What's a Triglyceride?

I hate going to the doctor. Nothing good ever comes from me visiting the doctor. If I’m sick and go to the doctor, they tell me it’s a virus and there’s nothing they can do to help. If I go in when I’m feeling pretty good, they always find something wrong that I probably would have preferred not knowing about. The whole process seems a bit ridiculous to me.

A couple of weeks ago, I had to go in for a physical in order to update our Home Study for our adoption paperwork. Now, I’m not ignorant to the fact that I’m overweight and probably need to pay more attention to my diet and exercise regimen. I’ve actually take steps recently to work on that (more about that later). And of course, after the exam is over, the doctor tells me that I need to drop some weight and to exercise more. Like I needed to pay $15 to find that out.

Unfortunately, as we’re finishing up, the doctor looks back at my chart and tells me that she’s scheduling me for a cholesterol check, since it’s been 4 years since my last check. Oh what fun. Like I need more holes in my body. Because the only thing I despise more than going ot the doctor is needles. I fully believe that God designed us with the perfect number of holes and apertures in our body, and to stick needles into us calls into question the validity of God’s design. But I digress.

So I go in last week to let the vampires their large vial of blood (my arm is still bruised 8 days later). I figure I’d hear from the lab with my results within a few days, already assuming that my numbers will be high and I’d probably end up on one of those medications you see advertised on TV with the list of possible side effects that make us all cringe. So, imagine my annoyance when I finally talk to the lab and all they tell me is my results are ‘abnormal’ and I need to come in to discuss them. Abnormal? That’s all I get? With my mind racing as to what this might imply, I schedule the appointment and begin to stress out about it for the next 24 hours.

On Thursday, I go back to the doctor for my lecture, having dispelled the belief that my ‘abnormality’ would result in me turning into some hybrid of The Incredible Hulk and Pizza The Hut, but still a little annoyed at the whole situation. After a little small talk, my doctor pulls out my lab results. My cholesterol is actually not that bad, only a few points over the desired number, and only 5 points higher than it was in 2005. Nothing abnormal there. My ‘good’ cholesterol was a little under the desired level, but again, nothing to get alarmed about. So now I’m getting a little frustrated with the fact that I had to drag myself back into the office under the belief that something drastic was wrong.

Then we got to the triglyceride levels. After looking at what the desired level was, and what my results were, ‘abnormal’ suddenly seemed to be, well, appropriate.

Sidebar – if high triglyceride levels are a greater cause of concern than Cholesterol, why are we being programmed that we have to keep our cholesterol down, and not our triglycerides?

So, why is it so high? Who knows for sure. My lack of exercise and dietary choices factor in, my ancestry factors in, stress factors in. How do I lower those levels? Exercise more, eat better, reduce stress. So I guess I will be visiting the gym more frequently and McDonald’s less frequently. As far as reducing stress, I still have to go to work, so that’s not going to change anytime soon.

And, the thing is, I’ve already been making some adjustments. I’ve been to the gym fairly regularly over the last few weeks. I even ran my first sub-9 minute mile since my freshman year of high school. Even though it was on an elliptical machine and probably doesn’t count in the eyes of ‘real’ runners, I’m still claiming it as a victory. Heck, I’d even dropped 6 pounds between the day of my physical and yesterday’s appointment. The diet thing will be more of a challenge, because I’m a ridiculously picky eater, and I love me my comfort foods and my grilled beast.

So, it all comes down to the triglycerides. Boy, am I going to be angry if I find out that these are some mythical energy sources found only in the Star Trek universe.

Whirlwind Weekend

Well, another weekend has come and gone, and I'm left wondering why the weekdays never seem to fly by as quickly as the weekends do. Perhaps it's because we tend to pack way to much stuff into a weekend. But, if you know us, we tend to pack way to much stuff into every day of the week, not just the weekends.

