WHAT ARE YOU?

What Are You?

Many years ago I read a story that describes the eating habits of most people in the world. Unfortunately, I can't remember who wrote it, but it stuck in my mind as something very true.
The author's theory was that everyone fits in to one of the categories mentioned below:

1. A THIN/THIN (T/T)=Someone who doesn't really think about food much. Kind of eats when they are hungry and usually eats well. This type generally maintains a good weight throughout their lives.

2. A THIN/FAT (T/F)= Someone who thinks about food a lot, but controls themselves in order to maintain a healthy weight. Weight is a life long struggle for them.

3. A FAT/FAT (F/F)= This is someone who thinks about food all the time and eats whatever they want at any time they want. This group never maintains a healthy weight and doesn't seem to care.

4. A FAT/THIN (F/T)= Someone who really doesn't care that much for food, but eats all the wrong stuff and becomes fat in the process. There a lot of people in this category

In the article that I read, the writer explained that he was a THIN/FAT and described what it was like to work with a THIN/THIN. It seems that he was working on a very important project with a T/T and he had eaten a good breakfast and was moving along a a great speed until about 1:00 o'clock when he started to think about lunch. This thinking about lunch started to interfere with his work. He noticed that his colleague, the T/T, was working away with no thought about lunch at all. Sheepishly the T/F asked if they shouldn't break for lunch. The T/T said, "Yes, if you want". Well of course he wanted. That was all he could think about being a T/F. The colleague said that he had some menus in the office and that maybe they should order in. Great idea thought T/F. They both began looking at the menus, with the T/T not seeming to be interested at all, while the T/F looked at every item fantasizing how would enjoy each thing on the list. He finally decided on a modest, healthy sandwich, tuna fish with lettuce and tomato and mayo on whole wheat bread. However, the T/T didn't choose anything. He just said, "Get me anything, anything that you think is good".

After some minutes the food came. At this time it was about 2:00 o'clock and the T/F was famished, couldn't think of anything else but eating. The T/T was happily working, not really thinking about anything but the work at hand. "Devoured the sandwich", was what author described in the story, savoring every last bite. Satisfied at last, he was ready to begin work save for one problem. When he looked down he noticed that the T/T had only taken few bites out of his sandwich. Now for any self respecting T/F this is a real problem. After eating his sandwich, he couldn't think of any else but the half eaten sandwich of his partner staring him right in the face, ruining his afternoon of work.

I don't know about you but I am a T/F sometimes bordering on a F/F. I know exactly what the author was going through. I have been in that situation many times. In fact, I've decided that I hate T/Ts. Some of my best friends and relatives are T/Ts, but they drive me crazy.

What are you?

Pony Time

The way I look at relationships is simple---“If you want the Pony you have to shovel the merda“. As you know, ponies come in all sizes, shapes and genders. For example, I have a female pony, but on the other hand my wife has a male pony. They both have one thing in common, they leave a trail of manure wherever they go. Now these ponies can end up having little ponies--ponettes so to speak. With these ponettes comes a whole new load and the need for a bigger shovel.

I, for example, have kept my shovel small, but there are times when I have to shovel feverishly to kept the stable clean with the pony that I have. One of the more stressing possibilities in life is that your pony will come with a mare and a stallion. Mine came with just a mare. This requires a lot more shoveling, but it is worth it if it keeps the pony happy. After all, when the pony is happy you are happy.

Real happiness comes when you interact closely with the pony. Oh the sheer joy of it. Of course, some one who interacts closely with all the ponettes and the mare and stallions will generate so much manure that it could require a front end loader to clean up.

Speaking of front end loaders, there are times, even with the calmest pony, that you may need this. They are not inexpensive to rent. For example in New York City, where I live, there are a lot of front end loaders for rent. They generally run anywhere from $200 to $300 an hour. They are well worth it, especially if the pile gets too high and smelly .

There are many people today who do not want a pony and I can understand this. Having a pony when you don’t have a shovel can be very difficult or, as is the case with many people, they are just too busy cleaning up their own manure to be bothered with someone else’s. This is fine. It is their choice. Many people feel that they must have a pony with all the ponettes, even if they don’t have a good shovel. This is a mistake. Things are changing however and many many more people are ponyless these days. This is a good thing.


One of the saddest things though is when you lose your pony, either through death or due to the fact that your shovel is broken and the guy who rents front end loaders tells you there is too much manure, even for his equipment. Even though this happens, remember you can always buy a new bigger stronger shovel and find a new pony.

