An Army of One of Those

After 17 years, the military will officially end the controversial "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" policy and allow gay men and women to serve openly in our armed forces. While this is a victory of sorts for both sexes I think, for gay men in particular, it's a blow against discrimination. And the only downside for gay men is that it occurred only after the army decided to stop requiring their soldiers to wear berets.

Historically, gay men have been serving in combat theaters since the First Messenian War, when Sparta rose to power as the Spartan Army came joined together after beating off fighting against a hard stubborn defensive thrust push stand by Messenain soldiers on Mount Mt. Ithome. The support for gays in the military, however, changed about the time of the Crusades, when the pope's holy warriors burned men at the stake for participating in sexual practices that were outside the church, er, church's doctrines.

I don't have a problem with the gay lifestyle or any other lifestyle that doesn't fit within my personal parameters. As long as a person or group of people don't assert their beliefs onto me or attempt to convert me, I say go about your business.You want to be gay, go for it. I'll support your right to be happy, you support my right to let you. And my support extends to any gay man who wants to be a part of the front line or rear guard of the military, too.

Of course, there are those hardline homophobes who'll go to their graves believing that an openly gay militia will cause harm to the morale of our fighting forces. Yeah, it'll undo all the hard work the government did to put smiley faces on all the men spending their summer backpacking across an Afghan desert. I mean, think about it. Does anyone really believe our military will suddenly start being overwhelmed by an influx of hairdressers or florists? People like that aren't going to enlist, which is one reason why I never understood the opposition to gays being in the service. The ones who volunteer are folks who sign up because they want to be there. They may be gay, but they'd rather be part of a troop movement in a military company than part of a troupe movement in a theater company. These aren't the folks who are intent on making khaki or cammo fashionable inside the military or outside of a trailer park. They're there to fight for our freedom. They're looking to blow things up, not blow each other.

Understand, there are standards in the military and, gay or straight, every soldier has to meet them. If they do meet the standards we should trust them implicitly to stand tall and defend us with integrity instead of wondering if they'll curl up like bitches under fire. We should, as a nation, embrace these brave people, at least figuratively, and stop worrying about them being gay or being in our military.

If you really want to start worrying about who's in the military, start a draft.

Waist Watchers

I feel fat. Not fat fat, like obese. I'm the kind of fat that when I put my pants on and they're tight, I blame the clothes dryer before my fork. I'll soon be in my fifties and most people who know me generally tell me I look like I'm in decent shape, with only a few adding the "for your age" qualifier implying I'd look like shit if I was thirty. I know that. I also know I'd look fantastic right now if I was seventy, so it's all relative. But perception isn't always reality, and the reality is I'm not as unshapely as I used to be. I have developed a spare tire that I want to keep closer to a fatty for a bicycle than a dually for a truck.

While being mindful that I have a handful of extra pounds I could do without, I'm not concerned about reaching the size of Costco loading-dock-entrance fat. Nor do I have medical issues that put me in any at-risk categories should I indulge in an extra piece of cake or a full rack of ribs instead of a half rack. In my opinion, if the ribs are good you should always go for the full rack and take some home. Good ribs are good the next day, and you don't have to eat the whole thing in one sitting, fat ass. As far as what I eat, I do have responsibility for opening the pantry, the refrigerator, the extra beer, and my mouth. I just have to make sure there is some attention to how much goes in and how much comes out. 

I can look at my descendants and take some comfort that my genetics don't make me predisposed for being a load-bearing biped. Some are not as fortunate. They are prone to living large. But being large is not the same as being fat. Size for a lot of people is relative to their diet and culture. You don't often see small Samoan adults, and large Samoan adults generally come from large Samoan children. It's who they are. A lot of size, however, is relative to a lack of discipline. It's the discipline of not eating - or for kids, being fed - too many or too much of the wrong things.

I checked the stats. 68% of Americans are overweight based on Body Mass Index calculations. The BMI is a simple mathematical expression in which your weight is multiplied by 703 and divided by your height in inches squared. The resulting number is your percentage of body fat. The equation looks like this:

 BMI = mass(lb) * 703 / (height(in))²

For those of you with funny accents who don't live in the southern U.S., it looks like this: 

BMI = mass(kg) / (height(m))²

^{I have modified the calculation slightly, and my personal measurement standard looks something like this:}

^{BMI = mirror * how much you ate last night you fucking pig / how much clothing you have on}

Albert Einstein fires back at one of his Theory of Relativity

critics by comparing the man’s girth relative to the size

of an elephant’s ass.

I found out something interesting about this universally accepted calculation in my quest for a reference base. The BMI is something called a heuristic proxy. Heuristic methods are used "to speed up the process of finding" - remember, I'm quoting here - "a good enough solution, where an exhaustive search is impractical. Examples of this method include using a 'rule of thumb,' an educated guess, an intuitive judgment, or common sense." An educated guess? Really? That's what we get? Scientists will spend decades and millions on computers to find the end of pi, yet can't find an absolute measure for body fat because of pie. You know what an educated guess is? Patting yourself on the back for not being able to do the math and settling for the answer you got. The BMI is a medal at the Math Special Olympics. It's just another medically applied standard - like pre-hypertensive blood pressure - that's "close enough" to meaning something. Since the Body Mass Index has no factual scientific basis, it's referred to as an indicator. Know what else is an indicator of body mass? Not being able to see your fucking toes when you look down.

