Tell me if you've heard this before!

 Anyone who knows me, knows that I've been battling cancer for 8 years.  What I have is incurable and has metastasized into my bones 4 years ago.  The normal life expectancy for metastasized prostate cancer is 36 to 48 months and I'm going to blow by that easily.  A few years ago, I was depressed because my life expectancy was measured in months instead of years.  Jenny helped me get past this, telling me that my case is different from all others.  Andrew Jackson told us that we should not take counsel in our fears and I learned to believe him.  Looking things up on line was really scary and I've stopped doing it.  Even though my cancer can't be cured, my doctor is controlling it nicely.  It seems that when one treatment quits working, there's another one to try.

I have been on chemo since last October first,   It's doing a good job, getting my numbers down and giving me a nice quality of life.  I do have some issues.  My feet are both numb from chemo two years ago.  It feels strange but doesn't have any pain like it can.  The tumor in my jaw is probably hitting a nerve because the left side of my face is numb.  It really feels strange when my face sweats or when I shave.

One thing that helps me to more easily deal with my illness is the kindness of others.  Whenever Jenny talks with anyone in her family, their first question is asking how I am doing. At the golf course, I am constantly asked how I am doing and am shown positive support by lots of people.

Despite the uncertaincy of my future, I feel blessed.  I don't have any pain in either my cancer or my treatment.  I have a remarkable group of caregivers that I believe will keep me thriving into old age.  A couple years ago, I was reluctant to buy a new golf club because I wasn't sure I'd live long enough to get my money's worth.  Now, I'm looking at buying a new truck next year.  I might never buy it but I believe that if I do, I'll get good use out of it.

Now, I know it is difficult to deal with other people's cancer.  One of my classmates just lost his wife to the harsh toxicity of chemo, one of my cousins has lung cancer and a close family member is being treated for breast cancer,  Even though I've been dealing with cancer for years, I have a hard time figuring out what to say and how to say it.  So when I have someone who graciously asks me how I am, I know how tough expressing empathy is.

My advice for anyone who gets a tough diagnosis is to be strong.  Be aware that many kind people will be praying for you.  Also, as scared as you might be, your family and loved ones are also scared.  Your strength and positivity will be a Godsend to them, giving them hope for the future.  Also, I believe that a positive outlook will help one's recovery from an illness.

No one fights alone!

It has been one week since my first chemotherapy treatment. There are numerous side effects of this treatment which concerned me greatly.  In this last week of which these side effects are most likely, I HAVE EXPERIENCED ZERO SIDE EFFECTS other than some weakness.  The truth be told, I have averaged over 10,000 steps a day since last Saturday and that might have something to do with it.  A nap in the afternoon does the trick.

It is my firm belief that my lack of symptoms are a result of all the prayers and support that I have received from all of you people.  Thank you very, very much everyone.  I am blessed that all of you are in my life.  Keep up the good work!!

It's go time!

No, I didn't have to start chemo in October.  But now, the Zytiga therapy isn't containing the cancer. Even though my testosterone (What feeds the cancer) is still at the lowest level possible, my PSA is 19 and tomorrow I have to start chemo. This is just the next step in the process.There are many more steps after this if needed. I'm not so happy about the possible side effects like nausea and losing my hair but, I could use to have my appetite curtailed a bit and as my dad once said "Its not that you have less hair to comb, you have more face to wash!"
 My greatest concern is for others. I feel sorry for all of you who have to see my odd shaped head. It will be tanned in the middle and white on top and on the bottom. Holy crap, if anyone is going to have nausea, it will be Jenny at mealtime with my striped face. Please let me be frank. Yeah, I'm going to have some discomfort and my poor barber is going to lose a cash cow but my greatest concern is for those that are going through much harsher and more painful cancer. I don't have any pain and haven't taken a Tylenol in over a month. Those that are suffering from cancers that are very painful and whose treatments are much more harsher than mine causes me much more concern than my case. Jenny and Shannon can tell you what you can do to give these patients hope and support

. Remember, #strongtothemax  #noonefightsalone  #godblessthosewhocareforothers  #baldisbeautiful and #christietedersrocks Thank you so very much!

Oh, Crap

     Yesterday was my appointment with my Oncologist.  The news was bad.  My PSA score increased from 4.3 to 8.4.  It appears that there is some of my cancer that has figured a way around the Zytiga that I've been taking.  So now, in 2 weeks (while continuing with my current medications), I'll be going through a whole battery of scans to see where the cancer is now and at what strength.  So, if you see an aura around me on November first, it won't be my glowing personality but the nuclear cocktail I had to drink.  On the 2nd, We'll meet with my doctor again, and most likely, I'll start a round of chemotherapy.  Not what I was looking for.
     Its nice to be rid of the Zytiga and its $2883 monthly co-pay, but along with that, I'll probably lose my hair.  So much for my new beard.
     I sure hope this will work.

Cancer hurts

This is the story about my struggle with prostate cancer.  The PSA test is helpful in diagnosing prostate cancer.  A normal, non cancerous PSA score is 0.  Anything above 0 might indicate the possibility of cancer.  In the spring of 2011, at a routine check up, my PSA score for prostate cancer was 1.4.  My doctor suggested I go see a Urologist but I never got around to it.  Two years later, quite by accident, I had my PSA taken and it was 11.4.  I then went to see a Urologist, two years late, had 14 biopsies on my prostate and all 14 tested positive for cancer.
So, in February 2013, I marked off sick from the railroad and started my treatment.  I started with 41 radiation treatments.  Since prostate cancer is fueled by testosterone, I underwent 3 years of hormone treatment that reduced my testosterone to castration levels.  After my last hormone shot in 2016, all my numbers looked great and we were hopeful that the cancer was eliminated.  As that last 3 month shot wore off, my testosterone levels started to rise.  (Normal levels for testosterone is 270 to 400)  By my December 2016 appointment with my Urologist, my PSA was 0.9 and my testosterone was still less than 200.  We were ecstatic hearing this news.
My next Urologist appointment was in August 2017.  My testosterone was over 300 buy my PSA was 10.4.  Here we go again.  My Urologist referred me to an excellent Oncologist.  We waited a month to make sure it wasn't an anomaly and in that time the PSA increased to 15.8.  I had numerous scans and tests and it turned out that my prostate cancer was Stage 4 and metastasized in the bone, lymph node and saliva gland in my left jaw, and in the bone in both hips, my backbone and ninth rib.  The biopsies all came back positive for prostate cancer.
So, I began getting hormone (Lupron) shots but that wasn't enough this time.  Testosterone is also produced by the adrenal gland and by the cancer itself.  So I began taking 4 Zytiga tablets a day along with a couple other drugs.  It takes care of that other testosterone.
My doctor told me that this treatment will someday quit working.  If and when that happens, we will have to try something else, like chemotherapy.  Three months ago, when I had my 3 month check up, my PSA was up from 1.6 to 4.6.  It scared me to death.  I went through a number of scans and tests again.  I had changed my diet by eliminating dairy, white potatoes, white rice and white flour.  I had read that these help feed hormonal cancers like prostate.  My doctor had me return to my normal diet and a week later my PSA  was 4.3 but my testosterone was still under 3 and my scans showed an improvement over 2016.  I have my next three month check up and shots next week and I'm very nervous about what my treatments will be now.
Of all the pain and discomfort that I have experienced, nothing compares to the stress.  Prostate cancer is stressful.  Stage 4 metastatic prostate cancer is extremely hard to cope with.  Every time you feel a new pain, you think the cancer has spread.  A friend of mine, my Tuesday night golf partner developed prostate cancer after I did.  His metastasized into the bone and while he was being treated for that, they found a mass on his lung and he passed away two weeks later.  When mine metastasized, that was all I could think of.  The month after my cancer returned and I got the final results were horribly stressful.  Now that I'm on Medicare, its stressful in a different way.  Even though I enrolled into the best Part D prescription plan there is, the co-pay for my Zytiga tables went from $1.67 to $2883 a month.
So, my life is lived in 3 month increments.  The last two weeks before my appointment, I'm scared to death I'll receive bad news.  I'm dealing with it the best I can.
So far, I've been fortunate that I haven't needed chemotherapy yet.  That's where it really gets scary.  I can't begin to understand what one goes through, the harsh chemicals, hair loss and horrible side effects.
My family and I pray that I don't have that fight. 

