The Real St. Patrick...Way Cooler Than Boiled Food

St. Patrick's Day this year falls on a Sunday, and I can only assume that the partying will be raucous and open-ended, given the weekend schedule and the great weather the past few days. Monday morning will no doubt be a painful time for many celebrants, and the (predicted) sunshine of the day might be painful to many bleary eyes and sore heads. At the risk of being preachy, let me say that celebrating the life of St. Patrick by getting drunk is like celebrating Gandhi by eating a 32 ounce steak or remembering the life of Mother Teresa by buying a McMansion. (And St. Patrick's Day comes on the heels of Valentine's Day, another saintly day where folks celebrate by eating too much chocolate and buying lingerie.)

Now, I enjoy a Guinness as much as the next Irishman (actually Scotch-Irishman, my people have the great distinction of getting kicked out of two countries) and boiled food as much as anyone else. (That is to say "no one".) But the more I learn about the life of St. Patrick himself, the more I want to pass the day doing what he did and not getting snookered in a pup while waving an Irish flag.

Here is a quick primer on the life of this Saint (truly a man worthy of that title). He was born at the end of the forth century in what is now Wales, and at the age of sixteen he was captured by a band of Irish raiders (I'd use the word "pirate" but that just conjures up jolly images of eye patches, the letter "R" and Johnny Depp) and sold into slavery in Ireland. As a slave he most likely wore an iron collar around his neck to show his status and spent six of his formative years in abject servitude, tending sheep for a tribal chieftain before he miraculously escaped to the coast and convinced a ship's captain to bring him back to Great Britain.

If that were not incredible enough, what happens next will blow your shamrocks off. He went back to Ireland!

Well, not right away, but after a hearing the Lord call him into full time ministry he trained in Rome for a few years (the dark ages equivalent of Bible College) and, according to his own writings had a repeated dream where he was visited by various Irishmen who pleaded with him to come back and "walk among them".

And he went back!

Now if you take an understandably dim view of organized religion (one of my favorite bumper stickers says "when a religion starts to get organized, watch out!") and particularly when it comes to the Church and Ireland, you can still find much to admire in a man who would willingly go back to a place where he had been formally a slave.

And it was no picnic when he went back; he was robbed, beaten and threatened constantly. Yet he spent the remainder of his life in Ireland, telling anyone and everyone that God loved them and had a purpose for their life. These are no small words from a man who had seen the dark side of life in the way Patrick had.

So maybe we could celebrate St. Patrick's Day by finding someone who we need to forgive. This person might not deserve it or even ask for it, but maybe March 17th could be a day of reconciliation as well as boiled cabbage.

Or how about we celebrate St. Patrick's Day by getting out of our comfort zones? Perhaps you could get to know someone who you might otherwise pass by? Maybe you could serve the community in some aspect or volunteer at a St. Patrick's Day party at a retirement home or a soup kitchen.

Now I don't want to be a kill joy, I'm not anti fun. One of my favorite memories of St. Patrick's Day was seeing the river in Chicago turned green. (I saw it a few days earlier and it was naturally a shade of green that no body of water should be.) And I enjoy Irish music and corned beef (although not every food should be boiled, I've been to Ireland, and I've never seen such grey eats as they serve there) and the color green. In fact I have a daughter named Ireland. (In these pages she is mostly known by the nom de plume "Princess Genius"; now you know her secret identity.) But the more I reflect on the life of St. Patrick, the more I want to be like him and the less enthralled I am by leprechauns and shamrock shakes at McDonalds.

So next year, before planning an evening of inebriation, please take a minute to consider the patron saint of dear old Ireland, and consider how you might uniquely celebrate such a remarkable life.

But make sure to boil the breakfast early

Life In My Skinny Jeans

I have been exactly ten pounds overweight for about 15 years now. This has to be some sort of record for both sloth and consistency. I don't know how I have done it, but since the late 90's I've weighed 165 pounds, give or take the steak and eggs for breakfast or the pizza for dinner.

I just thought my weight was normal, but according to some health metrics I've seen lately, a guy my height (my diver's license says I'm 5 '8', so I'll go with that, though some hair might have been involved in that measurement back in 2003), should weigh 155 pounds to be at peak health.

