Greatness

I don't know about everyone, but there are times when I know I'm watching greatness.  I'm not sure it's something you can appreciate at a young age, instead you need some seasoning before you can really understand it.

One of my first OMG moments came when I saw Tony Hawk on a skateboard for the first time. A boring day and the TV was on ESPN.  A bunch of hacks were out doing tricks and the announcers kept mentioning that Tony Hawk was due up shortly.  I'd heard his name before, but didn't know anything else about him.  I watched a few of the guys doing their routine and then it was Tony's turn.  It took all of about 3 seconds to realize he was at a different level than anyone else.  After he finished, the crowd erupted and I realized I'd just witnessed greatness.

It's something that can take on almost any form, but it helps to have a national stage.  Whitney Houston singing One Moment In Time for the 1988 Olympics is another.  She just brought it.  I saw it again when Adele sang at the Grammy's earlier in the year.  There were various times when the cameras showed other singers in the audience...they were in awe.  When you leave your peers speechless, you've accomplished greatness.

Ronan Tynan singing God Bless America at the Yankees games a few years ago game me goose bumps. And in Chicago, the fans at the hockey games (and occasionally football games) actually cheer for Jim Cornelison when he does the national anthem.   Yeah, they cheer from the second he's announced, all through his singing.  He brings it.

Earlier today, I saw greatness again.  I was reading some Yahoo News articles and something caught my eye.  It was pretty routine until I saw the video.  As you can imagine, the mayor has been on TV quite a bit, talking to the folks devastated by Sandy.  When he's in front of the TV cameras, to his side is a nondescript lady.  However, as soon as the mayor starts to speak, this lady steals the show.

Granted, you can't hear her and she's not really doing anything extraordinary, it's just the way she does it.  I found myself not even listening to Bloomberg, just focusing on the lady and way she spices up the bland.  Apparently, she's caught the focus of quite a few people.  Several news stations are trying to interview her, but she's not talking and isn't returning phone calls or e-mails.  Have a look for yourself.  Focus on her facial expressions and body language.  She's a better 'speaker' than Bloomberg.

By the way

I added a "Followers" linky thing over here.----------------------------------------------------------->>>>>

Click on it and follow me.  It'll make me feel special.

More on new math

A couple weeks ago, Jennifer and I met with Hayden's teacher.  She told us Hayden was doing fine, blah, blah, blah.  She also handed us a copy of an upcoming test.  The kids were getting ready to start multiplication and she wanted to know how we thought Hayden would do.  It was all 0s, 1s, and 2s.

That was a couple weeks ago.  Since then, Hayden has brought home a bunch of math work and if you remember yesterday, I commented the kids were 'learning' their 11s and 12s.  In my way of thinking you wouldn't progress to 11s and 12s until you could do the tables from 0-10.  But apparently in just a couple weeks they've managed to get all the way to their 12s.

Last night, Hayden brought home work where they were multiplying 3 numbers.  6x2x3 and 4x5x2, shit like that.  I was shocked that just a couple weeks ago the kids were just starting to learn what multiplication was, and now they're already learning the product of 3 numbers.

This doesn't make any sense to me.  Hayden still can't figure out 6x4 and now this.  Granted, he may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but I don't think the kids are learning anything right now.  So, I have a question for all those with kids beyond the third grade.  Are they just exposing the kids to new material and not really expecting them to know it til later?

I've done that with Hayden before.  I started working with him on subtracting and borrowing a few weeks before they did it in school just so when they started teaching it, he'd have seen it before.  Now, I'm starting to think maybe they don't necessary want the kids to know the material, just have some exposure to it with the expectations that in the future they'll work on it in more detail.  

Any thoughts?

WTF are they teaching kids these days?

Last night I was working on some math with Hayden.  They recently started multiplication and they don't teach it like they used to.  When I was a kid a hundred years ago, we wrote out the multiplication tables over and over and over again until we knew them.  That's no longer the case.

Now, I guess because kids are stupid, there is a trick to learning everything.  Even stupid people learn their 0s, 1s, 2s, 5s and 10s fairly easily.  Then the fun starts.  Instead of learning that 7x3=21, they teach you that 7x2=14 and 7x1=7 and if you add them, it's the same as 7x3=21.

Learning 4s is the same.  You learn to double your 2s, so 7x2=14 and 7x2=14 so 14+14=7x4=28 and there is your answer to 7x4.  Same thing with 8s,  If you know your 2s, you double that to get your 4s and then you double that again to get your 8s.

There are a handful of tricks for 9s, including using your fingers and that leaves 6s and 7s as the hardest to learn.  So, they don't learn them, they simply learn that 7x6 is the same as 7x2 plus 7x2 plus 7x2.  And if you need to do 7s, you just add one more to that.

I thought with two-digit numbers, that stupid way would be a thing of the past.  I was wrong.  Last night Hayden was working on his 11s and 12s.  He's got a big white-board in his room, so I started showing him the process for multiplying two-digit numbers by two-digit numbers.  Apparently I was wrong because Hayden grabbed the marker and showed me how he was taught.

The 'new math' says that to figure 11s, you first take the number times 10, and then add the original number to that number.  For example, 11x11 is 11x10=110 plus 11x1=11 and 110+11=121.

It takes forever to first of all remember all the steps you've got to go through and then actually go through the steps.  I kindly grabbed another marker and showed Hayden the 'proper' way (i.e. the way I was taught) to do it, including how much quicker the proper way was.

Learning Dad's way was fairly uneventful as Hayden didn't fight me like he normally does.  Mostly because I showed him once he did it my way, he wasn't going to have to remember all the bull shit he went through the new way.  In concluding that my way was better, I asked him to figure 1,111 times 222.  He looked at me with that 'Whatchu talkin' 'bout, Willis" look and said nothing.  I helped him through it and his eyes lit up when he verified his number was correct when checking with a calculator.

It's no wonder the United States ranks so shitty in math compared to some other countries.  We teach things so assbackwards now.  I can remember Hayden learning to count to 10 in German and Spanish.  He couldn't yet read, but someone felt knowing to count to 10 in three languages was more important at the time.

It's a battle most nights when we work on homework.  I know he looks at me like I'm a dumbass because I do things a different way, but the problem stems from the fact that I'm looking at him like he's a dumbass for doing things the wrong way.

I think back to the monotony of how I learned.  While it may have been old school, it worked.  Kids these days have only so much capacity for learning in the course of a day and it's being filled with a bunch of spam mail that's mostly useless.

And speaking of old...

Hayden was planning on spending the night at his grandma's house in Owensboro on Saturday night.  Any time he spends the night with a grandparent, Jennifer and I try to eat out at an adult place.  By 'adult place' I don't necessarily mean a bar or club type place, just a place where they don't hand your color crayons when you sit down.  It was a big night for me because not only was Jennifer buying, but I got to pick the restaurant.

For years, I've been wanting to get back to Western Sizzlin' and tackle their salad bar.  I never go when I'm buying because I'm not spending 9 bucks on salad (I'll drop $190 on a bottle of beer, but not nine on a salad...yeah, weird, I know) but when it's someone else's money, that's where I want to go.

As it turns out, I wasn't missing much in all these years.  There was nothing wrong with the restaurant itself, just its clientele.  I wasn't sure if I was at a restaurant or a high school reunion for the class of 1917.  Aside from maybe a hospital, I've never seen so much blue hair.

I'm not much of a fan of old people and my trip to the salad bar didn't change any of my perceptions.  As soon as I grabbed my plate, I just stood there and waited for my turn.  And I waited and I waited.  In front of me were a handful of old people.  My first thought was, "Jeez, old people are short."  I'm only 5-10 and I'm pretty sure I'm already shrinking because I'm getting old (so I may not be 5-10 anymore), but I towered over these people.

