Rob Madeo writes this stuff.
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Look, when you get to be my age, you’re going to be subjected to all sorts of dire things. Like a colonoscopy.
A colonoscopy, as you probably know, is when they pass a camera inside you and have a look where the sun don’t shine. The good news is that you’re totally out of it during all of this, in fact, moments after sedation, you don’t care what they do to you.
Many people will tell you that preparing for these tests is an odious ordeal. They’re half right.
My prep required a day of non-solid foods capped off by a giant dose of laxatives. The first half, the liquid diet, was not so bad, but the second half was no walk in the park. In fact, a walk in the park that’s the last thing you should do after taking a giant dose of laxatives.
Here’s my delicious lunch of mango Jell-O and chicken broth. Good stuff.
And hey! I have some pictures from inside my colon if you’d like to see them. No?
Some of you are saying, “Whoa, Rob! TMI!” Nonsense. This is a routine medical procedure and you’d be crazy not to do it. Colon cancer doesn’t get the sort of high-profile attention as other health risks, perhaps because it’s not a very glamorous region of your body. This is nothing to be squeamish about — and it could save your life.
By the way, hats off to the doctors and nurses who do this all day long. You think you deal with a lot of assholes all day long?
What sort of backwards place is Bethlehem, anyway? Yes, backwards.
The Albany suburb is known for its excellent schools and well-heeled residents, the home to doctors and lawyers and such — but to that, I say, “WTF! Who closes the dump on a Friday?”
It’s not really a dump. The town transfer station collects your waste and dispatches it to landfills and recycling centers. This is not Albany, where you just put a ratty old couch on the curb and it disappears overnight. No, in Bethlehem you drag it to the
dump transfer station and pay them to make it go away.
De-cluttering a house is hard work, and lately my car has made many trips to a local storage facility and the
dump transfer station. Too many trips to the storage facility and not enough to the dump transfer station, if you ask me, but that’s another blog post.
So, if you’ve ever filled your vehicle with crap and found that there’s nowhere to put it, like in Alice’s Restaurant, you know what I mean. Except in this case it wasn’t Thanksgiving, the
dump transfer station was closed because it was FRIDAY.
Again, I ask you: what sort of backwards place is Bethlehem, anyway?
We’ve been looking at a lot of houses lately and noticed something interesting: people like putting flat screen TV sets over the fireplace.
Not to be judgmental or anything — because I would never do that — but one thing goes through my head when I see this in a house:
douchebag bad idea.
There are a couple of practical reasons not to mount the TV over the fireplace. The heat might not great for the TV, and ideally, a TV should be level with your eyes position so you don’t have to look up at it. That could be bad for your neck.
But there are less tangible reasons, too.
It used to be that the space over the fireplace was reserved for something special, like a piece of art or an antique that sits on the mantle. Let’s say you have a mounted moose head that you love. Where’s it going to go? Over the fireplace, of course. It sends a message about what you find important.
When you put the TV over the fireplace, it says that the most important thing in your life is the TV. And it makes your house look like a barroom.
So don’t be
a douchebag silly: find somewhere else for the TV. I know the fireplace thing is popular right now, but just because it’s popular doesn’t make it right.
The NY Times recently did a great feature called How to Start Running — but for many people, How to Keep Running might be more useful.
I’ve been at it since the early 1990s, never once on a treadmill and almost always before sunrise. It’s not getting better, unless you consider covering shorter distances at a slower pace as somehow better.
I may be long past my peak, but that’s OK.
These days, my runs are tracked on a GPS watch, but back in the day, I scribbled notes in composition books, noting my route, distance and time. Here’s a page from nearly 20 years ago:
Wow, I was really something. Today? Shorter and slower.
Running as a metaphor for life is a well-worn shoe. It’s usually invoked to speak of endurance and perseverance. The value of hard work in achieving a goal. But the sad truth is that it’s also about decline and decay and giving way to age.
But so what? I hope I run on the day I die, even if it’s just for a short distance. Even the most miserable run makes any day better.
Mark Zuckerberg made news last week for his run through Tiananmen Square — both for exercising during a period oppressive pollution and the lousy optics of doing so where protesters were slaughtered in 1989. But something else caught my eye: the Facebook founder noted that he’s hit the 100 mile point for 2016.
This is all part of Zuckerberg’s Year of Running health campaign, which challenges participants to reach 365 miles by the end of 2016.Introducing the program, Zuckerberg said, “This is a lot of running, but it’s not a crazy amount.”
Wow! That’s pretty… underwhelming.
Now wait — my running is nothing to brag about, but if I’ve run more miles this year than a fit young man like 31-year-old Mark Zuckerberg, well, what the hell?
Ten years ago — in my 40s — I ran a marathon. Not a fast marathon, not a great marathon, but listen here Facebook boy, I ran 26 miles in one day. No, I can’t do that anymore, but if a fat old man like me (old enough to be your father, I might add) can go out and run three miles before dawn, you can do better than a mile.
So here’s a challenge: you want to motivate me to exercise, how about buying me fifty pairs of Saucony Triumph ISO 2 running shoes? At two pairs per year, that should pretty much last me until I’m too dead to walk around the block, much less run.
But seriously, just kidding: good job with your mile. Maybe we should get you a participation trophy, or something.
OK, that’s it for me. Gotta go see if my Facebook account has been deleted yet.