Now, where was I?

All of the posts I've written in the last two years, yet didn't post start the same way. I give a lame excuse why I haven't written anything in two years. They basically fall into two categories. About half of them were political rants. They were entertaining, informative and totally correct. But, rants are rants and even though my political rants are real knee slappers, I usually let them gather dust in my journal. The second category is me trying to figure out if I'll retire when I'm eligible to do so on September 1, 2013 and what I'll do with myself if I do. Since I can retire with a marvelous pension at age 60 and the rest of you poor schlumps will probably have to work til you're 70, they came out as a tad boastful. Albeit in a witty and entertaining fashion.

When I first started writing this blog in 2008, I picked all the low hanging fruit pretty early. Other than political rants (Hey ladies! Those Republican bozos don't like you!) or retirement (Is it against the law to buy your first fishing pole after you turn 60?) I'm pumping a dry well. Writer's block, Texas tea. I've always thought that when that day came, I could always come up with something. I'm the guy who could get C's on essay tests in college without ever attending class or buying the book. My so-called line of bullshit was stretched pretty thin that first year. Go back and read some of that (crap) finely written prose. I still get Google hits on Dumbo and various similes.

Like everyone else, I felt I knew how things were going to turn out as I got older. I see myself as a fairly intelligent guy. I graduated college in the middle of the pack without really trying. As I look back on things, I realize that I was wrong pretty much all across the board. In some ways that's a good thing and in others, not so much.

Thirty years ago, I figured that when I got to be the age I am at now, I would be riding a caboose, just like my dad. Well, soon after dad retired, they replaced the cabooses with blinking red lights and there's no hiding for dear ol' Max.

Being somewhat of a loner who was basically scared of women, I had always figured I'd grow old alone and die alone. Instead, I met Jenny, we fell in love and I have a marvelous family that I adore. Jen has showed me how truly great life can be and its my sincerest wish that Shane finds someone like her someday.

When it comes to science and technology, I figured that it would come gradually but I never imagined anything like it is now. After all, it took nearly 20 years to get color TV. When I was at Purdue in the fall of 1971, I took a computer class. The school's computer took up the entire basement of the building it was in and was considered the state of the art. When you wrote a program, you had to type up a punch card for each line of code. One of the ways they would "wow" the new students would be to run a program that had a stack of cards two feet high. There was a plotter that plotted the line of an equation on a graph. The program was a whole ton of equations and when the computer plotted all of them, it turned out to be a picture of an elephant. From the time the TA fed the cards into the card reader and the graph was plotted, it took 30 minutes! Right now, the cell phone in my bag has much, much more computing power than that monster computer.

We used to laugh at mom who would just use her computer for playing solitaire, but that's me now! In the mid 70's, I once wrote a 2000 line program on mom's Commodore 64 computer to do payroll for Railroad Inn. Now, I need to call a help desk to figure out how to hit "enter" on a laptop running the railroad crew management program. I thought I'd always be cutting edge, like in 1971, but I ended up computer challenged. I don't play solitaire, though. My game is Minesweeper. My best ever time on expert is 94 seconds. Jenny thinks that I'm the only person in the world still playing Minesweeper. Like usual, she's probably right! I also love Facebook. It has allowed me to get acquainted with relatives I didn't really know, like Lisa Ley and Marsha Cook (Can't wait til this summer!). They're such sweethearts. I'm starting to tough base with old Army buddies like Andy Kovach and Steve Gipson and am able to follow the life and times of old school buddies and cousins who live far away. In five years, there will be something bigger and better coming along and when Jenny or Shane tell me about it, I'll enjoy it too.

Those of you who have read this blog in years past know that Jen and I have a fuzzy buddy in New Jersey. You know New Jersey and its governor, Chris Krispy Kreme. Fuzzy lives just down the road from Stephanie Plum and spends his time bailing out the Jersey economy in Atlantic City. It seems that retirement woke him up and since I've last posted, he and his long, long time best girl, Barb have gotten married. So, here's my blog congrats and I hope you two have many, many more years together.

Finally, since I've posted last, my daughter Shannon gave birth to my second granddaughter on 09-09-09. Her and Mike named her Taylor Maxine McClure and she's just as cute as her sister Jaden without the red hair. Having a baby named after me is the single greatest honor I've ever received. Shannon and Mike's tribute to me still has me walking on air.

Hopefully, I'll post a little more often than before. That'll stimulate the blogdom.

Call me Max +

The other day I got an e-mail about a guy who was always happy. His premise was that you voluntarily set your mood when you get up every day. You can choose to be happy and you will be a refreshing breath of fresh air to everyone around you. Or, you can choose to be a grouch and be a miserable pain in the ass to everyone. Of course, there's a neutral middle ground that the majority of people inhabit but like politics, only the fringes seem to get noticed and commented on.

Being someone who has always welcomed new ideas and new thinking, of course I've adopted this mentality as my own! I will be Mr. Happy! When you see someone grin, you'll think "I wonder what Max is doing?" Yes, when that old geezer in front of you in church farts a real gut wrencher, you'll think of me and remind him about having a timely colonoscopy. I hope to infuse life around me with an uplifting positive and yes, happy attitude.

Those of you who know me, know that I don't make these life altering decisions lightly. Before I quit smoking, I took 35 years to prepare. Before successfully turning my weight dilemma around, I studied it for 20 or so years. Yes, for me to come out and announce a life altering decision like this is truly monumental, if not newsworthy.

One of the reasons that I am becoming "Mr. Happy" is to throw off the "Mad Max" tag that Mel Gibson laid on me and all other Maxes in the world. If I'm ever gonna shake that "Mad Max" crap then I must become someone diametrically opposite of a mad guy. In the past when someone referred to me as "Mad Max", I'd say "No, that's happy Max!" But it never worked. Soon, when they see me, the last thing they'll think of is "Mad Max".

To replace that "Mad Max" tag, though, I need a gimmick that will make it memorable. Something like Prince did in the 90's. That won't quite work for me. I would probably be known then as "That Bozo formerly known as Mad Max!" I'm thinking of altering my name sorta like Max +. My motto could be "That Max, what a positive person!" My only dilemma is whether there should be a space between Max and the plus sign or not.

So, when I got up today (Friday) I was ready to become Mr. Happy Guy! After shaking hands with my little brother, I went to my bag to get my morning cereal (I'm at the work hotel in Chicago) and imagine my surprise when I noticed that I had forgotten to pack my usual Grape Nut Flakes. I just went down to the lobby where they have the continental breakfast set up and got me a bowl of "Honey Bunches of Crap" and a banana to slice on top of it. I'm happy for the dietetic change of pace. Come 10:30 and I took some half frozen chili out of my cooler and put it in my little 2 cup crock pot and head off for my 5 mile walk around Midway Airport.

As I walk for the next hour and a half, I greet everyone I meet with a smile and a kind word. In Chicago, not too many people, or at least those who go out walking, running or biking around the airport are very happy. As a matter of fact, there were a couple of old cankers, after receiving my happy greeting, I thought were gonna squat and crap right there on the sidewalk! Being new to this, I don't know "happy" in Spanish so I'm at a loss for greetings to our Mexican friends other than "hola". There are many more Hispanic walkers around the airport than any other ethnic group. I don't know why, nor do I care. That's only important to the grumblers, not us happy types.

