Don't Drift; Fight the Resistance

Don't Just Drift Along; Fight the Resistance

Sit down in the chair and do the work- you owe it to us

Not drifting

The last few weeks I've been drifting

Winter is nearly upon us.  Daylight savings time is looming (I started this post last week).  The world seems like it’s in a general state of depression, as there is the Pandemic and so much uncertainty for the future. (The future seems brighter now, after the weekend).

 

The courts are closed for jury trials until next summer, so while a personal injury attorney like me can jump up and down and threaten the insurance companies, you really have two choices -  settle the case for what the insurance company is offering or wait until next year for a trial.

 

In the last few weeks, my writing dropped off, and I was worried it was "writer's block."  What it was, however, was me dreading going back and editing my long manuscript I wrote, memoir-ing my early childhood.  The process was painful (the editing- not just my life) until I had the epiphany that the long chapters need to be broken down into much shorter chapters. Ta-da! Now the way forward seems so much clearer. I should be done with the second draft in a few months.  Seven or eight months. 

 

If I want to be a writer, I'm supposed to write every day

In light of the state of the world, I have more time than I otherwise would to do some writing.  The pros say writing is like working out.  You have to do it every day to make progress and get better at it.  And if you lay off for a few days, it turns into weeks, and it becomes that much harder to start back up again. 

 

So the writers who post the most on Medium, Quora, and the other writing sites mostly write short "listicles" (i.e., "top seven things you should do to start your day") or product reviews, or self-help articles. 

 

Those types of articles are the "fast food" of writing.  For the writer, they're short, relatively easy to write, and formulaic.  The writers hope the articles go viral and make them money.

For the reader, they're like a candy bar.  The articles are fun to read, you can pretend like you're learning something, and they provide a sort of endorphin rush or sugar high.  The worst of these articles is called "clickbait" because the main goal of the writing is to attract clicks from which the author profits under an "affiliate advertising" program like Google AdSense or Facebook Ads.

 

I don't want to write articles like that.  First of all, anyone who knows me is not going to take fitness or self-improvement advice from me.  I would eat a loaf of garlic bread and wear my Mott the Hoople T-shirt every single day if I could.  In fact, I basically do that.  

 

Product reviews?  The only product review I could ever be bothered writing was my story about the Biscuit skateboard that nearly killed me, and that's not the kind of exposure most companies solicit or encourage by paying the writer money.

 

So I have to come up with something else to write about on a consistent basis.  But while we're here, let me write my one and only self-improvement blog post for you so we can get this out of the way.  I've read every self-help article in the world, so here are the 

“20 things You Must Do To Improve Your Life” by Jack Clune

 

1. Get regular sleep and turn your phone off one hour before bed (I don’t)

2. Drink lots of water (if your pee is too yellow you haven’t drunk enough)

3. Be kind to people, but learn how to have boundaries and say no (don't be a doormat)

4. Look people in the eye and have a firm handshake (Actually, I’d be fine if the handshake goes away forever after this Pandemic- let’s just shaka or do deep bows to one another)

5. When talking to people, listen to what they say, rather than simply wait to say the next thing.

6. Brush and floss your teeth (Don’t be a yuck mouth).

7. Don't smoke or drink alcohol.

8. Meditate for 10 minutes a day.

9. Exercise (Use the Japanese Kaizen method- one push-up first day, two the second day, three the third day.  Imagine where you’ll be in a year).  Or use this method.  Or this one.

10. Eat healthily.

11. Communicate really well with your spouse, kids, parents and friends.

12. Wear nice clean clothes.

13. Travel, but not too much (wherever you go, there you are).

14. After a reasonable time, ask for a raise and if they don't give it to you, change jobs or be your own boss.

15. Envision where you want to be five years from now and do something small every day to try to make it happen.

16. Save money.  Don't save it in a bank, invest it somewhere where it will grow (I don’t. I think the stock market is a roulette wheel for normal people like me, and a rigged carnival booth for the people with insider trading information. Look at all the politicians with insider information who sold off before the public announcement of the Pandemic. The stock market obviously has no relationship to the real world.  How can the market be through the roof the last few months when the world is a dumpster fire? And the people who made the most money EVER in the stock market betted against us the normal people, that we would default on our mortgages and Countrywide would collapse. The banks sold us our mortgages and turned around and sold the insider bettors the tickets that we would default.  Then when the bets came due the banks had no money to pay them,  the banks collapsed, and none of the bankers went to jail. In fact they took our bailout money and paid themselves bonuses. Great system). But go ahead and invest in boring Index Funds- that's not the day trading lottery ticket investing that everyone talks about all day long at the water cooler and on the dumb "Mad Money" T.V. shows.

