Wilma Rudolph won 3 Olympic gold medals.

Jack Nicklaus won 115 professional golf tournaments.

Were these their goals?  Perhaps. 

Did they accomplish these feats BECAUSE they set them as goals?  I believe that they did not.  To achieve these goals, each of these athletes spent hours, months, years on the baseball diamond, running track, and golf course, respectively.

I think they did it because they ENJOYED doing it – the rings, medals, and trophies were by-products of the love of their sport and the hours they spent enjoying it.

If Yogi had said “I want to win the world series,” but dreaded playing baseball, he never would have made it to the majors, let alone win championships.

Don’t walk because you want to get thinner, walk because you love it.  If you don’t love it, find a place to walk that you actually do love, or walk with  someone you love to spend time with.  If you still don’t love it, get a bike, or swim, or play tennis.  When you find a physical activity you actually enjoy doing, the pounds will come off without you even thinking about it.

Same goes with dieting.  If you hate a diet you’re trying, it won’t work.  Find healthy foods, portions, and eating patterns that you actually look forward to, and you’ll get healthier automatically, without you even thinking about it.

Same goes with just about everything else in this world.  Don’t work hard for a promotion.  Enjoy what you do, and the promotions will come.  Don’t work on your marriage, enjoy it, and every little problem will work itself out.

Have goals if you wish, but don’t let them drive you, just check up on them from time to time, in between enjoying your activities, your diet, your life.

p.s.  I enjoyed writing this.

So I listened and listened and listened.  At first on my parent’s giant casket-like console stereo in the living room, and eventually on my own Montgomery Ward Airline Stereo with huge plastic headphones that made the rest of the world magically go away. 

I heard Steppenwolf announce “God Damn the pusher man!”

I heard Stephen Stills tell Judy Blue Eyes “You make it hard!”

And Jimi asked me “Are you experienced?  Have you ever been experienced?”

And  Jim declared “I’m a backdoor man.  The men don’t know, but the little girl understand.”

I couldn’t get enough of this music.  I wore the records out.  I wrote down all the words and memorized them.

Around this time a great Chicago Radio Station, WFYR 103.5, started playing rock and pop songs from around 1960  through the current year of 1974.  I knew a lot of the songs from the albums, but I also heard some for the first time.  There was some stuff that, for some reason, my brothers never bought.

There was “Goodbye, Ruby Tuesday, who could hang a name on you?” by Mick and the boys.

And “I’ve been loving you, for too long, to stop now” by the late great Otis.

And one day, as I listened to WFYR “Chicago’s Fire” I heard a song that blew me away!!!!  It started with an amazing lead guitar and powerful bass rhythm, then jumped into amazing three part harmony… “Hey Mr. Tambourine man play a song for me….”  Only I didn’t catch who sang it.  I tried dialing the station but I couldn’t get through, again and again it was busy.

So I got on my gold 5-speed bike with a banana seat and sissy bar, and rode about 45 minutes into Glenwood, one town north of Chicago Heights where I lived, to my favorite place in the world, “Playback Records”.

I ran in the store and jumped right into the big fat yellow catalog of everything ever recorded.   Mr. Tambourine Man…. Mr. Tambourine Man…  There it was!!!   Several people had recorded it.  Joan Baez.  The Byrds.  Ahh…. “written and performed by Bob Dylan.”  He wrote it!  It must be him and his band.  I never heard of him.  I went to the record shelves.  Dylan.  Dylan. In my head I was pronouncing it Die-Lan.  Here!  Bob Dylan’s Greatest Hits. There it is!  Mr. Tambourine Man.  Side Two, Song One. 

I bought it.  $4.99.  “Great Album” the old hippie at the register told me.  Man I was psyched.  Despite the extra baggage, I made it home in about 30 minutes, ran through the kitchen without acknowledging my mom cooking, and ran up to my Montgomery Ward Airliner Stereo.  I went right to side two, song one.  I laid back on my bed and listened. 

I couldn’t believe it.  “What kind of shit is THIS???”  It was the right song alright, but it was being sung by possibly the worst singer I’d ever heard, including my friend Blair’s mom!!!  My first instinct was to find the bag and receipt, and return it to Playback.  As I was looking, the album drifted into the second song, Subterranean Homesick Blues.  Same awful voice.  A bunch of mumbled words that didn’t mean a thing.  But somewhere along the line, maybe right when I found my receipt, I heard Dylan sing “Look out, Kid.  It’s something you did.  God knows when but you’re doing it again.”  Well, I sorta liked that.  I put down the receipt and went back to the album.  Maybe I’d give another song a chance.  “The Times They are a-Changing” looked potentially interesting. 