This weekend was a little different than usual, because it was time for our annual visit from our dear friends from Connecticut, Diego and Dana. Diego is a youth pastor at New River Church outside of Hartford (sorry, Diego, I can't remember the town name right now), and he always brings a couple of his kids down to visit Messiah during the weekend of the Messiah Youth Worker's Conference. This year was particulary eventful because Diego brought his lovely wife Dana and his two adorable children, Hanna and Josiah. Unfortunately, Josiah picked up a bit of a bug on the way down, which apparently made their trip a bit more eventful than desired, but that's a whole other story.

We had a great time visiting with them, when we weren't busying ourselves with church responsibilities and fun with the college group. But it only reminded me of how much I wish these guys lived a little closer. Diego is one of those guys that you just can't help but be instant friends with, and I know that if we didn't have the geographical distance between us, we'd probably find ourself in some unique, and likely hilarious situations. But more than that, Diego is one of maybe two guys that I've ever been able to truly bear my soul with, and who have trusted me eough to bear their soul to. I covet that type of relationship in my life.

Whoa, got a little off track there. Sorry about that. Back to the point. As this week has dragged on and on and on, I find myself wishing against hope that there was a way to slow down the weekends. Something tells me this weekend is going to go by just as qucikly. Ugh!

My first Wegman's trip

After bowling this evening, I made my way down the road to our one and only Wegman's grocery store. To date, I've never been inside one, but I've heard the stories, legends and lore. However, I felt confident that I could tackle the challenge of making my way through the store flying solo.

That, of course, was my first mistake. However, since there were no Sherpas available, I had no recourse but to continue on my journey alone. Sure, along the way I viewed other pilgrims, attempting to acquire supplies to survive the trek through the long and winding aisles. I felt pity for the random lone travelers like myself who were clearly overwhelmed and out of their element.

My second mistake was going in with the intent of purchasing one specific item. For not only are there a variety of temptations around every corner, but being unfamiliar with the terrain, I quickly found myself in uncharted waters, unable to find my desired quarry. Desperately I searched for a guide, a St. Bernard, anything to lead me to my destination, only to find myself deeper and deeper in the labyrinth of the belly of the store.

Finally, when hope seemed lost, I happened upon a trail, a glimmer of light in the otherwise darkened recesses of packaged meats. It was here where I was able to complete my goal of picking up a package of frozen hamburgers. Victory was mine!

With a sense of relief washing over me, I turned to make my trek back to the front of the store where the checkout lines stood like guardians at the gate. Through the twists and turns, I ventured deeper into the belly of the beast, knowing that my trek was soon coming to an end. Finally, as I rounded the last turn around the fresh fruits, I saw it. The 15 items or less lane, it's number 20 shining like a beacon in the night. Fighting the urge to drop to my knees and weep with relief, I boldly approached the lane sentry, handed him the fruit of my labor, offered the required compensation for my prize, and quickly made my escape.

With this experience now behind me, I will be sure to properly arm myself with a compass, canteen, emergency flares, and other survival gear before I make my return trip to Wegmans.

Recent Random Thoughts

Some random thoughts that have crossed my mind lately…

I learned earlier this week that you can bowl with two broken toes. It’s not something I recommend, but it can be done – depending on which toes are broken. Keep in mind that I didn’t say you can bowl well with two broken toes.

Am I the only person who thinks the orange furry Hunger creature from the Weight Watchers commercials looks like the illegitimate love child of Gossamer (the Red Hairy Monster from the Bugs Bunny cartoons)?

that thought sparked a recent conversation on a very important subject. Saturday morning cartoons have not been the same since Looney Toons left the lineup. There is a whole generation of children growing up without knowing Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, Elmer Fudd, Marvin The Martian, Tazmanian Devil, etc., and that is just criminal in my opinion.

A few years ago, I became addicted to Red Fusion pop (or soda for those of you who don’t speak Pittsburghese). My best description of it was that it tasted like cherry-flavored Dr. Pepper. Well, recently, I sampled a Cherry Dr. Pepper, and it was the exact same taste as Red Fusion. So now I anticipate becoming addicted to Cherry Dr. Pepper.

