Dino Duds

I just had a close call.

We’re currently watching a woman’s chihuahua while she’s sorting out her current living situation. He’s a cute little guy, but he’s not nearly as house trained as our own k9’s. I just walked upstairs and I was barefoot as I had just come out of the shower. As I walked, I felt a little cold squish on my foot so I immediately took my weight off and averted an accident on top of an accident. 

I went into the bathroom and grabbed some tissue to remove the offending nugget. But when I returned to the hallway it seemed to have vanished. Oh, it was there, but the fact is is that I’m colorblind so I was playing “Where’s Waldo” with what I assumed was a  piece of poo. 

Then I found it agin. Unfortunately, the way I found it was the same way I had found it the first time, but again, realizing what was happening, my reflexes reacted and the perfect sphere remained as such. 

Picking it up, I gave it a quick look and wondered whether it was a true Dino dropping or a dropped Milk Dud that the kids were eating. “Well, there’s only one way to find out!”  


As horrified as you may be, you shouldn’t fret because disaster was averted. 

Funny thing about those Milk Duds. I’m not sure why the kids eat them. They taste like dog poop. 

Book Group

I’ve never been part of a book group before and to be honest I’ve always been a hit or miss reader. I spent most of my school years avoiding relationships with the likes of Arthur Miller, Charles Dickens and Chaucer, and instead spent my time in the picture filled pages of Creem, Rolling Stone and Hit Parader. For years I couldn’t tell you the characters in Huckleberry Finn, but I could easily rattle off the original line up of the Allman Brothers, Moody Blues or tell you who played lead on “You Really Got Me (it was Jimmy Page).”

Our book group has been affectionately referred to as “Gay Man’s Book Club” for no other reason that it seems strange to guys outside of our group to have a bunch of dudes sitting around munching on finger food and discussing the plot lines, themes, symbolism and merits of Toni Morrison’s “Soma.” When I mention the book group to other friends I always try to toughen our image up by letting them know that the books are really an excuse to imbibe good bourbon, drink beer, fart, and relive our days of past glory, but to be honest it never really works. I may as well be telling them that I’m part of a knitting circle. I always get questions like, “Does the best kisser get to pick the book”, and “is it a formal event or can you wear any old dress?” Why can’t we just all get along?

Speaking of dresses, there’s another book group in our neighborhood that has been organized, facilitated and attended by the women folk in the hood and their ever expanding circle of friends. They have had a consistent streak of reading, meeting and discussing for nine or so years. They appear to be very organized, prepared and they have a system that they utilize to pick their selections. There may be literary weighting and voting involved, and their discussions are probably far more thought provoking than we’ve been able to conjure up. I suspect if they wished to, they could channel their collective energy and intellect and change the world, but in defense of us guys and our meetings… we usually have chicken wings.

The thing about the books that get selected is that they seem to reflect the personalities of the guys who do the selecting. You can definitely pick out the differences between the picks of literary types and what I’ll refer to as the Average Joes. The literary types have provided deep meaning and dense offerings that are widely respected some receiving Pulitzer recognition, while the Average Joes offer tales of football players, private eyes and the occasional crazed zombie invasion.

A few evenings ago I satisfied my wife’s curiosity of our latest reading assignment and read aloud from the first chapter of House of Holes by Nicholson Baker. She lay quietly enjoying the warmth of the electric blanket while I delivered each sentence and paragraph. As the story began to unfold about the woman who found the detached arm, brought it home, fed it fish food and let it sexually molest her and her roommate, Deb grew anxious and stated, “Is this the type of crap you guys have been reading?” What the hell type of deranged book group are you a part of and who’s the sicko who picked this book?” Then she said, “Keep reading. I want to find out what happens next!” As I said, the books reflect the group.

To be honest, I haven’t been able to make heads nor tales of the artistic merit of what we’ve read or what any of it means. That’s why I’m also reading the “Stairway to Heaven: Led Zeppelin Uncensored.” Now that’s some good writing!

Gift Advice

I ran into a friend of mine the other day while we were Christmas Shopping. During our brief conversation, she said she was thinking about writing a book about all the bad gifts people get during the holidays. Much of this was inspired by the countless horrible and ridiculous gifts she had been given by her goofy, off the mark husband. I thought it was a cute idea, so after a little thought I sent her along a top ten list of gift no no's:

10: Never buy anything practical, especially if it's something she can use on you. I don't care how badly you need a new vacuum cleaner, every time it sucks she'll be reminded that the gift did too. Steak knives are a particularly bad idea.