“Come mothers and fathers throughout the land, and don’t criticize what you can’t understand.  Your sons and your daughters are beyond your command.”

I threw away the receipt.  Over the next week I listened to Bob Dylan’s Greatest Hits over two dozen times. 

38 years later, it’s still Dylan I listen to.  But it’s no longer on a Montgomery Ward Airliner Stereo.  It’s now on iPod, iTunes, and YouTube.  For better or worse, I’m still trying to decide,  the times, they most definitely are a changin.

Check it out!

================

What I heard on WFYR:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=06rGW0AQGiY

What I bought and angrily heard, by fortunate mistake:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oVuVXqWfQeE

Bronze Medal – The Holy War

Barb was pretty, and very nice.   We were going to see a movie that night, “Back to the Beach” with Frankie and Annette, Bob “Gilligan” Denver, and Barbara “June Cleaver” Billingsly.  First we stopped for a light dinner.  Somewhere along in the small talk, she threw me the opening pitch.

“Wiz, do you believe in God?”

“Yes, sort of in my own way.”

“You should come to my church.”

“Thanks for the invite, but as I said, I believe in my own private way.”

She stared at me, with a nearly threatening look.  “You should come to my church.”

“Again, no thank you.”  Each syllable was emphasized.

“I think you are being close minded.”

At this point I knew I didn’t need to start saving for a wedding ring.

“Barb, for me, will you NOT go to church for a few weeks.  Just to try it, with an open mind?”

“You don’t worry about going to hell?”

“I feel like I’m there already.”

Those were the closing words of our date.  The movie was cute though.

Silver Medal – Guilty by Association

An old college buddy of mine, Scott suggested a double date: He and his wife Diane, and me and his wife’s beautiful younger sister, Jenny.  Sounded great!

Something you should know.  Scott is a great friend, but can sometimes be a real ass.  Got it?

So we met at a restaurant.  WOW, he wasn’t lying, Jenny was really really pretty.  I smiled and said “Hi”, and they all said “Hi” like they were mad at me.  We walked in.  My stomach was starting to hurt.  It turns out they weren’t mad at me, they were mad at each other.  More specifically, they were both mad at Scott.  We sat down.

I tried “Have you all eaten here before.”

I got three “NO”s.

“Yeah,” Scott said to Diane and Jenny, “Why would you pick somewhere for  a first double date when you don’t even know if the food sucks?”

Diane said “Shut up!  If you don’t want to f-ing eat, then don’t.  I don’t even care.”

“What the hell is your problem?” Scott asked.

“Why do you have to be so mean to my sister?”  Diane turned to me.  “Wiz, Jenny didn’t pass a test for her career, and Scott was making fun of her.”

“Wiz, ” Scott explained, “She flunked the stewardess test.”

“Flight Attendent you asshole!” Jenny clarified.  I liked her.

Scott continued, ” ‘You’re serving beef and chicken, and you run out of beef.  What do the rest get?’  “

“NO,” my date defended herself, “the test was harder than that.”

“Like what?” 

“Like ‘You’re flying from Chicago to New York City.  Name two states you are likely to fly over.’ “

“And you couldn’t do it?”

“No, and you probably couldn’t either.”

“Yes I could Jenny,”  Scott said.  “Montana.”

“Well fine,” Jenny said, unknowingly flunking again.  “So you know the states.  YOU go be a flight attendant. Oh, that’s right, they don’t take fat asses or dickheads.  Strike two for you.”   I was actually starting to love her.

None of us ate much, and since we were going to take two cars to the movie theater, I knew I could try to turn things around.  “So Jenny,”  I began, “are you going to take the flight attendants exam again?”

“No, I don’t even want to be one.  I want to work at a club med or as a model or something… but Wizard?”

“Yeah Jenny?”

“I’m sure you’re nice, but it makes me sick that you’re friends with that asshole.  So do you mind if we don’t talk, then sit through the movie, then go home?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess.”

The movie was, appropriately, The Untouchables.

Gold Medal – Green, but Not With Envy

I had liked Nora for a couple of years, but never had the guts to ask her out.  I wouldn’t be able to stand her telling me know. 

But one day I worked up the courage and asked.  SHE SAID YES!!!   That’s when I really started getting nervous.  She was pretty.  Extremely pretty in fact.  But she was really nice, and a little bit bizarre, which, in theory, made her a pretty good match for me.

