Today I learned about the “Gentlemen Only” department at the downtown Hudson’s department store.

    Run a bit like a burlesque parlor, this was a department where all the customers were men, all the workers were women, and live, lingerie clad models paraded in front of patrons. The men would lounge in leather chairs while sipping coffee, reading newspapers, and choosing which model should wear what clothing for their amusement and shopping pleasure.

    Ostensibly this allowed well-to-do men to purchase clothes for their chattel–I mean women–in confidence and with a clear idea of what they would be getting for the money. And, during the late 1960′s, Heather’s grandma Iris was a popular part-time attendant due to her charming English accent and polite demeanor.

    Tonight’s story had two parts:

• Mafia Encounter
  •     A high ranking member of a prominent Detroit mafia family, accompanied by stereotypical ‘heavies,’ directed various models to wear skimpy underthings and expensive fur coats. After making his selections clear to Iris and delivering a veiled threat that there better be “no funny business”, he left for a few hours only to return with several thousand dollars in cash to make good his purchases.
        In parting he said, “I guess we’re all set, then,” and handed her a $20 bill.
• The Philandering Pilot
  •     A Pan-Am pilot lounged away an afternoon directing various models to do his bidding, eventually purchasing two assortments of clothing. The first pile, fairly plain clothes fit for a portly lass, were to be packaged in Hudson’s shopping bags and packages. The second pile, made up of sexy undergarments and an expensive mink coat fit for a slighter build, were to be packaged in unmarked parcels, tightly sealed.
        ”Whatever you do,” said the pilot, “don’t mix those two orders up. It will mean your job if you do.”

    Its like Mad Men come to life, and an amazing example of the man’s world as it once was.
    This was one of my favorite Iris stories to date, although it does not trump the stories of developing the first aerial photographs of Auschwitz while in the RAF photography corps…. I should get a recorder and get a few of these down for posterity.

    First, locate a crying toddler.

    Second, pick up the toddler and hold him/her under your arm with the noisy end pointing toward your enemies.

    Congratulations! You’ve assembled your very own Sob Cannon.

    This surprising* weapon is capable of clearing public restrooms, busy shopping aisles and other public spaces.

    It may be an effective form of self defense against obsequious wait-staff or commissioned salespeople as well, though I’ve yet to try it on anything more threatening than a timid waitress who apparently was immunized as a child. I found that in her case a stern glare was just as effective but deprived me of a much-needed coffee refill.

    She was sent to school wearing a tiara: an opulent plastic tiara with imitation diamonds made of simulated glass* and bearing a box of Hannah Montana cupcakes–something I’m certain delighted the little boys most of all**.

    Heather bought Sam some nice printed bed sheets. Instead of wrapping the pillowy and awkwardly shaped sheet-bag, a covert operation was successfully executed to dress her bed in the middle of the night. So during the day Heather surreptitiously laundered the new sheets and secreted them within our bedroom.

    At approximately 10pm I scooped her little sleeping form up in my arms along with a tag-along teddy bear, carried her silently down the hall and laid her in our bed.
It was a few minutes later that we’d removed the several dozen books from her bed, stripped it, and carefully installed the replacement sheets, pillow case and comforter.

    I then gathered the little birthday girl up in my arms, carried her back to bed and laid her down amidst the new bedsheets.
    In the morning she spent a few seconds in confusion and a few minutes in delight. Any more time than that would imply an attention span my little girl simply doesn’t have.

    In the evening we laid waste to a local Chuck E Cheese per her specific request.
    It was here that Riley lived some anxious moments fearing the animatronic rodent and then wasted about a half-hour attempting to get its attention. Samantha ran wild; like a gazelle with opposable thumbs and a slight mean streak.

    At night-night time I read her the first two chapters of a new Lauren Child “Clarice Bean” book and thus ended the eight anniversary of my initial parentage.

    Nice coat, you say? Yeah, grandparents are good for that sort of thing.

    Bona-fide “Hannah Montana” merchandise, the coat signifies Sam’s enthusiastic endorsement of a fictional persona adopted by a real manufactured celebrity who is herself the offspring of a manufactured country “star”.

    Miley and her alter-ego, the only slightly less real Hannah.

    At this time he wore pants with a thirty-eight inch (97cm) waistband–and when he did, he found that they were a bit on the snug end of the belt spectrum.

    As recently as August of 2008 he was still 215lbs (98kg).

    Note the prominent jelly-rolls, mound of back-fat, moobs*, and the protective barrier of flesh artfully concealing the waistband of his swimming trunks.

    Now, here is a 183lbs (83kg) SafeTinspector in mid-November, 2008.

    The waist of the Inspector is now a full five inches (13cm) narrower than in the above picture and he can very nearly bench-press his former weight. He last saw this low a body weight 19 years ago at the age of 17. And since he had no muscle to speak of during that bygone era, he is actually in much better shape now than at any time in his life.

    How did this happen? Simple. Inspiration and perspiration.**

    I realized that my dream of being the star of a 1978 pornographic cinema feature could never happen in my current state. My naturally hirsute nature was ideal to please the pubic shrubbery acclimated public of the time, my wacky eyes and practiced sneer fit the task of gentle misogyny perfectly. But the flab needed to go if I wanted even the slightest chance at being an adult film star in the 1970′s.

    I’d succeeded in shedding the coagulated lipids and man-curd from my belly meat, and had already posed next to this trendy dream catcher when the fatal flaw in my plan finally was revealed:

    I don’t know the way to 1978 and my GPS says its not a location in the continental United States.

    EIther I need to purchase a new map-pack from Magellan or it is back to the drawing board for ShapelyInspector.

    Regardless, the weight was lost the old fashioned way: diet and exercise.

• Diet:
  • I cut out the junk food
  • stopped eating out so much
  • started eating a lot more fruit
  • cut down my portion sizes
  • reduced animal flesh to a minimum***
  • took one multivitamin a day (just in case my diet was missing some vital nutrient or another)
• Exercise:
  • Increased the frequency and length of time playing DDR for my lower-body and to provide aerobic exertion
  • Dusted off and began to actually use the fine set of olympic free-weights in my basement to build up my upper body and to provide anaerobic exercise.

    Once upon a time, in 2001, I was able to get myself down to about 185lbs briefly through near-starvation. I was not exercising at that time in any meaningful way and the weight piled back on as soon as I started eating again. I can hope that I’ll be able to keep it off this time; it’s really neat being able to wear “medium” shorts and “large” shirts (as opposed to “large” and “extra large”) and I would love to make this a permanent development.

    I’d hate to finally figure out how to get to 1978 only to find that I’m too fat to make it in the skin trade.