Wednesday, July 30, 2008

Refusing to Grow Up

I'm still having a bad week, workwise. I am getting really tired of processing garbage, knowing full well that no matter how hard I try, something will slip through and I will get a call later on to chastise me for missing it.

So, what is a person to do? In my case, indulge myself with a toy.

For as long as I can remember, I reward myself for getting through trying situations with a shopping trip at the end and permission to buy something frivolous. Get through a session with the dentist? Go buy that new book or cd or what have you that I've been telling myself I don't need. Talk myself into a check up with the doctor? That can result in major purchases on the order of flat-panel big-screen tvs. I think I ordered my laptop after a doctor visit. I really don't like going to the doctor.

So, yesterday I had had enough by lunch time to warrant an indulgence. Not having any clear idea where to go, I decided to head for the Antique Mall in Round Rock. This is a recent discovery of mine and a perfect place to go when I want to escape for an hour or so. It's quiet. It's large enough to get lost in. It's full of neat stuff.

I really didn't expect to find anything I needed, but you never know. The last time I was there I found a couple of Texas history books to add to my reference library. This time I found the perfect indulgence. Something I absolutely did not need and it wasn't all that expensive.

This was a display piece put out by Hallmark several years ago, priced way too high for me to get back when. It's tin, like the old Marx dollhouses of the 1950s. It's in dollhouse scale, so I can build a vignette of service station items under its canopy. And it was marked down to less than half its original price. (The mini-Harley was an impulse buy a few weeks back on an impulse visit to the Harley dealership next-door to the office on another day I needed a distraction on my lunch hour.)

Unfortunately for me, I got back to the house and did some checking on EBAY to make sure I had gotten a good deal. I had, but I also learned that there are several more pieces that went with this little display that I may need to add. Gas pumps, signs, etc.

The collector's mentality is a curse sometimes. Twenty-five years ago I bought a Hallmark ornament of a little house that was the perfect size to be a dollhouse in a dollhouse. That was the start of one of their ornament series and I've been buying the new edition every year since. There were special, anniversary pieces that had to be acquired during certain years and one year I even joined their ornament club (a true waste of money under normal circumstances) because they had a special edition of the series that was only available to club members.

Along about the fifth year of this series of ornaments, Mother suggested that I make a street scene. The buildings reminded us of Cripple Creek, Colorado, and so I even had a split level business district at one point. Now, twenty-five years later, I have three streets worth. Recently I discovered some collectible cars in the Wal-Mart toy aisles that were the perfect scale for this little village. Of course I bought way more than I should have, but I do enjoy the end result.

What is this mysterious hold that little houses and buildings have for me? I expect I shall be playing with little houses until the day I go to the big dollhouse in the sky.


Sunday, July 27, 2008

Vacationing in the 1940s

I kept to my word yesterday and spent most of the day in the chair, watching episodes from the Nero Wolfe tv series that ran on A&E a few years back. The dogs happily kept me company. About mid-morning I decided to work through one of my genealogy to-be-filed folders. I chose the Mobley line to work on and began working my way through, filing the odds and ends in my Mobley notebooks.

I got distracted when I ran across an old newspaper clipping about some Mobley cousins, the Cottles. I snapped a photo of the clipping from a cousin's collection displayed at a Turnipseed reunion last year. It concerned four Cottle boys who were serving in World War II at the same time. It was blurry and almost unreadable, but I recognized the style and realized that it probably came from the Elgin Courier and I had cds of the newspaper that covered the entire war period. I set out to find the clipping.

For most of the rest of the day and into the evening, I scanned old newspapers, beginning in 1945 and working my way back. I found lots of goodies along the way, and eventually the clipping I was looking for when I made it to 1943.

It was interesting to bury myself in the news of the 1940s. Every week some of the local boys in service were spotlighted on the front page, with their pictures and a brief description of their location and service status. A regular column, "Our Boys in Service", gave news gleaned from letters home to parents. Almost weekly was at least one front page story about a home-grown soldier wounded, missing in action, or killed.

Full page ads for War Bonds, notices of changes in the use of ration coupons, entreaties to turn in your Red Cross knitting or to pick up yarn for more Red Cross knitting, and many notices of weddings involving service men home on leave were the staple news items of the day. You get a real sense of a community united for the cause.