9. It may say it right on the card, but in a relationship, a gift certificate is not a gift, period.

8. Buying something for yourself and trying to pass it off as a gift for her will never work. No matter how cool she may think a plasma TV is, she doesn't want one for Christmas, her birthday and especially your anniversary. Buy it for yourself and take the heat you selfish bastard...

7. Lingerie is a dangerous area and should be avoided. If you go too conservative, she'll resent the gift. If you go too aggressive she'll think you're a pig (which of course...you are.) Feetie pajamas are cute and may work. Forget anything crotchless.

6. When mapping out your present shopping, avoid the following locations: Home Depot, Spencer Gifts, Radio Shack and Hickory Farms.

5. Chocolates and champagne are like broccoli and carrots. They're the side dish, not the present.

4. No porno, especially if you're in it.

3. No beef jerky, ever.

2. Unless you are a craftsman or a jeweler, avoid making gifts. No paper mache, no finger painting and no Play-Do.

1. If she tells you that she doesn't want anything and you find yourself on that special day with nothing but your manhood in your hand, get comfortable because that's how you're going to be for a long, long...Long time.

Good luck everybody!

The Gift

I get sent a lot of stuff. Jokes, limericks, riddles and poems. Many of them aren't very good, but some make me laugh and they always bring an appreciated smile. Of all the funny things I've been sent, this one has always been my favorite. It's a little naughty, but it's nothing by today's standards. It's called "The Gift."

A young man wanted to purchase a Christmas gift for his new sweetheart, and as they had not been dating very long, after careful consideration, he decided a pair of gloves would strike the right note: romantic, but not too personal.

Accompanied by his sweetheart's younger sister, he went to Nordstrom and bought a pair of white gloves. The sister purchased a pair of panties for herself.

During the wrapping, the clerk mixed up the items and the sister got the gloves and the sweetheart got the panties. Without checking the contents, the young man sealed the package and sent it to his sweetheart with the following note:

"I chose these because I noticed that you are not in the habit of wearing any when we go out in the evening. If it had not been for your sister, I would have chosen the long ones with the buttons, but she wears short ones that are easier to remove."

"These are a delicate shade, but the lady I bought them from showed me the pair that she had been wearing for the past three weeks and they were hardly soiled. I had her try yours on for me and she looked really smart."

"I wish I was there to put them on for you the first time, as no doubt other hands will come in contact with them before I have a chance to see you again."

"When you take them off, remember to blow in them before putting them away as they will naturally be a little damp from wearing."

"Just think how many times I will kiss them during the current year. I hope you will wear them for me on Friday night. All my love.

"P.S. The latest style is to wear them folded down with a little fur showing."

My Tribute to Andy Rooney - First Date

My kids are at an age where they are engaged with the opposite sex. I'd like to be able to convey great words of wisdom that may help them as they navigate through their various oncoming relationships, but the fact is, I don't have the "stuff". Case in point: here's my best advice regarding first dates:

When you're out to dinner on a first date it's important to consider the food you'll be eating in front of the person your trying to impress.

I would think of all the foods you'll want to avoid, French Onion Soup would have to be first on your list.

Just imagine yourself using your teeth to reel in that never ending string of cheese like some half assed illusionist.

When in reality, the only magic trick you've accomplished is making your second date disappear.

I don't know why, but this is the crap that occurs to me.

Anybody Got a Filter I Can Borrow?

A Friend of a friend told me about a friend who's friend was looking through his father's iPad. There, he discovered that dear old dad was visiting web sites that were more than a bit shocking.

Knowing this prim and proper gentleman, I was amused by the story and shared it with Deb who responded with a gasp of disbelief, shocked at such a scandalous discovery. She was especially disturbed because the gentleman in question was a very clean cut upstanding citizen and just an all around nice guy.

Later that evening I was reading in bed and I gazed at my always beautiful but always practical better half. I looked her over and noted her favorite fuzzy and well worn slippers. Calling them fuzzy is somewhat inaccurate because the fuzz had been matted down and worn away. She was also wearing a pair of pajamas that I had purchased for her about a decade ago. They were tattered and torn with rips in the knees. Also, due to hundreds of washes they were a few inches too short in the legs displaying her mismatched socks. To keep herself warm, she was wearing my old fleece jacket that I wear around the house and to do yard work. It's about 10 sizes too big for Deb so the sleeves went well past her hands. The jacket had multiple burn holes from cigar ashes and camp fires.

As she stood there, she let out a sigh and said, "I can't believe that Steve was looking at that web site. He's so nice, I'm just shocked!"

