This morning, amid the goof-off:
I took several discs and cones to the soccer field and set up my own one-man running / throwing drill.
Doing such things makes me self-conscious. I blame my grandparents. If they saw some neighbor-girl set up a bunch of orange cones and run around them, stopping occasionally to fling discs down field, they would think she was nuts. I can hear the commentary. “What is she doing?” “She runs and then throws some more.” “I wonder why.” “Why doesn’t she do that somewhere else.” “Look at her jiggle and go…” “That must have been bad. She doesn’t look happy with that one. She’s talking to herself.” Not that they’d say anything. They’d just stand behind the blinds and watch.
Despite any entertainment derived by little old people in *my* neighborhood, it worked pretty well. I’m suitably tired and got some throwing in.
Writing-wise, I added to ch. 1 of Divine Fire and cleaned up ch. 2. A grand 150 words more than I had last night.
Came across two bits on portion sizes today. NYT had the better one. Neither really hits on the fact that some products use portion-sizes to make their food look better nutritionally. Yes, the serving size for most ice cream is around a half cup. No one eats a half cup. Wouldn’t it be better if you put the nutritional info for a cup and a half, which is more like what a person eats? But then, people might look at the nutrition label and not want to eat ice cream. Or not understand that they can eat less than 1.5 cups. A serving of Poptarts is one pastry. Not two which is what’s in a package. Who eats half a package of Poptats? Don’t get me started on spray butter… Apparently it doesn’t exist.
Don’t mind me, I’m just cranky that I can never eat fried chicken again…