Archive for the 'haterade' Category

21
Dec
13

Three food-related things that annoy me

In no particular order, for no particular reason.

1. “Diets don’t work!”

Diets work just the fuck fine.  Dieters, on the other hand, are usually stupid fuckups.

The first category of stupid fuckup dieter who says shit like “diets don’t work” is the person who’s not actually dieting.  You’ve seen these people, maybe even shared a brain with one of ‘em.  “I’m on a diet; I started using organic pasta in the five pounds of fettuccine alfredo I eat every night.”  “I’m on Atkins; I can eat eleventy billion kcal of bacon and pork rinds as long as I don’t have carbs.”  “I’m going vegan.  Did you know Oreos are vegan?”  Brilliant strategy, cupcake; how many calories are you eating, and how many are you burning?  “Oh, well, I don’t have time to pay attention to that stuff.”  Sure you do, you just don’t want to.  You cannot beat thermodynamics with wishful thinking.

The second category of stupid fuckup dieter does in fact diet, and does so successfully.  Then, having demonstrated to themselves and the world that thermodynamics works exactly as you’d expect, this person throws physics the fuck away and expects diet magic to prevent them from regaining all their fat when they go back to eating the same shit, in the same quantities, that made them fat in the first place.  “I gained all the weight back; diets don’t work!”  That diet worked fine… while you were on it.  These sorts of people love to prattle on about “sustainable lifestyle changes” as if that’s somehow an alternative to dieting, rather than the obvious and sensible thing to do after dieting.

2. “Bulking is so haaaard!

These people, rather than making excuses for not putting any meaningful and thoughfully-directed effort into losing fat, are instead making excuses for not putting any &c. into gaining muscle.  Or, some times, just any kind of weight at all.  I mean, if you want to make sure you’re gaining muscle and very little fat, the food part gets a little fiddly and you have to work really hard in the squat rack — and I don’t mean curling 65 for a zillion sets of ten, either.  But the eating part?  Holy shitballs, bulking is fun and motherfucking easy at the recreational level.  (There are counterexamples.  You’re not one of them.)

Assuming you’re doing enough work in the gym (you probably aren’t doing that, either, but that’s another rant), start by drinking a litre of whole milk every day in addition to “eating like omg soooo much“.  Use it to mix your protein shakes or something.  (What’s that?  You’re “bulking” but not drinking protein shakes?  I think we’ve found the fucking problem, Sparky.)  If that doesn’t do the trick, add another litre of whole milk.  Keep going until it starts to work.  If you can’t “force down” all that food, it’s a pretty great sign that you’re not lifting hard enough.  Run a Smolov squat cycle or something, you’ll discover your appetite.  (“I don’t squat though, I think I read somewhere that it’s bad for your knees.  Does Smolov work with leg press?”  Kill yourself.  Also, I think we found the fucking problem.)

3. “I can’t eat healthy, I don’t have time to cook”

Bullshit.  It takes maybe fifteen minutes to prepare a batch of meat slop if you dice the cabbage (or use a food processor) instead of shredding it by hand.  Then you let it simmer for a while, during which you can perform all of the incredibly important tasks you’re pretending to have on your plate.  Or you can do what you actually want to do “instead of” cooking, like fapping to internet porn or watching CSI: Miami or some shit like that, as long as you take a minute every half hour or so to dig around in the pot with a wooden spoon and make sure the meat slop’s not carbonizing on the bottom of the pot.  There you go, roughly half an hour of aggregate effort and you have eight or ten meals.  Pack that shit in Pyrex and do it again in a couple of days.

“But eating the same thing over and over is boring!”  Fuck you.  Meal time is not a trip to Disneyland; it’s primarily about getting nutrition into your body, not entertaining you.  Do you insist that every trip to the gas station be a fun and novel experience?  No you don’t, because you’re not four years old.  Food is the same way.

——

In unrelated news, it’s christmas vacation season, and I’m planning to finally learn how to snatch properly over the course of my two weeks off.  My goal is to lift every day (except the 24th, the 25th, and the 1st, because the gym isn’t open those days), on the following programme:

  1. Do a bunch of heaving snatch balances until my brain gets cosy with the idea of diving under a loaded barbell
  2. Do a bunch of squat snatches until my form breaks down
  3. Do high-bar squats or front squats to a max double, then backoffs, with some chins or pullups after each set
  4. Do presses or push presses to a max double, then backoffs, with some chins or pullups after each set

Today I started with overhead squats, but I think that was a mistake.  I put the bar overhead for OHSQs by snatching it, and I think doing even three or four terrible, awful, no-good power snatches at the start of my workout poisons my real snatch form just a little.  My technique on snatches is fucking terrible, and I’m gonna try to accumulate 400 or so good reps over the course of my vacation time.  I would be surprised, but not shocked, if I come back to this blog on January 5th and giddily announce that I’ve snatched bodyweight.  I’m sitting around at about 165 (down 20 from March; fuck you again, “diets don’t work” guy), and my best power snatch is 145 — more of a muscle snatch, really, I probably dipped about an inch under that bar.  I’m clearly strong enough to snatch 165, I just don’t have the skill or the mindset to do it.  Yet.

