Stupid Sign, You're Not the Boss of Me

Directly above the scale in my doctor’s office is a nondescript, four-word sign that reads:

Eat Less
Exercise More

Simple enough premise. And perhaps a little pretentious considering the sign never knows who’s reading it at any given time. Nowhere does it say, “If you are more than 30 lbs. overweight,” or “If you are at risk for diabetes,” or “If you get winded tying your shoes.” Instead it prescribes the same regimen to any and all who stand before it.

Eat Less
Exercise More

The nurse taking my weight doesn’t say a word. No comment on whether the number is acceptable, or what I should do before my next visit. No need to; the sign says it all. It practically looms as a wooden, wall-mounted medical expert. One can’t help but feel it’s there to cut the doctor’s work in half, dispensing advice in a sort of drive-thru manner.

“Well, your cholesterol is a little high, but your blood pressure is in check. All in all, things look pretty good. By the way, did you see the sign?” asks the doctor.

“Yes,” I might say.

“Good. Then I think we’re all done here.”

With each visit, I grow increasingly disappointed by my doctor’s decision to display such a sign. In this day and age, it’s just irresponsible. If marketing has taught us anything about health, it’s that if you’re going to “eat less,” you must focus on one item and cut it out of your diet entirely - fat, trans fat, carbs, sugar, salt, red meat, protein, etc. At some point, depending on the latest fad, all of these were acceptable subtractions. To simply “eat less,” however, is rather vague. It doesn’t even answer the question of how many shakes followed by sensible dinners to plan for.

Just as vague and equally unhelpful is the exercise part. How long should I exercise? Seven minutes a day, or eight? Should I enlist the assistance of Chuck Norris, Billy Blanks or Tony Little? How much is too much to pay for a gym membership or the advice of a personal trainer?

Given all the expert nutritional and aerobic information available, this sign has its work cut out for it without the endorsement of Muscle Magazine or the International Diet Institute of South Beach.

I’ve feared for some time now that my physician has let today’s common medical practices pass him by. He’s simply of an older generation that is not up on modern medicine. Who exercises anymore? For that matter, despite all the food fads mentioned earlier, who even diets anymore? Doesn’t weight loss come in pill form now? And eating less while exercising more will only leave me hungry and tired. According to my 18-month-old son, that is not an agreeable condition.

I understand the need for good health, but he should realize what he’s asking. Following this kind of regular routine would require a moderate amount of will power. Even though the sign doesn’t say so, we all know that “eating less” requires eating less things that taste good. No one ever says to cut back on asparagus or eggplant. It’s always cookies and pies and things that make life worth living.

Then there’s exercise, which usually consists of moving followed by sweating. And after enduring a lot of moving and a lot more sweating, I'll be expected to do it all over again a day or so later. Eventually soreness will set in, and maybe even some cramping. Then not only will exercising be painful, but so will all of my other daily activities. As a reward for undergoing all of this, I can treat myself to a nice head of lettuce. Somehow this is supposed to be beneficial?

Frankly, when it comes to what’s best for his patients, I think my doctor has gotten lazy. Guess I could always find a new one. Then again that sounds like a big hassle.

What the Doctor Prescribed

Amidst the presidential election, the fallout of the economy, hurricanes, gas prices, global warming and the return of O.J., the widely-discussed controversy over prescription drugs has recently fallen by the wayside.

By the way, speaking of O.J., there is dumb and then there is “O.J. dumb.” Here’s what I imagine was the last thought running through his head just before he burst into the hotel room in Las Vegas:

“OK Juice, let’s think about this – I’ve been given a pass to live the rest of my life as a free man despite killing two people, so tempting fate by stealing a couple of autographed pictures might not be a good idea. However, surely a jury wouldn’t hold my past crime against me, despite the evidence that there’s no one else on the planet who could have committed those murders, and surely they won’t be bothered by the fact that I’ve spent my free time playing golf and trying to publish books that describe how I committed the crime. I’m completely confident that twelve people could come together and agree to block that out of their heads and focus on this new crime I’m about to commit. Besides, even if they do find me guilty, how much trouble can I get into for kidnapping and armed robbery anyway? I’m gonna do it. I’m O.J. Simpson. I was in Naked Gun, damnit!”

Back to my point – prescription drugs. My wife and I talk regularly about the mass marketing of prescription drugs. Through diligent scientific research (i.e. lazy assumptions), we have concluded that, as a whole, society is probably a little over-medicated.

