The Big O

The Big O I am talking about is not Obama or Oprah. I’m referring to Obesity. And, just because it starts with O, doesn’t mean it’s an Irish disorder. It seems to be an American one. A guy’s gotta eat. You can’t argue with that, but it gets tricky when he can’t tell when to stop.

As we age, it is said that our bodies change. That’s obvious at certain points. There’s adolescence and its various spurts and smells and its clothing and hairstyle challenges. And, there’s the regrettable decline, shrinkage, and cosmetic breakdown of older age and we all know where that leads.

Also, somewhere, in between, each gender may undergo a shocker. Pregnancy is quite a departure from one’s normal bodily changes, as is hair loss, though I assure you I am not equating the two. Obesity, a statistical reality, is not quite as organic. This is something that happens as a result of our own actions.

As children, we are on a mission of growth. We can’t help it. We’re programmed to become adults and, though all bodies can achieve this, sadly, some minds are left behind. Sugar, in all its attractive forms, appears crucial. Shakes, soda, and candy become a food group unto themselves. But, in this, appetite has a purpose beyond mere satisfaction.

In the early dawn of mankind’s journey, kids ran around all the time. You couldn’t stop them. Sports, riding their bikes, wrestling. A parent had to put his foot down and raise his voice to get them to come in and sit at the table. As our standard of living and technology progressed and reached new heights, things began to change.

Sedentary activities got popular. Neighborhoods changed and parents became reluctant to let their kids run wild. Diet Coke became an acceptable breakfast among adults. Advertising introduced the concept of infinite appetites, both physical and psychological.

I’m just noting that things are different now. Our options have increased. And, just as these changes haven’t happened all at once, the same is true of our weight. It only seems like overnight. One day, you look in the mirror and not only are you older than you thought, you’re also a lot bigger than you could have imagined. Suddenly, everyone’s talking about obesity and you realize they’re talking about you and your children.

Holy Cow! How did this happen? Of course, it’s not everybody, but you can’t deny the numbers, whether they come from the National Science Foundation or from the scale in your bathroom. I never thought I would ever be as big as a house. It just happened. Little by little. Dessert by dessert. Cookie by cookie.

Information is empowering and admitting what’s true is the first step to rehabilitation. After the shock settles in, it’s time for action, although, in this case, inaction might be the best response. Sure, that burger and fries or that Club Sandwich and fries or that piece of apple pie and fries look good, but armed with awareness and an understanding of the consequences – health and otherwise – it is possible to bring about the necessary corrections.

I can reverse the trend. It’s possible to slim down and get healthy. I need to exercise my will. Become more than just a statistic. Be able to look myself in the mirror and see the changes. In time, I will accomplish my goals. My only question now is, do I have to give up doughnuts?

Let’s Face The Music

At last, a President who can dance. I think this bodes well for the country and the world. Dancing is not only the oldest, but also the most universal means of communication. And, right along with the development of Dance has been that of Music. These are among the most fundamental building blocks of Civilization, Neuronal Development, and Progress, in general. Some say, it’s in our genes.

It’s hard to feel a need to invade, torture, or hate someone, when you are singing about true love, getting the spirit, or doing the Boogaloo. Barack has personified, and made overtly political, this kind of next step in Evolution since the beginning of his career. He gets it. Stevie. YoYo and his buddies. Bruce and Beyonce. And, Aretha.

A lot happened this week. Barack became President. Bush took off for Texas. Cheney, in his chair, embodying Mr. Potter from It’s a Wonderful Life, rolled back to Montana or wherever he can call home. Barack arrived like a breath of fresh air and policies began to change.

Things are different now. We have a Black President. His presence resonates with and makes clear one of the true wonders of this country. That this is a place where, despite the less than admirable parts of human nature rearing their ugly heads too often, people of the most diverse backgrounds are all here, together, trying to work things out and make them better. And, we are. However long it takes.

This happens by getting to know each other. Seeing that our hopes are similar. That our dreams have a lot in common. And, that this idea of America is a good one and worth pursuing.

Barack is a real guy. And now, he’s the real President and Leader. I can watch the News again with an anticipation that something good may have happened. The fog of the last eight years is lifting. And, despite everything, I can now see that the world may not be coming to an end.