I found news items for the Cottle boys, the Hawthorne boys (another group of distant Mobley cousins), and for Willard Kunkel, a Mason cousin. I had almost forgotten that Willard was a part of this particular war. The first reminder was seeing this familiar photo of Willard and his new wife, an original copy of which is in my family notebooks:

Seeing this photo reminded me that I had never been able to tie down a marriage date for Willard, so I started looking for a notice of his marriage. Within a few more months of papers, I had my answer:

Elgin Courier, December 7, 1944
Willard Kunkel, U. S. N. Weds Oregon Girl
in California Rites Nov. 30

Thursday afternoon, November 30th, at 4:00 o'clock, Willard Kunkel, U. S. N., son of Mr. and Mrs. J. H. Kunkel, of Elgin, Texas, and Miss Majorie Radobough, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Harry Radobaugh, 2658 Tenth Street, Baker, Oregon, were married in a quiet ceremony in Pioneer Methodist Church, Oakland, California.

Mrs. Betty Hutto, of Baker, Oregon, attended the bride as matron of honor and H. C. Garrett, G. M. 2c, U. S. N., Roseville, California, served the groom as best man.

Following a brief honeymoon, the groom reported for return to the Southwest Pacific. Mrs. Kunkel will remain in Berkeley, California for the present, where she is employed with the Naval Supply Depot. On his next furlough Seaman Kunkel and bride plan to come to Texas to visit his parents.

Kunkel was born at Paige, Texas, but has lived in Elgin since he was about 5 years of age, and attended the Elgin schools. He entered service March 11, 1942, has already been across 14 months; was home on 4-days leave in the summer and returned overseas. He called from California November 22nd that he was back in the states but only for a few days stay, during which he was claiming his bride.

The many friends of Willard wish him a speedy return home and a long and happy married life, attended by success and prosperity.

Finding these little nuggets of family history is always satisfying, but I found myself even more enthralled with the time travel to another period of time when there was a war worth fighting and communities clung together and worried about their boys and did everything they could to help, from driving on threadbare tires to knitting socks and scarves, to collecting scrap metal. Family history is made richer for recognizing the social history that goes along with it.


Saturday, July 26, 2008


I was almost afraid Saturday would not get here, but at last. This was a killer week at work, with a flurry of difficult data files arriving. One of my fellow programmer/analysts and I agreed that we are electronic sanitation engineers. Just call me Norton (as in The Honeymooners, not the virus software.)

I refuse to work this weekend. The dogs and I are committed to two days of sloth. We intend to nestle down in a comfy chair after awhile and watch retro-television, read, and maybe work on a little family history.

First on their agenda was a war of the wills with the resident squirrel. He/she was frolicking below the deck this morning, teasing them.

He/she thinks he/she is clever and cute.

I think this is the lady friend. Our normal tormentor is larger. I have a sinking feeling that I will be dealing with a whole family group in a few months.

Gotta run. RTN has added Wagon Train to the weekend lineup. Wagons, ho!


Monday, July 21, 2008

Weekend Remnants

In following my previous line of thought, it's the Wilcoxen in me that led me into the trap of beginning the assembly of the glider before I had finished reading the instructions and, therefore, responsible for the washer mixup. It's also the Wilcoxen in me that decided to assemble the thing on the back deck, which meant that twice I had to crawl under the deck on my hands and knees to retrieve an errant piece of metal that had dropped between the slats. You would think I would learn and spread something underneath, but no. That would be in denial of my genetics. What can I say?

This glider thing caused me to completely rearrange and clean up the big deck. It's like a new piece of furniture that makes the rest of the room look shabby. I had stacked and piled junk on the patio table, let the pine needles collect into a crunchy carpet, and shoved so much lawn furniture and plants out there that you could not walk freely from one end to the other. It now looks much better, though of course the pine needles will be back by next weekend.

While I was preparing supper last night, I glanced out at my newly cleaned deck and observed our nervy resident squirrel in an act of ongoing vandalism. I had been blaming the birds, but it turns out the squirrel is the culprit. He's torn a big hole in the corner of one of the chair cushions and has been steadily removing the polyfill. I rapped on the window and yelled at him to stop that. He, in effect, shot me a rude gesture, grabbed another big clump of white fluff, stuffed it in his cheek and moseyed down the railing with the attitude of "you're not the boss of me, lady". I turned the dogs out and he changed his tune, but he's a crafty devil and I'm sure it's only a matter of time before my chair cushion becomes a soft winter den for him and his lady friend. I spied them in the top of the pine tree a few days ago and I have no doubt there will be a few more of the little toots in the not too distant future. I rather admire his cheekiness, and the chairs are old and way past their prime, so we will continue to enjoy watching his antics for now. When I get around to buying new cushions, we will have to have a serious chat.