When I got to the hotel and went to my room, of course, the magnetic key card didn't work in my door. So, I had to go all the way back to the lobby so the desk clerk could reswipe it. I didn't complain. I saw it as a chance to get a little more walking in! I get in my room, all sweaty, smell the chili (which is perfect) and realize that I forgot to pack clean clothes and I just sweat out my shirt. Am I po'd? Nah. Air it out for a couple hours and it'll be fine. Some of the guys I work with do it all the time! See, I'm fitting in more and more!

I know many of you are asking why I'm going for happy when its so much easier to be grouchy. Its not easy to grin when you break your little toe on a table leg but letting a stream of cuss words fly is a snap. As someone who has always gravitated toward the easy side when making choices, this is a departure from habit. There are a couple reasons. Even though a Pollyanna can get a bit tedious for people around him, its a much better environment for your family than dealing with a bitchy sourpuss. When you're happy, everyone around you is too. When you have a stick up your ass, that stick hits everyone on the head! (Not a pretty sight, huh Fuzzy?)

The other reason is purely selfish. One thing I've noticed about health is that pleasant, happy people rarely have premature heart attacks. Most of my co-workers who've had heart attacks before they retired were bitchers and complainers. A bad attitude results in bad health and a positive attitude leads to a positive healthy being. That might be a load of crap but what if it isn't?

Also, with this new attitude, its a good thing I'm a liberal Democrat. One thing I've noticed lately is the Right Wingers are not a happy bunch. They are spewing hatred and lies about everyone and everything that doesn't agree to their narrow minded stereotypical view of life and such misery can't be healthy for the body, the spirit or for relationships. To them I just smile and say "Vaya con dios, mus muchachos!" Yeah, "Go with God" because unless you lighten up, you'll be seeing him sooner than you think!!

Now, being a happy fellow is nice but unless you do it right, you come out looking like a dork. I'll definitely have to change some of my stock one liners. When someone says "How ya doin'?" I usually say "I'm doing, I just don't know how yet." To "Have a good day" I always say either "I'll try but I won't make any guarantees" or "I'll be sure to make the heroic effort, you can count on it". I've just always figured that as long as people greet me with the same old tired lines, I'll reciprocate with an old tired line of my own. And you never know. If the person hasn't ever heard them before, they will enjoy the witty retort. As the years go by, that possibility diminishes quite a bit. To replace those answers with a "happy" one will take an enormous effort on my part. After all, those other answers were crafted during 56 years of life. To come up with an equally witty, yet happy reply may be too much to ask for. Sadly, I don't have my greatest inspiration to look to for answers. Yeah, if anyone could come up with a great bullshit line on short notice, it was my dad. He was the master of the one liner. The only other person who could help me is my son, Shane. His line of bull has shown flashes of his grandpa that makes my skin get cold! I'll mine that fervid brain of his when he comes home tomorrow for Easter.

To the "How ya doin'" I could say "I'm so happy I could just fart." But farting in public is on my personal improvement agenda and talking about it makes 'em sneak out even more often. Well, eliminating a gassy, bloated feeling would make me a happier guy. How about when someone says "Have a good day" I just turn around and blow a tird whistle. Now THAT would make me happy!

So whether I'm "Happy Max" or "Max +" I don't care. To quote the guy in the e-mail "I couldn't be happier unless I was TWINS!"

"Mr. President, the Beauty and the Beast!"

Now that Jenny has made a recent blog entry, the pressure has been on my shoulders to produce. Since I'm no social trend setter or fashion icon, I can't impress you with my flair or style. Since I'm a guy, I don't usually carry a camera with me. Therefore, I'd make a crappy family historian. I'll leave that up to Jenny and Shannon. Besides, they're really, really good at it. Unlike Jenny and Shannon also, I'm not very crafty so I'm pretty useless when it comes to blogging about my creations. What's left is what I do best. I'll write about something I'm pretty much clueless about and make you believe that I'm an inspired genius. Its a standard formula that I've used ever since Jenny signed me up for AARP and I wrote that inspired entry about aging.

First off, a shout out to Bob. A good friend of ours got himself buggered up in a traffic accident a while back. Yeah, my fuzzy buddy from Jersey was clocked on his way to Atlantic City. He was on his way , as Jersey people put it, to "pay his state taxes"! He's laid up at home, missing work and probably running poor Barb ragged. Being a faithful reader of this blog also brings his intelligence into question. Knowing that he'll read this, probably before anyone else does, I would like to let him know that Jen and I are thinking about him (and poor, poor Barb!) and wishing that he recovers nicely, finds himself a heartless shyster and sues that bozo back to the stone age! Good luck, Bob, with everything and we hope to see you guys some time this year!

Now, for the meat of this entry. I would like to have dinner (along with my entire family) with the Obamas. Preferably in the White House. But hey, I'd settle for waffle night at IHOP! I feel that I have a lot to offer the President in ideas and solutions to the major problems of the day. Primarily though, I would like to meet the Obama family personally because I believe they are extraordinary people, displaying extraordinary courage in rescuing America from the abyss. Other people are mad at him because he hasn't worked miracles but I'm not. I understand that you can't walk through a chicken coop without getting a little crap on your shoes. I've always said that you take a true measure of a person's character, not how they act when everything is going good, but how they react when things don't go right. In the hardest of times, through the toughest of circumstances, President Obama has been a solid and reliable leader who has expended tons of political capital to do what it takes to stave off a depression, get America back to work with health care for all. The Republicans in Congress have been shameful in their obstructionism and shilling for big business. How they could want to go back to the policies that drove America to the brink of collapse is beyond me. I would be happy if Dick Cheney (with the emphasis on Dick) would get a tonguectomy and go hunting with Mitch McConnell and John Behner, if you know what I mean!

You see, these guys aren't needed to solve the major problems facing America. I've got the answers. You name it, I've figured it out!

Editor's note: I've just written a scintillating and riveting three pages solving such problems as universal health care, job creation, high speed rail and fixing social security. I've read that America's attention span has shortened to resemble that of a gnat's so I won't bore you with the details. Suffice it to say, my arguments were as powerful as Dick Cheney's smile!

So, if there is anyone in Washington or elsewhere reading this, tell the President that there's a guy in Garrett he really needs to meet! If any of you are rich and powerful, drop my name. I'm sure Sasha and Malia would just adore Jaden and Taylor! Since I'm planning on planting a garden this year, I could get some useful tips from the First Lady. I could give the President a couple tips on quitting smoking too. Put us up in the Lincoln Bedroom and Jenny could fix pancakes in the morning!

I've always tried to judge people, not by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character. Using this criteria, the Obamas are some of America's finest. Even those tea bagger and birther bozos have to agree that America couldn't have a more respectful first family. In his place, I would've slipped and said "eat shit" to someone by the end of the second day. The fact that he hasn't said it yet puts him right up there by Jenny in the tolerance department.

Yes, I would be honored and privileged to be invited to the White House, any time, any day. That's not the hard part. The tough work would be getting time off work to go!!

Party at Shannon's!!

January 9th will be the anniversary of one of the red letter days of my life. It was the day, in 1982, that my little "honey bunny" was born. Yes, my little Shannon will be 28 years old this year and she is having a blog party all day long on the 9th. Everyone is invited and use this link to check it out for yourself. If its anything like her other creative endeavors, then we are all in for a treat!!!

No more blaming the cat!!

I really do my best blogging on a long slow train with hours to sit and think. As the last entry illustrates, some trains are really long and really slow! That's why this entry is so rare. I'm still at home, enjoying my yearly year-end vacation. I have been working alot lately around the house and there's nothing on my agenda today so I'm freed up for this little journey into blogdom.