To which I replied, "Well, some guys just have their little fetishes."

Deb barked back, "Oh yeah, what's yours?"

"Apparently, homeless women."

...sometimes I just need to keep my mouth shut.

There Goes The Neighborhood

So picture this:

My brother Jimmy and I went to Florida, but before we hit the airport we stopped at Santarpio's for a little dinner since the airlines don't serve their sh*tty food anymore.

We were there with Jimmy's wife and his two boys, and we all squeezed into a booth with Jimmy's wife and two boys sitting across from us.

After a little food and a few beers we sat and talked in the crowded restaurant, when nature called on Jimmy's kids.

His wife Patty grabbed the two kids and brought them to the rest room. While Jimmy and I were sitting there, I noticed the last lonely slice that was sitting there in the traces of oil and corn meal.

I started kidding around trying to get Jimmy to eat the last slice and started to hold it near his face saying, "C'mon...you know you want it."

Just then two older Eastie vets walked by on their way out and looked at us with disgust.

That's when I realized that we were sitting on the same side of an otherwise empty booth.

We're Gonna Need a Bigger Boat

There's a hole in the ground where the McDonald's used to be. It's not that Micky D's has packed up and headed off somewhere else, it's that they're building a bigger restaurant, if you can call or categorize McDonald's as a restaurant.

I drove by the fenced off hole and had a brief daydream about how this probably came about. It's a little silly, and it made me chuckle, but there's probably a bit of sad truth to it.

I pictured a board room of McDonald's execs who are in the midst of a staff meeting. It goes a little something like this:

District Manager: "We have a problem in our Dover store. The people there have gotten too fat to get into the restaurant. We need to come up with a solution and we need to come up with it quick. Who's got an idea for a possible solution? Johnson!"

Johnson: "Why don't we start offering more health conscious foods that have lower calories and lower trans fats. We could also reduce the size of the "sugary" sodas. I mean who needs to drink 64 ounces of Coke in one sitting?"

District Manager: Hmmm...That would make a lot of sense. Hmmm, Johnson?"

Johnson: "Yes sir?"

District Manager: "You're fired! Clean out your McDesk and get out of here. Okay, does anybody else have any bright ideas? How about you Smith?"

Smith: "Why don't we build a bigger restaurant with wider doors, wider reinforced seats, and ramps so people can ride their scooters right to the counter?

District Manager: "Smith, you're going places. Let's get your plan into action. Who's ready for lunch?"

end

Men's Large Contingent Weigh in #4

Okay, things are beginning to get a little strange in this little competition. I’m not certain if it’s due to the fact that the clock is ticking and the calendar is dissipating faster than our contestants, but people are getting a bit whacky with their weight loss strategies. During our regularly scheduled weigh-in, our courageous calorie counting carbohydrate avoiding, cream puff filled contestants once again gathered in the small confines of my office to stand and be measured.

I was the first to be weighed and documented a suspicious 3.5 pound weight loss. The suspicion associated with the weight loss is due to the fact that I have been ill with a fever over the past three or four days. Ralph and company suspect that I contracted the virus on purpose, probably by going to various public places and licking door knobs, faucet handles, and any other “cootie” infested surface in the greater Sea Coast area. My wife dismisses the reduction as a mere loss of manhood, as she reports that I was such a pussy while I was sick, that I lost any ounce of respect she had for my masculinity.

Ralph came into the weigh in with a loss of a two pounds, this despite the fact that he is now questioning the accuracy of the scale we’ve been using. Apparently, wife Janine purchased a scale that puts Ralph a whole ten pounds lighter than he’s tracking on our official scale. Janine must have purchased the scale at the Disney store as the weight Ralph said he weighs in at home is straight out of Fantasy Land. Regardless, we all wish Ralph and his Magical scale the best of luck in the final two weeks.

Stephen was next on the scale and has obviously employed the unusual strategy of cutting away small pieces of his clothing that contribute to his overall body mass. This has to be the case, as I can’t imagine a grown forty five year old man showing up for a weigh in fully knowing that that he has to remove his shoes, and showing up with holes in his socks. I’m just thankful that we’re not stripping down to our skivvies, as I can just imagine what kind of shape his Scooby Doo underwear are in…and I don’t care to find out. I suppose that I can’t really fault him as he did log in a modest weight loss of 2.5 pounds.

