blame it on pasadena

I first noticed it a few days ago, as I was passing the bedroom mirror.

I had been deliberately passing by all such mirrors lately for fear of encountering just this very thing, but something odd caught my eye; something foreign, large and following menacingly behind me. Before I could catch myself I had glanced sideways, and there it was.

Baby got back.

Yes, that dismayingly architectonic and cantilevered protuberance I had glimpsed in the mirror was, in fact, attached to my very person. It had been growing, mushroom-like, beneath the black knit sweatpants I had taken to living in, entirely without my knowledge or permission. I do not believe this is my fault.

By my calculations, the holidays started somewhat early this year; right around Halloween, in fact, when the 4 bags of Snickers and 3 bags of Almond Joys, along with assorted combinations of lollipops and Tootsie Rolls went largely unclaimed by the neighborhood children, who are now being subjected to house arrest on the big night to keep them from attempted poisoning and certain death at the hands of members of their own homeowners’ associations. Of course, we do not waste food in this house. Not when there are young women starving right here in Hollywood.

Next came Thanksgiving, followed by a particularly sociable Christmas, which once again surprised me by arriving promptly on the 25th this year, and never allowing me any time to go to the gym, or to clean out all the goodies in the fridge and replace them with cabbage soup. Visions of fruitcake and eggnog, chocolates and sugarplums danced in my head, onto my plate and under my belt. Leftovers, as we all know, make wonderful all-day snacking, and baking for others, such a noble and generous cause, does not count in the calorie count. Ever.

New Year’s Day is, of course, the end of the eat, drink and be merry-go-round that is the Holiday Season, and the annual Pasadena Rose Parade, quite a local spectacle and all around big deal here in California, is held on New Year’s Day. Everyone turns on the parade, which is always followed by the Rose Bowl game, to veg out and recover from the night before. It’s a time honored tradition, just as January 2nd is the traditional beginning of all 86million resolutions to ‘get back in shape’.

Not this year. This year, the Pasadena city fathers threw all that out the window by deciding that the Pasadena Rose parade would be held on Monday, rather than Sunday; (something about a promise 100 years ago to the local clergymen involving frightened horses) a decision which threw everybody, including me, off their mark for days.

Then the Rose Bowl was held on Wednesday for some inexplicable reason, which is why I was still shopping, baking and whipping up appetizers as late as last Tuesday and Wednesday for a friend's football party. Why I volunteered to bring appetizers I’ll never know, since it meant that I’d have to arrive on time and not fashionably late as is my wont, which I do only because I know I look better after everyone else has had at least one round...

But that’s beside the point.

The point is, that the Pasadena city fathers’ reckless disregard for tradition wreaked not only havoc on the parade (it poured) and at the game (USC was trampled by Texas) but, more importantly, it caused me to miss out on that crucial January 1st cut-off date on gluttony. It was therefore directly responsible for about 37,425 additional calories and therefore those 14 ~ yes, 14 ~ extra pounds, most of which appear to have settled in my butt.

The lesson here is obvious ~ it is wrong to fool with parades and Bowl games and indeed, the natural order of things in general. It is not nice to screw with my calendar, Pasadena.

And that, in conclusion, is why my Christmas tree is still up.


*painting by Fernando Botero