155 ponds! I'm going to have to give up something to attain "peak health", should it be the biscuits and gravy or the potato chips? (Did you know that "diet" is "die" with a "t"?)

I've always had a pretty high metabolism and combine that with being a fairly nervous (some would say 'twitchy") person, and I've never really had to worry about weight or my eating habbits too much.

What I am finding out is that you can be the same weight for a number of years and still change shape (my dad has a t-shirt that says "I'm in shape! Round is a shape!").

That's right. Things are heading south. That middle-aged-guy belly? Check!

This realization was brought home to me recently when a pair of my favorite jeans didn't quite cinch up as easily as they once did. It was right after the holidays, so I figured that I had gained a few pounds drinking gallons of eggnog (as much sugar in one glass as a candy bar), but when I consulted the family scale in the bathroom, it read exactly the same; 165.

So I did what any sensible American does. I went out to get a new pair of jeans.

As a writer and stay-at-home-dad, my uniform of choice and practicality is a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt (the uniform of my youth as well). I usually get one pair of jeans and one shirt each year, usually around tax return time.

This being that time of the year, I perused the racks for just the perfect style and pair. And then, looking at the price tags, I immediately headed to the discount racks in the back of the store.

There my eyes fell upon the perfect pair. Right size? (The right size being "one size bigger than the ones in my bureau") Check! Right price? Check! (How could you go wrong with a price that was one tenth the price of the neighbors in the next aisle?) Should I try them on?

Nah, all the info I need is right on the tag, and since I'm running late I'll just grab these guys and get out of here. What could go wrong?

Well, the next morning when I went to put them on I discovered what could go wrong. You know a pair of pants is going to be tight when you cant even get your foot through waist of the jeans.

As I stood in my bedroom, trying not to be seen by any other human being, I wondered what was going on. I checked the size again. Seems okay, but what are those tiny word under the measurements?

"Skinny fit!"

I looked like a cross between a tights-wearing extra in Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing and James Dean (minus the glorious hair and that "I have to go to the bathroom" look on my face).

But what to do? I didn't think that I could face the embarrassment of returning the jeans and having to state "the reason I need to return these discount skinny jeans is that I look ridiculous in them." And come to think of it, perhaps the reason they were on the discount rack to begin with was that everybody else thought they were ridiculous too!

So I did what any other male worth his salt would do. I didn't admit my mistake and went about my day in tights and a flannel shirt. ("I'm sorry sweetheart, I can't help you tie your shoes today. Daddy can't bend over right now.")

If there is a benefit to skinny jeans, they do hide that paunch in the middle of your frame pretty well. I looked pretty svelte, even though I kept having fainting spells all day.

So, I think it's time to go do some sit ups and push ups and perhaps get rid of that ice cream in the freezer.

What's the best way to get rid of unwanted ice cream in your freezer you ask?

You should eat it.

155 pounds, here I come

My Resolutions For 2014 (You Can't Rush These Things)

I have made my list of resolutions for the year 2014, because, frankly, you can’t rush these things. How many times have I sat down and seriously considered what things I want to change, and then come up with a concrete plan on how I was going to accomplish these things?

Quite honestly? Never. I mostly think of things on the spot when someone asks me that “best-of-all small talk questions” for this time of year. I’ll say something like “I’m going to learn Japanese and Swahili simultaneously and try to get a little more exercise at the same time. In fact I have lessons for both languages on my iPod and I’m going to walk five miles each morning while reciting the Swahili and Japanese alphabets and in a few months I’ll have both languages down cold and be thin as a rake to boot!”

Last year I got up early and exercised on January 2nd and January 3rd, then something happened (I think I hurt my knee somehow) and then it was all over for the year. Two glorious days of exercise, days where I felt more alive and was more pleasant to be around, (grouchiness and winter go hand in hand for me) and then it was all over.

To be sure I got out and had a pretty active summer and have had a few early mornings since then, but I was out of the New Year’s resolution game in record time. So it’s easy to become discouraged and cynical about making life changes when there have been so many crashes and burns in the years before. And I know I’m not alone in this. I would hazard a guess that most Americans view New Year’s resolutions with a sort of winking eye philosophy; they’re fun to talk about, but come on, who really takes these things seriously. There mostly fodder for small talk (just like their Christmas cousin, “have you got your shopping done yet?”) and mostly a really good, really impractical idea.

