BMI (Body Mass Insanity) By Charlie Melton

Epiphany: A sudden realization, an intellectual breakthrough. Figuring something out after a long time of not trying to figure it out.

I had an epiphany. I have them pretty often now that I’m in full-on Geezer mode. I frequently have inspirational thoughts while eating pie when the flaky crust and sugary filling piques my blood sugar, which would make it a “pi-epiphany”. I have a theory that I’m most creative when my AIC is over 6.8, but more about that later.

Here’s my brainstorm: I have been on a diet pretty much all of my life. Scientist would say that I have a BMI (Body Mass Index) that’s too large. My Grandma would say I’m healthy. I’m so healthy I can’t see my toes. Over my lifetime I’ve probably lost a ton of fat and hair, or more.

Here’s the thing; I’m still fat. If I hadn’t dieted I’d be fat. Maybe I’d be so fat I’d be dead, but then I wouldn’t be here to talk about it.

When I was about 13 and discovered girls (they’d been unknown to science before then) I decided I wasn’t good enough at my current weight so I lost pounds. As I recall, I lost weight by cutting down on the bacon and Captain Crunch cereal. I lost the weight but I still wasn’t good enough for the girls, so in retrospect my efforts were wasted. I was effectively planning a party nobody was going to attend, so to speak.

As a teen I didn’t have to lose weight to get in the military because I had a “job” that consumed calories via “forced labor”. I entered the Air Force slim and gave that up pretty quickly. When I discovered SOS and never-ending donuts, bacon and sausage I forgot about losing weight. Then the Air Force leadership decided to lead.

Some sadist decided that Air Force mechanics had to maintain weight and fitness standards. It was all part of the “fly-fight-win” junk the ne’er-do-well officers came up with. Anyone with half a Twinkie knows the real mission was “eat, nap, repeat”. Anyway, due to the officers meddling in grown-ups business, we had to start weighing in. The standards were ridiculous. I spent a full week before each weigh-in preparing. I went to the base gym for my special workout. Each BMI reduction cycle was 15 minutes on the stair stepper, 15 minutes in the sauna, and 15 minutes watching the ladies aerobics class. The I repeated each cycle until the gym closed. I could lose 15 pounds in a week.

We were also allowed a 3 pound deduction for our uniforms. I whittled my uniform down to 2 pounds by cutting my pockets out, wearing thin socks, and leaving the t-shirt, belt, and lunch box at home. It was all very scientific. It only took 2 days, 3 visits to the chow hall, and a gallon of sweet tea to gain it all back. I figure over the span of my career I lost the equivalent of a larger person or three.

Speaking of losing larger persons, take my ex-wives. Please. Part of my fitness scheme reflected my marital status. When I thought the relationship was going well, I gained weight well. When the relationship was going poorly, I gained weight poorly. After every divorce, of which there were several, I lost about 50 pounds. I didn’t really plan that weight loss, it just happened. Now that I think about it, maybe it was subconscious. I spent a lot of money on lawyers, so maybe I subconsciously compensated by not buying food. Yeah, that’s it. As a matter of fact, I bet that my current Body Mass Index reflects that I’m secure in my marriage. Because I’m secure in my marriage I don’t have to pay a lawyer and I can buy the good vittles.

Maybe I’m off base there (pun intended). Each time I retire, which currently totals 3 times, my income goes down but my weight goes up. Now I’m really confused. It’s almost like my activity level influences my weight, even though that can’t be true. I recently lost 75 pounds of which I recovered about 30 pounds, so far. During that flux, I’ve stayed active. I still brew my coffee and work the remote control with abandon. I still walk all of the way to the truck when I go to the diner. It just doesn’t make sense.

Perhaps I have one of those weird metabolisms that convert unused food energy to fat. I bet my genome is set to “astronomically high BMI” so that I can survive worldwide famines and messy divorces. Maybe, just maybe, I’m like I’m supposed to be. I’m “working as advertized”.

Now I feel better and can end this Body Mass Insanity. I can concentrate on more important things, like pie and Netflix.

Fini.

Catch Charlie daily wherever fine pies are sold. Stayed tuned for his upcoming Podcast, “The life of pie”, or “My most unforgettable cobbler”.