Our date was set for March 17, also known as St. Patrick’s Day.  This was a day on which I had traditionally made bad decisions, as the DeKalb, IL police might tell you.

In my infinite wisdom, I decided it would actually make Nora like me more if I painted a little shamrock on my face.  I did, with food coloring, but it was hard to do.  It didn’t look like a shamrock, and as I tried to keep correcting it, it got bigger and bigger.  Eventually, it took over the middle of my face, and still didn’t look much like a shamrock.  But I was running late.  At the last minute, I realized that if I’m going to date a girl like Nora, I should have a car.  But I didn’t have a car. 

“Brian,” I asked my roommate, “Can I borrow your mustang?” 

“Sure Wiz.  Remember, it’s stick.”

I didn’t, and still don’t, drive stick.

I drove about two miles toward sorority row, stalling the car at every stop sign.  Eventually I figured out I should stop stopping.  I found that I could shift gears, or concentrate on where I was going.  At one corner, I was trying to shift from first to second when I realized I was heading right into an NIU Husky bus.  I had to decide between hitting the bus or the curb.  I hit the curb.  The only trace of wisdom I had that day.  Eventually I made it to Nora’s sorority house, but I parked about a block away.  I decided we would walk to the theater, as I would have felt horrible if I killed my date on the way to the movie.

I knocked on the door.  A girl opened it and started laughing when she saw me.  In all my traffic troubles I had forgotten about my green face.”

“Um, is Nora around.  I’m Wizard.”

She called out to Nora, and quite a few other girls.  “THIS is Nora’s date,” she said.  I wished I was at home in bed.

Nora came out, and although she looked a little surprised and embarrassed, she had such great character that she grabbed her jacket, mercifully a green jacket, and said “Let’s go, Wiz.”

Before we escaped one of the girls insisted on taking a picture, in case someone didn’t believe the story.

We watch “On Golden Pond,” a movie about a screwed up family whose father is mean, grumpy, and dying.  I again forgot about my green face until we walked into the lobby and people were staring and laughing at me.

I brought Nora home.  We didn’t have a second date.  But I have to say, it was awfully cool that she didn’t all of a sudden come up with a “headache” when I showed up.

I hope to never be single again, because if I am, I’m afraid my dating skills might be a little rusty after all these years.

To kick off the 2012 London Olympic spirit, I share for you here my “bad date” Olympic medals.

Bronze Medal – The Holy War

Barb was pretty, and very nice.   We were going to see a movie that night, “Back to the Beach” with Frankie and Annette, Bob “Gilligan” Denver, and Barbara “June Cleaver” Billingsly.  First we stopped for a light dinner.  Somewhere along in the small talk, she threw me the opening pitch.

“Wiz, do you believe in God?”

“Yes, sort of in my own way.”

“You should come to my church.”

“Thanks for the invite, but as I said, I believe in my own private way.”

She stared at me, with a nearly threatening look.  “You should come to my church.”

“Again, no thank you.”  Each syllable was emphasized.

“I think you are being close minded.”

At this point I knew I didn’t need to start saving for a wedding ring.

“Barb, for me, will you NOT go to church for a few weeks.  Just to try it, with an open mind?”

“You don’t worry about going to hell?”

“I feel like I’m there already.”

Those were the closing words of our date.  The movie was cute though.

Silver Medal – Guilty by Association

An old college buddy of mine, Scott suggested a double date: He and his wife Diane, and me and his wife’s beautiful younger sister, Jenny.  Sounded great!

Something you should know.  Scott is a great friend, but can sometimes be a real ass.  Got it?

So we met at a restaurant.  WOW, he wasn’t lying, Jenny was really really pretty.  I smiled and said “Hi”, and they all said “Hi” like they were mad at me.  We walked in.  My stomach was starting to hurt.  It turns out they weren’t mad at me, they were mad at each other.  More specifically, they were both mad at Scott.  We sat down.

I tried “Have you all eaten here before.”

I got three “NO”s.

“Yeah,” Scott said to Diane and Jenny, “Why would you pick somewhere for  a first double date when you don’t even know if the food sucks?”

Diane said “Shut up!  If you don’t want to f-ing eat, then don’t.  I don’t even care.”

“What the hell is your problem?” Scott asked.

“Why do you have to be so mean to my sister?”  Diane turned to me.  “Wiz, Jenny didn’t pass a test for her career, and Scott was making fun of her.”

“Wiz, ” Scott explained, “She flunked the stewardess test.”

“Flight Attendent you asshole!” Jenny clarified.  I liked her.

