Cruise Control, with speed bumps

Cruise Control, with speed bumps

As the 100 Days off of sugar is getting very close, my mind has basically given up on tricking me into eating sweets.  I’m committed to 100 days and there’s no amount of donuts or talk of moderation or chocolate cake that is going to persuade me into caving.

Take last Sunday for example.

It was my sister’s birthday.  So we celebrated it with a chocolate cake.

On my list of sweet cravings, chocolate cake is #2.  Here is my list:

1).  Krispy Kreme Donuts

2).  Chocolate Cake

3).  Oatmeal M&M Chocolate chip cookies

4).  Kit Kat Bars and Crunchy Reeses sticks

5). Chocolate Almonds

*list subject to change.

Here is the Chocolate Cake that the families shared:

Put some vanilla ice cream on top of this and i am:

But, being on Day 68, my resolve was too high and my mind knew it could not drive a wedge, so it didn’t try to.

Along with the chocolate cake, they also drank pina coladas.  I’m definitely not the guy to turn the bottle around when everyone is looking and proclaim


That’s lame.  But, no one was looking, so I turned the bottle around and took a peek.

50g’s?  That’s a hell of grams to be slurping up in one setting.  That’s 2 days worth according to the Fed guidelines.

But, I didn’t say anything.  I kept my mouth shut.

When I got home, some sugar cravings hit.  I wanted something sweet.

So, I found a recipe online for some no sugar added apple crisp. (Yes, there is some all natural maple syrup mixed in which is not against the Sugar Broke rules).

I’m not into the new popular blogging format for online recipes.  What an absolute daunting and tedious way to find out how to cook something.  With their HD photos overwhelming the page and stories and stories about minutia that is irrelevant to a finished product.  I always scroll down to this thing (the actual recipe) and guess on the rest: (Somehow when I took a screenshot this little advertisement popped up – it is 5 apples, 1 tablespoon maple syrup, etc etc etc).



























I don’t care about the measurements.  I’m the only one that eats this stuff so I always cut it down to one person serving.  So I diced up 2 apples, softened them over a stove in water and then threw some of the crisp on top and put it in the oven for a while.

Before it went in the over to crisp the top, a thought came to my mind to add raisins.  So I sprinkled some in.

By the way, it was absolutely delicious.  I loved it.  But didn’t binge on it.  It’s not like cake that I can’t quit eating.  It’s like a healthy snack that I enjoyed in moderation.

The End


I was up late a few weeks ago watching the Woodstock documentary on Netflix.  I enjoy reviewing some of the shows and movies I watch.

Here is my review for that documentary:


I’ve been told since I was young that Woodstock ushered in the “counter culture” revolution that destroyed the “moral fabric of America.”

I never really believed it, but I also never investigated it.

Up late last night with my wife sick, I scrolled through the list of potentials landing serendipitously on Woodstock, a PBS production.

In small measure, I felt part of the festival, one with the crowd.

I yearned to be there, to become one in purpose and unified in tolerance. Even more, I wondered what it would have been like if Dad would have experienced Woodstock.

Heaven forbid?

Maybe the world I grew up in would have leaned a little more towards grace, tolerance and acceptance. Maybe the politics of today would be softer, the rhetoric less divisive. Maybe people would feel safer with each other, expressing themselves without fear of retribution.

By the end of the documentary, I craved to hear more music. The focus was not on the music, but on the people, the curation, the absolute miracle that formed almost by itself as if a great inevitability.

Logistically, Woodstock should have died a Fyre like death. But, the motives of its creation were pure and the universe formed around it.

When Joe Cochran petitioned “lend me your ear and I’ll sing you a song” the crowds focused their attention.

In the end, the guitar of Hendrix turned from an instrument to a weapon, a somber postlude to this cultural revolution.

A moving and informative experience.

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