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Opinion
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Written by Brandon Steinert
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Wednesday, 01 September 2010 08:00 |
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
“Eh, what’s up, doc?” I joked, wielding four freshly peeled carrots. I took another extra-loud bite and took my bright orange meal on the road as I headed into the office, inspiring a look of disbelief from my wife, Leann, who still hasn’t gotten used to my new fake love of raw vegetables.
Her look is one I’ve grown used to in past weeks as I’ve drastically changed my diet and exercise regiment. The idea is to combat the few extra pounds that began tagging along shortly after college graduation.
This weekend, I received some more interesting looks from two of my college buddies. I went to visit them in Kansas City, Mo., and we stopped by a Wendy’s for a quick bite. When I ordered a side salad and removed the bread from what would otherwise be a chicken sandwich, they froze and gave me a confused, almost hurt glance.
Here I was, the guy who would scarf down a Chipotle burrito, then finish off what was left of his friends’ burritos, and I was removing parts of my light meal.
“What happened?” asked Andy, one of my closest friends.
I briefly explained that I had changed my diet to include less red meat and more raw vegetables.
It took a few minutes before the news sank in, but they accepted my decision all the same.
The only one having trouble coming to terms with my diet is ... well, me.
I was in utter dismay as I allowed the feeble willpower I managed to muster to take control of my purchases as I perused the Price Chopper aisles.
I rolled the cart past the barbecue ribs kept warm by heat lamps. The aroma of sweet sauce and slow-cooked pork invaded my nostrils; for a moment, I forgot my destination. My stomach growled. I ignored what seemed like my body’s demands and proceeded to the produce aisle.
Raw broccoli, check.
Three bags of celery, check.
Both long and baby carrots, check.
The list went on and on ... and seemingly never ended.
The Steinert household refrigerator is now stocked with more fruit and raw vegetables than I have eaten in the past year. No joke. My old days of burgers, brats, barbecue and pasta are over. Of course, I’ll still enjoy the occasional reward meal when I’ve behaved for more than a couple weeks at a time, but they will be few and far between.
One such meal already has been consumed, but it was more out of pity for myself than anything else.
I had been advised to try eating chunks of raw cabbage. Having only ever eaten cabbage in German-dish form, I decided to give it a try.
That was the worst advice I have ever received. I never knew chewing could make so many different noises at once.
It crunched, squeaked (yes, it squeaked) and had the texture of a rubber tire that had spent one-too-many days dry-rotting in the summer sun.
I finished my chunk of cabbage and promptly regretted it.
I’ll stick to carrots, salads and broccoli.
You all might be wondering why I chose to let you in on this new development in my life. Well, my reasoning is threefold:
First, I think it can be a form of entertainment. Anytime there is a conflict, there is interest. So I genuinely hope you at least let out a brief giggle in amusement while scanning this column.
Second, maybe by writing similar columns as updates in the future, it will help others who are struggling with diet and exercise. If I can do it, anybody can do it. This is a complete 180 from my previous lifestyle.
Lastly, I need to be held accountable to make it work for me. That’s my problem. Who better to hold me accountable than thousands of my close neighbors?
Check future issues of the Louisburg Herald for columns about what is sure to be a wacky journey. If it’s like anything else in my life, it will take a turn for the hilarious. |
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Opinion
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Written by Jesse Trimble
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Wednesday, 25 August 2010 08:00 |
There’s something to be said for folks who live in the country. And I don’t mean the United States, I mean, the country — dirt roads, snakes, acres of lawn to mow, perhaps a few pups.
I grew up living in the country, outside of my hometown, and I loved it. As an only child, the country gave me a chance to get outside and explore and entertain myself. I didn’t need a video-game console, although my dad and I were both big fans of the original Mario Bros. I didn’t need television to constantly keep me occupied. I had the outdoors for that.
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Opinion
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Written by Brandon Steinert
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Wednesday, 11 August 2010 08:00 |
If you’ve seen an ugly old Pontiac Grand Prix driving around town, a red one with a blue hood, wave. That’s me. 
I’ve been blessed with some great things in my life, like a loving wife and entertaining neighbors, but if there’s been one thing that has plagued me, it’s crummy cars.
My first car was a 1983 AMC Eagle wagon. It was yellow with brown trim on the bottom. No, not flashy bright yellow, but a dull, faded, ugly yellow.
The boxy golden-brown abomination, which I bought from my dad for $500, was nicknamed The Twinkie for its shape and color.
I inherited the infamous vehicle near the end of its life. The four-wheel-drive was the first feature to fail, followed by the clutch.
When I pulled up to a stop sign, it was always nerve-racking. I had to keep one foot on the clutch, while my right foot had to do a balancing act between the brake pedal and the gas. I had to keep the accelerator pressed slightly just so it wouldn’t die.
