A little song I’ve been working on. This is from a poem that some of you long-timers may remember that I wrote WAY BACK in 2011. You can see the original here if you want: When Goats Eat Remotes. Frankly the song is much better! Even includes poop and fart jokes which are a staple around here!
Tag Archives: humor
My New Years Resolution is to no longer try to be a morning person.
It’s not that I haven’t given it the old college try… well, not actually while in college… but I have as an adult.
Nor is it that I don’t particularly like morning people. It’s just that they are way too morning-y for me and they are always doing things in the morning… like talking to me.
My wife is a morning person and I really like her. Except she’s always trying to talk to me early in the morning when we’re both awake. It will be 6:00 am and I’ll be desperately tightening down the tourniquet on my arm for the coffee drip, and she’ll expect me to be able to process difficult and complicated questions like “do you think we should remortgage the house to help pay for college next year, especially since interest rates are hovering in the low single digits?” or “Good morning, how are you?”
I’m not sure she chooses to be a morning person, she just has to get up really early, but somehow once she’s up, she becomes a morning person. There’s probably some kind of complicated common-core math formula that explains how morning people end up marrying non-morning people.
Me, on the other hand, I’ve been trying to be a morning person ever since I can remember having to get up early to the sound of a blaring alarm clock. I don’t typically wake up before about 8:00 am when I let natural sleep take its course. But most weekdays I try to get up between around 6:00-6:30 am. So, if my common core math is right, that’s about two and seven-twelfths to three and four-fifths hours of totally unnatural awake time.
But there’s something glamorous and romantic about the idea of being a morning person, effortlessly getting up at the crack of dawn to work out, or sipping coffee in quiet solitude while you blog or catch up on emails or meditate while the rest of the lowly, unproductive world slumbers away.
Plus, there’s all those articles that pop-up into our Facebook feeds proclaiming how very successful people get up early and get lots accomplished before the sun comes up. People like Bill Gates and Steve Jobs and even Ben Franklin and probably lots of successful authors… all morning people.
6:00 am: June 15, 1752
Ben Franklin (to his wife): “Good morning, how are you? Boy, you look electric this morning!”
Deborah Read Franklin: “Ugh, go fly a kite!”
For years, I’ve had it in my mind that someday I would evolve naturally into a morning person. My mother, when she was alive, was a morning person. She’d get up at crazy hours… mostly because she couldn’t sleep… and accomplish all kinds of stuff with a great attitude and a big bright smile on her face. I probably shouldn’t hope for an insomnia problem, but I always envied that ability in her and figured maybe there would be some kind of genetic factor that would eventually kick in.
But alas, at 48 years old, I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s likely just not going to happen.
So, starting in 2016 I will no longer try to be a morning person.
My only concern is, I’m not really a late night person either. I like to be in bed around 10:00 pm. I guess I’m more of a middle of the day person, that’s when I tend to be most productive. But that’s okay because if my common-core math is right that adds up to just about the perfect amount of medically recommended sleep.
And we all know how important getting nine and seven-sixths hours of sleep is each night.
How about you? Morning, noon or night?
Are you tired of being out of shape, tired of huffing and puffing it up a set of stairs, tired of feeling lethargic and lazy, tired of not fitting into your favorite clothes? Well it’s that time of year folks, it’s the Eve of 2016! That means its time to pull out those old, tired New Year’s Resolutions that no one ever seems to keep.
Well, do we have an opportunity for you!
Welcome to the 10% CLUB, the hottest trend in fitness today! Forget all those bullshit gym memberships, Cross-Fit workouts, “Get Fit in 30 days” marketing gimmicks! Who needs ’em? At the 10% CLUB we sure don’t… because we’re not a gym, we’re not a workout routine, we’re not a gimmick. We’re just a movement! And by movement, we mean… well… we move! We walk, we run, we bend and stretch and get our hearts pumping… and we lift heavy shit! And we GUARANTEE RESULTS!
One night in March of 2015, after drinking at least several gallons of wine with his uncle and other family members, our founder, the legendary blogger STEVE WARNER, who had recently begun dabbling in a new exercise routine after no longer fitting into his favorite pair of jeans and beginning to look like a Weeble-Wobble standing on a set of toothpicks, made the now infamous and somewhat regrettable statement “let’s get to 10% BODY FAT!” (10% body fat being roughly the holy grail of MEN’s fitness when you start to look totally shredded and ripped.)