Our only loser who is labeled as a loser, cuz’ he didn’t lose, is brother Tim. This despite the fact that Tim states that he ran 5 miles just the day before the weigh in. Tim looked sincerely perplexed and we were all a bit perplexed for him. Is it the fact that the 5 miles wasn’t enough to offset all of the beer, brats and bologna throughout the week? Looking at him, we couldn’t attribute the gain to him building muscle. Maybe the measurement tool he used to measure the 5 miles came from the same mystical place where Janine bought Ralph’s magical scale. The mystery continues and may be only solved by “Those Meddling Kids” on Stephen’s Scooby Doo Underoo’s.

With only two weeks left in the contest, our pathetic, pie eating, pizza indulging participants will have to really turn up the heat if they wish to attain their goal weights. Despite all of the bravado and kidding, we all do have our goals and dreams in this contest. It would be nice to look down and see my waist size 32 jeans again. Now that I think of it, it would be just nice to be able to see my feet.

Men's Large Contingent - Weigh In #3

Like the 2004 Red Sox, the valiant members of the Large Men’s Contingent displayed great courage and perseverance with a stunning come-back in weigh in #3. Our trusty scale was greatly relieved and thankful to not have the carry the full burden of the prior week’s poundage as three out of four of our contestants came in under their previous documented and disgraceful “weigh-in” weights.

The recently slandered Ralph was apparently so distraught by the inaccurate reporting of his previous weight that he went on a temporary hunger strike and lost 1 pound. It would have been much more than that but when he heard himself being referred to as Gandhi, he thought we said “candy” and he ran to the corner store for some Mallow Cups. The Sunday trip to the casino for slots and all you can eat Chinese was reported to be an additional contributing factor. Apparently, losing at the casino doesn’t correlate to losing actual body mass. The "Big as a house" always wins.

Tim who was also a loser of 2.5 pounds this week credited his loss to time spent on his elliptical rider. He would have lost more if his wife would have stopped kicking him off of the damned thing. Tim has complained that his weight readings have been influenced by the additional weight of his wife “being on his back all of the time.” Tim has been so inspired by marriage that he’s taken to running away from home. Thus far, he’s only been able to get three miles or so before he gets cold, tired, hungry and missing his miss’s.

There’s not much to report about Stephen who was our only gainer this week, and only by a mere half pound. You would think that the only bachelor in the group would be able to excel past the competition, but Stephen is finding that abstaining from the pepperoni and sausage on his pizzas may not be enough to influence a significant loss. There’s a rumor that Stephen actually exercised last week, but those rumors turned out to be him merely passing by a PX90 infomercial while trying to find the Food Network. He did, however complain of soreness from this incidental activity.

I myself lost 2.5 pounds which is a miracle considering the trip to the Newbridge Café, the multiple Guinness at the Pogues show or the full on southern picnic we had at our house on Sunday. Jack History Month continues to take its toll on my progress and I’m hoping my weight loss will increase once the narcissistic, egomania that is Jack History Month comes to an end. There was some controversy by the other contestants that I had an unfair advantage because of the lack of hair on my head. Once I showed the boys my back hair, and once they stopped retching, they dropped their concern and offered their collective sympathy.

As we move into our weekly weigh ins, there’s more focus and an increased opportunity to challenge each other, as well as more opportunities to bust each other’s chops. For those of you, who have nothing better to do than follow this silliness, please remember that this competition is rooted in the spirit of nutrition, health, camaraderie and goodwill, so please, no wagering and no more sending in doughnuts.

Jack History Month - Frequently Asked Questions

What the Hell is Jack History Month supposed to be? Okay, February is Black History Month and it just so happens that my birthday is the beginning of the following month and Jack seems to appear to rhyme with Black. no disrespect to the prior month and the dedication to a fine people, but Jack History Month is an opportunity to introduce a little levity and cure us of our seasonal affective disorder. It started out as a joke and a goof and spoof. Hey, it’s hopefully harmless fun and something to do, and I’m not asking you to help in my Mafia war, stock my farm or paste my post into your post if you have no post to post.

Are the stories real? Yes, the stories are usually rooted in some historical event, but they’ve been embellished to make them a bit more readable and entertaining, which is a nice way of saying that there’s an element of bull sh*t to them. Let’s call them “Historical fiction. Hopefully, you found some of them hysterical fiction. My wife just says I’m delusional.

Are you really that much of an idiot, I mean what’s wrong with you? The sad fact of the matter is that I’m a bit of a goof ball. Always was, and always will be, but my perspective of this is much like that of male pattern baldness. You can try to comb it over, but everyone still knows what you’re trying to hide. It’s better and far more liberating to embrace it and enjoy the advantages of it. Bald people who shave their head have no problem with the wind, running, or swimming. Self proclaimed goof balls can do goofy things and people say, “well, he’s just being Jack.” It is what it is.