Phone Stupid By Charlie Melton

I feel like I’ve told you this before, and in a way I have. It’s the same sort of stuff over and over. A while back I told you how my Grandson “accidently” punched his TV because he was mad. The truth came out that he really punched to see if he could break it, and he could. I wrote about the multiple days, multiple miles, and multiple nerve pills it took to get the TV replaced with the “Easy, No Risk, Breakage Warranty”. I swore I wasn’t going through that again. The kid thought I was stupid for being upset about it. After all, I have no purpose in life than to clean up after him.

I just went through that and more, but this time it was with a phone. I’m upset because, I’m stupid.

A couple of years ago we got the boy a phone. While it was an iPhone, it was the cheapest Apple device ever made. I think it was the coal powered steam-punk phone. He survived and successfully followed the “US Grandparents Code of Phone Rules” He did well except for when he used it on Facechat and offered green cards to random Russian women. I think the term for that is “Catfishing” but I can’t be sure, because, once again, stupid.

Since he did well and ICE never called us, we upgraded him to an iPhone X. That’s a fancy moniker for $780 we’ll never see again, but hey, I live to serve him. We bought him an expensive high-dollar impact-resistance phone case. The rule was that the phone never, ever, under any circumstances, came out of the case. As added insurance we bought the “added insurance”. All of these add-ons brought us up to around $1,000, or a month’s pie allowance. I was happy to get it for him, because, I’m stupid.

So about a minute into the new phone, we inexplicably removed the phone from the case. We showed our friends the phone out of the case and pretended to throw it. Then, we dropped it and broke it

After my blood pressure went below the danger zone I started the process of getting it replaced by the added insurance. Question #1 was “Is the front glass broken?” I answered yes, and found that was a $39 fee to get it replaced. I was angry and told the boy he was paying it out of his allowance. Question #2 was “Is the back glass broken?” I didn’t even know a phone has a back glass, but I looked and it does, and it was shattered. When I answered yes the fee went up to $200. I had to take a long peaceful walk because, I’m stupid.

Two days later, and $200 poorer, we got the replacement iPhone. After completing his remedial phone training we were good again, or so I thought. Then again, I’m stupid.

A few days later the Grand-kid decided to put his phone up early in the evening. I should have been suspicious. When he didn’t grab it the first thing in the morning I knew something was wrong. Even though I’m stupid, I got him to admit that he dropped the phone in the warm, soapy tub and it stopped working.

After cooling my temper with an even longer walk and significant time in the Bible, I started working on the phone. The company says that it’s waterproof but nobody told the phone. Two days with the phone in dry rice didn’t repair it. I contacted the “added insurance” company and they sent us a new phone, no charge.

We got phone number 3, which worked. My head still throbbed a bit, but things were OK. I followed return instructions and put the bad phone in the pre-paid mailer. It said to put it in a mailbox, and I did because, I’m stupid. Luckily I took a picture of the tracking number on the package.

A week later I got a reminder call that I had to return the broken phone. I’d done that, but checked the tracking number to see where the phone was. It was nowhere. It didn’t exist in the mail universe. I called the post office, but they couldn’t help me. Days came and went as I checked the tracking number almost constantly waiting for it to pop up. It didn’t for weeks.

I called the “added insurance” overlords who only knew that I owed them a phone or $780. I appealed to their sense of humanity but I don’t think they have any. I hoped for the best because I’m stupid.

Eventually I did a lost-mail inquiry. A week later it came back that I had to supply more information, which was the stupid color of the stupid phone. I guess they have lots of phones in limbo and they want to make sure they get the correct one. I provided the color and waited for a response.

The lost mail report hasn’t been resolved but somehow the post office in Memphis scanned my package. How it got to Tennessee without leaving Illinois I’ll never know. Three days later the packaged phone was delivered to Nashville, which is like 7 inches from Memphis.

None of this makes sense to me. I don’t know why a teen even needs an expensive phone. I don’t know why a teen won’t guard it like it’s the Holy Grail. I have no idea why packages disappear, only to surface in weird places. I have no idea why it takes a package weeks to go a couple hundred miles. I mean, if I’d walked it to Nashville I could have gotten there and back with time left to get shot and robbed in Memphis.

I don’t understand any of this because I’m stupid.

Incidentally, I’m still waiting on a release from the insurance. This story may never end.

Fini.