17. Buy real estate (With all that extra money you have laying around).

18. Make a Will (Living Trust better).

19. Believe in God, or if you don't, hedge your bets (watch on double speed) and act spiritual and be kind just in case there's a Hell. Or don't.

20. Read Primal Screams from Jack Clune's Man Cave.

 
 Allow myself to introduce . . . myself

 

I like to write about myself. My thoughts.  My feelings.  My experiences.   Apparently, those are the worst things in the world to write about.  Yes, the real heavy-hitters on Medium say that nobody wants to read about me.  You want to read about You.  I guess I can kind of understand that.

 

The popular writers say people only want to read things that do one or all three of the following:

 

Entertain

Educate

Inspire

 

Let me entertain you 

I think I might be able to entertain you. One outta three ain't bad. Educate?  I mean, unless you want to know which fast food Mexican Restaurant has the best Flying Saucer.   Or which GWAR. album to start with, then I might be able to help. 

 

Inspire?  I don’t know.  A few of you have told me you enjoyed an article I wrote, and that made me feel good.  Very, very good, but kind of embarrassed too.  I always feel like you're just saying it to be nice, and if I got you drunk, you'd tell me what you really thought. By the way, a few of you did actually tell me what you thought, and your advice was spot on (i.e., you told me to write better story endings!).

 

The best part of my new writing adventure, so far . . .

What really blew me away, and made me feel humbled to my core, was when a few of you told me that, not necessarily the quality of my writing, but my leap of faith into writing inspired you to do something, or at least take the first step to do something you always wanted to try.  

I knew you were telling the truth and weren't just saying that to be polite.   And I did not feel embarrassed because it had nothing to do with me, it was about you.  Amazing. Some of you shared your writing with me or told me about your future creative plans, and I was inspired by you.

 

If you have always wanted to write, start a non-profit, run a marathon, paint, create a YouTube channel, or whatever, please do it.  If my tentative and typo-laden blog entries and short stories are the push you needed, please go with that feeling.

 

Let me tell you, the feeling of not having to wonder "what if I [wrote, started a Vlog, made a movie] . . .?" is worth it to just give it a try.  

 

Maybe you'll become rich and famous overnight!  Doubtful, but more possible than ever in this day and age.  Just look at the guy drinking Cranberry juice listening to Fleetwood Mac.

On the flip side, maybe you'll realize, "Hey, this is really hard work and turns out, I don't like it that much." Chances are that your experience will be somewhere in between those two extremes.  Either way, it will be a load off of your shoulders.  If you find something you’re passionate about doing, the journey will be what satisfies you, and there is no ultimate destination (fame and fortune).

 

There's plenty of time to pursue your passion, so don't quit your day job

There is no reason to quit your day job.  If you turn off the T.V. and put down the phone, there is enough time each day to do your work. The writers on Medium are doing it during their lunch hours or waking up an hour earlier to do it. 

 

Some of you already told me, "You know, I tried [it] and I don’t like [it.]"  Whatever [it] was, think of what a gift it was to figure that out, so you can move on and find out what [it] is that you may want to pursue.

 

I've read a shit-ton of Medium articles now.  I've read thousands of self-help and "how-to" and "what not to do" articles, and they are fun to read, and I ignored 97% of the advice because its' too hard to follow.  What follows, however, are the pieces of advice that have stuck with me.

 

The most important things I've learned so far are . . . 

Do not “follow your passion” if your main goal is to make money or be famous

If what you are interested in is making money, probably the worst thing you can do is “follow your passion.” No, my friend, if you want to make money, you have to do this:  

Figure out what you are really good at, that people will pay you a lot of money to do.  

