The A**hole Game / Hypermiling

Each morning, I play a game called “The A**hole Game”. It consists of me driving to work, and trying not to call anyone an a**hole, f*cker, dipsh*t, dumba**, or similar name. If I can make it to work without calling anyone an a**hole, f*cker, dipsh*t, dumba**, or similar name, then I win. Otherwise, I lose.

When I first started playing the game, I lost all the time. However, in the last few months, I have definitely won more than lost.

That is, before hypermiling became popular. “Hypermiling” is a method of increasing gas mileage by changing the way you drive. In many cases, it includes driving 5 miles under the speed limit, and avoiding sudden stops and starts.

Ever since hypermiling has gained fans, I have found that I lose The A**hole Game an awful lot. Getting stuck behind a hypermiler in the left hand lane of a two-lane road is frustrating enough, but now there’s often a hypermiler in the right hand lane, too! Grrrrr!

So I’ve figured out how I am going to get back at BOTH the greedy oil companies AND the hypermilers…

I’m gonna commute to work by bike.

By riding through neighborhoods, I will only have to follow these hypermiling freaks until we get to the next main road. Very often, that is a half mile or less.

And when I speed away from the stop signs, I will burn calories and not gas.

But I might be in danger of getting healthy, so I’ll have to watch that.

For what it’s worth, I think hypermiling is a good idea. I’d do it, too, but I have no patience for it. I just want to get to where I’m going, and be done with it.

I’m sure that by cycling to work, I’ll still lose The A**hole Game… but I think I can get over that. After all, pretty much every a**hole that causes me to lose the game will likely see me in my cycling lycra – and want to scratch their eyes out!

Oh yeah, that's what I'm talkin' 'bout - sweet, sweet revenge, baby!

The Post-Cancer Effects of Stanley

In June 2002, I was beginning my 2nd cycle of ABVD to treat Hodgkin's Disease. The Detroit Red Wings just won their 3rd Stanley Cup in six years, and there was going to be a parade in downtown Detroit to celebrate.

I was scheduled for treatment on Friday. The parade was scheduled for Monday, and I was excited about the possibility of going with some friends of mine.

As routine, I had my blood drawn, and as a result, I found out that my platelet count was low. This meant that if I started bleeding, there was a good possibility that my blood would not clot. The doctor decided not to treat me that day, and give my platelets a chance to recover over the weekend. We would try again on Monday.

Although I was not excited about receiving my treatment in the first place, I was crushed that I would have to wait. Not to mention, it would ruin my chances of going to the Stanley Cup parade. I seriously considered moving my treatment to another day - but the seriousness of my treatments quickly set me straight.

I was sitting in an infusion chair with horrifying chemicals running into my veins as I watched the parade on TV with glazed eyes. This was the agony and the ecstasy, heaven and hell.

A few days later, my friend Pat - who had Red Wings season tickets - told me that he had tickets to a fan appreciation ceremony at the Joe Louis Arena, and the tickets were mine if I wanted them.

Although I had missed the parade, Pat had given me an amazing opportunity to celebrate in the Red Wings victory.

I went with my mom, and it was a very memorable experience. Each player and coach took a moment to talk to the fans from the stage, and to thank them for their support. There was a point when someone onstage talked about great new players coming up and winning more cups. The crowd went nuts, yelling "Zet-ter-berg! Zet-ter-berg!"

At that time, all we knew about Henrik Zetterberg was that he was a Swedish phenom. We had all heard about him, and expected great things from him. Little did we know that six years later, he would be receiving the Conn Smythe trophy as the Stanley Cup playoffs MVP...

Last night, Sheryl and I watched as the Wings won the Stanley Cup for the first since 2002. As we watched each player skate with the cup, I felt overwhelmed with emotion. Echoes of "Zet-ter-berg! Zet-ter-berg!" rang in my mind while I relived cancer treatments and Red Wings victories.

This morning, we heard that there will be a parade tomorrow in downtown Detroit. We won't go. Sheryl has a commitment to her patients, and I have mild claustrophobia.