Now granted, it was clearly the gallons of wine talking, but the challenge had been thrown out there and frankly there was no going back!
This was followed by a terse and sarcastic reply from his son, another founding member of the 10% CLUB, “Dad you’ll never get to 10% BODY FAT!”
Not one to shy away from a challenge, it was on… IT WAS ON!!
Thus began the 10% CLUB.
OUR EQUIPMENT AND FACILITIES:
At the 10% CLUB we’re proud to brag about our facilities and equipment. Housed in an old barn, we boast that hot summer days will be HOT with a faint hint of manure smell, cold winter days will be COLD and uncomfortable and every day will be DIRTY with the occasional mice, spiders and other wild animals running on by. We go for FUNCTION, not FINESSE and we’ve compiled some of the FINEST LOW-QUALITY equipment you’ll ever find in the modern fitness world!
From our LAZY BOY DEADLIFT AND PUSHUP STATION, exquisitely fashioned from the bottom of an old Lazy Boy Chair that our founders children had promptly destroyed soon after purchase, our RUBBERMAID STEP-UPS & BEER STATION, an oldie but sturdy cooler, which if you plan ahead, could easily keep a six-pack of beer icy cold for some post workout carb replenishment, to our LOTS-O-SQUATS and PULL-UP AND STEP-UPS STATIONS, built from recycled landscaping timbers, we’ve got it all covered!
Or who can beat our good, old BUCKETS-O-BRICKS, which are basically just… well… heavy buckets full of bricks. Carry around some heavy buckets full of bricks and we guarantee you’ll burn a shit-ton of calories if you don’t first blow out your shoulders or elbows! And our newest addition, PUSHIN’ THE SLED, a one time working treadmill, scored FREE on Craigslist, but which recently broke down and now can only be used by manually moving the belt with your feet like pushing a heavy sled… which frankly provides an infinitely better aerobic workout!
OUR DIET PLAN:
Eat better. Yep, that’s it, you know what that means. Out of the ground is better than out of a box. Oh yeah, and cut back on the sugar and the booze. Like way back. But not completely. Yeah, definitely not completely!
At 10% CLUB we don’t have “One Cheat Meal” or “One Cheat Day” a week… fuck that shit! We have “Set Back Days.” There are going to be days where you eat four donuts and six brownies and wash down a whole pizza with two bottles of wine like an industrial strength garbage disposal.
Those are SETBACK DAYS, try to limit them.
OUR CALORIE BURNING PLAYLIST:
- Boston: More Than A Feeling
- Boston: Feeling Satisfied
- AC/DC: You Shook Me All Night Long
- Motley Crew: Looks That Kill
- Guns N’ Roses: Welcome to the Jungle
- Sweet: Ballroom Blitz
- Elton John: Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting
- KISS: Rock and Roll All Night
- Survivor: Eye of the Tiger
- Rocky Soundtrack: Gonna Fly Now
- Rocky Soundtrack: Going the Distance and the Final Bell
This playlist has been thoroughly studied and proven to burn calories when played painfully loud during a workout or even when listening in your car and is guaranteed to provide a “PAVLOVIAN STYLE” urge-to-exercise-response whenever any of these songs are heard outside of the 10% CLUB environment!
So you’re still reading… well we really like you, and it sounds like you are ready to jump head first into the 10% CLUB movement. We’re happy to have you on board!
We’ve spent some time developing a franchising program that for little to no cost, you… YES YOU… can own and operate your very own 10% CLUB.
Here’s how you can get started!
- Find a place to locate your new 10% CLUB FRANCHISE. Could be a basement, garage, attic, living room, barn. Anywhere you can find some extra space.
- Score some of the finest, low quality fitness equipment you can find. Revive that old Stair Stepper, Weight Bench, Abdominizer, Total Gym, Total Abdominizer, Schwinn Aero-Dyne, Ellipitical, Fitness Flyer, whatever… that you bought ten years ago after watching a 3:00 am infomercial. Look under large piles of laundry and old boxes, you may find an old treadmill or weight bench underneath that you’ve long forgotten about. Check the FREE sections of your local Craiglist, folks are always giving away stuff.
- Create a CALORIE BURNING PLAYLIST. We recommend the official 10% CLUB PLAYLIST but understand that our franchisees may have different tastes in music. Just find about an hours worth of music that’s motivating and that will provide you that PAVLOVIAN STYLE urge-to-exercise-response! Listen to it ALL-THE-TIME!
