My Journey

That's All, Folks . . .

2009-11-05T19:36:00.003-06:00

So - this is my last post on this blog. I'm turning in my "Journey" rights and moving on.

Stop crying. It is okay. Really, it is.

I'm not going far away - just a click actually.

Yep. That's right. I've started a new blog. You can read it, obsess over it and make it your very own by simply clicking here (and then updating your bookmarks).

THANK YOU - so very, very much to the Danbury Hospital for asking me to do this blog two years ago. You have no idea how important the blog has been to me as I worked through all the crap of life after surgery and THANKS to all the friends that I have made (and who only really exist to me) through this blog.

I HOPE we can stay connected. I wish you all the very best in your own "journeys" and I hope you will come on over and stay a reader of my blog at the new place!

Peace and love, peace and love!

- Sean

BREAKING NEWS - Junk Food is Addictive . . .

2009-11-02T18:42:00.000-06:00

I hope you are sitting down for this. Really - this is bigger than a sale at JCPenney! It turns out (drum roll please) that junk food is ADDICTIVE.

Yep. It is true. According to some crack-pot researcher in Jolly Old England your brain, over time, can find fatty, salty, junky foods to be as addictive if not MORE addictive than drugs.

I just read this article. Anyone surprised? ANY ONE?!

Nah - me neither. Let's be honest . . . there is no reason food can NOT be as addictive as drugs. Both are full of complex (or overly simple) ingredients and both are priced to move. Both play a chemical role in the body and the brain. Both are not priced in a way that really limits access or usage. Both are things that can/should be talked about in the context of moderation (except crack - as Whitney once pointed out "Crack is whack!"). Both are things that will quite literally kill you (or lead to your demise at least - after all guns don't kill people . . . people who hold the gun, point it at another person and pull the trigger while maintaining focus/aim).

Anywho - read the article. Have a giggle. Put the fork done. Enjoy your life and your food in moderation . . . you addict you!

We Live in America . . .

2009-11-01T09:17:00.003-06:00

It's been a while since I posted any good Ava stuff but - in the spirit of Halloween - I have a treat for you (if you, like me, think my daughter being "her" is a treat). Hope you enjoyed your extra hour of sleep last night!

Trick or Treat . . .

2009-10-30T22:32:00.000-05:00

NOT that I condone overeating and the taking on of empty calories in a post-surgery life but - every now and again - a person's gotta' have a little sweetness in their life and that "now" and "again" happens to be Halloween, the weenest day of the year.

Here are my Top Ten Trick-or-Treat suggestions for GBers (in a not-so-particular order) . . .

10 - Sugar Free "hard" Caramel Apple Candy ordered from the World Wide Web.

9 - A nice cup of no-sugar added Mott's Granny Smith apple sauce with a few dashes of cinnamon that has been put in the freezer for 15 minutes before you eat it.

8 - Sugar Free Tootsie Rolls. No special instructions needed.

7 - Murray Sugar Free cookies. Pick a flavor. They are all delicious but PLEASE don't misunderstand. These things are not at ALL low-calorie. One serving. ONE serving. ONE SERVING!

6 - Sugar Free Baskin Robbins Hard Candy (Mint Chocolate Chip is my personal favorite)!

5 - A nice mug of warm, fat free milk with a few squirts of either sugar free B-52 or Peanut Butter or any other sugar free flavored syrup of your choice (the Starbucks Cinnamon Dolce syrup is a personal favorite if I'm in the world's largest (and fastest shrinking) coffee chain).

4 - Sugar Free Pudding. Specifically the Cinnamon Roll or the Chocolate Vanilla Swirl.

Yuhhhmay! You can also sub in sugar free Jello here but I was never really a jello person unless we are (were) talking Jello shots at which point . . . that is a whole other story.

3 - Sugar Free Peanut Butter Cups. It has been almost three years since I had any real quantity of sugar (incidental sugar is all I'll ever really allow myself) so I've forgotten what a lot of "real" sweet foods taste like but one taste that I know is not "right" is sugar free peanut butter cups. The sugar free chocolate just doesn't taste right against the peanut butter. And that is PERFECT because I'm not tempted to eat more than one sugar free peanut butter cup every blue moon (or so).

2 - A sliver of Sugar Free angel food cake with 1/3 of a banana, three (hundred) shakes of cinnamon, a squeeze of sugar free caramel sauce and a mini-dallop of light cool whip. I've never crunched the math on the calories (I'm sure it is not low-calorie and I don't know that I want to know how bad it really is). It is really decadent and delicious though.

1 - A handful of bing cherries. There is a new crop of research showing that cherries are the ultimate food (move over acai fruit, look out pomegranates, eat it soy, etc.) because of the anti-oxidants, the vitamins and the soothing qualities of the fruit (Joy is not a great sleeper and she settles better and gets more "quality" sleep when she has some cherry juice before bed). I never liked cherries. HATED them, actually but I've come to appreciate them in the last few months.

Please limit yourself to just one serving/portion of sugar free goodness this Halloween and please don't confuse this post as empowerment/enablement! There is little to no protein and some to lots of fat in some of these so they are largely "empty" calories and the levels of sugar alcohols can/will leave some of you feeling a little, uh, crampity down below. And there is no treat in that trick!

Empire State of Mind . . .

2009-10-30T07:45:00.001-05:00

I could care less about the World Series (but I am secretly cheering for the Phillies if only to lash out at Yankee Nation) but I simply can't get too much of this song!

Love the Statue of Liberty on the top of the piano. Love Jay-Z tipping his Yankee cap in the middle of Yankee Stadium. Love that even the Phillies are bopping along too . . . no detail too small for my guy S-dot-Carter!

Vote for Chris Christie . . .

2009-10-29T07:58:00.000-05:00

I am not a Republican (I know, you are all shocked) and I am not from nor do I live in New Jersey (I know you are all, like me, thankful for that. VERY thankful) and I don't know much about John Corzine (and I don't much care to know) but - this crap makes me want to vote for Chris Christie.

I get it. Politics is never as professional as it is personal and never personal so much as it is professional. One of my grad school professors told me that and - as much as it makes my head hurt it actually does make sense. I get that you have to get nutty to win in politics. ESPECIALLY in New Jersey. Look at the history of New Jersey politics and you will shake your head in disgust and agreement (and then look just East to New York City politics and realize that New Jersey is just a lovely place to run for office). I get all that.

But to put footage of an obese man getting out of a car and say he "throws his weight around" is clearly . . . wait for it . . . wait for it . . . SIZISM! You would not say that a black candidate was a "dark cloud" for their positions. You would not say that an American Indian "sent smoke signals" to his supporters. You wouldn't show a female opponent and say she "bent over backwards for favors." You wouldn't show an Irish candidate and call them drunk. Well - you might do that (it is okay, I'm like 60% Irish - I'm allowed to make that joke).

Long story long you meant it, Governor. You went for the easy, cheap shot and . . . frankly . . . you wasted your time. Anyone that looks at Mr. Christie knows he's got "a few to lose" and the fact that he's been as successful as he has shows that, despite his weight (and the assumptions you want people to make behind it) he is neither lazy, nor stupid, nor simple, nor a pariah.

You meant it. You should just apologize for it and do the right thing.

And SHAME on any voter in the state of New Jersey that would fall for this sort of crap and think less of a candidate because of their weight. If he was running for Mr. Perfect Body or if he was up for President of Fit Personsland I would get it. He's running for Governor. Of New Jersey. The scandalous allegations, if true, simply prove that he has connections and is willing to use them. His weight, if it was important at all, would simply showcase that the guy does not currently put enough time and emphasis to his own health. That might be a good thing for the people of New Jersey - at least in the short term.

PS - Mom and Dad Christie . . . naming your son Christopher Christie is not cute, fun or appropriate. Leave that to the Eileen Dovers, Richard Head and Amanda Hugenskweezs of the world. PLEASE! No repetitive or cutsey names for kids anymore. I'd totally vote for THAT!

Big Gamble in Asia . . .

2009-10-27T21:48:00.000-05:00

We were sort of hard up for a late dinner tonight in St. Louis. NOT that there are not probably hundreds of great places to eat but we were all tired from a long day of travel and just wanted something easy so - despite not being gamblers or people that particularly enjoy patterned carpets and women in ill-fitting cocktail waitress uniforms/polyester mini-dresses, we went over to the casino figuring they would have a few restaurants for us to choose from.

We chose Asia. The continent, apparently. I saw the continent because, like the large, large land mass the menu at Asia had some Chinese, some Japanese, some Vietnamese, some Thai and some French options. Yes. French options.

What DIDN'T the restaurant have? Wait staff that knew the menu or the process of cooking that went in behind the scenes.

Here's my BIGGEST fear in life after gastric bypass surgery . . . showing up at work naked. Here's my SECOND biggest fear in life after gastric bypass surgery . . . not knowing what I'm eating.

I am SO afraid of this that I rarely eat food I don't prepare first-hand and I even more rarely eat anything that someone else makes without asking several questions. That goes (especially) for food made by my dear, dear Mother and it goes for food made even by people, like my friend Brandi, who totally get the restrictions I am up against after surgery. I just won't do it and I TOTALLY suggest that any of you who have gone through - or might go through GB be the same way.

It is just not worth it to find out, once you have a plate in front of you, that the food is cooked in, stuffed with and topped with butter or that the chicken quesadilla is made with chicken marinated in sugary, sugary barbecue sauce or that the steak you ordered is "dry rubbed" with a spice blend that includes sugar ALL THREE of which have happened to me.

SO - I did my normal thing. Asked questions. LOTS of them. The waitress was NO help. She assured me that the LEAST sweet dish on the menu was the sweet and sour chicken. She was all but sure that the plum steak was not sweetened and she, after telling me that it was "impossible" to order just a protein with no sauce and no rice or noodles she pointed me to the vegetarian section . . . BOTH options. BOTH of which came with sauce.

I ended out enjoying a bowl of steamed edamame while my colleagues whooped up some sushi, lo mein and shrimp and chicken pad thai. I popped the soy from the pod and vowed to never, ever eat at Asia again. Now eating IN Asia is something I'm planning to some day do for sure.

One Size Doesn't Fit All . . .

2009-10-26T07:30:00.000-05:00

Thanks to loyal reader, good friend I've never met and fellow GBer, Jen, I got to read this article today.

The article, if you don't want to read the whole thing, is about the idea that the obese could/should be charged more for emergency medical care because of their size and the added challenges to serving the obese in the field.

I'm about to say something "controversial" . . . I totally agree that the obese should be charged more for ambulance care NOT as a way to punish them or to discourage obesity or to improve profit margins for medical providers but, more importantly, because fair is simply fair.

When I first went to work for IBM and we moved to Connecticut I went to Rochester Big and Tall on my first day trip on to the island of Manhattan. I was a size 68 suit and a 22x36 dress shirt. I wanted a new suit for my new job. And I almost dropped $1,438 on a Ralph Lauren suit (before taxes, alterations and whatever other fees found their way on to my tab). I thought better of it. I went home and got online. The same suit for a size 42 regular was only (ONLY?!?!) $1,125. $300 cheaper. And WHY? Perhaps (just perhaps) because of the four or five square feet of fabric that Mr. Lauren saved between the two suits. PERHAPS it was because if you are silly enough to spend over $1,000 on a suit the rest of it is all just pops and buzzes. MORE likely it is because they wanted me to pay a premium as a morbidly obese man to have access to designer clothes in an upscale store on the island of Manhattan even thought it was technically the same suit.

Apply the same general rule/attitude to ambulance service. It is not just a stretcher - it is a stretcher that has to be stronger and bigger. It is not just a hoist in to the "truck" - it is hoisting a bigger load in to the "truck" - it is not just medical experts doing their job - it is medical experts doing their job in an already confined space while working around a larger patient.

This is not, to be clear, the same thing as the post a few months ago where the guy suggested the obese person go to the ZOO for an x-ray (that was just medical ignorance on their part). This is not, for the record, the same thing as mandating the obese buy an extra seat on the plane even if the plane is not at capacity. This is not, obviously enough, the same thing as saying that hospitals MUST make surgical gowns bigger so that my large, large butt is not exposed as I patter down the hallway after my gastric bypass surgery (that, to be clear, is why God gave us sweatpants and/or two gowns you can wear in opposite directions).

Nope. This is more about the idea that we obese folks have to pay more sometimes for the "same" things that our skinnier friends, family and fellow humans get at standard pricing.

Besides - if you are in medical crisis and need an ambulance does it really matter how much it costs to get you out of harm's way and to medical safety anyway? ESPECIALLY if you are obese?! I say charge me a premium but make sure that the gurney will hold me, the EMTs can adequately serve me and the ambulance can drive fast, fast, fast when I need it to.

Ben Folds Live . . .

2009-10-25T23:42:00.000-05:00

Thrill of thrills. I just got home from seeing my guy, my main man, my musical favorite, my Ben Folds live in concert! And the most trilling part of the thrill was that it was Ben like I've only seen him one other time in concert . . . just him and his piano.

I'm a very happy man right now. Two SOLID hours of Ben Folds music - new stuff, classics, personal favorites - and an encore that included The Luckiest.

I would have been even happier if Joy had been with me but . . . sometimes this whole parent thing gets in the way of a Sunday night date. I ran home to kiss both Ava and Joy though and was once again reminded that I (and I alone) and THE luckiest!

Fat Tax Talk is Back . . .

2009-10-23T17:41:00.000-05:00

They are talking about this again in New York and I'm alllll for it.

Consider me a supporter! Let's make this federal (as many are suggesting in this debate over health care reform) and let's make it broad reaching (NOT just on soda but on allllll sorts of things).

It will NOT destroy the food industry (any one seen "big tobacco" begging for change on the corner recently?) but it will help show people where "junk foods" are (it is like the skull and crossbones they wanted to put on cigarette packs).

More importantly it might just encourage more THOUGHT in the grocery store (or anywhere food is purchased/consumed) and it WILL lead to more revenue for the governments on the local, state and federal level that will have to care for all these obese people we are becoming and raising. The facts show that the obese DO cost more to care for, long term, and that is something that fuels anti-obesity sentiment (something I am OPPOSED to) so if we stop the growth and if we strengthen the coffers than we might just level the perspective and move this towards EDUCATION (where it should be).

The argument that this is just a revenue builder for the state is likely TRUE. Who cares? It might just trickle down the right way. The argument that this is the state "stealing" money through excess tax is NOT true. You do not, for the record, have to buy soda or any other "fat" food. We CHOOSE to. They CHOOSE to tax the CHOICES of those of us that partake. Again - look at tobacco. Look at alcohol. Look at car ownership. Home ownership. Carrying a gun. It is the same thing. SAME. EXACT. THING.

This (the tax on food (NOT premiums for insurance, NOT higher costs for buses and subways, NOT eliminating services and access)) is a GOOD thing. Trust me.

Exhaustion . . .

2009-10-22T20:59:00.004-05:00

You ever just feel tired? Not like "Eh, I could go for a nap." or "Eh, I shouldn't have stayed up to watch Leno last night" (point of fact there is NO reason to EVER watch Leno - on at an earlier time or not) or "Eh, I won't need to count too many sleep tonight." but that eyes-drooping, slow-speaking, it-is-so-damned-far-to-my-closet-I'm-going-to-sleep-in-my-sports-coat-and-tie-tonight tired? Yeah? You know that feeling.

Me too.

I was reminded earlier this morning (when Ava came to bed with us at 4:55 AM (five minutes before my alarm was set to go off, for the record)) of how tired I used to be ALL THE TIME. Not just before I got diagnosed with sleep apnea. How GREAT, by the way, is that first morning when you woke up after sleeping with your C-PAP and you wanted to paint the house, mow the lawn, solve the mysteries of life and negotiate world peace?! No - I'm talking more AFTER my C-PAP. After the 400 pound mark. Near and after the 500 pound mark. Certainly at and around the 530 pounds mark.

I was thinking about it this morning as Joy, Ava, Lily and I all snuggled up in the 40-degrees-outside-and-the-heater-was-turned-off-so-thank-goodness-for-our-down-comforter-and-family-bed hours before dawn.

I haven't been truly tired in a long time. Run down, sure. Dragging a little, sorta' often. Ready for bed, most evenings. But not EXHAUSTED. I prayed that I never again know what it is like to be too tired to lift my own body, to get winded getting out of bed (yes - that was once part of my reality) or to feel the strain of being so tired I couldn't really put together an influential thought (much less argument). You make stupid decisions when you are that tired (like not exercising or eating more crap loaded with sugar or drinking more soda or turning to crack cocaine, etc.).

I thought about it and then I curled in to Ava (she mandates classic "spoons" most of the time) and closed my eyes. Then my alarm went off. I was going to hit snooze and take seven more minutes with all three of my girls but - thankfully - I wasn't all that tired!

An Open Letter . . .

2009-10-21T19:01:00.003-05:00

Dear Carnie Wilson -

Before I start ranting, I'll quote you . . . "I've written two autobiographies and posed for Playboy. I think I've pretty much been out there. But this is definitely the most exposed I've ever been." I'd also like to remind everyone that you had your gastric bypass for the world to see ONLINE!

I get that you struggle with obesity (some of the best of us do (hardy-har-har))! I get that pregnancy is tough. I get that being a working parent (I'm a dad, you are a mom, they are not the same but I can "relate") and I get that you enjoy being on television (again, some of the best of us do (hardy-har-harrrrr))!

I also get that you've got a game show, solo albums, the classic hits of Wilson Phillips (I'll admit it - I had that CD and once upon a time but I'm also, to be clear, an UNASHAMED Celine Dion fan so . . . there you have that) and I get that you also like to inspire and empower the obese through your site LiteAndHope.com. (Get it - LITE (again, hardy-uh-har-har (?))) and you also tinker in a line of luxury desserts with Melissa Joan hart and that you "enjoy feeding people." Oh and that you called one of your books "I'm Still Hungry."

I get it. I do. I feel for you. I too struggle. I haven't lost an ounce in a while. I'm sort of bummed with that but I'm still down 300 pounds from the heaviest I've been in my life. I too find prioritizing myself to be difficult in the chaos of my family, my work and my overall life. I also made the most of my skinny-self by posing for Playboy (the fellas love a nice set of moobs, what can I say?) and I also want people to really understand the reality of obesity and the challenges of living with, through and after it (knock on wood).

Here is where I stop sympathizing with you. Your new "reality" show is call UNSTAPLED. Your producer points out it is more about "just living outloud" (or whatever stupid sounbyte pours out when explaining it. But, Dear Carnie, let's assume this is just your latest attempt to make money on your struggle with obesity and your latest inadvertent set back to gastric bypass education.

I don't know if your hangers-on have told you this but getting "unstapled" (if you even have staples at all - they are no longer used in most GBs in the Western world) would make no sense as you can not, in fact, "undo" gastric bypass. You can stretch your pouch back out (let's assume you have) and you can blow your diet (let's assume you have) but you can not get your stomach back. But the average person probably doesn't know that.

What they do know is that you've been on three reality TV shows now that are centered on your efforts to lose weight or keep weight off and that none of them have worked. They see you as being the "typical" GBer. That your reality is "the" reality. WHY do they do that? Because no one gives those of us that are doing well a friggin' reality show and none of us are invited on Oprah or whatever.

So you've posed for Playboy. You make luxury DESSERTS and you are a failed "example" of how to live life after surgery. I'm sure plenty of people fine you inspiring but - like with Oprah - I'm WAY over your obesity fight.

Get rid of the cameras. Get rid of the pomp and celebration. Get rid of the self-obsessed nature (I say this on my BLOG so clearly I'm a hypocrite) and just focus on your diet, your exercise and whatever part of you is still sad and unready to give up the comfort and love of food.

Those of us that are fighting the good fight and don't need to see the failures of our peers to motivate us (I'll take The Biggest Loser for that inspiration and suggest anyone reading this will too) and those of us (you should be included in that) that are tired of the confusion around life after gastric bypass and people assuming you can NOT lose and keep weight off after surgery and those of us that just want to hope and pray that no one has this surgery until they are truly ready and that they can make a real run at life after are TIRED of you hurting the cause.

I don't mean to be dramatic and I know I am being just that. I do hope you lose the weight. I hope you get happy. I hope you get back to a weight that you are truly happy with and that you can maintain when you get there.

In the meantime maybe you should just get rid of as many distractions as you can. You might even have another book to write (or TV show to make or magazine to pose for) when you do! And if that fails . . . well . . .

Regards -

- Sean

October 2009 Play List . . .

2009-10-20T21:41:00.003-05:00

It's been a while since I've shared a playlist but I've been loving all the new music this fall (and some old favorites as well) as I try to make the most of my car time, office listening and workout soundtracks as well as my reading time (yes, dear readers, I have started cracking books lately and spending less time with my "boob tube"). Here are my Top 20 songs for this month. Enjoy (or don't)!

1 - The Story, Brandi Carlile - This song (which I think I've included in a few playlists before) is just a great tune. It gets fast and slow, loud and quiet and reminds me of my wife. Still writing her story. Tough. Sensitive. Amazing.

2 - Fireflies, Owl City - I am not generally a fan of this "genre" of music but I saw this video one Saturday morning while chasing Ava around the house (it was in good fun, I promise) I saw her stop in her tracks, pause for a moment and then start dancing the greatest little dance I've seen out of her in a while. I was begged to and eventually started dancing with her. The rest is history. Best way to get on my playlists, musical world, go through Ava (like a man's heart by way of his stomach).

3 - The Tale of Tsar Saltan (The Flight of the Bumble-bee), Pierre Fournier - I've got a colleague, David. His girlfriend is an accomplished cellist. I was, like the rest of the unaware, a blind Yo-Yo Ma fan until David pointed out that he was "all technical skill, no heart." Fournier? He's got skillz (with the z) and heart! This song is better for reading than running but it does just fine on the treadmill.

4 - Empire State of Mind, Jay-Z - I'm a long time fan of men named Sean (Shawn, Shaun, Shon, etc.) that do the name proud. S-dot-Carter is a prime example. His latest CD is very, very good (especially from a 40-year-old who still maintains street cred by being credible in the larger context) but this is my favorite song on the CD. It makes me want to be 18 again and to skip college and just run off to NYC to pursue acting or something. Great song. Great city. From the first drop-in of the beat to the first time Alicia Keys sings to the last beat . . . it is GREAT!

5 - My Name is Prince, Prince - I had a conversation with Red-the-Useless-Intern yesterday. She's NEVER thought much about Prince and doesn't really think he's all that important in the world of music. Insert insult, hurt and tirade here! Prince, quite simply, is the MAN. He's 4'6". He weighs 85 pounds. He's kept a (pencil thin) mustache for 30 years. And he gets anything he wants at the same time. I have DOZENS of "favorite" Prince songs but this one makes my playlists more than any other . . . the man claims God spent the seventh day making him and then had his rest interrupted by Prince "co-gettin'-down" on the guitar. That's the sort of swagger that makes me look humble. A RARE accomplishment!

6 - Early to Bed, Morphine - One of my best friends from my DC days, Michael Thomas, introduced me to Morphine in the late 90s. They are like Ben Folds Five with the saxophone instead of the piano as the weird-throw-in-to-the-rock-mix. I don't own much Morphine but this is one of my favorite songs and it reminds me of 2:30 AM when we finally got home from the bar and Ben was playing Super Nintendo while the "lights went out" in my brain. Oy!

