Sometimes as a parent you reflect back and wish you taught your kid how to do this thing or that.
Today I read http://shaneandcassandra.com/shane/?p=49 and came away thinking "I wish I had taught Shane how to open a box. If I had done that I could have a picture of him carrying a water ski.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Saturday, August 22, 2009
X-12: It's Not So Annoying Anymore
Our exciting story began in the tail end of July 2009 when I stood on the scale (digital) and it assulted me with the number 299. That's a pretty intense number, not because it is 3 more than 296 but because it is the most I've ever weighed in my life and probably worse, because it is scary close (we're talking drink a quart of water and step on the scale again close) to 300.
When I graduated high school I weighed 158 (but I was only about 5'10 inches tall). I graduated college weighing about 190 (but much closer to my current height which really sucked because I didn't have money for new cloths in college and growing nearly 6 inches pretty much demands a purchase). I started working for EDS at 210. A couple of years later in Denver I was running 5 miles a day (every day - I was using exercise to get rid of my job stress).
This is 22 years ago. I weighed 220, ran file miles a day and averaged just under 7 minute miles when I ran the Bolder Boulder (10k in nasty hills). The year was 1987, the year I met Chris Ifland.
Chris lived in Seattle and had a clarity in his vision of the future that few could comprehend, much less share. At this point in time he was into Novell networks and Chris felt this whole making PCs talk to each other was going to be important. Most of the EDS computer experts that surrounded me thought his vision was foolishness, the micro computer was really little more than a toy with minimal business value, but worth keeping around because you could do word processing and Lotus 123.
Over the next year or two I learned that along with being an incretable visionary, Chris was also soft spoken and not into himself enough to fight for his ideas. I, on the other hand, was thrilled to go into battle over a good idea and I became the Steve Jobs to his Steve Wozniak. Chris would have a company changeing thought, I would go break heads to sell it, and EDS would benefit. I expect a whole new blog entry exists in this story but that wouldn't work with the X-12 title...
The discussion about Chris really does fit here, though, because his ideas seemed to launch the travel part of my career. He would think grand thoughts, I would sell them to Mike Sweeney (who "owned" both the Denver and Seattle office) and Mike would send me on the road to tell the world. By the end of of 1988 I was a road warrior about as much as I was home. After 20 years I still carry a Platinum card for both American Airlines and Marriott hotels.
There are a nuber of down sides to travel and meals is definately one of them. When one get so eat in any restaurant they chose, three meals a day for 20 years, one is destined to gain weight. This is especially true when traveling in groups because you always do meals together so you're going out to eat even if you are not hungry.
So 20 years of Platinum cards, big steaks, succulent lobsters (in drawn butter of course) and hearty breakfasts at the hotel buffet later I'm tipping the scale at 299 and the rest, as they say, is history.
Rather than gain that extra pound I took some action. I downloaded, tested, and the paid for the Calorie King software. Answering the questions I learned my "ideal weight" is 167 (ya, right, that's going to happen) and to start losing weight I must eat 2,000 calories a day (or less). The software boasts the best food database in the world and I must say it seems to be quite complete. I've learned that I can still eat as much as I used to but I make different choices (and it's not annoying anymore).
For breakfast I used to cook 3 eggs, break the yokes, then put them between two slices of American Cheese (the real cheese, not that funky cheese spread crap) and two pieces of bread. I would butter the outside of the bread and fry it until the cheese melted. While the toasted egg and cheese sandwich was cooking I would scrounge around and eat a slice of last night's cold pizza. Today I typically cut up some cantelope and watermellon to eat. Probably the same volume but it's likely upwards of 500 calories less.
The other thing is exercise. The sofware gives me calories back and I knew it was important so I'm out doing that 4 or 5 times a day. You just have to make it a priority.
My progress has been surprisingly exact. I'm dropping three pounds a week. Three the first week, three the second, three the third, and I'm down three more as of today (Saturday - the weekly weigh in is Monday). I eat a bit more on the weekend so I porbably won't lose much more this week. That's it. X-12 and it's not so annoying anymore.
When I graduated high school I weighed 158 (but I was only about 5'10 inches tall). I graduated college weighing about 190 (but much closer to my current height which really sucked because I didn't have money for new cloths in college and growing nearly 6 inches pretty much demands a purchase). I started working for EDS at 210. A couple of years later in Denver I was running 5 miles a day (every day - I was using exercise to get rid of my job stress).
This is 22 years ago. I weighed 220, ran file miles a day and averaged just under 7 minute miles when I ran the Bolder Boulder (10k in nasty hills). The year was 1987, the year I met Chris Ifland.
Chris lived in Seattle and had a clarity in his vision of the future that few could comprehend, much less share. At this point in time he was into Novell networks and Chris felt this whole making PCs talk to each other was going to be important. Most of the EDS computer experts that surrounded me thought his vision was foolishness, the micro computer was really little more than a toy with minimal business value, but worth keeping around because you could do word processing and Lotus 123.
Over the next year or two I learned that along with being an incretable visionary, Chris was also soft spoken and not into himself enough to fight for his ideas. I, on the other hand, was thrilled to go into battle over a good idea and I became the Steve Jobs to his Steve Wozniak. Chris would have a company changeing thought, I would go break heads to sell it, and EDS would benefit. I expect a whole new blog entry exists in this story but that wouldn't work with the X-12 title...
The discussion about Chris really does fit here, though, because his ideas seemed to launch the travel part of my career. He would think grand thoughts, I would sell them to Mike Sweeney (who "owned" both the Denver and Seattle office) and Mike would send me on the road to tell the world. By the end of of 1988 I was a road warrior about as much as I was home. After 20 years I still carry a Platinum card for both American Airlines and Marriott hotels.
There are a nuber of down sides to travel and meals is definately one of them. When one get so eat in any restaurant they chose, three meals a day for 20 years, one is destined to gain weight. This is especially true when traveling in groups because you always do meals together so you're going out to eat even if you are not hungry.
So 20 years of Platinum cards, big steaks, succulent lobsters (in drawn butter of course) and hearty breakfasts at the hotel buffet later I'm tipping the scale at 299 and the rest, as they say, is history.
Rather than gain that extra pound I took some action. I downloaded, tested, and the paid for the Calorie King software. Answering the questions I learned my "ideal weight" is 167 (ya, right, that's going to happen) and to start losing weight I must eat 2,000 calories a day (or less). The software boasts the best food database in the world and I must say it seems to be quite complete. I've learned that I can still eat as much as I used to but I make different choices (and it's not annoying anymore).
For breakfast I used to cook 3 eggs, break the yokes, then put them between two slices of American Cheese (the real cheese, not that funky cheese spread crap) and two pieces of bread. I would butter the outside of the bread and fry it until the cheese melted. While the toasted egg and cheese sandwich was cooking I would scrounge around and eat a slice of last night's cold pizza. Today I typically cut up some cantelope and watermellon to eat. Probably the same volume but it's likely upwards of 500 calories less.
