I love my wife. Don’t get me wrong. She’s a great life partner, but she’s a lousy sports partner. The problem is she is utterly clueless about sports. Like any patriotic American, I’m a huge sports fan: baseball, football, Australian rules lawn bowling, you name it. But my wife is, how can I put this delicately – an artist.
My wife could no more tell you the number of points in a touchdown than the location of home plate in baseball. Oh sure, she’ll tell you she likes sports. But to her, sports consists of backpacking through the woods or climbing a rock face. Those aren’t sports. As any red-blooded sports fanatic knows, sports require two essential elements: a high def flat panel 56” TV and a large cheese-stuffed, meat-lover’s pizza.
I first suspected my wife wasn’t into sports early in our marriage. One evening, I had to work late so I missed the Monday Night Football game. I called home to ask her the score. After five minutes trying to convince her that pro football indeed could be played on a day other than Sunday, she checked the TV and reported: I have no idea. But I think they’re in extra innings. Seriously, I’d have better luck finding the score in the credits of Breaking Bad than by asking my wife.
My wife will happily tell any random stranger she meets that her husband is far from perfect. On a scale of 1 – 5, I think she’d probably rate me a 2.4.
Okay, so I’m not perfect. When it comes to my looks, I’d give myself maybe a 6 out of 10. My taste in clothes? Perhaps a 4 – although my wife would score me a 1.5 if we’re talking about ties. (What’s wrong with a paisley tie adorning a Lacoste shirt anyway?) My humor writing ability? Hmmm. Are we grading on a curve?
My point is I have plenty of shortcomings, but if you ask my wife, she’ll tell you – especially if you’re a complete stranger – that my most irritating personality quirk is my compulsive need to rank…everything.
For example, in writing this week’s post, I chose Arial 9 point because it’s always been one of my five favorite fonts (right after Comic Sans and just ahead of Garamond). Okay, I admit it. I do have a tendency to rate and rank stuff. I can’t resist asking other people to rank things too. For me, it’s an ice breaker. I’ll often start a conversation with, say, a waitress at a BBQ ribs restaurant, with, “Hi, Carla. Nice rack you got there. Quick question: Which three states would you least like to live in?”
Every generation brings with it a new dance craze. In the ‘60s young people were doing the Twist. In the ‘70s everyone was wearing green leisure suits (and by everyone, I mean my late Uncle Sid from Scranton) and disco dancing was the rage. In the ‘80s line dancing was the latest craze, featuring the Electric Slide, a favorite among attractive women who were way out of my league.
Recently, Korean pop star Psy created a dance sensation with an annoyingly infectious horsey dance to the tune of Gangnam Style. And just a few months ago, millions of people the world over made their best attempt to demonstrate what uncontrollable group epileptic seizures must look like, in a bizarre dance craze called the Harlem Shake.
As our nation’s population grays, it was just a matter of time before another dance craze would sweep the nation – aimed at us slightly older high-steppers. And I’m just the person to launch it. It’s called the Soccer Dad Shuffle. What does a middle-aged family man know about dance moves, you ask? Plenty. I have tripped the light fantastic countless times (and by countless times, I mean more than five but less than nine), including almost three wedding receptions, last year’s company Christmas party, and my neighbor’s son’s bar mitzvah in 1989. (Again, my apologies to Mrs. Bernstein for the damage to her toes.)
So here’s the thing. Sometimes I just can’t seem to turn off my brain. It’s always racing, bouncing from one random thought to the next, making it impossible for me to totally relax.
Oh, sure, I’ve tried various ways to relax and mentally shut down. I’ve tried yoga and tennis and pretending to listen to my wife. But still my mind darts around to other thoughts. Some people have speculated that I may suffer from A.D.D. and yet, I suddenly have a serious craving for pancakes.
Once I even tried hypnotherapy, in an attempt to clear my mind. The hypnotherapist soothingly invited me to close my eyes and envision a cool, gentle breeze on a mild summer day. He said to imagine I was in a lush field of tall grass with yellow dandelions. And all I could think about was how I needed to mow my lawn and pull up weeds. While I was at it, I might as well prune the bushes and power wash the patio. There went my Saturday. I left the session totally stressed out.
So, I decided to try massage. I’d be able to close my eyes and listen to soft music, maybe even some wind chimes, while a professional masseur melted all my aches and cares away. Sounded perfect. Well, things didn’t go quite as I had hoped. Here’s a recap of what went on in my mind as he worked on my back, arms, legs and hands for sixty minutes.
Over the past few years, I’ve noticed I’ve begun to put on a few pounds. I noticed this primarily because my wife kept saying, “Hey, you’ve put on a few pounds. When are you going to do something about it?”
In my younger years, I used to treat my body like a temple. But lately my body has become more of a Temple of Doom. So I’ve decided to do something about it.
I tried various fad diets: the Nothing-but-fruit diet, the Everything-but-fruit diet, the Mango & Salmon milk shake diet, the “All-You-Can-Eat-Just-So-Long-As-It’s-Cabbage” diet. None of them worked, in part because I usually gave up after about 40 minutes.
I recently discovered – much to my chagrin – that there are no short cuts to fitness and good health. So I came up with eight very simple daily commitments in the areas of fitness and nutrition. I once raced in the New York Marathon. (Okay, meandered might be more accurate description of my pace.) Heck, by comparison, this should be a piece of cake. Drat! Now I’m craving a piece of cake.
I knew I would not succeed unless I wrote down my new commitments. I was later informed that writing them down and shoving the list in my file drawer would not be enough to ensure success. I had to actually track my progress. So far, I’m off to a bit of a shaky start.