A neighbor cat is also making free with our decks, sitting on the railing and calculating how fast he would have to jump to catch a bird on the feeder. The birds are laughing up their feathers.

Inspector Clouseau is making himself very welcome. It turns out he is a otoclincus, a variety of catfish, and he is gobbling algae so fast he may work himself out of a job. If I have to start cooking for the fish (blanched zucchini is recommended as a diet supplement for him), I am going to have a fit.

Rather a busy weekend. And I didn't even mention the 6 hours I put in for the office on Sunday afternoon. Wish this energy would hang around until I get the rest of the house in order.


Sunday, July 20, 2008

Ta Da

It should come as no surprise to anyone who knows me that this morning I went back and retrieved the washers that I used in the wrong place and put them in the right place. I am borderline obsessive compulsive in some ways and I knew it would bug me until I corrected my boo boo. Better to spend the extra time to do it right than to feel displeasure every time I looked at it because I knew I had done it wrong.

I am grateful to the genes I inherited on my maternal side. My grandfather Wilcoxen, bless him, was an avid builder of things that fell down in a short period of time. He added onto the core of a house they bought for retirement and a few years back, the only thing that was still structurally sound was the core of the house he started with. But he was enthusiastic and he enjoyed himself and that's what counts.

My father was similarly inept when it came to mechanics or carpentry. I can remember back when I was in college and stopped for gas at the Texaco in downtown Bastrop and agreed to have my oil checked (when was the last time anybody offered to do that?). B.J., the owner, asked me just how long it had been since I had had an oil change. I was clueless that such a thing even existed and apparently my father wasn't far behind. B.J. informed me that I was driving around on sludge and thereafter always looked at me like I was a few bricks shy a load.

So my ability to puzzle out things mechanical and computerical and my ability to assemble a pile of parts into a complete whole that actually looks like it should at the end I attribute to the genes inherited on my Hodge side. To be more specific, I suspect I inherited this ability from my Mason line. My grandmother Lucy was a self-sufficient soul who could do just about anything she set out to do and if she didn't have the necessary parts, she improvised. She was probably also the source of my affinity for knitting and crochet, which she probably inherited from her own grandmother, Mary Harworth Mason, an accomplished weaver.

We are all a conglomeration of abilities or inabilities passed down from generation to generation. We sometimes overcome our shortcomings (I get oil changes religiously every 5000 miles), but it always helps to have some innate talent to work with. And sometimes it just helps to recognize where you are lacking and pay someone else to do it. That's why I bribed Mother's health worker to make a couple of throw pillows for me this past week. If I've learned anything in my 50+ years, it is to keep a large distance between me and a sewing machine.

So, here's to my grandparents Wilcoxen who inspired me to acquire this neat glider, and here's to my grandparents Hodge who gave me the ability to construct it.


Saturday, July 19, 2008

With Age Comes Stupidity

Words to the wise: anytime someone asks if you want to take delivery of a thing assembled or unassembled, once you’ve passed the age of 50 you should always say assembled. Especially in Texas in mid July.

Despite that bone-headed error on my part, the glider is ¾ assembled and I’ve decided to do the last bit later on today or early in the morning when it’s not quite so hot. I am drenched, or glowing as they would say in the old South. And I have a cut on one finger where I slipped and caught the edge of one of the seats. I discovered that in the very first step I used the wrong washers so that now I’m at the very last step I don’t have the right washers. Fortunately I have a supply of assorted metal bits and pieces in the garage and scrounged enough washers to finish the job.

The glider that I had to have because Grandma had one.

All that's left to do.

I will have to say that the glider is well fabricated. If I manage to actually finish this thing (and I strongly suspect that it may be necessary to have a second pair of hands at the end; we shall see), I don't think there's much doubt that it will be a sturdy little thing. Once you figure out which way the "long cross member" (sounds dirty, doesn't it?) is to be attached and that the picture of the frame assembly is upside down from the way the thing will be when you attach it to the chair assembly, everything fits snug and tight and is properly supported. I think I shall enjoy it. Along about October. Right now, it's just too dang hot.