7 - Use Somebody, Kings of Leon - What's NOT to love?! Seriously!?!

8 - Wake Up, Arcade Fire - Go see Where the Wild Things Are. Trust me on this. It is moody and beautiful and deep and complicated and it points to all the crazy voices and insecurities that run around in our head but they are turned in to eight foot tall "wild things" that run around the woods (instead of our brains) and they love and hurt each other and compete for attention and . . . anywho . . . this song is featured in the trailer and it made me a fan of Arcade Fire (something I resisted for years). I've heard this is the last song they play at all their concerts and it always turns in to a sing-a-long. Listen to it once and you'll be singing along by the end. Promise. And then go see Where the Wild Things Are!

9 - Babylon, David Gray - This song (and CD) reminds me of fall. Specifically the first time I went to New York City after 9/11 (it was in mid-October of the same year). I took the train and remember thinking it odd to push through Northern New Jersey and NOT see the World Trade Center (despite hundreds of photos and video clips showing it was gone and where it went). I love David Gray. This song is BEST when going for a run either shortly after dawn or just before dusk (presuming you are outside - the sun's position in the sky does not much matter on your treadmill in the basement).

10 - I Don't Know My Own Strength, Whitney Houston - I love Whitney Houston. Stop laughing. I don't really care what you think (okay, I really, really do but I have to appear strong) and this song is, in my opinion, a KILLER comeback song for her. Joy prefers "I Look to You" (it makes her think of Ava and she will cry every time she hears it) but this song, for me, is just much more motivating. It makes me want to leave my R&B singing husband, stop using illicit drugs, start getting my voice back in shape and start doing whispery interviews on Oprah. Okay - it really just makes me want to feel like I can do whatever I want.

11 - Please Don't Leave Me, Pink - This song comes courtesy of Joy. She loves her some scorned-women. I am not totally sold on Pink in the larger context but this song . . . this song makes me "get her." It plays nicely to the insecurities in our head that make us unsure that we could or should ever take anything for granted . . . and makes us wonder if begging and pleading does us any good anyway!

12 - Hard to Explain, The Strokes - I won't justify this song. You get it or you don't.

13 - Break on Through (To the Other Side), The Doors - My brother Patrick loved The Doors. I was never entirely sold on them or any of the rest of that era's true "rock" acts. For some reason this song sticks with me though. It reminds me of fall during my high school days. My mother would make bacon cheeseburgers, french fries and milkshakes and we would just rotate our friends through the kitchen (my mother would feed 15 - 20 people some Fridays) before we went to the high school football games. I do miss being a kid in my house with my brothers . . . some days!

14 - La Belle et Le Bad Boy, MC Solaar - Another "confession" - I used to like watching Sex in the City. Towards the end of the show's run Carrie went to Paris and could not replace The Big Apple with The City of Lights. This song was part of one particularly memorable scene where she's bopping, sorta-happily, around Paris. It makes me want to pick up and move the family to Paris. But could we ever really replace The Sunflower State with The City of Lights? I doubt it.

15 - Back to Life, Soul II Soul - Just a happy and upbeat song that makes the treadmill more tolerable and is great while doing a yoga DVD too. The whole Soul II Soul CD is great for yoga, frankly.

16 - Black, Pearl Jam - I hated everything that came out of Seattle in the mid-90s (the flannel, the grunge, the men wearing eye-liner, the combat boots, Starbucks) but this one song from that one group stuck with me. This song reminds my first weekend at Quinnipiac. My floor decided to take our first group hike up Sleeping Giant. It exhausted me. And I loved that. I would like to someday climb Sleeping Giant with Joy and Ava. The top of the giant's chin was my "happy place" more times than I would care to admit during my Quinnipiac days. It was on that sitting spot that I made the decision to leave Quinnipiac to go to DC early 12 years ago (today, actually) and the rest, as they say, is history!

17 - Hush, Hush, Hush, Paula Cole & Peter Gabriel - Beautiful song. Period.

18 - As Is, Ani DiFranco - I picture Joy singing this song to me when I am having my down days and hating myself. We don't have the struggles that Ani and her protagonist did but the notion that you have to believe someone when they tell you they love you and will take you exactly as you are is something we distrust too often and we drive a wedge against that love when we do. And, for the record, I love my wife AS IS no matter how she is on any given day.

19 - Homesick, Kings of Convenience - It is like Simon and Garfunkel let bygones be bygones and went back to just playing their guitars, singing and hanging out in the now-cool neighborhoods of Manhattan. Love this song. LOVE these guys. Just really, really nice stuff. This is a good song for fall too. I used to go home at least one weekend every October and I've missed the last two. I'm okay with that - I really am - but I do miss it and I miss fall at "home." The trees here just don't do the season justice!

20 - Be OK, Ingrid Michaelson - Great song, Talented woman. Good for a cool down after a workout or reading those last few pages of a good book!

So - there you have it. I'm working on another playlist right now for a little trip I'm taking in a few weeks. Lots of airplane time. Alone. I won't know what to do with myself. Most of my alone time is spent in the bathroom and/or sweating. To just sit around alone . . .

Luckily I have a brand new book and 12,000+ songs in my iTunes library to keep me busy!

Things I Want to Eat . . .

2009-10-16T06:37:00.001-05:00

I have spent a good chunk of the last evening sitting around with a sick three year old and a pile of back issues of some of my favorite magazines.

Entertainment Weekly, GQ, Esquire, Men's Health, Runner's World, Bon Appetit, Everyday Food, Fast Company and O (don't judge until you've tried it) to be precise.

I love magazines. Always have. Probably always will. I think it has something to do with my desire to be a jack of all information and a master of none. Anywho I quickly ran through O and the men's magazines. I decided I would revisit the fitness magazines on my next lazy day (or next day that I needed reminding of why I should not be so lazy) and I dove - fork first - in to the food publications.

Yep. Like any good recovering alcoholic standing in the bar parking lot or a rabid gambler itching to get in on the office "birth pool" for the pregnant woman in accounting, I just can't turn my back on food. Nope. Quite the opposite. I've learned more about and deepened my actual love and appreciation for food since my gastric bypass surgery.

You wouldn't believe the ingredients in food until you have to watch, obsessively, for one particular (and OMNIPRESENT ingredient) and you wouldn't believe how much great food I have probably had in my life without ever really enjoying it (it was just a means to an end for all those years). I digress.

The point is that I'm building a list of "I'd like to have a taste of these foods" that I want to try (not go crazy on, not put in the rotation, not gain my 250 pounds back on but TRY - in the true spirit of moderation and enjoying the life you have).

And I'm NOT talking (this time) about the Sugar Free Swiss Cake Rolls that I actually dream of nearly nightly.

1 - Hummus (my favorite food in the whole world anyway) served in its disputed place of origin . . . Byzantium (aka Istanbul). I don't know that the chick peas are better or the olive oil more virginal or the pita pieces more pitaish but I know that all cultural elements are just "better" in their native land (like rap in Harlem or hairy female armpits in France, etc.).

2 - AUTHENTIC Chinese food. No - not sweet and sour chicken or chicken and chive egg rolls but the real flavors and dishes of China. There is a Chinese restaurant in DC's Chinatown (can't remember the name of it) that we always ate at and they had two different menus and sets of dishes for and two different approaches to customers - their Chinese customers and the rest of us. Guess which menu involved ordering by number? Yeah. Totally jealous.

3 - I want a Cinnamon and Sugar Toastie from the refined-sugar-free BabyCakes bakery on that cursed island of Manhattan (thanks and CURSE YOU (smile) Brandi, for showing me this site). Just give me the toastie. You can keep the rest of the madness!

4 -A number of the things featured on Bizarre Foods, sadly. I just can't help it . . . the bravery and freedom of it all attracts me in a strange way.

5 - A Lobster Roll (I'll even make an exception and eat bread this once) right on the shore near Portland, Maine. I clearly need to get my butt to Maine!

6 - One of those ultra-thin crust pizzas that cook in just 45 seconds in ultra-hot wood/brick ovens with just some olive oil, cheese, spinach and garlic at any "authentic" pizza place in Rome.

7 - THIS. At Martha Stewart's big farm in Connecticut . . . or at her place in the Hamptons. Martha doesn't have to make it (I would much prefer she spend her time just showing Joy and I around the grounds and introducing us to her rich and famous friends instead).

8 - Bone Marrow. No. Not of a small child (it is an urban legend that obese men eat children) but the kind of bone marrow that they serve in fancy-schmancy restaurants and that seems to be the newest "hip" food trend (replacing or joining donuts, macaroni and cheese, upscale burgers and bacon on many menus). I'm willing to bet it is gross but I used to feel the same way about soy so - what do I know?

9 - Haggis. I just want to try it. Not sure why. I think it is because I once heard Anthony Bourdain say that a man is not a man until he's tasted it (it might not have been Bourdain . . . and he might not have been talking about haggis but I'm pretty sure . . . )

10 - Whatever this woman wants to feed me. I love my wife. She is the most beautiful woman in the world and I would never jeopardize our marriage or our life together but dear Lord there is something magical about Nigella Lawson. Sadly I think every dish Nigella makes has a butter base with chocolate and sugar on top of it so, even in moderation, there is not much there to really enjoy. A boy can dream though . . .

Who wants to bring a fork and a spoon and join me?!

400 Pound 13 Year Old . . .

2009-10-15T07:43:00.000-05:00

I just read this heartbreaking story about a very young man on the verge of a very sad and steep downward slope.

It seems there is a 13 year old boy in Florida that tips the scales at 400 pounds. People in the medical community are, understandably, concerned about the young man's health and - of course (that is more a nod to the assumption not the appropriate action) - blaming the parents, specifically his mother for this problem.

Their solution? Remove him from the home.

Yeah, uh, about that . . . I'm not so sure that pulling the kid out of the home is going to help at all. It might hurt, actually. The story I read indicates that the mother is concerned and that she is aware that something has to change in her diabetic and high-blood pressure having son's lifestyle. She seems on the right page with trying to get him to help himself but she raises a great point . . . he's got to be part of it. He's going to have to help himself.

Pull a kid at that stage of life out of the home and see what happens . . . and it is NOT going to be him waking up at 6:00 AM and doing aerobics until the sun comes up followed by a sensible breakfast and some light conditioning exercises. It is likely going to lead to further acting out, issues of reverse-abandonment and food becoming even more of an emotional crutch than it might already be.

I have fielded questions in my life about my parents maybe being "responsible" for my obesity and weight struggles. NO. They are not. They may have bought the food and they may have let me eat the food but they never force fed me and they CERTAINLY encouraged me to eat less, to exercise more and to take better care of myself in general.

Here's the thing, people. SELF RESPONSIBILITY. I totally get it when an 18 month old weighs 90 pounds. We ALL agree parents are at fault. At 13 though . . . grey area. LOTS of grey area.

BEST that the state of Florida empowers the mom. Tries to scare the kid a little bit. Keeps him at home and watches him, as appropriate.

Even then - at some point he's going to have to WANT to be healthy for it to stick.

I wish you luck, little buddy. I hope you find the want to be healthy and happy and to grow well past your teens, 20s, 50s and 80s. At this rate though . . . only YOU can help you!

Milk and Cookies . . .

2009-10-14T17:35:00.000-05:00

I've organized a little pick-me-up for our agency that I'm both proud of and tortured by.

I've invited Wichita's own

Nancy Bell-Ringer (yep, her REAL name (LOVE IT!)) aka The Cookie Diva to come in to the office to bake some fresh chocolate snickerdoodles for my colleagues. She'll be baking them up and we'll be serving them warm with cold milk and hot Mexican chocolate (with and without the Kahlua (we work in advertising, cliches are cliches for a reason)).

My hope was that our little afternoon snack would help cheer some folks up around here (it has been a cold and dreary week or so here in Wichita and the flu is making the rounds on top of it).

The thick, gooey and ice cold irony of a guy who's spent the last nearly three years of his life trying to divorce food from his emotions and emotions from his food has decided that milk and cookies are just what his colleagues need to be happy.

Anywho - the cookie party seems to have worked - for better or for worse.

The Biggest Loser . . .

2009-10-13T20:33:00.001-05:00

I've received a few e-mails from friends about this so I figured I'd just go ahead and address this head on.

Deep breath.

I have not watched a single second of this season of The Biggest Loser.

Not sure why. It is not that I stopped caring (quite the opposite) or that something better came along (impossible) but I think it is more that I am trying to spend less time watching TV and more time "being" (spending time with Joy and Ava, reading, working out, blogging, catching up with friends, etc.).

I am sure this season is amazing (they all are) and I still have a few of the episodes in the DVR cue but . . . to this point (five weeks in, I think) I have not watched at all.

I guess that is not all that dramatic but it feels weird to NOT be watching and to NOT have the show be part of my life. I've been faithful since Season 1, Episode 1 and I've lost many of my pounds to Biggest Loser DVDs and been highly motivated to be stronger and better from episodes of the show.

I'm a neurotic mess. I apologize for that. This post feels weird - even to me . . .

He Wenna' Head and Put a Ring On It . . .

2009-10-12T07:19:00.000-05:00

My friend Carrie from my DC days got engaged this weekend! I am (obviously) thrilled for her and wish her and her husband-to-be Nathan all the very best.

Carrie, for those that don't know, came in to my life by way of her cousin Jessica. Carrie and I were not exactly "fast friends" at first but we became friends over museum and coffee days that slowly morphed in to Days of Fun and our monthly dinners that featured agendas and everything.

Carrie suffered my infatuation and smittenness with more than one woman in our proverbial hey day. I'm sure she's still trying to forget my "emotional affair" with the woman that sold me books at the Borders across the street from my office. I think she is the only person I ever told about my long, secretive relationship with my mystery-woman-from-wealthy-lineage. She suffered my sadness over unrequited feelings for a friend of mine very well AND (drum roll please) Carrie was willing to drop everything and join me for a "double date" (no, she and Vinu were not really on a date) and drinks the night I met my beautiful wife in person for the first time.

Carrie was a good sounding board in the early days and growing pains of Joy and I's courtship and she was there for me when I didn't have a lot of other folks I could talk to about some of my concerns about trying to go from a selfish, self absorbed, egotistical, vain and self centered man to a doting puppy dog in love with the most beautiful woman in the world. Ironically many of my friends were confused by my falling in love with Joy since they assumed I secretly pined for Carrie and Carrie was the ONLY one of my female friends, save for her cousin Jess who was truly a sister to me at the time, that Joy was not dubious of in terms of my relationship with them (Joy was not as trusting then as she is now - and with good reason, I suppose).

The thing I have to point out here is that Carrie was (and likely still is) tough as nails. You didn't mess with her. She didn't suffer to much crap. You didn't take advantage of her. You didn't keep her waiting. You didn't expect her to jump through hoops you wouldn't jump through for her. You didn't dump too much crap on her in one sitting. You didn't expect a pity party without a willingness to do something about it when the crying was over. She's good like that. She helped me become more good like that, frankly (Carrie's tough-love is constructive as where mine was often just rude and lacking in the love part of the tough-love).

Anywho - I've seen Carrie come a long way in her life. When we first met she was coming out of a long relationship and she has had a few relationships in the meantime. Carrie always walked away from every one of the "failed" relationships with a moral and a lesson and she came out a stronger and more beautiful person. She's had, no doubt, to soften a little bit along the way too but she's come out way on top and at the place she said she always wanted to be. In love and eager to start a family.

I have not met Nathan but his ability to capture her heart and convince her to give him the rest of her life must mean he's a stellar-fellar.

I'm rambling . . . I guess the point is that Carrie is (soon to be "was") one of my few remaining single friends in this world and is the most recent to find a love that they deem worthy of making a life time commitment over. I hope they ALL end out married, happy and with as few or many children as they want. For today though - all that positive energy and happiness is going straight to my dear Carrie-Barrie and her betrothed.

Congrats, pally!

Big Fun in the Big D . . .

2009-10-11T19:49:00.000-05:00

We just got back from one of the shortest weekend trips in the history of weekend road trips. Joy, Ava and I loaded up the old (and by that I mean OLD) X-Terra and headed to Dallas on Friday afternoon to spend a weekend with our good friend (and the man responsible for introducing Joy and I) Vinu and his lovely lady friend Charene.

I have only been to Dallas one other time in my life. 2000, I believe. I went for work and spent a week working 14 hour days and binge eating the other 10 hours of the day away. It was odd to be back in Dallas having only one set of memories from the place. I remember the all you could eat (a test I easily passed) brunch in a spinning restaurant above Dallas. I remember being a beached whale in the hot tub at the hotel that overlooked the county jail. I remember drinking more Dr. Pepper (NOT diet either) than I ever thought I could (when in Rome, I guess (Dr. Pepper in Dallas is like Coke in Atlanta . . . a given)). I remember buying a horrible cowboy hat because I couldn't find any tourist crap that fit me. All that and I still had a great time (I really didn't know how miserable I was, I suppose).

Anywho - TOTALLY different trip this time.

We got in late Friday night, met Vinu's new St. Bernard (Nana) and then we spent the bulk of Saturday with just Vinu (Charene had to work most of the day) at the unbelievably cool Dallas World Aquarium and then driving around Dallas and the neighborhoods Vinu and Charene call home and where they work, eat, shop and socialize. We all had a fantastic Tex-Mex dinner at Mi Cocina at The Shops at Legacy and some gelato and fountain watching in Plano. We got up bright and early this morning and came home.

In the meantime we saw one of Joy's old co-workers and friends, Heather (who happened to be in town for work). I got the "OH MY GOD" treatment for the first time in a while. I have, truthfully, all but forgotten that moment when someone who hasn't even seen so much of a photo of me in years lays eyes on the spectacle I have become.

All the specifics are not that interesting, I suppose. What MATTERS is that we saw some old friends who seem to be very, very happy (there was lots of very frank wedding and children talk coming from the normally "guarded" Vinu if that means anything) and a promise to see each other more often than once a year moving forward. A promise we plan to keep our end of.

THANKS for the hospitality, Vinu and Charene.

TWO more trips to make this fall. Can't WAIT for either of them!

The Fat Man on the Plane . . .

2009-10-07T20:03:00.005-05:00

I drove up to Kansas City on Monday afternoon/evening with four colleagues for an all-day seminar on Tuesday that, in theory, will help me actual sell more "stuff" to clients moving forward. It was a great event and I learned a ton (yes, even my ego will allow me to admit that I have a FEW things left in this world to learn).

The evening on Monday was a lot of fun. We had an OUTSTANDING dinner on Monday evening. Yep. I agree with Anthony Bourdain that some of the best barbecue food in the WORLD might possibly come from a gas station in Kansas City. (If you ever find yourself in Kansas City it is totally worth the trip to check it out!). I, like the rest of my party, ate way too much of the chicken. And the rice and beans. And the onion rings. And the french fries. And the pickles. It is okay to splurge every now and again - right?!

We went down to the plaza for some after dinner drinks and talked about one of my favorite subjects in the world . . . sizism. Specifically sizism on airplanes.

We were talking about business travel and flying.

My companions acknowledged that they are never a big fan of being seated next to the "big man" on an airplane. For my part I talked about the absolute horror of being the "big man" on the plane for all those years and the look of absolute fear that would read on the faces of so many people in aisle or window seats when the fat man started pushing down the aisle and the middle seat next to them was empty . . . with the arm rest UP! Oh the bone-chilling thrill of it all (smile)!

They would quickly lower the arm rest and just wait. The relief on the faces of aisle two didn't disappear so much as transfer to the faces of aisle three (energy, nervous or otherwise, can neither be created nor destroyed - as we all know) as I passed them and so on and so on until I made my way to aisle 19 (or whatever) only to crush the hopes and dreams of the poor shell of a business man who just wanted to get back to Toledo to his sick kid and grumpy wife after four days of sales meetings and no closed sales.

I got it then. I get it now. And I am proud of my colleagues for being honest about their disinterest in flying the friendly skies with a jolly old fat man hanging in to their space.

I think I've shared the story here before but I've never been more in love with my wife than when we got blitzed with some fatty-fat-FAT awkwardness when we were seated in an exit row on the way to our honeymoon only to learn (which we already knew before we were moved to the exit row) that people who "require belt extenders" (such a euphemism) can't sit in exit rows. I actually thought Joy was going to physically assault the flight attendant who did an all call to help get the "obese man" in the exit row moved to an "alternative" seating assignment. Ah. Good times.

That was a long time and hundreds of pounds ago though.

We all had a laugh about it the whole situation as my colleagues sipped Stoli-Doli martinis and I enjoyed the best iced tea I've had in ages at Capitol Grille. We all agreed that there are worse things in life than flying with the obese though . . . like four days of bad business meetings and a sick kid waiting for you back in Toledo.

Musical Mash Up . . .

2009-10-06T19:59:00.000-05:00

One of Joy's favorite singers does a mash up of one of my favorite songs of all time and one of my favorite songs of the moment. Not bad. Favorite lyrics . . . "That I would be good. Even if I gained 10 pounds." UH - Let's not test that theory but it's good to stay positive, I guess.

163 Marathons Later . . .

2009-10-04T21:36:00.003-05:00

Inspiring? Yes. Sounds like fun? No. These sick people and their obsession with exercise (smile)!

Back to the Pumpkin Patch . . .

2009-10-03T18:40:00.000-05:00

One of my favorite moments in the history of being a dad happened at Walter's Pumpkin Patch last year. We went back again today and not only has mommy relaxed a little bit but she even gave Ava that gentle push to start her on her solo run down the "Spooky Mountain." Classic!

I highly recommend taking yourself and your spouse and your child(ren) to the nearest pumpkin patch (Walter's or otherwise) at your earliest convinience. Sooooo much fun!

Running Scared from Running . . .

2009-10-03T14:29:00.000-05:00

Ava, Lily and I were out for a Saturday morning stroll (which consists of Lily on her leash pulling me and me pulling Ava in her wagon) and we saw a few hundred people running the Rosstoberfest Run here on College Hill.

It reminds me that the Turkey Trot are quickly approaching and I've been a lazy, lazy man as of late. I was happy we were out walking and I ran on the treadmill this afternoon while Ava took her nap (Joy was in school all morning and is working all afternoon/evening so I'm doing the dad thing (and loving it, even though we miss Joy terribly on days like today)).

I'm getting nervous. I have to run in public and I'm simply not ready.

To add to the anxiety I saw a co-worker running this morning. That made me even MORE nervous. What if I see people I know at the race. What if - GASP - I get passed by a co-worker (not that I would run fast enough to get in front of them anyway besides by default at the start line, I man).

Oh man. I need to get at it . . .

Sweater Season . . .

2009-10-02T18:42:00.003-05:00

Shhhh. Do you hear that? It is the silent sound of falling temperatures and the equally silent sound of falling leaves. Yes. Yes. YES! Fall has officially struck the great state of Kansas. And I. Am. Excited.

Not only does this mean I can stop putting baby powder under my excess skin flaps (take a minute, process the mental picture, put it in the past and . . . let's move on) but I can start wearing my sweaters with reckless abandon.

The only real question I have when it comes to sweaters is how many V-Necks and sweater vests can a man own before he has to acknowledge he has a problem?! How many shawl and crew necks? How many cardigans? I would dare say there is no number too high to defend but, more importantly, the real question is how many sweaters can one man's dresser, closet, storage spaces, garage, rented warehouse, underbed storage containers and car trunk hold. Or whatever other space confinement references are actually appropriate.