The other thing is exercise. The sofware gives me calories back and I knew it was important so I'm out doing that 4 or 5 times a day. You just have to make it a priority.
My progress has been surprisingly exact. I'm dropping three pounds a week. Three the first week, three the second, three the third, and I'm down three more as of today (Saturday - the weekly weigh in is Monday). I eat a bit more on the weekend so I porbably won't lose much more this week. That's it. X-12 and it's not so annoying anymore.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Is it just ME?
Is it just me or do others who read this have NetFlix paranoia? Every time I put one of the mailers in the box outside my house I hestiate to put the flag up becasue I'm always concerned that the DVD thieves are lurking around the corner just waiting for the opprtunity to open my box and snatch the copy of The Little Mermaid before it can go back to it's owners.
Kind of strange. Nobody as ever stolen one yet I always hesitate. I wonder what that's about. Does everyone go through it or is it just me?
Kind of strange. Nobody as ever stolen one yet I always hesitate. I wonder what that's about. Does everyone go through it or is it just me?
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Priceless
After I published the story titled "Becoming" I felt compelled to share one more. It happened about 40 years later. Many of you already know this story but for those of you who don't...
I was walking down one of the less lighted streets of Rio De Janeiro. As I reached the half way point of the block a young man came up beside me. He appeared to be in his early twenties and wore a tight brown knit shirt with black pants and soft loafer type shoes. He was probably 5' 5 inches tall with a very lean build. His dark, greasy hair was shortly cropped and he was clean shaven. The stranger asked me what time it was in Portuguese. I figured out what he wanted but struggled to respond. I said "noave e bente hora" (9:30 in broken Spanish) which probably wasn't the right response in Brazil, but hopefully close enough.
With no change in the tempo or volume of his voice, he said "Give me your wallet".
I responded by saying "No Compendio" (I don't understand) and started looking around. As I observed that there was nobody else on the street he repeated "Your wallet, give it to me".
About a block away I saw a sidewalk cafe that appeared to be open (well lighted). I replied "I don't think so" in a non aggressive voice. As he started talking I noticed his hand was up under his shirt, holding something that was pointed at me.
His voice had no inflection what so ever. "There are no Policia, nobody here to help you. You are alone. I am Mafioso. Give me your wallet".
With another quick glance in all directions to insure it was just the two of us, I responded. "If we are alone, who will protect you? I will hurt you".
His face showed slight confusion. I decided the thing under his shirt was his hand (I could see his knuckle). Perhaps still puzzled by my reply in English he repeated "No one will help you, give me your wallet".
For me, the world slowed down and my mind gained remarkable clarity. In the next 3 or 4 steps, I sorted my options. Odds were it was just his hand in his shirt trying to intimidate me. There was no way it was a gun, too small and there as that knuckle. It was a long shot, but there was a remote possibility that he had a knife. In my right hand, which was tight against my pants pocket to prevent access, I carried a small umbrella with a sharp pointed hook for a handle, folded up. My left hand was free. I quickly decided it would be pointless to run, I'm just too big, too old, too slow, and I didn't want him behind me where I couldn't see him. He was too close to kick. I could probably connect with a reverse elbow to the neck but he might see it coming and even if he didn't, there were the consequences of seriously injuring someone in a country where I was a foreigner and didn’t even speak the language. Further, there was the problem of the umbrella. I didn't want to drop it because I envisioned using it as a bongmongee if he had a knife, and I wasn't sure how a hand full of umbrella would change the dynamic of a reverse elbow strike.
I decided three things. First was that I needed him to be more than an arms length away on the outside chance he had a knife. Next, I needed to be at an angle that was facing him or at least perpendicular so my kicks would be more effective. Finally, I remembered that 70% of communication is non verbal and I decided I needed some strong non-verbal communication that clearly said "You need to find a new hobby".
My plan to meet these three objectives was to quickly turn, push him back 3 or 4 feet and shout "Deixe me em paz" (leave me alone - a phrase I memorized a day earlier when trying to deal with highly persistent adolescent beggars). He only had one hand available (the other was in his shirt) so if I turned quickly odds of him reacting in a way that surprised me were small.
The way it played out in my mind, once I was turned, he would be free to leave. If he took a step toward me it was a clear signal of hostility and permission for me to take advantage of the physical facts, those being:
I was walking down one of the less lighted streets of Rio De Janeiro. As I reached the half way point of the block a young man came up beside me. He appeared to be in his early twenties and wore a tight brown knit shirt with black pants and soft loafer type shoes. He was probably 5' 5 inches tall with a very lean build. His dark, greasy hair was shortly cropped and he was clean shaven. The stranger asked me what time it was in Portuguese. I figured out what he wanted but struggled to respond. I said "noave e bente hora" (9:30 in broken Spanish) which probably wasn't the right response in Brazil, but hopefully close enough.
With no change in the tempo or volume of his voice, he said "Give me your wallet".
I responded by saying "No Compendio" (I don't understand) and started looking around. As I observed that there was nobody else on the street he repeated "Your wallet, give it to me".
About a block away I saw a sidewalk cafe that appeared to be open (well lighted). I replied "I don't think so" in a non aggressive voice. As he started talking I noticed his hand was up under his shirt, holding something that was pointed at me.
His voice had no inflection what so ever. "There are no Policia, nobody here to help you. You are alone. I am Mafioso. Give me your wallet".
With another quick glance in all directions to insure it was just the two of us, I responded. "If we are alone, who will protect you? I will hurt you".
His face showed slight confusion. I decided the thing under his shirt was his hand (I could see his knuckle). Perhaps still puzzled by my reply in English he repeated "No one will help you, give me your wallet".
For me, the world slowed down and my mind gained remarkable clarity. In the next 3 or 4 steps, I sorted my options. Odds were it was just his hand in his shirt trying to intimidate me. There was no way it was a gun, too small and there as that knuckle. It was a long shot, but there was a remote possibility that he had a knife. In my right hand, which was tight against my pants pocket to prevent access, I carried a small umbrella with a sharp pointed hook for a handle, folded up. My left hand was free. I quickly decided it would be pointless to run, I'm just too big, too old, too slow, and I didn't want him behind me where I couldn't see him. He was too close to kick. I could probably connect with a reverse elbow to the neck but he might see it coming and even if he didn't, there were the consequences of seriously injuring someone in a country where I was a foreigner and didn’t even speak the language. Further, there was the problem of the umbrella. I didn't want to drop it because I envisioned using it as a bongmongee if he had a knife, and I wasn't sure how a hand full of umbrella would change the dynamic of a reverse elbow strike.