If you are lucky, your passion will also be what people will pay you money to do. Maybe you love to write songs.  Great.  If you are Sting, you will make a lot of money by following your passion. Most songwriters, however, are not rich or famous (for a variety of reasons).

Most of us have much more pedestrian skills that people would find valuable enough to pay us money to do. If you want to make money, figure out what those skills are- and pursue your passion in your free time.

The reason to pursue your passion is that you have to. Otherwise, you're likely to be a miserable, embittered person! You will always wonder, "what if . . .?"  Let me put a positive spin on this. When you follow your passion, you will be a much happier and fulfilled person, and it has nothing to do with making money or being famous.  

If you want to be creative or "follow your passion," persistence is far more important than talent

The next "tough love" piece of advice that resonated is twofold, and I'm going to break it down into two components:

 

A)  You have to stop yourself from just "drifting along"; and

 

B)  You will encounter constant resistance in your effort to stop drifting

 

These concepts come from the book "The War of Art."  I haven't read the book yet, but I've read many articles and listened to lots of podcasts that mention the book and these concepts.

 

Drifting is waking up, going to work that you don't really enjoy, coming home, eating dinner, watching Netflix, binge drinking on the weekend, watching football, and repeating that for the rest of your life.  

You will constantly be pulled along with the tide to do that because, after a while, you forget what you really wanted to do with your life, and it is comfortable, and if you try to break free from it, you will receive constant resistance. All credit to writer Ayodeji Awosika for entertainingly explaining these concepts, as I could listen to him talk about it all day (and still not get up off the couch.) My problem, not his.

Persistence and resistance against the drift are crucial. The most quoted language from the book is:

"The most important thing about art is to work.  Nothing else matters except sitting down every day and trying." -Steven Pressfield

My surfing testimonial

A few weeks ago, I thought to myself, "I may never go surfing again."  I looked in the mirror and saw how out of shape I was, then I went and grabbed my old wetsuit and went into the swimming pool to get it wet and try it on.  I did not come anywhere close to fitting in it.  I was disgusted with myself because I love surfing.  Subconsciously, I've known for months that I needed a new wetsuit if I was ever going to go surfing, but I was embarrassed to go to a surf shop and try to find the size I needed.

Almost the Author (And I'm not fat-shaming this fine fellow. Or woman. I'm just illustrating a point about myself)

 

I got out of the pool, looking like a snake shedding its skin, with the wetsuit half on and half off.  I went right into the Man Cave and bought a cheap (and huge) wetsuit on Amazon (when I trim down, I will support my local surf shop next time- I recommend Bird's Surf Shed).  It came two days later, I tried it on, and I went surfing.  

 

I look like a Polska Kielbasa in my new wetsuit.  But the wetsuit technology is so advanced now, and the material is so super stretchy and comfortable, I am eager to go surfing this winter even when the water gets frigid. 

Polska Kielbasa

I've gone surfing about ten times since I bought the wetsuit.  I've only caught two good waves because I'm so out of shape that most of the waves pass me by too quickly before I can stand up.  But I've been out on beautiful days, and I've seen and experienced so many things. 

I've seen seals, dolphins, amazing sunsets, and incredible surfers (the most skillful one of all was a young woman) gracefully riding the waves.  Certain days, the waves were perfect, coming in at an angle from the south and peeling down the line with a light offshore wind, reminding me that San Diego has some of the best surfing beaches in the entire world, right here in my backyard, and making me grateful to have grown up here. 

 

Every time I've gone surfing, there was resistance.  The parking lot is often full, and it’s a challenge to find a spot. It took me a full half-hour the first time to figure out how to lock my car.  I had to take the BMW valet key in and out of the tiny wetsuit pocket no less than five times because I had missed a step in the locking process.  

The lineup in the water is unbelievably crowded with people, many of whom are not skilled at surfing, and who are using the foam boards they bought at Costco (a phenomenon that would not have been tolerated when I was a kid, and when there was much more aggression in the water).   