I am considering leaving work early, though, and visiting Sheryl at work - to watch the parade on TV in the infusion room with cancer survivors currently receiving treatment. We can talk about the Red Wings and treatment - them with glazed eyes, and me with teary ones...

Dreaming is Free

Every day is a dream
Fantastic occurances dabble within daily drivel
One minute I'm drowning in quicksand
The next minute I'm flying -
Soaring on top of clouds with the wind in my face and a smile on my lips.

I go into the Post Office for a stamp and walk out with a stuffed animal
Someone hands me a note.

I stop, put down the armadillo (which waddles off in search of more beer), unfold the note and read:
"Hope your day is filled with miracles, baby! I love you!"
It is written in my wife's penmanship.

I run across the street to buy her some flowers
Not seeing the car barreling down on me until the last possible moment.
I leap as high as I can, landing on the cable wires above me.

As I tightrope my way to the flower shop, glass imbedded in the bottom of my shoe
Picks up cable channels and runs them through the fillings in my mouth.
I listen to "Happy Days" reruns, laughing.

By the time I get to the flour shop, I am told they have no more pancakes.
I'm devastated, yet still famished.
The woman behind the counter gives me her watch.
It's got a picture of Mickey Mouse dressed in a McDonald's uniform
Just below Mickey, it says "Time to Eat!"

I walk outside and see a recently dropped ice cream cone lying on the sidewalk.
I pick it up.
As I move it towards my lips, I can smell the vanilla.
I realize quickly that I must get home to see my wife, and throw down the ice cream, which bursts into shards of glass like a fluorescent lightbulb.

Hardly noticing, I find a bike cop. He's listening to his iPod while jumping cracks in the concrete.
Suddenly, I'm intrigued:
"What are you listening to?" I ask.
"The Police," he says.
Odd.
The cop lets me buy his bike for 15 cents and a Bazooka Joe comic.

The bike speedily clack clacks home with a Barry Sanders rookie football card flicking in the spokes.
And I'm home with my angel.
She tucks her wings into her nurse scrubs and kisses me.
I close my eyes, focusing on the tenderness of her lips.

When I slowly open my eyes,
I see her looking back at me.
"Did you have a good nap?" she asks.
"I did," I reply.
"Have any good dreams?"
I grab her hand and pull her towards me.
"Every day," I say. "Every day is a dream."

Where There's Smoke...

The other night, Sheryl and I were trying to finish up some nagging projects so we could get on with enjoying our summer.

Maybe it was because we were multi-tasking and not paying close attention, or maybe it was a simple fluke, but we had an incident happen that could have killed us - and we hardly noticed.

Sheryl was on the phone with the carpet installers (ugh... these guys are a serious thorn in my side!), and I turned on the barbecue. I had it on high so it would be easier to scrub the grill prior to using it. When it got nice and toasty, I scrubbed the grill - no big deal.

However, something went very wrong. Flames started licking up over the top of the grill, and grey smoke began to rumble out. And then - WOOOSH! - the flames got higher and the smoke turned black. It began to stink like plastic burning, too.

Keep in mind that out barbecue is located in the corner of our WOOD deck, next to the WOOD fence that we had just installed and sealed.

I ran inside and began filling my water jug, wanting to put out the fire. I suddenly realized that our garden hose was out on the deck, and made a beeline back outside.

By this time, because of the smoke, I was half expecting the fire department to show up - or Indians!

I turned on the garden hose and doused that fire for a good 10 minutes, making sure it was out, and that everything had cooled down.

As it turned out, there was no barbecue damage. Apparently, it had just been a grease fire.

We cleaned the barbecue guts and replaced them, having a laugh about how scary it was - albeit briefly.

I think it's important, however, to remember how something so silly, so benign, could have cost us everything.

I am grateful to have learned that lesson without loss of life or property.

So let that be a lesson to all you amateur grillers out there - clean yer grills!