In his campaign, Barak talked about Yes, we can, about Hope, and about Change. Everything is possible. He was just reminding us.

Get up and dance to the music. Let Freedom sing!

The Attack of the Pharmaceuticals

On those nights when I can muster the courage to watch the news, my expectations are always exceeded. Or, is it that my fears are always confirmed? Whatever they are, they consist of a frightened anticipation that things might be even worse than the night before. Also present is an unspecified dread that the events they are reporting may have some kind of direct impact on me. Every now and then might be bearable, but night after night?

As disturbing as these reports from around the world are, the commercials shown between the news segments are as, no, are even more disturbing. They not only seem to take up more minutes than the actual news, but they directly relate to my mortality and the general breakdown that my body, like all others, must undergo over time. Personally, that breakdown seems to be gathering momentum. Aches, pains, and problems make themselves known on an ever more frequent basis and they seem to stick around longer.

I’ve been reading about the Mind-Body Connection and, each night, I see that these drug companies have no interest in helping me. They would rather plant the seed that Arthritis or PAD (whatever that is) is taking root, at this very moment, in my quite vulnerable and susceptible body. Statistics have proven this and you know you can’t escape that kind of truth. No matter how special you might think you are today, tomorrow you will be just one more number in a long and indifferent report.

You and your friends will never again be able to be more than 30 yards away from a bathroom. You‘ll have all kinds of trouble going, stopping, getting up in the night, and a lot of other things I don’t want to think about. You could be out biking with other gray-haired guys, who never even think about going. Or, you could be kayaking miles away from the nearest bathroom. All you have to do is ask your doctor about it. You’re there all the time, anyway. Just ask him.

Sure, there are some side effects, but they’re not major, only dry mouth, excessive perspiration, sudden seizures, vomiting, runny nose, debilitating muscle spasms, difficulty breathing, dementia, and the ever-present threat of sudden heart attacks, leading to death. Okay! I’m asking!

It used to be that I only needed to be aware of the heartbreak of Psoriasis or an occasional blinding headache, but just as things are deteriorating in the Middle East, so are they deteriorating right here at home. At my house. In my bed. Inside me!

I never used to have any of these problems. I could go for walks without suffering blocked arteries. My allergies never bothered me. Heck, I didn’t even have any. And, though not a Casanova, I have always thought of myself as a local Don Juan. But now, I know that I am part of the growing (if I may use that word) E.D. population. I find myself envious of guys I would have laughed at before. I see that they have fulfilling relationships with people they are actually married to, and many of them have matching bathtubs! By the ocean!

Each day, my list of problems grows. I can’t keep up with all of them. I think it’s safe to say that there is no part of me that isn’t diseased. My eyes are dry, my joints ache, I’ve got Athlete’s Foot, my stomach is upset and full of gas, my blood can’t circulate properly, my levels are low, my blood pressure is high, I’m often disoriented, and I’m about to have a heart attack, at any moment.

I can’t think about the News. I’ve got a lot more problems than that. No wonder I’m depressed. Maybe there’s something I can take for that.

Words. Wurds. Wudz.

I love them. I need them. I revel in them. I juggle them like ripened pears on a day glistening with the sunshine of a thousand years. Wait a minute! I apologize. Carried away, again. The deal is: there are so many of them. They represent opportunity, but also confusion. Some, like Bam, for instance, seem inevitable and obvious, but I can’t think of many like that. Most are arbitrary, or, if not, way beyond any logical origin I can figure out.

Take, chair. Does that look like a chair? Sure, but you knew that. You could just as easily have called it table, or fire truck.

One step below usage lies madness. So, for our purposes today, let’s dispense with reason. Kind of sounds intriguing. The fact that we’re using words to describe all of this is hurting my head. What I really want to do is to point out the sounds of some words that may provoke wonder, bafflement, even experimentation. Or, a million other things. You just can’t tell with words.

If you were me, you would realize, 1. How hard it is to stop writing, using these regular words. 2. How thinking like this might drive you crazy. 3. The philosophical, if not practical, dilemma initiated by a question like Why? or how chaos is created by subtracting meaning from a perfectly good system of communication.