I decided three things. First was that I needed him to be more than an arms length away on the outside chance he had a knife. Next, I needed to be at an angle that was facing him or at least perpendicular so my kicks would be more effective. Finally, I remembered that 70% of communication is non verbal and I decided I needed some strong non-verbal communication that clearly said "You need to find a new hobby".
My plan to meet these three objectives was to quickly turn, push him back 3 or 4 feet and shout "Deixe me em paz" (leave me alone - a phrase I memorized a day earlier when trying to deal with highly persistent adolescent beggars). He only had one hand available (the other was in his shirt) so if I turned quickly odds of him reacting in a way that surprised me were small.
The way it played out in my mind, once I was turned, he would be free to leave. If he took a step toward me it was a clear signal of hostility and permission for me to take advantage of the physical facts, those being:
- If I was fast he would never see the confrontation coming (and have time to pull his hand out of his shirt).
- I probably outweighed him by something like 100 pounds.
- His diaphragm was about the same height I set up for board breaks.
- Landing the full force step side kick, would likely give me the extra time I needed to get to the restaurant before he did. (Hey, injuring my friend Brant Paquette was a fade away reverse, a full force number three was bound to put this guy, who was smaller than Brant, on the ground and I figured he would be very slow getting up). If I didn’t have a good shot at the diaphragm I planned to take out a knee.
The plan seemed pretty solid after I finished analyzing it for a good 1.2 seconds. As it turns out, these things never go the way you plan.
Years later a friend asked me if I had to decide what to do or if my martial arts training made it automatic. I explained that at the time it was happening, it was just happening. I sat down afterwards and wrote it all down so it must have been automatic. I expect it was automatic because we did this so many times in class. Combine that with the adrenalin produced as I played out my role in my first robbery, and it seems I lost some of the finesse and control expected of me during a sparring match.
I did a double time step forward and pivoted on my right foot. The hand with the umbrella shot forward and as my left hand drew back and curled into a palm heel. I said "Diexe me (pronounced ‘dayeesh meh’) in a fairly normal voice, but the last part came out more like a ki-hap (PIE-TES!!).
My right hand shot back to my right side as the palm my left hand rocketed forward, striking him about 2/3 of the way up his sternum. His face showed utter shock and both feet lifted off the ground. He turned a half turn in the air and landed on his back on the sidewalk. I jumped into a sparring stance and screamed “I AM GOING TO HURT YOU – MURERTO!!” (It was actually so loud it even surprised me).
The assailant (assuming I wasn’t the assailant) did a kind of fast crab walk back 3 or 4 steps yelling “desculpe! desculpe!” (which meant nothing to me). He jumped back to his feet and said “pardonee!”, gave me a thumbs up sign and headed the other direction. I stood and watched him until he disappeared around the corner then I quickly crossed the street and headed for the lighted, open air restaurant. I didn’t stop but as I walked by everyone in the restaurant was staring at me.
A few blocks later I was back at the hotel. Five hours after that (2 in the morning) I was still lying in bed, wide awake replaying the whole thing in my mind, over and over. An experience like this one makes a great story, but is really leaves you wired when it’s over.
Later, a Portuguese speaking friend explained that "desculpe" means "I'm sorry – excuse me". I guess the whole experience was best summed up by the words of another friend (Dan Sims) who said "Karate Lessons $1680, Sparring Gear $145, Tournament Entry Fees $1120, Kicking the butt of the scum bag that tried to steal your wallet --- Priceless!…
Becoming
Writing is a strange and wonderful practice. You sit down to capture a story and when you begin writing sometimes something else ends up on the page. That is exactly what happened to me yesterday. I sat down to write a story about the student body VP thing and when I finished I had 19 pages of prose. Contained within the prose was this story that I've titled "Becoming".
My earliest memories come from Saudi Arabia. I spent 5 years living there and left at age 9. After a brief stay in Missouri where I lived with my Aunt, I settled in Gillette Wyoming. I believe the year was 1967. I graduated high school in Gillette and my father still lives there.
Besides dealing with the cultural change you get when moving from the middle east to the states, I was also dealing with the emotions any 9 year old would go through as their parents did the whole divorce ritual.
In an effort to absolutely maximize the shock of a changing life, I was blessed with an education in the phenomena commonly called bullies.
The concept of being picked on at school was completely foreign to me. It just didn't happen in Dhahran. As a result, when I showed up in elementary school in Wyoming where all the aspiring hoodlums need to take a whack at the new kid in town, I had no clue how to deal with the situation.
For those of you who don't know me well, it's worth mentioning that I've always been somewhat outspoken (much like falling off a motorcycle at 65 miles an hour is SOMEWHAT abrasive to your skin).
The net result was that my elementary and middle school experience was quite terrifying and probably the most disturbing period of my existence. It was a rare day indeed when I didn't get punched, kicked or in some other way abused for no apparent reason.
Often the dark clouds in our lives come packaged with a silver lining. Mine came in the form of Dennis, Joe and Scott - my best friends at the time. I know Dennis and Scott were signed up for membership in the same "hit me, push me, embarrass me as much as possible" club. In my memory of these events of over 40 years ago I believe Joe had a bit of acceptance by the "cool kids" and I don't recall him being a punching bag.
The five year period from mid fourth grade through the middle of grade 9 were more or less something out of a horror movie for me.
Then a period of my life that I now affectionately label "Becoming" began. As I reflect back I believe the catalyst that marked the end the horror movie and the beginning of "becoming" was a specific incident.
Dennis was my best friend and to this day is one of only two people who have been a constant life-long positive connection. It began when I met him in the 5th grade and must have still been going on when he served as the best man at my wedding. We are still connected today and I expect he will comment on this blog. Dennis, like Scott and I, spent plenty of time getting picked on by the bullies. Then Dennis moved away. He lived in Long Beach, California for a number of years and returned in the 9th grade.
It was the middle of my freshman year of high school when Dennis returned. It didn't take long at all before a group of kids that used to always pick on him (and me, and Scott, and everyone else that looked like a walking punching bag) decided to pick up where they left off multiple years earlier. One of the more obnoxious members of the group was a kid named John.
We were in a social studies class and John decided it was appropriate and necessary to humiliate Dennis by making fun of a facial feature or some such thing. The first iteration Dennis, more politely than I expect was necessary, asked John to leave him alone. That didn't work so well and John just escalated. Next Dennis simply said, "You REALLY don't want to do this" but this only brought some of John's buddies into the mix. Dennis made a final statement of "Wait until after class" to which taunts of "oooh, ahhh he's going to get us after class" was finally squashed by the teacher.
Needless to say John and his little gang of thugs would be waiting for Dennis in the hall as Dennis exited the class.