We try to counterbalance this by not continually driving in and out of pharmacies. For instance, I’m quite sure I have ADD. I would sooner defend O.J. than sit through another Peter Jackson movie. Am I taking anything for it? Nope. Although it’s largely because trained specialists who have spent years studying my behavior (i.e. my wife) typically refer to my condition as “distracted by television.” But whatever. I soldier on.

However, when it comes to being sick, I don’t soldier on and I don’t espouse on the over-medication of society. I want drugs.

Like a couple of weeks ago, when I had a sore throat, severely enflamed tonsils, a non-stop cough, the shakes, a full-body itch, and I was bleeding out of my eyes and ears, I went to see my doctor. Unfortunately, he is a little “old-school” and is against over-medicating his patients during times that I don’t typically agree with – like when I go to see him. Luckily, he did in fact prescribe something for me, but when I told people what it was, the overwhelming response was, “that’s what they give babies.”

This was not encouraging. I am not a baby. Not physically speaking anyway. Well, unless you pinch me really hard. But scientists and anthropologists would not classify someone my size as a baby. OK, maybe I’d qualify as an American-sized baby, but not a Chinese baby or a European baby. The point is, the drug wasn’t strong enough and I was back in his office two weeks later with the same cough.

That surely could have been avoided if my first visit had gone more like I wanted. More like this:

Dr: “So how are you feeling?”

Me: “I think I have a pine cone stuck in my esophagus. What can you give me?”

Dr: “Well, there’s this drug that the FDA has been slow to approve. It’s from Mexico, and it can only be smuggled in under the cover of night. Anyone caught trying to get it across our border will probably spend more time in prison than if they’re caught smuggling heroin. To be honest, it hasn’t even been tested on rats, let alone people.”

Me: “How soon can it get here?”

Dr: “A shipment came in just last night. Now, this is the part of your visit when I always remind you that I’ve only completed the first two years of medical school, so I can’t legally prescribe this to...”

Me: (interrupting) “I’m cool if you are.”

Dr: “Great.”

Look, it’s probably not best for people to take a lot of crap that isn’t completely necessary, but there are times when some hard-core drugs are necessary.

Last year, I had a staph infection in my finger. I didn’t know what it was, but my finger swelled up and turned unusual colors, so I went to an emergency care center. I thought about seeing my regular doctor instead, but not only would I have had to wait for an appointment, I also worried that he would look at it and say, “Go home and dip your finger in a warm cup of tea. With lemon – that part is important. While you’re doing this, be sure to think happy thoughts. It should clear up in 2-3 weeks.”

The emergency care physician did not prescribe tea. He prescribed the good stuff and, sure enough, it cleared up in 2-3 days. Not weeks.

Why is all this important? Because you need to talk to your kids about drugs. Tell them to take something strong and quit coughing on me. Little twerps.

ECON S.O.S.

Regular readers of this site (which currently totals -3 people) know that this is the place to turn for updates on less-prominent news events. If a story was barely covered or even completely ignored by the mainstream media, existing only in the far reaches of cyberspace or sparsely-read no-name newspapers, you will find it here. But only if I have time to find these stories after reporting even more obscure oddities I dig up on my own.

This week is no different. Most of you, no doubt, are completely unaware that the economy is in a downturn. Actually, it’s worse than a downturn. You probably didn’t know that the President went on national television recently to explain how bad it is, saying the U.S. economy is “in the shitter.” Of course, being the President, and being on national television, he didn’t use those exact words. He had the tact and decency to say the U.S. economy is “in the crapper.”

Apparently our economy has committed such an indefensible crime, that the government is required to post a $700 billion “bailout” to get it out of trouble. I’m not sure what kind of underhanded activity constitutes setting bail at $700 billion, but it must have been pretty bad. Public intoxication? Lewd and obscene behavior? Sexual harassment? Jaywalking with your dog off a leash and not picking up its poop?

Our economy must have done all these things simultaneously. Shame on you, economy.

Now the select few that are following this situation are asking, “Should the government bail out the economy?” or “Should they leave it in lockup so it’ll learn its lesson and realize it needs to quit drinking, get off the coke, dump its loser friends, take responsibility of its kids, start respecting the elderly, get a haircut, a nice suit and a steady job?”