Scott continued, ” ‘You’re serving beef and chicken, and you run out of beef.  What do the rest get?’  “

“NO,” my date defended herself, “the test was harder than that.”

“Like what?” 

“Like ‘You’re flying from Chicago to New York City.  Name two states you are likely to fly over.’ “

“And you couldn’t do it?”

“No, and you probably couldn’t either.”

“Yes I could Jenny,”  Scott said.  “Montana.”

“Well fine,” Jenny said, not noticing the trick.  “So you know the states.  YOU go be a flight attendant. Oh, that’s right, they don’t take fat asses or dickheads.  Strike two for you.”   I was actually starting to love her.

None of us ate much, and since we were going to take two cars to the movie theater, I knew I could try to turn things around.  “So Jenny,”  I began, “are you going to take the flight attendants exam again?”

“No, I don’t even want to be one.  I want to work at a club med or as a model or something… but Wizard?”

“Yeah Jenny?”

“I’m sure you’re nice, but it makes me sick that you’re friends with that asshole.  So do you mind if we don’t talk, then sit through the movie, then go home?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess.”

The movie was, appropriately, The Untouchables.

Gold Medal – Green, but Not With Envy

I had liked Nora for a couple of years, but never had the guts to ask her out.  I wouldn’t be able to stand her telling me know. 

But one day I worked up the courage and asked.  SHE SAID YES!!!   That’s when I really started getting nervous.  She was pretty.  Extremely pretty in fact.  But she was really nice, and a little bit bizarre, which, in theory, made her a pretty good match for me.

Our date was set for March 17, also known as St. Patrick’s Day.  This was a day on which I had traditionally made bad decisions, as the DeKalb, IL police might tell you.

In my infinite wisdom, I decided it would actually make Nora like me more if I painted a little shamrock on my face.  I did, with food coloring, but it was hard to do.  It didn’t look like a shamrock, and as I tried to keep correcting it, it got bigger and bigger.  Eventually, it took over the middle of my face, and still didn’t look much like a shamrock.  But I was running late.  At the last minute, I realized that if I’m going to date a girl like Nora, I should have a car.  But I didn’t have a car. 

“Brian,” I asked my roommate, “Can I borrow your mustang?” 

“Sure Wiz.  Remember, it’s stick.”

I didn’t, and still don’t, drive stick.

I drove about two miles toward sorority row, stalling the car at every stop sign.  Eventually I figured out I should stop stopping.  I found that I could shift gears, or concentrate on where I was going.  At one corner, I was trying to shift from first to second when I realized I was heading right into an NIU Husky bus.  I had to decide between hitting the bus or the curb.  I hit the curb.  The only trace of wisdom I had that day.  Eventually I made it to Nora’s sorority house, but I parked about a block away.  I decided we would walk to the theater, as I would have felt horrible if I killed my date on the way to the movie.

I knocked on the door.  A girl opened it and started laughing when she saw me.  In all my traffic troubles I had forgotten about my green face.”

“Um, is Nora around.  I’m Wizard.”

She called out to Nora, and quite a few other girls.  “THIS is Nora’s date,” she said.  I wished I was at home in bed.

Nora came out, and although she looked a little surprised and embarrassed, she had such great character that she grabbed her jacket, mercifully a green jacket, and said “Let’s go, Wiz.”

Before we escaped one of the girls insisted on taking a picture, in case someone didn’t believe the story.

We watched “On Golden Pond,” a movie about a screwed up family whose father is mean, grumpy, and dying.  I again forgot about my green face until we walked into the lobby and people were staring and laughing at me.

I brought Nora home.  We didn’t have a second date.  But I have to say, it was awfully cool that she didn’t all of a sudden come up with a “headache” when I showed up.

I hope to never be single again, because if I am, I’m afraid my dating skills might be a little rusty after all these years.

First matters first, she taught us how to say the Rosary.  If we didn’t have one with us, we got a letter to take home, telling our parents what bad Catholics they were, and where they could buy us a Rosary immediately.

So  I learned to say it.  I also learned to do it quickly, since speeding through it was the only way to avoid falling into a hypnotic sleep.  In fact, I started a little game in my mind that I was racing everyone else in class.  I got pretty good too.  Mary Formentini was on to me though, and she was quick — quicker than me.  I suspected that she regularly skipped a bead or two to beat me, but I refused to cheat like that, as I figured that would REALLY tick Jesus off.