My Red Wings Conspiracy Theory

On Wednesday, May 14, 2008, the Detroit Red Wings lost to the Dallas Stars, who had managed to avoid being swept in the NHL Western Conference Finals.

The 3-1 defeat of the Red Wings – who had won nine straight, going into the game – was a not just a victory for the Stars. The officials won the game, too.

In the first period, the Wings scored, but the goal was waved off because Tomas Holmstrom’s ASS was in the crease. WHAT??

That goal could have effectively shut up the Star-crazy fans in attendance. But because it was waved off, the Stars and their fans still held a lot of hope. The Stars scored, and at the start of the next period, the Wings scored to tie it up.

By this time, however, momentum was clearly on the side of the Stars, and they took advantage by taking their 3-1 win.

Yes, there is no crying in hockey. The Wings will win this series anyway. But here is what I think TRULY happened that night:

It is no secret that hockey is struggling for fans. The fact that Versus is the only channel showing the damn games (available on Comcast, but NOT WOW!) simply does not help. Who watches Versus anyway (besides me – they have coverage of bike races, including the Tour de France)?

Anyhow, Game 5 in this series will be broadcast on ABC TV on Saturday, May 17. ABC makes hockey available to more people than Versus does. As a result, ABC can demand higher money for commercial time. If the Wings had won Game 4 in Dallas, then ABC would not have had a game to show, and thus, no ludicrous commercial money.

My theory is that ABC greased NHL commissioner Gary Bettman’s palms. Maybe they offered him a bit-part in “Grey’s Anatomy”, or gave him inside information on who will win “Dancing With the Stars” (hey, how’s THAT for irony! Dancing with the Stars/Dallas Stars… hmmmm…). In return, Bettman might have told his officials, “Okay, guys, if the Wings score first, wave the goal off. I will contact you via these tiny communications devices, which you will put in your ear, and I will provide a reason that the goal should be waved off.”

So when the Wings scored, it coincided with Bettman returning from the bathroom, and accidently sitting on a slice of pizza, which he had forgotten that he had placed it there when he ran to the john. And just for kicks, let’s say that it was Little Caesar’s pizza.

Anyhow, the official waved off the goal as directed, and waited for Bettman’s word.

So Bettman, worried about potential stains on his suit, says to the people around him, “Look at my ASS! It’s got GREASE on it!”

The official was struggling with the noise of the crowd and heard: “…ASS… CREASE…!” He then declared the goal was no good because of the never heard of rule that the player’s ASS was in the crease.

As a result, everyone is happy – except for Wings’ fans… and Gary Bettman, who has get buy a new suit.

That’s my theory – not yours.

The Wonders

I swear that every time I volunteer at Gilda’s Club, something magical happens.

First, I want to say that I am one of the people saddened by Chris’ departure to Nashville. Chris and I had a few of those intensely powerful conversations together, that has helped me come to understand myself, and my life. And every time I walked into Gilda’s Club and saw Chris, we had that bond between us. I will miss seeing her on a semi-regular basis, but I am tickled to death for her great Nashville adventure! Godspeed to you, Chris! May all of the best wishes that everyone has given to you bear wonderful, glorious fruit!

So I was blessed with a discussion with someone I had seen quite regularly around the clubhouse. She pulled me aside and told me that she was the mother of someone I grew up with in Madison Heights! This is poignant to me because (at the risk of upsetting my mother) the 11 years I spent growing up in Madison Heights were the happiest years of my life – prior to meeting my wife!

I am blessed with having amazing memories of my childhood before we moved to Sterling Heights. Life was so innocent and carefree. We couldn’t wait to get outside and play, and we were bummed out when the streetlights came on and we had to go home.

I have always been able to develop phenomenal friendships, but it was after we moved that I became extremely shy. But I look back on those friendships I had before I was 12, and find that I miss them terribly.

By telling me that I had grown up with her daughter, this woman unleashed a flood of happy memories and even some melancholy yearning. I specifically remember this girl because the first moment I laid eyes on her, I thought she looked like a cousin of mine. I was even a hair away from calling her my cousin’s name, when I heard her real name.