As I mentioned earlier, Dennis went through a transformation in Long beach. School bullies in Gillette, Wyoming - population 8,000 are a very mild annoyance when compared to the knife wielding, gang bangers who would be inclined to send you to the hospital if you were unfortunate enough to get in a fight.
In Gillette the "bad guys" would knock your books out of your hand, put gum in your hair, or if they were really feeling violent they might deliver an undeserved punch in the stomach. In Long beach the offer was a ride in the ambulance and it was there when Dennis REALLY learned how to deal with bullies.
The other thing that changed Dennis in California was gymnastics. Dennis was a typical puny weakling, the kind of kid bullies love to punch when he left. When he got back he was stronger than he had ever been in his life. I remember him walking down the sidewalk on his hands and seeing an ant, he had the coordination, balance and strength that allowed him to do a push-up style move (while staying inverted) and smashing the ant with his nose. Like I said he was stronger.
As John and his little trouble making buddies waited for us in the hall, Dennis and I exited the classroom. The thing that happened next literally changed my life direction. John stepped forward and offered another anatomical insult and Dennis calmly reached forward and grabbed a handful of John's shirt. With one hand and a simple motion Dennis lifted John by his shirt until John's feet were a good 3 inches from the ground. Dennis then took a step forward and slammed John's wiggling body against the lockers, his feet still unable to reach the floor. As John's "tough guy" buddies slowly backed away Dennis calmly explained the facts of life to John.
"I'm not the scared kid I used to be in the 6th grade and I'm really not going to put up with you like I used to back then. I understand that you are stupid and didn't know any better in there" gesturing with his free hand while John dangled from the other, "but if you have anything else to say about me that I don't like, I am going to have to hurt you".
With that Dennis tossed John on the floor much like any gymnast would discard a towel after wiping sweat from his face following an awesome routine on the rings. As John and his loser allies watched in stunned reverence, Dennis turned and walked away. He walked away from the insults. He walked away from the sucker punches and shoves from behind. He walked away from the list of the weak and undeserving.
To this day, nearly 40 years later, Dennis probably never realized that he was the inspiration that caused me to deck John's friend Mike a short time later when he shoved and then punched me in shop class.
After Mike there was Jed and Pat and a host of others that used the weak as their entertainment. One by one they observed first hand that you could insult me all you wanted and I would simply walk away but if you touched me; a push, a punch, gum in the hair - any unwanted physical contact, and they were in a fight (and win, lose. or draw - you were going to take some damage).
By the end of my Sophomore year the bullies had all moved on to other targets, and I was knee deep into a transformation. I'm quite sure I never shared the signifigance of this milestone with my friend. I'm not certain I realized the genesis nature of this particular event in the transformation to my current persona. I'm often called over-confident, even arrogant but nobody that knows me these days would ever describe me using the words "shy" or "timid". It's just not who I am anymore (ask the guy who tried to mug me in Brazil).
It's interesting to me. I sat down to write about an event that happened near the end of my Junior year and that story just came out. Writing is a strange and wonderful practice.
My earliest memories come from Saudi Arabia. I spent 5 years living there and left at age 9. After a brief stay in Missouri where I lived with my Aunt, I settled in Gillette Wyoming. I believe the year was 1967. I graduated high school in Gillette and my father still lives there.
Besides dealing with the cultural change you get when moving from the middle east to the states, I was also dealing with the emotions any 9 year old would go through as their parents did the whole divorce ritual.
In an effort to absolutely maximize the shock of a changing life, I was blessed with an education in the phenomena commonly called bullies.
The concept of being picked on at school was completely foreign to me. It just didn't happen in Dhahran. As a result, when I showed up in elementary school in Wyoming where all the aspiring hoodlums need to take a whack at the new kid in town, I had no clue how to deal with the situation.
For those of you who don't know me well, it's worth mentioning that I've always been somewhat outspoken (much like falling off a motorcycle at 65 miles an hour is SOMEWHAT abrasive to your skin).
The net result was that my elementary and middle school experience was quite terrifying and probably the most disturbing period of my existence. It was a rare day indeed when I didn't get punched, kicked or in some other way abused for no apparent reason.
Often the dark clouds in our lives come packaged with a silver lining. Mine came in the form of Dennis, Joe and Scott - my best friends at the time. I know Dennis and Scott were signed up for membership in the same "hit me, push me, embarrass me as much as possible" club. In my memory of these events of over 40 years ago I believe Joe had a bit of acceptance by the "cool kids" and I don't recall him being a punching bag.
The five year period from mid fourth grade through the middle of grade 9 were more or less something out of a horror movie for me.
Then a period of my life that I now affectionately label "Becoming" began. As I reflect back I believe the catalyst that marked the end the horror movie and the beginning of "becoming" was a specific incident.
Dennis was my best friend and to this day is one of only two people who have been a constant life-long positive connection. It began when I met him in the 5th grade and must have still been going on when he served as the best man at my wedding. We are still connected today and I expect he will comment on this blog. Dennis, like Scott and I, spent plenty of time getting picked on by the bullies. Then Dennis moved away. He lived in Long Beach, California for a number of years and returned in the 9th grade.
It was the middle of my freshman year of high school when Dennis returned. It didn't take long at all before a group of kids that used to always pick on him (and me, and Scott, and everyone else that looked like a walking punching bag) decided to pick up where they left off multiple years earlier. One of the more obnoxious members of the group was a kid named John.
We were in a social studies class and John decided it was appropriate and necessary to humiliate Dennis by making fun of a facial feature or some such thing. The first iteration Dennis, more politely than I expect was necessary, asked John to leave him alone. That didn't work so well and John just escalated. Next Dennis simply said, "You REALLY don't want to do this" but this only brought some of John's buddies into the mix. Dennis made a final statement of "Wait until after class" to which taunts of "oooh, ahhh he's going to get us after class" was finally squashed by the teacher.
Needless to say John and his little gang of thugs would be waiting for Dennis in the hall as Dennis exited the class.
As I mentioned earlier, Dennis went through a transformation in Long beach. School bullies in Gillette, Wyoming - population 8,000 are a very mild annoyance when compared to the knife wielding, gang bangers who would be inclined to send you to the hospital if you were unfortunate enough to get in a fight.
In Gillette the "bad guys" would knock your books out of your hand, put gum in your hair, or if they were really feeling violent they might deliver an undeserved punch in the stomach. In Long beach the offer was a ride in the ambulance and it was there when Dennis REALLY learned how to deal with bullies.
The other thing that changed Dennis in California was gymnastics. Dennis was a typical puny weakling, the kind of kid bullies love to punch when he left. When he got back he was stronger than he had ever been in his life. I remember him walking down the sidewalk on his hands and seeing an ant, he had the coordination, balance and strength that allowed him to do a push-up style move (while staying inverted) and smashing the ant with his nose. Like I said he was stronger.