Mary was absent one day, and I raced along with no competition at all.  It felt great.  When I finished, I slapped that Rosary down so hard that everybody knew that I was DONE.  To emphasize the point, as they all worked their way through their countless Hail Mary’s and Our Father’s, I sat back in my desk and started playing with my school supplies.  I took the wooden ruler that some older kid had left in my desk, set the middle hole on my pencil point, and spun it like a helicopter.  I got it going pretty fast too.  All the others looked up from their Rosary.  I thought they were really impressed with my invention, but I quickly found out that it wasn’t my ruler they were looking at.

With the skill of an international spy, Sister Roberta Ann snuck up behind me.  Our classroom  was in the basement, so the windows, which were at the ground level from the outside, were actually high up on the inside wall.  To open and close the windows, Sister Roberta Ann had a round wooden stick with a hook on the end of it.  But opening and closing those windows was only the secondary use of that stick.  To Sister Roberta Ann, that stick served mainly as her weapon for defending proper Catholicism.

“Whack!”  Right on the top of my skull.  I had no idea what it was, or who did it to me.  I knew that whenever the Russians would strike us with a hydrogen bomb, we would have little notice, but at least we would have enough time to hide safely under our desks.  So it couldn’t have been the Russians.  I dropped the pencil and ruler and instinctively put my hands on top of my head.  This was a huge tactical mistake.  With the second whack, I learned that the skull could take a hit much better than the bones of the hand.

“Don’t spin the ruler on your pencil,” she screamed as I checked for blood in my hair.  “You could hurt yourself.”

The worst part of this whole assault was that after the two whacks, she made me do the Rosary again, to seek forgiveness from God for spinning the ruler on the pencil.

Several weeks later, I learned in a similar fashion that spinning a Rosary on your finger is not acceptable.

“Dad, what’s that?”

“The TV station has to run this test every couple of days.”

“I don’t get it, what kind of test.”

“Mark, they have to test the network.  If it happens, the government takes over all the TV stations and tells them what to say.”

“If what happens?”

“If the Russians send missiles over.”

“Oh…………..     Dad, why would they send missiles over?”

“To kill us.”

“……… Oh.” 

“Don’t worry, they know we’d kill them too.  Within a few minutes, the whole world would be dead.”

“………. Oh………..    So….. what are they gonna say on TV?”

“I don’t know.  Johnson would probably say something.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, Mark.  He’d have to say something so everyone wouldn’t panic.”

“But if everyone is about to die…”

“Mark, I don’t know.  Be quiet now, the ballgame is back on.  Santo’s up.”

“Oh…..”

The other guys ordered martinis, gin and tonics, and a variety of cocktails.  Nobody ordered a beer!!!  These were grown-ups!  This wasn’t Wild Bill’s near campus where I could order the special – three warm Oly’s for a dollar. 

I had to think fast.  What do I order? I didn’t want to be discovered.  Suddenly, my Uncle Will’s country club voice came out of my mouth.  “Double scotch on the rocks, please.”  Oh God, please don’t ask me what brand of scotch, please don’t ask me what brand of scotch, please don’t ask me “You got it, sweetie! <wink>”    Either that wink meant she thought I was cute, or she knew I’d never ordered a scotch in my life.

I tried to get involved in the discussion at the table.  But I didn’t golf.  I didn’t have any money in the market.  In fact, I didn’t have any money.  I didn’t know any asshole lawyers. 

“So Mark,” one of the grown-ups smiled at me. “What’s new in your world.”

I could have said, “I’m bored, I’m nervous because I don’t belong here, I’m scared that you guys represent my future, and I’m trying to get drunk here but my gag reflexes are keeping me from swallowing this double scotch on the rocks.”

But I didn’t say that.  I said “Uh…. Not much I guess…. I, uh…”

“You married?”

“No.  Not yet anyway.”

“Don’t do it!” all the married guys advised me.  “They’ll ruin you.  You meet them, and they’re all sweet, then you marry them, and the witch comes out.  Don’t do it.”

Not sure how to react, I just said “Alright, I won’t.”  The scotch started to go down easier.

“Want another one, honey?”

“Sure.  Thanks.”

After a few rounds, one of the older guys came and sat next to me.  “Having a good time, Mark?”

“Yeah,” I lied.

“So, whattya think of Len, Mark?”  

“Len, my boss?”

“Yeah, Len, your boss.” 

Although he showed a bit of a smirk, I knew this could be dangerous territory.

“He’s a great guy,” I answered.

“Yeah,” he said as he looked down at his gin.  “He really is a great guy, we’ve been friends for years.  But JESUS, he needs to learn to let loose.  I don’t think he’s ever been with a woman.”