The people that support the ‘tough love’ strategy continue to point out an interview the economy gave to the New York Times, before the bottom fell out, where it called Britney Spears a “light weight” and a “line toter.” Ouch.

Naturally no one can agree on what to do or how we got here. Everyone is to blame, from Republicans to Democrats to Independents to the credit lenders to the mortgage institutions to the media to immigrants to Starbucks to Raiders’ owner Al Davis.

And the uncertainty of the future is the most frightening part. Will we all lose our homes? Will we pay $6 a gallon for gas? Are the Mets afraid the playoffs will give them cooties?

I’m not too scared of being impacted personally, but I can’t dismiss the danger altogether. I know from recent experience, for instance, that if the government orders my power turned off, I will not hold up psychologically for more than 2-3 days. Without television, the thought of once again being forced to read or, worse yet, interact with my family is too much to bear.

So let’s hope and pray it doesn’t get to that point. Hang in there, economy. We’re all pulling for you.

Feeling Powerless

Apparently all of my Jim Cantore taunts toward the hurricanes last week were not appreciated, as one of the storm systems decided to offer a little retribution. Despite being at least a nine-day drive from any ocean, Louisville was hit with some of Hurricane Ike’s wind gusts a day after it made landfall, knocking out trees and most of the city’s power. I am now on hour number 121 without electricity.

This means, like every personal matter I tend to, I typed this at work. Even if I had power, I’d still probably have typed this at work, but only after paying some bills, checking my e-mail, checking my fantasy baseball stats, napping, shaving and doing some laundry.

The point is, even if I wanted to do all of those things at home, I couldn’t (except for napping). And it’s not looking like I’ll be able to anytime soon. Local news outlets are reporting that power is slowly being restored by LG&E, which, for those of you who don’t live in this area, stands for “Oh Is Your Power Out? Sucks To Be You.”

When it became apparent that this was not for the short term, I tried telling myself that not having power would be fun because it would be like camping. Then I remembered that camping sucks. Know why? No electricity.

And sleeping indoors without power is even worse than sleeping outdoors because at least while you’re outdoors, you don’t have electricity cruelly taunting you with its nearby light switches, televisions and refrigerators. After five power-free days, I still instinctively flip on the light switch every time I walk into a room, only to hear the switch laugh at me.

“Bwaa Ha Ha Haaaa! Silly human and your light-bulb dependencies,” it mutters mockingly.

But with little else to complain about, and knowing things could be a lot worse, the family and I have made the best of the situation. Without the luxury of TV or the Internet, the creative juices have kicked in and pulled out some exciting new ways to pass the time. For the first three days, we all played a game that I came up with called “Stare at the Living Room Wall.” After mastering that in every way possible, we then hatched a game called “Stare at the Kitchen Wall.”

I’ve tried to explain to my 18-month-old son that this is the way people lived way back when, like during the ‘60s. I don’t think he fully comprehends what’s going on because he usually responds by saying, “crackers” or “pee-pee.” Naturally he’s adjusted much better than my wife and I.

On the flip side, we’ve maintained much better spirits than our neighbors who have power and went less than 24 hours before it came back on. Despite their good fortune, they were shockingly rude and even violent two days ago when we simply stood outside their window and gazed longingly at their TV set. I tried to explain that they didn’t even notice we were there for the first hour, so what was the big deal, but that only bothered them more. So much for being neighborly.

That’s okay, though. We’re gettin’ by. The bathroom wall is just begging to be stared at.

Storm Chaser or Runner Fromer?

Given my excitement for hurricane coverage, the following paragraph from a CNN.com article today caught my attention:

At least one man this week steered his Chevy Tahoe against the stream of traffic, toward the wind-whipped coastline and the target of the storm’s fury.

Believe it or not, the person referenced in the story is not Jim Cantore. Upon further reading, though, it becomes apparent that this man, if you can call him that, is no threat to taking Cantore’s title of Hurricane Ass Kicker. Instead, after overreacting to getting caught in a mild rainstorm a few years ago, this guy merely drives to the expected destination of a hurricane’s arrival, sets up cameras, and then flees like a toddler running from the boogey man.

Click the link above to read the full story, which goes into detail about what he tries to capture with his cameras. Afterward, you might find yourself calling the guy “innovative.” I still call him “wimp.”