I see a sweater and I've got to have it. Plain and simple. And once I own that sweater - I never let it go (until the forces of laundry, old age and spousal influence separate me from it, that is). That is not entirely true. There was ONE sweater I let get away.

When I was a freshman at Quinnipiac I got a sweater for Christmas from Eddie Bauer (almost exactly like the one pictured above but navy instead of "natural" and cotton instead of (presumably) wool). It was a 3XL. Instant favorite. I easily wore it every two to three days between the months of October and March for the next four years. Even after I had spread to a 4XL and 5XL I continued to wear it. I took excellent care of it and the stretch of the cotton and the fact that I didn't really care about my general appearance at that stage of my life allowed me to wear it well past it's physical proportions.

Once I officially could not fit in it any more (I ripped part of the seam one morning and didn't want to ruin it-ruin it) I kept it. I was sure that I would some day be skinny enough to fit back in it (oh the irony of setting a weight loss goal that puts me in the 3XL range as I know sit between a large and XL and hate myself for it). I kept in folded at the top of my closet for the next four years. When I moved to Baltimore in 2004 it went with me in a box with my high school, college and grad school diplomas, my SLR camera, four pictures of myself at what were the happiest moments of my life to that point (in Paris, Senior Prom with a group of friends, a get-together weekend with college friends at Father Lou in New Haven and a the first picture I had of myself and Joy when we cut down some trees in the front lawn of what was then her and later our home - to be exact). When we moved to Connecticut it went with me (in the same box even). When we moved to Kansas 16 months later I had been losing weight. I was down to a 4XL/3XL and fall was quickly approaching so the timing and my size would soon be right to bust that sweater out again - for the first time in seven years.

I went out to the garage. I found the box. I opened the box and there were my diplomas, a few pictures, my old camera and nothing else. The sweater was not there. I scratched my head. I searched a few other boxes. I asked Joy if she had seen it. I searched the whole house. I started unpacking things and looking under things. It HAD to be there somewhere.

WHY would I have kept a sweater for seven years, through two moves and a lifetime of changes and yet here I was - about to be ready for that sweater again FINALLY - and it was gone.

I never found it. I wrote a passionate and far-more-grammatically-sound-than-this-blog letter to Eddie Bauer asking them if there was any chance they might have an old sweater that matched in the archives (I have this very real mental picture of one "copy" of every shirt, pant, sweater and shoe ever made in every size it was made by every clothing maker that I know is totally irrational but I just choose to believe it happens). I included the date I got the sweater and a picture of me wearing the sweater (and very, very drunk, I might add) to help them along. I got an e-mail back a few weeks later expressing regrets but thanking me for my love of the sweater.

Yep. That navy blue sweater. The one that got away. Curses.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I am online shopping for some sweaters and loving every drop of knitting coming out of Land's End this fall!

Guy on Bike . . .

2009-10-01T21:13:00.003-05:00

I have had a crazy week (two weeks, technically) of working and running around and trying to be a good husband and father all at the same time. I've worked for 12 straight days and I'm just exhausted.

I was thinking, as I drove to pick up Ava this afternoon, that I have been so busy lately that I haven't had time (and by that I mean I haven't prioritized it well enough) to exercise in two weeks. That's not acceptable, right?! RIGHT!

I was driving and thinking and then I saw a guy riding on his bicycle. He pulled up next to me at a red light. He was smiling from ear to ear. iPod in. Sweatshirt and spandex pants (what are you gonna' do, really) and and running shoes on. Happy. Little bit of sweat going on (you could tell it was still early in his ride but far enough in that he was already getting that buzz).

Anywho - it was great to see a guy SO happy to be out exercising and just enjoying the all air. It was motivation for me to get back on my own routine and to keep working at my weight and fitness level. I'll start, uh, tomorrow!

Happy Birthday, Wifey . . .

2009-10-01T05:32:00.001-05:00

Today is my smart, talented, funny, beautiful and amply bosomed (I'm just sayin'!) wife's birthday. Her 35th birthday, specifically.

I vowed not to get too personal here on the blog any more but it makes me so very happy to celebrate a special day like this with my wife.

Granted I won't actually see her until about 9:30 tonight (I left the house at 4:45 this morning to come to work and Joy has work and then class this evening) but we had a nice family dinner and a fun cake last night with Joy's side of the family and we have a full weekend of birthday frivolity to look forward to.

The point is that I have a wife. An amazing one. One that loves me in my good days and more "typical" days too. She shares her graces and charms with me and she shares and has deigned to build a life with me.

She shares her birthdays with me. That means we are going to grow old together. One birthday at a time. Happy birthday and THANK YOU, wifey for all you do for Ava and I. See YOU at the Pumpkin Patch (if not sooner (smile))!

Another "A Ha" Moment (After All These Years) . . .

2009-09-28T07:31:00.000-05:00

I hope you are sitting down. I have some news. I, Sean Amore, bought a new pair of khakis a few weeks ago (two pair, actually - but only one matters for this story). And that is not the ONLY shock. The other part . . . I bought them at JC Penney. I know, I know. I NEVER shop there (I wish I could quit you, JCP!).

They are great! I bought them with a 32" inseam (I'm only a 30") so I can put a nice cuff at the bottom and they are a little loose (without looking sloppy) and they are heavy and combed/frayed . . . I love them.

So I washed them (as I do from time to time) yesterday and I was folding them - and the rest of the "shades of beige" load this morning (as is part of my normal Monday routine) and I held up my khakis and I was LIVID!

They looked tiny. Inadequate. Like they were Joy's . . . or maybe even Ava's . . . instead of mine. I had machine dried my khakis and shrunk them down and now they were only really "good" for taking up closet space and making me angry about my laundry stupidity.

How bad could it be? What if I can still squeeze in to them? What if they are sort of okay?

I stood up - pajamas still on and all (for those that might think I fold laundry in the nude (you naught mental picturists)) and started to put my pants on (one leg at a time - like any other man) and I pulled them up and pulled them over my ample, child-bearing hips and easily buckled the French fly and had the "room" I had before I laundered them.

Yep. Sure enough. The pants were fine - it was just my perception of how big a pair of pants had to be to fit me that was out of whack.

30 months after surgery and I still have the occasional "a ha" moment! Thanks, gastric bypass!

For Our Children . . .

2009-09-27T21:13:00.003-05:00

A little over a block from our home is College Hill Park. It's this great, 22-acre park in the middle of the "big city" of Wichita. Not that we Wichitans need an escape from the urban jungle but, regardless, it is a quiet, expansive space where "community" becomes real.

At any given time you can find adults playing tennis, children on the playground, teens just "hanging out," people of all ages and demographics walking their dogs, families out walking and my strong-minded fellow runners doing their thing. Sometimes you can see Shakespearian productions or hot air balloons being launched or high schoolers running cross country or people looking for easter eggs, flying kites, whatever.

Last evening I saw something I've never seen in College Hill Park. A stroller. Okay so I've seen strollers but I saw as stroller alone. Just sort of standing by the curb. Water bottle and a few toys in the netting below, no sign of an owner or a child at either side of or in the midst of a stroll.

The unattended stroller reminded me of something that I sort of lose sight of as a father. We do a lot of things for our kids.

We buy them over-priced strollers. We put them in our minivan and drive them to the park. We push them around. We make chit chat with the other parents. We acknowledge that we are, at the end of the day, just another parent. We do all that for them and we do it gleefully.

We give stuff up too. We sacrifice a latte of our Starbucks money. We turn in on our late nights and even later mornings sleeping off the late nights. We learn about bottle variations and formulas of formula. We learn to fold teeny-tiny clothes. We learn to eat strained veggies only to show them how "delicious" they are. We do it all for them and we do it gleefully.

We vow that nothing will ever harm them. We vow that nothing will ever go wrong for them. We vow that they will graduate top of their class (in high school, at the first Ivy League school of their choice for undergrad and then the second Ivy League school of their choice for grad and then the third Ivy League (or perhaps a Western or Southern Ivy for good measure) of their choice for their PhD). They'll get married - or a least find a loving life partner of in their gender preference and that they have as many (or as few) kids as they choose. Kids that they might someday drive the minivan, kiss overpriced coffee goodbye for and buy all the accoutrements and trapping of parenting for. Even that stroller. And they will do it all for them and they will do it gleefully.

But, for whatever reason, the owner of that stroller yesterday afternoon did something sort of ironic. They (mother, father or both) were so busy sacrificing, rushing, pushing and pulling, like we all seem to be in that park or any other part of parenting (loading the car up, going to the emergency room with split lips, begging for peas to be eaten or teeth to be brushed) that they forgot their stroller. They loaded the kid in the car. Strapped them in. Ensured they were safe and snug and ready to head out to the family's next Saturday commitment.

They did everything right. Sacrificed. Kept their focus on the child. Let everything else seem and be irrelevant. I'm sure they made it home safely yesterday afternoon and I'm sure the parent(s) of that kid got in the garage, unloaded the kid and the toys. They probably never realized the stroller was gone. It wasn't relevant in the context of being home and safe and happy.

But they will notice. Maybe it was today. Maybe it will be next week. Maybe it won't be for a month. They'll realize that they misplaced that stroller and then they'll realize what a stupid mistake it was. And how many lattes they could buy with the money they'll instead spend on another stroller. And they'll go buy another stroller. And they will do it gleefully, just like they did with the first stroller.

UPDATE 2 - My Dad's Heart . . .

2009-09-22T21:57:00.002-05:00

My father went to the hospital today and had his heart catheterized. No stint needed. Early signs of heart disease are present but they think they can attack it with diet, exercise and medicine.

The question is, of course, if my father is ready for the diet and the exercise part of it.

I'm rooting for him (as always) and I wish him all the best. I just feel better knowing that he's made it through this part of the process and seems committed to the next steps.

I love you, Daddy-O! Be well. TRULY well!

The Biggest Loser . . .

2009-09-17T21:30:00.002-05:00

To answer the four e-mails I received on the subject . . . Yes - I am very, very excited about the Biggest Loser being back but . . . No - I have not yet watched the season premier.

It's been a crazy week here in the Amore household. I HOPE to watch this weekend but Joy has class and a wedding to oversee/perfectly deliver on Saturday and I will likely be working all day Sunday (we are in RFP mode again at work - fingers crossed (again))!

I promise to post a full brief as soon as possible and PLEASE do not tell me what happened in the meantime!

Workers Comp for Lap Band? . . .

2009-09-17T20:48:00.001-05:00

PS (Pre Script) - Thanks to my friend NYtoVa/Carrie for sharing this story with me . . .

Here's where the world of medical/legal drama could get interesting and the idea of "self responsibility alone" for obesity could get confused while the clear impact of obesity in the workplace could get simplified (it's a story that has my head spinning).

Here's the basic premise . . . a guy (who is obese) works at a pizza place. He gets hit in the back by a freezer door and blows out his knee. He needs knee surgery for the pain to go away but most lose considerable weight for the knee surgery to work/help. He opts for lap band surgery.

The man files for workman's compensation for the knee surgery AND the banding. And the court agrees the pizza place (a small business with considerable impact from insurance claims in the sum of the $25,000ish it would cost for these two procedures. If you want all the details, read out this article. If you want my perspective -read on.

I've still got your attention? Good, my loyal, little follower (smile)!

Two thoughts on this. ONE - the idea that obesity surgery is and should be covered by all health insurance policies (which is actually a responsibility of each state to mandate coverage first, not an issue of the insurance companies (foresay)) is not really up for dispute in my opinion (to repeat myself one more time - they don't deny oncology treatment for chronic smokers (thank you very much, American Lung Association)) and I think that all employers, regardless of size should provide health insurance and certainly workman's comp coverage for all employees (that's the raging Communist (just ask my Kansan co-workers) in me, though). So the idea of forcing the business to pay for the KNEE surgery is not an issue for me. The forcing to pay for the lap band surgery IS a concern for me . . . but not maybe for the reason you might expect.

I'm NOT in favor of this pizza place having to pay for the lap band because of one very simple echo effect . . . that business owner will probably NEVER hire an obese person again. And his fellow small business owners who read about the financial impact on the guy and his business might not too and - here we are again - continuing sizism and perpetuating the idea that hiring the obese is a potential liability (we take more sick time, we have more serious injuries, our productivity lags, our moods swing more, we cost more in real resources, etc. - this is all just fact).

Anywho, I'm happy for the guy with the bum knee. I hope he gets feeling better and I hope the weight stays off and I hope he bucks the stats and trends on lap banders (no offense, believers) and I hope that small businesses do the right thing and continue to hire people regardless of their physical mass.

UPDATE - My Dad's Heart . . .

2009-09-16T21:09:00.001-05:00

Just wanted to share a quick update on my father and his clogged, little ticker.

Relatively good news . . . looks like a catheter and stint is all he'll need. He goes back on Tuesday for what should be a two-hour procedure.

Big, big, big sigh of relief. He still needs to make some serious changes in his lifestyle and he's not really out of the "woods" yet but it seems like he's going to get on top of it.

Much appreciation for those that sent notes of support, concern and best wishes. I'll keep you posted, as appropriate!

We All Love a Plus Sized Model . . .

2009-09-15T06:52:00.000-05:00

Thanks to this post, I had the biggest week in the history of this here blog last week. 211 people came to my blog on Monday, September 7th alone and a total of 431 people came in the last week.

I'm really honored and humbled by that!

And many of them STAYED too. Clicked around. Read through the archives. Became return readers.

THANKS, beautiful woman, for taking your clothes off and giving me something to type about that was worth reading about! Conversation starter INDEED!

Give Compliment, Get a Tip . . .

2009-09-14T19:31:00.003-05:00

When I was a younger man (and by that I mean as recently as a week ago) my mother would often say that I had two major flaws. I could neither give nor receive an apology and I could neither give nor receive a compliment.

She, as per always, right (that's not just pandering - I didn't realize or accept it for many years of my life but the woman is a genius with a moral compass more true than the North Star itself)!

The apology thing is coming along quite nicely (being a slouch of a husband will do that for you (smile)).

The compliments - work in progress!

If you search the archives of this hear blog you'll find a few places where I make mention of my commitment to getting better at giving and receiving compliments. Losing hundreds of pounds in a relatively short period of time leaves you almost forced to learn how to accept one and, frankly, receiving all those compliments makes you very likely to learn how to pay them back out as well (quid pro quo, better to give than to receive, etc.).

I have gotten quite used to the exchange of verbal kindness with those that I'm acquainted with. It's not that hard. STRANGERS though . . . that's still got me spinning. There are a few challenges to this. 1) Men hardly ever say kind things to each other for no apparent reason. 2) Any time I think about saying something kind to a woman I'm afraid she'll take it as flirty/inappropriate/awkward/terrifying and anytime a woman says something kind to me I just have to assume she wants to get in my pants (I only WISH I were joking)!

Then - along came Esquire. Specifically an article called "The Perfect Compliment" by one of my favorite writers in the world - Tom Chiarella. You can read the whole thing in the print issue (I'll put the link here when it is available) but here is the proverbial meat and potatoes of it all . . .

"I learned that a compliment is a partnership, because the pleasure of giving it lies in its effect upon the person receiving it."

The article has me feeling totally empowered so - this morning - at the QuikTrip (while pouring my morning iced tea) I caught the faint whiff of the man next to me at the sugar/creamer/straw/lids/stirrer "bar" and decided he smelt more delicious than the taquitos spinning feet from us. So what did I do?

I told him so. Didn't hesitate. I looked him in the eye and I said "That is a great scent you are giving off. It smells sorta' like an October evening in Upstate, New York - one of my favorite things in the world. Thanks for the happy memory on a Monday morning." (insert broad, genuine smile followed by moment of brief pause here).

"Thanks," he said. "It is Kiehl's Musk Blend. My wife bought it for me on a recent business trip to New York City. I wonder if she bought it because it reminded her of the same thing. She went to undergrad school at Cornell. Are you familiar with Ithaca?"

"Am I ever," I smiled. "Have a great day. Go Big Red!"

Falling for Fall . . .

2009-09-13T21:21:00.000-05:00

It is starting to feel a LOT like fall here in the Wichi-Wichi! There is (in my never humble opinion) better time than fall!

I am craving some distraction and happy news the last few days so I figured I'd just get my "dreamer hat" on and just let it roll. Turns out that, on top of a wonderful family, fulfilling job, great friends and one of Wichita's finest collections of rubber spatulas - I have lots to focus on.

Several things have me excited about this change of seasons. Here, in no particular, are the thing I am most excited about for the coming months . . .

1 - Hooded Sweatshirts - I bought my first hoodie the other day. It's grey heather (heather grey?) and it has a zipper that goes the whole way up. Drawstrings in the hood. I look like Rocky when I strap that thing on and hit the mean streets of College Hill. It'll be nice to have some cold and crisp air to justify a warm layer over my signature pocket t-shirt. Aaaaddddrrrriiiiaaaannnneee!

2 - Sweater Season - Speaking of cold, crisp air . . . bring on the sweaters. Lots of them. Crewnecks. V-necks. Cardigans. Vests. Shawl collars. Cotton. Cashmere. Blend. It doesn't matter. I'll wear them and love them and appreciate the warmth they give me!

3 - Where the Wild Things Are - I've read the book countless times, I've read it to Ava countless times, I give it as a standard "so, you're having a baby gift" to friends and family and now . . . finally . . . a movie . . . and a Spike Jonze movie no less! I'm THERE! Maybe a few times!

4 - Traveling - We're going to Dallas for the weekend. I'm going to Kansas City (see below). We're talking about going way, way East at Christmas time and I'm planning a surprise trip to visit someone I love and miss very much . . . all this fall. Shake the dust off the luggage, kids. It's time to travel.

5 - Ben Folds - October 25th. Here. In Wichita. Me. A few thousand other fans (new and old). I'm praying he plays Gracie, Landed and Jesusland but I'll settle for a chance to sway to the music of "The Luckiest" with my beautiful bride . . . just like we did the day she became my beautiful bride!

6 - Kansas City, TWICE - I get to leave the 316 and go just a few short hours up the road to a city that I really, really enjoy visiting. The best part of it . . . I'm going for work. BOTH times. Yep. "Proof" that the economy is turning back around - the return of business travel!

7 - Fall Television - I'm either going to log more hours on the treadmill than you can shake a stick at or just hours and hours and hours on the couch. Biggest Loser. Glee. Community. Fringe. And a handful of others. Get ready DVR . . . you and I are going to get some serious workouts this fall!

8 - Pumpkin Patch Season - If you need Joy, Ava and I on any given weekend between next week and Halloween we'll either be in class (Joy), at work (Joy) or at one of several Kansas pumpkin patches just blowing off steam and enjoying all that fall has to offer . . . with caramel corn and apple cider for the ladies in my life!

9 - Turkey Trot - Yep. This fat man runs (and risks nipple chaffing) with thousands of other Wichitans in just two and a half months. May God have mercy on all of our souls!

10 - Joe by Joseph Abboud at JCPenney - I haven't been THIS excited about new clothes at JCPenney since Ralph Lauren launched the "American Living" collection two years ago!

11 - The Monsters of Folk - I don't often get excited about new music (that is sarcasm, clearly) but when bits and pieces of some of my favorite groups in the world get together to form a "supergroup" I'll fall for it, get excited about it and pre-order it every. single. time!

12 - Up on DVD - The best movie of the summer. In the comfort of our home. And if Ava has anything to say about it - we'll watch it 15 - 20 times per week for a least the two months immediately following its release and - unlike a few of the DVDs in heavy post-bath, pre-story/bedtime rotation here in the house - I won't mind one stinking bit.

My Heart is with His Heart . . .

2009-09-13T11:06:00.000-05:00

I've talked a LOT about my parents on this blog. I've talked about their weight and their health. I've talked about how much I love them and how grateful I am for the life they gave me and the way they raised me and the way they love and support me at all times. And I've talked about how grateful I am that I've had gastric bypass surgery that I might not have the struggles in my 60s that my parents are having now (we share a gene pool but we don't have to share some of the painful little rocks on the bottom of that pool).

The point? My father called with some bad news yesterday evening. He had a stress test on Wednesday and the results were positive. VERY positive.

I'll show you how naive my parents are to nutrition, health and their own bodies here when I tell you that my father was ECSTATIC to get a positive result to his stress test until his doctor asked about scheduling a follow up with a cardiologist. I don't want to come across as mocking my father (I would NEVER do that (smile)) but I think it is a good example of how my parents are eternal glass-half-full people who have maybe not taken some of their health woes as seriously as we might like them to in the last decade or so. Who have maybe just assumed it was all going to be okay. Who've maybe thought none of their aches or pains or woes were real.

Regardless - it is all very, very real to my father right now. It is very real for all of us.

My beloved father, my mother at his side, will go and be more thoroughly examined by a specialist on Wednesday. Modern medicine will go to work with hopes of getting him back on the right path to the next 40 years of his life.

He knows he has two real options . . .

"Best" case scenario, he'll have a stint put in his heart through a minimally invasive procedure.

"Worst" case scenario, he'll spend the bulk of a morning (if not the entire day) laying on a surgery table while a team performs open heart surgery.

There is no other real scenario. Not just exercise. Not just cut back on the fatty foods. Not just take this pill. Nope. He's in a bit of a crisis and this must be remedied immediately and with force.

I don't mean to sound crass about it. I guess I'm in shock and I'm just trying to boil it down to the basics and remove the emotion and subtleties because if I do that I don't have to think about my father being in this equation and my father's health being in such jeopardy.

If I just keep it all at arm's length I don't have to think about how scared he is. How scared my mother is. How scared my brothers (and the women we love) are. I don't have to think about how sick his heart is. I don't have to think about how my heart is breaking just thinking about it.

I sit here in Kansas. Far, far away. Unable to help in any real way (not that I could help with this anyway (I got a First Aid merit badge but that is where my medical prowess ends (come see me with a first degree burn though . . . I've got you)))!

Happy thoughts for Wednesday. Happy thoughts for my father. Happy thoughts for the next 40 years of his life!

Look, Kids. Fat People . . .

2009-09-12T22:09:00.004-05:00

I love Facebook. I really do. You get to learn so much about your friends and co-workers (and family) and their friends and co-workers (and family). For instance . . . this little nugget posted as a comment/wall-to-wall on a co-worker's Facebook page (his status indicated he was headed to the Kansas State Fair today):

Will you be counting the morbidly obese and homemade tattoos? A favourite family activity of ours at the Fair.

Ha! Sooooo funny.

Perhaps I'm brushing over the tattoo part of your pithy remark but . . . You consider making fun of the obese a FAMILY activity? Really?

Despite the proper, snooty, pinky-out bologna of the u in favourite (yawn) I gather you might not be the most upstanding citizen on Facebook, my friend-of-a-friend.

Do you also mock the handicapped? Do you point out all the "people of color" (er, colour (sorry))? Are there bonus points for the first family member to spot a real-life midget?

Of course not. That would be absurd. You'd look like a terrible parent if you played those games. But the fat people? Point! Mock! Giggle! Stand behind 'em in the funnel cake line.

No offense, kind sir but if you and your family are bonding through sizism you might consider starting a board game night or reading a book about what you should NOT teach or encourage in your children.