You mentioned my name in a post, shouldn’t I receive royalties or some other form of compensation? More than likely, if you were mentioned, you run in the same social and intellectual category as me, which means at some point you’ll receive some type of government support or an honorarium from a scientific research foundation. Seriously, it doesn’t ever look like I’ll derive any income from this endeavor so, don’t hold your breath.

Do you have a real job? Where do you find the time to write this crap? Yes, I’m gainfully employed, but I do try to carve out a little time in the evenings to write. As you can tell, I’m not a professional writer. My process usually involves a little inspiration, a little wine, and a lot of spell checking. Contrary to public (and my wife’s) belief, I’m not actively on Facebook 24/7. I usually have it on in the background and refer to it when I have some free time.

Are you available for personal appearances or private parties? No, Deb says I can’t do this anymore. The last and only time I made a public appearance was at a local nursing home. I addressed some old ladies Red Hat society. Unfortunately, they kept whooping, whistling, and using their false teeth like castanets while they shoved dollar bills into the waistband of my pants. Thankfully, I out ran their walkers and Little Rascal scooters to safety. Thankfully, I only had to push a few of them out of my way. Actually, it wasn’t a total waste. The tapioca, strained spinach and whipped haddock were delicious!

Do you have any political aspirations or a plan for world peace? Actually, yes. I hope to vote in the next political election and maybe the one after that. As far as world peace goes, I think it would be really cool if everybody was just a bit nicer to each other. Those who have gravitated to these pages to share stories, pictures and communicate seem to possess the fundamentals of what a community should be. The boys from the band WAR said it best when they asked, Why Can’t We Be Friends? Well, why not!

Men's Large Contingent - Weigh in #2

They say that what goes up must come down, and if this hypothesis is true, then it must also be true that what goes down must also come up, yes? Today was a big yes.

The learned gentlemen who are currently competing in the "Men's Large Contingent" weight loss competition proved today that we are far better sprinters than marathoners with each of our respective weight loss strategies sputtering out just past the starting line. Actually, given our dismal results, I'm not sure that any of us could be confused with anyone who sprints, runs, Zumbas or any other calorie burning activity other than the incidental calorie burning that occurs while eating.

Each of us gathered in my office this morning, some with their punitive $20 ready in hand to pay the penalty for losing ground and gaining mass, belly or ass. One by one we took our turns stepping on the scale looking at results that rivaled our SAT scores and wondered what we could have done to prevent the upward slide.

I went first and was disappointed to see that I had gained back a half pound. I wondered where I went astray. Could it have been the countless birthday celebrations, the week in Chicago complete with the classic Chicago dog, or maybe it was the two slices of Sausage, Onion and Ricotta pizza I had the night before the weigh in? It was a mystery thicker than the Fribbles that pulse through my veins.

Ralph went next and found himself two plus pounds from his last reading. could it have been the multiple slices of pizza that he ingested to counter act the many beers he had Saturday night? Maybe the multiple fast food stops on his way to Florida, or could it have been the Chinese food and Banana Split he had the night before he weighed in? It seems like a mystery worthy of those who dedicate their lives to investigating the Loch Ness Monster, Big Foot and Charlie Sheen's sobriety.

Tim and Stephen went next and had the same results and the same pathetic recollections of a nutrition plan that as Ozzy would say, was "going off the rails of the gravy train." We each sat in a circle and recounted our moments of weakness, sharing tales of beer, burgers, slices and vices. Our individual disclosures were like a half ass AA meeting, except that when someone offered their lapses, the rest of us made yummy sounds and salivated like an inebriated late night Beachmont Roast Beef customer. There would be no six month chips awarded today. Did someone say chips?

All of us paid our penalty, and felt great shame.

Men's Large Contingent Part 2 - Weigh in #1

It’s the second Monday of the Men’s Large Contingent Contest which means that we had our first weigh in this morning. Once again I stole Deb’s bathroom scale, hid it under my coat and brought it into work, much like the records I used to borrow from my father to bring to school. I walked into our building looking like I was participating in some weird Show and Tell day.
Unfortunately, only three out of the four participating contestants were available for the 9:30 weigh in. Our fourth, Stephen was unavailable, and immediately the rumors and chop busting ensued. “He’s a bluff!” “He’s at IHOP” “He’s at a fried dough and Ice Cream sundae eating contest.” “He wants a third chin!” He’s fast food binging under some bridge in Charlestown.” Yes indeed, there’s a lot of love in this contest.