- Commit to joining the movement! Put your sneakers on and get ready to start walking, running, bending and stretching and get your heart pumping… and lift some heavy shit!
Obviously this is in jest and not to be taken as serious fitness advice. As always, consult your doctor… blah, blah, blah… before beginning any exercise program (even though no one really does that!) But my point… I’ve dropped in the neighborhood of 20 lbs. over about a nine month span working out in my barn on a bunch of half-ass equipment and watching what I eat (some of the time). I’ve dropped my cholesterol and triglyceride levels, which have always been historically high, significantly, although they are still too high. I haven’t spent any money on gym memberships, diet plans or other infomercial BS. I still drink wine, I still snack sometimes and I certainly don’t eat like a rabbit.
I just did it… something clicked and I did it… or maybe it’s better said “I’m doing it,” because it ain’t over and believe me, I’m far from your typical go-getter, Type A personality.
At the time, I felt LIKE SHIT most days, tired and cranky and lethargic and depressed. I was drinking too much and eating like crap. I feel a lot better now, healthier, happier, energized and in better shape. The “10% CLUB” was just a joke at the time, but has now become a silly little catch phrase that my whole family references and that keeps me motivated. Hey, whatever works, right? Find what works for you!
It hasn’t been easy, I devote about an hour or more, 4-6 days a week to exercising but I enjoy it and look forward to it and I’ve learned not to expect instant results.
You can do it too, IF YOU REALLY WANT IT. You DO have the time, that’s the biggest load of shit excuse we all make for everything – me included! But you have to want it, that’s the absolute first step… and you have to make it fun. It has nothing to do with gyms and trainers and exercise classes, although those can no doubt be helpful if that’s what works for you. Find what works for you!
And the same thing applies to any of your “resolutions” if you choose to make them, whether it be health and fitness, career and financial, writing goals, family and relationships. Plus if you can find success and stick to it in one area of life, at least in my opinion, it drives the motivation to work harder in other areas.
Wishing you all a fabulous NEW YEAR! The next few days will surely be “SETBACK DAYS.” After that, if you choose to join, welcome to the 10% CLUB. See you in 2016!
My grandmother could slice up a banana over a bowl of cereal like a fucking ninja!
As kids, my two older brothers and I would be sitting at her large dining room table. The same table that now sits in my dining room. We’d pour the Rice Krispies from the box. We’d pour the milk from an old ceramic pitcher.
SNAP, CRACKLE, POP, CRACKLE, SNAP, POP, SNAP, POP, CRACKLE, POP…
Then my grandmother would walk in dressed in a 1960’s house-dress, uncomfortable shoes, panty-hose rolled down to just under her knees, a helmet full of bobbie-pins, a razor-sharp knife in one hand and a bunch of bananas in the other.
She’d walk up and stand next to you, pull out a banana… you didn’t have a fucking choice… you didn’t want a banana on your cereal? TOUGH SHIT… you were getting a banana on your cereal.
Then all you saw were flashes of silver blade and flying disks of perfectly sliced bananas and within a few bananoseconds you had a bowl full of Rice Krispies covered in bananas.
This story doesn’t really have anything to do with bananas.
But it does have to do with peeling potatoes.
The other night I walked into the kitchen and my wife was peeling potatoes to make mashed potatoes for dinner. I watched carefully as she held the potato, her thumb on the top side, then she’d… GASP… DRAW THE BLADE TOWARDS HER BODY!!
Granted she was using a vegetable peeler with a large rubber safety grip handle and covered by a few dozen OSHA regulations… but you can never be too cautious.
I quickly programmed 911 into my speed dial and waited for that catastrophic moment when she might slip and slice open her entire forearm or possibly slice off her hand or accidentally slip and jam the potato peeler into her heart.
I questioned her methodology of drawing the blade toward her body rather than away from herself as I had learned from all my hunter-gatherer friends that had trained me in my limited outdoor skills and blade-wielding techniques. While I pontificated, she continued peeling the potatoes. Rather eloquently I might add, with each piece of peel landing in a nice little organized pile in the sink.
I asked my daughter, who was standing nearby, how she peeled potatoes. “Do you pull the blade toward you or push it away from you?”
“I usually pull it towards me” she said, “but I do it both ways, I guess.”