Nathan Fillion may be one of the most underrated actors in Hollywood. He’s just had the misfortune of being in shows that TV execs give up on way too soon – “Firefly” and “Two Guys, A Girl and a Pizza Place” quickly come to mind – but he stole the show during his multi-story arc on “Buffy The Vampire Slayer.” His new show “Castle” debuted on ABC last night as a mid-season/summer replacement, which means ABS isn’t banking on it for the long haul. But the show was really good, and deserves an audience. I’m hoping ABC makes an effort to give this one a chance to succeed.

Is there any better show on TV right now than NCIS? Even the re-runs are better than 90% of what’s on today. Although this season of 24 has been the best since Season 1, but NCIS is still #1.

I really wish I knew what I wanted to be when I grow up. Actually, I kinda know what I would like to do, but I can no longer afford the likely pay cut that would accompany any attempts to make that change. I’m not sure what bothers me more, having no clear direction, or feeling like a slave to my job.

I will admit I watch very little college basketball during the season (except for when I can catch a Pitt game on TV). However, I, like millions of others, will fill out numerous brackets with little or no actual knowledge of the teams other than their rankings and records. I’d love to pick Pitt to win it all, but I just can’t. Prove me wrong, Panthers!

One thing I don’t like about March Madness is the incessant need to turn everything into a tournament this time of the year. One of the XM comedy stations is doing “March Laugh-ness” where they’ve ranked 64 comedians, and are having listeners call in and vote for a winner of each match-up (#4 seed Jeff Dunham goes up against #13 seed Bob Saget – can Bob pull off the upset?!?!?). I saw on Cartoon Network within the last few years a “Cartoon Madness” bracket thing where different cartoon characters were matched up against each other (#8 Scooby-Doo faces off against #9 Astro). Pop Culture and Media Idiocy run amuck!

On the Sideline for Now

Well, It appears my running / ellipping / biking revival will have to wait a little while longer. Thursday morning, as the love of my life was preparing to leave for school, she wakes me up in a mild panic, unable to find her textbook for her class later that evening. Being the dutiful husband, I get out of bed to help her look for it, even though I have no idea where she put it the night before. I make my way downstairs, look around the dining room table, where I saw it the night before, to no avail. I go back upstairs, thinking that perhaps I did move it with some other items (knowing that I didn't, but unable to be 100% certain in my just-waking-up stupor). Same result. So I decide to go back downstairs to do a more thorough search.

This is where my trouble began. I've learned one thing in our 'new' home over the last 18 months: bare feet on our carpeted steps is a recipe for disaster, especially if you're not paying attention. sure enough, I hit the first step, and my foot slips out from under me. I go tumbling down the stairs, and in the process, my right foot flies into one of the upright posts on our railing, catching me between my 4th and 5th toe. I hit the landing in a heap, my foot now trobbing, my back and shoulders quite sore. As I crumble, the love of my life remains at the top of the steps, asking "what did your do?"

Managing as much restraint as I could, I say nothing, figuring if watchig me fall down the stairs (which she did) does not answer the question, nothing I say is going to make the situation better. I take a few seconds to collect myself and make my way down the rest of the stairs. Now, each step I take is a new experience in pain at this point, and I look down to see my little toe jutting out at a somewhat unnatural angle. Doesn't take an MD to know that it was broken. But I carry on, and find her book sitting on top of a box of stamping stuff in the corner of the dining room!

So, book search aside, my toe is now broken and black and blue and not a lot of fun to keep inside socks and shoes all day. I don't know how long a broken toe takes to heal, but unless it's be the end of the weekend, it's not fast enough!.

