The following is a blog documenting two Los Angeles Times editors' attempts to lose weight. It all began on Jan. 10.
I knew I was doomed. I’m not a big TV guy at all. I’ll pop on ESPN when I come home from work, sure. But outside of “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia” and “Sons of Anarchy,” I’m usually not interested. I only have DirecTV for one thing: "Full House" reruns "NFL’s Sunday Ticket."
But after leaving the gym on Tuesday night, I popped in a Nutrisystem entrée into the microwave, loaded up a huge salad, grabbed a Powerade Zero drink and flipped on the big screen.
It was AMC. I heard words that stopped me cold: “I feel like a Kentucky fried idiot.”
I wasn’t going anywhere. The TV wasn’t turning off. I wasn’t answering the phone. E-mail didn’t exist.
There are only a few movies that I’ll watch every time they’re on. "Rocky II" is one of them.
I met Sylvester Stallone four years ago. When introduced, I told him that the greatest moment in cinematic history was when Adrian awakened from a coma and whispered ‘win’ to Rocky.