Also, it should be noted that I don't like little people either.  Little people are just, I don't know what the word is, weird.  In talking with Jennifer on the way home, we confirmed that basically I don't like people who are different than me.  So there you have it.

Anyway, back to the old, little people.  After waiting in line for a couple minutes, my plate was still empty.  Most of the problem wasn't necessarily the little old guy in front of me, but the hundred year old lady in front of him.  I'm not exactly sure what her problem was, probably wasn't familiar with the modern technology of tongs, but it didn't take much time to realize the little old guy in front of me wasn't exactly Speedy Gonzales himself.

I thought maybe I should jump into the other line, but then I noticed an old guy in a wheel chair and figured I was screwed either way, so I relented and remained in my current spot.  The little old guy in front of me was starting piss me off to the point that I considered asking if I could either pass him or make the damned plate for him.  After making his little bed of lettuce, he slowly added a cherry tomato.  Then another.  Then another.  And finally another.  That took three minutes, but he wasn't done because the fourth cherry tomato had moved and he had to carefully place it in its original position.  Don't want them too close together.

Next he went after the shredded carrots.  He really struggled with using the tongs to retrieve the shredded carrots.  His dexterity didn't improve with the shredded radishes.  By the time we got to the shredded cheese I'd been in line for the better part of 10 minutes and I was starting to become annoyed at these little old people.  However, I sucked it up and kept my mouth shut.  I figured they'd be dead in a few minutes anyway and then I could move up in line, so I just dealt with it.

Eventually I made my way back to my seat and dug in.  It was just as good as I remembered.  I cleaned the plate and don't remember chewing.  The timing was really good because the little old people had either died or fallen asleep and my next two trips to the salad bar went as planned with almost no waiting.

While eating, I learned that old people are very loud.  You'd think they'd be quiet, but they're mostly deaf so they have to scream so they can hear each other.  One good thing about the situation is that it made me feel young.  At 43 years old, I was a good 75 years younger than the average age of the surrounding tables.

When we finished, I figured my night of dealing with little old people was over.  I was wrong, because not long after we got back home, Jennifer's mom called and said Hayden didn't feel well and wanted to come home.  At 7:15, Jennifer and I hopped back in the car and headed to Owensboro.

We got to Grandma's house just after 8:00.  We didn't see Grandpa; Jennifer said he was probably upstairs in his office, but I think he was already in bed.  Not sure I've ever seen him up that late.  As I walked into where Hayden was sleeping (yep, he was already asleep, pretty sure we wasted a trip), I started to notice an amazing stench.  No, it wasn't 'old people smell,'  it smelled more like shit.

I had two thoughts.  First, because Hayden wasn't feeling well, I thought maybe he farted and didn't put the brakes on soon enough and left himself with peanut butter cheeks.  The other thought was that Austie, Grandma's hundred year old dog, had dropped ass on the floor somewhere.

I'm pretty sure Austie has been dead for a couple years now.  Grandma can't accept that he died, but I'm pretty sure he's running in the big field in the sky.  We watched him a while back and I referred to Austie as 'Dead Dog Walking' because he had a couple paws in the coffin back then.  Austie was a good dog, but he's got to be over a hundred in people years and he's on so many drugs/vitamins that he might be a vegetable right now.

So, back to the ass smell in the air.  Grandma explained that when Austie drops ass outside, sometimes dropped ass gets stuck in his fur (he's a Golden Retriever, basically a big fur ball).  She said, "We wipe, but I guess we don't always get it all."  Seriously, I didn't make up that last part.

Poor Grandma, Austie goes outside to take a nice dump, he's been dead for months so he typically falls over at least once per shit trip, and then Grandma wipes his behind when he's done.  Instead of showing some respect and letting the poor dog go to heaven where his brothers and sisters have been waiting for 25 years, Grandma can't let go, 'because Austie likes it here.'  Again, not making this up.

(For the record, Grandma is an amazing women.  Despite being a Democrat, I think she's a great lady and is really a great Grandma.  However, she's got control issues.  TOTAL.  CONTROL.  FREAK.  Earth doesn't revolve around the Sun, everything revolves around Grandma)

On the drive back to Evansville, all I could think of was how I'm supposed to stomach Thanksgiving turkey when the whole house smells like Austie's rectum.  I'm not looking forward to the holidays.

And speaking of old...I'm pretty sure I'm closer to old than I am to young.  I'm afraid my mini marathon training is currently on hold.  I broke the 3-mile barrier on Thursday and took the day off Friday to rest.  On Saturday I went back out for a long run, hoping to knock down the 4-mile mark, but before I got out of the driveway, my left foot started to ache with each step.  I don't recall stepping on a rock, twisting an ankle, or anything that might have hurt a foot.  I carried on for just under 3.5 miles and struggled to walk the rest of the night.

Yesterday was football day and I was hoping to get in a nice run before the games started, but it wasn't going to happen.  Last night I decided to stay in the recliner to take a load off my feet, but today it's no better.  I'm not a doctor, but my two guesses are a bruise or a stress fracture.  I read about stress fractures and it said it happens to fat bastards who start exercising and progress too quickly.  Hmmm, guilty as charged.

The internet (everything you read on the internet is true) said to rest and if it doesn't get better in a week to go see a doctor.  My oldness is starting to work my nerves.  I was finally in a position where my legs and lungs could handle longer distances and then a different part of my body wimps out.  I'm such a pussy.

Stay tuned...

Chili Cookoff...a must read

Psycho Dad has nothing for you today, but you loyal followers have come to expect more so I went into my archives to pull this gem.  Ten years ago my cousin sent out this e-mail.  I've had it ever since and from time to time, I pull it out and laugh my ass off.  I've even been known to forward it to everyone on my contact list annually so they can appreciate it.  

This is one of the two funniest things I've ever read.  I already know what happens as I've read it dozens of times and I still had tears in my eyes this morning.  

Enjoy.

P.S.  I copied and pasted from my e-mail, so the formatting looks like shit.  I apologize, but it's so worth it.