Catching Up

This has been a week and a half. The usual July work crunch was made worse by a cluster of difficult data files that came in and caused confusion, consternation and considerable aggravation. The timing could not have been worse since I had a mid-week mini-escape on the schedule.

But the trip to see John Edward and spend the night in a hotel in Austin was the one highlight of the week and went off without a hitch. Regardless of whether or not you buy into his psychic ability (I do), he always provides 2 hours of good entertainment. The group that attended was in harmony, John gave a dozen interesting readings, and the 2 hours zipped by. This was our second time to attend one of his group readings and I'm thinking it will probably not be our last.

Unfortunately, the next day brought me back to reality with a thud and the remainder of the week was an exercise in trying to keep my head above the rising tide of incoming data files. I hate July almost as much as I hate May.

There were a few other diversions during the course of the week. An idle search at Footnote brought to light a Frankum family connection who filed an application with the Dawes Commission in 1902 in an attempt to gain official membership in the Mississippi Choctaw tribe. The application was ultimately rejected due to lack of documentary evidence, but the application provided a good deal of information on this family that I did not have. Plus, I was able to forward the information on to a descendant of the line. I do enjoy random acts of genealogical kindness, both giving and receiving. It helped offset the week's drudgery.

Yesterday I made a stop by Petsmart and added another albino Cory catfish (Bob went to the great aquarium in the sky awhile back) and an algae eater (whose official name I cannot remember) to my little aquarium. They've added a lot of movement and interest to the little colony. Eeny, Meeny & Miney seem to like having the extra company. The catfish will henceforth be known as Inspector Lestrade. I'm considering Inspector Clouseau for the algae eater. He gives the impression of not being all there. They have been performing forensic investigations, but still no word on the disappearance of Moe.

In other news, we have a deer who is coming regularly in the late evening for a drink out of the bird baths in the front yard. Coco has been itching to chase him. One evening this week, returning from our walk, we were almost upon him before we realized he was there. Two little dogs almost turned inside out.

Today we intend to make a stab at assembling our new retro-glider. Stand by. This could be a success or a fiasco. Mojo intends to be the supervisor. 'Nuff said.


Tuesday, July 15, 2008

Something Fishy Going On

Any Agatha Christie fans out there? Remember the book Ten Little Indians (aka And Then There Were None)?

Remember playing Clue? Colonel Mustard in the Library with a lead pipe?

Moe is missing. No trace of him at all. Colonel Eeny Mustard, Miss Meeny Scarlett and Professor Miney Plum say they have no idea what happened to him. There are mysterious implements of destruction in the vicinity: a candlestick, a gun, a rope, a wrench, a lead pipe, a knife.

I suspect foul play. Yes, he was looking ill the last time I saw him. Perhaps poison? But there should be a body. Nothing. No curious disturbance in the gravel to indicate a covert burial.

The lid to the aquarium was undisturbed, so I feel that the cats are, for once in their evil lives, innocent.

I may have to call in Scotland Yard.


Friday, July 11, 2008

Changes for the Better

Back in the late 1960s and early 1970s, I was particularly fond of a television show called Ironside, about a wheelchair bound police detective played by Raymond Burr. A new cable network in Austin, RTN (Retro Television Network), began operation recently and I was delighted to see Ironside was on their daily schedule. My DVR has been recording the episodes daily and I've been catching up on this old favorite.

I'm thoroughly enjoying these old shows, but it's funny how much has changed in our society since then. And I'm not speaking just of fashion and auto styles, though both were rather hideous at the time. This was the time of polyester and of big boxy cars. The specially equipped van that transported Chief Ironside from place to place looked like an armored truck that started life as an army transport.

But it's the glaring social differences that reach out and slap you. One episode this week took place in a hospital where a nurse stands in the corridor and chain smokes. Everybody in the series smokes, which is startling enough, but a nurse in a hospital corridor?

Another recent episode takes place on a jet airliner returning to San Franciso from Hawaii. One of the police officers is told to go up and talk to the pilot and make contact with the San Francisco police department. No problem. She spent a good chunk of the episode hanging out in the cockpit, which was surprisingly spacious and accessible to the passengers. You don't see that anymore.

