The new me

My diet began around 1:30 a.m. on Feb. 9. It may have actually began two weeks sooner, but that's the best line of demarcation I have, so I say it was Feb. 9.
My diet began with the worst pain I've felt since I dislocated by knee in the 9th grade. At the time, the pain dwarfed the knee, but looking back on it, I still gotta go with the knee. But on to the pain and the diet.
I woke up with what I thought was a stomach ache. No problem. I've had those before. Just head to the bathroom and wait for the magic to happen. However, on this night, nothing happened. Nothing except for more pain. Excruciating pain. I thought if I laid on my stomach for a while it would go away. Only as I laid on my stomach it got worse, so much worse that it hurt to even lay down. It was then that I realized I needed help. I didn't need to be convinced to go to the emergency room, but I did need to know which one because there was no way I could sit in a waiting room while my insides tried to burst through my skin (which is how it felt). It was decided by my wife and physician sister (who we called) that we should take the 20 minute drive to Methodist North.
The emergency room was pretty empty for a Tuesday night and within 15 minutes I was writhing in pain in a hospital room, conscious enough to crack the occasional joke with the attending physician without making it seem like I was faking. I was examined, examined again and given pain medicine which made all right with the world, at least until I threw up the first time in the trashcan of the exam room. I guess my weight loss began at that very moment. The next week would be filled with more and more vomiting and no eating at all (doctor's orders in the beginning. My orders at the end).
After what seemed like a couple of hours, but was actually 4 hours, the hospital made the decision to admit me. The next 3 days were a blur of pain, way too much television, sometimes not enough drugs, no food and even more vomiting. The weekend included a visit from my Nashville-based family, more vomiting, a game of find-the-veins-move-the-IV, more drugs and the onset of frustration from said-family (including my wife).
All told, I was in the hospital for 10 days and diagnosed with diverticulitis, a disease I had never heard of before the doctor taught me not only what it was but how to pronounce and spell it. The disease is caused by small packets of undigested food that find their way into the lining of your small intestine or colon and set up shop, causing the pain I felt and discomfort.
A lifetime of almost every processed meat and food product a guy could think of finally caught up with me.
I've never really had a horrible diet, per se, but I also haven't had the most healthy diet either. However, at the end of my hospital stay, I had lost 20 pounds. At my healthiest point as an adult, I was 217 pounds. That was also when I was working out 3-4 days a week (depending on my schedule) and more or less eating a lot of salads and tuna as a survival mechanism due to my sister's horrible cooking.
A series of circumstances, including the loss of my personal trainer (who worked me out for free), a move to the opposite end of town from my gym of choice and spouse who is a cooking savant all played into the emergence of the 284 pound me by the end of 2010.
While none of the above reasons is a valid excuse for me to fall out of the workout habit, the fact remains that it happened. However, after the hospital stay, two things were clear to me: I had started losing weight and I needed to keep it that way. But how?
We had toyed around with re-joining the YMCA or actually utilizing the limited, but viable and free workout facilities in the basement of our apartment, but none of that has come to fruition yet.
After two months of keeping the 20 pounds off because I've been eating mostly fish and chicken and no lunch meat at all, I'm about to embark on the journey with P90X. Who knows how it'll work out, This is the first post of what I hope will be several on my experience with this workout system. Will I end up looking like a professional athlete at the end of 90 days? Most likely not. But will I be able to get back to that 217 pound threshold? That's the $1 million, or in this case $119 dollar (with three easy monthly payments) question, now isn't it?

It's the little things...

