Don't Tread on my Blog

I’ve noticed something disturbing when I look at the traffic on my blog. Over the past month, the most viewed entry was one I did called Don’t Tread on My History. I posted it not quite a year ago, on January 15. In it I talked about how I had always loved the Gadsden Flag—you know, the one that has the snake on it and it reads “Don’t Tread on Me.” I did a short history on the flag and talked about it was being co-opted by a fairly narrow segment of our present-day political spectrum...one that I do not agree with. It just bugs me that I can’t display the flag without being tossed in with a group so contrary to my most deeply held convictions.

Don’t Tread on My History is one of my favorite posts. However, its popularity on my blog space has nothing to do with my clever writing and biting commentary. I know, I am as surprised as you. How do I know? Over 80% of the hits for this posting came in the past month. Any ideas on what has just revved up in the past month? The build-up to the Republican primaries and ultimate nomination of a presidential candidate--debates, the rise and fall of conservative darlings, outrageous bets, (more) sexual harassment, child labor proposals, lots of President hating--that’s what’s been happening. Nothing stirs the heart of a true American (read conservative) like the Gadsden Flag.

Those fine folks who have co-opted my flag are now tuning in to my blog post. You know, the one where I complain about them and their rewriting of the meaning of an important American symbol. They aren’t tuning it to hear me out; they are tuning in to grab a copy of the Gadsden Flag so they can make it their Facebook profile picture or add it to their new blog post. 

I am being eaten. I am feeding the cause I oppose. I feel so dirty.

I Gave at the Office

So I hear a knock at my door and open it to find a 10-year old boy and his father standing on my steps with rakes in their hands. They ask if they can rake the leaves in my yard…I have a lot of leaves in my front yard.

Now, back up. Last year, I let a homeless guy with no legs rake my leaves and paid him and gave him some food. He did a great job and I was happy to help him by having him help me. He came back another time and did some more raking. Then I had another guy come and do several things for us in the yard over the summer. Then other random guys started knocking at my door, looking to do yard work for me. It got to be too much, so we decided that I shouldn’t let anyone do our yard work. It sucked having to tell everyone no when they came calling, but it seemed like the only thing we could do.

So now my immediate response when someone comes to my door is—no thanks. It turns out that these two who showed up today are my neighbors across the intersection. Their son is somewhere in the continuum of autism. He was upset when I said no to them…and I immediately felt like crap. Then I saw them go across the street and do another neighbor’s yard. I am pretty sure they aren’t asking for money—the kid just wants to rake leaves. So now I feel like the worst, most insensitive human being in Shandon…and I am sure there could be a really hot contest for those honors in this neighborhood.

So, what has happened? Where did I lose my humanity? Where along the line did money and fear overtake my openness and belief in the general goodness of people? Merry Christmas, Uncle Scrooge!

Cardiac Rehab, Fat Archaeologist Style

So this week, I started fighting fat creep and began some real physical activity to rebuild what I lost over the past several months. I started out slowly, with some exercises for my arms, legs, and abs—did those Tuesday and Thursday. My legs were really sore, telling me they are in the worst shape of all. I also started back on a reasonable diet—more fruit, fewer carbs, small breakfast, protein lunch and a normal dinner. On Friday I really ramped it up. I’ve recovered enough from my surgery rejoin the brotherhood of the automobile valet. I started working for the indomitable Carlie Gardner Flowers and her fine company Valet Ventures.

Friday night I worked at a restaurant not far from the Statehouse called Cowboy. I hadn’t really worked there much before the unpleasantness of the fall, so it was a little new to me. Compared to some of the other restaurants covered by V2, this one requires a fair amount of running and a long time to park and fetch cars. That makes it hard to process a lot of cars and make a lot of money and keep people from getting cranky because they have to wait to get their car back. I found out after just a little while that the muscle pain I felt in my legs from doing some exercises really did indicate that I had lost a lot of strength and endurance in those legs.

By the end of the night, I felt like I was running in slow motion, in quicksand, wearing lead leg warmers and cement shoes after hiking 25 miles on the Appalachian Trail with my brother (another story). The only other time in my life I can remember not being able to get my legs to work was when I played a game of pick up football in college with some friends after many months of drinking beer and watching TV, I mean studying hard. By the end of the game, I couldn’t lift my legs. The next day the only way I could get my legs into position to drive my car was by pulling up on my pant legs. Needless to say, Friday night I started to get a little worried about what I would be like Saturday…because I had another shift Saturday night.

Surprisingly, when I got up yesterday morning my legs didn’t really didn’t hurt that much. Last night I worked a shift at Mr. Friendly’s in Five Points—at place that requires a lot less running but can get really, crazy busy at the drop of a hat. Mr. Friendly’s is my favorite place to eat and to valet. The wait staff and the managers are the nicest people in the world, and until last night I didn’t realize that they also are good friends. I hadn’t been there to valet since July and they didn’t know I was starting back last night. When I got there, they all gathered around me to welcome me back, shake my hand and hear the story of my surgery. It is hard to underestimate how important it is to know that people care about you. It was an easy night with few cars and my legs felt fine. At the end of my shift, the manager bought me a steak dinner. I realized that I am like a dog. If you give me food, especially a bloody steak, I will be your loyal friend forever. I love Mr. Friendly’s!

So here I sit Sunday morning before my kids get up contemplating what is going to be a crazy day. It starts with some touch football and soccer at a park with a friend and our kids and then goes right into dance practice for my daughter and my son riding on a float in a parade. I can’t wait for the week to start so I can just camp in front of my computer and pretend to work.