16
Nov
13

Lovecraft has nothing on public transit

If you ever want to see people gripped by nameless, protean dread, all you have to do is get on a bus.

Most people on buses are students or commuters, their brains deadened by fatigue, oblivious to the horrors that surround them.  They squeeze into seats next to grubby strangers or hang listlessly from the handholds, staring with dull lidded eyes at smartphones and occasionally slurping from a cardboard cup of Starbucks.  They are mercifully unaware of the terror that envelops them and whisks them to work or school and thence back home
But some people in this waking nightmare are indeed AWAKE.  They are inescapably aware of the yawning abyss in which they travel, however desperately they may try to feign the dulled ignorance of their neighbours.
They can’t tell you what they fear, only that they fear it and that it is indeed fearful.
Seats are places of safety.  When an Awake rider boards a Bus, he or she scurries to the nearest empty bench.  But seats can also become traps, like foxholes can become graves under artillery fire; sitting constantly risks that one of the deadened, zombielike commuters might sit next to you, trapping you in the yawning horror of public transit with neither respite nor recourse.
Some of the Awakened will place bags or boxes on the seat next to them, like sleepless children whose blankets are their only protection against the carnassial things in the dark.  But this too carries risk, that of rousing one of the Oblivious from their stupor into indignant confrontation.  The wrath of a soul-deadened commuter may be less fearful than the ineffable terror of The Bus, but none of the Awakened dare risk being weakened by the former in the face of the latter.
Lacking the security of an unaccompanied seat, the Awake huddle near the exits, clinging desperately to this proximity despite the rude shocks of the Oblivious squeezing past them into the depths of the bus’s interior and the cacodaemoniacal scolding of the brusque and uncaring Driver.  Only when the opprobrium of the Oblivious threatens to boil over into violent action will the Awakened be pressed into the bowels of The Bus, pressed from all sides by sullen, looming crowds of the Oblivious and shriekingly distant from the portals that lead to the meager safety of the outside world.
Most dreadful of all of The Bus’s confines is the rear deck, up two steps from the main deck and with no exits of its own, only a single cramped portal leading to the rear doors.  The Awake will never enter the rear deck of an even remotely crowded Bus, and resist most desperately being chivvied into this area even when prodded by throngs of the Oblivious under the maddening lashes of the Driver’s instruction.  For even when trapped in the aisle between exits, if an Awake rider finds his path to an exit blocked by the Oblivious, he may still hope to find passage to the other exit; but any Awake so trapped on the rear deck has no recourse beyond panicked shoving and terrified shrieks.  (It is an article of faith among the Awake that a tap on the shoulder and a quiet “excuse me”, courtesies otherwise respected as a matter of course, are of no avail on The Bus.)
Once perilously ensconced on The Bus, the Awake peer desperately at the world outside as it whizzes past the windows in a dreamlike blur, their fear-dilated eyes searching for landmarks that might indicate progress towards the respite of Their Stop.  Any and every obstacle between themselves and this sanctuary is an object of the utmost horror, be it unexpected construction causing a blockage of traffic, inclement weather clouding the windows, or a mass of Oblivious commuters between themselves and the pull-cord or button that instructs the Driver to halt at Their Stop.  Faced with such impediments, the Awake become more and more agitated, but since the circumstances are beyond their control they rarely have any recourse but to stand, sweating and shaking, and pray to the uncaring gods that they may be granted timely exit from The Bus.
On occasion, whether by mischance or cruel conspiracy of fate, one of the Awake will board an unfamiliar Bus on an express route.  Thereupon, they will witness another traveller request egress at the next Stop, only for the hideous and uncaring Driver to pass a visible stop by with neither hesitation nor remorse.  This provokes within the Awake passenger such frantic terror that they may launch themselves at the nearest pull-cord or button, heedless to the leaden Oblivious in their way, and yank or pound frantically on this device to no apparent effect.  Even the other Awake on The Bus might turn in nervous curiosity to search out the source of the terror, and their apparent complacence in the face of endless purgatory drives the tresspassing Awake  to new levels of panic.
Then The Bus stops, and the unperturbed traveller exits, leaving the Awake to shudder at the apparent randomness of the Driver, granting sought-after escape or horrible imprisonment seemingly at his whim.
13
Nov
13

All linky, no thinky 2: The Linkening

So I’m joining the rising tide of anti-intellectualism that’s destroying Classical Liberal Arts Institutions, or whatever, and taking a course on reactive programming on Coursera (one of those MOOCs that’s destroying &c.).  Feels good to stretch my brain again; I’ve wanted an excuse properly to learn Scala for a while, and maybe this time around I’ll actually grok monads.  (If you’re wondering what “reactive programming” is, it’s writing Erlang in languages that aren’t Erlang.  So far as I can tell, at any rate.)