Consider the following words as words, as sounds, as objects without definition.
It’s an example of focusing our attention, like a microscope, on a part of something and not being able to recognize it. Okay, okay. Enough.

Gazebo Bingo Pluto
Jello Honcho Bongo
Bamboo Kazoo Wahoo
Whoop de do

See what I mean? And, it’s not just the ones that end in O, though that does add a bit of fun. That’s simply a function of the suffix, O. None of these words are really related.

How about words like:

Smock Aplomb Pizza
Keel Bunch Urchin
Orbit Swank Rash

As objects, they are interesting. As sounds, they are evocative. Let’s mess around.

“Keel your swank orbit, my little pizza. That smock showed wahoo honcho. Could gazebo bingo the bamboo from aplomb?”

This is getting good.

A rash bongo led the jello to a safe urchin. In Kazoo, we bunch.

And, so on.

Words. Wurds. Wudz. They intoxicate. They reduce me to tears. They inspire the ineffable. They illuminate the elusive. They call us to action. They are a smock bunch. They orbit the jello. Who knew the rash gazebo? Remember the whoop de do!

Polka - Curse or Cure-all?

It’s a simple matter of heaving your weight to one side, in three short steps. 1 – 2 – 3. Then, to the other side. 1 – 2 – 3. Turn slowly through the six total steps. Repeat endlessly.

Those are the details. The important things about it are girls, music, and beer. The order of these will vary with the circumstances, but isn’t it wonderful to be able to combine the three most important things in life into one brief dance?

Let’s examine in, cursory, if not excessive, detail these three fundamentals of the good life. Girls – They hold a fascination for a guy like me, not only for the obvious reasons, which I won’t go into, aside from noting that they (girls) are warm, soft, and much more discriminating than I am. Yes, this could also be said of kittens, dogs, and all sorts of animals, but have you ever seen any of those doing the Polka?

What really fascinates me about girls is their minds. I swear I am not lying. Their view of the world, their sensitivity, and their imaginations. It’s a puzzlement and a wonderment. Plus, many of them can keep time and carry a tune. In Polka, as in Square Dancing, one (me, I) is put in direct contact with this magic. Excitement is inevitable!

The instrumentation of accompaniment can range from full orchestra to quartets, from tubas to saxophones, from guitars to the almost indispensable accordion. The accordion is a versatile and portable instrument that has the added bonus of being able to supply the bass, the beat, and the melody.

Most scoff at the accordion, but throughout the history of the instrument (and it is a long and distinguished, not to mention, romantic one) there have arisen great artists, such as, Frankie Yankovic, Fat Louie Szykowski, and Babe Wagner – all household names. All it takes is a few notes and you know you’re in for something special.

Beer, besides being one of the basic food groups, (as necessary to life, some argue, as water) is the lubricant, nay, the WD-40, of Polka. It frees the participants of shyness. It facilitates movement. And, it can round off the rough edges of one’s inexperience, one’s lack of coordination, and make each partner essential to the dream. I won’t go so far as to say, it is the blood of romance. That’s gross and inaccurate, but it helps with dry lips.

These three elements combined, have been known to provide comfort, enable excess, and promote needed exercise. Romance aside, Polka is a workout. But, it is one where everyone is smiling and ready for more.

In addition, it can be a poetic expression for sensitive souls. Just take a peek at these Polka titles:

The Fireside Polka Jolly Wife of Mine Polka

Twenty Flowers Polka The Ponytail Polka

Hoosier Susie Polka Mother-in-law Polka

Strip Polka The Okey Dokey Polka

And, who can forget such favorites as:

My Baby’s Got A Nice Dupa
The Night Lil’ Wally Came to Town
Waukesha, All Praise To Thee!

I have many Polka memories, and not just because I’m from Minnesota, a state known for its cultural, intellectual, and musical luminaries. Early morning AM radio, while driving through endless fields of corn, in sunshine or in blizzard. That wedding reception where my girlfriend and I fell into the closet, while trying to retrieve our coats. That old white, clapboard community center, alone, in a forest clearing, up North, and a party just for the hell of it, on a Sunday afternoon.

Some say there is no beer in heaven. Does that mean, by extension, that there is no Polka, either? No one’s God could be that cold. But, just in case, I’m getting mine in now.