Inclusive Celebration of Nothing

Late one night when everything was quiet, on a weird Pacific coast, Christmas was declared public enemy #1. They also learned that white folks are bad. Even writing in capitals is considered “aggressive”. Now my favorite thing in the world is on the chopping block. Wait, pie is my favorite thing and it’s OK for now. Sarcasm, my next favorite thing, is considered verbal violence. Sarcasm has been targeted as violent speech that could make someone get confused or cry. Before sarcasm is outlawed, please follow along. Not that I’m trying to oppress you, if you choose to read along it’s quite alright. You’re in charge of whatever you want to do.

I can’t believe we have to talk about this again. Every winter I have to remind everyone that we rural white cisgender deplorables have got to stop believing anything except our own unworthiness. It’s not acceptable to offend anyone, except for us. We deserve it, because. Just because.

“’Twas the night before Christmas” is a time-honored poem. That’s a problem. Christmas isn’t inclusive, and we have to be inclusive of everyone. What about the Grinch, an obvious victim of years of bullying because his “whiteness” wasn’t showing like the Whoville Christmas racists? How about bad boys and girls? If a child dares to be different from the ruling elite’s ideal they’re labeled as “naughty” They get switches which are violent by design. Even worse, they get vile coal that spews AlGore gases and nasty global warming.

Christmas has to become “Inclusive Celebration of Nothing”, abbreviated as ICON. It’s the only thing that’s fair.

The poem continues, “And all through the house”. Really? How about apartment dwellers? They’re excluded? So we ignore the homeless and nomads in yurts? This is disgusting. Just stop it.

While we’re at it Santa Claus, a.k.a. Saint Nicholas is not acceptable. As a Cisgender Republican white male he’s what privilege looks like. The “saint” in his name is all up into Christianity and the churches will be labeled as hate groups any day now. Even the Ermine fur on the Santa coat is destructive. The poor weasel is trapped and skinned to benefit a fat white NRA member that goes into homes without a warrant or probable cause. To be inclusive we need a transgender, undocumented, non-denominational homeless person of color to be the symbol of ICON. A rainbow hued sustainable hemp suit with glitter will be acceptable to replace the hateful red and white Santa suit.

Reindeer are enslaved and forced to emit greenhouse gases while pulling an unlicensed non-sustainable overloaded un-airworthy vehicle. The sub-species of flying reindeer are extremely rare and making them fly around the world is cruel. It’s as cruel as making horses pull open sleighs. It has to stop. We need to get Tesla or Toyota to provide a Green vehicle to deliver appropriate gifts.

So what do we need? We need an inclusive holiday. Wait, holiday is wrong. It comes from “holy” which would mean someone is unholy, which we can’t imply unless the unholy are white Republican heterosexual NRA members. Let me rethink this.

I’m picturing a library-card-carrying drag queen in a hemp dress. Rue Paul will make it fabulous. He’ll ride in a rainbow colored Prius with the license plate ANTIFA-La-La. Without pre-notification of parents it’ll bring the gift of choice to all children, every old creep that identifies as a child, and boys in dresses. He’ll be good to them regardless of their behaviors. I’m sure he (she) knows that even the most vicious criminals will be nice if we’re nice to them so they get goodies too. Trans-o-Clause can even pick up the guns from white people while out delivering LGBTQIA goodies and great feelings.

We’ll all get behind this. OK, maybe everyone will appreciate this except for the unenlightened Christian white people. They resent using their whiteness to pay for everyone to be included. White exclusion is OK though, because. After all, Scrooge was a white conservative and everyone knows it.

In closing I just want to say “Happy ICON” or “Have a merry Inclusive Celebration of Nothing and to all a good night”. That is, unless you don’t want to have a good night. As long you feel good or however you want to feel. You choose.
Good night. Maybe that’s not inclusive enough. Happy times to you. No, that discriminates against the bi-polar in their depressive phases. I know. How’s this?

“Whatever”. To you and everyone in this ICON season I say “Whatever”.

While we’re at it, I want to apologize. I want to apologize for being a white guy. I want to apologize for being a guy and liking girls, which makes me heterosexual cisgender. That’s different than pansexual which means you really like cooking utensils. I want your forgiveness for expecting people to follow laws and to put forth effort to get things they want. Mostly I want to apologize for the violence of sarcasm. But I’ll never apologize for pie. I draw the line at pie.

Fini.