There is also a growing wave of well intentioned propaganda that says “you are just fine the way you are. You should accept yourself and not worry about changing anything. You are just fine!”

But the reality is this dear reader; you have things that need to change. I have things that need to change. Miss Universe (isn’t she from Sri Lanka this year?) has things that she needs to change. If you think that you don’t have anything that needs to change or improve then go ask a close friend or a trusted relative (not an Elvis Presley like “yes man“) if there is anything about yourself that needs to change. Then listen to the answer.

If the answer makes you a little uncomfortable or a bit defensive then good. You are on to something.

But discouragement is easy. Hopelessness is not hard to come by. Despair or disbelief that change is possible is as common as a head cold. (I should know, I’ve had two in the last month).

So here is the secret code. Are you ready? Do you have a pen and paper handy? Good.

Plan big and shoot small. Plan big and shoot small. (Things sound more impressive if you repeat them twice.)

Plan big: If a change is warranted or desired then a plan on how to execute that change is as important as any ounce of will power or the most expensive home gym that you can find. Without a plan it all goes kabloowy.

But I always plan for too big a change. It’s mostly impossible to learn a language in a year without being immersed in the culture of that language and most of us can’t become Olympic level athlete in just a few months. It seems to me that any change that has happened successfully in my life happened by small degrees. Most of us think of making a life change as if we are jumping off a diving board, but it’s more like taking a hike. You do it by degrees, taking in the view every once in a while and stopping for water breaks often.

But at some point you look back at where you have come from and the view behind you is startling. You were wondering if you were getting anywhere at all and when you look back you see just how far you have come. But it came small step by small step, inch by inch.

So instead of trying to lose fifty pounds and run five miles a day shoot for fifteen pounds and walking a mile a day. It’s much more manageable and frankly, more likely to happen.

And don’t get discouraged with a few setbacks, just keep moving. Make a plan, write down a concrete schedule for yourself and carry it around with you. It’s only over the day you give up completely. Remember, plan big and shoot small. I’m no expert, and man o man do I have some things that I need to change, but we’re all in this thing together and I’m pulling for you.

Plan big and shoot small. Plan big and shoot small.

I really should have some t-shirts made up.

The Complete, Concise and Utterly Truthful History of the Motorcycle

The motorcycle is a ubiquitous presence on the highways and byways of the good old U.S.A. But few people know its incredible origin story, which dates all the way back to the shores of Kitty Hawk, North Carolina and the three fabulous Wright brothers.

Oh, you didn't know about the third Wright brother? Let me fill you in on a little fantastic bit of history.

The famous Wright brothers, Orville and Wilbur (whose parents were surely out to lunch with giving the brother those names) of course are credited with the invention of the airplane (and the phrase "It'll never fly Orville"). But not as well known was their little brother Michael (Mike or "Mikey") Wright.

When Orville and his big brother Wilbur (again, love those names) set up shop on the shores of the Atlantic there in Kitty Hawk their parents sent their teenage brother Mikey to spend some time with them during summer vacation. Young Mikey tagged along with his older brothers when they went out to the sand dunes to test their flying contraptions. He was much lighter than his portly, middle-aged brothers and they would often call upon him to strap in to their early attempts at flying machines. Young Mikey was generally a pretty good sport being the guinea pig in their experiments at flight, and as a thank you the older brothers would give their brother unlimited access to their scrap pile of mechanical pieces they kept on the premises.

One summer day when his brothers were out of town, young Mikey started tinkering with a small airplane engine bolted onto his bicycle. The experiment was successful beyond his wildest dreams and he went motoring about the shore of the North Carolina coast. Though it had yet to be written, the song "Born To Be Wild" was playing in the background as young Mikey tooled up one sand dune and down the next. He also, inexplicably, felt the need to take off his shirt and put on a pair of sunglasses, though those had yet to be invented either.

When Wilbur and Orville (I'll never get tired of typing those names) got back from their business trip young Mikey showed them his prototype for the motorcycle. They both were impressed with it and promised to give it their full attention and support once they had conquered the air.

What follows is well known history. The Wright brothers finally got one of their flying contraptions to stay aloft for a few minutes (with the younger and much lighter Mikey at the throttle and controls) and set the young century on its way to scientific discovery and invention.

