"She was so fat that when I took her to the Empire State Building airplanes started to attack her."
- Rodney Dangerfield

"My old man carried pictures of the kid who came with the wallet."
- Rodney Dangerfied

"Kids says the darndest things."
- Art Linkletter

July 7th, 2002

It's summer.

The air is clean (for New Jersey), the sky is blue (for New Jersey), and the temperature is warm (for New Jersey). My dogs are enjoying this time as they get to run around in the field across the street and roll in the grass. My wife is outside getting some color. Things are nice outside. Even as I type this rant, I can hear the birds chirping outside.

It's charming.

Of course on the flip side of all of this, my sinuses are killing me. The field across the street has a plentiful amount of pollen which keeps me sneezing and the manufacturers of Allegra rich. The sun seems to be a bit too bright for someone who is used to wearing his non-tinted glasses ninety per cent of the time.

I remind myself that there are going to be only a couple more summers like this one before the ozone layer is completely depleted and we all will have to wear sun block the equivalent of latex paint just to go outside. So, keep using those spray cans folks! I stay inside on days like this one and view from a distance. It helps me keep my youthful, mackerel underbelly white, skin glow. I kid, of course. My Italian/Sicilian/Irish genes keep me resistant to sunburns as well as any kind of healthy tan. It takes a lot of sun to do anything to me. I either burn or I don't.

I have yet to go swimming this season. But it is something that I rarely do anyway. We live about 10 minutes from the beach and there is plenty of opportunity for me to go but I just don't do it. I don't know why. I don't think I've been in a pool of water in 3 years. This is contrary to how I grew up but everyone changes to some extent. I guess I'll go back someday. But in the meantime, I don't see any rush to do it.

Yesterday, my wife and I went to a barbecue. This event has been held for the last couple of years and my wife and I are always invited but have not gone until this year. And they have been great parties. It's thrown by a podiatrist and his wife and they invite all of their friends. The podiatrist's wife grew up across the street from where I grew up and I have known the family all of my life. My wife works in the dental practice in the same building as the doctor. So, this event is personal and professional. My wife was pretty certain that she'd meet up with her bosses and some of her co-workers and I was sure I'd see most of the people I grew up with as well.

I knew that everything was going to be fun. I'm easy to please. If you give me good company, good music, good food, and some beer, I'll be happy. I decided to go and wear some fun clothes. My gray T-shirt read "PATIENT" on the front and "DEPT. OF MENTAL HEALTH" on the back. I had my 2001 Yankee American League champion baseball hat on and a new pair of Baja beach shorts on. Earlier in the day, I was making my physical assessment of myself and knew I had to head back to the gym soon for some serious working out. But, it being July, and barbecue weather, I opted not to be too hard on myself. A couple of extra pounds wouldn't be too bad.

I thought that for at least a good half hour at the barbecue. Not bad…not really bad. I'll go to the gym on Monday and begin a serious regimen again. I've been out of sorts lately and have had problems getting back on track. 3 weeks of poison ivy plus 9 days of a summer flu, well, I couldn't be too hard on myself. I'll even make myself a new cardio music tape for the machines. Maybe, I'll even diet a little afterward.

I'm such a neurotic.

In any event, we got to the party fashionably late. I brought some sautéed onions and mushrooms for burger topping and a 12 pack of Coors Light. "Never come empty handed" is what my parents taught me. I almost made a quiche but I thought that would be too much. My wife saw her bosses and a co-worker of hers. I saw the people I grew up with and all was well….until..

I had my first pint of beer fresh from the tap. It was a Budweiser, the king of beers, reminicent of Clydesdale horses and fraternity parties. The buffet spread was impressive and they just started to serve the food. I went up to the spread with one of my wife's bosses and his 3-year old son. The smell of outdoor cooking, hamburgers, hot dogs, sausage & peppers was heavenly. I was thinking that today was going to be a carnivore delight day. I was going to have meat and lots of it. I was going to experiment with how many types of barbecue sauce I could have in one day.

Would it be too much to have spare ribs and a sausage & pepper sandwich in one sitting? Would there be any conflict in the symphony of flavors I was going to experience? Should I put ketchup on my burger first of should I go for my own sautéed onions instead? What would the true barbecue connoisseur do? There are just sometimes you have to live for the moment.

I grabbed a paper plate and mentally organized my plan of attack.

As I was making plans to load up on the sausage & peppers, the three-year-old turned and knocked on my stomach to hear an echo. In a clear, crisp, un-three-year-old voice said, "YOU'RE FULL!"

I smiled. I smiled the smile of the "oh how cute", adult. Funny. That was juuuuust charming. I said to my wife's boss, "Aren't kids just wonderfully frank and honest? Ha-ha-ha."

In actuality, my mind was on physics.

Yes, physics. I was thinking how much PSI torque would it take to snap a three-year-old neck. As the cartilage was still relatively new and somewhat pliable, would I need to twist 180 degrees or should I have to go up to the 270 degree angle? I was in a culinary heaven and it took exactly two syllables to shoot me down. I have to appreciate, at some level, the amount of genius this child had. If I had specifically set out to create complete and totally havoc with a vain, neurotic, ranter, I could not have chosen a better way to do it.

This child had potential. Someday, with a little more nurturing and practice, he could be as evil as me.

"YOU'RE FULL!" He hit my stomach in such a way that it made a hollow thump. I heard it. It had an echo.

Only a couple of thoughts came to mind afterward. This was not going to stop me from my buffet attack plan (it didn't). This was going to put a damper on future trips to the line (it did). And most of all, this new story, I knew, was going to stick and last for several years.

It took about a half hour for the little anecdote to round the party and get back to me again. This wasn't going away. And I had no Pepcid AC anywhere near me. Somewhere in the back of my mind there was a small man looking up what to do in a situation like this. He pulled a small file that said "have a beer and keep em coming."

Well, that plan didn't work. Normally, it would. Beer - the great equalizer. As Homer Simpson has said, "Is there any problem it can't solve?" Because I stacked up on my buffet plate - which was pretty high - beer, at this point, just made me feel bloated. My body, in this case, decided to pace itself. I wasn't getting wasted. Oh joy.

The story got back to me, at least, seven times. I knew it was going to linger around my wife's office for a while longer, for a couple of months, minimum. Not that I minded. I was quite used to the taste of crow and have had many servings in the past. Crow tastes best when eaten quickly with a smile. No cooking time need be applied.

But for me, it was a nasty little reminder that at my age, I can't slack off anymore when I work out. This was a never ending battle of the bulge. I had to make sure I was going to keep exercising and watching what I ate. Calories have no sense of occasion and don't take off for holidays or vacation. Your body doesn't know that Independence Day barbecues are not supposed to count. Your waist size gets bigger nonetheless. Somewhere in my 36 year old body, I have to find the energy and strength to keep my routine going, regardless of work.

Oh well.

Gym on Monday. Diet on Monday.