I coughed a little and some scotch went into my nose.  Talk about copping a buzz!!!  I don’t advise it though.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he added.  “I don’t think he’s gay, he just… well…. there’s a story from a few years back.  It was Len’s birthday, so Dave and I pitched in on a high-priced hooker, top of the line.”

“Was she good-looking?”  He looked at me like I was an idiot.

“Hell yeah she was good-looking.  Anyway, here’s how it was supposed to work.  She’d be wearing a mink, and her car would just happen to break down in front of Len’s house.  We’d make sure he was home beforehand.  Anyway, she’d knock on his door, and ask if she could use his phone.”

OK, I have to admit, I was getting interested.

“And the plan was, when she got in there, she would tell Len that she was a little bit warm, and asked if she could take off her coat, and underneath, she’d be wearing nothing at all.”

“Holy shit!  So what happened?”

“All went according to plan, but when she got naked, Len…. well…. it didn’t go well….  Len sorta…”  He took a sip from his drink.  “You know what, I really shouldn’t tell you.  In fact, out of respect for Len, I won’t.”  And he walked away.

You know, maybe they were grown-ups, and I was just a kid, but I realized at that very moment, that age didn’t necessarily equate to wisdom.  Maybe I didn’t have any money or gray hair, but I sure as hell knew that YOU DON’T START A STORY ABOUT A HOOKER IN A MINK COAT WITHOUT FINISHING IT!

“Can I get you another scotch, honey?”

“No,” I said warmly to her.  “Bring me a beer please.  Anything will do.”

I felt drunk, I felt like my own man, I felt like I didn’t need to impress anyone, and in my own way, I felt miserable…what I mean is, I felt grown-up, and didn’t like it, not one bit.

When we met at the airport, Len asked if I had lunch yet, which I didn’t, and since we had time, he suggested we have lunch at one of the restaurants in the terminal.  We each got a steak sandwich.

Len and I had nearly nothing in common.  We were both Caucasian males, and from there, the differences branched dramatically.  He was in his fifties which, to me at the time, was pretty old.  He loved elevator music on his office radio all day, he loved wearing suits even when he didn’t have to, and his idea of a wild day at the office for employee morale was showing us slides of his trip to Hilton Head. 

And he was rich.  Filthy rich.  He made a lot of money from the partnership.  When his father passed away five years earlier, he left Len half a fortune.  When his mother died three years after that, he got the other half.  He bought his new Mercedes Benz W123 luxury sedan on a whim when he passed the dealership, and paid the full price with his checkbook.  He also loved to tell people that.

As we ate our steak sandwich, Len kept talking as I was trying to watch the White Sox highlights on the TV behind the bar.  “Mark, as far as airport food goes, this steak sandwich is good.  Not great, not bad, not even average.  Yes, I would say it’s good, and I would bet that 9 out of 10 people would agree that it’s a GOOD sandwich.”

“Um… Yeah Len, I’d say it’s a GOOD sandwich.”

“See what I mean?”  He enjoyed his next bite proudly.

“Mark, have you ever had the Prime Rib at the Winnetka Yacht Club?”

When I looked at his face, I was surprised to see he wasn’t kidding.

“You know, Len, I don’t think so.”  I realized he grew up going to places like yacht clubs while, for my siblings and me, the great treat was going to White Castle in Blue Island on Sunday afternoons.  I considered asking him, with the same tone as his, if he has ever had Ham and Swiss at Arby’s, but I couldn’t even imagine him laughing at a comment that wasn’t his.

We got on the plane, and our seats were together.  I tried to look out the window and enjoy looking at Wisconsin, while Len told me about the great mistake he made two years ago.  He booked a trip to Colorado, a group trip where you explore old silver mining trails throughout The Rockies.  The passenger truck that took the group up these very rugged roads had wooden seats with seatbelts.  Len underwent hemorrhoid surgery less than three weeks before that trip, thinking that this was enough time to heal.  It wasn’t.  He told me many details about the pain and the practical difficulties of taking this trip much too soon.

All at the same time, I wanted to laugh, to throw up, to jump out of the plane, and/or to throw Len out of the plane.  But mostly, I thought about how the people in the seats behind us would be able to tell their friends for weeks about the weirdo in front of them on their flight to Minneapolis.

<<< Part 2 later this week >>>

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Reach me at thinwizzyfit@gmail.com, and feel welcome to link up with me through Facebook (Mark Wierzbinski).