 

In the parking lot, people park too close to my car.  They let their dogs out of the car, and the dogs run in front of cars, and the dog owners scream bloody murder in my ear, ruining any sort of peaceful or Zen vibe.

 

The whole time I remind myself, "This is the resistance.  All of this is meant to make you never come back to the beach." 

 

But then I'll be sitting in the lineup.  A set of waves will appear on the horizon, and I'll be in a perfect position. A bowl-shaped wave approaches, being held up like blown glass by the offshore wind. I turn and bury the tail of my board in the wave and make my board spring forward without even paddling, and I launch into the wave, standing up in one smooth motion.  

I ride the green wall of water until I can make a run along the top of the wave, then back to the bottom, and the wave connects with another one coming from the other direction on the inside "doubling up," and I ride the unexpected "new wave" for 50 yards, through groups of tourists and waders.  And all the trouble and strife was worth it. 

 

I remember that wave later that night when I'm going to sleep.  And I want to tell other people about the wave, but they wouldn't care. Unless maybe it was one of my other surfer friends, who would understand the feeling- but even they would say I’m exaggerating. And your friends never see your best waves.

Fighting the resistance!

Step out of your comfort zone

Don't quit your day job - unless you want to. You can follow your passion without doing so.

But don’t allow yourself to drift.

 

You will experience resistance when you fight against the drift.

 

Don't wind up on your death bed wondering . . . 

"What if I would have just tried . . . ?"

Susan Boyle- not drifting, fighting the resistance

© Copyright Jack Clune 2020

I Can't Live Up To The Size XXL Shirt I Just Bought

I gotta lose weight

Antoine Da cunha on Unsplash

Romantic Getaway, COVID-19 style

My wife Tracy and I are getting ready for a short weekend getaway trip for our 16th Anniversary. We’re also visiting friends who are having a BBQ for their son, who is going away to college.

Because it is 2020, we’ll be wearing facemasks on the airplane, and we’re flying into an area that was decimated by wildfires. “Romantic Getaway” COVID-19 style!

The hotel gave us a significant discount just to thank us for coming, so we didn't even have to use our AAA benefits.

. . .

A new shirt for the trip

I’ve worn pretty much the same Dri-FIT exercise clothes every day since about mid-March. So when Tracy said she was going shopping and would I like her to pick me a new shirt for the trip, I said, “sure.”

Even though I wear elastic-waisted workout shorts every day, I haven’t actually had a chance to exercise since the pandemic began.

“What size are you now?” Tracy asked, somewhat witheringly, and really overemphasizing the word ‘now.”

Actually, it was a pretty good question. There were whole swaths of shirts in my closet that I’ve subconsciously avoided trying on in the last few weeks. I know they won’t fit, or they’ll fit tight.

“I’m an XL. You know that!” I said, jocularly.

Tracy did not laugh. She looked me up and down. Then she rolled her eyes and walked away.

That got me to thinking.

. . .

It took me a while just to get used to being an XL

I’ve often marveled at the fact that I am an XL shirt size. I don’t feel like an XL. I look around, and there seem to be so many bigger and chubbier guys than me stumbling around. What size do they wear, if I’m an XL? 8XL?

But I’ve temporarily had a potbelly the last few years which threw the whole sizing thing off. Tracy reminds me that I have skinny legs and no butt. But the belly throws the sizing thing askew, and that’s why I go XL on the shirts.

I say temporarily, because any day now, I am going to go back on the Atkins diet. Yes, long before there was Keto, Paleo, and all these other rip-off diets, there was the Atkins Diet. It seems like nobody gives Dr. Atkins the credit he is due anymore, except Rob Lowe.

. . .

I need to get back on the Atkins diet

I did the Atkins diet hardcore for two years in a row, about 15 years ago, and I really trimmed down. I got thrown off track, however, when Boston Market went into bankruptcy and closed down most of their locations. Up until then, I was eating Boston Market’s chicken (taking the skin off, sometimes) and creamed spinach two or three times a day.

I’d also go to Costco and eat the hot dogs without the bun, or drive through Jack-in-the-Box and eat the Supreme Bacon Cheeseburger, also without the bun.