> > > > Subject: Chili Cookoff
> > > >
> > > > If you can read the whole story without tears of
> > > > laughter running down your cheeks then there's no hope
> > > > for you.
> > > >
> > > > NOTE: Please take time to read this slowly. If you pay
> > > > attention to the first two judges, the reaction of the
> > > > third is even better.
> > > >
> > > > For those of you who have lived in Texas, you know how
> > > > true this is. They actually have a Chili cook-off about
> > > > the time the rodeo comes to town. It takes up a major
> > > > portion of the parking lot at the Astrodome. The notes
> > > > are from an inexperienced chili taster named Frank, who
> > > > was visiting Texas from the East Coast:
> > > >
> > > > "Recently, I was honored to be selected as a judge at a
> > > > chili cook-off. The original person called in sick at
> > > > the last moment and I happened to be standing there at
> > > > the judge's table asking directions to the Budweiser
> > > > truck, when the call came in. I was assured by the other
> > > > two judges (Native Texans) that the chili wouldn't be
> > > > all that spicy and, besides, they told me I could have
> > > > free beer during the tasting, so I accepted. "Here are
> > > > the scorecards from the event:
> > > >
> > > > Chili # 1 Mike's Maniac Mobster Monster Chili
> > > >
> > > > Judge # 1 -- A little too heavy on the tomato. Amusing
> > > > kick.
> > > >
> > > > Judge # 2 -- Nice, smooth, tomato flavor. Very mild
> > > >
> > > > Judge # 3 (Frank) -- Holy shit, what the hell is this
> > > > stuff? You could remove dried paint from your driveway.
> > > > Took me two beers to put the flames out. I hope that's
> > > > the worst one. These Texans are crazy.
> > > >
> > > > Chili # 2 Arthur's Afterburner Chili
> > > >
> > > > Judge # 1 -- Smoky, with a hint of pork. Slight jalapeno
> > > > tang.
> > > >
> > > > Judge # 2 -- Exciting BBQ flavor, needs more peppers to
> > > > be taken seriously.
> > > >
> > > > Judge # 3 -- Keep this out of the reach of children. I'm
> > > > not sure what I'm supposed to taste besides pain. I had
> > > > to wave off two people who wanted to give me the
> > > > Heimlich maneuver. They had to rush in more beer when
> > > > they saw the look on my face.
> > > >
> > > > Chili # 3 Fred's Famous Burn Down the Barn Chili
> > > >
> > > > Judge # 1 -- Excellent firehouse chili. Great kick.
> > > > Needs more beans.
> > > >
> > > > Judge # 2 -- A bean less chili, a bit salty, good use of
> > > > peppers
> > > >
> > > > Judge # 3 -- Call the EPA. I've located a uranium spill.
> > > > My nose feels like I have been snorting Drano. Everyone
> > > > knows the routine by now. Get me more beer before I
> > > > ignite. Barmaid pounded me on the back, now my backbone
> > > > is in the front part of my chest. I'm getting shit-faced
> > > > from all of the beer.
> > > >
> > > > Chili # 4 Bubba's Black Magic
> > > >
> > > > Judge # 1 -- Black bean chili with almost no spice.
> > > > Disappointing.
> > > >
> > > > Judge # 2 -- Hint of lime in the black beans. Good side
> > > > dish for fish or other mild foods, not much of a chili.
> > > >
> > > > Judge # 3 -- I felt something scraping across my tongue,
> > > > but was unable to taste it. Is it possible to burn out
> > > > taste buds? Sally, the barmaid, was standing behind me
> > > > with fresh refills. That 300-lb. bitch is starting to
> > > > look HOT-just like this nuclear waste I'm eating. Is
> > > > chili an aphrodisiac?
> > > >
> > > > Chili # 5 Linda's Legal Lip Remover
> > > >
> > > > Judge # 1 -- Meaty, strong chili. Cayenne peppers
> > > > freshly ground, adding considerable kick. Very
> > > > impressive.
> > > >
> > > > Judge # 2 -- Chili using shredded beef, could use more
> > > > tomato. Must admit the cayenne peppers make a strong
> > > > statement.
> > > >
> > > > Judge # 3 -- My ears are ringing, sweat is pouring off
> > > > my forehead and I can no longer focus my eyes. I farted
> > > > and four people behind me needed paramedics. The
> > > > contestant seemed offended when I told her that her chili
> > > > had given me brain damage. Sally saved my tongue from
> > > > bleeding by pouring beer directly on it from the
> > > > pitcher. I wonder if I'm burning my lips off. It really
> > > > pisses me off that the other judges asked me to stop
> > > > screaming. Screw those rednecks.
> > > >
> > > > Chili # 6 Vera's Very Vegetarian Variety
> > > >
> > > > Judge # 1 -- Thin yet bold vegetarian variety chili.
> > > > Good balance of spices and peppers.
> > > >
> > > > Judge # 2 -- The best yet. Aggressive use of peppers,
> > > > onions, and garlic. Superb.
> > > >
> > > > Judge # 3 -- My intestines are now a straight pipe
> > > > filled with gaseous, sulphuric flames. I shit myself
> > > > when I farted and I'm worried it will eat through the
> > > > chair. No one seems inclined to stand behind me except
> > > > that slut Sally. She must be kinkier than I thought.
> > > > Can't feel my lips anymore. I need to wipe my ass with a
> > > > snow cone.
> > > >
> > > > Chili # 7 Susan's screaming Sensation Chili
> > > >
> > > > Judge # 1 -- A mediocre chili with too much reliance on
> > > > canned peppers.
> > > >
> > > > Judge # 2 -- Ho hum, tastes as if the chef literally
> > > > threw in a can of chili peppers at the last moment. I
> > > > should take note that I am worried about Judge # 3. He
> > > > appears to be in a bit of distress as he is cursing
> > > > uncontrollably.
> > > >
> > > > Judge # 3 -- You could put a grenade in my mouth, pull
> > > > the pin, and I wouldn't feel a thing. I've lost sight in
> > > > one eye, and the world sounds like it is made of rushing
> > > > water. My shirt is covered with chili, which slide
> > > > unnoticed out of my mouth. My pants are full of lava
> > > > like shit to match my shirt. At least during the
> > > > autopsy, they'll know what killed me. I've decided to
> > > > stop breathing, its too painful. Screw it; I'm not
> > > > getting any oxygen anyway. If I need air, I'll just suck
> > > > it in through the 4-inch hole in my stomach.
> > > >
> > > > Chili #8 Tommy's Toe-Nail Curling Chili
> > > >
> > > > Judge # 1 -- The perfect ending, this is a nice blend
> > > > chili. Not too bold but spicy enough to declare its
> > > > existence.
> > > >
> > > > Judge # 2 -- This final entry is a good, balance chili.
> > > > Neither mild nor hot. Sorry to see that most of it was
> > > > lost when Judge # 3 passed out, fell over and pulled the
> > > > chili pot down on top of himself. Not sure if he's
> > > > going to make it. Poor dude, wonder how he'd have
> > > > reacted to really hot chili.
> > > >
> > > >At least something funny came out of  Texas :) hope you enjoy the
laugh

Slower and longer is better

As you know, I've been doing some running of late.  Started running again for a couple reasons.  First, I'm a fat bastard.  Second, I want to run a mini marathon.  My weight fluctuates.  I'm usually anywhere from 175-190 and don't normally have a problem losing or gaining pounds.  So I don't expect to be a fat bastard for long.  The mini marathon is a different story.  More and more I've been seeing friends post on Facebook about their training and results from their races.  It's inspired me to give it a shot.

So, I started running a few weeks ago.  My first run started off innocently enough...if you call barely getting out of the driveway a run.  For the most part, I've progressed each day going a little bit farther than the previous.  I'm only two and a half weeks in, but so far only missed four days of running and from I've been told I'm supposed to take some days off to rest my body.

A couple days ago was one of those days off.  It wasn't so much about resting as it was healing.  As I ramped up the distance (again, still not going very far, but light years ahead of where I started), I started to notice that my legs didn't tire like the first few days and I didn't struggle for oxygen like when I first went out.  But in fixing a couple problems, a new problem arose.  My shins were getting tight and preventing me from making longer runs (also, the running made my feet hot and caused sleeping to be a problem).  So like I said, a couple days I didn't run and did nothing but stretch my legs.

I talked to one of the girls who recently ran a mini.  I'd been following the progress of her training.  However, I noticed her training started at three miles and I wondered if she'd had to work up to the training program or was able to already run three miles.  We had a brief conversation on Facebook the other day where I asked some questions, got some answers and learned some things.  She was able to help me with the shin splint issue and I'll paraphrase some of the comments here, at least the way I remember them:

Me:  Running on the dreadmill is so different than running thru the neighborhood.  Plus, I weigh more than I should.  I'm carrying 20 extra pounds and it's killing my knees.

Her:  Then run slower.

Me:  I have been.

Her:  You shouldn't be power walking.  You walk just for a rest, then you run again.

Me:  That's what I've been doing.

Her:  Slower and longer is always better.

Me:  After you get done talking dirty, can we get back to talking about running?

Anyway, I took her advice last night.  I was considering taking another night off to let everything heal and rest, but i almost beat Hayden while we worked on his homework, so I thought getting out of the house and taking out my anger on the streets would be best.

I started off slow.  Really, it felt too slow, but I had nothing better to do.  I followed a similar route to previous runs and again, it felt....so....slow.  When I had reached the farthest part of the subdivision from our house I realized I wasn't trying to catch my breath and that my knees and shins felt fine.  "Hmmm, my friend was right, slower and longer is better.  And it makes sense when you run too."