Now, if you'll excuse me I'm going to go give Ava a pair of scissors and encourage her to run around the house with them.

9/11 Memories . . .

2009-09-11T21:11:00.000-05:00

This is not really the forum to get overly political and I am not one to try to make something that I merely witnessed (despite living in Washington, DC at the time) "about me" so I won't get in to too much of my feelings on 9/11 (they mainly involve absolute sadness and a weird tinge of warmth and joy from the way people responded in the wake of the horror) but I wanted to share a vignette of the day.

I was typing with my former roommate (who shared my apartment with me on 9/11) and he remembered something I had forgotten . . . how absolutely PISSED I was that I could not get any place to make and bring me FOOD on 9/11.

Weird, right?! The world around me was in chaos and crisis (the Capitol literally up the street, tanks on the corners during my walk home, etc.) and I was worried about feeding the beast inside me.

The truth is that I had NO food in the apartment (my friend Al brought me fresh dinner every evening so there was no reason to keep food on hand) and since every bit of comfort I had in that part of my life came from food it was natural, sorta', that I was freaking out about not being able to get massive quantities of food.

Bob wanted to get home to his family. My brothers, parents and friends were calling. Most of my DC friends were with friends and family and ALL I wanted to do was eat (and/or get drunk).

I don't know what I would do if terrorists attacked Wichita tomorrow (hey, it could happen) but I KNOW I would not seek comfort in a knock at the door and food from a paper bag to follow.

Again, this is all very petty stuff in the face of real loss and real tragedy so please don't confuse this post as being anything of substance or relevant to the reality of that terrible, terrible day. Thoughts and prayers for all those truly impacted by the day!

Me? Eating a Donut?

2009-09-11T07:53:00.000-05:00

Saw a former co-worker last night. He pulled up beside me on Central Avenue and started laughing.

When I got home I got a text from him that I was "busted" eating a donut. "Huh," I thought?!

He DID catch me eating some sesame seed crackers (we all have our little indulgences) but he thought it was DONUT. And he would not let it go.

Why would a person think I was eating a donut? Oh. Right. 30 years of obesity and a high weight of 530 pounds has a tendency to make people distrust your ability to NOT eat a donut.

Sad, really. For BOTH sides of the assumption.

PS - My apologies for two straight posts about (and featuring photos of) donuts (smile)!

Breakfast of Champions? . . .

2009-09-10T07:41:00.000-05:00

I've added a new step to the morning routine. I really don't know why. My mornings are already borderline-disasterous enough as it is.

I mean I put a sorta' sharp object covered with toothpaste in my mouth and jam it around while still three quarters asleep and then, a few days a week, I run four blades over my face and neck . . . and then I have to pick out clothes that MATCH (scared yet?) so why would I take on any MORE stress and time commitment?

Simple answer. Hydration. I stop by my friendly neighborhood QuikTrip (actually it is the friendly neighborhood QuikTrip for my office (three whole miles from my house (don't be jealous people with real commutes (smile))) and I get a 44 ounce iced tea with five packets of Splenda and two packets of "real lemon juice" (I use the quotes because they put them on the packets) before pulling in to the parking lot at work at as close to 7:00 as I can manage (which is 7:45 some mornings (oy)).

I have laser-like-focus for my iced tea (my brain is still not engaged enough to really pay attention to anything else) but if there are people standing between me and the ice machine, I'll give them the quick, down-nose-glance "once over" (they are in my way . . . how dare they?!).

This morning I saw a gentleman that really got my attention.

He was pouring 64 ounces of Pepsi (not Diet Pepsi - PEPSI) in his cooler-with-a-built-in-straw. He was having hard time with the fountain because he was juggling two donut-thingys (they are these donuts that are made of a bunch of donut holes (9 0r 10, I think) that are held together with glaze and icing) and a chili dog taquito (that's right - they take a hot dog, dip it in chili, pour some cheese sauce on it and then wrap it in a tortilla (we're ALL counting our carbs, apparently). My post-GB (and post "that looks like a damned good breakfast") mind immediately tried to crunch the caloric count of this "first meal of the day."

There is no nutritional information on the QT web site but I found out that there are 800 calories in 64 ounces of Pepsi. There are 200 calories in the average hot dog. There are 30 calories in a tablespoon of low-grade chili and 25 in a tablespoon of cheese sauce. There are 100 calories in the average tortilla. There are 52 calories in a glazed donut so there are at least 936 calories in two donut hole bunch thingies. That is 2,091 calories (I won't even horrify you with the sugar and fat counts that go on top of that). In other words - this guy was going to get nearly TWO DAYS worth of my calories in his BREAKFAST!

The weirdest part . . . the guy looked like he weighed about 150 pounds (we fat people really, really loathe you skinny people who just eat whatever you want . . . Chris Delenick!).

Good morning! Good morning INDEED!

Wifey and Me . . .

2009-09-09T13:47:00.004-05:00

I just realized it has been a long time since I posted a photo of Wifey and I. Here's one of my favorites from the weekend. She'll probably hate that I posted this here (she is always very critical of/on herself) but I just can't help it.

She gets more and more beautiful all the time, doesn't she?! Thanks for marrying me and suffering me and sharing your life with me, Joy. It is easy for me to remember how much you mean to me when we are at a wedding ceremony or you are trying to force me to dance with you at the reception. I apologize for not always keeping those thoughts and feelings top of mind on Tuesday mornings or Thursday evenings as well.

And this post is NOT just me trying to get some "snuggle time" tonight . . . but if that's what comes out of it (smile)!

Virtual Friends . . .

2009-09-06T19:51:00.003-05:00

A lot of people "poo poo" this whole "social media thing." Blogs? Facebook? LinkedIn? Postcards from Venice? Okay, not that last one . . . people don't ever poo poo things from Venice but I want to share the POWER of blogging.

Ava has never met Clara Thomas but she "knows" her well. She has her favorite photos, favorite expressions, favorite moments and favorite Clara hats. HOW? Well Clara (through her parents) blogs.

We told Clara about Ava's obsession with Clara and her blog and Clara was gracious enough to send a very special "shot out" to her biggest fan. We showed Ava the clip after bath time (which was a mistake since she got super excited and amped up from watching). Watch this classic reaction . . .

Thanks for doing us the solid, Clara. And thank you, Blogosphere, for giving Ava her first flavor of celebrity endorsement.

Who Says You Can't Go Home? . . .

2009-09-06T13:44:00.003-05:00

We had a short-but-wonderful time in Baltimore/DC and enjoyed seeing the folks we saw and doing the things we did.

There was this nagging little sensation that something was missing though. Something just wasn't right. Something was "off" (and I don't just mean Joy's ability to ride in a car in DC traffic without screaming, swearing and hyper-ventilating).

We didn't have enough time while we were there to really figure out exactly why it felt odd but it certainly did. Anywho, we got back to the good-ol' ICT at about 10:30 AM CT on Sunday and we hugged and kissed Ava (who was NOT at all impressed that we had gone away and left her with her Grandparents for the weekend (the sneers continue as I type this) and realized what we already knew.

DC and Baltimore are no longer "home." They haven't been in years. Sure that is where Joy and I met and that is where our love grew and where we first found out we would be parents and where some of our greatest victories and setbacks have come and some of our very best friends still live there but - at the end of the day - we are Kansans now. Our life is here.

You can, to Bon Jovi's point, go home but you have to realize that it is more than just where your hat is hanging. It is where your energies and ambitions and hopes and dreams hang. Oh - and - GOD willing "home" is not New Jersey (no offense, Garden Staters - I'm sure it is a really, really lovely place (smile)).

The People "In" Your Life . . .

2009-09-05T23:32:00.002-05:00

We went to a wedding this evening for one of Joy's very closest friends from her Baltimore days. We sat at a table with three of Joy's former co-workers and their husbands (two of them) and boyfriend (the third one) and a couple we had never met before.

I have always loved the social dynamics of a wedding reception. The idea of the bride and groom (or their planner or that overbearing mother-in-law or whomever) pouring over the details of the entire RSVP list and whom to sit with whom and how to mix the circles of your life with minimal friction. I've been to at least 30 weddings in my life and I've never NOT had a good time at the table I was seated at but I know plenty of horror stories and nightmares that friends and family have endured.

I am setting the table here (pun sorta' intended) for a larger point (realization, rather) that popped in to my head somewhere between the salad service and entrees.

Here Joy and I were - at one of the most beautiful wedding locations I have had the pleasure of witnessing nuptials at with some folks that my wife loves very much and the men they love very much and we spent the previous evening with friends that I love very much and the people they love very much and we had lunch with my brother (whom we love very much) and his girlfriend (whom we are loving more and more as we get to know her better) and we were back in a world where so many people that we love live and yet . . . we rarely talk with any of these people (save for my brother Ryan) and we e-mail rarely and mainly rely on Facebook and other "lazy man's" communications methods to stay up to date with them (and them with us) and yet we have no doubt that we really do love all of them and we "know" all of them and they know and love us.

The question then, I guess, is what does it take to really have someone "in" your life? How do you quantify or qualify friendship or other relationships (I'm not just rambling about friends here but what about family, etc.)?

Is it time spent in the same room? Is it phone calls or e-mails? Is it how often you think of them as you pull petals off a wild flower or throw pennies in a fountain? Is it how much you wish you could be with them? Is it how passionately you want great things for them? Is part of it how much time you had spent together or how close you were before you got separated by whatever forces that interrupted your time? Is it how often you got drunk or broke bread together? Is it how much you know about their families or lives? Is there ANY formula or rhyme or reason?

I'll get to my point now (big sigh of relief, dear readers) . . . I mentioned that we saw some great friends over the weekend but only one person (save for the bride and groom exchanging vows) that we spent time with made Joy and I cry. And that was the strangers at our table.

(DISCLAIMER - I'm a HUGE fan of the human experience. I'm a firm believer that people who keep secrets or harbor themselves are not really living to life to its fullest (I used to be that way - WAY over-rated). I'll also acknowledge that I'm very much in the minority on my belief that you can not "over-share" if your sharing is genuine and sincere so the following might shock some of you.)

Joy and I were seated next to the "newbies" at the table so we took it upon ourselves to exchange pleasantries. "I'm Sean, this is my wife Joy." "We live in Wichita, Kansas but used to live and got to know Rob and Elise while living here in Baltimore." "I do enjoy the Smothers Brothers but more for Dick than for Tom." "I work in advertising and Joy is an event planner." You know - the usuals. Then came that exchange that can either immediately bond or break any casual chat with strangers at a wedding reception (no, not "Do you know how to do the Electric Slide?" . . . "We have one daughter. Ava. She's three. Do you have children?"

Awkward silence. Welling of a tear. Quiet response "Yes. We have a daughter, also Ava, and we lost her twin brother. He was stillborn."

Plenty of people would have faked a cell phone call, reached for the bread and butter or just turned back to the party on the other side of the table at this point. Not Joy and I though. Nope. Joy leaned in and we were off to the races of story telling, understanding, empathizing and crying. Such a striking story. 10 years of IVF. 10 years of praying and worrying and trying. 10 years of frustration. 9 months of joy and happiness that you are having twins and your prayers have been answered. 1 defining moment when your family gets reduced by 25% before you ever get to hug or hold him. What should be four is now three. WAY better than two but . . .

Joy and I know about losing pregnancies and fertility woes. We know nothing (first hand) about still born babies but we know about frustration and sadness and anger that comes out of the challenges to create life. We bonded instantly with our neighboring couple and felt such a connection to them (I leave their names out of this post because this is their story - not my place to share (in case anyone thinks I didn't catch their names here)).

Then, one of those moments I will never forget happened. The proud mother slid a "brag book" across the table. "These are some pictures of our Ava," she beamed. "And then, in the back, is a picture of our son," she whispered. "You don't have to look at it. We (gestures to husband) still haven't and don't know when I will," she gently wept.

Joy and I looked at each other and started thumbing through the pictures of Ava. We made eye contact at the last picture of Ava almost asking "Do we look?" I mean I didn't know if we were talking about an ultra-sound here or . . . Luckily Joy was in control of the flipping and she was insistent that we honor these parents and look at their children.

She flipped that last page and there he was. In a cap. Wrapped in a blanket. Eyes closed. Lips pursed. Looking exactly like (no more or less angelic) any other new born baby. I cried (I'm crying typing this) at the idea of carrying around a picture of a deceased child, having never seen him or held him or them never knowing you or your post-womb comforts. It all seemed impossibly unfair and beautiful. I ached for our Ava. I wanted to hold her and kiss her and tell her I love her. I ached for their Ava who might never really (pray God) truly understand why her Mom and Dad are sorta' sad every year on her birthday.

My emotions forced me to hug and kiss (on the cheek) a total stranger and to hold the hand of a man I had just met moments earlier. I looked at them and sobbed "He's absolutely beautiful and looks so peaceful and happy, thank you for sharing this with us." They nodded back an implied "Thanks." I realized that I had not said something too stupid or overbearing and I had not over empathized or made myself out to be too much of an ass (trust me, dear readers, this could have gone HORRIBLY wrong for Old Sean and his love of champagne at wedding receptions).

I share this story to round back to my original question. What defines a relationship? Who are we "allowed" to love? How do they know we love them and are we just assuming they love us back?

We shared this evening and the larger weekend with friends from a previous life who we still consider friends and who we still have affection for. We had a daughter 1,300 miles away. We have parents and siblings tossed around Kansas and the Northeast United States. We have friends every where we've ever been and yet I've never seen anyone have a clearer connection to another human being than these parents had for their son.

They had never held him (save for the mother holding him in her womb) or kissed him. He'd never heard their voice. They had never soothed him back to sleep. He'd never won the science fair and made them proud. Yet here they were, forever tied. Forever a family. Forever impacting each other. Forever, through sharing their story and seeing that picture, impacting Joy and I.

We had a great weekend. We saw some good friends and promised to see them again soon and to do a better job of staying in touch. We met the daughter of good friends. We saw a couple in their early stages of love. We saw a couple start their official shared life together. We saw places and faces that meant so much to us. None of that, for me, had the impact or importance of this couple and their son.

Their sharing made it okay for me to go on saying that I love the people that I don't spend enough time with or speak with often enough. It is not, I realized, about time spent or e-mails exchanged or text messages sent. It is not about empty promises to see each other "soon."

NONE of that is what real relationships are about. They don't define you in a relationship. Nope. If you love someone and you carry them in your heart and if you have ever suffered for and with them or if they have ever suffered with or for you that is all it takes.

In my opinion (and that is truly all that matters, right?) you can be friends or family (or both, ideally) or share any other level of a relationship for life just for sharing love, affection and struggle.

Dinner with Friends . . .

2009-09-04T23:37:00.001-05:00

Well, after a very long day of traveling (we were at the airport at about 6:30 AM CT, got to the hotel at about 2:15 PM ET and then had a late lunch and headed to DC at around 4:15 PM (apologies to the folks we were hoping to try and catch up with on Friday afternoon accordingly)) we finally stepped on the fertile, fertile soil of Northern Virginia in time for dinner with some old friends.

The first plan we made . . . after confirming we were going to DC/Baltimore for the weekend to begin with, that is . . . was to have dinner with my beloved Michael and Megan Thomas and my equally beloved Valerie Williams.

We had a delicious dinner at (now that Red Sage has closed) my officially-favorite DC restaurant. I not only had hummus for the fifth day in a row, (thank you very, very much) but I enjoyed a chicken shawarma that was every DROP as good as I remembered with a handful of people that were even better than the drops that I had remembered.

Seeing these friends was totally worth the potential stress of reemerging ourselves in DC/Baltimore traffic (at 4:00 on the Friday afternoon of Labor Day weekend, no less) and driving through DC and in to Arlington in a rental car with all the oomph and power of the Pink Cadillac Escalade Power Wheels Grandma and Grandpa Terry gave Ava a few Easters ago.

It is always weird (for me) to see people that I have not seen in a long time (almost three years in this case) to realize that they are taller, skinnier, funnier, more attractive and/or more loving (in this case, all of the above) than you remembered or than you compressed them to be on the iPod like storage space that is your brain (do I KEEP the Indigo Girls greatest hits or get rid of them to make room for that catchy Kings of Leon song the kids are listening to? - REAL debate/struggle for me, by the way).

I had, of course, that awkward moment where I realized (as we approached Megan and Clara and then later Michael and Val) that I was a few hundred pounds lighter than I was the last time I saw them (suddenly I felt myself sucking in my remaining gut of hanging/excess skin) and tried to smile a little wider and hoped that my sunless tanner had me looking super bronzed and that my new outfit had me looking skinny). The compliments came so I have to assume the "new" first impression was a success. Big sigh of relief.

THEN I had that even-more-awkward moment where I realized that these people loved me and supported me and befriended me through my most arrogant, rude, drunken and self-loathing years. They not only suffered me but they loved and supported me through all of it.

I didn't really reach out to many other DC friends. A few folks on Facebook and a few people through e-mail. I was not sure if I really wanted to see too many people. It makes me very uncomfortable to have to really face some of those people at this point. I felt bad about missing some of the folks that wanted to see me (it felt good to be in demand) but between the scheduling of my trip and my general neurotic demeanor at this point, it was just not all that attractive to me to make myself too crazy to see too many people (I DID want to see my old roommate, Ben and my friend Carrie but just didn't figure out the time/logistics to make that happen!) and to worry about what they might think of the person they knew and what happened to him or how my demeanor has changed or if my tan was deep enough to make me look presentable/arguably-attractive.

ANYWHO - Thank you so much, Thomases and Valerie, for making time on a Friday evening to break bread with Wifey and I and, more importantly, thank you for being good friends to me for 11 years now and for allowing us to come in and out of your life with minimal friction and maximum enjoyment.

I hope we can see you again . . . SOON!

It's Coming . . .

2009-09-02T07:42:00.000-05:00

Who's excited?! My favorite show AND my favorite contestant are BACK! Watch this and get EXCITED!!!

It is hard to believe that it has been TWO YEARS (to the day) since we took ownership of our house in Connecticut and I spent my Tuesday evenings watching The Biggest Loser with my dear friend Casey (snacks in hand), splayed out on her couch.

Where does the time go when it's not around here?!

Breaking News - Our Kids Are Fat . . .

2009-09-01T21:16:00.004-05:00

I hope you are sitting down. I have a stunner to share. Yep! This just in . . . our kids are getting fatter (as are our adults).

Watch the video. Learn very little. Go back about your day.

Enough with the finger pointing, skinny people and so-called "experts."

The idea of taxation of junk food, certainly the suggestion that "social networking" and peer monitoring and SUPPORT (not just mocking and abuse) among kinds might be beginning and the notion that we might/should/would/could all take responsibility for our own families thrills me but . . . if you do not have a solution besides banishing sugar, outlawing sugary drinks, meaningless posting of nutritional information in restaurants (REALLY? McDonald's is not my best option? REALLY?!) and blaming child over-scheduling and other lameness that will never be truly impactful . . . enough just talking and talking and talking about it . . .

Let's be honest - all the sitting around and talking instead of ACTION is what got us in to this obesity epidemic to begin with!

Somedays . . .

2009-08-31T20:17:00.003-05:00

There are certain days that will make you feel like you are still that 500 pound man with all of his rage and insecurities. Your love and respect for your wife and daughter will not stop you from behaving like a jack ass. Your constant striving to be (and be seen as) a better professional will take a set-back. You won't be a good friend. Your mentalities on who you are will be questioned by not only those around you but by good-ol' you too. You can't possibly stop these days from coming.

You can follow your diet and exercise routine. You can work diligently on a healthy work-life balance. You can avoid stress and known stressors. You can try to shrink your ego while over-feeding your humility.

You can read books . . . actual BOOKS . . . on how to manage your stress when it starts and breathing patterns that should calm you (saying the alphabet backwards with two deep "ins" and two deep "outs" between each letter is absolute crap, by the way).

You can try to focus on happy thoughts (ah, Boden for Men) and you can pray for these days to be far and in-between and you can barter for them to end quickly (I offered my soul to the Devil himself at about 5:00 today - apparently I should have offered something of more value (like a Fashion Snuggie) to sweeten the proverbial pot) and you can run home and kiss that wife and daughter you love and respect so much.

But those days will still come. This is a promise my 33 years of life have always kept.

I Had a Dream . . .

2009-08-28T04:47:00.001-05:00

Gooooooddddd morning, Blogosphere! I'm up (and functioning) at 4:47 AM CT. Not just up but I've already kissed my ladies goodbye (their slumbering foreheads at least) and I'm dressed and sipping some milk and preparing for a pre-work, pre-dawn walk.

Had (among) the weirdest dream(s) ever last night.

Wifey and I are heading back to DC next weekend for a former co-worker of Joy's nuptials and, needless to clarify, I'm SUPER excited and SUPER nervous about it. It will be WONDERFUL to get back "home" and to see friends but - a few hundred pounds lighter - I just worry a lot about how I really look and what people expect from the skinnier Sean (I'm hoping it is to share a seat on the Metro - something I couldn't really do for most of my years in DC).

So - this energy is of course trying to work itself out in the only place that I really wrestle with myself these days . . . in sleep! I'm prattling . . . here's the dream.

We decide to do a big happy hour (ironic since we've already ruled out even trying to do a big, group "thing") and when we get there and walk in . . . I'm Don Draper (and if you don't know who Don Draper is SHAME ON YOU!) and not just in fashion (how much do I wish I lived in the 60s with those killer styles) but in looks (to be as handsome as Jon Hamm - a true dream) and in attitude and in persona. But it is not received as awkward by the people who "knew me best" in my DCs days. It is not seen as funny or strange or endearing or wonderful. It just sort of IS. No one even seems to really put it together that when a guy loses 250+ pounds he doesn't morph in to a 60s creative director who intentionally lives a lie and seems to have no moral compass besides when pointing it at other people's shortcomings.

Totally random dream and here I sit, at 4:59, realizing that one week (from this moment) Joy and I will be leaving for the airport for our trip and I will have to figure out which version of Sean will land at BWI airport and come to peace with the fact that he "is who he is" and his friends, the few we will probably see in the grand scheme of thins, might think he looks and acts different but they won't confuse (or accept) him for Don Draper.

For better or for worse. I also had a dream about Christina Hendricks but that is a different story for a different blog. KIDDING! You know I only have eyes for you in the real world, Wifey!

Acceptance . . .

2009-08-27T21:37:00.001-05:00

Something is weighing on me (pun sort of intended) and I wanted to try to work it out in 500 words or less (wish us all luck on that one).

My friend NYtoVA (and I really do appreciate her for this) called me out on my blog post about the "plus size model" and my loose use of the word "acceptance" in terms of us accepting that we are getting heavier as a nation.

I meant it in the sense of us ACKNOWLEDGING that we are getting heavier - not just throwing up our hands and heading back to the buffet for some more sweet and sour donut holes.

Let me further clarify my position on our obesity. I think we do have to ACCEPT that we are getting heavier and THEN work on fixing it - as individuals.

Global warming, increase in cancer rates, declining numbers of American Catholics, a rise in the market inventory of "premium denim," that Chris Brown has an anger problem. They say step one to solving a problem is to acknowledge it is there. Go to an AA meeting and the group will chant, by meeting's end, that the Lord is hereby requested to grant the group to change the things they can and to accept the things they can't.