Because of the hubbub of the airplane (the ticker-tape parades, the visit to the White House) the development of the motorcycle was delayed a bit, and when the time came to pay attention to it young Mikey wasn't so young any more. With a new family to care for Mikey sold the patent to his "motorized bicycle" to two sausage makers named John Harley and Steve Davidson. (Incidentally, this is why the term "hog" became synonymous with the motorcycle.) Mikey Wright went on to invent the mini-van and the Cuisinart in his later life.

Harley and Davidson made some critical improvements to the prototype (such as those streamers that you sometimes see coming from the handlebars and the loud tailpipe.)

Actually, the tailpipe was the critical defining moment of motorcycle development. On its first forays out into moving traffic the motorcycle was much too small and quiet to be noticed (despite Harley and Davidson's constant use of the "Motorcycles Are Everywhere" bumper stickers on the bumpers of their Model T's) and were constantly being knocked around by other vehicles.

It was a young intern at their shop in who tinkered with the exhaust system to get it to be ear-splittingly loud. He was rewarded with the chance to design his own cycle, and he promptly invented the "Chopper" which is, for you who are not up on such things, the motorcycle with the ridiculously long front tire set up and the high handlebars that require a seven foot arm span to operate.

The motorcycle is now firmly etched into the American myth (it helps to have a whole continent to drive across) and this year the Smithsonian Museum is dedicating an exhibit to Mikey Wright and his first "motorized bike' design.

Please make sure to park your motorcycle in appropriate marked spot in the museum's parking lot and be as quiet as you can when entering the exhibit.

And please, make sure to wear a shirt.

Lou The Election Referee

"All right you fifty states! Gather round me, I have a few instructions for all of you before we kick this thing off. D.C., Puerto Rico and Guam, I want you to come over here too, I want everybody to hear these instructions (even if there is no chance that you will ever get off the bench and into the game). I want there to be no excuses, no 'I didn't here you say that sir!' Once this election gets going it's very hard to hear over the crowd noise so let's get a few things established.

California! Take off those sun glasses, I want to be able to see your eyes. Nebraska! Put down that corn dog, this is no time for eating.

All right. My name is Louis, but you can call me 'Lou' or 'Sir'. I'm tasked with making this a nice clean, fair, well run election. There are fifty of you and you each do your own thing when it comes to casting ballots, so I want your complete focus here. We do this once every four years (or two years if you count those minor league Congressional elections) so you can give me your full attention for 24 hours.

Can everyone hear me? Good.

Okay, to you role players out there, Texas, Alabama, Vermont and Massachusetts, I'm looking at you. We all know which way you guys are heading, so I want to see some solid cheering from the sidelines tomorrow. Let's see some positive vocal support for your side and not any trash talk. It's easy to say lots of things from the sidelines, it's much harder when you are out there. When poor New Hampshire and Colorado are playing the game of their lives and getting beaten up on all sides by political adds and robo phone calls I want to see solid support, no cheap shots from the sidelines. Got it!

Virginia and North Carolina. You're new to this 'swing state' thing, having switched teams last election. Don't let the bright lights get to you. I want to see a well contested election down there. And no grumbling about 'city folk' changing the demographic of your state. We all have to play the hand we are dealt. Your votes count as much as theirs do, you just have to get all your people out to the polls.

New York and New Jersey, I know you are playing hurt. We all feel for you and respect you for even being out here today. If you need to cast paper ballots or vote a little longer we all understand. Both sides are rooting for you. You are an inspirational story.

Florida, Florida, Florida. I hear there is already some drama before you even stepped onto the field today. I recommend turning over the running of your elections to Disney World. Those folks know how to manage lines. Some nice '45 minutes till you'll be voting' signs would be great. And no more polling place bomb threats! That's how Pakistan plays. We don't do that in our league! Lets see a good game down there Florida. Don't make us go into overtime needlessly.

Okay Ohio. All eyes are on you. You are the focus of both sides and I see you even made it onto the cover of Sports Illustrated this week. Don't let all this attention go to your head. It's easy to get distracted by those bright lights and cable news crews. Just breathe and focus and play fair and we'll see how you do on Wednesday.