I continued with no discomfort in any part of my body (except for the dangling fury, but that's a story for another day).  I only encountered two problems during the run.  First, it was around 6:30 when I started and it was getting dark.  There's been some construction in our subdivision so there are big areas of street that are just missing.  They are marked with barrels, but there are no street lights so the only light I had was from the moon and the exterior lights of the houses.  I ran through piles of rocks, wet concrete, and several puddles of God only knows what.  A couple times I was just hoping I was still in my own neighborhood because I really couldn't see much.

That's when I ran into the second problem-->Dogs.  I know where most of the dogs live in the neighborhood.  However, when you're running in the mostly dark, you can't see so well.  So, was I hearing the dog I thought I was hearing or some other dog?  I've mentioned how I don't enjoy seeing dogs while riding my bike.  I learned last night that I dislike dogs even more when I'm running.  Especially in the dark.

I was pretty sure it was the dogs I knew.  But it was dark, and it seems the darkness makes the dog's bark sound like it's coming from a larger dog.  My first thought was, "Great, the wolfoyote is back"  My second thought was, "Don't run, he'll think you're playing and chase you."  Then it occurred to me that I WAS running.  I just closed my eyes (I couldn't see anything anyway) and hoped the barking would go away.

About that time a couple cars came down the road and I was able to see it was the little dogs who bark at me every day when I walk the dog or ride my bike with Hayden.

After that brush with death, I found my way home, still feeling like I could have run more, but excited to see how far I'd gone.  I knew it was farther than any previous run and I still felt like I could have gone farther had it not been so dark.  My previous run was my personal best, as far as distance, of 2.07 miles.  Last night was 2.56 miles.  The average speed of both those nights were down a bit, but again slower and longer is better.  What surprised me the most was that the average speed of last night was the same as the previous run, even thought it felt far slower.

My weight was only down slightly so between being motivated to stop being fat and the ability to run even longer, I'm anxious to get home tonight and do it all over again.   Except for the dog part.

Various ramblings

Today's reading will be from the Book of Various Ramblings.  It won't be as spiritual as maybe something from the Book of Corinthians or the Book of Colossians, but it's as good as I've got.  I picked those two Biblical treasures because last night while Hayden and I were listening to Father Bernie speak at Tuesday night mass, Hayden leaned over and said "Daddy, I like the Book of Colossians."  After a bewildered look, I said, "Hayden, stop talking and listen to Father Bernie."  He nodded in approval and sat quietly...for a minute.  Then he leaned over and whispered into my ear again, "Daddy, I also like the Corinthians."  At this point I was just speechless and stopped caring if he talked while Father Bernie was preaching.

So anyway, there is no point to today's reading, just the crap that's running around in my head.  One thing I can't get out of my head is why I have to hit every red light on Green River Freaking Road.  It's easily the busiest non-highway road in town and you'd think lights would be staggered to keep the flow of traffic moving.  In Evansville, not so much.

I've driven over the speed limit to test the staggeredness (I'm sure should be a word if it isn't) of the lights.  I've driver at the speed limit to test the staggeredness and I've driven under the speed limit.  The only thing I've learned is that the lights simply aren't staggered.  There were two lights that were green as I entered the intersection, but it doesn't count because I had to slow down to a crawl to catch them green.  And one light that was still red, but I figured it was in the process of turning green so I just went.

I'm not sure what makes me madder, hitting every damned red light or passing some dead lady driving her Buick in the fast lane, only to have her catch right back up to me at the next intersection because I got stuck at yet another red light.

If we were really concerned about the hole in the ozone layer and global warming, we'd do something with all the damned stop lights.  Does it really make sense to stop 19 cars in each direction so some dipshit from a cross road wants to turn left?  It just proves to me that we don't care about the tree huggers because removing some number of stop lights would prevent dozens and dozen of cars (at every intersection) from standing at idle, polluting our fine planet so some soccer mom can pull out of Starbucks with her Iced Cinnamon Dolce Latte.

Speaking of coffee type things, I saw an ad today for something from Dunkin' Donuts.  We no longer have a Dunkin' Donuts in Evansville because Donut Bank started kicking their ass about 30 years ago and they left town with their tale between their legs.  But I saw Dunkin' Donuts is selling something, maybe a drink, I didn't pay enough attention, but they're selling something that's pumpkin and white chocolate.  I don't know what exactly that would taste like, but it probably tastes something like this-->OMG.

I started thinking about that and I remembered I make a mean cheesecake.  It's been a few years since I made one, but they're the bomb.  I love me some pumpkin and I also love me some white chocolate.  So, I'm adding a white chocolate pumpkin cheesecake to my bucket list.  Holy shit, it's going to be good.

Hopefully I can check that off the list soon.  But not too soon because I'm still fat, though there was cause for celebration this morning.  Since hitting rock bottom on Monday when the scale jokingly showed 190.0, I'm down a couple pounds to 188.0.  My goal remains seeing 179.something by Thanksgiving, at which point I can get fat again.

Unfortunately, losing weight during the week has never been a problem for me, it's always the weekends when I do my damage.  Last night I ate a nice sized turkey sandwich for dinner.  A few hours later I had Single-Wide IPA from Boulevard Brewing in KC, Missouri and just a handful of chips.  A while later I had some sort of Italian ice thing, but it's got no fat and like four calories.  I felt plenty full all night so I see no reason I can't do the same thing tonight.

Tomorrow night there's a football game on, so we'll see how much will power I've got.  But now, in addition to looking even hotter than I normally do when I finally reach my target weight, I've got an extra carrot dangling in front of me in that I can finally make that white chocolate pumpkin cheesecake.

If I can make it through the game with just one beer and a handful of chips, I've got to contend with the weekend.  However, I'm already making plans.  I've currently got a bomber of a Canadian beer called Quelque Chose (from Unibroue) sitting in my beer cellar (and by beer cellar, I mean the couple of shelves in the pantry that I've commandeered).  It's got a 'best by' date of 2024, so I've got plenty of time to drink it, but I think now is the perfect time to crack it open.  It's a Belgian cherry based beer and it's no longer made, so I'll need to take my time and sip it to make it last.  No need for a bag of chips with this beer.

In addition to that fine beer, I've got a couple holy grails remaining...Westvleteren 8 and 12.  They've been aging for a while now and I think I'm ready to finish them off.  That gets me through to next week without the need for a bag of chips each night.

Wish me luck.

Been having trouble sleeping

For a few weeks now, I've been having a hard time falling asleep and an even harder time getting back to sleep if I wake up during the night.  And I'm not talking about the times Jennifer wakes me up each morning with a variety of door slams (It's not Jennifer's fault, she inherited the 'loud gene' from her mom.  Her mom, she's "OMG loud.").  I'm talking about the "getting into bed and not being able to fall asleep" and then the "I wonder why I just woke up in the middle of the night" instances.

After another struggle to fall asleep last night, I think I've narrowed the problem to a singular issue, but an issue with multiple potential causes-->My feet are too hot.

I don't wear socks to bed.  While we've got a couple extra blankets on the bed, it's a king bed and the extra blankets aren't on my feet.  There is at least one, and usually two felines on the bed, but neither are on my feet.

Last night was warm, it's been in the 80s this week, but by bed time, our room has cooled down the temperature it normally is, but I had a hell of a time falling asleep last night, and an even worse time trying to get back to sleep after that devil cat woke me up again.  #damnedkitty

I can't lie still in the bed because I'm constantly moving my feet trying to find the cool part.  The worst part is my family (on my dad's side), has really shitty circulation.  We all have bad knees and legs and our feet are usually cold.  I wear slippers at home year round.  At work, I've got a small portable heater that I keep on year round (it's not uncommon to come into my office and I've got a fan blowing on the top part of me and the heater on under my desk keep my piggly wigglys warm.  My feet are always cold, yet in bed, my feet get hot.