It doesn't take a lot to make me happy. Watching the national championship game and putting random thoughts out into cyberspace. That is very relaxing. Enjoying the new blu ray player and watching "Machete" and "Ninja Assassin" back to back with the nephews. Never mind that the two youngest are 6 and 10. I saw "Scarface" at 7 and "The Godfather" is one of my earliest memories.
In a 9 to 5 where I'm rarely given the opportunity to smile, much less be proud of something I've done, I needed to find an oasis. Come home and everything washes away. We've made it this way. We like it this way. When we step out of the door in the morning, we're going to do battle with everything in the world that is trying to break our spirit, whether accidentally or on purpose, it happens.
When we walk in the door after being bombarded by whatever is thrown at us during the day, we can look at each other and it all melts away. We talk, eat and then choose between Frasier, Inception, The Town or even Chasing Amy. Suddenly, it's our own little film festival. And the best part, nothing that gets shown sucks...well, maybe when she put "Pretty in Pink" on Sunday morning.

Makes you think...sometimes

I sometimes wonder about the things I haven't done during my life because I thought of them as a big waste of time. Somethings I don't regret. Actually, most of them I don't regret.
I know I've wasted a lot of time and opportunity in my relatively brief time on Earth, but I've learned recently to not dwell on the past and look into the future. I'm thinking about that right now as I sit on the 21st floor of a rented condominium in Panama City. Yep, it's pretty freaking chilly out here, but a few years ago, I never would have though about spending Christmas Eve on a beach in Florida and if I did, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be looking at the sunset I'm looking at right now.
I've never been one to admire sunsets. Mainly because they've I haven't seen any that were that impressive. I have learned to appreciate them a little more these days. One reason is because I can see the sun set from my office overlooking the Mississippi River. But there is a lot to be said for watching it set over the ocean. One thing I can say is I've seen the sun set over the Pacific Ocean and now, ironically, I've seen it set over the Atlantic Ocean. As a person who has at times prided myself on not being too impressed with...well, anything or anybody, I can say that watching this particular sunset on Christmas Eve is the highlight of my year. And I actually had the presence of mind to take a photo of it.
Maybe I'm getting a bit older, or maybe I'm learning to actually appreciate the little things that I get to do instead of dwelling on the unimportant things I don't get to do. My life is good. I realize that and I'm reminded of it at least once or twice a week. I won't say that I'm becoming an optimist. I don't think that'll ever happen. See? An optimist would never have written those words.
I can say that I'm becoming more appreciative. I owe that to my wife. It's amazing how one person could have such a profound impact on another in so many unexpected ways. But here it is. Now the only question how long can I sit outside in a Northern Florida winter evening with shorts and a sweatshirt on.

It's been a long time since I left you a strong rhyme to step to. Think of how many weak blogs you slept through. Time's up, sorry I kept you.

So what's been missing lately? A little civility and way too much common sense. The world has lost its mind. The best thing about having a black president is white people no longer feel the need to conceal what they think. Any offensive, racist or straight up ignorant thing that comes to mind, they're all over. I've walked in offices and seen a picture of a witchdoctor with a bone through his nose and mouth. Look closer and Obama's face has been superimposed on it with the caption reading "Obamacare". And this was before healthcare reform passed.

"Nah, that's not racist at all," i said sarcastically, realizing I would be meeting with these guys for at least an hour.

"we like to have fun around here," preppy old fart #1 said, visibly uncomfortable that the black reporter he didn't think would make it to the back office had seen what wasn't to be seen.

"And that's the slightest bit racist," I said again before moving on and conducting the meeting.

It's been my experience that I'm not gonna like (or particularly be interested) in 56% of the people I interview throughout my career. Some I like more than others, some I like less. Then, there are the ones who I downright LOATHE. But it isn't always ignorant racist whites.

I tend to run into a lot of black people with an inflated sense of self, meaning they think they're a hell of a lot more important than they really are. And they want everyone else to acknowledge it. Bow Down! as Ice Cube would say. Most of the time, hilarity ensues. At other times I'm made sick to my stomach as I realize these are the people who may end up in charge of the city I live in. Next step, escape.

Never again...

This week I went to the second funeral of a child in the last three years. It never gets any easier and it always is gut wrenching. I never want to have to do that again, but then again, who in their right mind would actually want to do that sort of thing?