He was on another floor of our dorm.  About  6’7″,  310 pounds.  Scary.  He wore a t-shirt that, in very large letters, said F-CK OFF, only with the “U”.  I think it might have been against dorm rules, but nobody had the courage to tell him.  Now, usually, I like to be liked.  But in Big Ray’s case, it actually scared me a little that he liked me.  He’d call out my nickname “Wizard” and punch me in the shoulder…hard.   I felt like you might feel if a local grizzly took a liking to you…you go through each day hoping not to make a mistake that pisses him off.  But I made it through the year without bear claw wounds, and we parted ways.

Two years later I was staggering past an apartment building late on a Saturday night.  I’d had a couple of beers…well, a little more than the literal “couple”.  I was a Stroh’s guy back then.  There was a party going on in the little patio area of one of the apartments.  I slurred out a little “Hello” as I walked past. 

“Hi,” I heard back.  “Wanna beer?” said the gentle voice of a long haired guy with a cowboy hat on.  He  convinced me. 

So I grabbed a cup, pumped the keg, had a seat, and grabbed the guitar that someone had left out on the patio.  Some chords are easy to play when you’ve been drinking, some aren’t.  The chords to Neil Young’s “Sugar Mountain” are fairly easy, so I started:

♫ Oh to live on, Sugar Mountain,

With the barkers and the colored balloons,

You can’t be twenty, on Sugar Mountain,

Though you’re thinking that you’re leaving there too soon,

You’re leaving there too soon. ♫

I didn’t know these people but, when you start singing and playing guitar to a bunch of people who have been enjoying Cuervo Gold and fine Colombian… or beer… all night, you become popular very fast.  I liked it.

♫ It’s so noisy at the fair, but all your friends are there,

And the candy floss you had, and your mother and your dad. ♫

Then everybody started singing:

♫ Oh to live on, Sugar Mountain,

With the barkers and the colored balloons,

You can’t be twenty, on Sugar…….♫

All of a sudden I heard a voice that blew out my eardrums, rattled my bones, and almost made me break the e-string.   “WIZZZZAAARRRRDDDDDDDDD!!!!!!”

I looked inside the apartment and saw, standing haloed in front of the bright kitchen light, the silhouette of a Frankenstein.  I knew the voice.

“Big Ray?”

He walked over and gave me a hug.  Luckily I handed over the guitar to the cowboy just in time to save it from becoming an armful of splinters.

“Come inside, Wizard.  I want you to meet my girlfriend!”

Yes, you know exactly what I was anticipating.  A lady with in a flowing robe, with an ashen white face and blood colored lipstick, with gravity defying hair on her head.  But, much to my surprise, she was quite attractive.

Big Ray put one of his huge arms around her, and one around me, and with a big smile and an intense stare, asked me “So Wizard, what do you think of her?”

I felt the moment coming at me that I had avoided two years ago…the moment I would piss off Big Ray.

My best survival skill, cleverness, rescued me.  “Big Ray, she’s beautiful, and I can tell how much she’s into you.  You two are a perfect couple.  Right on, man!” and I high fived him.

“You wanna kiss her, Wiz?”

Gulp!

 ”You said she’s beautiful, so you wanna kiss her, right?”

 ”Well, Big Ray, no, because she’s your gir….”

 ”You don’t like her!”  

I began to sweat.  ”Sure!  Sure I do, Big Ray.  But…”

 ”Then kiss her.”

 I looked at her and she gave me a little nod that told me it would be ok with her if it was ok with me.  Actually, I told myself at that moment that I should enjoy the kiss, because there was a better than average chance that Big Ray was testing me, and that kissing her would be the last thing I would do in my life.

 I kissed her.  It was nice.  I didn’t feel a giant fist come crashing down on my head.  Instead, I heard Big Ray’s happy voice behind me blurt out “F-ckin’ A!”

 After that, all was happy, but my survival instincts were still whispering to me “Wiz, get out of here.”

 ”Big Ray, I gotta go, but this was a great party.”

 ”Wiz, wanna beer for the walk home?”   Yeah, I said, that would be great.  Since they were out of cups, he dumped out a half jar of pickles, washed the jar out, and filled it with beer.

 On the walk home, I had to throw the jar of beer away.  It’s not that it tasted like pickles, but I saw a car coming and I knew if it was a cop, I would get busted.  Turns out that it WAS a cop, but the jar was safely disposed of, and home I went. 

So, if you’re sending your kids to college, share this story with them, let them learn to be just like me!

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Reach me at thinwizzyfit@gmail.com, and feel welcome to link up with me through Facebook (Mark Wierzbinski).