The weigh-ins is a somewhat critical component to our competition. In addition to helping keep us on track, for those who are not, means that their financial burden would be increased by $20 each time they weighed in over what they had weighed in previously. Basically, you pay if you lose ground.

This potential punitive action prompted our heroic contestants to employ various strategies which included, voiding the contents of pockets, (Something that hadn’t been done during the initial weigh in) and voiding anything else that potentially adds to our gravitational pull. I’ll let you use your own imagination, but the contestants seemed to appreciate having to get rid of whatever it was in comparison to the initial weigh in where they desperately tried to “hold it in.”
We each took our turn stepping on the scale, and much to our surprise, despite the overindulgence of the Super Bowl (Ralph’s texts were particularly entertaining, especially the one that stated, “I’m eating like I’m going to the electric chair!”) and our respective travel schedules, we each lost about 6 pounds.

It was a great start and we congratulated each other with great enthusiasm. Then we went to an “all you can eat” Chinese Buffet. I wish I could tell you that I’m kidding…but I’m not.

Off to the gym and something called the Sparticus work out. See you in the E.R!

Amtrak

I'm riding the rails, travelling south
Listening to old R.E.M
Already, I'm missing the one I love

Does travelling by train still hold romance
Now that I can plug in, log on, download and Tweet?
Instead, I write long hand
A stream of consciousness recorded with each passing tie

Outside the salt caked cars are halted
Their early Sunday morning drivers impatiently wait while my adventure slowly clangs, clicks and rolls by

The snow blanketed landscape passes by my window,
cold, stark and pale like those early U2 videos when they really seemed to matter
The scene changes with each mile, from this and desolate woods to the small fishing shanty's spread out across a frozen drift

Rusted cars lay in a salvage yard much like the headstones that peek up through the accumulation
Long abandoned box cars and graffiti covered walls

does travelling by train still hold romance?
the bigger question is capturing it.
Every cliche' in the book.

Men's Large Contingent

It's on! This past Monday, my friend's Ralph, Stephen, Tim and I agreed to a weight loss competition. Now that all of us are in our mid 40's we felt the need for additional inspiration and motivation. In what seems like yesterday when Ralph and I were in our 20's, we used to affectionately refer to some of the middle aged woman we worked with as the "Lady's Large Contingent" not realizing that the ongoing years, gravity and the influence of the Italian American (and just a touch of French) diet would unwillingly nominate us to begin a men's chapter. Such is Karma.

Our weigh in took place in my office, and we each took a turn stepping on the scale that I borrowed form our upstairs bathroom (Don't tell Deb). It's one of those electronic scales with the digital read out. I feared that when my turn arrived that it would read, "One person at a time, please." Unfortunately for me the actual read out didn't make me feel much better. Once we all weighed in and established our ground rules, our conversation moved on to the incredible amount of snow that has been hitting our area. There was some discussion of global warming and Stephen mentioned something about the Earth's axis being changed. Thinking about this and our collective poundage made me wonder which side of the Earth we were standing on and were we partially responsible for throwing things off?

Working out and eating right has been a recurring theme in Ralph and my friendship. I remember that when I first met him, he was just finishing up a diet plan that seemed foreign to me. He was avoiding carbohydrates and sticking to healthy proteins like, steak bacon, salami and gabagool. I also seem to recall our intent to begin "lifting." We had great plans to meet at the weight room located in one of the North End schools. We lifted for a few hours, then proceeded to eat the lasagna his mother Anna had made for us, and that's where our program ended.

We're now five days into our competition and things seem to be going well. I've hit the gym a few times this week and I've been using the Paleolithic diet to kick start my weight loss plan. If you're not familiar with the Paleolithic diet, the basic concept is that you eat like our ancestors did for thousands of years. It's also referred to as the Cave Man diet. My friend Dave has had great success with this and he's taken off quite a few pounds. Funny though, that when you think of the Cave Men, they may have been thinner, but wasn't there life span like 34.5 years?

Sports Bar

I ran into an old friend at the airport the other day.
We were both travelling a great distance to attend to our respective business.
It was a brief encounter, but we agreed to meet somewhere in the great city to spend time and narrow the distance between us.
There were no ill feelings, but the passage of time had wedged itself between our friendship.
Long ago there was none, and we were joined side by side on the beach wall with other friends, having great adventures while another and unknown life awaited us.
And in an illuminated corner of a sports bar, it all of it came back, if only for just a moment.