So, here is my not-so-anonymous vow . . . My name is Sean. I'm still morbidly obese and I have a food addiction. I can't help the Catholic church or thin the piles of jeans in Dillard's. I can't help Chris Brown or stop the spread of cancer. I can't ever help that I'll be a food addict and, frankly, I can't help our national obesity epidemic.

I CAN change and work on my own obesity. I can work at it with ever bite of food and every step of a walk or run I take (or the time I sit at this keyboard when I SHOULD be walking or running). Let's "accept" that we are fat. Then let's each get on the scale and see what WE can do about it in our own lives. The rest will take care of itself . . . or it won't. Sorry, global warming!

Sizism in the Workplace . . .

2009-08-27T15:52:00.004-05:00

Red - "I give people a nickname based on the first thing I see about them."

Sean - "What was her nickname?"

Red - "Fatty McFatfat!"

Sean - (speechless)

Ah. You can take the weight out of the body but the sensitivity remains. How many people used to call ME Fatty McFatfat? Be honest - dozens? Hundreds? ALL of them?

For shame, Red (whom, in the interest of full disclosure) I do call red because of her red hair (yep, I'm a hypocrite like that))!

Why I Run . . .

2009-08-26T21:54:00.001-05:00

I exchanged e-mails with my dear friend Tom Kelly a week or so ago.

Tom's note made a single point . . . that he is proud of me for my post surgery success and for my undertakings - like running.

I take Tom's praise for what it is (he's a very genuine person when he's off stage and not "on") but I had to type Tom back and acknowledge that my motivations for running might not be as admirable as the credit his note gave me.

While I am also very proud of myself and while I feel good about the praise I receive, I run for a very simple reason . . . aspiration.

Let me clarify - when teens rebel, they might wear all black or listen to 80s punk (regardless of what decade they start the crazy hormone game in). When a woman wants babies she might start knitting and "nesting." When a kid wants to be accepted he might kick or swear like the other kids do. Aspiration.

In my own experience/background . . . when young adults arrive at a snooty, liberal, private college in New England where everyone seems "rich" and they are not, they might want to start wearing tweed jackets, penny loafers and oxford shirts. When he gets a job working for IBM he might want to buy a house in Connecticut and drive a Volvo. Aspiration.

When a guy has gastric bypass surgery he might, eventually, start running. Not because it is a true calling from God. Not just because he's grown tired of exercise DVDs in the basement and not only because he wants to get those toned calves and ankles he had as a high schooler back. Nope. This fat man runs because that is what "fit" people do. Aspiration.

Let's level set, I know that running does not ensure a long life. You read all the time about people who are very fit and who run living short lives almost in spite of their commitment to their health (one of my best friends from college's wife's father died through this cruel twist of fate when she was way too young to lose a parent, for instance).

More importantly (and less morbidly), I'm not sure that I will ever get down to 140 tight and toned pounds with a vocabulary that includes PR (it stands for "personal record" for those that don't thumb through Runner's World magazine) and my "stride style" and I don't anticipate I'll ever be seen in public in those shorty-shorts with the fly away legs and a sleeveless tee with Band Aids over my nipples but I DO anticipate . . . no I EXPECT that if I can run and dedicate myself to a lifestyle that includes running and feeling well enough to run that I will live a better life . . . no matter how long God gives me.

I mean look - I gave up on a lot of stuff in life (the Volvo and the house in Connecticut at least (the tweed blazers, penny loafers and oxfords persist, for better or for worse (smile)) but I will never stop aspiring to have a full, blessed, balanced and wonderful life. I'll run towards that goal every chance I get.

Plus Sized Model? Maybe. Naked? Yep. . . .

2009-08-25T12:31:00.002-05:00

I totally get that for Glamour magazine this might be something significant. Long a bastion of "normalcy" for idiot-stick-figures (I mean that in the most affectionate way possible) and fashionistas (and those hoping to just take a really good sex quiz), I understand that it is controversial to allow a woman with a belly to show it off to the readers, advertisers and the masses but . . . hold on, I'm getting my soap box out and dusting it of . . .

This woman is NOT a plus sized model. She is NOT fat. She is not even pleasantly plump, rotund, "more to love" or an example of what the typical American woman looks like these days.

I get that to a girl (or impressionable woman) who might be choking on a celery stick or her finger right now in the pursuit of a size 0 body that she might be a more comfortable standard to set in terms of how a body might look and still be considered beautiful but - for those of us that have seen the heavy side of the scale . . . uh, how do I even say this . . . I would give my eye teeth if I looked that good naked when I was SIX (to dream that my boobs could hide neatly behind my upper arm (smile)).

I appreciate the publicity stunt and the buzz and I DO appreciate that we are moving more in the direction of accepting that we are getting heavier and that there is unquestionable beauty in the world of people with some extra weight on their bodies (don't even get me started on that front) but let's NOT mistake this 180-pound, 20 year-old woman for some example of a bold "fat" woman that dares to push through years of pain and strip down and start a conversation about obesity and beauty or anything else on that path. Lizzie Miller is brave, make no mistake, but she's not exactly what I would consider to be a big beautiful woman (or BBW as said woman is categorized in the Craig's List personal ads (smile)).

I double checked and I don't see a drop of cellulite on her (perhaps it is retouched). I only count one chin. I don't mistake her arms for bat wings. I don't see stretch marks around the belly. I don't confuse her wrists for toddler waists. I don't get the impression that she is hiding cankles just out of frame here. And yet if she HAD all those things she would still likely be very beautiful.

In Lizzie's defense she doesn't seem to think she is some champion of the obesity cause (she seemed, frankly, to have the right perspective on all of it on the Today show)) and Glamour magazine seems to have the right perspective on it too (they acknowledge the fact that she is only "plus sized" in the context of modeling standards and that they are amazed at some of the conversation as well).

Perhaps the whole point of the picture and the chatter is to sort of continue the conversation around obesity and self image and beauty and maybe it is just a few in the fringe that want to paint this woman as "plus sized" or "big" or whatever but I just want to make sure that we don't give too much credit and too much attention to this picture of "big" . . . it might do more harm to the truly obese that struggle with their self image in the defense of the women out there that might have a cute little belly to showcase (when doing photo shoots for fashion magazines (smile)).

Stay proud, stay beautiful ladies (no matter what size you are)!

I Can Change, I Can Change . . .

2009-08-23T18:20:00.005-05:00

I often go out of my way to convince myself that I am who I am and that I will never change. This was, of course, very clear 2 1/2 years ago before my gastric bypass surgery. It was clear when I was living a "Joy"-less life. It was something I was sure of when I weighed 500 pounds and it was a statement I frequently make (or have myself reminded of) when the time is right.

Then things like Saturday happen. Three things about yesterday that remind me that you can, in fact, teach an old dog new tricks.

1 - I finally (six months after losing a contact lens) went and had an eye exam and got myself refitted for contact lenses. Getting my eyes checked are not the "change" I speak of - rather - after 20 years of being a contact lens wearer I am now a SOFT contact lens wearer. That's right. Forget the DOZENS of times that I've had eye care professionals, friends and perfect strangers tell me that I should consider the change. Joy and I have also had about 100 different conversations about the lenses I chose to stuff in my eyes (she is a long-time "soft" person) and a few of those chats have even escalated to full-blown arguments (I am who I am (see above)) but - for all the time, energy and conversation around the topic what finally convinced me was . . . wait for it, wait for it . . . the simple assumption on the spot that I should just try something new.

2 - I got my hair cut and, as almost every cutter in the last few years has before her, my buzzerer pointed out that I was going bald. This is a fact. Every man in the history of my family (on both sides) has gone bald. Oh well. There is "peace" that comes in finding out when you are a very young boy that some things are in your future (it is sort of like the Dalai Lama giving you eternal peace on your deathbed when you caddy for him on the links) and just being able to plan for them but as Joy and I sat at a "romantic" lunch (Ava was not there so romance was all around (smile)) at P.F. Chang's and as I ate my Seared Ahi Tuna I decided (with some prodding from Joy) that I am going to try to fight going bald (she wasn't wrong about the contacts so . . . ). I'm not going to get plugs or join the Hair Club for Men but I might just try Nioxin again or at least try some miracle, fad cure. I won't avoid baldness but I might squeeze another year or so of hair out of my head, maybe, and that is a few less years for me to obsess about skin cancer on my scalp (the next great paranoia for me).

3 - I watched a Beyonce Knowles movie without a fight. I may still be unwilling to listen to her music. I may find her mother's fashions to be way too much to tolerate and I may find the very sound of her voice to be wayyyyy too much but if Joy is bored and we're surfing through the pay-per-view options and she says she wants to watch "Obsessed" - I reserve the right to not lose my mind and become verbally caustic for no apparent reason. I reserve the right to order the movie, sit through it, enjoy it (for what it is worth) and then tell her, without a hint of sarcasm that she made a great choice.

Anywho - my world may never know the end of the changes I am capable of . . . as completely absurd as those changes might. Then again some of the other changes in my life that I've been prattling on about and that people in my life literally BEG for may never actually come. I'm tricky like that, sadly!

The Worst Sandwich Since Sliced Bread . . .

2009-08-21T07:57:00.002-05:00

I still firmly believe that only you are responsible for you. That goes for obesity, stupid things you say, fashion statements you choose to make (scrunchie lovers) and/or the tattoo you got on spring break in Cancun (A butterfly? On the small of your back? Really, Bob?) but this latest (alleged) creation from KFC might just be one of the many reasons that people point the "obesity" finger at the food industry.

The KFC Double Down (for those unwilling to watch the crappy quality video link above and who can't tell by the picture) is two breaded, fried chicken filets enveloping two slices of cheese and two strips of bacon. Let's assume it is 700 or 800 calories and 50 to 60 grams of fat . . . at least. The sodium is probably off the proverbial charts. Ironically it is well within Atkins guidelines (sorta). Ugh.

Unacceptable . . . and yet, 250 pounds ago, I would have been alllllll over this concoction. What was wrong with me? Seriously! At least I never spring breaked in Cancun (Bob!!!!!)!

UPDATE - Here is another gag-inducer that a co-worker just shared with me.

UPDATE 2 - Don't like the name of the blog but how frightening are the photos on this blog (and yet, in my "smoking" days I would have whipped all this up in a heartbeat).

56 Days of Losing Weight . . .

2009-08-19T11:04:00.003-05:00

Seriously - this plan is so brilliantly simple and wonderful it MUST work. We often over complicate what is required of us in terms of losing weight and getting fit when, in reality, we can just dumb it down and recognize that even a journey of 1,000 miles begins with a single step!

Consider next Tuesday to be Day 1 (I'm still on the milk diet, folks (smile)). I'll be modifying some of the dietary advice to be in line with the nutritional guidelines of a post GB life but . . . otherwise . . . it's on!

Post 530 . . .

2009-08-19T07:48:00.000-05:00

This is post number 530 on this here blog. That is about 500 more posts than I thought I would ever bother to type. I did some quick math - in those 530 posts I made 3,540,678 typos, 586 grammatical errors, contradicted myself 19 times and made myself cry (yep, reading back my own posts actually made me cry) 4 times.

I had actually committed to shutting down the blog when I hit post 530. It is the weight I reference as being my heaviest (I round down because . . . I don't know why)) and I'm working on a book (yep, I'm egotistical enough to actually believe I have a BOOK in me) that keeps me way more energized from a writing perspective. Content has become an issue - I've stopped talking as much about my beautiful wife and daughter and my surgery-influenced life ended long ago. I'm just another moderately overweight guy shuffling through life, frankly. I didn't know what more I had to share.

But my running and commitment to getting rid of the rest of this weight and working on the book has me tapping it to weird memories and people that have influenced my life. Combined, I am feeling like I have stuff to share again. It is also a proven fact that this blog actually helps keep me, my diet and my emotions honest. And we alllll need more truth.

The interesting part of hitting 530 is that people, hundreds per week, still come to read my ramblings. I figured you would have all given up 500 posts ago too. THANK YOU for suffering me and for your strange curiosity with me and my simple little life.

I'll keep typing as long as you people keep visiting/reading, I suppose.

Changing the Headlight Bulbs . . .

2009-08-18T22:26:00.006-05:00

There are those (men and women) who believe that the "mark" of a man is his ability to use his hands to build, demolish or refine things.

I'm not talking about some old, antiquated or cliche mentality . . . I'm talking about real people - in the year 2009 (LATE 2009 at that). I had a friend in my DC days that would not date a man with "prettier" hands than hers. I also have a DC friend that evaluates the cuticle beds of men as an indication of how good of care they take of themselves so clearly it goes both ways.

I'm not, for the record (and this will stun no one) a "manly man." To the contrary - I am wayyyy more comfortable looking at paint chips with wifey than looking at power tools with "the guys." (Disclaimer - I don't actually believe men ever make special trips to look at power tools together . . . that would just be odd.) I can honestly tell you I've probably never done a true, honest day of "work" in my entire life. I'm no proud of that fact but I'm not embarrassed either. It is, like so many things in my life, what it is.

I blame my parents (FINALLY something I can pin fully on them and walk away (smile)) for my disinterest in being more "manly." My father always jokes that "My name is Joseph but I'm no carpenter." (You see Joseph was the earthly father/guardian of Jesus and he was a carpenter by trade.) He didn't exactly set the standard for sweating for progress. I'm not kidding - my parents once hired someone to come and change the flood light bulbs on our garage . . . and we owned a ladder and had the bulbs. I guess maybe my father was not taught to be overly handy/crafty by his father (who likely resented having to earn his living as a laborer) so he didn't have the skills to pass on to us. It is odd though - Patrick is very, very handy (he's rebuilding a Jeep as we type and he's doing lots of work around the house and works in a very mechanical field) but I have NO skills in that regard.

I've tried. GOD KNOWS I've tried. I remember almost cutting my own leg off with a power saw when I first started dating Joy (it was clear that she was a strong and capable woman who was raised to be comfortable doing projects and getting dirty and I, the new boyfriend who was madly in love with a woman WAY out of his reach was not about to confess that I had never chopped down a tree before when she asked me to help her around the house). There was the other time that I cut my own hair with power clippers while trimming the shrubs. Who can forget the time Jess and I tried to paint my bathroom and just basically destroyed the walls in the process? Have I never shared my stories of hanging pictures - finally, after six or seven failed attempts and gaping holes in the wall? Have you heard the story about my crushed finger tips from trying to open a storm window?

I'm getting better tough - I am. THANKS to my father-in-law (and I really do NOT blame my father for my shortcomings, by the way . . . everything is my MOTHER'S fault (smile)) I am learning. I've had lots of great projects and successes under his tutelage. We've swapped out sinks and hung dry wall. We've replaced car batteries and wired electrical outlets. He makes me feel very capable and confident (and he lets me use the power tools when Joy is out of sight/earshot too).

If he's not around though - forget it - he's my Manly Work Safety Blanket, I suppose.

Enter the reason for this post . . . my headlight blew out on Sunday. This has happened before - it was actually the fourth time I've had to swap out a headlamp on my car (and the second time since my surgery) and I've replaced Joy's headlamps too, once each. Despite having figured out how to do it - and proving myself to be capable - I just don't really want to do it. I don't enjoy it. I don't feel "good" at it (it takes me like 10 minutes to do what should take 30 seconds).

I put off my dead headlight for 24 hours (I prayed for it to work before I went to bed Sunday night - thanks for nothing on that one, God) and figured I would just go take care of it. So - off to National Auto Supply Store #1 I went.

Yeah. Actual FEAR comes over me. You pull in and guys are swapping out their oil in the parking spot to the left and the guy on my right is doing something spark plug oriented . . . in the parking lot. I walk in and the employees have oil all over them (seriously) and the line of guys in front of me all seem to know exactly what they are there for and what they are doing. I squeak out that I need a headlamp for a 2003 Toyota Matrix and about stroke out when the guy asks if it is my standard or high bulb that needs fixin' (he said fixin', I swear). I decide it must be my regular one and I buy a bulb and head out. I can't get the old one out - try as I might. Five minutes. Ten minutes. NOTHING.

I finally get it out and go to put the new bulb in the holder and it won't fit. Just won't. I have the wrong bulb, I decide. I can't go back in there tough, I decide. No. I need to drive to National Auto Supply Store #2 instead. Start over. Just pretend this place never happened. As I'm getting ready to leave I see the employee that sold me the bulb coming out - can I help you, he offers. No, no. I'm good - I tell him. I feel four inches tall. I jump in my car and off I go - down the road.

At store #2 I try a different approach. I walk in the store holding my right hand perfectly still (I kid you not on this) and walk to the counter and ask, nodding towards my immobile hand, if someone can sell me a headlight bulb and replace it for me as my right had has suffered nerve damage and I "just can't do it all for myself anymore." I know, I know, I'm mortified with me too but it was now dark and I needed a lightbulb or I'd risk a ticket.

Sure, sir, says the greasy guy behind the corner (I swear he had oil/grease on his hands and face too). The 60 year old guy rambles out from behind the counter, he goes to the bulbs, pulls the right bulb (he never even asked me what I drove or looked it up in the computer "I saw ya' pull in - I know what yer drivin'," he tells me (again, he REALLY said "drivin'") and he goes out to my car - pops my hood - swaps out the bulb (45 seconds tops) and goes back inside - me following him to pay him.

I offer him $10 for his help (this is the sort of help I am in these situations - I throw money at my problems) and he politely declines. Kansas charm, I assume but he points out that "we men help each other out, I'm sure you'd do it for me if the tables were turned."

I didn't have the heart to tell him that my hand was fine or that I could not change his headlight bulb if I had to. I simply shook his left hand and smiled to show my appreciation and drove home - headlights burning brightly.

Milk Diet - A Brief Update . . .

2009-08-18T07:14:00.000-05:00

I wanted to update everyone (as I'm sure you're all anxiously awaiting some "news" out of me) on my milk diet.

I'm half-way through Day 2 and, I have to be honest, it is already pretty much over. Here's the highlights . . .

1 - I got a frantic (okay, it was not at ALL frantic but, for dramatic effect I will say it was) note from Mary Lou urging me to be rational (she never used the word) and not to engage in stupid, fad diets (of popular origin or personal initiation) and pointing out some of the flaws in my Milk Is the Answer logic (there are specific challenges to getting all of your nutrients, vitamins and minerals out of just milk and it can even bind your supplements in some regards).

2 - I felt absolutely terrible last night at about 8:00 PM. I'm SURE it was completely psychological but I just felt sort of crappy and crampy and miserable. I broke down and had a chunk of cheese and a spoonful of peanut butter (not at the same time) to get some actual "food" in my system and still felt sort of crappy as I went to bed (without working out).

I've only ever felt that way one other time - when I was supposed to have my surgery in Baltimore, my surgeon urged me to lose as much weight as I could before my surgery date and I was put on a straight up starvation diet for two weeks. I was told - and I willingly (gleefully) cooperated - to eat nothing for two weeks. I was allowed to drink water and any other zero-calorie beverage I wanted and I was giving the green light for sugar free jello and a partial Slim Fast (I was told I could drink any diet shake or supplement but I chose Slim Fast) as required. I was also, before anyone questions the medical sanity of the program, to take my vitamins and supplements and to stop partaking in the diet the minute it got nutty for me or the minute I felt terrible (I was called or e-mailed daily by three people from the hospital to monitor my general well being).

I made it through the program, believe it or not. I did the two weeks and lost 20 some pounds in the process BUT it was quite the drama. I was commuting from Baltimore to DC every day and was largely exhausted all the time to begin with. Without food it got nutty. I remember one morning Joy came in the room of our house where I got dressed (there was only one closet in our bedroom at the time and Wifey's clothes poured out of it to begin with) and hugged me and asked me why I was already up and if I felt okay. I got grumpy with her and "reminded her" that my work/life balance required I leave the house by 6:00 AM each morning to get to work on time so I could frequently be seen getting dressed in the 5:00 hour. Joy simply pointed out that was all fine and well but the fact that I was getting dressed in the 2:00 hour had her nervous.

I also fell asleep on the Metro on the way back to my car one evening. While STANDING (I should probably point out).

It goes without saying that my attitude and my general demeanor suffered GREATLY during this phase (then again who could really tell since I was a miserable S.O.B. in general during that particular phase of my life) but I did it.

I did it to lose weight and to ensure I could have my surgery. I was desperate at that time and my medical team was too.

I'm not desperate now and neither is any one else. I'm not going to do anything nutty or rash or awkward for myself. I'm trying to be happy and energetic and wonderful and spirited . . . no boredom with my food is worth risking that.

I digress . . . I'm giving it another go today BUT I am going to eat a little something at dinner time to make sure I can at least get my workout in. If I don't feel better this evening - I abandon ship in the morning.

I'm still not missing food and I'm still not excited about the idea of going back to my limited diet and pouch-ish portions but . . . I'm not willing to make myself miserable or jeopardize my workouts for the sake of being happier with the eating process/mandates.

My initial advice - don't try the Milk Diet. I reserve the right to change that assessment though as the week goes on!

Milk. It Does a Diet Good . . .

2009-08-13T23:22:00.000-05:00

DISCLAIMER - The following post is not to be confused with any sort of SOUND or RATIONAL logic and should NOT be seen as something that you might ever consider as REAL dietary/nutrition advice. That being said - I'm TOTALLY serious about this! Let's begin . . .

I am tired of food. I mean SICK of it. I have felt this way for almost 2 1/2 years (since my surgery) and I think the fact that I have deliberately restricted my diet and the scope of food I will eat since my surgery has furthered my frustration.

I'm SURE that I'm not alone in my angst. It is a well documented part of life after gastric bypass (or life inside any long term dietary or nutritional structure). I'm sure that just about any of would, from time to time, like to have full access to food again. Not that we want to eat sugary desserts or would like to eat an entire pizza in one sitting (some of you might want that - I do not) but more that you want to feel like the world is your oyster (so to speak . . . ) once again.

This was, to be frank, the BIGGEST concern my parents had with me having gastric bypass (once a concerned parent, always a concerned parent, I guess). They were sure that I would wake up one morning with resentment for the rules and this insatiable urge to eat EVERYTHING in sight. The latter has not happened (clearly) but the belief that I might someday tire of the rules of food after surgery turned out to be factual (parents and their infinite wisdom (I hope Ava is reading this (smile)).

I'm tired of wraps and chicken breast. I'm gnawed through on protein bars and shakes. I've blanded on egg whites and hummus. I-Dun-Wahn-Yer-Nutrition, boring foods!

So I'm rebelling! I'm cutting loose. I'm going old school (as in the first food most of us ever consumed - minus the boob or bottle "nipple" for a serving vessel) and milking my diet for a week. Yep. Cold, delicious, frothy, yummy MILK! (To be clear I know that breast milk and formula are not actually "milk" but I'm going for literary license here.)

Not a BITE will cross these lips. NOTHING to chew on. NOTHING to work through my pouch. NOTHING that requires a fork, spoon, plate or bowl. Nope. ALL I'll be consuming for seven full days is fat free milk, water and iced tea (emphasis on the milk).

Here's the plan/play . . . starting Monday, August 17th I am going to go seven days with nothing entering my temple (since my body is, in fact, a temple) but milk. 10 cups of skim milk per day, to be specific (that's just over 1/2 gallon of milk a day). I will drink a cup of milk every 90 minutes between 7:00 AM and 8:30 PM (or as close to that as practical/possible). I will ice every cup of the milk (so I can sip it out over time) and might add some sugar free powders or syrups (just for flavor, not for caloric addition or other impact) but I hope to keep my milk as "pure" as possible.