Trying It Again

With the softball season fast approaching, and just a general need to really bear down on my fitness level, I'm trying to get back to the gym and see if I can get myself going again. So today I ventured up the road to Planet Fitness and hit the elliptical machine. My knee is sore due to a drastic snow-tubing accident last night (he says tongue firmly planted in cheek - but I do have a bruise on my kneecap resulting from a collision on the slope with an ice protrusion from the side of the lane), so I didn't want to push it too hard. I jumped on the machine, set the time for 20 minutes and started ellipping.

I made it a point not to look at the time, covering the elapsed time clock with my towel, and focused on my speed and distance covered. When I hit a mile, I pulled the towel away and discovered that I had 'run' a mile in 9:53 seconds. I was encouraged that I was able to go at a sub-10:00 pace having not done anything like this in over a month. I covered up the clock and kept going, figuring that I'd be lucky to hit 2 miles before my 20 minutes was up.

When I got to 2 miles, I was surprised that I didn't hear the machine beep, indicating the end of my time. I figured I had missed it since I had my iPod on (I believe Lady Antebellum was playing at the time). So I pulled my towel away, only to see the elapsed time read 19:32. Somewhat shocked, I did some quick math and realized that I had run the second mile faster than the first, by some 28 seconds. Not a huge margin, I realize. But it was the first time in a long time that my second mile was faster than my first mile. Small victories, right!

So, the jury's still out on whether or not I can keep this up. It's going to take some creative time-management to do so, but we'll see what we can do.

Where have I gone?

I'm trying to figure out what bothers me more at this point...the fact that I haven't blogged in well over a month, or the fact that no one really seemed to notice. The fact of the matter is that I have been so overwhelmed with work lately, that the last thing I want to do when I get home is jump on the computer and blog about my lack of a life. Of course, this really wouldn't be any different than normal - the lack of a life, that is - except for the ridiculous amount of work that's been droppe don my desk lately. Hopefully, I'll get back on track. Time will tell.

Until then, I hope to gain back the 2 or 3 readers that I once had.

The Greediest Men in Baseball (at the moment)

I am listening to local and national sports talk radio discussing the Manny Ramirez free agency debacle, and I am profoundly disgusted that this situation even exists. Let me break it down form you, in case you’ve been living in a cave over the last few months…

The Dodgers are offering Manny Ramirez $45 million dollars over two years to play baseball. Yes, take a look at that number - $45,000,000.00. The breakdown is $25 million the first season, and $20 million for year 2.

Before I get on my soapbox, let me first say that there is no human being on the planet that deserves to be paid $25 million for doing anything, let alone for playing a game for half a year. If you break it down, Manny would make $154,321 per game, assuming he played every game in a season (not including playoffs). Taking it a step further, assuming a baseball game lasts an average of 3-½ hours, he would make $735 a minute. A MINUTE!!!! Outrageous!

Manny Ramirez may be the best player in baseball at the moment. He’s got all the skills – bat, arm, above average speed. But, to paraphrase the best baseball movie of all time, Bull Durham, “I don’t know about that [multi] million-dollar arm, but I got a good idea about that 5-cent head.” The fact that a scenario like this even exists, regardless of the economy, is simply ludicrous. I don’t care how good he is – or how good he thinks he is – Manny does not deserve to be paid $25 million for playing a game.

My hope in all of this is that the Dodgers, and the rest of MLB for that matter, look at Manny and say “Adios. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.” No one man should ever be allowed to make more money than the GNP of most third-world countries.

And the worst part is Manny has no bargaining room here. The Dodgers are the only ones in the “Manny Sweepstakes.” In fact, as I look at it, maybe the Dodgers should be the focus of this rant for their complete and utter stupidity for caving to this ridiculous demand. It’s not like there’s any other teams throwing money at Manny. To date, not one other team has inquired about picking him up at his current contract demands. Unless, of course, you believe the second idiot in this mess, Manny’s agent, Scott Boras (emphasis on the second syllable).

As an agent, Boras is supposed to be looking out for his client. But, in this situation, it’s obvious Boras is looking out for his payday. If Manny gets paid, Boras gets his cut, which will be in the millions of dollars as well. So there’s no reason for Boras to tell Manny to take the money. If Boras believes the Dodgers will pay more, he’ll keep asking for more. It is pure, unadulterated greed at it’s ugliest.