As John and his little trouble making buddies waited for us in the hall, Dennis and I exited the classroom. The thing that happened next literally changed my life direction. John stepped forward and offered another anatomical insult and Dennis calmly reached forward and grabbed a handful of John's shirt. With one hand and a simple motion Dennis lifted John by his shirt until John's feet were a good 3 inches from the ground. Dennis then took a step forward and slammed John's wiggling body against the lockers, his feet still unable to reach the floor. As John's "tough guy" buddies slowly backed away Dennis calmly explained the facts of life to John.
"I'm not the scared kid I used to be in the 6th grade and I'm really not going to put up with you like I used to back then. I understand that you are stupid and didn't know any better in there" gesturing with his free hand while John dangled from the other, "but if you have anything else to say about me that I don't like, I am going to have to hurt you".
With that Dennis tossed John on the floor much like any gymnast would discard a towel after wiping sweat from his face following an awesome routine on the rings. As John and his loser allies watched in stunned reverence, Dennis turned and walked away. He walked away from the insults. He walked away from the sucker punches and shoves from behind. He walked away from the list of the weak and undeserving.
To this day, nearly 40 years later, Dennis probably never realized that he was the inspiration that caused me to deck John's friend Mike a short time later when he shoved and then punched me in shop class.
After Mike there was Jed and Pat and a host of others that used the weak as their entertainment. One by one they observed first hand that you could insult me all you wanted and I would simply walk away but if you touched me; a push, a punch, gum in the hair - any unwanted physical contact, and they were in a fight (and win, lose. or draw - you were going to take some damage).
By the end of my Sophomore year the bullies had all moved on to other targets, and I was knee deep into a transformation. I'm quite sure I never shared the signifigance of this milestone with my friend. I'm not certain I realized the genesis nature of this particular event in the transformation to my current persona. I'm often called over-confident, even arrogant but nobody that knows me these days would ever describe me using the words "shy" or "timid". It's just not who I am anymore (ask the guy who tried to mug me in Brazil).
It's interesting to me. I sat down to write about an event that happened near the end of my Junior year and that story just came out. Writing is a strange and wonderful practice.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
01) Student Body Vice President
I started my high school years as an insecure, terrified member at the low end of the school social structure. I was a constant target for punches and humiliation delivered by those who were not strong enough to fight with the kids who loved to fight, but felt some kind of a need to dilute themselves into believing they were strong in some way.
A transformation from the scared nerd that was me in the 9th grade to my college years where I was one of the more successful and popular people on campus had a significant mile stone at the end of my Junior year when I was elected into the office of Vice President of the student body.
I learned an important lesson that year. A lesson that guides my choices to this day, something significant enough to earn membership in the top 10 experiences that shaped me most.
I did not attend every high school so I can only speculate but I expect they all had some students (a small subset) that lived in the lime light, and another group (much larger this time) that are more or less invisible outside their own very small social circles.
Prior to my Junior year I had never been involved in the student lime light. I never heard the crowd on the bleachers go wild after stealing the basketball and rocketing down the court and doing a lay-up. I never caught a pass to score the winning touchdown or had the lead in a play. When they were choosing the home coming king I'm quite sure my name never came up. I was a strong member of the invisible majority.
Every year there were student elections of the student council members. Each year it seemed to be the same thing. The "popular" kids would put their posters up, pass out some kind of trinkets in the halls and wait for the invisible masses to do their duty and re-elect them into their continuing roles as the social leaders. Meanwhile the invisible majority would complain that it was always the popular kids and they weren't doing anything.
Another year rolled around. Another set of posters went up. Another group of campaign slogans was written and the annual re-run that was student council elections started yet again.
About a week prior to the voting, an announcement went over the school wide PA system. There would be an assembly next Thursday where the candidates would be given an opportunity to pontificate eloquently on their pedigrees and why they alone should be bestowed with the honor of the office for which they were running. As the announcement blared out of the speaker and yet another of the invisible ones raised the same old complaint of nobody doing anything I had an epiphany.
An all school assembly. The candidates would be given an opportunity to speak at an all school assembly. I was 15 years old, 5 feet 10 inches tall, and 130 pounds soaking wet. I had a big mouth and something to say. I went straight to the office and registered as a candidate.
The next day I put up a single campaign poster. It simply said "Jim Crawford is running for student body Vice President". It did not say to vote for me. That was not my desire in running. It did not have a snappy campaign slogan like "Eat a lolly and vote for Molly" (my competition for the VP seat spent a good portion of each day passing out tootsie roll pops with this slogan attached to the stick). It was not multi-colored and it was not in every hallway in school (like the multiple posters most candidates put up). For me the campaign was over. It was all about the assembly.
Thursday rolled around. I don't recall the order of the speeches and I expect I didn't prepare much in the way of a script. I do recall that I didn't practice my speech and I remember that I followed Cindy Radden.
Cindy was a cheerleader every year for as long as I can remember. I seem to recall seeing her in the role of cheerleader at the college in Casper Wyoming when I came up to visit Dennis who was attending there so I assume her role in the lime light did not fade immediately after high school. Cindy was popular and without a doubt she was the nicest popular person who ever attended Campbell County High School. I hope good things continued to happen to her -- but I digress.
As part of her attention grabber at the beginning of her speech Cindy pulled out a massive pack of "speech notes". She began her presentation and seemed to be working off the first page and then in a well practiced theatric move she "accidently" dropped the speech. As a dozen pages of white paper floated to the floor Cindy went into the real speech which was memorized and flawless. Her speech ended, appropriate applause was delivered and it was my turn.
As I walked to the stage I had an sudden impulse and I stopped with my back to the crowd. Slowly, I bent over and one by one, picked up the pages that were Cindy's speech. I turned, faced the crowd and exclaimed
"This is Déjà Vu all over again. Every year they have an election. Every year the same people paper the walls with their tired campaign slogans. Every year you sit, invisible to the illuminated ones, and complain. Every year you elect the same popular people into their leadership roles and once again fade back into the shadows of obscurity. Every year I watch another redundant cycle and I wonder."
I hoisted the papers I just gathered off the floor into the air.
"I wonder if I just did more for the school than any of them! I wonder what they do at their meetings. Perhaps they pass around lolly pops and..."
The crowd erupted into violent cheering and applause. I really don't remember the rest. I still recall the reason for my actions. I wanted a chance to tell the rest of my invisible counterparts that we had no right to complain because we were playing our role just as the popular kids were. You couldn't do the same thing year after year and expect a result that was any different. Further - if we chose to put them in we really had no right to complain. We knew how the story was going to end. We watched it play out last year, and the year before, and the year before that.