I’ve peeled more potatoes in my life than a boot-camp marine. But I peel potatoes like an elementary school age Cub Scout on the first day of summer camp, who has just earned his right to carry a pocket knife. Give that kid a knife and within an hour or two of slicing and dicing and little shards of flying wood, he will have carved a few dozen sticks into pencil shapes and a few logs into spears.
With any luck you’ll have only gone through a few band aids and no trips to the emergency room.
That’s how I peel a potato… like a Cub Scout on the first day of summer camp!
Pick up the potato, hold it out in front of you, and start swiping the peeler AWAY FROM YOU. Hunks of peel fly off the potato in all directions, similar to when you are cutting your fingernails in a hotel room.
Gross… I don’t really do that.
But that’s how I peel a potato. I’d never think of drawing the blade TOWARD ME.
That must be how the pros do it. Or how women do it. Or how professional chefs do it. Or how Ninjas do it.
Come to think it of it, that’s how my grandmother used to slice the bananas.
Like a fucking ninja!
Maybe this post really was about bananas.
You all may think I’m a super-confident, courageous, dauntless guy, the way I write posts about being a super-confident courageous, dauntless guy. But I’m really not. I’m actually probably a little insecure about myself which is why I spend so much time worrying about whether my hair is out-of-place or if my clothes look okay or how my abs look underneath a freshly-pressed dress shirt and v-neck sweater.
(See how I snuck that little key word in there!)
Just kidding, I don’t really have abs. I mean, sure, I actually have abs… as in abdominal muscles… we all have abs, but they’re just covered up with layers of doughnuts and bacon and wine.
But I’m talking about abs… like serious Ryan Gosling abs!
I looked back on some old photos and as much as I like to think that I did, I’m not sure I’ve ever really had abs.
Well, maybe I had abs when I was in elementary school (if by abs you mean like the distended stomach of a starving Ethiopian child from a 1980’s Oxfam commercial.)
Or maybe I had abs in high school (if by abs you mean like the protruding rib cage of a waifish uber model on the runway at a New York City fashion show.)
Or maybe I had abs in College (if by abs you mean a “six pack” of Busch Lite three or four nights a week.)
When is it okay to stop wanting to have abs… serious Ryan Gosling abs? To just say fuck it, I’m gonna let it all hang out, saggy old man skin and all. What is it about abs that makes us do countless reps of painful, hellish exercises, even when we are long past the age where that should really matter?
What does great abs really get us?
Other than the fact that a strong core helps avoid serious back problems, there’s likely no evolutionary benefit to having great abs. Did Oog walk around the cave in low-cut Saber Tooth Tiger under pants showing off his inguinal crease with all the cave chicks giggling and saying “Oooooh… Oog Hot”?
I don’t think so.
In fact, Oog probably packed on a little covering of “insulation” during those lean hunting seasons, and from those occasional days sitting on the couch eating Woolly Mammoth burgers and fermented berries.
Did Oog have any trouble impressing chicks? Guessing not or we wouldn’t be here today.
So when is it okay to stop wanting to have abs?
When I’m 50, would it be okay then? That’s only a few years away. How about when I get to 60, would it be okay then to stop wanting to have serious Ryan Gosling abs? When I’m 60, even Ryan Gosling will probably have stopped working on his abs.
I stay in pretty good shape and I’ve never had any trouble keeping my weight where it should be. I work out somewhat regularly in a patched-together gym in one of my barns, and I walk a few miles a day around the house turning off lights that my kids leave on and looking for stuff that I can’t remember where I left.
But each year that goes by, the odds of actually ever seeing my abs again becomes slimmer and slimmer. They’re like that old friend in High School that you promised to stay in touch with but just can’t seem to make it happen.
But I keep trying.
So when is it okay to stop wanting to have abs?
What do you think?
It’s okay, take your time… while you’re composing your answers, I’ll be out in my barn for a couple of hours trying to locate my inguinal crease.
In my ongoing effort to become a world famous author, songwriter and creator of content for children, I decided to write another song and figured you can’t lose with ladybugs. Everyone loves ladybugs and if you look at the number of published children’s books about our little spotted wing friends, writing about ladybugs is a sure thing.
So please take a listen and let me know what you think. It’s a cute little song, soothing and melodic with a great denouement at the end. See that big word I just used there? Only world famous authors and songwriters can use big words like denouement.