After each and every visit, I feel more and more involved in the Gilda’s community – even though I haven’t been there so much in the past year or two.

There’s a great world out there, and although I may occasionally live in the past, it is my present that shows so much opportunity…

Names Can Last a Lifetime

What is it about names? I just came to realize that sometimes a name can fulfill someone’s destiny.

For instance:

* I work with an illustrator whose name is Art.
* Sheryl’s nephew’s name is Hunter. Good thing his dad wasn’t an avid bowler! Then what would we call him? Turkey?
* What does my name (Matt) say? That people walk all over me?
* My friends Pat and Pat(ti) have two dogs.. and cats.
* I know a Bill who deals with money.

It’s interesting if you think about it.

It’s not always true, though, my brother Van drives a car.

Priorities Schmiorities

I’m contemplating going back to school to get my MBA for the purpose of making myself more valuable to my company, as well as allowing myself more opportunities in the future.

The problem is that I don’t know if I am willing to commit to a three-year program.

When I was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s in 2002, I decided that I will do only what I want to in life. The financial, social and personal commitment to an MBA can be pretty daunting to someone like me.

So once again, I’ve got to ask myself: What is important? What are my priorities?

When it comes down to it, the answer is simple.

I wanna dance!

What I Learned at the Nightingale Awards

It’s not just Sheryl:

1) Nurses (in general) struggle with honors.

To be a great nurse, one must be purely selfless as things relate to the patient. The great ones simply don’t think of themselves. Therefore, when an honor is bestowed, the great nurse is smacked upside the head with the reality that they are actually accomplishing something positive. It is a moment when the great nurse realizes that they do matter – and that concept goes completely against their constitution. It’s unfathomable to them.

Sheryl and I actually run into the "selfless situation" every day, whether she knows it or not. Since we are both givers, we want to please the other person. A discussion about what to have for dinner can take a surprising amount of time sometimes because I want her to be happy with the choice, yet she doesn’t think about that. All she’s concerned about is what she can do for me – she wants me to be happy with the choice. Ain't that sumthin'??.

Many of the Nightingale winners thanked their co-workers for helping them earn the award. Some even thanked their patients and their patients’ families for inspiring them. NOT A SINGLE ONE SAID THEY FELT THEY EARNED IT.

2) Nurses are crazily humble.

They said it themselves! Each of the nine winners said they were humbled to receive the award. This tells me that although they may have struggled with the honor, they were able to recognize that someone felt they deserved it – and they took it for whatever it was worth.

3) Great nurses love their job.

I have said time and time again that Sheryl and I are blessed to have jobs we love. However, again, every single award winner last night mentioned that they love their job. By looking at them while they talked about their work, you could see it in their eyes.

A couple of years ago, my college roommate told me about the Jim Collins book “Good to Great”. The book discusses similar traits in companies that have gone from mediocrity to greatness.

But what does it take for an individual to go from good to great? If we take a few lessons from nurses, here’s what I think:

* To be great at what you do, you’ve got to love it.
* Be humble, yet be able to accept recognition graciously.
* Acknowledge those whom have helped pave the way to your success – whether they are mentors, teachers, parents, or heroes.
* Be selfless. Strive for the success of what you do – not for your selfish needs.
* Smile. Nearly everyone can feel a sense of calmness and security when someone is giving them a smile. Nurses hug a lot, too… maybe there is something to that.
* Have patience, and understand that whoever you’re dealing with might not be on top of their game. We’re only human, ya know?

The Nightingale awards gave extremely worthy people a chance to be a rockstar for the night. It will be a night the never forget, and hopefully, their stories will inspire others to achieve greatness.

Godspeed, nurses! Mama Florence would be proud!

Plain, or with bacon and cheese?

Sometimes, life needs to be one big scrambled egg in order to remember what is important.