Why an entry today after all this time? I realized that the new year is upon us and its resolution time! As all guys realize very early in any relationship, there's always room for improvement. In order to be the perfect gentleman, vibrant and healthy, witty and urbane, and couth and civil by the time I reach retirement, adjustments must be started now. Other than that pesky blowing off farts in public resolution, I've done pretty well with my last year's resolutions. Get off my ass and exercise, check! Lose that gut, check! The previous two resolutions, to be honest with you, are made every year by any of us who aren't in shape. Along with the the quit smoking resolution, they are, in my case especially, prefaced with the words "Yeah, right!" It is with extreme pride that my resolutions this year will not have to include "Yeah, right!"

There are other resolutions I've made every year since I've turned 18 that are bunnies. Accomplishing them helped alleviate the sting from blowing off the major ones. They included:
1. Pledge not to drive a Corvette over 125 miles an hour.
2. Vow to wear dress shoes when visiting the White House.
3. Be determined to evacuate for the hurricanes and not ride them out, and
4. Only ride non-Arabian horses!

So, typically, at the end of the year when asked if I kept my resolutions, I would say, between coughs and bites of pizza, that yes, I've met most of my goals. That's why you don't let others make your resolutions for you. A few years ago, I could hear Jen "Quit smoking. Go on a diet. Get some exercise for God's sake!" I would wonder "How fun would that be?" (Actually, I'm taking literary license here because Jen has never nagged me about smoking or my weight, to her everlasting credit. As it turned out, nagging wasn't needed! Hear that wives?) That's why I'm being proactive with resolutions on the 28th. If I wait and let Jen set the agenda, then there won't be any gimmes.

Of course, there are people out there who come up with some pretty lame resolutions to give the impression that there isn't much improvement needed, thank-you! Some like: "I resolve to wear each pair of underwear on its proscribed day. I like Friday's pair best and sometimes I just have to wear them on Wednesday! (Yeah, yeah, yellow in front and brown in back and shut up!) or ... "Even though I love its taste best, this year I'll switch from 'Crest with Watermelon' to 'Tartar Control Crest'!" (Keep smoking that meth, bozo, and you won't have to worry about tooth past anyway!) How about... "This year I'm going to support 3 poor kids in the Philipines instead of only one." (How about the 6 you fathered while you were there in the Navy?) Yeah, New Year's resolutions are a way for the self-righteous to shove their goody-goody persona in your face.

I don't do that! (Yeah, right!) My resolutions this year will have some meat on them. It won't be like a 400 pound, 50 year-old witch making a celibacy pledge or the doofus in a condo vowing to trade in his riding mower on a push one. No, mine will be meaningful, relevant and honest self-improvement. So, without further adieu, here's my 2010 New Year's resolutions:

1. I will treat Republicans like they treat President Obama.
2. I will change my public farting policy that allow farts that can't be heard to only farts that can't be smelled.
3. When someone starts on me about anything political, I'll smile and say "I'm proud to be an American!"
4. When someone starts on me about religion, I'll smile and say "... and may God bless you and God bless the United States of America!"
5. Candy, cookies and chips are the Devil's handiwork! Treat them that way and avoid them entirely!
6. Try to cut down on portion sizes. I eat entirely too much. If I didn't exercise, lord knows where I'd be.
7. When people say that global warming is caused by cow farts, say my usual "Bullshit" UNDER my breath.
8. Vow to close all the kitchen cupboard doors before I leave the kitchen. If that means quitting doing the dishes, well sometimes you have to take one for the team.
9. When my favorite sports team does the big choke, whine about it private, alone. Text whining is OK as long as the textee is probably whining too. and...
10, I'll try to quit making all those high crime and mob references about New Jersey. But Fuzzy, if New Jersey is the Garden State, what are they growing in Camden and Newark?

Ah, I feel like a better man already and I've still got 3 days of debauchery before these resolutions kick in!

If you are what you wear then I'm screwed!

I know that I've promised Jenny not to dwell on "weighty" issues in my blog for awhile. Frankly, I can be a bit tedious in my enthusiasm for the healthier lifestyle. This blog entry sorta skirts on the subject. Most women will say it does while most guys will say it doesn't. I could dance around the subject for awhile but my new endeavor to be precise and to the point won't allow me to.

My problem is that I have a very limited wardrobe. Now, if I want the real baggy look, I'm set. Most of my shirts that fit me are hand-me-downs from Jenny. Most of them are GHS shirts from the band or football. The brand named ones that I have bought fit OK. The one's that aren't have shrunk enough to be a little snug. I only have one button-up shirt but that's no big whup. I rarely wore them when I had a bunch. Same goes for Dockers. As for jeans, I have one pair that's my current size and two pairs one size up. That too is OK. As you can tell, I can start crafting a wardrobe that matches my persona. My dilemma is that there is so many different lifestyles of men's clothing that I don't really know which one to adapt as my own. You see, I have a unique opportunity to basically start from scratch with my wardrobe so that allows me to go with whatever style I desire. The problem is: Which one? After I started to think about it, I came up with a number of them. Since I am usually incapable of making a timely decision and this one would be made before Christmas, I guess I'll try to come up with as many as I can and let you, the blogosphere help me decide. (Its all a part of my latest self-help project: Let others make the hard decisions and I'll never make a wrong one!) I'm sure I missed a lot of different styles you may think of. Actually, I didn't. I just deemed them as being beneath my status as a renowned blogger! After all, there's no way you could picture me as an intercity youth, wearing FUBU shorts hanging to my knees with a white 4X t-shirt and a hat on with the bill to the side. Or, for that matter, who could picture me in geezer polyester with a white belt and cream colored shoes with Velcro straps. Hard to see me as a hunter with blaze orange clothes that smell like deer piss scent. How about "fisherman chic" with a boonie cap full of lures, a khaki safari vest and jeans covered with dried scales. Not very likely!

The first style I considered is "biker chic". There, you dress up in skin tight black leather with a lot of studs, a wallet with a chain and do rags. To fit this lifestyle, I'll have to grow a long beard and longer hair. I'll have to wear a leather vest without a t-shirt and get some serious tattooing done. There's a fine line between "biker chic" and the "flamboyant gay" style. The latter includes a leather motorcycle hat, a five o'clock shadow and manicured nails. Gotta watch yourself with these fashion genres. Now, I've got a brown leather barn coat I got years ago by sending in thousands of UPC bar codes from Merit cigarettes. It doesn't count here because no self-respecting biker or gay would be caught dead in it!

Next is "European playboy". I saw this alot when I spent two years in Germany in the Army. I'm aware that that was 35 years ago. Well, I haven't seen any renaissance in European styles in the meantime, if you know what I mean. This style could also be labelled as "mid 70's disco". The differences are minor. First, you start off with hip hugger pants without a belt (or loops for that matter). The European style will NOT have back pockets while disco does. The shirts are silk (or rayon for the cheapskates) and are unbuttoned for enough to show hair. Berlin's gay scene is filled with guys with no chest hair, yet still fulfill this requirement if you know what I mean. If you dress in this fashion genre, you have to listen to techno-rock and dance the "robot", eat food that normal people step on and hold your cigarette (whether you smoke it or not) between your fore finger and thumb with the back of your hand away from your face. You will wear light brown shoes without socks.

The next category will never be confused with the last one. This one is "square dancer". It consists of tight straight leg jeans, rolled up one turn and ironed with a lot of starch. The shirts are usually patterned like gingham, with a white yoke over the shoulders. It'll have pearled snaps instead of buttons. The black shoes will have a high gloss shine. (Gays will go with Paten leather.) and the ten gallon hat they wear will be white. Invariably, they'll be wearing a string tie but don't rule out a bandanna or a big bow tie. The "uptown" square dancer will have tight white leather gloves with no backs. Gays and gaudy types will wear matching white buckskin vests and chaps. They'll all look like "Smiling Bob" in those Ensyte commercials.

Similar to the last one, but not as gaudy is the "Marlboro Man" style. This one has a worn cowboy hat, regular jeans, a flannel shirt and cowboy boots. He'll have a five o'clock shadow, be chewing on a toothpick with a denim waist jacket. Gays in this genre will have the front and back bills on their hats bent down. Their 5 o'clock shadow will be trimmed and their cowboy boots will be made from armadillos and their toothpicks will be 24k gold.