“Dude, you’re diet is horrible,” my jealous friends told me.

“All I’m doing is eating all the same stuff I ate before without the bun. And I’ve lost 12 pounds,” I’d say, popping another Altoid. Your breath can get pretty intense eating all that protein.

I was giving Rob Lowe a run for his money. It sucked when Dr. Atkins himself died of a massive coronary.

The problem with the Atkins diet is if you slip and have just one french fry, potato chip, or piece of garlic bread, it’s over. That french fry becomes the best tasting french fry you ever had in your life. You immediately slip into a carb binge. You wake up two days later in a parking garage, surrounded by carbs.

. . .

Tracy texts and calls me from the clothing store

Tracy texted me two photos from the store.

“This one’s a Large, and this one is an XL,” said the text with photos of two shirts.

Tracy liked the patterns on these Hawaiian-style shirts. One had hot dogs on it, and the other had bananas.

“The one shirt shows what you eat every day, and the other shows what you drive me — bananas,” Tracy said.

Hardy har har, I thought. Tracy was not “getting the vibe” of the type of shirts I like. Nonetheless, I told her to bring them home, and I would try them on.

. . .

The “Grand Theft Auto look” I invented and everyone stole

A few years back, I went on a Hawaiian shirt kick. When it comes to fashion, I get an idea in my head, and I really beat it into the ground. I decided I wanted to dress like the characters in the videogame Grand Theft Auto (“GTA”).

GTA

It was back when there were GTA advertisements on T.V. The commercials showed car thief criminal characters running wild through a Los Angeles landscape. The characters wore white sneakers, jeans, and sleazy Hawaiian shirts. I don’t know why this look appealed to me so much. These fashion whims just sort of come to me sometimes, and I go with them. Before this GTA phase, it was safari shirts with epaulets.

I wore jeans, Adidas Stan Smiths, and the sleaziest Hawaiian shirts I could find. That became my uniform for the past few years. We were on the Disney Cruise one year, and the entertainment director called me out on my outfit while Tracy and I were performing on “The Dating Game” in the pub in front of all the parents who were relaxing away from their children.

“Look at the outfit on this one! Nobody dresses like this anymore,” said the British lady host, pointing at me and trying to get a laugh. “Who are you supposed to be, Magnum P.I.?” The crowd roared laughing.

The next day on the pool deck, I was looking at my phone and Dolce and Gabbana, and all the other fashion designers had stolen my idea and were using my GTA look in their shows.

Don’t worry. I got that British entertainment director back good. That’s a different story.

These hot dog and banana prints Tracy was picking out, however, were too cutesy, and not sleazy enough. But I humored Tracy and said bring them home, and I’ll try them on.

. . .

The fashion show at home

I tried on the XL shirt with the bananas print, and the shoulders fit and the length was good. But it looked like there was a watermelon pushing out from the middle of the shirt. And the bottom did sort of hang a little bit like a maternity dress.

I walked out to the garage where Tracy was working out in the home gym.

“Oh God, that’s horrible,” said Tracy, before I could get a word out. “How did the XL fit?” she asked.

“This is the XL,” I said.

“Oh, Jesus. Turn sideways,” said Tracy

I saw myself in the big home gym mirror. It did not look so good.

“I guess it’s not that bad. You might be able to wear that,” said Tracy. “Just don’t turn sideways when we’re at the BBQ.”

Back in the man cave, I tried on the L sized shirt- just for fun. I got my arms through the shoulders, but I could barely get it buttoned. I gave up and let it hang loosely unbuttoned.

I turned to the mirror above the tufted leather couch. I looked like Robert Plant at the height of Led Zeppelin, when he wore those little girlie half shirts. I looked like Robert Plant if he had a big pot belly.

. . . 

Take these shirts back, please

Tracy took both the XL bananas shirt and the L hot dog shirt back to the store.

“Do you want me to see if they have any good XXL shirts?” Tracy asked.

This was the moment of truth. Was I going to take that next step on the evolutionary chain? The classical music from 2001 A Space Odyssey played in my head.

“Sure. Send me a photo if there’s an XXL you think I’d like,” I said. As soon as I said it, the music in my head switched to the Baby Elephant song.