My Brain is Turning into Chumbawamba

Just a quick post to convey a pre-Alzheimer's incident or more likely, just another example of an unfocused wandering mind. I was alone in the house this morning as Deb and the kids had already left for school. I was getting ready to leave and for whatever reason I rattled of my checklist out loud to ensure I wasn't leaving anything behind. It went a little something like this:

I have my wallet
I have my cell phone
I have my building pass
I have a whiskey drink
I have a vodka drink
I have a lager drink
I have a cider drink

Now, I don't know why my checklist evolved or more likely devolved into the 1997 Chumbawamba classic, "Tubthumping", but I don't like it. If you happen to run into me and I'm singing this, please feel free to knock me down, and if I get up again, don't ever stop keeping me down.

P.S. Enjoy the tune that is and will be stuck in your head for the rest of the day!

Snow Day

The house is dark and quiet except for the pulsing gush of the percolator.

The family sleeps soundly, while notices of liberation scroll across the screen.

I peek through the window, barely able to see past the front yard.

but I can see my immediate future.

Feel Free to Rinse

There are a lot of words in the English language that can be mentioned that prompt little to no reaction from people. Two such words are, "root" and "canal." "Root" which refers to the under part of a plant or the encouragement for an individual or team, much like all of New England will be doing as the Jets take their well deserved foot fetished beating this coming Sunday. Then there's the word "canal", which immediately inspires visions of panama hats, big ships and malaria. As stated, speaking these words individually is a harmless endeavor that you yourself can try as a fun little experiment. Walk up to a complete stranger and say, "root!" The reaction you receive will be somewhere between disinterest and "buzz off, whack job!" You may even get a little spare change out of it in the process. Now try stringing the words together. Go ahead, try it with anyone. Walk up to someone and say "root canal" and you'll immediately trigger sighs, grunts and groans like you just kicked them in the crotch. The two words root canal have struck more fear in Americans than uncle Osama, four dollars a gallon and the true ingredients in bologna.

So where does all of this rambling lead? It leads to the fact that I had my first root canal today. I hate to use the word first because it indicates that there may be a second or more on the "You're going to feel a little pressure here," horizon.

I suppose I deserve the procedure. I remember when I was a kid chomping on the hard and gooey candy I was relegated to due to my allergy to chocolate. I earned my fair share of cavities when I was a kid. I had so much silver in my mouth that when the dentist would shine the big space ship looking lamp in my mouth, the reflection off of my silver fillings would bath the room in little points of light like a giant disco ball.

As I grew older I learned to take better care of my teeth. But with time and age come issues, and thankfully, I've had few, but I certainly had one now. My dentist explained that a root canal is necessary when the root becomes irritated by bacteria and causes pain. He also told me that the root really doesn't have much to do with the overall health of the tooth itself. He went on to say that the root was like a tenant that rented the space inside of the tooth. If this is true, I need to speak with the realtor who leased my number 13 tooth, because the pain I was experiencing leads me to believe that I had a bunch of college kids with no references or credit checks living in there, partying, bumping into the walls, and breaking all of the furniture.

To be honest, the procedure wasn't all that bad. Before we got started, I asked if I could listen to my iPod, which I was told was okay. I ran through the waiting room out toward my car with my little bib on. Most of the people in the waiting area probably thought I was trying to escape, and I'm not sure if they felt any better when I returned with my aforementioned coconut half headphones. I got back in the chair and started looking for the right selection. Maybe something soothing, but something that was loud enough to kill the sound of the drill. I thought about watching a video, but the only thing I had on my iPod was a YouTube video I uploaded of some dude getting a root canal.

Just prior to the procedure, they gave me a pair of tinted protective sunglasses. I don't know why they were tinted. Maybe the dentist thought the site of me crying would be distracting. He also placed a medieval metal and rubber thing that looked like something out of a Marylin Manson video. After 45 minutes of Drilling, filing, and filling I was sent on my way, short one root and a fairly hefty co-pay. I headed of to the office for a staff meeting where I would stutter and stumble through a project plan presentation with a mouth full of Novocaine and drool, hoping that the root canal would be the difficult part of my day.

Back to the Gym

Fair warning that some of the language in this post may be questionable. I'm not sure just yet how questionable it will be because I haven't written it, but some of the things floating around in my head probably justify the disclosure.

I'm happy to report that I've turned into a gym rat, which means I've managed to drag my lazy ass to the gym two days in a row. Yesterday, after a slow start, I managed to do a fair amount of lifting. My favorite moment came when I asked one of the over inflated muscle dudes for a little assistance with something that was questionably too heavy for me. He asked me if I needed a spot. He was a nice enough guy and together we moved one of the weight benches into place. He did chuckle a bit as I picked up the 25 pound dumbbells for a little bench pressing.