This may sound like it is contrary to the rules of food after GB but it is actually very much IN LINE with the rules. Based on the known nutrition of fat free milk my plan comes out to about 900 calories and 80 grams of protein - not to mention 500% of my calcium and a bumper crop of every other vitamin or mineral I am supposed to get in any given day as well. There is NO fat in the milk (the body requires some fat but it is okay to go with just trace amounts for one week) and there is no added sugar or modification to the food that might impact how it effects my body. Nope - the milk diet is actually a nutritionally sound pursuit (albeit a dumb one).

A few points (before you light me up on the comments) . . .

1 - I KNOW that no one ever loses real weight or sees long term results from extreme/fad or overly restrictive diets (this is not really "about" losing weight as much as resetting my feelings on food and flavors).

2 - I KNOW that it is bad for the body to not get a variety of foods and nutritional offerings (this is just for a week, life will go on).

3 - I KNOW that this is extreme and could be awkward for me (I will walk away from the milk diet the minute things get dicey or uncomfortable - I'm in touch enough with my body (at this point) to know if I'm doing anything wrong).

I just want to see what happens to my body. Will I feel better? Will I feel worse? Will I crave foods again? Will my diet seem wonderful to me again? Will I decide to make this permanent? How will this effect my exercise pursuits? How will this effect my general energy level and attitude? Will I lose or gain weight? What will my poop be like (you know you are curious about this one too - admit it)?

I will keep you posted as the week begins and plays out but, for now, I just wanted to formally announce my intentions as a way to make it "real."

Let the criticisms begin!!!

Running From YouTube . . .

2009-08-13T06:42:00.000-05:00

I Got an interesting e-mail earlier yesterday. Friend A (we'll call her) wanted to know if maybe (MAYBE) I'm not taking this whole running thing/obsession waaaaayyyyyy (that's a direct copy/paste) too far.

The easy answer is YES (it also happens to be the honest answer) but I would add a caveat that any man who got to a weight of 530 pounds knows how to take things to extremes . . . and he attacks those extremes until he finds something else to get obsessed with.

I thought about typing her a note back but - screw it - she reads the blog. Here are 10 video clips that somehow involve running . . . if you are not inspired to run by the end of the #1 clip . . . you and I should probably talk about what really DOES motivate you (I'll assume money and/or porn in the meantime).

For the rest of you . . . catch up with you later (Get it? It's a I-Know-I-Run-Slow-Running-Pun!)!

10 - Run Reckless, Run Like Hell

9 - Nike's Bear Butte Running Camp

8 - The Choice Between Hard Time and Prime Time

7 - The Griswalds Finally Arrive at Wally World

6 - Bond, James Bond (Start about 1:10 in)

5 - The Long Green L ine Trailer

4 - OK, Go!

3 - It's a World Record

2 - Opening Sequence of Chariots of Fire

1 - Run, Forrest, Run!

Things I Will NOT Be Running . . .

2009-08-12T21:02:00.002-05:00

I didn't get a chance to run last night. I was at a meeting until after nine o'clock and was just too lazy when I got home to strap on my shoes and hit the streets.

I'm trying to motivate myself to go down to the basement right now (Joy is writing a paper and Ava is refusing to go to sleep so I'm on the laptop upstairs) and I'm trying to surf around for some running information (training schedules, etc.) and I found THIS article.

How NUTS are these people? I keep saying - beware people who are too in to exercise. Nutty!

Turkey Trot . . .

2009-08-11T08:26:00.003-05:00

Drum roll please . . .

It is OFFICIAL. I am now registered to run the two mile race (I thought it was a 5K but it is, instead, 1/13th of a Marathon) course of the 34th Annual Wichita Turkey Trot on Saturday, November 21st at 9:30 AM.

The course takes you through the beautiful (and flat - thank GOD) Museums on the River section of Wichita.

I'm not scared of the two miles (I can run that now, at a very, very slow pace - the race starts at 9:30 so I figure I'll be done by 2:00 PM (smile)) but I'm truly scared to strap on my Asics and join THOUSANDS of other Wichitans (including a few co-workers) for a race where they can see the jiggly mass that is my body flapping all over the race course. I get nervous when I pass one or two fellow walkers/runners around the neighborhood when I venture outside for my exercise.

Let the serious "training" begin, I guess.

It is too late to turn back now. I've put this out on the blog - you can't take back a blog post (actually, you can (shhhhhh - don't tell anyone) but I'm going to try to keep myself honest on this one).

Start saying your prayers for me now.

Running in the Rain . . .

2009-08-10T21:31:00.001-05:00

I'm trying to take this running thing very seriously and I've come to realize that strapping on my running shoes, my iPod and my elastic-waisted shorts and hitting the streets of College Hill is a far, far better motivator for me than running on my treadmill (there are people on the streets that can see me sweating, panting and walking-it-off).

I committed, once my brothers left, to making four OUTSIDE walk/runs per week and I am not going to back away from that until shin splints, public ridicule or chaffed thighs stop me.

I have a great route. I go out of the house, stretch in the driveway (yep, neighbors, that is my GROIN you see me flexing and working) and then I run down the driveway out to the left and down about 1/4 mile to the corners of Hillside and Lewis. I turn hard right and run/walk Lewis all the way to Oliver (one mile with the first 1/4 to 1/3 being up a very subtle hill and the rest largely flat with a few dips along the way) with each block marking if I need to keep running or if I can walk for one or two and then I turn around, walk/run back down Lewis to Hillside and then I walk back to the house. 2 1/2 total miles with warm ups before and some lunges and other yoga-inspired moves to follow (in the air-conditioned comfort of the basement).

I'm happy with it. I see people walking and running. Cars drive by. Dogs bark. People wave. Children cheer me at the side of the street like so many French cheer the peleton every summer during the Tour de France. Okay - that part doesn't happen (grimace). I get a good sweat going and I get to enjoy the neighborhood we love so much.

So, tonight, with a thunderstorm rolling in from the west, I gave Ava her bath, strapped on the New Balance (my back up kicks), synched up the iPod and hit the streets hoping to literally outrun the rain.

Uh - not so much. I got down to Hillside and turned hard east. I headed back up Lewis and - BAM - rain. It started out as a bit of a drizzle with some thunder and lightning above me. I thought, no worries (actually what I really thought was Bill Murray in Caddshack telling the Bishop that he should play on because it will be a while before the "heavy stuff" comes down . . . of course if you've seen the movie you know that, shortly after, the Bishop gets hit by lightning in a torrential downpour) and I pressed on, iPod blaring in my ears.

And, for the next 1/4 mile it was fine. Just me running and listening to This Colorful World (which is actually a great song to run to) in a light drizzle and then, as Bill Murray hinted, the "heavy stuff" started coming down.

It started POURING rain. Sheets of rain. Heavy wind. Lightning and thunder. The other people walking and running all disappeared. The mini vans all pulled away from Lewis. It was just me, the weather and misery coming in.

Within a few blocks my iPod earphones refused to stay in my wet ears. My t-shirt clung to me like the prize winner at a Cancun Spring Break contest (my moobs shimmering) and my shorts started riding up in weird ways.

The wind was freezing cold. My glasses were fogged up and speckled with rain (and sliding off my face) and my sneakers started to get squishy. I looked up - I was more than 3/4 of the way to Oliver . . . press on, I insisted.

I put my iPod in my pocket (how much more miserable is running when you don't have an iPod to cheer you on) to prevent actually ruining it. I took my glasses off and put them in my other pocket (I couldn't really see through the sheets of rain and the wet lenses anyway) and I pressed down. I was NOT going to walk. I was going to run. JUST run tonight. And that was the way it was - the rest of the way to Oliver and three blocks back.

My sneakers got heavy. FULL of water but feeling much heavier. I was trying to jump over the streams of rain/gutter water that flooded over the bricked streets of the neighborhood. I did okay too. Until, uh, I didn't.

I was running as hard as I could and realized I was entering an intersection. LIFT (I demanded in my inner-most monologue) and lift I did. Up. Over the raging river (I swear it was three feet wide and likely six inches deep) that ran below me. The landing though . . . not so much. My heavy, wet sneakers and my feet sliding in them caused some law of physics I was not familiar with that made my sneakers stick like a gold medalist of the horse but my feet kept moving inside them and I dropped, sloppily, to the street.

I pulled myself off Lewis. Screamed profanities (that's how I roll, kids) and started walking. That lasted for about 100 yards (I wanted to make sure nothing was broken (remember, I'm still 500 pounds in my head and falling means certain skeletal destruction)) and then I started jogging again. Wet. In pain. Miserable. iPodless. Glassless. Distracted. SO distracted I ran right past Yale street (not realizing it for another block and then barely catching it after a U-turn back).

Apparently there are actual tips for running in the rain.

That would have been helpful a few hours ago!

Apparently I Don't NEED to Exercise . . .

2009-08-10T13:46:00.004-05:00

I've been reading more and more about exercise lately. I'm mainly looking for loopholes in the space-time continuum that forces me to sweat to actually reach my weight loss goals.

There is good news and bad news. First, as customary, the BAD news . . .

It seems that the ONLY way to really lose weight is to take less calories in AND to put more calories out (exercise). This, of course, includes gastric bypass surgery (I cut about 5,000 calories per day from my diet in the first few months after surgery and walked and worked out more in the month after surgery than I had in the years prior to).

I WAS bumming about this until I read this article in Time magazine!

If you are too busy or later to read the whole thing (and you probably are if you are an exercising FOOL like me) . . . according to the fine folks at Time (a once very relevant news outlet that is now mainly important in dentist offices and fodder for FM radio morning shows) exercise is NOT important to weight loss. It might actually HURT weight loss.

Here is the hook though (before you throw away your work out DVDs and put your air-dry laundry back on the treadmill) . . . the argument is that when you exercise you get hungry which, as a stupid, obese human (and we are all at least one of the three) makes you go out and binge eat following a work out.

No, really, that is the argument (in an overly simplified nutshell).

The argument fails to acknowledge nutritional awareness, will power or a general reasoning that not everyone eats more when they start working out. Many fitness nuts (and we all know how much I hate the fitness "nuts" so forgive me for giving them props here) are crying foul on this article. There is a very nice rebuttal on one of my favorite running sites. You can read it here.

I will NOT be getting out my soapbox here but I will rattle my three loud, rusty and weighty chains once again . . .

1 - Don't tell me what I am and am not capable of or what I will (or will not do) based on my obesity. I DO have a snack after I work out (usually between 75 and 100 calories and always with at least five grams of protein) and I don't worry about putting 100 calories back in to a body I just took 400 - 500 calories out of and I have NEVER (since my surgery (smile)) binged after working out. Sure. When we lived in Baltimore I would frequently stop at a McDonald's on my way to the gym and a different McDonald's on my way home but that was hundreds of pounds, five years and a lifetime ago.

2 - I got myself fat and I'll get myself skinny. Will power is what I always lacked. Okay, okay - technically it was more a "self love" that would have empowered me to want to be thinner, healthier, happier and more productive but we'll call it will power since will power is that final, abused, do-as-your-told "gate keeper" between me and a drive-thru window or a dozen Swiss Cake Rolls and some chocolate milk). I have found will power. It was inside the blubber. I still chose when to use it (not around food but more in terms of my filthy mouth and my emotional outbursts) but it is very much here and in tact.

3 - I'm fat not stupid. STOP with the stupid advice, the fad diets, the get-thin-quick crap and the other things that just distract me from the truth and the pursuit of physical betterness. Gastric Bypass is not "easy." The Atkins Diet does not empower long-term weight-loss success. I DO need to exercise if I want to lose weight and be healthy. I am only now starting to look good in horizontal stripes. Penny loafers are NOT only for old men and bankers. I am on to all the advice, the tips, the bologna and the misinformation. Don't tell me ANYTHING will be easy. Let me find out how hard it is (or is not) on my own.

Okay - so I ranted and got on my soapbox a little (a LOT) but please, people, if you are reading Time magazine and considering if you should or should not exercise after your root canal please - for the love of yourself - put your sneakers on and break a sweat (once the pain killers wear off, of course).

Sean's Summer Want List . . .

2009-08-09T22:25:00.000-05:00

I'm constantly longing for "stuff." I'd LIKE to pretend that I'm not a material person. That I'm not at least a little fulfilled by objects and things. That I'm really some evolved person that knows "you can't take it with you" and lives accordingly but . . . I'm just not that smart.

Now - I'm not embarrassed of my fixation with items. Not at all. If given 45 free minutes in the evening or on the weekend - I will peruse catalogs I've already looked at a dozen times or sort through my pile of clippings from my magazines (super-preppy and super-old man stuff I'm about five years and an inch or two of bald forehead from fully embracing) or browsing the Internet and my many, many bookmarks for stuff and things.

At any given time there are thousands of things that might clog my brain of things I want. I won't ever really break down and by many (any?) of them. It's not really practical. I'm MUCH happier spending money doing things with Joy and/or Ava. I'm way happier putting pennies away for our upcoming vacation and travel plans. I'm more than motivated by having practical clothes in the collectice closets that belong to my family members and maybe splurging on some killer groceries or a meal (or two) out every now and again.

I said I was obsessed with stuff - not obsessed with actually GETTING stuff.

Anywho, I was reading in one of my books about how to become a better person and it was talking about how you had to be honest about your limitations if you were ever going to get through them.

To that end - here is a list of 15 things that sorta' keep me up at night - just putting them out there makes me feel better (and more than a little silly for wanting most of them to begin with).

1 - A xylophone - I played in high school. I wanted to play professionally (I kid you not - in that "if I wasn't doing 'this' I would be doing _____" jobs for me. I have "teaching on the college level," "playing xylophone," and "exotic dancing" as my _______s.

2 - A graphic t-shirt - Don't laugh. It is true. I want to get a t-shirt that says something ironic and vaguely funny or shows some sort of great graphic art or supports a musician or musical group that I really like (does the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra sell t-shirts?). I just can't seem to find a shirt that I'll actually WEAR once I buy it. Hmmmm.

3 - A new car - Morpheus (my 2002 Toyota Matrix) has been wonderful to me. Really. Very few complaints and I've worn Morpheus like OJ wears leather gloves. One of these years (knock on wood it will be at LEAST three more years before I need to) I'll get a new car. In the meantime I'm heavily leaning towards getting my bike fixed or maybe getting a used Vespa for my six miles of daily commuting.

4 - An Persimmon Orange Stand Mixer - I watch Food Network. A LOT! I especially like Alton Brown and Good Eats and the Barefoot Contessa. I swear that I am a really great cook (in my brain) and I am one of those people that actually believes that a house account at Williams-Sonoma and a little free time is the only thing between me and a James Beard Award. This mixer might be the first step to my greatness. OR it will take up a LOT of counter space in the kitchen. Either way . . .

5 - A home in Aurora, New York (or a house on a lake) - Growing up in Groton, New York meant a few things. 1) Either you or someone (if not multiple people) that you knew had a place on "the lake" (and by "the" lake we speak of all nine finger lakes, the two Great Lakes that touch New York State or the countless lakes in the Adirondacks. For me it doesn't get any better than Cayuga Lake and it doesn't get any better than half-way-up the Eastern shore of that lake in Aurora, New York. We had prom there (at Wells College) and Melissa's Grandparents used to live on the lake in Aurora and MacKenzie-Childs is there it is just the perfect little, overpriced and overly aspirational town. When I get my first billion in the bank - I'm going to buy up a FEW places on "the lake" - for now though, we might do some camping in the fall (grimace).

6 - Most of the National Lampoon's Movies released between the late 70s and early 90s on DVD - I'm talking Chevy Chase and the still-very-lovely Beverly D'Angelo taking the family on vacation or Mr. Blutarsky and his zero-point-zero grade point average and a few other randoms. Not sure why but I think movies were just funnier then (with all due respect to Judd Apatow and his band of merry men). Even if I owned the movies . . . when would I watch them? Oy.

7 - This bowtie, and dozens more - The bowtie. I want to be man enough to pull it off. I browse them online. I shope them. I put them in the "shopping cart" and then I surf away. I own two of them. I wear them rarely to never. I want to have more. But . . .

8 - To be locked, alone for the night, inside The Louvre - I know this is not a "thing" - I would not loot the museum by dawn and I would not join Tom Hanks in a high-speed chase around Europe. I just want to look at all the pretty pictures and "stuff" (and no, I do NOT mean the Mona Lisa - I saw her in high school . . . totally overrated!).

9 - An Irish sweater - I mean - who doesn't want one of these? Oh? You? Well - besides YOU. Who doesn't want one. That's some expensive wool though!

10 - More patterned and plaid sportscoats - I can't have enough. I'm obsessed. I want to be an 80 year old man who's retired from a long career in teaching political science at the local JuCo or whatever. Sportsoats. I love you even more than I love blazers.

11 - A Narwhal Wallet for every day of the year - I have one. I love it. I go to the site ALLLLL the time and just look at what they've made out of the old ties. I want 364 more of these wallet ties. Almost as badly as I want to be one of "those guys" that doesn't really need to carry a wallet because they just have their driver's license, a credit card and four bucks in their money clip. Those are MEN!

12 - Origins for Men stuff - I love my skin. I want it to last the rest of my life. I want people to think I am younger than I am. I don't want to be wrinkly. To get all of the above I need to take care of my skin. Neutrogena is doing just fine for me. I'm happy with it. I aspire to the overpriced goodness in these bottles though. Not sure why.

13 - A collection of local art - We went to dinner at my CEO's house this winter. He and his wife collect art. Artists you've never heard of - might never. Stuff that doesn't really go together in the classic sense of the expression. It is all stuff they like though and it is important to them and a great collection. If only Joy and I agreed on art (her taste, to be clear, is far better than mine - lest anyone think I am implying my wife is not cultured).

14 - Sperry Top-Siders. LOTS of 'em - Some men like sneakers. Some want motorcycles. Some want jeans. Some want women, fame, money. More women. Not this guy. I want shoes. Specifically boat shoes and boat shoe-inspired sneakers. There is something wrong with me. I know this and I resist the urge to buy in to my illness accordingly.

15 - Everything Ina Garten puts her pseudonym to - I love you, Barefoot Contessa. Not in a sexual way (sorry, Ina, I'm taken anyway) but in a way that makes me want to throw parties like you throw, cook like you cook, have friends like you have or to at LEAST get an invite to one of your parties with your friends and your cooking. I need my Kitchen Aid!

So . . . I'll sleep better having confessed that I am a sad, pathetic, material person. Or I'll just be able to click back on this post any time I want to check in on my top ten "wants" of the moment. Add world peace to this list and I'd be a better person. Sadly - there is no room in my brain for world peace!

Life Is Fleeting, Folks . . .

2009-08-08T19:15:00.000-05:00

Just got off the phone with my dear, beloved father. Like almost any phone call with The Man That Planted His Seed to Give Me Life, he buried the lead and took 20 mintues to get around to telling me the most shocking news I've heard in a long, long time (that didn't involve John, Kate or Billy Mays). I shouldn't joke - there is nothing funny about what I'm about to type.

My father's cousin, Mary Beth's husband, Richard, has died. Richard was 55. He was a very heavy man (I don't know if he ever topped me on the scale but it is safe to say we might have broken an elevator together at our joint heaviest). Richard had a heart attack in the shower and then coded at the hospital. Poof. Life over. Lights out. Widow. Three kids (only two fully grown and out of the house). Sadness for all that knew him (like many heavy men Richard was charasmatic, charming, funny and genuine in a way that you have to experience to understand).

What really gets me about this story is that Richard had JUST started a new journey in his life. He had made a very hard decision and - just three weeks ago - had gastric bypass surgery. He'd already lost 42 pounds (the same amount I lost in my first three weeks) and he was, by all counts, feeling wonderful and was very excited about what was ahead of him.

I've said before and I'll never stop saying it again . . . I am a very, very, very lucky man. Lucky to be alive. Lucky to have had this surgery when I did. Lucky to have a wife that loves me. Lucky to have a family and friends that support me and cheer for me no matter what. Lucky to have the good luck that allowed me to escape 530 pounds with nothing to show for it but some excess, hanging skin and a left calf/ankle that I'll probably always be embarassed of.

It is impossible to say what Richard's life could have been like if he would have gotten another six months of a year under his belt following surgery. It is impossible to say what happened the other morning, in the shower, to cause his heart to say "enough already, I can't do it" but it is easy to say that his heart and the 30 or so years of life that was lost will be sorely missed by those that loved, knew and came in to contact with him.

God rest you, Richard. God bless you, Mary Beth.

And thank you, God, for letting me escape my pass and get along on this journey I walk.

Biggest Loser Is ALMOST Back . . .

2009-08-06T20:54:00.000-05:00

I, like many Americans (based on audience figures) have been watching WAY too much "fat" television this summer.

I need to finish and post the draft rants/raves I have for "Drop Dead Diva" (Yeah, I'm watching it (insert mortification here)) and More to Love (AKA The Fatchelor) and the two minutes . . . okay 90 SECONDS of Dance Your Ass Off I endured but - let's be honest - they all don't add up to a hill of Biggest Loser!

It's almost back, kiddies. And my all-time favorite, makes me cry just thinking about it DANIEL is back this season! Check out a preview at my favorite diet/weight loss site in the whole wide world!

Summer 2009 Playlist . . .

2009-08-04T09:03:00.000-05:00

It has been a while, again, since I posted a playlist. As you know - I've been trying (very, very hard) to actually make exercise a true part of my life. I'm happy to tell you that, so far, I am winning that battle.

I've had a CRAZY couple of weeks so - we'll see - but, for now. I'm anxious to get back to walking, running, doing some yoga, doing some aerobics and enjoying the AbCirclePro (a gift from my wife for my birthday/Father's Day that I am LOVING) for three minutes a day (that is really all it takes to make you miserable).

I digress. ANYWHO - I'm trying to run more and more so the tempo of the music on recent playlists is getting faster too. I'll slow it down a little for the next playlist (for all you ballad lovers (smile)).

1 - Elizabeth & The Catapult, Race You - I like my folksy goodness. If you put a good beat under it and make it cheery and "race" inspired it just gets me ready to run. Especially when the idea is that you get to race back home (are we almost done yet? probably NOT if this is the first song on the mix).

2 - Hiphopper, Thomas Rusiak - In the late 90s there were three things that tickled me pink . . . South Park, the Internet and Kevin Smith. I was Silent Bob - minus the silent, lovable and schlumpy parts of his demeanor (smile). Give me this song any time and I'll give you a happy story about mocking Dogma protestors in Dupont Circle or learning more about Star Wars from the dialogue of Clerks than I ever might have from my roommates or own pop culture experience. And don't even get me started on Mallrats!

3 - Stevie Wonder, We Can Work It Out - Way underrated - Stevie Wonder really, really is the man. Forget his latter stuff. Focus on the sweet-spot days (sometime between pre-pubescent appearances at the Apollo and the late 80s, ideally) and you'll find a treasure chest of musical goodness that might never be rivaled.