Sheryl and I have a lot going on right now. Our home improvement projects are in full swing, and with spring finally rearing its head, our activity level is ramping up, too.

Sheryl is crazy busy with work, and tomorrow is the Nightingale award ceremony.

So with all of this going on, it’s easy to lose ourselves.

Unfortunately, it takes one of us getting overwhelmed before we remember to stop and smell the occasional rose.

We need to remember to take baby steps – that the joy is in the journey, and not necessarily the destination. And this time, when I say “we”, I mean everyone.

We’ve gotten to the point where even tearing someone apart in the media has become entertainment. Is it really fun?

Sometimes, though, it can be justified. For instance, Sheryl and I have personal satisfaction in the Kwame Kilpatrick beatdown. Her entertainment is a result of a chance Thanksgiving breakfast at McDonald’s.

Sheryl, her nephew and I had just finished scarfing our breakfast burritos, and were getting ready to leave, when “King Kwame” and his posse showed up, nudging Sheryl out of the way as they queued up for their McGriddle sandwiches.

As we made our way to the door, we found ourselves locked in! Yes, McDonald’s went into lockdown while Kwame snagged some grindage.

Outside, in the single digit weather, a nicely dressed woman and boy were stuck outside. Turns out they were Kwame’s wife and son. Nice. Another guy just wanted to use the restroom to shed some extra clothing, since he was going to the Lions game. No such luck. Kwame’s posse needed EXTREME SECURITY.

Now come on, I don’t care who you are. If you are going to McDonald’s, for Christsakes, YOU DO NOT NEED TO LOCK THE PLACE DOWN.

Sheryl and I can think of hundreds of everyday people who deserve to be treated like a king, and Kwame throws his physical and political weight around so he can be treated like a king while ordering a freaking egg McMuffin…

Is it any surprise that we have some enjoyment watching “the king” get knocked down a few rungs?

Justified or not, we – as human being - need to start looking for, and treating everyday folks like the kings and heroes they are in their own lives. For every bad parent we hear about on the news, there are 20, or 1,000, or 100,000 great parents. For every bad kid, there are thousands of good kids.

It’s time to honor those people, as well as those we love – and not just on a Hallmark holiday. Treat your loved ones like kings or heroes, but remember that we are all human and have faults. One of the biggest faults I see is this emergence of the “entitled generation”, who may have already been treated like princes and princesses their whole lives and don’t know how to really exert themselves to be a productive human being.

My nomination of Sheryl for the Nightingale awards is my attempt to thank Sheryl on behalf of her hundreds and thousands of patients throughout the years. I suspect she has no doubts how much I love her. This Sunday is Mother’s day, and I suspect, too, that if you asked my mom what I thought of her, she would tell you that regardless of whether she receives Mother’s day presents, I love her very much, too.

As with everyone in my life whom I care deeply for, Sheryl and Mom have earned it. But that’s who they are, and they would admit to having no clue what I am talking about.

So the question becomes, who – or what – is important in your scrambled egg?

Promise of a New Day...

As depressing and bluesy as yesterday was, I sure needed it. Today is one of those days that you feel like you've taken off the old worn overcoat, and I wouldn't feel this much better if not for yesterday.

I face today with hope and the courage to make it as great as it should be. I will keep my eyes open for the best opportunities to make themselves available. Doors will open and close, and I will be ready, willing, and maybe even a little giddy.

And just as a postscript to yesterday, I just want to put this out there, in case my buddy Leonard is reading...

Dude, you are my best friend, and I love you to death. I want you to have every good thing on Earth. We really need to figure out some sort of collaboration, because one of these days, you are going to run face first into greatness, and I want to be right there to enjoy it with you.

I admire your deeds and your soul, and although we have different goals and motivators, I want you to see that there is so much more in the world for you. Brother, it IS possible to have it all. Don't be afraid to step out of the box. You have a mind and skills that need to be shared with the world. Don't keep them secreted inside.

Have a good day, peeps!

