What’s that horribly offensive joke about girlfriends and mopeds? Oh yeah, that’s the one…

In much the same way I’m thus far absolutely thrilled with my new PT Fitness Pilates Ball Chair — I just don’t want anyone to see me on it!

It all started when I read this post on Lifehacker. The thought of improving my posture while at the same time saving $995 over one of those snooty Hermann Miller chairs intrigued me, and a quick test sit on one of the Pilates balls in my gym confirmed such a thing was not only doable, but surprisingly comfortable as well.

Now instead of the 5-dollar bargain basement ball I did end up splurging a bit for the backrest and casters on this custom job. I should also note that I only bought the chair today, so if in a week’s time you see me doubled over in pain you’ll know why.

Likewise if years from now you see this monstrosity parked next to the bean bag chair in my spare room…

After a day of performing triage on hundreds of hopefuls for the upcoming Second City Reality Show, I have but one regret… That I didn’t bring any hand sanitizer with me.

Kids, here’s a free audition tip:

Do not under any circumstances shake hands with the person you’re auditioning for, even if you thought you did really well or recognize them as one of The Devil’s Adjumacates!

After the first five or six handshakes I really started to feel like I was getting the cooties, and my fears were justified with some of the folks then proceeding to put old condoms on their fingers, their hands down their pants and so forth.

I can personally guarantee that quelling the urge to offer your hand will get you way further as an actor than I ever got, because I used to be guilty of the very same thing — the handshakes, not the condoms or hands down my pants…

A big shout-out to my sister-in-law for this… Being the classic fretful wife that she is, when I told her I was going to see my doctor for a check-up she made me promise I’d also ask him about getting a colonoscopy — which men, according to her, are supposed to get when they’re 40.

Turns out I’m not due to get a balloon inflated up inside my ass until my 50th birthday (that’ll be a party!), but only because I mentioned it to my doctor he added occult blood to some labwork I’m supposed to get done. And no, that doesn’t mean I have to draw a pentagram on the floor, pray to Satan and prick my finger — I wish!

Instead I’ve had to take myself off red meat, fresh fruit and vegetables over the weekend, and for the next three days I get to fish around the toilet bowl and scoop up samples of my poop.

My kit includes three specimen jars, a large tongue depressor, this hazardous materials bag and another brown paper one for the trip to the hospital to drop it all off when I’m done.

I fetched my first sample this morning and am very proud to say that I didn’t get any on my hands — I’m a big kid now

Today I pass on to you this brilliant quote from Everyday Wonderland:

Believe in the possibility of ‘making it’

The concept of arriving somewhere in the future is another very useful and popular source of stress and anxiety, and the illusion of being able to make it in the world is upheld and added to via magazines, television, movies, and whatever medium used to display how ‘the others’ go about living their lives.

Many people look to the culture of celebrity in this search for identity, which is probably one of the easier options available today if you want to fuel this particular illusion. Celebrities exist for us as images of what it means to have made it — we see them as people who have arrived at a place in the world where they can relax, put down their bags and finally start to enjoy their lives. If you can get yourself to believe in this illusion strongly enough, you will find that it will be almost impossible to feel satisfied with anything except when you are consuming entertainment and living vicariously through celebrities and other idealized characters.

As someone who works in an industry obsessed with the idea of “making it”, I’m constantly trying to steer young performers away from the goal of becoming famous, and towards the ultimately more satisfying goal of simply being good.

In case you haven’t noticed the weather is getting colder, and even the collective gurgling of humidifiers across the northern hemisphere can’t stop the inevitable cracking of my lips. So here as a public service is my verdict on the two big players in the lip care industry. Note that this is really of value only for men — I won’t for one second pretend to be an expert on lip gloss… Until it’s acceptable for me to wear it out in public, at least!

First some background info… I’ve spent just about every winter of my adult life bouncing back and forth between lip care products. Chapstick, labello, Blistex… You name it, I’ve probably got some of it stashed away in some forgotten coat pocket.

The conspiracist in me gradually came to realize that these products were either doing more harm than good or just useless placebos. I tried using plain Vaseline, but it somehow felt dirty — plus there was no way I could carry around that ridiculously-large tub without looking like a total dork.

I’m pretty sure that Carmex went on sale in Canada while I was criss-crossing Northern Ontario with The Second City Touring Company in 1992 or ‘93. Nobody can deny that the yellow paste inside that little yellow jar packs a mean punch. In fact, urban myths about Carmex addiction are so rampant that the company has a page on their web site dispelling them. To quote:

“The U.S. Food and Drug Administration would not allow anybody to put fiberglass in a product for medicinal use.” Priceless!

For me, Carmex is just too strong. I find that the first application burns off a layer of dead skin, and a second scoop is needed to protect the virgin lip meat underneath. Also, the portable version isn’t a stick but an “EZ-ON applicator tube”, which always manages to break open somehow and turn the inside of my pocket into a miniature environmental disaster. Yuck.

The new kid in town is the “95.29% natural” Burt’s Bees Beeswax Lip Balm. Unlike the clinical Carma Laboratories product (they also make hemorrhoid cream, by the way — I’m just saying), Burt’s Bees seems to be bursting with hippy-dippy kumbaya goodness. In my local Shoppers Drug Mart there is a dizzying array of items for sale under the Burt’s Bees banner, plus no less than three different gift sets! I’ve heard enough people (mostly women) rave about the stuff that I figured I’d give it a try. And guess what? We have a new winner!

The wider, flatter tin is small enough to carry with you — I personally leave it at home, but only because I find myself applying it to my lips directly, kind of like eating the middle of an Oreo cookie. Yes, I’m sure it looks quite retarded, but you try applying the stuff with your finger without looking like Dr. Evil!

The stick version is maybe just a bit less effective, but so far so good.

And where it really trumps Carmex is in the taste department. Less medicine-y and more minty, which I’m hoping will come in handy for those unexpected under-the-mistletoe moments…

CP24 ran a nice little piece yesterday on the looming flu season. Your first line of defense, as always, is to get yourself inoculated with a free (in Ontario) flu shot.

If needles make you queasy or you need some other kind of moral support you can join me at The Eaton Centre either today or tomorrow afternoon. Probably tomorrow, as I need to figure out who to vote for today.

But there’s another simple thing we can all do to prevent the spread of those nasty micro-organisms… Instead of coughing or sneezing into your hands, try doing it into the crook of your arm instead. Apparently the flu virus can last up to five minutes on your skin, and if in those five minutes you touch any inanimate object like a door knob or hand rail then the bugs can linger for another one to two days!

Keeping our fair city healthy is worth a snotty sleeve or two, don’t you think?

(image lifted from Mitchell Church of Christ…)

There’s a an article on CNN.com today about a University of Pennsylvania report stating that, with the notable exception of Weight Watchers, most diet plans (read as “fads”) simply don’t work.

It’s no surprise to me; I put myself on the Caveman diet some years ago, but when the siren song of carbohydrates proved too sweet to resist, I quickly gained back all the weight I had lost—and then some.

I finally turned things around last autumn; since September I’ve lost more than 20 lbs., simply by counting calories and exercising five times a week. While I have the utmost respect for Weight Watcher-types who can dole out exact servings of all the food groups for themselves, for me a steady supplement of Slimfast bars is a better fit for my on-the-go (read as “too lazy to cook”) lifestyle.

So if you really want to lose weight, calculate your basal metabolism, then follow this simple rule: Calories in must be less than energy out—it’s simple thermodynamics, people!