4 - Maxwell, Help Somebody - I first got up the courage to pledge my love to Joy through the music of Maxwell but I loved him before I ever loved Joy. He's FINALLY back after eight years of hanging out, cutting his 'fro and ducking my iTunes playlists. Welcome back, my friend. Welcome back! And thanks for your help with the girl. That's still working out quite nicely, if I do say so myself.

5 - The Shins, Sea Legs - Don't know how I found The Shins. Probably Esquire or GQ or some other publication that sets the bar that I hope my life might somehow be (while secretly thanking GOD my life is nothing like the ideal they present). No matter. I dig 'em. This song makes me happy. And Happy Sean works out harder than "Screw This Sean."

6 - Frou Frou, Let Go - Who remembers Garden State? No? JUST me. Impossible. Regardless. Let Go. There is beauty in the breakdown. There is happiness in the sweat.

7 - Rob Thomas, Little Wonders - Mock all you want. 530 posts later you should know this man doesn't have much to hide or much to apologize for. I don't like Matchbox 20. I don't like Rob Thomas. This song though . . . this song I love. Reminds me of The Robinsons which reminds me of The Bids. Which reminds me of why I started all this. Which makes me want to work out a little harder. Which reminds me of how much I enjoy penny loafers. NO time to connect those dots right now - these playlist posts are long enough as is!

8 - Alanis Morissette, Underneath - Put it on the board. Another playlist with either Alanis, Coldplay, Stevie Wonder, Ben Folds or Prince present. Heck. This one has almost all of them. I like what I like. Can't help that. Won't help that.

9 - Simon & Garfunkel, Cecelia - You didn't think I had any depth to my musical choices, did ya'?! Yep. I go wayyyyy back every now and again. Just don't ask me about Neil Young, Don Heneley or Bruce Springsteen. You're likely to walk away with two blackeyes and a lower opinion of me than you approached me with!

10 - John Mayer, Bigger Than My Body - Again. You'll get no apologies from me so scoff away. John Mayer is my generation's musical icon. It'll just take 20 years to be more apparent because it'll take that long for him to stop Twittering and blogging. In the meantime, he makes me happy. His ego is matched by his talent and his swaggart. Reminds me of other people I think a lot of . . .

11 - Royksopp, Happy Up Here - I hate electronica/dance/whatever this crap is classified as but they played this song before the movies started at the Old Town Warren for a while this spring/early summer and I got attached to this song. It's fun to work out to as well. We COULD be happy up here!

12 - Nickel Creek, When You Come Back Down - Every good mix, according to Men's Health, needs a slower pace car to keep your heart from exploding and your enthusiasm from pushing you past your reality/capabilities. Enter Nickel Creek. Yep. Bluegrass-Pop. I'm eclectic, yo! Just ask my crappy music collection!

13 - Ben Folds, Adelaide - Welcome to the mix, Ben! What took you so long?!

14 - Miley Cyrus, The Climb - Confused by Miley Cyrus being here? How about the fact that I only know of this song because of Howard Stern? The world is a complicated place. Stop worrying about the economy so much and you'll find that out. Complicated and beautiful - if not an uphill battle!

15 - S.W.V., Right Here (Radio Remix) - R.I.P. Michael Jackson. This song reminds me of high school and driving back and fourth from "the lake" (the truth being "the" lake was actually three different lakes and three different cottages owned by friends). Good song. Good sample. Viva la sample!

16 - De La Soul, Respect - There is a KILLER iTunes/Nike running mix from De La Soul you might check out if you enjoy "the La" but - it would be a boring playlist if I just put one, 45 minute long song here.

17 - Gnarles Barkley, Just a Thought - This song reminds me of Ava's birth mother. I won't ever get in to any of that in this forum but know that, three years later, I have way more respect for her than I ever thought I would be able to muster. I might never come to true pease with her but she and her struggles are a huge part of us becoming a family and I can respect her for wrestling her demons and hoping to eventually come out on top. I'd be a hypocrite if I couldn't at least be honest and do that much for her.

18 - Kayne West, Hey Mama - This song reminds me of my mother and, more importantly, Wifey. I just want to do things right, make them proud of me and give them a reflection of the life they worked so hard and sacraficed so much to afford me. I might never really be the ideal I chase but - I'm on this damned treadmill working on it as we speak!

19 - Blur, Song 2 - Annoying, annoying, annoying song. Almost no reason to like it. And yet - here I am. Running while listening to it. Life is complicated, people.

20 - N.E.R.D., Run to the Sun - I searched by keywords in my iTunes library and stumbled up this when I searched, uh, "run." I had all but forgotten about this album. I used to play COPIOUS amounts of Tiger Woods Golf while listening to this CD. Now I actually move more than my thumbs while listening. One more time in this post - life is COMPLICATED and twisted. And Stevie Wonder is talented. Can't say that enough!

What do you listen to when you work out? PLEASE share any tunes that keep you moving (unless it is death metal, please (smile))!

Ava's Birthday Party . . .

2009-08-01T21:03:00.000-05:00

We had a GREAT time at the party today. About 25 people showed up (including a handful of toddlers, a nine year old and about 20 adults) and we enjoyed a party at the zoo.

The cake was great (even with Ryan's thumb print in it), I was told . . .

The two zoo employees were amazingly great with the kids and the adults (not the look on Joy's face when the snake gets busted out in the picture below (priceless)) . . .

We got an amazing amount of gifts that were all way too much (it boggles my mind how much people give to a three year old (smile)). The gift that brought the house down was a box of silk clothes from China that came from Uncle Patrick and Aunt Joyell . . .

We wrapped up the formal party and and then we walked (my family and Joy's family - for a while) around the zoo and Uncle Patrick dropped a couple of quarters so Ava could feed the animals in the petting zoo.

That Ava got to have her birthday party with all of her Aunts and Uncles was amazing. The rest of it was just, uh, icing on the cake.

Thanks to everyone that came to the party and helped make the day so very special!

The Brothers Are Here . . .

2009-07-31T23:08:00.002-05:00

Following 15 hours of delays for half of them and two hours for the other half - Patrick, Ryan, Joyell, Erin and To-Be-Baby-Amore are all here! We're so very thrilled to have them here and are hoping for a great, long weekend of descent weather and great family time.

I think these video clips sum up the first evening of the visit. Photo recaps with Patrick and physics with Ryan.

Ah, the childhood photo albums + brothers + beer = hilarity! Maybe you had to be there!

The Simmon Family . . .

2009-07-29T09:27:00.003-05:00

I have a co-worker here that is going through the often difficult, emotionally challenging and wonderfully thrilling process of adopting a child.

Joy and I know all too well how hard it can be but Mike and his wife are doing an international adoption and it has gotten very crazy as Ethiopia has cracked down on some "questionable" processes in the courts.

Mike and Chelsea are gooooood people. Their son Gabriel (they have pictures and video) is beautiful and charming and sweet and he's just sitting there. Waiting. And they are just sitting here. Waiting. They are a family separated by thousands of miles, a court system and a whole big ball or red tape.

Anywho - if you are the praying type (and I know SOME of you are) please say a prayer for them. They have a new court date on August 5th.

And if you want to help offset the costs of their adoption and get a very cool looking t-shirt, click here and contact Mike and Chelsea to order one (or a dozen) shirts.

Keep your chins up and love Gabriel all you can, Mike and Chelsea. He'll be with you soon enough

Happy Birthday, Ava Grace . . .

2009-07-27T21:03:00.000-05:00

Today, my dear, sweet Ava Grace turns THREE. It is so hard to believe that it has been three long years (and quite literally a lifetime - one that has JUST begun) since Joy and I drove, anxiously, to the hospital here in Wichita knowing that our wait to be a family was over and that our daughter was finally about to come in to our lives.

It is also hard to believe how different our life is today versus that day and how life just sort of has a way of taking its twists and turns and making you feel like a fool as soon as you feel like you've got it all figured out.

I won't get too sappy here, Biddlebops but please know that I love you and your Mommy more than I ever thought I could love a wife or a child (when I thought I had it all figured out by trying to spend my life blissfully alone) and I am so very grateful that you came in to our lives and, frankly, I'm glad you came in to our lives the way you did.

It was just one of the many, many moments of my life that has reminded me that I'm a fool and that I don't have it all figured out. I needed it and I am happy that we all beautifully survived the the first of the many twists and turns that will no doubt set the pace of our life as a family.

You're smart, kind, caring, imaginative and funny. I'm the lucky guy that gets your hugs and kisses and professions of love and affection. I'm a lucky guy. I'm a blessed man. I'm a fool. I'm blissfully happy in all of that - thanks to you and that lovely woman you call Mom(my)!

The day you were born . . .

The day you turned one . . .

The day you turned two . . .

The day you turned three (uh, today) . . .

Whatcha' Been Up To? . . .

2009-07-27T14:49:00.000-05:00

Hey, everybody. LONG TIME NO BLOG! I apologize for that. I have a bunch of drafts started but it's been a NUTTY two weeks or so since I last got a few minutes to post.

I know what you're wondering - what's been going on? Well, for those of you on my Facebook network (and all 12 of your readers should almost ALL be on my Facebook network by now (smile)) would know I've been super busy with work.

I got a new title. Insert back-pat and new box of business cards here. I'm now a "Communities Strategist." Yeah, I know, utter industry gibberish but I LOVE it and I'm excited that I have a new title. I spent the first 11 years of my professional life strongly committed to being a "PR guy" and was very, very obsessed with that part of my industry and staying in it and strong but - almost two years at a full service-integrated-agency later, I am now happy to shed the PR part of my title and to embrace the spectrum of what we can do here. My CEO is beaming with pride right now (smile).

Anywho - with new titles comes great responsibility (I think that is what Spider Man's aunt told him at least) and that means I've been getting my feet, cankles, knees, thighs and armpits very, very wet with an RFP that has dominated my life for two full weeks.

An RFP, for the gloriously unacquainted, is a "request for proposals." Organizations (who are increasingly just fishing for great ideas and understanding on budget perspective, according to AdAge) issue RFPs when they are bidding out work, seeking a new agency of record or considering a change in their creative and communications process.

We pitched the client this morning and it went well, I think - but that is not the point of this here post.

I co-coordinated the effort with one of my favorite colleagues (she's very smart and funny and talented and a very hard worker) and we worked a TON. 90 hours between last Saturday and this morning (I left here at 12:45) to be exact. I worked 14 straight days on this thing. The weird thing is, as tired as I am (and I am exhausted - I cried and cried on the drive back from the pitch this morning (I was alone in the car (except for two life-sized cutouts of coworkers, a cooler full of dry ice and 14 additional display boards)) I am not upset about the time or the effort.

I missed Joy and Ava. I saw them very, very little this week (Joy went back to work last Monday - but more about that in another post) and I got very, very little sleep but it felt great to be involved and to be busy and to feel like I was helping my agency sharpen its proverbial pencil and get some great ideas and work and direction on paper for a client.

The hours though . . . oy the hours. It reminds me of "old Sean" that lived in Baltimore and worked in downtown Washington, DC for a man that didn't seem to understand a "work-life balance." I worked 10, 11, 12 hour days regularly. And that was before factoring in the three hours I spent commuting each day. I was tired all the time. It felt like jet lag, only without the thrill of being someplace exotic (or coming back from one) and I just wanted to sleep, eat or both alllll the time. I was cranky. I was moody. I was anti-social and I was unwilling to really snap out of it. All this, mind you, while I was a married man that could not afford to just eat, sleep, crank out and be alone all the time.

It was weird to go through this process as the "new" me. To not have 300 extra pounds to further weigh me down. To not just mindlessly eat as a way to try to cope with the misery. To not just rage out at my co-workers, boss, friends and family when the stress level started to rise. To not do what I had always done. I realized that this was a short stint. A "reminder" of what my life was like. Not a return to the "old days." Not a "regression." Not a problem. Wifey was her normal, loving self. She let me have my time and my crankiness and she took on the extra hours with Ava and with her job in stride. She's nearly perfect. I don't deserve her. I worry that she will realize that one day but - six years in - she's still willing to just subtly hint that she's figured it out every now and again (smile).

I'm happy it is over. I've got lots of enthusiasm for spending some quality time with Joy and Ava this week and - drum roll please - Ryan and Erin land Thursday night and Patrick and Joyell come in on Friday so we are SUPER excited about this coming weekend (which will likely be exhausting in its own rite but in a very different direction).

Wish us luck on the RFP. We're super excited about the client, the work and the potential and we gave them 78 different tactical suggestions that should give us plenty of work on the back end. And if that means extra hours . . . clearly I can still handle that too.

Now - if you'll excuse me - I. Must. Sleep.

Simpson's Wedding . . .

2009-07-22T21:37:00.000-05:00

We (and by "we" I mean Wifey) just booked our tickets and hotel for Stacy Simpson's wedding. She's getting hitched (sorry, Tom Kelly) at a beautiful resort in the Dominican Republic and we are super, super excited about the trip.

This will be the first time Joy and I leave the country together (save for a morning spent on the Canadian side of Niagara Falls two summers ago) and my first trip to one of those fancy-schmancy all-inclusive resorts where you have to take a bathing suit and linen pants. Save for the Amore Family Cruise in 1999, this is my first time ever going south of Florida. This will also be our first, true family vacation too.

We could not be more excited (even though it is still eight months away).

We've already started buying clothes (that are on clearance now) to take with us and Ava has been trying, very hard, to pronounce Dominican Republic correctly ("Go airplane get to beach!" she's got down (smile)).

I'm thrilled for Stacy and I'm thrilled that we get to go on a trip!

Sorry, Chachi, for the terrible photo of the two of us (you look lovely as always but I look . . . well . . . ) but I don't have one of us since my surgery - let's fix that on the beach (smile)!

Running . . .

2009-07-18T12:19:00.000-05:00

I have been struggling to force myself to exercise lately. To run, more specifically. I'm very much committed to getting in to shape and running but I just . . . ugh.

Work has been crazy (not an excuse) and Joy is getting ready to go back to work (not an excuse) and I'm trying to make more time for Ava and Joy since our lives are about to change again (a valid thing to do - but not an excuse) and I'm out of good DVRed television (not an excuse) and I'm just not sure how much motivation I get out a commitment that I still have essentially four months to prepare for (I know I'll be eating those words in October/November).

Anywho - I can't find my copy of Heft on Wheels (a MUST read for any of us fatties, especially men, who are trying to get moving (literally) in this life) and I can't seem to draw inspiration from the already-bought run clothes (in sizes smaller than my current ones) that mock me from my work-out clothes drawer and even my stalled physical progress seems to leave me feeling "eh, whatever" about the whole thing. What's a man to do? You already know if you're reading this . . . I turned, as always, to the Internet.

Here's what I found.

One, a spot about shaking the "old you"! Another about my favorite topic-to-end-all-topics, moobs. Finally, a very, very funny movie that you can watch on DVD while running.

Let's go RUN, shall we?!

Blubber Belt Blankets the South . . .

2009-07-10T09:23:00.003-05:00

Great read on obesity and the way it beats the crap out of the south and specifically Mississippi. For what it is worth, my proud, Southern people . . . I love your food, your culture and your patience with living in the deep, deep south.

My Friend Al . . .

2009-07-08T12:42:00.000-05:00

Picture it! The Eastern Market/Potomac Avenue "section" of Southeast, Washington, DC. 1999 - 2004.

An apartment where "men" live. I mean REAL men. The kind of man with girlfriends who lived in separate (and not always neighboring) states lived. The kind that, largely, lived paycheck to paycheck (if not hand out to hand out). The kind that didn't care what time the Metro stopped running because a cab would pick you up in front of any bar in town at any time you wanted them to. The kind of men that welcomed friends to come and crash on the couch - but had friends that new better than to actually SLEEP on that couch. The kind of apartment that the men ONLY moved out of to move in with their betrothed. And that was only because they wouldn't move in with US and the other men. The kid of man with arthritic thumbs from the time spent playing PS2. The kind of men with no food in the cupboards, only beer, wine and liquor in the fridge and three plates - only one of which was "clean" at any given time. We were men. Men that ate whatever was easy, delicious and minimally nutritious food. We were the kind of men that had Al on speed dial.

"Who is Al?" you foolishly ask. Well - you've OBVIOUSLY never gotten the invite to crash on our couch so let me go ahead and tell you about Al - our Executive Chef for all those years.

Al is the namesake for Al's Gourmet Pizza. And let me tell you - that is not just some sort of slapped together name that didn't walk the talk. No, no. Al was GOURMET all the way. And he, and his crew, delivered in 30 minutes or less and they knew our number (and our order) when we showed up on their caller ID.

We ordered from Al's at LEAST four nights a week and sometimes we would order from him more than once per evening (I remember one particular night when we ate 300 wings, two pizzas, four subs and some mozzarella sticks . . . spread out over five hours and six separate orders).

The TYPICAL dinner order was a SIXTEEN INCH sub for everyone who happened to be at the apartment when we picked up the phone (you could TRY to order the eight (note the lower cases there vs. upper for the SIXTEEN) but you would be chided and overruled). And we're not talking turkey breast with reduced fat mayo and fresh veggies. Nah. Screw that. We're talking cheeseburger or chicken patty or tuna with extra mayo or Meat Of Your Choice parmesan. Fish Filet (when we had Catholics over during Lenten Fridays ONLY).

The TYPICAL snack/Tiger Woods Golf order was at least 100 wings with a towel underneath the tray to protect the ottoman.

I can't even BEGIN to imagine how many thousands of calories Al provided me with on any given week - much less over the life time of him being my Executive Chef. Needless to say it was a love affair that my roommates and friends handled better than I did or could. They could actually put the second eight inch sub (the sixteen-incher was actually two, separate, eight inch subs) away for later. They could put down their paper towel before the last wing was gone. They could leave a slice of pizza for someone else to eat for breakfast (if the bugs and mice didn't get to it first).

I never went to Al's. Never wanted to. I never wanted to meet the man or thank him - face to face - for all the delicious dinners and drunken fulfillment. Okay - to be honest - I never wanted to leave my couch to go further than the front door to get my Al's. Vinu went TO Al's once though. Once. He said it was utterly anti-climatic and a bit of a turn off. Turns out Al is NOT at the stove. He's not tossing pizza crust in the air and ladeling mayo on the subs himself. He's not frying the fish filet and he's not putting the speciality in his specialty pizzas.

Nope. Turns out that Al's is actually a sad little storefront without much charm or sitting space and with a television that is set to the soccer channel and turned up way too loud (here I just assumed it was an actual mob of excited fans chanting for the pizza in the background when I called).

Turns out that Al's is not worth the mystique I put on him or the romance with which I discuss the food he sold me to this day. I don't care though. You were a good friend, Al. Thanks for that! Thanks for everything!

Gastric Band Going Direct-To-Consumers . . .

2009-07-07T06:12:00.000-05:00

I just read this article (thanks to a colleague) in a trade publication that I hold near and dear (there is a killer AdAge podcast too, if you care) and . . . well . . . here comes the soap box.

I'm ALL about empowerment in the fight against obesity. I am. Tell us to eat less. Tell us to move. Reward us for our efforts. Chide us for our failures. Point out every fad diet, work out trend, get-skinny-quick scheme and self-adjusting, hidden elastic waist banded pant you can. I love it. I love it all and I consume it all with the ferocity I once saved only for a box of my beloved Oatmeal Creme Pies.

I am all for education and shared resources and experiences and demystifying the process of bariatric surgery but - come on people - do we REALLY need to market lap bands and/or gastric bypass surgery directly to people? On YouTube? Really?

We can't leave DOCTORS in the middle on this? How about the EMMI program (an educational web site designed for engaged patients and surgical candidates) or a microsite that talks about options in a less "commercial" way. I get the idea of DOCTORS using the Internet as a viable, cost effective way to further education.

And - let me be clear (before someone defends this site or calls me a hypocrite or whatever) I am not just complaining about this campaign on YouTube or that the product is also advertised on television. This is not about Realize, Ethicon or its parent company Johnson & Johnson. No disrespect intended to the company that - speaking of band(s) AIDS, that is, has covered more cuts, scrapes and bruises on my body than I even care to quantify.

I'm MORE concerned about this glut of advertising we're getting from the so-called "pharma" industry for all these products, services and offerings and how you should ask your doctor if X is right for you.

Half of the ads (I swear to God) don't even really tell you what X is . . . much less what it might do for you - if it is right for you. And I get that the ads have to devote their time to disclaimers about nose bleeds, indigestion, permanent eye discoloration, night sweats, fits of violence and general annoyance following the use of the product advertised but . . . here is a solution - STOP advertising this stuff directly to consumers. Stop putting people holding hands while laying in neighboring bathtubs on top of a cliff watching a sunset to tell me Wifey and I can still chose the "right moment" even after Little Sean (and I do mean LITTLE (smile)) fails me. And stop implying the right moment might be in neighboring bathtubs on a cliff watching a sunset anyway. I get that you have regulations governing how you can influence, er MARKET to doctors and I get that you also have a million protectors limiting how you can market to consumers and other audiences as well.

We are living in the year 2009 though, people. Figure out how to market TOWARDS your targets without making people think your product is some "one size fits all" commodity or solution. The testimonial web site is a good first step. It is. Two thumbs up there. It is still too much though. The wide-open Internet, especially a portal like YouTube, is not the right place to "sell" lap band. There is too much information, too many opinions, too much conflicting information, too much potential to confuse and inundate OR to sell this lifestyle of ours off as a silver bullet.

Gastric Bypass nor its red-headed step cousin (no disrespect to those that opt for it) the Lap Band procedure are NOT for everyone. They are not. The statistics show that. The human experience shows that. The weight gain after the procedures shows that. The mortality rates from complications the surgery puts on existing/other conditions shows that. This blog and my grammatical errors talk about that. Any number of resources can tell you how "dangerous" and "deadly" gastric bypass is. I read it all. I worried about it all. And then I sat down with DOCTORS who explained it all to me and helped me understand what the procedure might mean for me and what my personal odds and chances and risks were.

Let a DOCTOR (and God love the good men and women that devote their lives to trying to get the fattening, depressed, smoking, drinking, over eating, over stressed, inactive and sexually overextended LOT of us feeling "better" if ONLY for a few days at a time) decide if these procedures are right for "us" or at least trust that any good, self-aware and self-loathing fatty (like myself) is already at least aware of if not considering bariatric surgery BEFORE they see your TV commercial, YouTube video or other DTC effort for advertising.

I don't mean to bite the hand that feeds me (strategic, smart communications and marketing is vital to our economy (just ask me and my colleagues)) but . . . come on . . . let's leave the Internet to porn and other things it was really made for.

Workout Checklist . . .

2009-07-06T22:04:00.001-05:00

I'm still working out like a "mad man" (and by "mad man" I mean some one that works out about five times a week for about 45 mintues at a time with the intention of moderate weight loss, muscle development and an improved overall outlook on life). I have to say - I'm really, really enjoying it.

I don't see any real impact on my body. My clothes don't fit any differently. My lungs don't feel like they have a larger balloonability. My arms are not confused as "guns" when I show them off at the pool. My tattoo doesn't look any cooler (I kid - I would never get a tattoo, the pain would be far too much for me to possibly sit through),

I FEEL better though. That is a given though, I suppose (these lunatic freaks all around me have been telling me for 33 years now that exercise feels good and makes you feel good (Wuh-tever)). I've noticed though that the undiagnosed-but-rampant-none-the-less "OCD" that runs so much of my life has crept its way in to my exercies routine. Here, for your point-and-laugh pleasure, is my pre- and post-workout checklist.