Love's Labour

When I was in college, I had a roommate (who was an idiot!) who suggested to me that the biggest compliment one could ever receive was a surprise birthday party. For nearly 20 years, I completely agreed (despite his idiocy!).

Today, I don't.

I just finished the haunting "I'll Sleep When I'm Dead" book. And I realize now that the greatest compliment doesn't happen until you're dead.

Death has a way of bringing families together - and tearing families apart.

When someone is still alive, people tend to not really say exactly how they feel about that person. But when that person dies, all formality goes out the window.

I can't help but think about the fact that when someone dies, all of their normal muscle control goes away. Therefore, said dead person shits him/herself.

Is it not sort of like that with friends and family? We often don't say what we really mean - until someone dies. Then we lose control over self-censorship.

Throughout my adult life, I'm beginning to think that I've been preparing for death. I rode across Alaska and Montana in order to raise money for AIDS vaccine research - in hopes that during the lifetimes of my nephews and nieces, they will not have to worry about contracting AIDS. Is this my way of trying to take care of them while I'm worm food?

As I laid wallowing in chemotherapy chemicals during cancer treatments, I began structuring "Cancerboy", which I wrote to help survivors and non-survivors alike to understand that one can return from the depths of hell and find a life that is truly successful. Is this an attempt at trying to save the world even when my body no longer exists?

I think about my dad who died at 48 years old, and my step-dad who died at 61 and my mentor who died in his 50s. I think about what they meant to me while they were alive and how much (more?) they mean to me now.

We take advantage of this life and those people whom we say we cherish. But how do we prove our love for one another?

As I read Warren Zevon's biography, I took note of the people who stuck with him throughout his life. And as each page got me closer to the end of the book, I began thinking more and more about the people in my life.

Do I tell them what they mean to me? Do they know what they mean to me?

For the last 5+ years, I have tried to make sure that everyone in my life understood exactly how much I love them.

Weird thing is, I've probably failed, and should try harder.

The Blues Down To My Shoes

Do you ever have those days when you feel like you are being followed by a black cloud?
You know deep inside that everything is fine, and life is so, so good.
But there’s that nagging sensation of doom and gloom…

I feel that way today. I don’t know why, for sure, but I’ve got a few theories:

Theory 1) After a couple of weeks worth of nice weather, it has gotten cooler and dreary again. It’s nearly May and there has been speculation that we may actually get some SNOW this week. This winter was a particularly hard one, and many of us here in Michigan are physically ACHING for nice weather to stick around. Unfortunately for me, I am very affected by weather.

Theory 2) I am being affected by the book I am reading. I am near the end of Warren Zevon’s autobiography. At this point in the book, he realizes that lung cancer is killing him, and he is trying to finish an album before the put him in his coffin. It’s very sad.

Theory 3) Lately, I feel like I have been bombarded by maladies. I was sick for a good few weeks during the winter, then again a few weeks ago, and after finally getting the proper medication to get rid of my cold, my allergies start up and I am sneezing and blowing my nose and my eyes itch and burn… I’m sick of being sick! On top of that, I got a bridge when I went to the dentist last week, and I am in pain many times a day. Now, I can handle pain and discomfort to a certain point, but once again… I’m sick of it!

I understand that even on my worst days I am better off than many people. I have absolutely no right to whine or complain. But sometimes, it feels better if I do.

I recognize that I am very lucky, and I am extremely grateful for having the life that I do.

I just want that damn cloud to go away.

I'm so proud of my wife!

She's so distinguished! :)

Years of Pain

I’ve got a friend who has recently dived into cycling. He is preparing for his first century (100 mile bike ride), and has been keeping me abreast of his successes.

I told him today that he reminds me a lot of myself eight years ago, as I was training for my epic bike rides (multi-day, multi-hundred miles). I mentioned how it’s amazing how things change so quickly.

And then I got depressed.

When I was training for my big rides, cycling was my life. EVERYTHING revolved around cycling. It was cool. It was fresh. It was annoying to everyone around me.