One night, my high school friends decided we should determine how fast it could go — a saddening 75 mph, down hill.
The clutch eventually got so bad that I didn’t use it anymore. Putting it in first gear became challenging, as it took a great deal of strength.
When it finally caught, it would make a loud “pop!” that eventually became synonymous with, “Brandon’s leaving.”
My luck with cars hasn’t got much better. After purchasing a 1994 Pontiac Grand Prix, I felt pretty good about myself. I cleaned it up and took good care of it. Then while driving down a dusty dirt road with zero visibility, I slammed it into the back of a large dump truck.
I loved that car so much I decided to go for another one, which is what I drive today — a 1996 Grand Prix.
It’s hardly something to be proud of in terms of aesthetics, or even comfort since it has no air conditioning, but it has value beyond what it would be worth in a sale.
I’ve been through a lot in that car.
I’ve had highs: I once drove down a low-maintenance dirt road, passing one truck after another that had gotten stuck in the mud and making it to the other side.
I’ve had lows: I high-centered it, and it has been in a river.
The door handle is actually a bicycle cable connected to the inside handle. My radio numbers no longer light up. I have to use a screwdriver to get into the glove box, and I have to get into the glove box to get into my trunk. I’m about to reach the 195,000-mile point. There’s more, but, you get the picture.
Despite its shortcomings and what most would call discomforts or inconveniences, my car has become a symbol to me. Much like the Millennium Falcon was to Han Solo or the Serenity to was Capt. Malcolm Reynolds. It’s not the prettiest, nor the best, but it gets the job done, and it’s mine. |
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Opinion
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Written by Brandon Steinert
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Wednesday, 04 August 2010 08:00 |
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My elders teach me valuable life lessons. My friends and colleagues are helpful resources I can count on. But, what I learned this weekend on a trip to a wedding in Oklahoma City, is something I’m certain I always knew. Kids can be a ton of fun.
Prior to the trip, during an interview with local attorney Marvin Barkis, I learned quite a bit about his life. One thing that threw me off guard with my recent thoughts of parenthood was his statement, “Being a father was my greatest adventure.”
Coming from a well-educated man who traveled the world, I had no choice but to take it to heart. That was July 23. The following weekend built on his words.
My time in Oklahoma spanned over three days. While I was there, I had the opportunity to play with my nieces and nephews, which brought back memories of my own childhood.
When I wasn’t challenging them to a game of Nintendo Wii golf, we were at the hotel pool.
While racing my brother-in-law in circles with two kiddos latched onto my back, I began to think about parenthood.
Leann and I have been married for more than a year, and to this point we’ve elected to wait until we’re ready — likely not for another four years or more — before we start a family.
That’s still the plan, but I can’t help but look forward to the day when they’re my kids I’m playing with, and I’ll get to do it every day. I’m really a child at heart, stuck in this adult body.
It was late on the final night of our trip and, after a full day of eating too much and throwing the kids around in the pool, I was relaxing in the hot tub with a couple other hotel patrons and my aforementioned brother-in-law.
“You’re going to be a cool dad,” he said, seemingly out of nowhere.
My eyes opened wide, surprised by his insight into what I was pondering.
After my initial response, a quick “thank you,” I began to wonder if being a cool dad is the same as being a good one.
Will I be too busy having fun with my kids to understand responsibility and discipline?
Scenes from “Mrs. Doubtfire” began flooding my mind as I remember the father figure who did nothing but play with his kids, which ultimately lead to the demise of his marriage.
“No,” I tell myself, “I’ll know when to be stern.”
For now I’ll have to just believe this to be true, as there’s no way to tell what the future will bring. I do know, however, that I have a very low tolerance for pouting, impatience and short tempers.
I hope and pray these qualities will bring a balance to my parenting ability when the time comes.
In the meantime, I’ll keep leaning on friends and colleagues and asking questions of my elders. |
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Opinion
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Written by Brandon Steinert
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Wednesday, 28 July 2010 08:00 |
“Aaah, finally Saturday,” I said, verbalizing a sigh as I kicked back on the couch and turned on my Xbox 360. “Time for a little R and R.”
It had been a while since I had a day with nothing to do; granted I still went down to the farmers’ market for an interview for the weekly vendor feature. It has been a string of active weeks and Louisburg wasn’t taking a break.
Upon my return home, though, I faced a day of no obligations and no responsibilities.
That is, until my wife Leann learned of my spare time.
That day, I mowed the lawn and trimmed around the house, drove to the scary part of Kansas City for a good deal on a used tail light, replaced said tail light, cleaned the bathroom vent, fixed the toilet paper holder and put together a table.
There’s more, but, you get the picture.
I love her with all my heart and she’s the best thing ever to happen to me, but there’s something to be said for procrastination every now and then.
“I just like to get things done,” she tells me.
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