Telephones. I watch a lot of old television and I don't think much about the old-style telephones that have gone the way of antique stores. But this show was hip and had mobile telephones in the vehicles. I had forgotten how clunky the first mobile telephones were. Every time one of the characters grabs that car phone, it's quite the visual disturbance.

We've come a long way. Not just in technology. I don't miss the ever present haze of cigarette smoke that was taken for granted in the 70s and prior. I'm glad I have that little cell phone for road emergencies. Thank heavens that the leisure suit era is gone with the wind.

Nostalgia is fun, and it's interesting to take a walk down memory lane. But some things I don't miss at all. And I find myself wondering what the children of today think if they happen across one of these old shows. They probably can't believe it.


Wednesday, July 09, 2008

The First Week of July

For weeks now I've been watching the corn crop shrivel up and die under the unusually early heat of June.

But on my way home from work a couple of days ago, this was the welcome sight headed our way.

We've actually gotten a few, brief rain showers since then. Too short, but we will take every drop we get and hope that more is on the way. It's been a very long time since the first week of July was cooler than the entire month of June.

I may have mentioned that my Siamese Beta died recently. I've decided to try a different approach with my little aquarium. I'm tired of tending a cranky loner and decided to focus on a friendly fish for awhile. I am cautiously optimistic with our new arrivals, but I remember that tropical fish are a little temperamental and I do not plan to get attached for at least a week, just in case.

Meet Eeny, Meeny, Miney...

And Moe.
I don't know if Moe has a hygiene issue or he's just a solitary sort, but for some reason he's always at the opposite end of the aquarium from the others.


Monday, July 07, 2008

Definitely Not a Spring Chicken

Have I ever told the story about the time I cracked my head on the sidewalk in San Gabriel? I was about 5 as I recall. I was walking backward, talking to Janice and Joyce, sisters that my parents were fostering at the time. My white dog, Sissy, got tangled up in my feet and I went over backward. My head bounced on the sidewalk a couple of times and I ended up with a very sore bump about the size of a goose egg. It hurt like crazy and I got a lot of sympathy from the folks at church the next Sunday. Those were the days when you didn't go to the doctor for a minor thing like a concussion.

I flashed back to that incident tonight while I was trailing along behind the dogs, who love to zip back and forth to sniff each mailbox that we pass. I just know that one of these days they will succeed in tripping me up with their leash and I'm going to go down on the pavement and crack my head again. I was really concerned it might be tonight, because I am really in bad shape at the moment and probably could not make the necessary adjustments to stay on my feet.

The entire right side of my body is screaming at me. In an abortive attempt to keep Mother from falling on Saturday, I managed to wrench my shoulder. The muscles are sore from the middle of my back down to my right hip. I realized tonight that I also undid all the good the chiropractor has done for my right thumb and it is feeling decidedly dislocated again.

Today has been an exercise in groans. It hurt to pick up my briefcase and put it in the car. It hurt worse to take it out of the car. Every door at the office is on a heavy hinge and invariably I would try to open them with my right hand, only to have my shoulder remind me it did not want to do that right now. Even sitting still doesn't work, because after awhile the shoulder muscles begin to cramp. It did not take folks around me long to realize the old lady was in pain. It got a few doors opened for me and a box carried inside from my car. Might as well enjoy the considerations when I have a good excuse.

I'm fairly sure it's just sore muscles and no real damage was done, but when you are my age sore muscles can pretty darned disabling. The dogs are puzzled why our walks have been dramatically shorter the last few days. Mom is getting a good reminder that she just ain't a kid no more.


Friday, July 04, 2008

Liberation, One Mess at a Time

I'd been promising myself for two weeks that I would take it easy on July 4th and enjoy a long weekend. June was unusually busy, weekend-wise, and I'm beginning to drag my tail.

But, when this morning rolled around, I had this sudden itch to investigate what kind of mess awaited me in the storage shed. You see, I ordered a car this week. Delivery will be several months away, but I know how time flies and that commitment has started a domino effect. I intend to keep my Explorer for awhile since I can't get a decent trade in for it and when the Prius arrives, I'm going to need both sides of the garage for car. The half that is full of junk has got to be cleaned up between now and then.