The first funeral I went to was in 2006 and it was for my 18 month old niece, Kayla, who was born with a heart defect that the doctors didn't catch until she was nine months old. I have no idea how that's possible, but it happened. There's no worse feeling in the world than watching someone so small and who you thought was so perfect gradually fade away, despite all of your hopes, dreams and prayers that they'll somehow pull through so you can watch them grow up. It wasn't to be with Kayla and my family and all we can do now is remember the best 18 months of our collective lives and try to forget the worst 9 months that followed her death. Depending on who in my family you actually ask, that period of time might now be stretched to 40 months. There's something to be said for false hope and there's nothing to be said for extreme pain, paralysis and devastation that comes from feeling the worst thing you've ever felt in your life. I've lost relatives before, and as cold as it may come off, I wasn't very close to those relatives and their deaths were more of a relief than anything because they died after prolonged illnesses. With Kayla it was different. You see someone so perfect and innocent who simply wants to live and have a chance to learn to talk and walk and develop into a person, but they get snatched away from you. On the other hand, you have other completely healthy children in horrible situations that don't get to feel any of the love that I felt for my niece. It'll drive you crazy if you think about it and it'll make you angry if you witness it. One thing I can say for Kayla is that her life, however short was filled with all the joy and love that one could give. I know that much...

Which brings us to the funeral I just attended two days ago. One of my best friends lost his 5 year old son, who was born with so many maladies that they boy couldn't communicate, walk, talk or stand. And yet he was loved. However, where Kayla's life was filled with love, joy, pain and ultimate sadness, Jordan's life, while filled with the love of his family had a fraction of that peace. Maybe it was because of the stress of having an ill child. Maybe it was because his parents were just not meant to be together, or maybe it was what would be referred to by pseudo philosophers as a cruel joke, but watching my friend be belittled during the funeral of his first son was the ultimate insult.

Let me explain, my friend was no angel and I for one advised him against getting married, but held out hope that maybe all he needed was a strong level of commitment to put him on the straight and narrow. Didn't happen. Didn't even last six months before he was back to his old ways. However, the pregnancy of his wife held out hope for that ever-elusive level of maturity, and then the trouble really started. I guess the stress and pain of having an ill child in an already strained relationship tests the endurance of even the most strong willed person and if you're already in a serious conflict, it's even more impossible to navigate. Needless to say, a few false start divorces, more infidelity, two pregnancies (one of the wife and another of the girlfriend) and an eventual revenge divorce filing, followed by a financially and emotionally destructive actual preceeding and you finally get a measure of peace...and then this.

Fast forward to the funeral that my friend paid for, but was held at the ex-con ex-mother-in-law's church and you get countless tributes to the angelic mother and not a mention of the father, who worked himself almost to death so his son could have the best care he could get under the circumstances. Suddenly, you get a man already crushed by the death of his son also taken to the brink of self destruction by a public slap in the face as he tries to honor his son's memory.

Like I said earlier, I've seen both sides of the coin and neither is to my liking. One thing I do know is that I never want to see either sides ever again...

Can we get a little sanity now?

My day yesterday started strangely enough with me witnessing the second resignation in a little over a year of the mayor of Memphis and then I find out Michael Jackson died. Died? Yes. Died.

The more I thought about it, the more it started to hit me. I went from disbelief, to morbid amusement to preoccupation to finally resignation. As I watched the non-stop tributes on no less than 3 of the 8 video channels on Comcast, I began to understand how the candlelight vigil people felt. I didn't run out and fly to L.A., but I did feel that sense of loss. If nothing else, Michael Jackson once again caused MTV to play videos, something that hasn't happened in who knows how long.

I grew up catching up on his childhood music, then trying to emulate a lot of those dance moves from the Thriller days. I remember pushing my pre-teenage voice to that upper register until it started to get deeper, oh when I was around 11. So much for that.