I did my weigh-in this morning and discovered I “lost” .4lbs since last week—today I weigh 175.1lbs. I am not surprised that nothing has changed. My body hasn’t adjusted to the diet and exercise changes I’ve made yet and honestly any weight I lose in fat might get replaced by muscle as I exercise. What I really can’t wait to do is get on my bike and do some long rides. I think I need to fetch a few more cars and get some legs back before I can do that, though. 

Do you think a corned beef hash and fried egg feast would slow my rehab?

Male Pattern Blindness

Friends, I’d like to take a moment to talk about an affliction that affects most adult men. It is a cause of embarrassment, shame, and mostly exasperation. Yes, it is Male Pattern Blindness. Maybe you don’t know it by its technical name and maybe you confuse it with another common male malady, Male Pattern Baldness. Still, you recognize its symptoms. Ladies, how many times has this happened to you? You ask you husband, boyfriend, father, butler, or valet to find the ridged lids to go on the Tupperware containers in the cabinet or bring you your toes socks from the upper right hand drawer of your dresser—and they claim they can’t find whatever you’ve asked them to get. So you go, look, and immediately find what you were seeking…and return frustrated. Guys, how many times have you gone to the store to get the store brand super-flow nighttime-daytime overnight pads in the BLUE PACKAGE and come home with the purple package instead? These are the sad consequences of Male Pattern Blindness. Saddest of all, the men who suffer from this debilitating disease are maligned endlessly—adding to their suffering.

The exact cause is still not clear, but the patterns in the disease provide clues. This problem afflicts only adult men and ones who find themselves somehow in the service of women (husbands, boyfriends, fathers, butlers, valets and other situations and occupations designed for servitude). Although top scientists have studied the problem, the proposed explanations seem to be influenced by the genders of the scientists doing the studies.

Most male scientists believe that male pattern blindness is the outcome of million years of evolution affecting the behavior of male hominids (humans and their ancient ancestors) after the beginnings of upright posture and advent of pair bonding. This is postulated to have begun around 4 million years ago with Ardipithecus ramidis. The idea is that the structure of the male brains was altered—particularly the parts affecting the transfer and interpretation of visual information—so that at certain time visual information is not transferred correctly within the brain. The reason for this adaption is generally considered to have something to do with maintaining the efficiency of male energy usage during foraging (the male responsibility in the pair bonding framework). Foraging efficiency is maintained by insuring a prioritization of tasks.

Female scientists unanimously maintain that this explanation for Male Pattern Blindness is utter nonsense influenced by the gender bias of the researchers. Female scientists argue that Male Pattern Blindness is simply a passive and conscious resistance to the demands of pair bonding.

While the scientific debate rages on, men and the women they serve suffer. Until an explanation and a cure are devised, as a man who also is afflicted, I plead for patience and understanding.

Fatback 2.0

Yep, the fat is coming back. My taste buds are all straight—no more salty tasting food—and my appetite is back. I am eating fine and it is beginning to show. When I got home from the hospital after surgery I weighed 168lbs. That is the least I’ve weighed in probably 30 years. Granted, it wasn’t a healthy kind of thin because it came at the cost of muscle mass. Still, I liked the ring of it. Now just a bit over two months on I am back up to 175.5lbs…and that gain has come largely without rebuilding any muscle mass. You know what that means…it’s in my belly. My old friends my toes are starting to disappear again and that is not good. Sure, I kind of knew this might happen since I spent the 4 days after Thanksgiving on a stuffing and gravy diet. No kidding. For lunch and dinner I ate nothing but stuffing, some turkey, and gravy. Now, when you eat nothing but potatoes and bread for five days you probably deserve to pack on a few pounds…and I’ve done that.

So it is time; time to fight back against the slow creep of fat and lethargy. My wife is back in town, so I’ll have time to ride my bike and do some walking in the mornings. I’ve also started a workout for my arms, legs, and torso that I will alternate with days of walking or riding. I still can’t lift anything over 10 lbs because my sternum is still healing, so I can’t do anything too hefty. Honestly, I can’t do anything too hefty anyway because my arms and legs are pretty thin and weak. Just lifting them—my arms and legs—is enough of a workout for me right now. Funny story, I did a bunch of exercises for my arms, legs and abs just using my own body and reps or resistance Tuesday morning. My legs have been indescribably sore…just from lifting them up and down. My arms and abs don’t hurt, but my legs really do. I really have a long way to go.

It’s time too to change my eating. I’ve fallen back into the carbolicious lifestyle where bread and pasta and cake and brownies and stuffing (I do love stuffing and gravy) dominate my diet. Time to bust out the fruit and yogurt and wean myself off the heavenly rush of simple carbs and sugars. Don’t get me wrong, I won’t pass up a brownie or not make pasta for dinner. It’s just that their starring role in my eating life is going to get reduced.

The only way I am going to stick to all of this until it is a part of my daily life again is by posting about it regularly. So, beware. My posts may get a little boring. This is how I started my blog…keeping myself accountable.

The fatback 2.0 is a reference to Lance Armstrong’s 2009 Comback 2.0. Like Lance, I’m on a second comeback. Unlike Lance, I’m not looking to win the Tour de France and I’m not coming back from anything as horrible as cancer—just a little heart valve trouble. I will ride for free, but no one’s giving me free bikes, gear, food, coaching, transportation, or time off from my real job to ride a bike. OK, so this is really nothing like Comeback 2.0…and that is good because in the long run Comeback 2.0 didn’t work out so good for Lance. Sure he got third place in the 2009 tour, but in 2010 he had a horrible tour and Novitsky and the FDA starting coming after him hard. He’s spent more money on lawyers since the beginning of Comeback 2.0 than I or my descendants will make in seven generations. I guess it wasn’t a particularly good reference for this post…but it was all I had.