Tracy got to the store, and the texts started coming. The first was a photo of a really cool bright pink shirt. It was sobering to see the XXL on the label inside the shirt.

I was in the middle of a Zoom meeting for work. My face on the screen looked so pink and blotchy, I was playing with all the Zoom settings to see if there was something wrong with my computer camera.

Everybody else in the meeting’s face seemed normal complexion, except mine. My face seemed really, really red. In fact, I was already researching Rosacea on the Mayo Clinic site on my second computer screen. That’s when Tracy’s text of the pink shirt came in. The shirt was kinda sleazy and right up my alley, but . . .

The Author (XXL)

“I like it. But I don’t think that hot pink it will complement my complexion,” I texted back.

Tracy sent me a photo of a second shirt. This one was white, with wispy black palm fronds on it. It seemed pretty simple and elegant.

The Author (XXL)

“Sure, bring that one home.”

. . .

Graduating up to the XXL shirt

Tracy put the shopping bag down on the kitchen counter and pulled out the XXL shirt.

“Oh my God. It’s like a bedspread!” I chortled.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, ‘Chubs. Sometimes when I hold up your shirts in the laundry room, I feel like I’m folding duvet covers,” said Tracy.

I grabbed the shirt from her hand and took it back to the man cave. After some mental preparation, I put the XXL shirt on over the Dri-FIT I was wearing.

The XXL shirt fit like a glove. It was twice as comfortable as the XL. Oh my God. I’m an XXL.

I walked back to the kitchen and showed Tracy.

“It’ll probably shrink once you wash it I said,” twisting and posing side to side.

“I hope it doesn’t shrink too much,” said Tracy. “It fits perfectly right now.”

. . . 

Getting used to my new XXL life

I had to go to the grocery store later that day. As I masked-up and walked to get the shopping cart, I looked around to see if there were any other XXL guys around.

Just then, as I was crossing to the front of the store, a lifted truck came barreling towards me, running over two speed bumps without slowing the slightest bit. I jumped back and let the truck go past.

I saw the big angry guy driving the truck, with his arm hanging out the window, and it was obvious he wears XXL or larger. He had Oakley Blades on, a baseball hat backwards, and a Fu Manchu mustache. He had a really big and burly wife or girlfriend in the front seat, and you could tell she was just as grumpy as he was. She was drinking a Big Gulp and had a bandanna on. She probably wore XXL too.

The driver “mad-dogged” me, staring at me the whole time as he tore past me. Then he was gone.

Man, if I’m going to be wearing XXL, maybe I need to start acting like that guy, I thought.

. . .

Trying to “fit” in

When I got home from the store, I went online, and I started shopping for things to fit my new XXL life. I went on Amazon and started looking for some of the items that I thought I might need.

I browsed for a leather knife holder that would fit on my belt. Then I shopped for obnoxious wrap-around blade sunglasses, the kind that guys with Mullet haircuts wear. I checked out the cowboy boots too. Expensive.

Maybe I should have a toothpick in my mouth all the time, I thought.

Then it dawned on me.

I’m not really cut out for this XXL thing. I can’t pull this off, nobody is going to believe it. For chrissakes, my dad drove a Jaguar XJS, and had a man purse. I myself leased two Miatas, and still wished I had one.

I went back to the grocery store and headed straight to the meat aisle. I bought a bunch of protein- hot dogs, chicken, and steak. I picked up some creamed spinach and walked right past the bread aisle without even stopping. At the register, I grabbed a tin of Altoids.

Back home I looked at myself in the home gym mirror.

I gotta lose weight.

© Copyright 2020 Jack Clune 

I'm Practicing "Mindful Eating" Now

It's not as hard as I thought it was going to be

The Author

Mindful eating relies on mindfulness, a form of meditation. Mindful eating is about developing awareness of your experiences, physical cues, and feelings about food. (Healthline)

 

I work from home a lot. With that comes the temptation to eat too much during the course of the day. So I’m trying to be more Zen, and more “mindful” and conscious of what I’m eating.

