"Hail of a nice hotel!"

I'm sitting here at the motel in Chicago, waiting for them to call me for a train back to Garrett. Luckily, I got my walk in earlier, because now its raining like a cow pissin' on a flat rock. Since the motel's TV is hooked up to a dish, all the cable channels went off. Now I'm relegated to watching the Antique Roadshow on PBS. Jenny probably wonders how I can watch it since no one is dancing, singing, fighting for immunity or running for an airport! You see, as the television watching options shrink, my blogging creativity increases. Exciting TV and I have writer's block. Crappy TV and suddenly I'm Mark Twain!

Earlier tonight, I survived a tornado warning IN MY MOTEL ROOM! It was while I was showering. I had all this cold air coming from the air conditioner (I had it set on "large cubes") and the steam was streaming from my long and luxurious shower. As you all know, tornadoes are formed when cold fronts (AC) collide with warm fronts (shower steam). These two fronts met over the bed. I put up with it hoping for hail because I needed ice for my cooler. Needless to say, my calculations were a bit off and I didn't get any hail or tornadoes. Maybe that's for the best.

I have to admit to a fact of life that men of all walks of life hate to admit. This pains me because some guys will see me as a traitor for admitting it. My only excuse is my internal pursuit of truth and integrity. The fact is lawns that are push mowed look much better than lawns that are rider mowed. I have a Lawn Boy push mower that I got tuned up this spring. Its not even self-propelled but is a nice little mower. I felt that the Lord knows I could use the exercise, so I have been push mowing my yard. Its a pretty good sized lawn, so it takes me awhile. It also works out my arms and shoulders. While I was mowing last week, my neighbor came over, asked if my rider was busted and offered his rider if I needed it. I told him that my rider was okay, but I was just walking because I needed the exercise. He looked at me like I was yodelling nude. But as I was saying and it pains me to say so but the lawn looks nice.

The weather seems to have stabilized. I still have the snow shovels and ice chipper on the front porch in case of a snow storm. When I get home, I guess I'll throw caution to the wind and take them out to the garage. I know that as soon as I do it, a snow storm will begin forming over the Rockies an start heading this way. I believe that its finally warm enough to change to snow to rain before it gets to Garrett. If I'm wrong and we do get snow, then I'll have to carry that responsibility with me to my grave. If my actions brought snow to town then I would be on Shannon's s-list. She has proclaimed it to be warm weather and far be it for me to mess with that. So, maybe I'll wait until it breaks 80 before I put the shovels away. No reason to risk my relationship with Shannon just because little kids are pointing at my porch and laughing. Maybe I'll stake a pit bull out front to keep those little whelps out of my yard. What does a smart assed kindergartner know about snow anyway?

Back yard vigilantism!!

Being friends of nature, we put in a wireless router on our computer so the backyard animals can Wi-Fi on their computers. It seems that after reading my blog, one of them became a vigilante! Do you remember that rabbit I wrote about? Well, when I went to mow for the first time this year today, I found him DEAD under a bush. Some animal, and I think it was that dang starling, offed him! He then crawled under the bush and went to that bunny hutch in the sky. He could have read what I wrote and my tough talk scared him to death!

I didn't do an autopsy, so I didn't notice if there was a bullet hole in his hide. I figured if the bunny was dead, then he might've been sick and sick wildlife and me stay away from each other. It might have been death from natural causes. After a busy Easter, the bunny's heart could've exploded from the strain of lugging so much candy around.

Of course, there are a number of reasonable explanations for a dead bunny under my bush. One of his kids could've killed him for the insurance. Might've died of old age. He probably didn't stiff his loan shark. They would've broke his leg, not his neck. Now, I think its safe to say that he didn't commit suicide. After all, rabbits cannot say "Goodbye, cruel world." Plus, I didn't find a note. I doubt if it was a heart attack, the dang thing was a vegetarian.

The rabbit could have been a she. I didn't bother to check for boobs. That opens a whole other avenue of conjecture. It could've been PMS run amok or embarrassment over a bad haircut. She probably asked her husband if her butt looked big and blew up when she heard the answer.

Of course, when there is an unexpected and premature death, the first thing you think of is drugs. Ol' Peter Cottontail could have been a druggie and overdosed. It didn't look like a meth addict. It still had its teeth and its coat was well kept. I didn't see any tractor marks on its little arms. They might have been there but he was too furry to tell. He might have been a glue huffer and burned out his brain. I don't remember missing any glue, but my memory sucks and I don't really keep an inventory of my glue. He might have been a dope smoker but there wasn't any junk food wrappers laying around so I sorta doubt it.

He might have been a rap bunny and another rapper coulda capped his ass. Probably had a rap name like DJ Bugs or L'il Buster. I don't know if rap bunnies ride around in stretch Hummers too but I haven't seen any driving around the neighborhood lately.

Everyone knows how rabbits will eat anything that grows. It could've eaten something it shouldn't. More than likely it had a lunch of cauliflower or green peppers and they killed him. I know that if I ate that crap, I'd deserve to die too! Might have had a poison ivy salad. I remember when we were kids, me and Jerry and Richard Hyde fed a goose about ten pounds of gravel at the cemetery. He wasn't too spry afterwards! Something like that could have happened here. Some bratty kid could've fed the bunny something like grits or granola.