Happy shoveling Ragazzi!!!!

Size Matters

SIZE, (OR THE LACK OF IT) REALLY DOES MATTER


It seems as if the older one gets the more relative things become. What do I mean? Well lets look at my writing skills for example. When I was in school, in the 50’s I was considered a very bad writer. I mean I couldn’t spell, I couldn’t construct a sentence and my written papers always came back to me the same color as my hair--RED. As time progressed, through the 60’s, 70’s and 80’s, my writing seemed to get better. Or was it that everyone else’s got so much worse. I mean relative to the general population my writing isn’t so bad after all. As time moves on, I get better, relative to the general population. If I live to 100 I should be a great writer. Something to look forward to, I guess.

Now, let’s look at size. At age 4 ½ I entered Kindergarten, weighing in at about 60 pounds. The teacher told my mother I was the biggest kid they had ever weighed in. By the time I reached 12 years old I was 6’ tall and 200 pounds--biggest kid in the school. I remember clearly my first day in High School, the football coach saw me in the hallway and asked me how much I weighed. I naively said 220 pounds. His response was get to football practice after school and get a varsity uniform. Yep, 14 years old 6’2” 220 pounds. The term they used for me was “husky”. I hated that term. All my friends would go to the normal section of the store to buy clothes. I had to go to the “husky” section. My mother would grin ear to ear. “Yes, my Bobby’s a bigga boy”.

As I said about my writing, everything is relative. Six, two, 220 pounds at 14? That’s a girl nowadays. I mean have you ever been to the mall? Husky? Nobody’s called husky anymore. They are just plain FAT. Not fat like I was, grotesquely fat. Entire families of mammalian proportion. Stomachs that protrude so far that the only way they can see their genitals is by using a mirror. So fat, that you see them coming around a corner a minute before their full bodies come in view. So fat, that their ankles are the same size as their thighs. So fat, that they can only wear expandable clothes with draw string pants.

Sam, who is married to my niece, posits that the mirror business must be one of the worse American businesses to be in today. He figures that these people can’t have mirrors in their houses. Either that, or relative to the guy next door they are svelte. Picture one of these behemoths, getting up in the morning, looking into the mirror and exclaiming, “ Oh boy, let’s see now, what color sweat pants should I wear today?”. Somehow I don’t see it.

Funny? No it’s not funny, it is serious. We have an epidemic in this country and it is killing us slowly. Linda just had two hips replaced and I can not tell you how bad her co-recoverants were. Ninety percent of them were obese. The same amount were diabetics. What health care costs do we incur in this country because of this “post husky” epidemic? In the rehab center, where she currently goes 3 times a week, they have extra wide chairs so these leviathans can sit comfortably.


Politically correct? Every doctor should say to each of these grossly obese individuals, that they cannot treat them unless they lose 100 pounds, because, in fact, they cannot treat them unless they lose 100 pounds. Any thing else is a charade--taking good money that can be used in more curative ways.

I used to think that the reason for this extreme weight gain in the American population was because we eat more and do less. Although this is partly true, I now feel that it is the food itself. The fact that food is less nourishing now means that you have to eat more of it to be satisfied. I am not smart enough to know the answer, but I am observant enough to know the problem.

I figure that these families need bigger cars to propel them from Mac Donald’s to MacDonald‘s. Not only that, but the cars need extra fuel to move the 400, or so, extra pounds that they have to carry on each trip. Let’s say that every family lost 400 pounds. The savings in gas would be tremendous. I think it’s worth a try.

But getting back to the relativity question; I still am about 6’2’ 220 to 230, but relative to the general population, I’m about average. Using this same logic, does that mean that I will become good looking some day? Hope springs eternal.

Depressed Uncle

I used to think I was the master of my family--the reddest hair, the most traveled, the best teacher, the best Italian speaker, the best writer and, the one I thought I would never lose, the best public speaker. Slowly but surely all these things are being stripped from me. My nephews, nieces and great nephews, nieces travel the world over; and one of them speaks better Italian than me, etc., etc. However, the cruelest of all came yesterday. My nephew Alan, who served as the Master of Ceremonies for his deceased sister-in-law’s “Celebration of Life“, wrote and delivered a eulogy that bests anything I’ve ever done.

Life is certainly unkind. I guess the old man should just slink away in a corner somewhere and let the younger ones take over.