I realize that nothing I say here is going to change the situation. The Dodgers will eventually cave and pay Manny the money he wants, and Manny will tell everyone that it wasn’t about the money but about respect and whatever garbage he thinks we’re stupid enough to believe. And Boras will sit back on his fat behind and thumb through the millions he made off of this one transaction for doing, basically, nothing of value other than whine and complain.

I can only hope that MLB institutes a salary cap soon. Otherwise, this is going to become a yearly occurrence, with the next star looking to get paid absurdly more than they’re ever worth. And the biggest problem in all of this is that the fans will ultimately be paying the price for this greed in the form of higher ticket prices, higher parking rates, higher concession prices, etc.

Dodgers, tell Manny to go home and play Wii baseball for a year and see if anyone misses him!

What a difference a week makes!

There are few things that frustrate me more in bowling than blasting the pocket and leaving some random single pin, especially when I watch guys all around me missing the pocket and getting strikes. Two Monday's ago, this was the case. In 30 frames of bowling, I missed the pocket twice all night - once the ball slipped off my thumb too soon, coming in light and leaving a2-4-6-10 split. The second time, my ball stuck on my thumb, coming in much too high, leaving a 3-6-7 split. I did not convert either of them. For the remainder of my 28 frames, I left 17 single-pin spares - 11 of which were 10-pins, which is my nemesis. I converted 9 of those, which is darn good for me. Of the remaining 11 frames, I struck on 10 of them - every other one throughout the night. If you're doing your math, I have one frame unaccounted for. This was the most frustrating frame of the evening, in that I threw what I felt was a nearly perfect shot, smooth release, steady roll on the ball, sharply into the pocket, scattering the pins, and leaving the dreaded 7-10 split. How this happens, I will never know. And, no I didn't pick this split up either. When the dust settled, and my blood pressure sky-rocketing, I left the lanes with the most frustrating 591 series I've had in a long time. I hate to complain about a 591 series. I know many people who would love to have a 591 series. But I felt like I was so consistently on target, that I should have scored much higher. I could just not get anything to fall when I needed it to.

Now, fast forward a week. I walk into ABC West to find that we are bowling on the exact same lanes as the week before. My blood pressure begins to spike immediately, and I almost call Jeff to sub for me. During warm-ups, I'm finding the same thing happening again - blast the pocket, leave a random single pin. Six shots in a row this happens, with 6 different single pins being left (in order, they were the 7, the 6, the 10, the 8, the 4 and finally the 9). I'm lining up for my last attempt at getting a warm-up strike when they shut off the lanes, much to my dismay.

So, I get up for my first shot, and somehow, all 10 pins fall. My next shot, the same result. Frame three, another strike. Frame 4 - Hambone. Two more and Frames 5 and 6, and suddenly, I'm realizing that maybe the bowling gremlins are attempting to apologize for the week before. Unfortunately, I did not strike in the 7th, ending my bid for that elusive 300 game. But, in all fairness to the lanes, the shot did not deserve to be a strike. I threw it too fast and did not give it time to turnover properly. I finished the game with a 252.

I also assumed that since I had as many strikes in the first game as I did in all three games total the week before, I was probably going to have to fight for every shot the rest of the night. And while I do feel I was robbed on a small handful of shots, the results were much better than expected, finishing with a 229 in game 2 and a 224 in game 3, giving my a 705 series for the night.

And thus continues my complete and utter bewilderment of lane conditions at ABC West. I truly do not understand how, in one week's time, I can shoot 114 pins better from one week to the next on the same two lanes. It is a mystery to me that will likely continue to perplex me. And the frustrating this about it is that I truly believe I was more consistent with my shots in the 591 set than I was in the 705 set.

I suppose that's the way the ball bounces...which would be really bad to do on a bowling alley...