One style where a gay guy wouldn't be caught in is the "grungy punk teenager" or GPT for short. The GPT will have pants that sag a good six inches down his rear. Because of that, he'll walk on the pant legs, tearing the bottoms up pretty good. The shoes are usually untied Skecher skateboard shoes and the shirt was the one he wore yesterday (and the day before). His face usually has more zits than a wrestler's ass and if his hair came in contact with a comb lately, it was purely coincidental. Usually his trousers, either denim or khaki, are able to stand in the corner on their own and the top three inches of his boxers will be faded from the sun. Wannabes in this fashion genre can be identified by their tighty whities, belt and unpicked noses.

Next up is the business professional. Even though its his day off, he'll wear a sport's coat with either a polo shirt or a dress shirt with no tie. He'll wear either Dockers or starched and ironed jeans with either tasseled or penny loafers. I think that if their shoes get scuffed, they throw them away. Their hair will be razor cut with a straight part.

Similar to the last one is the country club type. The only difference is his blazer will have his family crest on the pocket, he'll be wearing Hush Puppy deck shoes and if he's not wearing a jacket, he'll have on a cream colored sweater with his family crest. Slim clubbers will wear the sweater over their shoulders with the arms tied loosely around the neck. The bigger boned ones will wear their sweaters the normal way. They usually wear their glasses on the top of their heads. They would rather be blind than appear in public with their glasses over their eyes! The only difference between gays and straights in this genre besides the sex of their gold digger, would be the gay's tendency to wear silk scarves with their blue blazers.

The next two have similar names but are a little different. The first is "redneck chic". He wears either a white "wife beater" shirt or a sleeveless t-shirt to show off his "guns", barbed wire tattoos and all. His jeans will be Rustlers (the Wal-Mart brand) worn plumber style and his footwear will be clodhoppers. His hair style will include a flat top. He'll either have his head skinned on the sides and back or have a mullet. The mullet usually has short sides, but long sides are popular too. The rule of thumb on the sides is the closer you are related to your wife, the shorter your sides. Most of their tattoos were done by a friend instead of a tattoo parlor. Therefore, most of them are misspelled. Popular in the last five years is having GIT R tattooed on the knuckles of the right hand and DONE on the left. His gum line usually has more gaps than his resume and the only people who are worse at Jeopardy are his kids. The other similar style is "lazy redneck" or LR's. The LR's differentiate themselves from the other rednecks by the fact that they are too lazy to change their clothes so they invariably just wear the same holey sweat pants with an unmatching inside out sweatshirt with the sleeves either cut short or off completely. Their tennies don't have shoe strings and their hair is usually long and greasy. If their hat gets wet, it'll usually disintegrate!

The "college professor" types wear corduroy jackets with leather elbow patches and corduroy slacks. They usually wear their granny glasses at the end of their nose and wear houndstooth patterned hats. Their favorite shirts are turtlenecks and also like sweaters quite a bit. Like the LR's, they tend to wear the same clothes much of the time, thus saving a ton of money on extra outfits.

Now, this is just a partial listing of the available options I'd have. I haven't even mentioned nudism. Come winter, this option gives a whole new meaning to the term "blue balls"!

This decision is just too hard to make. I guess the only way that makes sense is to wait and see what style I get for Christmas and make that the style I adopt. My luck, Shane will get me a couple "wife beaters" and some clodhoppers! (At least, now a day's, Git 'R Done doesn't concern Shannon and Jenny like it used to!)

"I'll tell you how I am... COLD!!"

In the old days, I never got cold til Christmas. Below zero weather and I'm wearing a t-shirt and no long johns. I couldn't understand why Jenny needed the thermostat any higher than 65 degrees and would chuckle at the thermo-nuclear setting she put the electric blanket on. Yeah, those were the good ol' days. Tolerance to the cold is the fat guy's advantage. You can scoff at the skinflints who are whining about the cold. There's a reason why you rarely see skinny people in those Polar Bear Club swims on New Year's Day. Fat guys stay warm the same way walruses stay warm: Fat repels the cold!

I realized that fact just a little too late. Today, in Chicago, I went out for my walk around the airport with my t-shirt and gym trunks, an extra long sleeve t-shirt and sweatpants and a sweatshirt. It was 48 degrees with a 40 mph wind. Despite all those clothes and the heat my body produced by walking at a good pace, I froze! WTF! I never got cold in September before! I didn't even know it was possible. I used to sweat like a pig when I shoveled snow in below zero weather. Today, I couldn't pop a bead of sweat if I ran a mile, on my hands! I'm sitting here in the hotel with the heater on max (75 degrees is the highest it will go) and I'm freezing. They don't tell you this at the Weight Watcher meetings. "Go ahead and lose that gut, bozo, and next winter, your shivering alone will keep you thin!" In the dictionary, under shivering, you won't see William Howard Taft's picture! Abe Lincoln's maybe, but not Billy Boy's!

So here I am wondering what the heck to do. I got an arctic lined Carharrt jacket that fits me nicely (thanks Jen!) and some jackets I haven't worn in 10 years. They fit nicely but the styling is a bit outdated. I've got a ton of sweatshirts that are a tad too big. No problem, I like 'em loose. Sweaters? Maybe now they won't look like a second skin on me. I like sweaters, but until now, they didn't like me!

For the last month, I've been bringing a sweatshirt with me in my bag to wear when the engineer turns on the air conditioner. One day last week, I even turned on the side heater when he turned on the A.C. I used to think we needed central air in our house. Not anymore. I only turned the window A.C. on four times this summer. That $5000 would be much better spent if I bought something nice for the kids. (Just checking to see if they still read this!) If we ever sell the place, I'll have the realtor target market skinny people. They won't even ask about central air or the lack of it!

Used to be when some skinny person would whine about the cold, I would think "Suck it up, Slats. Its only zero!" Now, I'll be a little more tolerant in my thoughts. No more will I turn down the thermostat to 69. I used to think "Geez, put on a sweater!". Let Lucy out on the back porch? Heck no, Its cold out there! One line I'd use when someone would crank up the heat way high was "Geez, grow an immune system!" As the one with the skinny little finger on the heat button, I'll be more tolerant. I still can't figure out why my Aunt Frieda kept her home at 85 degrees in the winter. They weren't skinnies. Must've got too cold during the depression. Might've gotten scared by an evil snowman or something.

Last winter, I never wore long johns. This winter I'll probably double up on them. I better get the snow blower fixed. I'm not friends with the cold anymore. I better start saving the big bucks because I see winters in Florida in my future! Hurricanes? Bring 'em on! Wild fires? Try me! Living with Southerners? Make that a double order of grits! But shivering in September? Pack up the Edge, sweetie!!

Now some of you may think that I'm exaggerating just a tad. Those who have read this blog for the last year and a half know that I never exaggerate! I'm as serious as a holy roller preacher on Sunday. I'm as serious as Oprah at the buffet or Sarah Palin at the turkey farm! Now, some of you may think that I'm doing all this whining just to get some cuddle time with Jenny. I'm not as warm as I used to be so she won't be as interested. I used to be a veritable furnace and even in July, her feet were icicles!

On cold winter mornings, I used to come downstairs and Jen would be just standing there. So would Shannon and (our dog) Cheaney. I finally asked what was up and learned that they were standing on warm spots where the heating pipes went through the cement floor. I used to shake my head (and both chins) and chuckle at their foolishness. Now, I'm looking for a floor heat map!!

Now I'm on a train heading for home and my engineer has his window open so I'll sorta walk over to the heater switches and voila... thermonuclear heat!!!