I don't go to bed with hot feet.  Before bed, I go through the same routine.  I walk into our room and strip down to my skivvies.  I grab my tooth brush and tooth paste and head into the bath room in the hall so I don't wake up Sleeping Beauty (Jennifer).  I brush my teeth, I take one last whiz, I admire myself in the mirror and say, "Yeah Baby, you've still got it."  Then, one at a time, I hold a foot to the faucet and run it under cold water (told you before, I'm a clean freak).  No hot feet, no dirty feet, no kinds of feet stank allowed in my bed.  Then I get into bed.

I watch TV for a little while, then I turn off the tube and start tossing and turning, searching for the cool spot. Invariably, I end up throwing off the comforter and lie under nothing but the sheet.  Then it's too cold.  It's an ongoing battle.

However, today, I think I've narrowed it down to one of two things:  either the comforter is just too much or since I've only noticed this for a short while, my feet are rebelling due to my mini-mary training (I didn't run today).  For the last several years, I've been a runner but I've always done my running on the dreadmill.  Only for the last couple weeks have I been running in the great outdoors (and wow, are the two different).  If it's not the comforter, I think my feet are just a bit swollen or sore.  They don't hurt, but they sure get hot at night.

We've had the comforter for a couple months now, since before I started running outside and I don't recall having hot feet, so I'm left wondering if this is just my feet developing attitude.  Has anyone else experienced hot feet after starting up a new running routine?

I learned a lot today

While cutting the grass or riding my bike, I'm alone with my thoughts and I get to think about a lot of stuff.  You can add jogging to that list of time when I get to think.  I was out for about 20 minutes today and it gave me time to ponder.

I learned that wearing just any old hat isn't smart.  Most of the caps I wear keep a lot of the heat in.  I'm sure runners wear some sort of breathable hat made specifically for them, but I'm not yet that advanced.  We're having a bit of an Indian Summer this year, yesterday was in the 80s and I think it's supposed to be there for the next few days...think I'll just go topless this week.

I learned that I don't enjoy running into the wind any more than I did riding my bike into the wind.  I figured it would be easier to run into the wind rather than ride because the speed you're moving isn't as great and you wouldn't be as affected.  Pretty sure I was wrong about that.  Running into the wind sucks even more than riding.

I learned (actually, I learned this the first day I ran) that just because you can ride a bike for two hours doesn't mean you're in shape to run for two hours...or five minutes.  It seems cross training is the way to go.  After finishing three rounds of P90X, I figured I could do anything.  Then I went for a bike ride and thought I was going to die.  It seemed none of the muscles that strenthened during P90X were the same muscles I used for riding a bike.  I figured after riding my bike for between 100-125 miles every week for a couple of months that the transition to jogging would be simple.  Yeah, not so much. 

I learned that one little chink in your running armor can be a problem.  Today I felt good about everything.  I'm doing a better job of stretching (don't want to hurt my groin), the weather was nice, and I was looking forward to setting a new personal record (more on that later).  I started off nice and slow.  My lungs were fighting me early on, but they soon relented and gave in.  My legs felt good.  So, the two parts that have been holding me back the most were cooperating.  Then a mile or so in, the outside of my shin near my ankle started to get tight.  I've been stretching it quite a bit lately, but it did no good today.  It really pissed me off.  I stopped once to stretch it a bit more, but stopping only made it worse.  But, I'm a warrior, so I kept going.

After I got home and had some Gatorade, I hopped in the shower.  There I learned that my 8-year old spills more soap than I use.  We use the liquid soap and one of those scrunchy things.  When Hayden gets through in shower, not only am I left with a wet towel, but I have to dodge all the drops of slippery soap in the tub.   Today I did nothing more than take the scrunchy and rub all over the soap bottle and it was plenty.

Mostly what I learned today, though, is that I'm one fat bastard who is in awful shape.  I've not been sharing all the results from my runs because they're embarrassingly bad.  I'm changing that today.  Since I mostly pick on people for everything, he's your chance to turn the tables and take a few shots at me. 

I got on the scale today and after laughing, the scale showed the numbers 1, 9, and 0.  I started working part-time three months ago and I weighed 178 at that point, so in 14 weeks I've gained 12 pounds.  Pretty impressive.

My first run was on 10/9.  I think I had a small heart attack that day...because I ran 0.91 miles.  Yep, that was it.  I couldn't even run a mile.  Pathetic.

Yesterday I felt pretty good about things and was all prepared to top 2 miles on a run.  My shin issue (I'm not sure what exactly shin splints is/are, it might be that) killed that and I topped out at 1.91 miles.  Today I did finally cross that 2-mile barrier with a whopping 2.07 miles, but my average speed was down to 5.93 MPH because of the stop. 

I've shown some improvement since I started running a couple weeks ago, but I'm still a fat bastard.  That's stopping as soon as the football game ends tonight.  I'm cutting my beer, root beer and potato chip intake in half.  I'm cutting out (most) desserts. 

Until I hit 179.9 pounds or less, only one beer a night.  A root beer for dinner, not lunch and dinner.  A handful of chips with the nightly beer, not a bag of chips.  Desserts only for special occasions, not just because the day ended in a 'Y.' 

I'm pretty sure I hit rock bottom today.  I hate being fat and worse, I hate feeling fat.  Jennifer and I went to Cheeseburger in Paradise for dinner on Saturday.  I wore jeans.  My gentlemen's region is still bitching about the smashing they took.

I look and feel like crap (thank God I'm still good looking).  My goal is to be hot again by Thanksgiving so I can get fat all over again. 

"The man with the money"

I have a really poor grasp of the English language and my vocabularly is somewhat limited.  Sure, I know all the bad words and excel at how to use them; but in everyday conversation, I'm not much of a wordsmith.  My wife can attest to this.

Sometimes I know the word I want to say, but somewhere along the way of my brain telling my mouth what to say, those signals sometimes get lost because they stopped at the beer store.  For instance, if I want to say blender, sometimes the signals from my brain to my mouth to say "blender" are checking out the new beers and I'm stuck fending for myself, and I'll say "that thing that mixes stuff."  Then my wife just laughs at me (not with me, but at me) and says, "Really?"

I'd love to say I do it on purpose to provide some hilarity in Jennifer's life, but that's not the case.  Unfortunately, this is one of the many gifts I've passed on to Hayden.  For those who don't know, Hayden was diagnosed a few years ago with a mild case of autism.  His actual disorder is called PDD-NOS, which is kind of a catch-all.  Basically it means he's kind of normal but exhibits some (not all) of the red flags for being on the autism spectrum.

If you weren't around Hayden much, you'd not likely notice.  However, the more you're around him, you'd start to pick up on some of his issues, or as I like to call it, 'part of his charm.'

Hayden struggles a lot in two areas.  One is reading comprehension.  He can read fairly well, but has no idea what he's reading because while he's reading, he's thinking about eating a bacon, egg, and cheese bagel or something else not relevant instead of what he's reading.  This too is part of the legacy I've passed onto him.  Another area of struggle is his vocabulary.  It sucks.  It rivals mine.  He's wired a bit differently so sometimes the wires get crossed and he can't find the word he wants to say.  So, he improvises.  He overcomes.  He adapts.  (Those last three sentences are stolen from Clint Eastwood's character in Heartbreak Ridge.  I highly recommend seeing it if you haven't.)