I've thought about what I could do to get a little more control of my waist, so I took a look at the food intake part of my life. My wife recently started doing Weight Watchers. Now, she's not fat. Not even close to fat. But she's concerned about her diet and eating habits enough that a) she wants to make sure she's eating the right foods in the right amounts, and b) she wants to look her best for me and feel her best for her. I love her for that. I also love her for not blowing up into a lump of lard and then deciding it's time to fix the problem. I should follow her lead. I also know people not trying to revive a dead acting career who have used the program successfully, so it can't be all Hollywood hype. I need a measure for what I eat, and WW sounds interesting.

Ten weeks into the Weight Watchers program, Pat had

 to start over after learning the goal of the point system

was not to achieve high score.

Weight Watchers seems simple. It basically relies on a system that assigns points to foods and lets you know how many points you should be eating per day. And their weighty equation is like Chinese algebra compared to the BMI. Their mathematical heurism goes like this:

(calories / 2) + (fat grams / 12) - (dietary fiber grams / 5) = points

Looking at it, it's hard not think there's a correlation between America's low math scores in our school's and our country's obesity problem. If you do find the answer, you round it up or down depending on how guilty you'll feel about rounding down. You don't need a PhD to know if you always round down, you'll round up.

What I shove down my gullet isn't the only aspect of dieting. There's exercise. I consider myself somewhat active. I'm certainly not as active as I was when I was younger, and not nearly as active as I could be now. I've been told I should join a health club, but I have no more desire to go to a gym than I do a church. God is everywhere, and so is a good walk. I don't need the motivation of earning a yummy treat by scoring exercise points, just the motivation to exercise. But for now...

 ...I'm grilling a 10 ounce rib-eye steak smothered in chopped garlic. I have an ear of corn. I have a small helping of macaroni salad. I have a beer. By my rough calculation the meal is about 16 points. I'm also sitting on my backyard patio with the sun lowering itself toward the horizon. I'm watching the light filter through the oak trees. It's about 80 degrees with a light breeze. I have music playing, but not loud enough to drown out the hypnotic sound of the waterfall trickling into the pond. My wife, late from work, will be joining me soon. She'll get into some comfortable clothes and we'll sit together, she with her point-free drink and me with my rum and Coke...maybe we'll relax in the spa. I'll look at my stomach and compare it to my life, which despite the daily bullshit looks pretty good right now and think, "Weight Watchers doesn't have points for this."

Heavy PETN

I know, I know. I've taken a shot at the airlines on two previous occasions. This will be number three. I can't help it. They make it so easy.

A report came out that TSA, our first line of defense in the air and our longest line on the ground, warned of the possible threat from surgically implanted bombs in passengers. These explosives, according to TSA, would be difficult to detect because typical airport scanners, unlike TSA employees, can't get under your skin. The fact that the scanners can't penetrate skin means they likely can't detect an implanted device. While there is agreement on the possibility of this scenario playing out, there is some debate among experts about the likelihood it could happen.

There are only so many cavities in the human body you can hide things comfortably without surgery. Or so I've been told. With surgery, there aren't many places in the body that could hold a device large enough to do significant damage. Surgery has its drawbacks: infection, recovery time, co-pays and insurance billing. On the slim chance you could argue the operation isn't an elective procedure, what are the odds that a PETN explosive device is covered for use as an approved prosthetic? If it is, what percentage of the cost will the insurance pick up? Ever dealt with an insurance rep? Auto-answer, phone menu, wrong selection, redialing because you dropped the fucking call, back to auto-answer, phone menu, twenty minutes on hold because "your call is important", connect to a rep with limited language skills... Most of these devices would go off long before they'd ever make it to the plane.

There are other drawbacks, such as recruitment. Let's say you advertised that you wanted a volunteer to have, say, three inches added to his penis. I'm sure you could generate some interest. Maybe enough that you'd have to select someone by lottery. How long do you think the excitement of winning that draw would last after you spelled out the details?

"Congratulations, Mohammed. You're the lucky winner."
"YESSSS!" (with a fist pump).
"Now, I should explain that there's a risk involved in this procedure."
"Like getting an infection?"
"Well...not exactly. Remember the part in our ad that said with this procedure you'd be the bomb?"

Surgically implanting a bomb inside me would take a level of commitment I can't fathom. Of course, I'm not a fanatical terrorist. For this operation I think one would have to be, and no doubt there are those out there who qualify. I don't even look at being a willing participant as stemming from religious devotion or cultural hatred. I've seen the Middle East. I'm sure if I traded my current American infidel lifestyle for a cave in the Afghan mountains, I'd want to blow myself up. But I wouldn't do it with a chunk of C4 between my legs. I've hit the bike frame between the seat and the handlebars. Hell, watching videos of other guys railing their taint makes me cringe. Besides, no one wants to meet up with seventy-one virgins with the nickname "Stubby" and no ability to perform.