If you ask me, he probably was looking in our windows when he saw Karl Rove on tv blowing off about how Obama is to blame about the economy and not the previous administration. Ol' Bugs probably stroked out while he was screaming at the tv about the stupid gasbag scapegoating an innocent guy.

I'm pretty sure that PETA is looking to sue me for responsibility in the rabbit's death. Remember, if the glove don't fit, you can't convict! I don't know how this has anything to do with it but I like to say it.

Finally, you might think that I am celebrating the demise of dat wascally wabbit. Well I'm not. It sorta scares me. Something out there didn't like a cute little bunny and wasted it. Being sorta obnoxious, I probably have a lot to worry about using that rationale. To any bunny fans out there, let me tell you that I cared about that rabbit and to show you how concerned I am, I'll be taking up a collection to help pay the college costs for its 73 kids. Send your checks to me or donate to me using PayPal. Together we can make a difference in the lives of Bug's kids.

How about "Chip off the ol' Block"?

If you look back in some of my previous blog entries, you'll see where I refer to myself as "the fat guy" or "the big guy". When you're a hefty fellow, you tend to do that (If you're not a tight ass!). God willing and the creek don't rise, by MAXMAS Day in August, I'll be looking like my father-in-law Wayne and I will have to come up with new descriptors for myself. That won't be much of a problem for others, though, because "Hey you!" and "bozo" will still apply. In my unwitting quest to convert myself from a smoldering blob into a reasonably healthy guy before I retire, I have also eliminated a lot of the adjectives that I have relied on for years. What is left for a self-deprecating guy to do?

One good thing is it gives me some ammunition to use against those who saw fit to continually remind me that I was fat and have not yet said anything about my endeavor to get rid of my spare tire. (The tire is a Dunlap as in "My belly done lap over my belt!). My two oldest brothers have called me "fat Max" for years. Its only been since he moved home that Jim now calls me "flat Max". You can't fool me. Flat Max is fat Max with a French accent. The last time I saw Gene, he was looking good. The diabetes and heart attack got him focused and trim. Jim though, is a different story. I yearn for the opportunity to call him flat Jim or fat Jim. Turn about is fair play, right? Given the opportunity, after all the years of humiliation it caused me, I'll probably pass. We liberals are better than that.

One person won't get that same consideration. A former classmate of mine named Craig has made crass comments and demeaning observations about my weight for years. Add to the fact that as I shrink out of my old clothes, he's growing into them! The first time I see Craig after I duck under 200, I'll make some well-rehearsed and juicy comment about his lard ass. I might even make a smarmy crack about his growing baldness. (He's losing his hair faster than I am.) Jim and Gene get a pass because I love them. Craig doesn't.

Now, back to my dilemma. What is a self-deprecating and slim (I hope, I hope!) guy gonna do? I can't refer to myself as "Slats". Most people have never heard that description. I can't use "Jack Sprat" because that infers that my wife is fat and believe me, Gramma J is looking buff! I'm just hoping to look, act and feel normal. Go from obese to nobese. I guess I'll have to give my body shape a rest and use my other characteristics as descriptors. I could be "pick-up boy". Oh crap, that won't do. I don't own a pick-up. This summer, I'll probably be known as "long grass guy" or "stray ray". If I lived in New Jersey, I'd probably be referred to as "Einstein"! There the state university is a private college and they graduate you from high school if you can spell linguine! You know what a 13 year-old virgin is called in New Jersey? Out of state!

Even the terms they use for normal guys are pretty sucky. "Joe Blow" has gay implications I don't even want to talk about. "Joe Six-pack" has been used by Sarah Palin so often in the last year, it lost its meaning for normal people. "Joe Six-pack abs" might be nice for some people but I can't even spell abs. To me, sit-ups are only done by show-offs and crunches are candy bars with Rice Krispies in them.

Now that I'm 2/3's of the way to my goal, I'd like to once again express how grateful I am to all the many people who have said and written so many kind things to and about me. I am completely and totally honored. For an example, after Jenny gave me props on her Facebook page, all the Davis girls made very kind comments. It has really struck an emotional chord with me. After years of being fat Max, friends, family and even strangers are saying so many nice things to me that sticking to the program has become much easier and that one thing is very apparent. Boy, I must've been really fat!

Now, I'm sorry if I dwell too much on my weight issues buy people are usually quite perceptive about issues that they have to regularly deal with. You lose weight and you notice people who need to lose weight. Am I right, Oprah?! My harrowing ordeal with a saliva stone has made me sympathetic to those with kidney stones. Reroof your house and you notice roofs.

This weekend I will again be surrounded by my family as we celebrate little Jaden's second birthday. I'm excited at the prospect of our seeing Jaden, Shannon, Mike and Shane along with the McClure clan at Shannon's on Sunday. Two is the age where kid's toys all need to be assembled and this birthday is no exception. Jaden will be happy to know that Uncle Shane put together our gift instead of Grampa so she'll rest assured, in her big girl bed, that all the parts were used and inserted in their proper place.

Talking about Shane, with his work schedule, he often has his afternoons open so he's taking up golf. The first time he swings a club will probably elevate his game way ahead of mine. I look forward to playing with him.

Last but not least, today would have been my dad's 86th birthday. Whenever anyone would mention how I was just like him, dad would say "That's the best compliment he'll ever get!" You know, I gotta agree with him. Happy Birthday, Dad!