I generally succeeded in those epic rides. I far exceeded everyone’s expectations, and I was very proud of my accomplishments.

And then I got sick, and everything changed.

Though treatment was only five months in length, the whole experience took up almost an entire year. And when I was re-born, I had one goal first and foremost in my mind – to prove to myself and everyone else that your only boundaries are in your head.

Eight months after treatments were over, I did another epic ride. This one was across Iowa.

Iowa was a turning point for me. I learned that I could still persevere and survive long, painful miles. But I didn’t want to anymore. I didn’t have anything else to prove.

As a result, I began to ride more for the fun of it than anything else. I still tried to do one long bike ride each summer, and I even found a purpose – Gilda’s Riders.

If Gilda’s Riders worked out the way I had hoped, it would have become a source of inspiration for everyone whose life had been touched by cancer.

Gilda’s Riders worked for two years, but I got burned out. Having just gotten married – another major change in my life – I found that there were too many other things that I wanted and needed to do, and planning a charity ride fell to the wayside.

There are times that I yearn for the lactic acid buildup, and pain of riding across mountains. There are times that I miss devoting my life solely to achieving something I had previously thought was unachievable.

As a survivor and still-newlywed husband, my priorities have changed, and so has the time that I have available.

Everything I have done, everything I have accomplished, has been done to get me to where I am right now. I am very happy. I am healthy, too, for the most part.

I have been a survivor my whole life. I am proud of that.

I want to see what life is like without adversity, though. I want to appreciate not being anxious from the moment I wake up.

And that is where I am right now. Riding as if there is no chain.

One hour of drama burns 100 calories

Let's say that sex burns 65 calories per hour.

If we agree to that, then I have decided that drama in ones' life must burn at least 100 calories per hour.

On what do I base this? Well...

First of all, sex is fun. Drama is not.

Use the following interpolation:
Sleeping is fun. Sleeping burns like, 30 calories per hour.
Running is not fun. Running burns 400 calories per second. It's true.
Watching TV is fun. Watching TV burns 20 calories per hour.
Rock climbing is not fun. Rock climbing burns an estimated 200,000 calories per minute. I know this as fact.

Therefore, if sex is fun and burns 65 calories per hour, then drama - which is not as fun as sex, but also not as sweaty as rock climbing - must burn more calories.

Now, since SO MANY PEOPLE appear to like drama - like soap operas, for instance - then it can't burn as many calories as running, either.

So based on that scale, drama absolutely MUST burn 100 calories per hour.

Okay, so now that we've established that fact, I have got to ask a question:

With SO MANY PEOPLE burning SO MANY CALORIES on their own (or someone else's) drama, why are we the fattest country in the world?

The answer is simple, silly!

Drama makes people depressed, and what happens when people get depressed?

That's right...

They get drunk (empty caloric intake)

and have sex.

And for the record, I'm pretty sure that drunk, sloppy sex only burns 40 calories.

Artist, Tortured?

I am in the midst of reading Warren Zevon's biography, "I'll Sleep When I'm Dead", and it's got me thinking about the tortured artist effect (coined by Todd Rundgren)...

It's also got me thinking about intelligence.

Warren and Frank Zappa are definitely two historical people I'd like to meet. With today's media allowing for instant gratification, and negativity entertaining us more and more, I'd be interested to see how they would be portrayed today.

When I was much younger, I totally believed that in order to be relevant, you had to be tortured. These lines from Neil Young's "After the Goldrush" were my mantra:

I was lyin' in a burned out basement
With a full moon in my eyes
I was hopin' for a replacement
When the sun burst through the skies
There was a band playin' in my head
And I felt like getting high
Thinkin' about what a friend had said,
I was hopin' it was a lie

In my eyes, this was as low as you could go. I yearned for it, yet too afraid to make it happen on my own.

In recent years, I have come to wonder, though...

Did I make it happen?

Looking back on my life, I remember thinking about things I didn't want. Two things in particular:
I didn't want huge scars on my head because they would be obvious when I got older and lost my hair;
I never wanted cancer.