A couple months ago, Jennifer and I had an annual meeting with the school corporation to go over Hayden's individualized education plan.  It's a meeting where we're told that our child is "special" and we go over what the school will do to help him with his studies.  Things like let him take a test in a smaller group so the distractions are limited, or have the test read to him so he doesn't start thinking about Wile E. Coyote and the Road Runner while he's reading the test questions.

Anyway, one area of concern for the school corporation's therapists was Hayden's 'conversational speech.'  I'll quote:

"During the evaluation, Hayden, at times, had difficulty using the correct word.  For example, he was trying to say salesperson/cashier and instead said "the man with the money.""

In the meeting with these five or so other people, the room broke out with laughter when school corporation lady read this.  I've never been so proud. 

I'd own the 3rd grade

As I type this, Hayden has flunked--or is in the process of flunking--his science test. Unless he miraculously learned it all while sleeping, he was in for a long day today because yesterday, he didn't know dick about the science material.  I, on the other hand, would ace the test.

I learned about carnivores, herbivores, and omnivores.  I learned about predators and prey and that some animals can be both.  I learned that producers (plants) create their own food, that consumers (animals) eat plants, animals, or both, and that decomposers break down dead things and the waste of living things.

I learned about deserts and wetlands; rain forests, deciduous forests and coniferous forests; salt water and fresh water.  I learned that a population is all the living things of the same kind in an environment; while a community is all the living things in an environment (a difficult concept for a third grader, not to mention a slightly difficult concept for a 43-year old).

Hayden learned that you can find cactus and kangaroo rats in the desert and ocelots usually come from the rain forest.  I'm particularly proud of this fact because he learned what an ocelot was from watching Archer with me.  Take that Mommy...Archer just became educational.

On top of all that, in math I learned that any number multiplied by 1 is said number and that the product of any number times 0 is 0.  I learned that knight and night are both on the spelling test Friday and Hayden can't differentiate which is which.

Late last night after most of you went to bed, I learned about celebrations and holidays in advance of the social studies test on Monday.  Cinco de Mayo, St. Patrick's Day, Founders Day, MLK's birthday, Veteran's Day and Memorial Day?  Check.  State fairs?  Yep, I know a little about them too.  And don't get me started on Thanksgiving, because I know a few things about the Pilgrims and the Injuns too.

I remember telling my wife during the Olympics that I'd dominate in Women's water polo (even though I'm old, fat, and don't swim all that well, with the water polo ball in hand, I can still bring it (by the way, what the hell do you call a 'water polo ball'?).

Just like then, I'm here to tell you now, I'd own the third grade.

Job well done

I'd like to take a moment and thank the tireless efforts of the construction crews working in our subdivision.  I applaud their diligence and commitment to the job.  However, I wish they weren't so diligent and committed until after 8 AM--after 8:30 would be even better.

Instead of a jackhammer, the crew uses this thing that looks like a Bobcat.  It must be some piece made of iron...it slowly raises, then slams into the concrete, breaking it up.  It's not loud and cool like a jackhammer, instead it makes a dull thud-kind of sound, but shakes the nearby houses ever so slightly.  I yelled at the dog for several minutes before realizing it was bothering her as much as me.  Sorry Memphis (Memphis is the dog).

Frustrations gone

Had to burn off some steam tonight after spending all freaking afternoon on Hayden's homework and studying for his test.  Poor bastard is dead man walking and doesn't even know it, completely clueless on the material despite many hours of help from his loving father...I'll be surprised if he does well enough to get an F.

Last night I worked on homework from about 3:30 til after 8.  Tonight, we worked from 3:15 til 5:30 and then he spent some more time before bed.  However, he's going out of town this weekend so I've got to have a study guide ready for him to take when he leaves, so I've got another hour sometime tonight going over his Social Studies material.  Honestly, if I had spent as much time on my school work as I do on his, people would still be marveling over my grades. 

So, between working on his spelling, grammar, and math, and then going over his science to prepare for Thursday's test, only to find out he's simply got no shot, I had a lot of frustrations to get rid of.  Initially, I wasn't going to do any running tonight as people have told me not to run every night because my legs need a rest, but I decided to go out while Jennifer slaved over the stove. 

It was a beautiful evening, mostly warm with a gentle breeze.  My intent was to stay out longer than any of my previous jogs, simply to burn some calories and kill some pent up frustrations.  I started relatively slowly.  Past the neighbor's house, I turned left, then right at the stop sign.  Then past the kids playing in the street and right at the next stop sign.  Then through the next stop sign and left when the street ended.

I'm making it sound long to be dramatic, but all these turns are in our subdivision, so it's not like I needed GPS to find my way back home.  However, I was realizing my lungs were hanging in there and my legs hadn't seized yet. 

I went to the end of that street and turned around, headed right at the stop, ran til that street ended, and took a left.  Turned left again when that street ended and a final right turn.  Again, the trip was long, but only for me and not really in general, but I'm trying to make it sound impressive.

I did stop and walk for about a minute, but other than that brief walk, I jogged the whole time.  19% longer than yesteray and 66% longer than my first day running.  My average was down again, but still faster than the first day.

It's really amazing as I look back on my progress.  An 80-year old lady with a walker could still run a mini marathon faster than me right now, but I'd totally kick my ass from last week. 

I just want a dry towel

There are two avenues I can take with this subject and I can't decide which works best, so you get the bonus plan today because I'm going down both roads.

We have a new reality series taking place at our house called Towel Wars.  I'm not sure how or why it started, but we have towel issues.  My wife does the laundry and always places two towels in the bathroom she uses to shower in and two additional towels in the bathroom Hayden and I use to shower in.  At some point a few years ago, I got tired of the sandpaper feel of the towels I was using, so I stopped by Kohl's and picked up four towels.  Since Hayden and I both have a y-chromosome, I figured 4 was plenty for the two of us to use each week.  I shower at least twice a day (yeah, I like to be clean) and Hayden is a little boy, so if we didn't make him shower each night, he'd go months without one.  So, again, I figured 4 towels was plenty for us.

Unfortunately, it didn't work out quite that way as my wife immediately commandeered two of the towels.  So, I bought 4 towels for two boys to use and I got to use exactly one of them.

I made due til one of the towels tore.  It started off small, but gradually grew and grew, and somehow, I was always the lucky winner of the shitty towel.  Growing increasingly tired of drawing the short straw with each trip in the shower, I decided to pick up two more towels a few months back.  I was hanging with the Democrats at Wally World one weekend picking up some groceries when I passed by the towels.  "Hmm," I thought, "I'll pick up a couple more towels so I can finally use one that doesn't tear each time I use it."  Problem resolved.

Except it wasn't.  Later the night I bought the new towels, Jennifer came in, sheepishly, and told me she had something very selfish to talk about.  She wanted to know why I hadn't picked up any towels for her.  I explained that 1.) she didn't put towels down on her wish list from the store and 2.) I was tired of using the shitty towel.  She relented and left the two new towels for Hayden and me to fight over.

The second tangent to Towel Wars involves Hayden being at a very impressionable stage right now.  This is mostly the reason I get yelled at for letting him watch Archer with me.  I counter that he doesn't understand any of what's going on with Archer, but regardless, Hayden is very impressionable right now.  What's happened lately is that he sees Mommy using two towels when she gets out of the shower, so now he's started using two towels.

He uses one towel like everyone, wrapped around his waist to hide his little vegetables and then another for his hair, just like most chicks do.  The result of this is that because I take a shower later than him, and he used both towels designated for male use, I get stuck with two wet towels to choose from.

In case you're keeping track, over the past few years I've purchased 6 towels for ME to use, as I shower more than anyone in the house--it only seems fair (unless you're a Democrat, then you'll likely want to tax me for being rich because I have more towels than should be necessary).  And in those years, due to Towel Wars, I've had my choice of a ripped towel (then) or a wet towel (now).

I just want a dry towel.