To you West Coast and East Coast states. I know there are huge differences in time zones, and the networks are eager to be the first to call this thing, but let's make sure we count every vote. I don't want to get any angry texts from folks in Seattle saying that it's no use voting if they live there. We all need to play our part. That goes for you too Hawaii and Alaska. I want to see you suit up and give it your best effort. You are citizens too, even if we are stretching the definition geographically speaking.

All right, that's about it. I just need to take Illinois aside here and talk about Chicago and all of the dead folks who seem to vote there every time. Come on Chicago, just because you have the blues doesn't excuse you from playing fair like everybody else out here.

Louisiana! Put that gumbo down and get your head in the game!

All right America, let's do this. A nice fair, well run, timely election can be done. Let's show the world the meaning of democracy!

Tweet! Play ball!"

The Candy Corn Conspiracy

Let's be honest. Not all candy is created equal.

Trick-or-treaters know this. And at the end of the night what is left in the candy bowl when all the goblins, Jedi's, princesses and superhero's have gone?

That's right. Candy Corn.

According to some in depth research, done just now, there is 20 million pounds of candy corn sold annually in the United States. That is enough candy corn to circle the globe 4.25 times if it was laid end to end. A single serving of candy corn is nineteen individual pieces and has 120 calories and the shelf life of a bag of candy corn is roughly 100 years, enabling the confection to stay on store shelves indefinitely. (That last fact was mine.)

Candy corn is shaped like those orange road construction cones, and coincidentally, if you were to shrink a road construction cone down to candy corn size, they would taste the same.

There has got to be some sort of government/big business conspiracy going on here to keep the candy corn manufactures in business, because I cannot conceive that this candy is making anyone any money.

If you walk the discount candy aisle the day after Halloween, it's all bushel bags of candy corn. They might as well call this the candy corn aisle.

So how are these candy makers still in business?

Kids are the ultimate demographic for taste testing candy, and they have no qualms about taking the candy they want out of the bowl and leaving the rest for the unfortunate souls who would follow.

And what would that left-over candy be?

Candy corn of course.

You remember what it was like to trick or treat don't you?

If you were like me you planned your costume right after you finished your back to school shopping. (Thanks for all those pencil boxes and corduroy pants mom - and for that killer Transformers Trapper Keeper.) You had your costume picked out by late September and your trick or treating route planned out a few weeks before October 31st. (And of course adjusting for ambient air temperature and maximum moonlight exposure on those back woods paths).

I grew up in the greatest small town for Halloween activities, because it was spooky even in bright sunlight.

If the town you live in had it's hay day about one hundred years before you were born, then it probably was like mine, filled with beautiful old falling down houses and those creepy wrought iron fences and gargoyles that were en vogue at the turn of the last century. And on your map you would mark out all those spooky houses that had the best candy, and plan your route accordingly. You knew the houses that gave you apples and pencils and that wonderful old lady on your street that gave out nickels and bags of candy corn and who could not tell Darth Vader from Tinkerbell.

And when you returned home after your wild adventures you would do that candy triage thing on your bedroom floor where you spread the candy out and arrange it in "most edible to least edible" order for consumption. And inevitably candy corn would be at the end of the row, right next to squirrel nut zippers. (If you have not had the pleasure of eating this rock hard, tooth shattering Depression era candy then stop what you are doing right now and fish the time machine out of the closet.)

Of course candy corn is not the only questionable candy on the block.

The runner up for awful Halloween candy would have to be Circus Peanuts, those inedible peanut shaped marshmallow lumps that though they look like peanuts, taste like a mutant banana and can also be used as a door stop or for insulating your house in the wintertime.

We must be a wildly nostalgic buying public, because we continue purchasing fruitcake at Christmas time, "Peeps" marshmallow chicks at Easter and candy corn and Circus Peanuts at Halloween even though no one actually eats any of these items.

So next year, when you find yourself in the candy aisle a few days before Halloween ask yourself this all important question: "Did anyone eat these when I bought them last year?"

And if the honest answer is "no" then put that bag down and slowly back away.

The Kit Kats are just a shelf away.

Local Man's Facebook Political Comment Changes Everything

A one sentence, poorly spelled political comment made by Manly, Iowa resident Gary Lufkin on his Facebook page has gone viral and changed the nature of the 2012 Presidential political race.