Now, they say that if you want something bad enough, and think about it long enough, you will eventually work yourself into that occurrence.

But what if you DON'T want something to happen to you?

How many times did you say to yourself, "don't trip, don't screw this up, don't lose this", and it happened?

How is that different than "I don't want to get cancer"?

Warren Zevon was a tortured artist. He is an idol of mine. I love the way he put words together with music. From The French Inhaler:

You said you were an actress
Yes, I believe you are
I thought you'd be a star
So I drank up all the money,
Yes, I drank up all the money,
With these phonies in this Hollywood bar,
These friends of mine in this Hollywood bar

Mr. Bad Example:
Of course I went to law school and took a law degree
And counseled all my clients to plead insanity
Then worked in hair replacement, swindling the bald
Where very few are chosen, and fewer still are called

These days, Warren and Frank are dead. Cancer - the genius killer.
Ironic, eh?

I no longer want to be the tortured artist. In fact, I haven't wanted to be one in many, many years. I have been too close to despondence for my own comfort, and I am a cancer survivor. I've walked the roads that would leave some people in ruin.

Mr. Rundgren can keep the ever popular totured artist effect. It was a neat concept, but there are some street smarts I'd rather not have!

What's it gonna take??

Yeesh! No love for the city of Detroit these days...

I can't say how badly I want to bitch about Mayor Kilpatrick, about Detroit Public Schools, the unemployment rate, and the general crappy feeling in this town.

But I have been cursed with having a glass that is perpetually half full. Instead of complaining about the obvious (or not so obvious for that matter!), I find myself asking: What do we gotta do to make things better?

Geez, I wish I knew the answer to that.

I know that I enjoy going to Greektown and Slows BBQ. I enjoy donating my future lottery winnings to the casinos. I enjoy going to Mexicantown for awesome Mexican food and margaritas.

Sports-wise, Detroit is on the way to hockey and basketball playoffs. Baseball season just started. We have so much to look forward to in the world of sports (yes, I even have hope for the Lions this year - or any year, really!). I really hope that somehow, Detroit can find a spark and get past the negativity it finds itself shrouded in.

I wonder, exactly where that spark will come from. Who can perform the magic that we need?

Time will tell, and I hope we're paying attention!

Trippin'

Okay, so I mentioned that we went on a trip, but I haven't mentioned yet that we had a great opportunity to participte in operation disk drop (as explained in an earlier post).

I had recently gone through my expansive CD collection, and planned to get rid of two plastic shopping bags worth of CDs.

I thought it would be a cool idea to take them on our trip and drop off the CDs along the route. The idea was awesome, if I do say so myself. However, the actual disk drop didn't work out so well.

The weird part is that we forgot about the CDs on the way down. So after my brother, nephew and niece had dibs at the CDs, we gave my mom a shot at them when we got down to Florida. On the way we did stop, but didn't leave any indication along with the CDs what we were trying to do. I left a few at a rest stop outside of Jacksonville, FL and Sheryl left a few in South Carolina.

Me in Jacksonville

The Flying J where Sheryl dropped off CDs

And so once we got to my uncle's, we gave him and my cousins a shot at the remaining CDs.

The trip home totally didn't allow us any time to dawdle around with CDs.

Anyhow, it seemed like a cool idea, and we had a little fun with it. Maybe next time we'll rock a little harder.

Vacation

The month of February is brutal for me... lack of sunshine ails my constitution.

So Sheryl and I took off for Florida. The sun on my skin felt amazing, and I was ALIVE! We eagerly pedaled our bikes to the beach to witness the aged population of leathery bronze Canadians meandering with basketballs in their bellies and Speedos grossing us out.

I sat outside as often as I could, and hopped into the hot tub nearly every day.

We visited the Kennedy Space Center and Key West. We watched jai alai matches and ate ourselves across the States.

Sweet, sweet sunshine. Warm and lovely. Makes me happy like Don Ho's tiny bubbles.

More to tell... but later. :)