It's been close to 40 years and I don't remember it all, but I remember this. Chris Huff was a guy who I had a significant fist fight with the previous year. The battle was an attempt to communicate my displeasure in his hobby of pushing and hitting me. I recall I had just gotten my class ring and to this day I have a clear mental image of my new ring opening his forehead above his right eye when I delivered the decisive blow in the battle. Chris and I both got a short in-school suspension over the ruckus. Chris never pushed or hit me again (as is typically the case with bullies). We also had never talked to one another since. It was a still Thursday, a couple of hours after the assembly when Chris walked up to me in the hall. He looked me right in the eye and announced "I voted for you. I don't know why but I voted for you". He then patted me on the shoulder and went on down the hall.
The next day the election results were announced. I won the election by a massive land slide and for the first time since middle school, Polly didn't have a place on the council.
When I entered the election I had no intent on winning. All I wanted to do was to gain a public forum where I could tell the invisible people to stop doing the same thing while hoping for a different result. Instead I learned an important life lesson.
People are looking for someone to follow. It's a simple but powerful fact. If you are willing to declare yourself as the leader it really doesn't take much to get a crowd to march along with you. The world shifted on its axis for me a bit that day.
Since that time I've considered tragedies like the ones caused by Jim Jones and what I affectionately called "Those wackos in Waco". I've watched moral, intelligent men like Jimmy Carter fail and weak leaders like George Bush prevail. I believe there is a great deal of responsibility with many leadership roles but if you really want it - just stand up and start down the road in a direction you feel strongly about. It won't be long before you begin to attract a crowd and get them marching the same direction.
A transformation from the scared nerd that was me in the 9th grade to my college years where I was one of the more successful and popular people on campus had a significant mile stone at the end of my Junior year when I was elected into the office of Vice President of the student body.
I learned an important lesson that year. A lesson that guides my choices to this day, something significant enough to earn membership in the top 10 experiences that shaped me most.
I did not attend every high school so I can only speculate but I expect they all had some students (a small subset) that lived in the lime light, and another group (much larger this time) that are more or less invisible outside their own very small social circles.
Prior to my Junior year I had never been involved in the student lime light. I never heard the crowd on the bleachers go wild after stealing the basketball and rocketing down the court and doing a lay-up. I never caught a pass to score the winning touchdown or had the lead in a play. When they were choosing the home coming king I'm quite sure my name never came up. I was a strong member of the invisible majority.
Every year there were student elections of the student council members. Each year it seemed to be the same thing. The "popular" kids would put their posters up, pass out some kind of trinkets in the halls and wait for the invisible masses to do their duty and re-elect them into their continuing roles as the social leaders. Meanwhile the invisible majority would complain that it was always the popular kids and they weren't doing anything.
Another year rolled around. Another set of posters went up. Another group of campaign slogans was written and the annual re-run that was student council elections started yet again.
About a week prior to the voting, an announcement went over the school wide PA system. There would be an assembly next Thursday where the candidates would be given an opportunity to pontificate eloquently on their pedigrees and why they alone should be bestowed with the honor of the office for which they were running. As the announcement blared out of the speaker and yet another of the invisible ones raised the same old complaint of nobody doing anything I had an epiphany.
An all school assembly. The candidates would be given an opportunity to speak at an all school assembly. I was 15 years old, 5 feet 10 inches tall, and 130 pounds soaking wet. I had a big mouth and something to say. I went straight to the office and registered as a candidate.
The next day I put up a single campaign poster. It simply said "Jim Crawford is running for student body Vice President". It did not say to vote for me. That was not my desire in running. It did not have a snappy campaign slogan like "Eat a lolly and vote for Molly" (my competition for the VP seat spent a good portion of each day passing out tootsie roll pops with this slogan attached to the stick). It was not multi-colored and it was not in every hallway in school (like the multiple posters most candidates put up). For me the campaign was over. It was all about the assembly.
Thursday rolled around. I don't recall the order of the speeches and I expect I didn't prepare much in the way of a script. I do recall that I didn't practice my speech and I remember that I followed Cindy Radden.
Cindy was a cheerleader every year for as long as I can remember. I seem to recall seeing her in the role of cheerleader at the college in Casper Wyoming when I came up to visit Dennis who was attending there so I assume her role in the lime light did not fade immediately after high school. Cindy was popular and without a doubt she was the nicest popular person who ever attended Campbell County High School. I hope good things continued to happen to her -- but I digress.
As part of her attention grabber at the beginning of her speech Cindy pulled out a massive pack of "speech notes". She began her presentation and seemed to be working off the first page and then in a well practiced theatric move she "accidently" dropped the speech. As a dozen pages of white paper floated to the floor Cindy went into the real speech which was memorized and flawless. Her speech ended, appropriate applause was delivered and it was my turn.
As I walked to the stage I had an sudden impulse and I stopped with my back to the crowd. Slowly, I bent over and one by one, picked up the pages that were Cindy's speech. I turned, faced the crowd and exclaimed
"This is Déjà Vu all over again. Every year they have an election. Every year the same people paper the walls with their tired campaign slogans. Every year you sit, invisible to the illuminated ones, and complain. Every year you elect the same popular people into their leadership roles and once again fade back into the shadows of obscurity. Every year I watch another redundant cycle and I wonder."
I hoisted the papers I just gathered off the floor into the air.
"I wonder if I just did more for the school than any of them! I wonder what they do at their meetings. Perhaps they pass around lolly pops and..."
The crowd erupted into violent cheering and applause. I really don't remember the rest. I still recall the reason for my actions. I wanted a chance to tell the rest of my invisible counterparts that we had no right to complain because we were playing our role just as the popular kids were. You couldn't do the same thing year after year and expect a result that was any different. Further - if we chose to put them in we really had no right to complain. We knew how the story was going to end. We watched it play out last year, and the year before, and the year before that.
It's been close to 40 years and I don't remember it all, but I remember this. Chris Huff was a guy who I had a significant fist fight with the previous year. The battle was an attempt to communicate my displeasure in his hobby of pushing and hitting me. I recall I had just gotten my class ring and to this day I have a clear mental image of my new ring opening his forehead above his right eye when I delivered the decisive blow in the battle. Chris and I both got a short in-school suspension over the ruckus. Chris never pushed or hit me again (as is typically the case with bullies). We also had never talked to one another since. It was a still Thursday, a couple of hours after the assembly when Chris walked up to me in the hall. He looked me right in the eye and announced "I voted for you. I don't know why but I voted for you". He then patted me on the shoulder and went on down the hall.
The next day the election results were announced. I won the election by a massive land slide and for the first time since middle school, Polly didn't have a place on the council.
When I entered the election I had no intent on winning. All I wanted to do was to gain a public forum where I could tell the invisible people to stop doing the same thing while hoping for a different result. Instead I learned an important life lesson.
People are looking for someone to follow. It's a simple but powerful fact. If you are willing to declare yourself as the leader it really doesn't take much to get a crowd to march along with you. The world shifted on its axis for me a bit that day.