DAY 4
Daily Commitment
Actual Results
Healthy breakfast with fruit
Special K with fresh-cut strawberries. Added three tablespoons of sugar just for texture.
Stretch 10 minutes
Forgot again. But did climb back up the stairs twice because I forgot my wallet, and then forgot my car keys. Could feel it in my calves.
Drink 8 glasses of water
Drank four glasses. Which is four more than I have ever drunk in the past 25 years, so I consider this a promising start. Man, I gotta pee.
No junk food. Try almonds or carrots
Brought bag of carrots to work. Accidently left them in the car all day. Oops. Spoiled. Gave carrots to a raccoon rummaging in dumpster.
45-minute aerobic workout
Did 20 minutes but ran out of time when I suddenly remembered I had an early morning meeting at the office next Tuesday.
Weights for 30 minutes
Had to lift the bed so my wife could retrieve our frightened cat. That bed weighs a ton. So I’d say I did my fair share of weights. Check.
No eating after 8pm
Okay, I buckled. I had a PBJ sandwich at 9:30. But at least I got my daily dose of fruit with the slathering of grape jelly.
Floss teeth before bed
Totally spaced. Will floss first thing tomorrow morning
DAY 9
Daily Commitment
Actual Results
Healthy breakfast with fruit
Running late. Wolfed down three fruit roll-ups. Green Apple Blast. Contains 5% real fruit. You know what they say. An apple rollup a day keeps… I forget the rest.
Stretch 10 minutes
Bent over to tie my shoes. Both of them. Felt it in the hammies.
Drink 8 glasses of water
Had three Diet Cokes, and one 20 oz. Mountain Dew Code Red. Pretty sure they all are mostly water.
No junk food. Try almonds or carrots
Had two Almond Joy candy bars at 3pm. Was leaning towards a Mounds bar, but was committed to getting my share of almonds.
45-minute aerobic workout
Only did 15 minutes on the exercycle but watched CNN the entire time so it was kind of an aerobic workout for my brain.
Weights for 30 minutes
Weighted in line for 30 minutes at Starbucks for my double tall caramel Frappuccino.
No eating after 8pm
Had a 20-ounce malted chocolate milkshake at 8:45 p.m. I never said anything about not drinking after 8pm.
Floss teeth before bed
Arrgh! Totally spaced – again. Guess I’ll need to come up with a better system to remind me than tying floss to my thumb.
DAY 16
Daily Commitment
Actual Results
Healthy breakfast with fruit
Had two bowls of Fruit Loops. The cereal even has “fruit” in its name, so it’s got to be healthy. Note to self: re: Count Chocula. Apparently chocolate is not a fruit. Bummer.
Stretch 10 minutes
In explaining to my wife why I needed to buy a new set of golf clubs, I stretched the truth for over 15 minutes. Counting that as stretching.
Drink 8 glasses of water
Drank 32-ounce Big Gulp. Some new flavor called Cranberry Splash. Pretty sure cranberry is a fruit – or maybe a vegetable – so once again, think I aced this one.
No junk food. Try almonds or carrots
Scarfed down two slices of carrot cake – with almond slivers on top. Killed two birds with one stone. Sa-weet.
45-minute aerobic workout
Went to health club to run on treadmill. Opted for the Jacuzzi instead. Lots of air bubbles, so that’s sort of aerobic, I think.
Weights for 30 minutes
Fell asleep in Jacuzzi so ran out of time. Double up tomorrow.
No eating after 8pm
Had a chocolate-covered donut and rocky road ice cream at 9:45pm but technically it was only 7:45pm in Hawaii. Show me where I said it had to be 8pm in my time zone! Nowhere!
Floss teeth before bed
Totally spaced. But in my defense, I was thinking about it. Then my wife distracted me by asking me how my day was. So it’s her fault.
I have to say, this is much harder than I thought. It’s now day 21 and frankly, my progress has slowed down a bit. Today my exercise consisted of channel surfing. So technically, that’s a kind of surfing. And surfing’s aerobic.
And while I was channel surfing, I saw this infomercial about a breakthrough new miracle fat-burning pill that melts away fat while you sleep. One customer claimed she lost 50 pounds in two weeks. I have to try this out. And here’s the best part: No flossing required.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
PS: If you enjoyed this week’s post, let me know by sharing it on Facebook, posting a comment or giving it a. Better yet, why not set a goal to forward this post to 500 of your closest friends. Better write down this goal before you forget it.
I believe it’s every American’s duty to do their small part to make our country a better place to live. That’s why I’m calling on President Obama to take immediate executive action to DEPORT MY NEIGHBOR BERT ZABLINSKI NOW! Have you seen his lawn? The last time his grass was less than a foot high, dinosaurs roamed the earth. And don’t get me started about his front yard collection of 47 plastic African garden gnomes or his 14-foot tall sculpture of Elvis giving the finger which he made using only Budweiser cans and Cheez Whiz.
Someone has to take action. Why not the President? I discovered this great web site called We the People, which lets you directly petition the White House. It gets over 300 petitions a day, many from people able to construct nearly complete sentences with nouns and verbs.
The We the People Petition-the-White-House web site was launched in September 2011, and has since received more than 142,000 petitions and 9.2 million signatures. The volume of petitions has spiked since Obama’s re-election in November 2012, mostly from disaffected white southerners furious about Obama’s apparent plans to take away everyone’s guns and require us all to convert to Islam. I must have missed that news story.
I love my wife. Don’t get me wrong. She’s a great life partner, but she’s a lousy sports partner. The problem is she is utterly clueless about sports. Like any patriotic American, I’m a huge sports fan: baseball, football, Australian rules lawn bowling, you name it. But my wife is, how can I put this delicately – an artist.