OK, here we go….

For many of us in our beliefs, God handed down to us, in sometimes painfully clear language, ten rules (or commandments) to let us know exactly what is expected of us.  Why did He do this?  Because He created us, He knows us well, and he knows our propensity to break them.  It’s human nature to break the commandments.  We never have to tell our kids “Don’t you dare eat the rest of that broccoli, leave some for the rest of us.”  But those brownies?  Oh yeah!  So, because I am very interested in human nature, I’d like to look at the commandments with human nature in mind.

And it struck me that one of these just doesn’t belong with the other nine, because following it is right in line with human nature.  You’ll see.  So at the end, as a personal trainer, I will propose another commandment to take the place of the questionable one.

Let’s take a brief look at each of them, in a slightly non-traditional order.

You shall have no other gods before Me.  You know, these other gods are all the little voices in our heads that Freud told us about.  The voices that can’t deal with the fact that we are bad and hurt someone, so they convince us “It’s OK in this case, because…”  – To break this commandment is Human Nature.

You shall not make for yourself a carved image–any likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth.  Not so much totem poles and dashboard statues… but the material things in our real lives.  Cars.  TV’s.  Bigger houses.  And of course…Money!  - To break this is Human Nature.

You shall not take the name of the LORD your God in vain.  My father swore a lot when I was little, and so I thought this commandment was going to get nail him come judgment day.  But now I see it differently.  I see it as us claiming that God is on our side against their fellow man/woman.  I smile when baseball players look and point upward in a thank you gesture after a home run.  We need to know that the ultimate Dude is cheering for us to beat other bastard.   - To break this is Human Nature.

Honor your father and your mother.  Have you ever been a teenager?  Do you have one now?  Oh, once we young ‘uns find ma and pa’s hot buttons, “honoring” doesn’t always rule the day.  – To break this is Human Nature.

You shall not murder.  All I’ll say here is look at human history.  – To break this is Human Nature.

You shall not commit adultery.  - Waaayyy too often – the old grass is greener theory… – To break this is Human Nature.

You shall not covet your neighbor’s house; you shall not covet your neighbor’s wife, nor his male servant, nor his female servant, nor his ox, nor his donkey, nor anything that is your neighbor’s.  My hunch is that this is why so many people are unhappy and frustrated all the time.  This “covet” thing is like high blood pressure — it’s a silent killer.  We always want more, it’s rule number one in economics and behavioral psychology, and the people around us are constant reminders of what we DON’T have.  This one is SO Human Nature that I think our species could reasonably be named Homo Sapiens Covetus.  – To break this is Human Nature.

You shall not steal.  Not a real big leap from “covet” to “steal”, huh?  – To break this is Human Nature.

You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor.  ”Hi neighbor.  Listen, adulterating with your wife was great.  And you know that hundred dollar bill that’s missing from your wallet?  At first I just coveted…but then I figured since I already broke THAT commandment, I just went ahead and took it.”  So, when you break another commandment, this one kind of becomes the lime after the tequila.  – To break this is Human Nature.

Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy.  If everybody at birth was told by God “You only have to choose and follow ONE commandment”, could you imagine the line at this booth?  It’s a commandment that says relax, take it easy, enjoy the day, put your butt on the couch and whatever you do… DON’T work.”  Sure, we break this one from time to time, but usually because we HAVE to, not WANT to.  We LIKE relaxing.  So it makes me wonder, how did this one get in there?  Human nature tells us to conserve energy, right in line with this commandment.  So it doesn’t belong.   – To break this commandment is NOT Human Nature.

THEREFORE, I propose taking the Sabbath commandment and attaching it to the first one, resulting in “You shall have no gods before me, and you shall remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy.”

This frees us up for a new tenth commandment.  As a personal trainer and gym rat, I propose:

“You shall show your appreciation to God by honoring your body, which was a gift from Him.”  It is written that we were created directly by His hands, in His own image.  If the body is entrusted to accompany the soul during its stay in this material world, and to carry out His will…then I have to believe that we’re supposed to honor it and take great care of it.  And to do otherwise would be wrong.

Eat healthy, stop your unhealthy addictions, manage your stress, and exercise regularly.

The late Olympic runner Steve Prefontaine said “To give anything less than your best is to sacrifice the gift.”  Now, he didn’t offend anybody with this quote, because he didn’t say this should be one of the ten commandments.  I went ahead and made that my job.

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Reach me at thinwizzyfit@gmail.com, and feel welcome to link up with me through Facebook (Mark Wierzbinski).