The comment, which overnight made its way onto t-shirts and bumper stickers, was so galvanizing and ground breaking that both major candidates for our nation's highest office, incumbent President Barak Obama and Republican challenger, former Massachusetts Governor Mitt Romney, have suspended their campaigns and agreed to form a coalition, "English Parliament" style unity government with both candidates agreeing to share power 50-50.

At a joint press conference held in the town of Antlers, Virginia (a spot chosen because of its swing-state status) President Obama and Mitt Romney appeared together to answer questions from the press core following the two candidates. When asked who would actually occupy the Oval Office Romney stated "Co-President Obama and I have decided to put our desks side by side in the office, that way communication will be ideal, and if we clear our desks we can play a killer game of table tennis when we can't agree on policy."

Added Co-president Obama, "Michele and I have also decided to give Co-president Romney and Ann the Lincoln Bedroom so that they can come over to the residence at night and play couples Scrabble and Monopoly, which of course Co-President Romney will win every time!"

This joke lightened the mood among the press core, who up until that point had been in total disbelief of the ongoing turn of events.

"It's a totally unprecedented historical event" says Princeton history professor Dr. Thomas Wells. "It is right up there with Lincoln's Gettysburg Address and Patrick Henry's 'Give me liberty or give me death' comments before the Revolutionary War." Wells went on to say "It's ironic that a comment, that from one angle could be seen as thoughtless and unbelievably insensitive, has actually served to bring our nation together in the way it was after the attack on Pearl Harbor."

Adds Iowa State History Chair, Dr. Sarah Chalmers, "we did a detailed analysis of Mr. Lufkin's 893 Facebook friends and found that they split roughly down the middle on political viewpoints, and that the comment had the amazing potential to offend and infuriate both sides with its inflammatory, knuckleheaded phrasing and completely thoughtless nature.

"It's pretty amazing" continued Dr. Chalmers, "that these eight words" might go down in history as the single most important words ever said this side of Moses' "let my people go." Because if you take away the historical nature of the comment and view the sentence in a vacuum, it's actually one of the dumbest, most simpleton comments I've ever read. That it did so much good is akin to those two hundred monkeys typing on keyboards and producing the full text of Hamlet."

When reached for comment at his residence in his parent's basement in Manly (a picturesque town overlooking the Mississippi River in Iowa), former short-order cook Lufkin (he has just today agreed to a 21 Million dollar book deal with Pendant Publishing) reflected on his role in American history.

"Well, the comment (which can't be reprinted for this story due to the ongoing copyright and branding process) just kind of came to me. I had just knocked off work at 11 PM and I was just logging in on my parent's computer to see pictures of my friend John's new ATV that he had posted, and for some reason that comment just came out. I think it had something to do with the political slogan on the t-shirt John was wearing in the photos."

When asked about the screenplay he is writing for the inevitable Hollywood movie that will be developed around the story, Lufkin commented "I just flew into LA last week and had an all day meeting with both Rush Limbaugh and Michael Moore at Dennys. Over cheesy waffle fries they agreed to co-produce and direct the film and we got both Charlton Heston and George Cloony to star." When informed that former NRA president Heston had passed away a few years ago Lufkin responded "yeah Rush brought that up, but he and Michael agreed to do one of those hologram things to work Heston into the film."

One group of people not yet on board with this newfound political good will is Congress. "It's one thing for two presidential candidates to get along so well" said Pennsylvania Senator Bill Winston, "it's quite another for the 535 members of the House and Senate to drop their differences. I mean, I just spent 10 million dollars in advertising for my campaign to get half of my state to despise the other half in an effort to win an extra 2% of the vote, and this guy's Facebook comment is changing all that?"

One House member, Rep. Paul Singer (Republican) from North Dakota has used the thawing of tensions in Congress to finally ask out Michigan Senator Cindy Lewis (Democrat) on a date. "I've had a crush on Senator Lewis for almost two years now, ever since they sent us on that fact finding mission to The Ukraine in the summer of 2010. But up until now my constituents back home would have set my downtown Bismark offices ablaze if I was seen eating out with the lovely Senator Lewis."

When informed of his status as a matchmaker in Congress, comment originator Lufkin got reflective.

"I'm sure glad I stopped for an energy drink on my way home from work that night. I think that started it all."