——

Is fairness a process thing or an outcome thing?  I suspect most of us’ll pick one until we come across an instance of the other we don’t like, at which point things go all Black Monolith and we club each other with femurs.

Money shot:

As I see it, many upper middle class parents desire their child to be slightly more successful than they are, and in related but not identical fields and ways.

Duh, you say, which tells me you haven’t read it.  “But why wouldn’t you prefer to hire a better worker?”  Why didn’t you buy a Bentley Mulsanne instead of a used Camry?  “So practical!”  Shut up, you’ve made my point.  Why hire a superstar developer for a gajillion dollars when all you need is someone to poke node.js with a stick?  “But assholes drive Bentleys!”  You think Mark Zuckerberg’s an asshole, don’t you?  “Huh?”  Just scroll down already.

The real insight here is into the minds of so-called “consumer advocates”.

Teetering dangerously close to reaggravating my outrage fatigue.

Oh look, a nice comforting hobby-horse.  Meta-analysis shows that “saturated fat is not the problem”.  No shit, buttercup.  Fat loss is widely correlated with improved cardiovascular health, and a fat loss diet is, de facto, high in saturated fat coming from your own god damn adipocytes.  Here’s the paper’s author giving me an enormous confirmation-bias boner:

Saturated fat has been demonised ever since Ancel Keys’s landmark “seven countries” study in 1970. This concluded that a correlation existed between the incidence of coronary heart disease and total cholesterol concentrations, which then correlated with the proportion of energy provided by saturated fat. But correlation is not causation. Nevertheless, we were advised to cut fat intake to 30% of total energy and saturated fat to 10%.” The aspect of dietary saturated fat that is believed to have the greatest influence on cardiovascular risk is elevated concentrations of low density lipoprotein (LDL) cholesterol. Yet the reduction in LDL cholesterol from reducing saturated fat intake seems to be specific to large, buoyant (type A) LDL particles, when in fact it is the small, dense (type B) particles (responsive to carbohydrate intake) that are implicated in cardiovascular disease.

We make kids go to school because it’s “good for them”, and everyone agrees that it’s “good for” kids to go to college.  So why not round them up at gunpoint, herd them into cattle cars, and send ‘em off to West Bumfuck State?

As odd as it may sound, the majority of time and resources of the FTC is not spent on punishing bad business practices as authorized in the FTC Act. The agency overwhelmingly concentrates on enforcing another act also passed in 1914, the Clayton Act, and specifically section 7, which prohibits mergers and acquisitions where the effect “may be substantially to lessen competition, or to tend to create a monopoly.”

This is why I don’t blog about politics any more:

Pierce, Rogers and Snyder find that political partisans are more upset about an election loss than a random sample of parents were upset by the Newtown shootings.

An interesting discussion on how humans can add value to computer programs when those programs are really, really good.  The context there is chess, which is a pretty well-understood game of finite complexity.  I claim that humans have been doing this for decades in software development, whose practical complexity is limited only by what you can convince your publisher is actually possible.  Worried about computers taking over your job?  Computers have taken over mine on the regular over the past two decades, and as a result I keep getting better and more interesting jobs.

“Creative destruction” is something that most people who aren’t raging anarchocapitalists like to write off as abstract, idealistic propaganda.  Fortunately, Bryan Caplan is a raging an-cap, and he’s set it all out in time-series graphs so you can actually see it.

I have to admit, I threw this in just for the shock value.  But see previous no-think-link about college being good for kids.

Why do altruists help people?  Because they want to be seen helping people.  This should surprise precisely no-one.

Rob Ford lol.

——

Tune in next time for part 3, when we’ll discover whether this series is better-on-evens (Star Trek) or better-on-odds (Back to the Future)… or just shit (The Fast and the Furious).

05
Nov
13

Rob Ford’s new breakout single…

DRUN-ken STU-por.

Stay tuned for the return of “All Linky, No Thinky”.  Probably.