In an unrelated matter, I spent a great Sunday with Jen. First, we went to Indy and had lunch with Shane-0, celebrating his birthday and finished the day visiting Taylor and Jaden (and their folks). It doesn't get any better than that. I mention this (besides the enormous pride I have in my family) as an intro to disclosing an amazing fact. Its still less than 3 weeks after little Taylor was born and Shannon is within ten pounds of her pre-Taylor weight! Way to go, honey bun! You are an amazing person! You know what she said to me? "Starting to look more like my dad!"

Hell, just move to Florida!

I'm reading a book that Shane got me for my birthday that's titled "The Know-It-All". Its a true story about a guy who read the entire Encyclopedia Britannica. Its funny and quite interesting. Like the lady who wrote "Julie and Julia" about her quest to cook every recipe in Julia Child's cookbook, this author wrote a best seller about his endeavor. Each of these authors blogged about their efforts, which paved the way for their bestselling books. Why am I, a reasonably normal middle aged guy bringing this up? You are getting a hint at what retirement may have in store for me!

You see, I work on the railroad. Doing so, I am always at work. (As a matter of fact, I just got called to go to Chicago a minute ago!) They are constantly calling me to go to work, not allowing me off work for any reason short of death (Even though there are eight dead guys still on the seniority roster!) and stamping out any continuity I may have in pursuing a hobby. Like many railroaders, I'm approaching retirement without any hobbies or interests that would keep me busy in a fulfilling way. I like golf. That might occupy me somewhat in the summers. I'm not rich enough to spend my winters in golf-friendly locales so other ideas have to be brought forth.

I brought these two books up because they gave me a wonderful idea! How about (when I retire) I initiate a similar project, blogging about my experiences as I go and culminate my experience by writing a best selling book and screen play. That would pile up an enormous bank account so I can afford to play golf all winter in Florida! That muffled thumping you hear is your's truly patting myself on the back for having such a great idea. Sheer genius if you ask me. There's only one little snag in my great plan. What do I do?

If my quest is too easy, people won't be interested enough to read the blog, buy the book or watch the movie. If I set my sights too high, I risk failure and that would seriously hamper any book or movie deals. So, what do I do? What can I, a humble flat guy of so-so intelligence (Normal for Indiana, the second coming of Edison for New Jersey!) and average get-up-and-go (My lawn may need mowed but not baled!) do to capture the imagination of America, no, the world!

First off, reading and cooking are out. Already done. Besides, what's there to read? The books on Wall Street business ethics or American Congressional Role Models are only 3 words long (You're kidding, right?") Books that interest me would be boring to blogdom. That's why I haven't followed Shannon's example and done book reports in my blog. "The History of Fart References in American Literature" and "Was Godzilla a Transsexual?" aren't books that would rivet America's attention in a blog. As for cooking, no way! I need to find pursuits OUTSIDE the kitchen, if you know what I'm talking about. I could cook an entire French cookbook but how many snails can a man eat, anyway?

That leaves a wide open field for my consideration. One thought I had was building a model train layout of the entire route from Chicago to Garrett. I could blog about all the exciting things I experience. The research that I would have to do before I begin would be extreme. Is the tree that blocks the signal at the Elkhart River a maple or an oak? Is the switch on the west end of the runaround at Alida on #1 or #2 track? Can I buy toy people that look as dumb as the real people of East Chicago or do I need to make them myself? In a similar vein, I've thought about building a garden train layout. That would be G-scale, which is the size of my Christmas tree train. We saw one a number of years ago when we were on vacation in Canada and it was really neat. I'd have to get an advance on my book deal though. Those G-scale trains aren't cheap!

Another idea that I've had was to make a pottery map of the U.S. by making separate clay maps of each state, which will fit into a large map of the U.S. I could dress up in the native dress of each state while I roll out the clay and cut out the map. For instance, while doing New Jersey I could be wearing a black suit and black porkpie hat with a white hatband, belt and shoes. I would glue my nose to the side of my face so it would look broken. While I did West Virginia, I could go barefoot with a t-shirt on that said "Are you my pa?" It would be pretty hard to stereotype the people of all 50 states but I've always been up to the challenge. Besides, I could sell them to schools for a mint! A triple revenue stream. I like that.

The latest fad for movie stars is writing children's books. I could do that too. How about a book about a near-sighted anteater who snorts some fire ants by mistake and the hi-jinks that result. Problem is, how do you write a book about writing a book? Being a children's book, I'd have it done in one day. Not alot of blog fodder there either.

I could do something crafty. I could make a model of the Empire State Building out of sugar cubes or the Golden Gate bridge out of Popsicle sticks and dental floss. This could be the way to go except for the fact that I have zero artistic talent. Jenny or Shannon could produce a credible copy of the Mona Lisa with the burnt end of a stick and a used Kleenex but not me. I could take a wheelbarrow full of rocks and make a, well, pile of rocks?

Seriously, one idea that I've been toying with is doing the family tree of my and Jenny's families. I could regale everyone with blog entries about all the colorful and famous people that I come across. Problem is, unlike every other family tree you've ever heard of, mine doesn't include famous, historical people. No, Napoleon isn't one of my ancestors. More likely would be his Polish chicken plucker. Besides, Alex Haley already did this. Geez, I got another great idea just a tad too late.

One idea that I've been mulling over is to try writing a volume of poetry. Regular readers of this blog are well aware of my poetic talent. All my poems rhyme, not like some of those fancy poets. Some of those bozos ought to have their poetic licenses revoked! Just because young ladies from Nantucket have prominent roles in a lot of my poetry doesn't mean the poems aren't classics. I could do a blog of poems and every year or so slap together an anthology. That ought to keep me busy in retirement. I could try my hand at painting pictures. My crap couldn't look less artistic than Picasso's. And, I'd charge a whole lot less!

Yes, I definitely need to find my retirement niche. I am open for suggestions. Just don't include anything too strenuous. After all, one definition of retire is "to go to bed" and that's exactly what I have in mind!

A week I won't soon forget!

Today is my birthday and this week I proudly broke the 100 pound level and have lost a total of 102.2 pounds since October 15th of last year. Add to that the fact that Jen and I spent a fun but exhausting day in Indy helping Shane move to Greenwood and note that I got a new (used) Ford F-150 pick-up...

and Jen got a new (used)Ford Edge.

Also and most importantly, my lovely daughter Shannon is due to have a baby at any time. As you can see, my life has been full, exciting and richly rewarding lately. I have a beautiful wife I adore, two kids I think the world of, the cutest granddaughter in the world, a great son-in-law and a marvelous family that I love.

As you have read the last paragraph, I'm sure some of you think that here is some rich fodder for the fat guy to talk about. Well, hold on there Skippy!

First off, let me dispel some notions about fat guys that you may have. They aren't always jolly. Its easier to laugh off someone's crass and thoughtless crack about your weight than to cry about your shattered feelings. Last October, my weight put me on the chart right in the middle of the extremely obese column. In the last 10 months, I've left that category, completely navigated through the obese category and have gone through most of the overweight category. Getting to the normal category means the world to me. You see, I've reached a position where I am experiencing the kindness of so many people. So many people have said so many nice things to me during the last ten months that I will still be walking on air for years to come. The people who saw fit to ridicule me for my weight have since been silenced. The hurt hasn't been forgotten, only soothed.

As I said, Jen and I went down to Indy to help Shane-o move to Greenwood (a suburb south of I465). It is a nice little apartment that knocks off 50 minutes from his commute to work, each way! Is he smart, or what? Whenever I help Shane move, I meet his friend, Big Mike. Like Jaden, he has red curly hair. Unlike Jaden, he has a beard and stands seven feet tall! Without him helping, me and Shane would've broke down like a pony with a 400 pound jockey! Shane has some really heavy stuff and his apartment is on the 3rd floor. My new truck got a workout, pulling a trailer, loaded down and performed like a champ. The notable part of that long day was the fact that I drove both ways. After 28 years, I've finally been able to figure out how to drive in a way that makes it easy for Jen to be a passenger. Aggressive driving makes her extremely nervous and I have converted my style to a less aggressive, more easy going technique that has us both smiling. Still another facet of the "Max Teders Self-Improvement Program".