Thanks for listening, I hope you enjoy it… make sure you listen to the whole song though… you know, so you don’t miss the denouement! 😉
What do you mean you sense sarcasm in my voice?!?
Disclaimer: This is not a post about SEX. If you arrived here looking for a post about SEX, I’m sorry you’ll have to look elsewhere. But please be sure you subscribe to my blog first.
Lately I’ve been trying to figure out what kind of sexual I am. I’m not talking Heterosexual or Homosexual or Bisexual or even Asexual. I’m talking about these vague terms that describe the way we men-folk look and dress. Have you noticed, more and more frequently, there seems to be popping up (pun intended), lots of ways to describe men as “________sexual”.
Terms like Metrosexual and Ubersexual.
So I set out to do some research on what kind of sexual I am. I’ve often joked on this site about being a little bit Metrosexual. My nickname amongst my group of friends is “Metro” so I guess maybe I show some signs of fitting that bill. In small town Michigan I probably am a little bit Metrosexual. Put me in Manhattan and I’d probably be labeled frumpy.
According to Dictionary.com Metrosexual is defined as:
A heterosexual, usually urban male who pays much attention to his personal appearance and cultivates an upscale lifestyle.
Okay, that sort of works. I am heterosexual and I do often pay attention to my personal appearance as evidenced by the amount of hair product I go through every year. But I’m not really an urban male although I was for a little while many years ago. I guess sometimes I try to cultivate an upscale lifestyle although mostly I prefer my simple small-town lifestyle.
Maybe I’m more of a displaced Metrosexual, more of a Pastoralsexual.
I went looking for other possibilities and came across the category of men-folk classified as Ubersexual.
According to Dictionary.com Ubersexual is defined as:
A man who exhibits traditional masculine qualities as well as the caring nature of the New Man.
Huh?!? What does that even mean?!? I moved on.
Upon further research I discovered that a few months ago the category of men-folk classified as Lumbersexual started to become part of the vernacular. Now granted, how the terms “lumber” and “sexual” fit together is a stretch to most of us unless you want to make lots of jokes about hardwood. But I checked it out and it’s such a new concept that the term does not yet appear in any Dictionary.
But I found this tidbit on Gawker.com
To facilitate an easy discussion, it might help you to think of a Lumbersexual as a foil to the Metrosexual, the alleged nadir of masculinity from last decade. So, instead of slim-legged pants, envision pants with a little extra leg room (see: “regular cut”). Rather than be clean-shaven, the Lumbersexual has an unkempt beard. The Metrosexual is clean and pretty and well-groomed; the Lumbersexual spends the same amount of money, but looks filthy. Sartorially speaking, a Lumbersexual is a delicate tri-blend of L.L. Bean, Timberlake, and Sears.
Okay I thought, that sounds pretty good. Kind of a more rugged and manly metrosexual, an LL Bean type, who is allowed at times to be filthy. That sounded like it might be right up my alley, so I tried it out for a bit.
It was all going great, I was feeling manly and filthy and lumbery.
Then one day a couple of weeks ago, I read about a new kind of man-folk called a Spornosexual, another exciting breed of masculinity sprung from the roots of the Metrosexual, and named from a combination of the words “sports” and “porno” and “sexual”.
Esquire Magazine described a Spornosexual as this, while referencing Brad Pitt’s appearance in the movie Fight Club:
The spornosexual is a more extreme breed of man than his metro forebear. He is just as plucked, tanned and moisturised, but leaner, buffer, more jacked and obsessed not just with “looking good” in the abstract, but with the actual physical proportions of his frame: the striation of his abs, the vascularity of his biceps, the definition of his calves.
WOW! That sounded exciting. Lean, buff, jacked, and looking good with striated abs and vascular biceps, whatever that stuff means. So I ripped off the heavy flannel shirt, took three showers to clean off all the accumulated filth, shaved the beard and started working out, three, four, sometimes five times a day. I’d finally found my calling. I was gonna be a “Spornosexual”.
I had done it, I had found the kind of man-folk I wanted to be. I felt good, like Brad Pitt in Fight Club.
But then it all came crashing down. I was burnt out from trying to be something I wasn’t. I just wanted to just be a regular guy again, a husband, a Dad, a friend and a blogger. I wasn’t a Spornosexual or a Lumbersexual or a Ubersexual or even a Metrosexual.
I just wanted to be a regular guy. Because who needs labels anyway?
So, that’s what I did.
And you have to admit, there’s something sexy about that!