11
Jun
13

Outrage fatigue II: And your little dog too

I have a great idea for a series of posts, if not a whole website.  Titled Goalposts, it would chronicle the continuum fallacies perpetrated by people I don’t like* who insist that since a bad thing (e.g. warrantless wiretapping) isn’t immediately a much worse thing (e.g.Stasi-like police state), the first bad thing isn’t actually bad at all.  (“If it’s not the worst thing ever, it must be okay” is the continuum fallacy in play here.)  Then, when the much worse thing they dismissively toss out as an unthinkable absurdity actually happens, I dance my little I-told-you-so jig, post an amusing image macro, and record the new location of the unthinkable-absurdity much-worse-thing goalposts.  “Banning trans fats isn’t an infringement of liberty!  All we’re doing is regulating a chemical that’s well-known to be toxic in humans.  Quit talking about Prohibition; it’s not like we’re banning large sodas or something asinine like that!”

Unfortunately, I can’t bring myself to document the process of the world going to hell in quite such real-time obsessive detail.  I’m slowly trying to build myself a beautiful bubble, and to my pleasant surprise I’m actually making progress and feeling more optimistic less carnassial as a result.  I’m unlikely to improve the state of the world by blogging about outrages or by chronicling the mendacities and idiocies of the politicians and parties for whom I might vote (or for that matter by voting) nearly as much as I might by doing my job well, being nice(r) to people, and maybe even writing some useful software on my own time.

I doubt very much that I’ll give up ranting about stupid shit entirely (I didn’t last time, and neither has Bryan Caplan), so at some point in the future you’ll probably see more vitriolic rantage.  But until I start feeling less like a pale shadow of Kafka and more like a pale shadow of Voltaire, politiblogging can make its dick like a Klein bottle and go fuck its own pisshole.

That doesn’t mean I’ma quit blogging altogether, though.  If nothing else you’re probably going to read a bit more about my continuing quest to get jacked.  Presently I’m trying to get lean as fuck, which is boring as hell so I want to do it in a hurry, and I’d really like to do it without losing appreciable amounts of strength.  Sound unlikely?  Yeah, me too, but so far I’ve tried a couple of Lyle McDonald’s diets (targeted ketogenic and Ultimate Diet 2.0) and seen some encouraging results.  I’ll probably write about those soon.  I’m also gearing up to give Kiefer’s Carb Backloading plan a try, which looks a hell of a lot like Cheat Mode on steroids (perhaps a poor choice of metaphor, that).

I’m also likely to keep ranting about stupid nutrition tricks.  On which note, PopSci recently(ish) debunked eight ridiculous nutrition myths which, like most ridiculous nutrition myths, were largely debunked by mid-century physical culturists (who in turn were largely written off as idiotic and dangerously unbalanced meatheads until the paleo movement rediscovered them within roughly the last decade).  You could just flip through my blog archives, I think I’ve covered all of these, but PopSci has new and different citations which is always cool.  Too bad they didn’t bring up breakfast.

——

* I’m an equal-opportunity misanthrope, so this includes pretty much everyone

11
Jun
13

Quis custodiet etc.

I don’t have the energy to blog about the NSA’s data-harvesting the way I might once have, but that’s okay, because Mike Masnick, Mike Riggs, and some guy on Reddit have said everything I’d have said (and more).  While the third link is presently lodging itself deep in my midbrain to nourish my sense of nameless, protean dread for the next few months, my frontal lobe would like to point out that Masnick’s post is the most immediately concerning (and Riggs’s post is why we’re fucked).  For the next few decades, at least (although the Germans were probably saying the same thing in 1931), I’m less concerned about secret-police brownshirts rounding up political dissidents* than I am about individual shitbirds using the data for their own nefarious purposes.  (Some say this is already happening.)  Those of you who might protest that the NSA is “only” storing metadata might consider the mischief caused if a true-believer with the courage of s/h/its convictions extracted a list of the phone numbers of people who’d called Planned Parenthood clinics within the past few months.  Other examples might occur to you.

——

* The “police rounding up dissidents” rant is a Drug War topic, and is ably covered elsewhere

09
May
13

Asking economists for career advice

I enjoyed this:

…though reading the first few comments made me wish I’d done something more pleasant with that ten seconds of my time, like set fire to my penis.

My claim: People who tell you to follow your passion aren’t giving you advice, they’re humblebragging.  Smile widely and roll your eyes a lot; passion-followers love that.  It’s a sign of respect in their culture.

29
Apr
13

PSA

Dear internet,

Please stop saying and writing “d-bag”.  It is trite, not benign.  You are calling someone a “douchebag”, which is inherently offensive (to them at least), and Bowdlerizing yourself isn’t going to tone it down.  All it does is make you look like a twee milquetoast pantywaisted grass-eater.  Knock it fucking off.

Love and Spydercos,
–Matt




anarchocapitalist agitprop

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