Since that time I've considered tragedies like the ones caused by Jim Jones and what I affectionately called "Those wackos in Waco". I've watched moral, intelligent men like Jimmy Carter fail and weak leaders like George Bush prevail. I believe there is a great deal of responsibility with many leadership roles but if you really want it - just stand up and start down the road in a direction you feel strongly about. It won't be long before you begin to attract a crowd and get them marching the same direction.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Little Guy With a Big Mouth
I used to get picked on a great deal back in my younger days. I always like to say "I was a little guy with a big mouth back then".
Yesterday at lunch I made that statement followed by "I was voted most changed at the 20 year class reunion because I'm so big now".
Michelle looked me over and said "Yes, it looks like you've almost grown into your mouth".
Yesterday at lunch I made that statement followed by "I was voted most changed at the 20 year class reunion because I'm so big now".
Michelle looked me over and said "Yes, it looks like you've almost grown into your mouth".
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Reflections
I've started something that some would call memoirs. I'm calling it the collection. It's about my life philosophy. It's about life accomplishments. It's about life.
The process of organizing such a thing takes a great deal of time and reflection and generates volumes of captured information. This blog will be sharing some of that information in the near future and I decided to start with multiple top 10 lists.
A couple of evenings ago I spent some time contemplating which events shaped me the most. The list I came up with is posted at the right. In the future I'll come up with other top 10 lists which will include (but not be limited to):
10 most dangerous experiences
10 favorite memories
10 most difficult experiences
10 experiences with Michelle
10 experiences with Shane
10 experiences with Mandy
10 most influencial Friends (that should be dangerous)
10 stories from Wyoming
10 stories from Texas
10 best pictures and the story behind them (that should be a challenge - I have over 17,000 digital photographs)
Now you get to comment! What other "Top 10" lists of experiences can you come up with?
The process of organizing such a thing takes a great deal of time and reflection and generates volumes of captured information. This blog will be sharing some of that information in the near future and I decided to start with multiple top 10 lists.
A couple of evenings ago I spent some time contemplating which events shaped me the most. The list I came up with is posted at the right. In the future I'll come up with other top 10 lists which will include (but not be limited to):
10 most dangerous experiences
10 favorite memories
10 most difficult experiences
10 experiences with Michelle
10 experiences with Shane
10 experiences with Mandy
10 most influencial Friends (that should be dangerous)
10 stories from Wyoming
10 stories from Texas
10 best pictures and the story behind them (that should be a challenge - I have over 17,000 digital photographs)
Now you get to comment! What other "Top 10" lists of experiences can you come up with?
Friday, August 14, 2009
Followers - Calling Followers!
It's nearly embarrassing. I go over to Mandy's house and she leaves her laptop right out there where God and everybody can see it. If she has her blog up (hey, I'm not invading privacy...you can get there yourself going to jackandmandy.blogspot dot com ) I see that she has dozens (maybe hundreds, who knows) of followers.
I need some followers. If you're reading this you need to consider signing up as a follower.
I'm writing but with only one person reading how is one to stay motivated?
I need some followers. If you're reading this you need to consider signing up as a follower.
I'm writing but with only one person reading how is one to stay motivated?
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Imagine...(but not the one by John Lennon)
Imagine you had a little dog that was old and deaf and timid.
Imagine that you had a neighbor that had a dog that was young and tough and agressive.
Imagine that yesterday was your anniversary and you had a big ole rib bone from a 22 oz Bone in Delmonico.
Congrats - you've set the stage.
Now imagine you give the rib bone to the timmid little deaf dog (making her quite happy) and a few minutes later, to your surprise, your neighbor sneaks over to your house and turns her young, tough agressive dog loose in your house.
Yup. That might be bad (and quite loud as it turns out too).
Imagine that you had a neighbor that had a dog that was young and tough and agressive.
Imagine that yesterday was your anniversary and you had a big ole rib bone from a 22 oz Bone in Delmonico.
Congrats - you've set the stage.
Now imagine you give the rib bone to the timmid little deaf dog (making her quite happy) and a few minutes later, to your surprise, your neighbor sneaks over to your house and turns her young, tough agressive dog loose in your house.
Yup. That might be bad (and quite loud as it turns out too).
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
X minus 10
I haven't figured out the secret to eternal youth yet but I'm ready to declare myself knowledgeable about weight loss. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying I've reached the ideal weight or live the perfect healthy life, I'm saying I've found the nugget of gold.
The secret to weight loss is you need to be really fat!
During my AH-HA! moment I actually said "I wish I weighed 150 more pounds because then I could eat even more!"
The calorie consumption allowed by the software is determined by a number of factors and your starting weight is one of them. The more you weigh, the more you get to eat.
Then there is exercise. Same thing. Michelle and I were planning an exercise session and noticed that if we do a brisk walk for an hour she would burn 180 calories. Walking at her side for the same hour I blast through over 400 calories which gives me the opportunity to scarf down another full meal following her consumption scale (as miniscule as it is).
Here's another tip for having your diet work. Eat all the wrong stuff.
For decades I've been wolfing down chicken fried steak, double quarter pounders, and let's not forget that second helping of cherry pie. Eating like that sets a wonderful foundation for weight loss because when you switch over to egg whites and salad you can consume an amazing volume and still slash your calorie count.
Anyway it seems to be working. I've been at it for two weeks and I've managed to dump a wee bit over 10 pounds so far.
The secret to weight loss is you need to be really fat!
During my AH-HA! moment I actually said "I wish I weighed 150 more pounds because then I could eat even more!"
The calorie consumption allowed by the software is determined by a number of factors and your starting weight is one of them. The more you weigh, the more you get to eat.
Then there is exercise. Same thing. Michelle and I were planning an exercise session and noticed that if we do a brisk walk for an hour she would burn 180 calories. Walking at her side for the same hour I blast through over 400 calories which gives me the opportunity to scarf down another full meal following her consumption scale (as miniscule as it is).
Here's another tip for having your diet work. Eat all the wrong stuff.
For decades I've been wolfing down chicken fried steak, double quarter pounders, and let's not forget that second helping of cherry pie. Eating like that sets a wonderful foundation for weight loss because when you switch over to egg whites and salad you can consume an amazing volume and still slash your calorie count.
Anyway it seems to be working. I've been at it for two weeks and I've managed to dump a wee bit over 10 pounds so far.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
What if it's Unlimited Golf?
I'm sure you find yourself spending hours pondering how you would solve the following problem:
What would I do to maximize my minature golf time if I found myself in an "unlimited games" situation without notice?
It's obvious that one must ponder (and solve) this problem prior to an event where one is faced with an actual "as many rounds as you want" situation. Failure to do so would find you unprepared to deal with the situation, should it happen in real life.
