Note to Self


Shame on you.

You fat son of a —–.

You’ve been this way for most of your adult life, and evidently, you don’t care. Because if you did, you wouldn’t continue this slow suicide you’re committing.

Every day you drag all this excess weight around puts more wear and tear on your heart, your joints, and your self-respect.

You already have high blood pressure, high cholesterol, high triglycerides, and Type 2 diabetes. You looking to add to that resume? Heart attack? Stroke? Cancer?

You know better. You’ve gone through enough weight loss programs and read enough information to know the right things to do to get healthy. You know you need to eat better. You know you need to exercise.

And yet, here you are. On the couch, mindlessly working your way through another bag of chips as you watch TV.

OK, so you don’t care about yourself; whatever. I know you even eat the way you do sometimes out of nothing more than pure self-hatred, and you’re punishing yourself by what, and how much, you eat.

And, yeah, you’re depressed most of the time, so you generally don’t give a f— what kind of shape you’re in. I get all that.

But do you not care about the ones in your life who you love and who love you and want you to be around as long as you can? You can’t even care enough about them to make any kind of effort? How do you think they feel about that?


Think back to your childhood, sitting at the dinner table not eating your vegetables, listening to your mother tell you to “think of all the starving children in the world.”

Yeah, dude, think about them now. Think about them as you reach for a few more strips of bacon and another biscuit or two. Think about them as you plow through a slab of chicken fried steak the size of Rhode Island, smothered in cream gravy. Think about them as you stack slice upon slice upon slice of pizza onto your plate. Think about them as you serve yourself a second or third helping of mashed potatoes. As you consume diet soda by the gallon, because hey, it’s diet, what’s the harm, right?

And think of how privileged you are to live in a land where you can stuff yourself like a Thanksgiving turkey anytime you want. Where you can go to a restaurant and sit down to a plate of food that’s enough to feed at least two people, and shovel it all in without batting an eye. Then have the nerve to look around in judgment at all the fat asses surrounding you, wolfing down their onion ring towers and their monster burgers and their piles of chocolate dessert, and go tsk, tsk at their lack of control, their obvious absence of discipline.

Then think of the millions – yes, millions – of children in that same land, who go to bed hungry more often than not.  Think of how exponentially more of those there are worldwide. 795 million people – roughly 1 of 9 people in the world – do not get enough to eat.

Then think about how they’re not your problem, they’re someone else’s.

And, oh, yeah. Think about their malnourished, bony bodies as you stare at that double chin and that disgustingly large gut every morning in the mirror.

As you stare at the one man responsible for the sorry shape you’re in.

Shame.   Shame.    Shame. 

Embrace the Madness


No, this isn’t about my depression.

I’m talking March Madness. The NCAA Men’s and Women’s Basketball Championships. It’s quite a spectacle; if you haven’t observed it before, it’s worth checking out.

What happens is, at the end of the regular season, a committee selects all the teams that will play in the tournament, based on criteria such as win-loss record, strength of schedule, favorite uniform colors, noise of school band, personal hygiene, etc. Approximately 2,000 teams are selected, (slight exaggeration, but it sure seems like that many) and paired up according to how they potentially match up against each other. It’s like for college basketball.

And then they all play at once! But that’s OK if you have access to several video screens; you’ll be able to keep track of Duke vs. UCLA on one screen, and Upper Eastern Middle Hacksaw State vs. Our Lady of Airballs on another.

(Our Lady of Airballs, incidentally, is such a small school that this season, their team included two high school boys and the mascot. The mascot led the team in scoring.)

The thing is, all the games are elimination games, so the field whittles down quickly, from 2,000 teams to just two, who then play for the championship. That means any team, on any given day, can beat any other team. (not really, everybody just likes to believe that, but come on!) Some surprises happen along the way, though; some teams that were favored to go a long way in the tournament get “upset” by teams that basically weren’t given much of a chance. The reason those games are known as “upsets” is because all the people that filled out brackets get really upset when those happen.

What are brackets, you ask? Don’t.

Too late. You already did.




Gives you a headache just looking at it, right? But lots of people – normally sane people – fill these things out, predicting the winners of all the games, and then bet money on them! Hence, the “Madness.”

Of course, many of these folks won’t stop with just one bracket. They may fill out dozens of these things, greatly increasing their odds of winning some big money…

…or of being locked away in a sanitarium.

Okay. Time to get crazy. Take it away, band!!