Pit stops

I read something or saw something a while back that said humans were the only species to have sex for fun.  All other species did/do it strictly for procreation.  I don't recall how they determined that or how they knew, I mean what's to say some horny monkey didn't see some sweet monkey ass in a nearby tree and decide he'd like a little piece of that?  But, I'm not a scientist and I didn't stay at a Holiday Inn Express last night, so I'm forced to take their word for it.

Last night while walking the dog, I came across something else that we humans appear to do for mere enjoyment as opposed to necessity.  While walking my pup, Memphis, she mostly succeeds at trying to pull my arm out of its socket.  I lead the way and choose which side of the street we walk on, but she provides the power.  I walk at a brisk pace to keep up, while she pulls with all her might trying to set some sort of land speed record.  A couple times during the walk, she stops and takes a whiz.  From time to time, like last night, she stops to drop ass in a neighbor's yard (which I pick up in a little doggie shit bag thing because I'm a good neighbor).  What I found odd about last night, and it made me think, she took maybe all of 4 seconds to stop and plop before back at breakneck pace.

Dogs and other species of beings use this elimination as necessity.  I, on the other hand, treat it like an event. Sure, there are times when you don't play around--half-time of a football game, favorite show is getting ready to start, things like that--but generally speaking, dropping as at my house is quite the event, almost a celebration.

Well, not so much for my wife.  Being a female, she kind of treats it like other animals...she does her business and gets off the throne.  So, maybe it's a guy thing.  Hayden and I, we take our time and enjoy our privacy.

I'm not sure if this is learned behavior or not.  I know Hayden didn't learn bathroom etiquette at school and I don't recall teaching him, it's something he seemingly was born with.  Now, after we get home from school, he walks in the house, puts his backpack on the stove, opens the gate and lets the puppy out the back door, then grabs his Kindle Fire and relaxes with his thoughts.

We have three toilets at home.  If I take a whiz, I use whichever is closest.  However, when I've got to take the Huxtables swimming, I always use the same bathroom.  It's really a second office at home.  All my reading material is in there--at least two copies of Beer Advocate magazine and Draft Magazine and 3 hardback books about beer--as well as a small, portable heater for these colder days when my soft cheeks might get cold.

As a kid, like Hayden, it was just something I learned.  Back then, I'd take in a book with me (usually something by Richard Scarry) and I didn't get up til I was done learning whatever Richard felt like teaching.  Typically I'd get up and those soft cheeks were stuck to the seat and I'd be left with a red ring about my tiny apple of a butt.  I was never taught this, it just happened.

I'm not sure why other animals haven't caught onto this yet, it's not like they don't watch us.  Just one more reason animals will never run the world.

10/16 Jog

I set out today at a deliberately slower pace so I could jog through more of the neighborhood.  After getting on the scale this morning, I realized I was going to have to start running farther (and that I was going to have to cut out that second piece of pie each night).  With another football game last night, the on-going war between my stomach and my belt was won decisively by my stomach...again.  The scale showed 188.4 when I got out of bed and 187.6 after a visit to the latrine (that poor, poor toilet).  Fortunately, there's no football on Tuesday and Wednesday so maybe I can drop a few in the next couple days.

Anyway, it was a beautiful, albeit windy, morning and today I left without a jacket.  Like always, I set a blazing pace early.  Then I got out of the driveway and settled into a steady jog.  By the time I hit the neighbor's yard, there had been no coup discussions from my lungs or legs so I went with my plan to slow it down (difficult for a Speedy Gonzales like me) and run a bit farther.

I made it through the whole loop without stopping.  No chat with the guy fixing the concrete in his driveway, no chat with the construction guys, no chat with the old man talking on his cell phone, no stop to tie my shoes, nothing more than a wave to the Fedex guy who waited for me to cross his path.  My trip today was 40% longer than when I started this facade 7 days ago and 10% longer than yesterday (it's still not long enough to brag about on here).  My pace did suffer, only 6.3 MPH, but that was part of the plan.

I feel good and my sweating and chest pains have already stopped. 

Operation Fat Bastard Update

For those following the on-going battle between my stomach and my belt, there was movement in both directions recently.  The Fall Festival of a few weeks ago didn't do my belt any favors as my stomach easily won their clashes over the week long junk food binge.  The scale never showed 190, though admittedly, it was close.

However, the festival has since ended and I began working toward marking off another item on my bucket list--running a mini marathon--by jogging.  Surely you remember last week's trial and tribulations, the near heart attacks, my inability to escape the gravitational pull of the driveway, and the various tears spilled.  Late last week, I started to see progress.  It was mostly baby steps, but it was progress nonetheless.  By Friday, I was able to jog X miles (it's still too embarrassing to detail) and had my weight down to 184.4.

For anyone that doesn't know me or hasn't paid attention to my Facebook posts in the past, I typically don't have much problem losing weight.  My problem has always been that I don't typically have a problem gaining weight either.  I enjoy beer and the bags of potato chips and bowls of popcorn that go with beer.

Well, the weekends are always my downfall, and this was a weekend in which my belt never stood a chance.    Because I'm getting old, I really have no idea what I ate on Friday night.  If I remember right, and I probably don't, my wife (Jennifer) and little boy (Hayden) were out doing something, got home late and we just threw something together.  However, on Saturday night, I was trying to get rid of some boneless chicken breasts, so I cut them into little nugget looking things and fried them, attempting to make something resembling a KFC Bowl-->a bowl full of mashed taters, fried chicken-nugget looking things, topped with sweet corn, then smothered in gravy.  My dessert followed a few hours later with a bomber of beer and a bowl of popcorn.  I was watching stuff I'd Tivoed so when the beer and popcorn was gone, I popped open another bottle of yummy goodness and took down half a bag of baked Lay's potato chips.  Yeah, that's how I roll on the weekends.

I decided Saturday would be a day off from mini marathon training, so I let my legs rest (and by letting my legs rest, I mean I did NOTHING).

The problem stems from yesterday...football day.  From noon til about 11 PM, I watch the football games.  My original plan was to get in a jog before the games started.  Instead, I woke up and decided it would be another great day to make pumpkin soup (my second batch of the season).  While I was relaxing with my thoughts in 'my office,' I decided it would be a great day to have a nice dessert with my pumpkin soup, so I made another pan of what I call 'Epic Pie.'

So, no jogging for me yesterday.  After watching my beloved Patriots embarrass themselves, I had a bowl of pumpkin soup and chased it with a piece of pie.  I was stuffed at that point, but since I'm a warrior (and because another football game was on at night), I had another bomber of beer and a bowl of popcorn.  About an hour after that settled, I decided I'd try another piece of pie.

The scale cried 'uncle' this morning.  186.8 pounds.  Undeterred, I said to myself, "I've weighed more," and I proceeded to get dressed and put on my running shoes for another jog.

It didn't take long to notice the extra couple pounds.  I managed mostly the same route as on Friday, though I cut a corner and shaved a hundredth of a mile.  My pace was a bit too fast early on, so I scaled it back a bit, but a lot of the damage had already been done.  Carrying around a couple extra pounds, running into the wind after a weekend of doing nothing, and my lungs cried 'no mas.'

I approached some construction guys working on the roads in the subdivision, they were ridiculously loud with all the machines and jackhammers and cranes and trucks.  Didn't matter, you could hear me wheezing and fighting for breath over all their commotion.  It was terribly embarrassing.

Just as I worked my way past their work site, I thought it was safe when I saw another worker walking towards me.  So I didn't endure further humiliation, I held my breath as I passed him so he didn't try to administer CPR.  That was such a mistake.  The only thing that saved me was my shoelace had worked itself undone and I had to stop and re-tie.  It was only a few seconds, but it allowed me to catch my breath.