There is a certain madness you can engage in when you work out at home, in the privacy of your basement that you just don't get at the local park or the gym or your nearest Curves (apparently my "kind" aren't welcome there anyway (sorry, ladies)).

I digress . . .

PRE-WORKOUT CHECKLIST -
1 - Get my sweet, sweet workout gear (picture something spandex/lycra based on the bottom with a tight fighting, graphically printed t-shirt that says something like "Just Do It" up top, ladies - then stop laughing and replace that image with loose fighthing jersey knit cotton shorts and an oversized, solid colored t-shirt, with pocket up high) on and head to the basement. Take two towels (one for sweat, one to cover the display on the treadmill) with me. Grab a magazine on the way down (if you're NOT a subscriber to Cat Fancy ask yourself why you are NOT capable of giving and receiving love and then subscribe when you realize you ARE capable). Stretch it alllll out (I'm talkin' groin too here, ladies).
2 - Strap on my sweet, sweet running shoes. Check another two miles off my 500 Mile 'til I Replace the Kicks Chart (because once I check them off I HAVE to run them).
3 - Listen to my warm up song while cueing up something to watch on television.
4 - Say a quick prayer that my heart, mind and body will either a) survive the work out to follow or allow me the power to crawl to the phone across the room so I can call for Joy and/or 911 help before I black out. Remind God that I don't waste his time with the little stuff so he can know I'm very serious about this request (you can take 300 pounds off the boy but you can't take the mortal fear of a massive heart attack, stroke or other physical collapse off the mind of that boy).
5 - Hop on the treadmill and get the walking started (I do this while listening to MGMT and talking with the Powers That Be).
6 - Put my Nickelodeon water bottle with 20 carefully poured ounces of water (with flavor packet - I'm digging the Kroger brand, sugar free, faux-Gatorade with Lemon-Lime flavoring lately) on the window sill next ot the treadmill. Test to make sure I can reach it without actually turning my body more than 45 degrees from the front of the treamill (the real trouble comes at around 50 degrees, stumbling sets in at around 60, catastrophe surely lurks in the low 70s).
7 - Finish my song. Wrap iPod headphones around iPod. Toss iPod on the loveseat. Curse when it bounces back off. Stare at it - there on the floor - for the next 40 minutes. Ruing the day they (those bastards) invented cushions.
8 - Hit play on whatever TV I have cued up. Kick up the speed, the incline and the positive energy.
9 - Lay towel, specifically and strategically, over the display of the treadmill. Begin sweating within seconds (I'm a dog and the towel is Pavlov).

POST-WORKOUT CHECKLIST -
1 - Wipe massive amounts of sweat from brow, equipment and walls, floor, ceiling and upholestry surrounding my work out area
2 - Take off running shoes and place back on trophy shelf (that might someday house troph(y/ies) after kissing the inner soles of each and thanking them for giving this angel some wings
3 - Wring out socks. Throw against wall. Know they will still be stuck there, ready for next workout.
4 - Sit on loveseat in basement. Exhale deeply. Loudly mutter something (and to lonesome self) that will likely contain the Lord's name (taken in the wrong spirit) at least twice and one or two four letter words -none of which would make my mother or the aforementioned Lord proud or happy.
5 - Pant. Two to three minutes. Pausing only for repeat of step four.
6 - Stand. Turn of crappy summer television show or DVRed episode of the great television that TNT saves for the summer (that imp Kyra Sedgwick on The Closer tickles me pink)
7 - Turn off the lights. Grab my empty water bottle. Head up the stairs to the real world that awaits me.
8 - Stop in the kitchen. Have a teaspoon of peanut butter on my way upstairs to the wife, daughter and dog that likely await me (no one sleeps around here)
9 - Take off my work out clothes. Throw them in the laundry. Head to the bathroom and get ready for bed.
10 - Sleep like a baby (a normal, sleep loving baby not MY particular baby).

If you ARE a medical professional (Michele, Laura, Joe, Chris, Melissa, etc.) please feel free to send help and/or narcotics . . . I really want to get through the pain to get my kick-butt tattoo of the Little Debbie logo on the back of my calf (or, uh, something like that).

Blowin' Stuff Up in the 'Burbs . . .

2009-07-05T07:12:00.000-05:00

I wanted to post a few pictures from our great July 4th celebration in the "burbs."

My NORMAL (and beloved) fireworks friend, my brother-in-law DJ was out of town with his lovely wife and daughter enjoying some vacation time in Kansas City so I assumed we would have an evening without too many explosions and then, thankfully, the call came and we got invited to Park City for some fun in the waning sun with the Timmermeyer side of the family.

They aren't DJ but they sure are fun! We arrived to see this spread of pyrotechnics (fret not the pile grew before it started to shrink) . . .

and the adorable (and brave/slightly crazy) AJ was our fire guide for the evening. (Yes. He's just a young child and his shirt says "Ladies Man" (I'm telling you - the kid was wise and bold beyond his years)). Ava was immediately smitten with AJ (as she seems to be of all boys that are least one year older than her and who are bold, brave, etc.) and followed him around like a puppy dog for a majority of the evening. He was a generous crush. He even gave Ava the punk to light things here and there (supervised by adults, clearly).

Don't believe me that it gets crazy out in the 'burbs? Tell that to the burn in Uncle Bill's shirt that was caused by an arrant firework . . . from the NEIGHBOR'S house. Yeahhhhhhh - we blew the whole block up!

Here is the only successful (of about three dozen attempts) shot I have of one of our aerial blasts going off. The evening was ended with the "Not in My Yard" fun pack that consisted of ground sparks, pops, buzzes and 15 aerial cannon blasts.

Thanks for the invite and the great time, Hibbs/Timmermeyer family. We do love living near family and you are very special part of why that is true. We really enjoyed being with family and having some fun in to the late night (10:30 for us is a LATE night) and might just try to convince DJ and Lexy to let us move our normal party over to your place for 2010. The two Js (AJ and DJ) will make it a legendary night for sure!

Happy July 4th . . .

2009-07-04T06:42:00.000-05:00

Happy Birthday, America!

Sometimes I Miss My Parents . . .

2009-06-29T19:44:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I miss my parents a great deal and sometimes I miss them in nearly immeasurable ways.

I don't mean to sound dramatic about it but it is hard for me to go four or five months at a time without seeing my parents and a year or more without seeing my brothers.

I know we made the decision to move to Kansas and so I should not complain but somedays . . . when I'm feeling sad about whatever . . . I just want my mommy and my daddy. I'm 33. And - yes - I still call them "mommy" and "daddy" when I am needy.

I love and miss you guys and can't wait to see you this fall! Sorry our July visit didn't work out!

Early Dieting Fads, Explained . . .

2009-06-25T20:19:00.000-05:00

I just finished listening to one of my favorite podcasts (I listen to about 15 of them in any given week so it is not too exclusive of a list, frankly) - the GQ Podcast and this "episode" is all about a new book written about this guy, Bernarr McFadden, who was born Bernard McFadden but changed it to Bernarr because it sounded more dynamic and later went on to call himself Mr. America.

Mr. America was quite the character, clearly. In his life McFadden . . .

- was America's original health guru (he cured his own tuberculosis)

- founded America's first health magazine (Physical Culture)

- opened the first national chain of health food stores (eat THIS, Whole Foods) with Teddy Roosevelt (yes, THE Teddy Roosevelt)

- he put the US Army on a "raw foods" diet

- founded the "body building" competition movement

- established a health/nudism "utopia" in New Jersey

- had his wife followed by a private investigator for almost their entire marriage

- founded a gossip newspaper that gave rise to future Mayor LaGuardia

- declared war on the "medicine monopoly" and the "barbaric" practices of mainstream medicine (like shots and surgery)

- trained 40 of Mussolini's (yes, THE Mussolini) cadets at his wellness camp pre-WWII

- helped, as a PR guru, to overcome reports of FDR's polio and what impact it might have had on his presidency (perhaps ensuring America its greatest president (please don't even bother to dispute my subjective opinion on this one (smile)) in the process) and hired Eleanor as the editor of one of the first parenting magazines in the US

- was the father of the 60s/70s "fitness" movement

While some of his "wisdom" was clearly okay and has stood the test of time (he was sure that Americans were too fat and just needed to cut back on their eating and they would be okay) but he took it a bit far, I think.

For instance he thought that less calories could/would cure ANY ill that possibly plagued us and he would REGULARLY walk to and from work in the morning. I know you're thinking that is not that nuts but - did I mention he lived TWENTY MILES from his office? Yep. He'd walk 40 miles in one day. Sorta' nuts, right? RIGHT!

It seems like McFadden was sooooo obsessed with fitness that he couldn't really concentrate on the rest of life. The stuff that really matters. Like managing money. Like trusting and loving your wife. Like having true, honest relationships with those around you. Like not working 40 miles a day to get to and from work. Like eating your cake, sometimes, and not just hating it. Like the joys of just being lazy when the mood strikes you.

Anywho - it was an interesting podcast and my initial research in to the guy (how have I NOT heard of this guy before today?) sort of suggests that he's straight up fascinating and I will likely have to get and read this new biography of him and his life.

A few things sort of sticks with me about him and his thoughts . . .

1 - Fitness advocates are always sort of nutty.

2 - Brilliance is not far from insanity.

3 - Very little has really changed about how we (as a people) think about, value and challenge our own bodies and our nutrition and health and approach to both despite great advances in just about every other aspect of our lives.

4 - A good book makes summer heat more tolerable.

5 - I can try to be healthy and I can work on my diet and I can exercise and I can strive for great physical health but I might never really get there because I'm just not truly passionate about it at this point. And that is okay (see point 1 above (smile)).

Check out the podcast (you can listen to it without subscribing) and feel free to learn more about Mr. America (you won't regret it if your brain works like mine) and please take your fitness and health and diet seriously . . . but not too seriously (smile)!

Laughing With . . .

2009-06-24T12:09:00.000-05:00

Regina Spektor is back!

Grey's Anatomy's musical producers are breathing a sigh of relief and so are all the "manly-men", like me, that just love a Russian pianist who sings about the randomest things in the world and makes every song somehow catchy.

I downloaded her new CD last night. It's great.

My favorite song of the moment is Laughing With.

The song - to me - sort of explains, much more eloquently than I ever could, how I feel about God and faith (not RELIGION but God and "faith") for those who don't really believe but don't have the heart to admit it and just how unfair it is to the "big guy" (if you believe God has a gender and it is a masculine one at that) that so many people only talk to or about him when they need something.

Best that we leave him (and his attention) to those that truly believe, that give him "mad ups" (what ever happened to that expression?) in good times and in bad and that need him in good times and in bad, I suppose.

I, as is well documented in this blog (and much to my parents utter dismay) try not to look at or to him for too much either way in hopes of not coming across as needy . . . I read a book one time (it was called the Old Testament - you would love it) that seems to imply he can be a bit vengeful, rathful and spitish to those that flip-flop on him and his ways (and/or worship gold bulls).

I'll have a good laugh with you anytime, God. Thanks for the great life in the meantime! And thanks for giving me and my iTunes library Regina Spektor!

500 Posts Later . . .

2009-06-23T06:57:00.000-05:00

Holy crap!

I was just cleaning out my blog drafts folder (does any one really care, on June 23, 2009 what was on my mind on September 19, 2008 (yeah . . . me neither)) and I realized that I have posted to this blog 500 times. Five, HUNDRED, times. 5-0-0. D (for you Romans amongst us). 500 posts in 1 year, 10 months and 22 days . . . 692 days . . . 16,600 hours.

That's a lot of time spent at this keyboard talking about my dreams, goals, frustrations, sworn enemies, taste in music, movie and TV selections, childhood and adult memories, obesity thoughts, self loathings and my beautiful wife and daughter (not always in that order).

And at least a few of you claim to have read all 500 of them.

My apologies to each of you, the english language that I torture, twist and destroy with each post, to the kind folks at Blogger who were stupid enough to give me (and the other blogging idiots I call "peers") some free server space to spout of on and to the kind, kind folks at Danbury Hospital who asked me to do this blog hoping I might actually inspire, educate, entertain and engage my fellow patients.

Dem Bones, Dem Bones. Dem Frail Bones . . .

2009-06-22T12:34:00.006-05:00

I just read this article looking at the connection between bariatric surgery and weakened/thinned bones. Yep. You read it here first . . . gastric bypass might have some negative impact on your body over the long haul. What? That's not NEWS to you? Yeah. Me neither.

Here's the thing. And I won't get my soap box out here - don't fret - but any one who is really ready to enter in to this surgery and this life should be educated enough to enter in. How many times did I hear the lectures about hair falling out and bones suffering and blood clots on the table and after surgery and the need to get moving right after surgery and the potential for long term damages and suffering inside the body based on things the medical community did not yet know about the surgery and its long term impact (we don't know the 50 year implications of a surgery that is not yet that old).

Here's what we're all doing . . . trying to get healthy. We're willing to admit defeat against our bodies and our food impulses. We're willing to accept that the 50 - 84 diets we've all tried in our lifetimes have failed us. We're open to understanding that we need help in a drastic and extreme way. We are all willing to accept the RISKS that go with the surgery positive that the rewards, over the long haul, will outweigh (pun intended, suckahs) the certain struggles and strains and shortened life and crappy quality of life that would come with doing nothing.

My bones might thin out? Okay. No problem there. I'll take my calcium supplements. I'll drink my daily milk. I'll make sure that my protein bars have protein added. I'll get some calcium in any way I can (even though there is plenty of scientific evidence to support that - by 33 - my body has already taken in all the calcium it is willing to take in for bone development). I'll do the proper thing and maintain post-surgery care (physicals, blood screenings, general assessments) every year for the rest of my life. I'll risk my hair falling out (thanks to genetics it is doing that anyway) and I'll risk that my bones might - 50 or 60 years from now - become frail and weak.

Why? I would have had the joint and back pain every day for the rest of my life (just as I did at 530 pounds). and I lived in constant fear of falling down and breaking every bone in my body as a 500 pound man (just ask Wifey about how much of a mess I became one day when I tripped while looking at a house in Maryland). Because, frankly, without this surgery I would not have been alive for those bones to fail me 50 years from now.

The facts and statistics might be compelling (lots of evidence of reduced hip density, broken bones seem to be common, etc.) but I want to know how faithful those people are to their supplements and diets and I want to know what these people were doing that might have risked broken bones (a sidebar - we are a LOT more likely to run, jump, slide, skip, wrestle, sky dive, run, walk or do errands (smile) following our surgery and "stuff" happens when you are suddenly active after years of being sedentary) and I want to know what any of those statistics has to do with the price of tea in China.

I'm not scared. I'm not going to sit down with Wifey this evening and discuss how we'll put MedicAlert in to our monthly budget and I'm not even going to take it easy on the treadmill tonight (God willing I'll run even harder).

If my bones eventually become frail and weak . . . it is the cost of doing business in the GB world. It is the risk for the reward. The yin for the yang. The quid pro the quo. I'll be just fine. And you can sign "I told you so" on my cast(s) if you think I'm a fool for taking this attitude towards the article and the findings!

Happy Father's Day . . .

2009-06-21T13:48:00.005-05:00

We have had quite the Father's Day here at Casa Amore.

I slept for TWELVE hours over night (I passed out watching Meet the Robinsons (the ulimate animated movie for adoptive parents (second only to Annie for all time movies about adoption (smile)) at about 8:00 and the next thing I knew it was 4:10 AM and Ava was waking me up to ask me to come sleep on the couch in our bedroom with her where we slept until 8:12) and then Joy made us breakfast in bed (Huevos Rancheros) and then we went out to see Imagine That (which was actually really, really good (imagine THAT from an Eddie Murphy movie (smile))) and then we came home to start laundry, lawn mowing, grocery shopping, house cleaning and errand running.

Yep. Even Father's Day has to be met with the reality of an OCD-suffering father and his need for Sunday normalcy!

Anywho - Ava did so well at lunch we let her strip down to next-to-nothing and enjoy a little ice cream cone before nap time and, before long, the Flip was out and we were playing the "Can You Repeat This Phrase Bank In An Endearing Tone" (our favorite Flip camera game). 20 minutes of attempts later (Ava is going through a, uh, phase right now that makes the game less than, uh, fun for her) we had THIS to share with her Grandfathers.

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY to all the dads out there especially my father, Dad Terry, Uncle Patrick and Uncle DJ!

Too Cool for the Pool . . .

2009-06-19T07:57:00.003-05:00

Ava and I went swimming Wednesday night and then again last night.

I really enjoy swimming (always have, probably always will) and it seems like my little Bidders loves the pool even more than I do.

She starts jumping around with excitement to go swimming at around 11:15 when Joy picks her up from "school" and tells her that she and Daddy are going swimming that evening and - by the time I get home at 5:15/5:30 she's taken a half-hearted nap and is in her swimsuit, sunscreened, flip flopped and holding my trunks in my hand as she greets me at the door (note to wifey - stop telling Ava six hours ahead of time if you want to get a good nap out of her in the meantime (smile)).

Her excitement only grows as we make our way to the YMCA and she asks about every 1/4 mile if we are "there yet" and by the time we find a parking spot and key our code in at the gate, she has her cover up off, her flip flops in her hand and is b-lining for the "ship wreck" slide.

I find the pool to be fascinating on several levels. First - no one really "swims" in this particular pool (more of a water park, I guess). It is only about five feet deep, max and it is a wave pool so everyone just sort of floats and splashes around like so many hippos in Madagascar 2. Second - it is a great mix of teenagers hanging out, families trying to beat the heat and proud parents trying to introduce their children to the thrills of slides shaped like shipwreck and seashells. Third - the place is fenced off chaos . . . in all the best ways.

You can't go more than about two seconds without hearing the half-hearted whistles of the teenaged, apathetic, sunburned lifeguards. You never know who they are blowing at and you don't really get the impression they do either. I'm sure if there was ever a crisis they would spring to action but - in the short term - oh my!

More importantly the pool is the weirdest mix of people I've probably ever been around. Some are beautiful. Some are not. Some are skinny. Some are not. Some are capable of swimming. Some are not. Some are there to just have fun. Some are not. Some are looking to check out the fellas. Some are there to check out the ladies. Some are there to make awkward comments to the mother's in the toddler section of the pool (another story for another blog, no doubt). Some are there to get some sun. Some are there to get a sno-cone and read a book. Some are there to enjoy themselves. Some are there to start some trouble. Regardless of the person or their "motives" at the pool, I can't go more than about three seconds without wondering how EVERY person at the pool can be so confident in their bodies while I am just hoping to blend in to the water and the scenery of the water park without any one noticing me at all (wifey insisted I get a bright, patterned pair of "fun" swim trunks last year (I've been too lazy to go get new ones that actually fit me this year - I won't do that until the current ones actually fall off me and expose me to the YMCA community) and I wear a red t-shirt with those trunks so I'm not exactly in water-camo (do they make water camo?) but you know what I mean).

I'm talking men in Speedos. Moderately overweight men in Speedos (Wichita is the Italian Riviera of the midwest United States, I guess). Mid-30s mothers are keeping up with the hottest trends in teenaged swimwear. Short-shorts double as swim trunks on men in their 40s. The palest people I've seen since Twilight just laying on the lounge chairs praying a little color will fall on and stick to their chests. Kids coming off the slide with wedgies that look painful . . . and then digging them out - with both hands - for all to see. Hair that is damp enough to remind you of a soggy dog but not wet enough to lay flat against the head. Boobs everywhere (on the men and the women) and people just screaming and yelping and having a grand old time for all to observe (last night's highlight was a man screaming, from 40 feet away, at his wife that she would have to watch the kids because he had to "clear his nose and didn't want to do it in the pool . . . again")!

Don't get me wrong - I admire the heck out of these people. I slip through the gate, walk along the building to the lockers, put our oversized "Mommy and Ava" LL Bean tote bag in the first one I can find and then I try to get in to at least knee-deep water before anyone can notice my grotesque left calf but not in to deep enough water that my oversized t-shirt clings to my moobs and my hair looks as bald as it really is. I just don't like my body. I don't like taking it out in public. I don't like showing it off to people. I never have (I had the same body issues as a 10 year old kid at the pool) and I probably never will. Wifey has been trying to convince me that when/if I get my body lift I might feel differently but as long as I can hear my body excess skin slapping against itself on the treadmill I don't believe I have anything fleshly to show the world!

Keep doing your thing, Wichitans. If you are happy with your body when it is covered in spandex, nylon, polyester and spandex . . . be happy! If you want to wear a Speedo . . . put your banana in a hammock and hit the water slide! If you are okay with being ghostly white, having damp hair and letting the world see those probably-were-meant-to-be-private-and-intimate tattoos . . . ink it up! If you are just trying to beat the heat and feel like I'm over thinking it . . . ignore me!

No, really, please - ignore me - I don't have the confidence or the body to just let myself "be" at the pool. But I admire you for being able to (or for being able to hide your insecurities so well).

3 Down, 497 To Go . . .

2009-06-15T21:23:00.000-05:00

I finally got my sweet, sweet running shoes (thanks to a very kind birthday gift from Mom and Dad Terry) this evening.

I was going to get them on Saturday when I got my card from Mom and Dad Terry but we had company and I figured that was rude.

The store is closed on Sundays.

Monday was the best I can do (and who doesn't want something to be excited about on a Monday) so I went through my day and then stopped by the running store today on my way home from work. I could not wait, literally, to get home and to strap them on. Joy joked that she was surprised I didn't leave my car at the store and run home but, all kidding aside, I haven't been this giddy to get home and check something out since a friend told me how to unscramble pay-per-view porn as a high school student - but that's a very different story for a very different time so . . . back to the running shoes.

I was greeted by Ava and Joy (who were somehow excited for me to show off my ASICS Gel Cumulus 10s and actually wanted a fashion show "I like-yuh running shoes, Daddy," prodded Ava.) and I started planning my first real run in these bad boys. I had to put them away, literally, to focus on dinner and playtime and bath time and all that. And I pulled it off.

The MINUTE Ava got in bed though (or the minute Wifey started book and rocking time, more accurately) I strapped them on and headed for the basement (I had intended to run outside but we had a thunderstorm roll on through last evening). I set up an episode of Harper's Island on the DVR. I double checked my shoe laces. I cued the treadmill for 4.7 MPH. I set the timer for 45 minutes. I stepped on. I hit start. I jogged for the next 20 straight minutes (no more of my five-minute run, five-minute walk interval training for me on this fine evening - it is time to RUN), walked (at 4.4 MPH) for five minutes and then jogged 20 more minutes at 4.8 MPH. All told I covered about 3.42 miles and likely jogged three full miles. That is the most I've ever ran or jogged in my entire life. It felt GREAT to be that sweaty, out of breathed and otherwise euphoric.

I was so elated that I had to take pictures of my own shoes (see above) to mark this momentus occasion and I started an "odometer" to track my shoe usage (you are supposed to replace your running shoes every 500 miles, I have read).

Three down. 497 to go. That's 165 days of running three miles per day. Is it weird for me to be excited for the day that I have to retire my first-ever pair of running shoes? Probably. But I'd be willing to bet it is NO more odd than the fact that I was so excited to get these shoes home tonight or that I'm already excited to run tomorrow night.