Last Tuesday morning, Jen and Jaden went with me to the Weight Watchers meeting. Breaking the 100 pound mark is sorta rare and they are extremely supporting for any and all accomplishments. When Amy, who was running the meeting, talked of my accomplishment, she even teared up. When she went to get my 100 pound pin she said "Let me get the box" and Jaden added excitedly "Box?". In a touching presentation, Jaden (in her very cute green polka dotted dress) gave me my 100 lb. pin to the smiles of everyone there. I'm not done yet, still got 20 more pounds to lose, but I know that the light at the end of the tunnel is not an approaching train!

Little Taylor Maxine McClure will soon be making her appearance on the great stage of life. I've been praying for her and Shannon's good health and can't wait to see her first hand print tile! I'm sure that Jaden will be a great big-sister, just like her mom was.

Finally, I would like to comment on how impressed I am with how Jen's family has embraced a healthier lifestyle. Jen and her dad have both reached their goal weights and are looking great. Her mom is working hard with her exercises and her brother Jeff is really looking good! Add to that how her sister Cindy and Jeff's wife Jane are working hard on their diets and how good Chad and Lisa Davis are looking with their walking. Somehow, Jen's family has gotten the word (and thankfully brought me along for the ride!). They are doing the hard work that needs to be done to return themselves to a healthy way of life. All I can say is "Way to go!" and "Keep it up!" How I would love to help bring this healthy lifestyle to my family. As a family activity, Jen's family has shown that it works and its much easier when you are not doing it alone.

Last, but not least, is a note to Shannon. Even though its getting a bit late, if today is the day, I would love to change the name of MAXMAS day to T-MAXMAS day!

"Oh this? I'm going hunting after work...

As is my practice, when it rains, it pours! I go a long time with nothing, then BAM! two posts. (I'm becoming the Emeril of blogdom) This post has none of the sentimentality and richness of the last post. Whereas the last post was a soothing ballad, this is a "Larry the Cable Guy" fart. How do I know this before writing anything? Well, my mind fills up with ideas much like a septic system fills up. After a while, it'll need emptied. With much of the same contents!

To those of you who know me well, know that I have been wearing overalls to work for over 25 years. It started as a way to keep all my jeans from getting indelible grease spots and fusee burns and became a way for a fat guy to be comfortable without having to wear a belt. I only wore striped ones when dad gave his to me when he retired. Otherwise, it was always blue denim. They're not cheap, costing between $25 and $50. Wal-Mart sells them for around $30 but the size I wore was bigger than the largest size they carry. I mention this because I have decided to quit wearing overalls to work for awhile. I'm wearing carpenter-type work jeans instead. The reasoning is simple. I have seven pairs of overalls at home that are too big on me. They range from 58X30 to 44X30. I've decided that until my weight has stabilized where I want it, I'll stick to the $15 jeans instead of the $45 overalls. How will I carry all the crap I'm required to without the extra pockets of overalls?

Simple, I bought one of those high-visibility vests at Wal-Mart for $8. Jeez, the way some of my co-workers reacted, you'ld think I slapped their kids or something! You see, there is one railroad, the Canadian National, that requires their train employees to wear these HI-VIZ vests. Employees of the other major roads are waiting for when they'll have to wear them also. The employees of Chicken-Shit-Xpress is no different. They think that if only one bozo (yours truly) voluntarily wore an orange vest, then everyone would be required to wear one tomorrow! Some even thought that the order was out to wear them already. Their questions (and the answers I SHOULD have give) ranged from "What are you wearing that #W$%^& thing for?" (It was on the top of the pile.) "Where did you get that?" (The vest fairy put it under my pillow.) and "I suppose we'll all have to wear that!" (Not you. You're too fat to fit in my vest!) Usually, after their initial stupid question, then a pleasant conversation about my reasoning ensued. I told them I chose HI-VIZ orange because the railroad used HI-VIZ yellow. I would've preferred a khaki vest but they are way too expensive for a poor conductor to afford. I usually say that I was looking for a pink vest because of breast cancer awareness because nobody is more aware of breasts than me! Also, I can wear my orange vest when I go mushroom hunting and maybe I won't get shot by a hunter who mistook me for a big, big bunny. Probably not. Hunters wear orange-camo clothes. How stupid is that? Stand by an orange bush and a deer will never notice you!

At work, alot of people lately tell me they didn't recognize me. (My plan is to diet myself into anonymity!) I usually say "Oh." to get them to explain. You see, I want to know if it has to do with my recent weight loss or the fact that they have never seen me before with regular clothes on. It usually turns out that they didn't recognize me with my eyes open!

HELLO! My name is: max

Note: I wrote this on June 25th and never got around to posting it. I'm posting it now because: A) This is the first time I've opened my journal in a month. B) I like it, and C) Becky, who goes by Rebecca, has become my Facebook friend. I may be Mr. Procrastination, but I am firmly rooted in the belief of fate and coincidences. As an aside to an avid fan, "Sorry Fuzzy. No meat here!"

Usually when I blog about a particular subject, I tell a small story about something I saw or something that happened to me and segue into whatever I'm ranting about that day. A little while ago I wrote an entry in my journal about how patience has evolved out of the American culture and it ended up as a rant about the greedy and corrupt Republicans. I had been trying to write that story for months but I couldn't come up with an opening story that linked me with impatience. It seems that I am the epitome of patient understanding. I finally made up a story but a blog entry based on a falsehood is doomed to fail. Yeah, I could've entered it and you all would've nodded and said "You tell 'em fat boy!" when you finished it.

Like most people, my attention span collapsed like that bridge in Minneapolis. My engineer mentioned that one of my old buddies lives down the road from him up by Waterloo. I thought all my friends had more class than to live near Waterloo but one must've slipped through the cracks. The guy he was talking about is Tom Thrush. I haven't seen Tom in years. Tom's wife, Becky was also one of my classmates and when I think of Becky I think of "class" and "style", two words that have never come up when you Google Tom's name. The reason that I'm mentioning Tom and giving him his 15 seconds of blog fame is that, as I get older, I am more interested in what happened to the people I knew when I was younger. The last time I saw Tom, for instance, was in the barbershop about 10 years ago. Him and Becky never go to class reunions and even Stan Pence probably doesn't have their e-mail addresses. The great thing about blogs and Facebook pages is you see how life has treated those you knew years ago. You have a chance to see pictures of their families, learn what matters. I'd like to learn more about those who populated my youth. My daughter, Shannon, has created the web page for the Garrett High School Alumnae Association and they have a feature where you can update where your life has taken you and tell what you are doing. You can include pictures too. Jenny has updated hers. Not one person in my class has done it.

Think of the stigma it would cast on everyone else if I were the first person in the Class of '71 to enter personal information. Me. Mr. Procrastination. The shame they would feel would be palpable. I'll try not to cause them any distress. Every class reunion brings someone you haven't seen in ages that is a pleasant surprise. Eight years ago it was Pam Cutler and the last one was Marston Greenawalt. Not having seen Marston in 30 years, I had to get his name off his name tag. Like all of us, he wasn't remarkable, just interesting. You look at me and you see someone you knew a long time ago. No big whoop, you say. But take a look at a picture of my wife, kids and their families and you see the pride of my life. You know that I work on the railroad and you think that I've probably coasted through life but look at my family and you see a life that has been lived with a purpose, with meaning, with pride.

I would like to see that of my classmates. Maybe by the next reunion, we could come up with a collection of family pictures, with everyone labelled and identified. It would bring a new dimension to those 12 years we spent together nearly 40 years ago.

The cat ate my journal!!

