Three holes from the end

I have "issues" with my girth. I don't feel heavy. I don't feel overweight. So I don't have weight issues. My clothes and my mirror beg to differ, however. I have a belt that I have worn for about six or seven years. At my skinniest, the belt is on the fifth hole from the end. When I'm at my portliest like, say, now, the belt fastens at the third hole from the end. When the belt fastens here, it is the official fat tub o' lard stage for me and signals the beginning of another round of diets. The last one I tried was the Atkins diet. A diet that worked very well for me as far as weight loss went, but it made me constipated and I was cranky and got sick easier. So I'm currently trying what I refer to as the non-diet diet. I belong to a gym (more to follow about that later . . .) and I try to work out five days a week including 35 minutes of cardiovascular work on a stationary bike. That coupled with not being a complete psychopath about eating is what I hope will take me to my goal. It worked for me before.

I find the whole diet/weight thing an interesting study in human behavior. Why do we eat way too much, exercise way too little, become disgusted with ourselves, wonder how we got this way and how we get out of it--then spend our money on products, books and experts to tell us to eat less and exercise more? The diet and exercise industry is a multi-billion dollar practice in irony. We pay people to tell us what we already know. Sure, the experts can break it down for us to the molecular level, but deep down inside, we all know that the reason we're fat is because we deposited more than we've withdrawn from our calorie accounts. They can give us all the physiology of how exercise works and why sugar and fat turn us into three holes from the enders, but they don't tell us anything new. So, why do we spend the money? Maybe, like me, we're all trying to avoid paying for our laziness; which is another part of the study in human (and only human) behavior. You don't see monkeys in the jungle pinching the flab on their guts or looking at their hind parts in the water to see if their hiney sticks out too much. They're too busy eating and running around in the jungle. Sometimes our superior intellect can be a real liability. but thats a different subject on which there will be . . .



more to follow . . .

Fruit of my loins

I've heard the question many times. Where do they get it? Of course I'm talking about children and the energizer bunny-type ability to go on forever without stopping. I heard my six-year old one time after running around the house, riding his bike for hours, building a fort, chasing his little sister, and running away from his big sister, tell me that he was tired and needed to rest--he was lying. He stopped for no less than 28 seconds and then with a battle cry of "Hey! That's MINE!" away he went full throttle. So, the question remains: Where do they get all that energy? I have a theory which I believe to be as valid as any the so-called scientific community can provide. Here goes: Children get their energy from their parents. I'm not talking in genetic terms. I'm talking literally. Children suck the energy straight from their parents. Think about it. You had energy before you had kids, right? You were able to get up out of the chair/sofa/loveseat without making those same grunting noises your parents made? You were able to play on the floor, stay up late at night, get around on anly a few hours sleep. What happened? You had kids. Somehow children have mastered the technology that has eluded the technological world for centuries. They are able to extract energy from adults to use for their own evil designs. Possibly the actual point of energy extraction is whe they elicit the anger response. Something about the frequency of their screams and whines triggers an increase of potential energy in me that when finally released becomes absorbed into their own type of fuel cell network. That's it! they are running on limbic energy. They are converting natural emotional distress and frustration into carbohydrates. My plan? I'm glad you asked. One of two things will work. One(and this is my least favorite) : Find some way of surgically disconnecting my limbic system. Two: become more Vulcan-like in my reactions to my children's bad behavior. I just won't respond with my normal emotional strategies because its just what they want. I'll live longer, they'll have less energy to use against me and maybe, I'll be able to keep up with them. And maybe somehow, someday, they'll come and ask me how where I get all my energy at such an old age.


More to follow . . .

Maybe next week

I had this really cool note written for tonight's entry, but I went to spell-check it and it disappeared into cyber-limbo and I'll never see it again. Anyway, kids are fed, wife has new shoes, the lawn is mowed, we have a new wheel on our pathetic wheelbarrow and we have a Costco-size package of toilet paper in our bathroom. I've done enough to save my little corner of the world for this week. Maybe I'll actually get what I planned done one of these Saturdays.

More to follow . . .

PS I won't be using spell-check anymore, so you'll have to find a way to deal with typos found here.

Beginnings . . .

I never know what to write in a journal. I never know what's going to be important to anybody in ten minutes let alone ten years. My life is wonderfully normal. I have a beautiful wife, five children, a dog, some guppies, a mortgage, and one and a half minivans. I have a good job in a stable career; I play music and have quasi-dreams about being able to be a professional singer/songwriter for a living. I play guitar and write my own songs. I have million dollar ideas and a twenty dollar budget. I live in a small town with quiet neighborhoods far from the insanity of the major metro areas. I am deeply religious and like to think that everything is spiritual. Not in some new-age "wherever you go, there you are" way, but in muted, subtle manifestations. My children are happy, healthy and intelligent. I have a lot to be thankful for. I also have a great deal of responsibility that I'm not always crazy about. I suppose I could complain about some things, (I've got some interesting family dynamics and socio-political issues I'm concerned about) but after I get through counting all the ways my life is really enviable, I would be too tired to take on a hypocritical endeavor like that. So until I'm in a fouler mood, I'm just going to have to be a little Pollyanna-ish about things. I hope that's alright.

More to follow . . .

Just a test folks . . .

I set up this to see how it works and with a little help from my wife, it looks like it might actually work. Too late for much more tonight, but I might or might not post again later.