attitude toward the food we consume.  

See, most Americans can talk a good game when it comes to extolling the virtues of sound nutrition and physical wellness. 

And we know all the talking points by now: Eat more fruits and veggies, get more exercise, drink only in moderation, don’t smoke, cut down on sugar and saturated fats, see your doctor once a year, blah, blah, blah, blah, bloo. 

But when it comes right down to it, we’re largely a nation of country fried fat-asses. It’s the truth, and it hurts.

And, no, you don’t need one of these to shuttle you around Ralph’s, unless you’re over 95 or under 3.  And stop calling it a mobility scooter. It’s a lard cart and you know it.

We’re physically sedentary, we supersize everything, and we’ve fallen victim to opium 2.0: high fructose corn syrup. And it is nearly impossible to locate a can of anything at Ralph’s that’s devoid of HFCS. You think I’m joking? Then follow these simple instructions:

1. Drive to Ralph’s (or Von’s, Price Chopper, Albertson’s, etc.). 
   
2. Head to the - hey! Don’t you dare even think about getting into one of those carts! 
   
3. Head to the salad dressing aisle and procure a jar of Newman’s Own dressing - you know, the wholesome, healthy stuff.
   
4. Check the nutrition label. 
   
5. Now tell me what you see. That’s right: High fructose corn syrup - IN YOUR PAUL NEWMAN’S BALSAMIC VINAIGERETTE!
   

I understand: You feel dirty now. But I had to make my point.

From renowned author Michael Pollan’s In Defense of Food, his exceptional follow up to The Omnivore’s Dilemma:

Since 1980, American farmers have produced an average of 600 more calories per person per day, the price of food has fallen, portion sizes have ballooned, and, predictably, we’re eating a whole lot more, at least 300 more calories a day than we consumed in 1985. What kind of calories? Nearly a quarter of these additional calories come from added sugars (and most of that in the form of high fructose corn syrup); roughly another quarter from added fat (most of it in the form of soybean oil); 46 percent of them from grains (mostly refined); and the few calories left (8 percent) from fruits and vegetables.

And by the way, if you haven’t already read The Omnivore’s Dilemma, do so yesterday. It belongs in the pantheon of elite investigative journalism written over the past decade, right alongside Eric Schlosser’s Fastfood Nation, Naomi Klein’s The Shock Doctrine, Hajiv Chandraskaran’s Imperial Life in the Emerald City, and Asne Seierstad’s The Bookseller of Kabul.

One more note on The Omnivore’s Dilemma: It is a book to be annotated, dog-eared, highlighted, and absorbed at a snail’s pace. If you have any desire to fully comprehend how we’ve reached such a dark point in our culinary history, take your time and drink in every word. If you do this, I assure you that by book’s end, you’ll want to kiss Michael Pollan squarely on the mouth. Open mouth. With tongue.

So who’s to blame for our nation’s obesity epidemic? Corporate farms, who, at the behest of the U.S. government, are responsible for the gross overproduction of corn that has fattened an entire generation of Americans? Fast food and restaurant chains, who infuse their offerings with saturated fats, refined sugars, and piles of salt? Or, are we primarily to blame for our own physical well being? 

I could discuss the concept of personal accountability that The Right incessantly slobbers over. But then I’d be forced to acknowledge that three of the fattest states in the Union - West Virginia, Alabama, and Louisiana - have voted Republican in the last three presidential elections. 

So, by using this logic, one would conclude that many Americans - especially the red-staters - are lacking in the bootstraps-worthy self-discipline necessary to maintain good health through sound nutrition and vigorous physical activity. And this doesn’t count.

Better health begins with education, which leads to knowledge, which generally enables us to make more informed choices. But substantive health education is virtually absent from public school curricula, where it is most needed. And in urban public school districts, the average student-to-teacher ratio in high school gym classes can easily exceed 50 to 1, all but eliminating the possibility of putting together an organized game of anything, except maybe this.

Additionally, the disturbing trend of talented medical students moving away from primary care and pediatrics (the gatekeepers in the field of medicine) - opting instead for more lucrative careers in specialty fields like plastic surgery and dermatology - has severely undermined any significant advances in preventive care.     

Unfortunately - but unsurprisingly - it’s naive to think Americans can rely on the government alone to save our already prodigious asses from our toxic love affairs with Bloomin’ Onions and Cake ‘n Shakes. There will be no legislation that addresses the root causes of obesity and that ultimately stops this slow-motion car wreck plaguing health care (Note that these are the same types of politicians who have, since the Nixon administration, thrown gobs of federal dollars at the corn growers and beef producers, who continue to churn out more and more products to further plump-up the American public.) 

So waiting around for Congress to propose realistic, sensible legislation that will incentivize a generation of gloopy Americans into getting up off their asses and into a pair of cross-trainers is pretty naive.

I haven’t even mentioned the prospect of employing punitive measures on grossly obese individuals whose health continues to worsen due to gluttony and/or inactivity. Not only would ACLU attorneys lick their chops to litigate this one, but do we really want to live in a country where half the population is hungry, angry, and over 300 pounds? 

Also, that Americans are already deeply skeptical of any sort of government enterprises would not bode especially well for any politician responsible for additionally restricting their chile fries and butter sauce. It would be political suicide.

So here’s my proposal to Congress:

Voluntary preventive maintenance. 

The feds would disburse a series of tax rebates to individuals doing their diligence to improve their health. Join and attend a gym at least three times a week? Tax break. Improve your BMI ? Tax break. Sustain a healthy BMI for a year? Tax break. Lower your blood pressure or bad cholesterol? Tax break. Etcetera. And each of these actions would be eminently measurable when linked to a main database.

And before you say, “I don’t want no effin’ federal government peepin’ into my medical records,” remember that this particular aspect of the reform package would be strictly voluntary. So calm down, you crazy Libertarians and Natural Law Party-goers. You can have your survivalist hideout and your twice larded chile rellenos drizzled in warm butter topping  - I’ll take the tax breaks and the four fewer chins.