Here's how you do it.
Each hole offers you two strokes or less. If you finish the hole in two strokes or less you don't get a point. If you hit the ball twice and it isn't in the hole yet, you pick it up (and take a point).
It's fast and it doesn't require a score card! This will maximize your total hole count while minimizing the required time.
...and for those of you who like to spice it up a little...
Here's a nice revision rule. Everyone hits once and then everyone goes again (i.e. take turns). Standard rules of golf apply as far as the tee off order (because going first is a disadvantage as you'll soon see).
Here's the fun part. If you hit someone else's ball your stroke doesn't count and you take another shot right away. It puts a bit-o-the croquet strategy in the game (and makes it possible to get a hole in zero which almost certainly puts you first in the next tee box).
What would I do to maximize my minature golf time if I found myself in an "unlimited games" situation without notice?
It's obvious that one must ponder (and solve) this problem prior to an event where one is faced with an actual "as many rounds as you want" situation. Failure to do so would find you unprepared to deal with the situation, should it happen in real life.
Here's how you do it.
Each hole offers you two strokes or less. If you finish the hole in two strokes or less you don't get a point. If you hit the ball twice and it isn't in the hole yet, you pick it up (and take a point).
It's fast and it doesn't require a score card! This will maximize your total hole count while minimizing the required time.
...and for those of you who like to spice it up a little...
Here's a nice revision rule. Everyone hits once and then everyone goes again (i.e. take turns). Standard rules of golf apply as far as the tee off order (because going first is a disadvantage as you'll soon see).
Here's the fun part. If you hit someone else's ball your stroke doesn't count and you take another shot right away. It puts a bit-o-the croquet strategy in the game (and makes it possible to get a hole in zero which almost certainly puts you first in the next tee box).
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Apparently I was an aspiring poet...
I was going through papers in the garage and I found a paper marked in such a way to establish that I worte it on February 11, 1971 (which means I was 13) Here's my prose...
Once upon a time, way up in a tree
there was a little bird. His name was chickidee.
An then we found an empty dish, owned by a cat name flerp.
I yelled "Where is my little bird?" but all he said was burp!
Once there was a dog, so masculent and tuff.
He was very proud. His master named him Ruff.
Ten one day a cat named moo killed the cow named joe.
The dog named Ruff didn't care how much that cat did grow.
Until one day when moo came down to see the dog named Ruff.
The dog and cat had a fight but neither one was tough.
Ruff had made a big mistake, he bit the belly of the cat.
From the meat that came form joe there was a giant splat.
Once there was a little kid who ran around the block.
He never wore all of his shoes and tried to eat his sock.
Then his mama said, "Hey Kid? What you tryin to do!"
He answered "Nothing really mom, The dog just ate my shoe".
Once there was a baker man who baked the cakes all night.
He finally got to take a rest, he fired some dinomite.
Little Jack Horner sat in the corner, eating his Chirsmas pie.
He stuck in his thumb and pulled out his little sister and said
"Hey, what are you doing?"
Once upon a time there was a kid name Joe.
He never sucked his thumb, he always sucked his toe.
This was fine and Dandy until very soon
His favorite sucking toe looked just like a prune.
Ole mother Hubbard sat in the cupboard eating her dog named Joe.
Along came a spider who sat down beside her - and bit her on the toe.
Once there was a very old man who ate a lot of fish.
Then one day he fell down and car ran over him. Squish!
Jack be nimble Jack be quick or I'll hit you with a stick.
Once thre was a banana that crunched and muched and chewed,
but never eat a banana cause it's no kind of food.
I wish I had a nickel for every"A" that's come. I run down to the 5 and dime
to buy a pack of gum.
If I had a nickel for every time I'm wrong I could buy a first class trip
to see the viet cong!
Once upon a time, way up in a tree
there was a little bird. His name was chickidee.
An then we found an empty dish, owned by a cat name flerp.
I yelled "Where is my little bird?" but all he said was burp!
Once there was a dog, so masculent and tuff.
He was very proud. His master named him Ruff.
Ten one day a cat named moo killed the cow named joe.
The dog named Ruff didn't care how much that cat did grow.
Until one day when moo came down to see the dog named Ruff.
The dog and cat had a fight but neither one was tough.
Ruff had made a big mistake, he bit the belly of the cat.
From the meat that came form joe there was a giant splat.
Once there was a little kid who ran around the block.
He never wore all of his shoes and tried to eat his sock.
Then his mama said, "Hey Kid? What you tryin to do!"
He answered "Nothing really mom, The dog just ate my shoe".
Once there was a baker man who baked the cakes all night.
He finally got to take a rest, he fired some dinomite.
Little Jack Horner sat in the corner, eating his Chirsmas pie.
He stuck in his thumb and pulled out his little sister and said
"Hey, what are you doing?"
Once upon a time there was a kid name Joe.
He never sucked his thumb, he always sucked his toe.
This was fine and Dandy until very soon
His favorite sucking toe looked just like a prune.
Ole mother Hubbard sat in the cupboard eating her dog named Joe.
Along came a spider who sat down beside her - and bit her on the toe.
Once there was a very old man who ate a lot of fish.
Then one day he fell down and car ran over him. Squish!
Jack be nimble Jack be quick or I'll hit you with a stick.
Once thre was a banana that crunched and muched and chewed,
but never eat a banana cause it's no kind of food.
I wish I had a nickel for every"A" that's come. I run down to the 5 and dime
to buy a pack of gum.
If I had a nickel for every time I'm wrong I could buy a first class trip
to see the viet cong!
Something Important to Know
I believe I wrote earlier to say I was exercising and watching what I eat. I hit my highest weight of my life (299 lbs) and REALLY didn't want to get 1 pound heavier. I got some software to help me choose my foods better, started eating different and started exercising.
My wife (who REALLY doesn't need to lose weight - she put her wedding dress back on when Mandy was engaged) decided to track her stuff too.
Yesterday we went out and excersized and I learned something very important. It's good to be fat! We came home and entered out exercise into the food/exercise software and I got twice as many calories for my exercise as Michelle got for hers. That is nice! It makes me want to put on another 150 lbs so I can burn even MORE calories when I work out.
I suppose me walking around is like Michelle walking around carrying Mandy and that's why I get more but whatever the reason...it's something important to know.
My wife (who REALLY doesn't need to lose weight - she put her wedding dress back on when Mandy was engaged) decided to track her stuff too.
Yesterday we went out and excersized and I learned something very important. It's good to be fat! We came home and entered out exercise into the food/exercise software and I got twice as many calories for my exercise as Michelle got for hers. That is nice! It makes me want to put on another 150 lbs so I can burn even MORE calories when I work out.
I suppose me walking around is like Michelle walking around carrying Mandy and that's why I get more but whatever the reason...it's something important to know.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