It’s a fact that throwing your body on top

of an explosive device can save the lives of

others around you. Would you be willing

to make the ultimate sacrifice by

 throwing yourself on top of these?

But let's say, for the sake of entertaining this thought, the surgery becomes a viable terrorist option we have to deal with. Some new TSA body search rules would have to be put into play. Body search rules so personally non-intrusive that they wouldn't even cause flashbacks to a Catholic. So how do you check? Let's say it's a breast implant issue. Visual confirmation is out. No man will ever be able to look at a woman's covered breasts and say, with 100% accuracy, real or fake. You could ask the woman, "Are those real?" but that's like asking her age. She's going to be offended and probably won't tell you the truth anyway. Touching? Do you like not being a sex registrant? And while they're focusing on (distracted by) all the women, there's a 300 pound man with size 36 man-titties waltzing - yes, fat men can waltz - to your departure gate getting more pathetic stares than scrutinizing glances.

It's not like we need something else to worry about when we fly. It wasn't too long ago when we were simply concerned with just getting to the airport. Now there are so many things to consider pre-flight, so many details added to our itinerary, it almost makes arriving at your destination as triumphant as a Lindbergh landing in France. I'm glad our nation's intelligence people are uncovering these security risks. It lets me know they're on the job for my protection. And since we all play a vital role in maintaining the safety of our country, I think I owe it to this great land of ours to contribute to that cause by paying more attention to checking out women's breasts.

For security purposes.

And not just at the airport.

Because terror can strike any place, any time.

Oh, say can you see...

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a proud sponsor of the freedom of (satirical) speech.

Happy Birthday, America!

What's that make you now? 230-something? Sorry, but I haven't been keeping up. I've been busy working for you, making money so I can pay your rent. And the percentage you get out of my pocket, dear Uncle Sam...sometimes I feel like you're somewhere between a heavy-handed pimp and a kid that won't move out. By the way, as long as we've touched on the landlord-tenant subject, can you talk to those people upstairs? Those Canadians? They got a little rowdy last June when hockey season ended and started making a lot of noise and burning shit. No, not the ones in Montreal, again. This time it was Vancouver. They had a little tantrum because somebody took their cup. They're blaming people in Boston. Not surprised. Boston seems to have a knack for pulling pranks that get under the skin of countries tied to the British crown.

Anyway, I didn't know what to get you. Yes, I received the list you emailed. (Like you didn't know.) While I agree a fence would be practical, building it would be a problem since the people available to put it up might ironically be the same people our folks want to keep out. I have an idea, though. You've been pretty good at outsourcing jobs. Outsource the fence to Mexico. The illegals will go back for the work, build the fence from their side, and then...they're there. Yeah, I know! Just thinking outside the box, er, box store. I was literally in front of a Home Depot when I thought of this. I realize a solution to the immigration problem is one of many issues fighting for a top spot on your list of things you want, but really, you kind of brought this on yourself. Besides, I'd rather spend my (read: your) money on something you don't need. Like something imported.

Don't want to bust your B-day balls, Unc, but you've been slacking in the "Made in..." marketing arena. Half the party we had planned for you was made in China. Needed some patio chairs...made in China. Decorative lights...China. Plastic forks...China. New American flag. Seriously? Made in China? And the fireworks...well, okay, that's a pass. It is kind of their thing. But the rest? I don't get it. You've always been a marketing machine with a name worth its weight in gold. Have you seen the price of gold lately? Dude, get out there and start yankee-doodling! I'm all for being an American-made consumer, but you're not making it easy. I don't want to burn a lot of foreign oil trying to keep it homegrown.

Quick Quiz: Which of the following was made in America?

If it sounds like I'm putting all the blame on you, Uncle, I'm not. You're only as good as the people who work for you and, let's face it, your management staff has been a let down. Your regional managers can't agree about anything. They spend more time on T.V. making their point than in their office getting to the point. And, well, there are the character issues. You can't deny their behavior of late has really become an embarrassment. Finance scandals, government contractor scandals, lobby scandals, sex scandals. Lots of sex scandals. Infidelity. Kids out of wedlock. Sex with staffers. And what's up with that one guy...the dick texter who couldn't say with any absolute certainty the photo on his phone was his junk? (btw: Dick Texter...great porn name) There's only two ways a man shouldn't be able to recognize his own penis: very drunk or very fat.

I'm not mad at you. I only bring these things up because I have great respect for you and I want what's best for us. I mean, you've got a fantastic place. The maintenance has been a little shoddy at times, but overall I like what you've done with it. I appreciate that you let me live here and let me do my own thing. Outside of the airports, of course. Oh, airports - that reminds me...the wife and I flew to Hawai'i this year and got to use the country's island timeshare state. Thanks. We loved it!

I know we don't see eye-to-eye on everything, but for the most part I know I've got a ton of things to be grateful for. Even if our relationship is somewhat taxing, I know deep down inside that red, white and blue heart of yours wants to beat to keep us alive and not beat us to death. Anyway, Happy Birthday. I'll try to be a little better about being ahead of the gift game next year.

Hopefully something better than the usual gift card in April.