Shoe lace secured, my trot through the neighborhood continued.  I turned a corner and headed back into the wind.  My additional girth didn't prove aerodynamic as I'd hoped and my pace slowed to a crawl...or at least a walk.  I'd lost, failing to run the same distance as Friday, breaking down and walking.

I'm very competitive, even when matched against myself.  If I perform at some level today, I want to exceed it tomorrow.  Dejectedly, I turned around another corner and headed for home, back at a slow jog.  By now, even on a cool day, I was sweating up a storm.  I took a look at my phone and searched for the results when I got in the house.

Despite my dejected feeling, there was something positive.  As mentioned, my total distance was down 0.01 miles.  However, my average speed for the trip was up from 6.67 MPH on Friday to 6.88 this morning, and that's despite a quick break to tie my shoe as well as almost a minute of walking.

I went upstairs and peeled off my clothes, literally (yeah, sweat doesn't do justice to what I was doing).  I cleaned up, got out of the shower and was still sweating.  I don't know what being in shock feels like, but I'm pretty sure I experienced it earlier today.  It's now a few hours later and I'm still coughing here and there as my lungs are recuperating.  I've decided, mostly because as I mentioned earlier that I'm a warrior, that I'm going to run again when I get home.  Hopefully my body can take the shock again so soon.  If not, I'm sorry you guys won't get to read more.

Couple thoughts about this video

My first thought when watching this video was, "Wow.  That black lab is a better person than me."  If given the same situation, a couple humans caught in a canoe, I'm not really sure what I'd do.  If there were people I knew, I'd be inclined to help (I think); but if it was total strangers, my thinking would likely be, "Sucks to be you."

The black lab, named Robbie, jumps in to save his mates.  Initially, I didn't know if he was going to make it because the canoe seems to be stuck and Robbie is slowly drifting down stream.  Ultimately, he grabs hold of something tethered to the canoe and pulls his buds to shore.

Early on in the video, I was focused on Robbie and the pups in the canoe and didn't catch some of the other happenings.  Then it occurred to me that someone from the shore is constantly yelling instructions to Robbie.  Since the voice I heard was barking (no pun intended) instructions in English, I felt fairly certain that the instructions came from a human like me, and as such, likely had an opposable thumb.  Surely it would be easier to save the dogs in the canoe if you actually had hands and digits instead of paws.

My second thought when watching the video was when Robbie appeared to be drifting away from the canoe.  Surely, the dipshit yelling from the shore would jump into action to save the dogs.  I put myself in his shoes and concluded that if my puppy, Memphis, was in the water like that, I'd not hesitate to jump in (yeah, I know, weird-->if a human was stuck in the canoe, I'd hesitate, but if my puppy was in there, I wouldn't think twice about jumping in). 

However, I was wrong and the dipshit on the shore remained on the shore.  About this time, the video was ending and you see the disphit run to greet Robbie when Robbie makes it back to shore with the two other dogs.  It's at this point, I realized not only was there a dipshit on the shore doing nothing but telling Robbie what to do, but there was an even more worthless dipshit taking video of the whole thing. 

Two guys, standing on the shore doing nothing, while a dog jumps in and saves the day.  And some wonder why I like animals more than people.

Another day, another jog

I tried to do things a little differently today before my date with the pavement.  So I could become one with my body (you'd think that would be the case by default, but like I've said before, I'm wired a bit differently than most), I downloaded an app that allowed me to know just what my body parts were thinking during the jog.  The best part is the body parts have no idea I'm playing Big Brother.

I've noticed on previous jogs that basically by the time I'm out of the drive way, my lungs are still asleep and I sound (and feel) like an asthmatic fighting for their next breath.  However, just a few minutes later, my lungs wake and I don't die.  Today, I decided to do a little warm up first.  I started with a minute of jumping rope (if you haven't done this in a while, keep your comments to yourself...OMG) and followed that with a minute of walking in place (mostly because I couldn't jump rope any longer...and Tony Horton, the P90X guy, says you should walk in place for a couple minutes to warm the body).

Immediately, my phone started buzzing because the different body parts were trying to figure out what was going on.  First, the legs asked the lungs what was going on, the lungs replied that they weren't sure but assumed it was time for another jog.  Then the legs fired back a reply to the lungs, "wait, we just jumped rope and walked in place, isn't the exercise over?"  Needless to say, there was total confusion.

I put my phone in my little running belt thing, headed out the door and started the running app.  I took off on the same route as normal.  I actually got past the neighbor's house today, so I continued.  It wasn't long before my lungs were screaming at my legs, begging them to stop.  Fortunately, the legs woke during the rope jumping and walking in place and ignored the lungs.  I continued, at a seemingly slower pace, but determined to make today's trek longer than the previous day's.

At the end of the road, I turned right instead of turning around.  The phone buzzed again.  My legs were ready for some recliner time and asked the lungs if it was time for a coup.  "Suck it, up" demanded the lungs, "we just got our second wind."  I continued.

Eventually I made my way back home, with both the lungs and legs crying, nay, screaming 'uncle.'  Back inside the house, I noticed the sweat just started to pour out of me.  In defense of my body, it's carrying around just under 185 pounds on legs that are only built to handle 170 ( I hope the warranty hasn't been voided). 

The sweat continued as I grabbed a water bottle out of the fridge to squelch the flames inside me.  I wiped my forehead on my sleeve, seconds later, it was like I hadn't touched it.  "Jesus Christ," I said, "seriously, am I in this bad a shape?"  It was a rhetorical question, of course, the answer was painfully obvious.

I saved the workout on the phone and took a look at my stats.  Keeping in mind I tried to run a slower pace so I could go a bit farther, I was pleasantly surprised with the results.  I'll keep the hard numbers to myself because they're currently too embarrassing to publish, but I jogged 24% farther than the three previous days (pause so you can ponder the awesomeness of that, forgetting that when you start with little numbers it doesn't take much for a large increase in percentages) and since I started, my average speed has gone like this:

Tuesday--6.09 mph
Wednesday--6.20 mph
Thursday--6.52 mph
Friday--6.67 mph

I'm still fat, old, and exceptionally out of shape (though I can sit in a recliner and watch football on Sundays like no one's business), but I'm seeing progress.  The steps are small, but they're still moving forward. 

Welcome to my blog!

Glad you found the place.  Some friends and family members from Facebook suggested I start a blog, so here goes.  Normally, I talk about every day stuff that happens to me.  Given the fact that life isn't always fair, people find laughter in my struggles to deal with these things life throws at me.

I try to do my best to make it through each day unscathed, but it's getting harder and harder.  Patience is not a virtue for me and sometimes little things push me over the edge and I have to throw a hissy fit to feel better.  It doesn't help that I'm pretty sure I've got some form of autism...or that my 8-year old does.  Autism makes us think differently because we're wired differently.  Some people, mostly my friends, find the way I handle things to be entertaining, mostly because they don't have to live with me.  Other people, mostly my wife, don't find the humor, mostly because she does have to live with me.

On a daily basis, I have to deal not only with my own struggles with autism, but also those of my almost 9-year old little boy, Hayden.  His autism is even worse than mine, though we're both pretty lucky we don't have worse cases.  Ultimately it leads to some fairly humorous confrontations (though my wife wouldn't necessarily agree).

In being a dad, I've learned that parenting is a tough job.  In being an autistic dad to an autistic son, I've learned that parenting is a really tough job.  I do the best I can.  Some days I'm a star...other days, not so much.

Some days I feel I'm a star.  Then my wife comes in and explains how I'm not.  This is how the title of the blog comes into play.  I've been called crazy and told I'm nuts for some of my parenting 'skills.'

Al Bundy is one of my favorite TV characters.  One of his favorite TV shows was Psycho Dad.  Hence the title, as I'm a real life Psycho Dad.