I had the glove, wanted the jackets, mastered "the kick" and knew the Thriller video dance moves to the point where I could have been one of the zombie extras. Michael Jackson was my childhood. My love of all things Michael Jackson would soon come to an end after I discovered two things: hip hop and girls. Suddenly the glove and dance moves were replaced by me copying the dress and attitude of Run DMC, LL Cool J and eventually NWA.

However, I kept that secret love of the music I grew up on and the latter releases like Bad and Dangerous had a few songs that caught my attention. Even as he did whatever it is he did to himself that alienated him from people like me who not only shared a first name, but skin tone with him, there was always a soft spot in my heart for him and his music.

I think the funniest thing I realized yesterday when I found out he had died was that I have never actually bought a Michael Jackson album. When I was growing up, they were always in the house, so I never had to. When I moved out of my parents' house, Thriller made its way into one of the boxes. Now multiple songs have found their way onto my computer and I'll rediscover them like I have rediscovered other music that has had an impact on my life like the aforementioned Run DMC, LL Cool J, Stevie Wonder and Otis Redding (who my mother introduced me to at age 13). As I listen to the songs that have become a part of my consciousness to the point where I instantly remember the words, it makes me wonder why I left them in the first place.

As we wait for more information to leak about what really happened, we'll also hear more and more people speculate about the hows and whys of his death and the joy that he brought to so many people will take a back seat to the theories and speculation.

It's funny because if you truly listen to the lyrics of some of his songs, they really are simple, which tells you about the power of simplicity.
"I'm starting with the man in the mirror. I'm asking him to change his ways. And no message could have been any clearer. If you wanna make the world a better place, take a look at yourself and then make that change..."

One thing I can guarantee, there will never be another Michael Jackson. In today's world, there couldn't be another Michael Jackson. I feel sorry for people who will not know what it's like to witness history being made and changed like I got the opportunity to do with Michael Jackson.

Thanks, Michael...

Is cesspool too strong a word?

I don’t hate it here. I can say that much. What I can’t say is that I like it, or that I would want to stay here.
When did the feelings start? They’ve always been there. I know this was the last place I thought I’d end up, but now that I’m here, I find it grating on me, wearing me down to the point where I have horrible thoughts that no person in a place with any peace should feel. I walk my dog in the mornings or afternoons and am usually greeted by that same pathetic excuse for a person, longingly wishing I’d entertain the notion of giving, yes, that’s right GIVING him the money that I eat shit to earn Monday through Friday.
I used to be such a nice guy. I used to be the guy who said he would never look down on another human being, much less have contempt for one. But that just isn’t the case anymore. Maybe because I’ve been close to there and didn’t completely go there. Maybe it’s because I just really value what I have now and can’t see myself giving it away for nothing. That’s not very Christ-like in the eyes of the church, but what would pass for Christ-like these days?
I see a city that would like nothing more than to wallow in the bile of self-pity or self sabotage more often than not, rather than actually look inward and change for the better. When you see something constantly drag itself down and bask in the depths of apathy, how long is it before you find yourself right there alongside it, apathetic with the best, or rather, worst of them?
When I first got here, it was, “I’ll give it a try for six months”. That turned into nine months, which turned into a year, which turned into two years and I look up to find it has been seven years. It’s at the point now where nothing I see surprises me anymore. Murders? Please don’t let the perps be black (yeah, right). Corruption in local government? They’d sell their souls for a bucket of chicken and some perfectly chilled, sweetened iced tea. Uneducated kids? The mayor and city council thought it would be a good idea to CUT education. WHO THE FUCK CUTS EDUCATION?
While we’re at it, who the fuck shuts down good ideas because they didn’t think of them, or even worse, someone who “ain’t from around here” thought of them? At what point do you stop being surprised or appalled by what you see and either start embracing it? What’s worse? Embracing it or not caring at all. It makes you wonder what the people who still care see that’s worth caring about. What happens when they decide it just isn’t worth it and either move away (lucky bastards), or worse, join in on the insanity.
I was talking to a city official today and he said “everybody’s going crazy. I don’t know why, but they are”.
All I could say was, “how can you tell?” He laughed...