The garage cleaning has been an ongoing process for some time now and I have most everything I intend to keep in boxes or bins for storage. The boxes and bins need to find a new home, which I hope will be the 8'x10' storage shed out back that has been holding 90% junk for 8 years now.

So this morning I entered phase 1 of the storage shed clean up. In two hours I filled 3 garbage cans and sorted out at least two loads of things to be taken to the thrift store.

The pile for the thrift store.

The trash.

There's still a lot of stuff in the keep category that has to be dealt with, but there has been a great improvement in the shed. I've made a giant step forward in the goal of having a functional two-car garage.

Speaking of garages, the kids and I have been spying on our neighbors while we take our evening walks. There seems to be three philosophies about garages. There are the neighbors down the street who have a garage so neat and clean you could serve dinner out there. (I hate them.) Then there are the neighbors who never, ever put their cars in the garage because there is not one inch of room available due to all the junk they are storing. (At least they make me feel better about my own situation. I can park my car inside every night and my junk is semi-organized.) Then there are the neighbors who use the garage as a den. There's a family around the corner who are always sprawled in their garage, watching tv, with the garage door open and surrounded by stacks and piles of either junk or the necessities of relaxation. This was interesting when it was spring time and I figured they were enjoying the fresh air. But they are still at it in July when it's hot as bloody hell out there. All I can figure is their house is so full of junk they've had to move out.

There's one house that falls into its own category. They have built a false wall about 3 feet inside the garage. I'm guessing they have created a workshop or a utility room or a sewing room or something out of 3/4 of their garage. The remaining 3 feet is full of junk. All I can say is, it's going to be a job to sell that one when the time comes. Of course, you might still be able to get a SmartCar in that much space.

It always feels good to clear out another pile of clutter. Emotionally, that is. Physically I feel like I'm 75 years old. I've got to get all this junk dealt with soon before I get any older. My body is beginning to make snide and nasty comments and I'm beginning to fear severe retribution for my recent activities.

Tomorrow I will take it easy. After I cart all that load to the thrift store, that is.



I have a distant cousin who has me on her email list and generally sends highly Repulican-slanted political propaganda my way. I delete her emails for the most part. But one yesterday intrigued me. It had a link to a youtube video. I took a chance and watched it. Cool.

All I can say is I wish I were this well traveled. And I wish I had the creativity to come up with a cool video documentation for my own travels.



Wednesday, July 02, 2008


Today was a productive one on many levels. I finally got a new set of tires and can now relax my stomach muscles a bit when I hit 70 mph. I don't know if all Goodrich tires are as good as the set that I just relinquished, but anytime you get 99,000 miles on a set of tires and the tread still looks new, I think you can say you got your money's worth.

While my vehicle was in the shop, I asked them to take a look at a balky window that sometimes worked and sometimes didn't. Turned out I needed a new motor for that particular window and I was still within my extended warranty by 800 miles.

Since someone slipped up and forgot to get the tires in early and because I had a piece of warranty work involved, I was allowed a rental car for the day. That allowed me to run some errands, get back to the house and get in a full day's work instead of cooling my heels in the waiting room, and hop over to Smithville to my favorite Mexican restaurant for lunch.

The food, as always, was yummy. The service stank for no perceptible reason, but since I've seldom had problems there, I decided to let it go with a simple glower or two.

My day's work involved watching programs crunch data for one of our largest clients, which left me with some pockets of time while waiting that allowed me to begin sifting through the folders that came out of the file cabinet a couple of weeks ago. I've still got a bit of a mess there, but I've managed to sort about 3/4 of it into workable segments and I don't feel quite so overwhelmed by the little mountain of paper in the corner.

On the down side, I had help from two very meddlesome cats. My own personal pair of albatross. Albatrosses? Albatrossi? Hmm.

In closing, here is a spur of the moment Ode to a Mexican Restaurant:

How do I love thee?
Let me count the ways.
I love thee for the perfect blend of
tomatoey salsa with just the right heat.
I love thee for the crispy, salty tortilla chips.
I love thee for the guacamole.
My heart jumps when I perceive the
perfect blend of enchilada, taco, refried beans and rice
arranged in splendor on the hot platter.
It is only surpassed by the sizzling fajitas that
are my second favorite.
Thy gooey cheese fills my soul with joy.
May we always walk together
til the end of time.
Calories be damned.