I’ve actually lost some weight during the Pandemic because we don’t go out to eat much at all. But my clothes are starting to fit strangely. Particularly my T-shirts, around the mid-section (belly). I’m trying to figure out what’s going on.

So yesterday, I kept notes.

Morning

6:45–7:00 am

I woke up in the morning and brewed the coffee. I typically brew enough to make about eight (8) cups. My wife has two (2), so I drink the other six (6), starting from about 8:00 am to 10:00 am.

I should have the yogurt I bought the other day. The mixed berry one that Tracy told me not to buy, because everyone is sick of it, and wants new flavors.

I’ll eat one of those Chobanis. Since nobody else wants it. With the Peanut Butter granola. I’ll put a bunch of that crap on top.

I have a yogurt with Granola and a couple of cups of coffee.

9:00 am

I bought all those eggs. And that bag of Kraft shredded mixed cheeses. I should make an omelet.

I go into the kitchen and put the frying pan on the stove. I put a quarter stick of butter in the pan to melt. I mix three eggs in a bowl and pour the mix into the frying pan. Then I throw a third of the bag of mixed cheese on top. I toast three pieces of Dave’s Killer Whole Wheat Bread and use another quarter stick of butter on those suckers.

I pour a big glass of milk and go watch part of “First Take” on ESPN. I have two (2) more cups of coffee.

11:30 am

Last week was National Hot Dog Day. We didn’t even celebrate. I’ve got the Sabrett’s hot dogs. They go bad fast if you don’t eat them.

“Tracy, d’ya think Son #1 wants hot dogs?” I ask.

“I don’t know. Probably. He’s in his remote Honors Geometry class until noon,” Tracy says, annoyed, working on some huge house project.

I better make a bunch of those hot dogs so they don’t go bad, I think to myself.

“I’m gonna make a bunch of those hot dogs. So they don’t go bad.” I say out loud.

“Whatever,” says Tracy.

“Last week there was National Hot Dog day. We missed it. You want one?” I ask.

“No! You can’t eat hot dogs every single day. Well, I guess YOU can,” says Tracy. I hear her mutter “Buffoon” under her breath.

I make six hot dogs in buns. Two (2) for me, and four (4) for Son #1, and Son #2. I use Grey Poupon mustard, relish, and I eat half a bag of Ruffles Family Size potato chips. I have to throw out an old jar of Dill pickles.

Afternoon

1:15 pm

I just finished a bunch of work.

I deserve a treat.

I eat three (3) Pepperidge Farm Milano Cookies, with a glass of milk (non-fat).

I watch part of the old version of “Cape Fear” on TCM.

Robert Mitchum is a badass.

3:30 pm

I just finished some more work. I go to the refrigerator.

I tear open the Prosciutto. I eat two slivers, and go back to the man cave and wash it down with a Cherry Coke (mini) from my refrigerator that looks like a Marshall Stack Amplifier.

Me Again

4:45 pm

I got enough work done today. I’m gonna go sit in the jacuzzi.

'Hello It's Me," - Todd Rundgren

I load up my backpack that has a cooler in the bottom with three or four Snapples, and some ice packs.

I drink three Snapples. Two (2) Diet Tropa-A-Rockas and one (1) Lemon.

Uh-oh. I can’t read the trivia under the Snapple caps without reading glasses anymore.

Dusk

6:15 pm

I gotta cook that Ribeye Steak I bought yesterday. So it doesn’t go bad, I think to myself.

I get out of the jacuzzi and go to the kitchen. Using a large BBQ fork, I stab some holes in a potato and put it in the oven to bake for two hours at 400 degrees.

At 7:25 pm I get out of the jacuzzi again and turn on the grill in the backyard, to cook the steak.

Evening

8:15 pm

I eat a grilled Ribeye Steak slathered with olive oil and Montreal Steak seasoning, mushrooms sautéed with a half stick of butter, and a baked potato with butter, sour cream, and chives.

8:45 pm

A little dessert never hurt anyone, I think to myself.

I eat three Brownie Bites, with a glass of milk.

9:30 pm

I have bottled water. A mini one.

Yep, Me.

© Copyright 2020 Jack Clune