This encounter was not unusual for me as I'm not a good gym guy. I don't dress in the proper attire(if there is such a thing), I wear big "coconut half" head phones and I have a tendency to sing out loud. In a past post I've discussed the questionable etiquette in the men's locker room, but I have to admit that singing out loud in the men's locker room isn't particularly cool either. I should at least monitor my play list a little and grunt a little Metallica instead of "Wake Me Up Before You Go Go." If you're getting a vision of me prancing around the locker room shouting, "Jitterbug", then you're on the right track.

Yesterday, as I was on the treadmill, I decided that I would kick it up a few notches and start running. All was cool and I was jamming while running to a little Pearl Jam when the guy next to me flinched. It seems that the "way too long" cord from my iPod was smacking him as I was swinging my arms. Swing your arms, you say? Yes, my mechanics aren't the best. My running is somewhat reminiscent of a one year old being attacked by bees while chasing after the ice cream man. Anyway, I shouted, "Sorry" at him over my music. He was not wearing headphones and didn't require my screaming, but I'm sure he appreciated the sentiment.

As far as different exercises go, I prefer some of the ab work. It's not so much that exercises are fun, it's just that for a lot of them I get to lay down. I always try to catch a few quick Z's when I'm down on the mat, but Deb says that it's way too obvious. Maybe I should switch to an actual exercise position instead of the fetal position. The drooling and snoring doesn't help either. Speaking of drooling, I find it a little annoying when I walk by the ladies doing the thigh exercises. I swear, I'm not looking at you, so save your dirty looks for the actual perverts that cruise the machine area. I'm tired of the scowls of the eighty year old geriatrics doing the Thigh Master, so step off Grandma Moses.

I also find it a little distressing that at least one of the televisions in the cardio room always has an infomercial about some crazy work out routine. If it's not PX90, it's some other program called "Insanity, or "Push Till Death." It's frustrating seeing a bunch of cut and ripped people working out harder than I am, plus it distracts me from my People magazine. One other thing about the machines in the cardio room; I know I've done this a bunch of times and you may have as well. Have you ever gotten off a machine to grab the stuff to wipe down the machine and forget which one you were on? I have no doubt that my fellow runners, walkers and joggers have seen me wiping down a random treadmill and questioned their own work out buddy as to what I was doing. I imagine the typical response is something along the lines of, "Do you see his head phones, he's obviously a little slow. Just leave him alone and don't touch his ears."

The steam room and sauna are my reward for working out and they are the things I really look forward to, but they're not without their issues. I still can't understand why guys insist on going into the hot tub naked. I mean if we were all away for a guy's weekend and there was a hot tub at the hotel or house, we wouldn't be naked in it would we? The same goes for the steam room. I'm proud to report that I always go into either of these things with a swimsuit. That's not cool you say? Well, I say tough shit! I'm not sitting in your funky, gross, hairy guy ass and ball bag broth. Quite honestly, I'm considering purchasing a wet suit.

The other thing that I do in the steam room is bring my own aromatherapy. Due to the unpleasantness that I just mentioned, the steam room smells just a little funky. I picked up a small bottle of eucalyptus oil the last time I was in Australia. I pour a little on a paper towel and hold it near my face when I'm sitting there. It's probably a funny site seeing this big pasty guy with his face in a paper towel. I think some of the old dudes think I'm huffing chemicals as part of some hippie homoerotic adventure, but I don't really give a crap.

Yesterday, while I was in the men's hot tub which is in the far end of the men's locker room, pretty much away from anything else, I had a visitor. An old gentleman brought a stool over and sat next to the hot tub. He never got in, he just sat in the corner on this little white plastic stool. I thought to myself, "Great, this guy is going to want to talk to me. Another Calgon moment goes bye bye." And of course I was right, straight away, the guy started babbling. If that wasn't enough of an issue, I couldn't hear a damned thing he said over the water jets. He was talking and talking and I just sat there smiling and nodding my head. He was probably asking, "Hey, you want to go into the steam room and check my prostate for me?" I kept smiling and nodding in the affirmative.

As this was happening my mind started to wander. I was temporarily transported back to the many days, or should I say nights where my buddies and I would go to dance clubs to meet girls. I couldn't hear the damned thing there either. This was a real disadvantage for me because I didn't possess the looks or the style that my buddies had and I had to rely on dialogue to make any headway, without it, I might as well have been wearing my goofy headphones.