While I was relaxing in the motel in Chicago the other night before I went to bed, I was watching a self-help program on PBS. The guy was telling us how we can become the perfect person. How we could go through life, accomplishing everything, forgetting or postponing nothing and being hyper-successful. He listed the sixteen excuses people make and gave counter arguments to each excuse. He was trying to create a world with... (gasp)... no excuses!

Sounds Communistic to me! No excuses? That's anti-American. Our whole culture is based on excuses! "Don't blame Joey. His great-aunt was a bed-wetter!" or "Little Amanda isn't at fault. She lived next door to a hillbilly as a child!" Our Constitution promises me "Life, liberty and the pursuit of excuses!"

If I didn't have excuses, my quality of life would be seriously impaired. Clean out the garage, sorting out and pricing all the garage sale stuff? Yes, dear. Repaint the whole upstairs pink and orange? Right away, sweetheart! Get gas for the grill, check the attic for birds, redo the Star Wars room... and no excuses? Oh, my aching back. Wait, was that an excuse? If you could see the journal I'm writing in, you would see tear marks.

I realize that I'm in my pre-retirement self-improvement phase and boy-o-boy was there room for improvement. I can honestly say that I've made some serious strides towards improving myself in many ways. I am extremely happy with my life and envision that by the time I retire, all my health issues will be "healthy lifestyled" into oblivion. I am more active and less sedentary. The last time I checked my e-mail, I had messages backed up for over a week. I haven't written in my blog for almost a month and last week I didn't even have time to weigh in at Weight Watchers. Every time I went to the Y to work out, I got called by the railroad before I got home. The railroad seems to have laid off all but a couple of guys and are working us to death. I've been getting all the important things done like mowing the lawn, taking out the garbage, giving Jenny a pedicure and polishing her wine glasses with $100 bills. I know that there's obvious room for improvement but all at once? If I transform myself into the perfect man this year, what's there to accomplish next year?

Also, women like flawed men. I'm sure that Jenny would hate a world without an occasional belch or fart. I'm not talking about cranking out colon bombs that would make a buzzard barf but an occasional puffer or two. And I didn't mean I would burp the Star Spangled Banner in pig-latin but just a slip now and then. You see, having a couple character flaws can prove beneficial to one's spouse. Jenny doesn't have to ask me what I had for lunch. She just has to look on my shirt. Now I admit to being flawed. I'm not perfect. Yeah, I may be far from ideal, but I'm far from the other end of the spectrum also.

I know people who consider washing their work jacket or brushing their teeth to be spring cleaning chores. Or those who think parking an old car or dead lawn mower in the yard qualifies as landscaping. They're the ones with pet hair in their potluck dishes. They wear tight wife-beater shirts to formal parties and put out cigarettes in the ice bucket. They have an "If the truck's a rockin', don't come a knockin'" sticker on the pick-up with a window sticker of a brat kid peeing on something.

Yeah, I'm not perfect, yet. There's some room for improvement. I'm working on it. I won't have to get the "Get 'er Done" tattoo or the 4X t-shirts. I look forward to a nice long walk or a workout at the Y. My house won't make "Architectural Digest", but it won't make "New Jersey Living" either.

So, as for Dr. Wayne Dwyer, the flack on PBS the other night, who thought I should be perfect and shouldn't have any excuses, if he doesn't like what he sees, he can call my emergency complaint line and complain. The number is 1-800-EAT CRAP.

It was Clem, from Gary!

The yearly monsoon season has arrived in full force to the Fort Wayne area. Soon the flood stage of the local rivers will lead off all the newscasts. The TV stations will have cute shots of baby ducks swimming in a ditch somewhere and the newest reporters will be interviewing people who have been flooded out for the tenth straight year. The city of Fort Wayne is probably scouting out locations to dump the sand that will be used to fill the sandbags.

This year, flooding concerns me more than it usually does. Look at the horrendous weather that accompanied the Great Depression. Mother Nature is famous for kicking people when they're down. That's why tornadoes usually hit trailer parks. Dump on the people without a pot to piss in!

Also, I saw something that shook me to my core. Coming home from Chicago the other day I saw two deer standing together! Then I saw two raccoons standing along side the road when I was driving to Fort Wayne. Also, on my walk last night, I saw two pigeons who seemed to be together and everyone who walked by me in the other direction were paired up! Are you getting my point? The first time I see a geezer with a long gray beard pulling a boat behind his truck, I'll be freaking out.

If a latter day Noah shows up, what's next? Locusts? Sodom and Auburn? Wandering in the mall for sixty days and sixty nights?

If you ask me, anytime you get a flooding rain, its triggered by a seemingly unrelated event. Some people will probably blame me for it. Ever since I planted grass seed on a couple places where we had trees cut down, its rained and rained. I doubt that the almighty is sending all this rain because he enjoys watching grass seed wash away. My money is on some devil worshipping farmer who's trying to plant his fields. Isn't it always the farmers who are screwing us over?

As we go through Gary, Indiana, on the train, the sun is shining without a cloud in the sky. I can put away the rain gear that kept me dry during the deluge at Garrett. If getting puked on by Mother Nature is dependent on how just the local people are then Gary ought to be experiencing a plague of rabid saber-tooth tigers or such! Of course, with my mental acuity, I've figured out why Gary is being spared. The only thing they grow up here is pot and all those "farmers" are in jail. You'll have to wait until the next batch graduates from Purdue before fire, brimstone and rain will fall on Gary.

Personally, I think this bad weather for bad behavior is all a load of crap. The wife gets just as affected by the tornado as the wife-beater. Whenever you see people interviewed after a major disaster, the women seem tragically sweet and vulnerable. They don't have horns and breathe fire. All of those women taught me in elementary school!!

Now, I don't want anyone (Shannon) to think that I'm complaining about the weather. I see rainstorms as God's way of getting that slob next door a second bath this week. My only plea is "Enough already! He's clean!"

Halvey Birthday Jen!!!

Yesterday was Jenny's birthday. For those who are unaware, Jenny is my lovely wife. You may know her as Gramma J or Shannon and Shane's mom or Mrs. Bisque-It. She celebrated her 21st birthday, again, for the umpteenth time. Anyone who knows her or me knows that she is, absolutely and unequivocally the best thing that ever happened to me. So, once again, with sincerity and love I say "Happy Birthday, Sweetie!!"

The only bummer about Jen's birthday is its close proximity to Mother's Day. People have a tendency to give one gift for both occasions and the birthday celebrant gets shorted. The only fair thing to do, and Jenny is the definition of fairness, would be to celebrate her 1/2 birthdays, complete with cake and ice cream, party hats and maybe a clown. Then November 13th would be an official Teders holiday. If I remember (Highly Unlikely) then we'll do it up right in November. I'm sure that Grandma Pat is more willing to share her birthday month than Shane is.

"It's beginning to look alot like..."

In a previous entry, I talked about taking the snow shovels and ice chipper out to the garage. Of course, when someone does such a brave thing, he opens himself up to a snow storm. As you can see, I'm done the tough work. Now this may seem a little ridiculous but as soon as I took these back to the garage, the temperature dropped 15 degrees! If it snows, I'll blog the snowman I make.

Also, on the same entry, I talk about how much nicer the lawn looked when I mowed with a Lawn Boy push mower. Being a hard charger, I started mowing the yard with the Lawn Boy today and on the second pass over the yard the handle broke in two. I must have put too much stress on it with my no-holds-barred mowing style. Luckily I have a back-up push mower.

Little Jaden is staying at our house tonight. Shannon and Mike don't necessarily have any special plans for tonight. They are just thoughtful enough to realize that Gramma and Grampa sometimes need a little more Jaden in our lives. Here she is, trying to put on a pretty necklace she found in her kitchen cupboard.

... and here she is after she got it on. What a cutie!

Her and Gramma J always have a lot of fun when they're together. Here Jaden is having fun jumping on Gramma.

Yeah, Miss J is such a blast to have around. Makes me anxious as all get out for when Little Taylor arrives. Having two little girls in the house? Simply heaven.