Show Me What You Got

This past weekend, like a lot of people, I nervously watched Hurricane Gustav approach New Orleans, hoping and praying against the unusually cruel fate of a city being decimated by two major hurricanes in three years. As the storm dropped from a category 3 to a category 2 just before it hit the coastline, and then to a category 1 as it passed over Louisiana, like a lot of people, I breathed a sigh of relief. Besides seeing that the storm wasn’t nearly as destructive as Hurricane Katrina, I knew that whatever damage the city did sustain, it’d be in much better hands this year given that those running FEMA back in 2005 are now in charge of maintenance at my condo complex.

Even as the drama lessened, however, I couldn’t help but keep watching – partly to be sure the storm wouldn’t suddenly pick up in intensity, but also because, I hate to admit, the media’s coverage of approaching hurricanes is wildly entertaining.

Gone are the days of the rookie weatherman clinging to a tree while the tenured studio reporter, say Ted Koppel, wished him good luck in riding out the storm. Koppel, for instance, didn’t dream of doing on-the-spot hurricane coverage given the worst case scenario was that he wouldn’t make it back, and the best case scenario was that his hair wouldn’t. Now, all the well-recognized, well-compensated reporters stand on the shorelines doing their imitation of Lieutenant Dan on the shrimp boat in Forest Gump.

I first noticed the trend a few years ago, before Katrina’s far-reaching impact, when Florida was hit by 2-3 relatively mild hurricanes/tropical storms within the span of a few weeks. The high-profile reporters from the 24-hour news networks, the major nightly news networks and, of course, the Weather Channel were all over it. Or should I say in it.

Believing that somehow a microphone and a company-issued rain slick were all they needed to protect themselves from the elements, reporters from numerous stations would stand underneath stop lights that were spinning out of control while saying things like, “Local authorities are urging people to stay in their homes and away from downed power lines.” Others stood on the beach, surrounded by massive amounts of electrical equipment, and said, “As you can see behind me, some folks are ignoring the dangers of the storm and are venturing outdoors. They’re really taking a chance by not seeking shelter. I mean, some of these people don’t even have rain slicks.”

During that same season, while hundreds of cars drove away from town on the street behind her, one female reporter was visibly annoyed to announce that the hurricane she was covering had slowed down and would be delayed in coming ashore. Later, another meterologist sustained a storm-related injury while off the air, but once the cameras were rolling again, she acted like she caught the Super Bowl-winning touchdown.

“Catherine, is everything alright?” asked the anchorman.

“Hell yes! I just got hit by debris! I’m going to Disney World!”

But the main attraction was and always will be Jim Cantore from the Weather Channel. This weatherman/fullback/hurricane pugilist has devoted his life to covering hurricanes, at least those that still have the guts to come ashore after seeing him stand in their path. I actually didn’t see Cantore much during the Gustav coverage, but that’s probably because he doesn’t waste his time with anything less than a category four. During those times when Cantore does get the itch to see what a hurricane is made of, he’s been seen leaving a boring, weakly-pounded section of beach to find a stronger stretch of the storm. Luckily, he keeps the cameras rolling while en route, and even ups the ante by riding in the back of a pickup truck and delivering his report the whole way. That’s right, when the 80-90 mph winds aren’t enough, he creates more wind – if not for everyone else, then at least for himself. I imagine that once the cameras are turned off he can be seen mooning approaching tropical depressions.

Forecasters are extremely valuable in letting us know when we can expect storms to hit. But by the time hurricanes reach land, the locals have ceased watching TV and hopefully are no longer in town or are hiding in their homes or shelters. Standing on the beach or under a whirling stop light as the eye passes through is obviously meant to entertain those of us farther inland who are still watching TV.

For this I say, "Job well done, weather people. Job well done."

Bueller? Bueller?

At this point in the year, in most parts of the country, households are buzzing because, as Target has repeatedly reminded us, it’s "Back to School" time. Everyone gets excited around "Back to School" time. Everyone except of course the teachers and the students. So I thought I might take this opportunity to offer eight simple words of encouragement to all the kids (and teachers) heading back to school, and the parents and bus drivers taking them there: Get off the road, you’re making me late.

Ok, so I guess I lied about the teachers and the students being the only people who aren’t excited (But I wasn’t lying about them gunking up the road. That came from the heart.). Really, who does get excited about going back to school? The roads are clogged, the stores are more crowded, grown men and women have to wait for a single week in April before taking their next vacation, etc.

Oh sure, some people really do look forward to it. High school football coaches can once again feel important, even while warping young people’s understanding of geography and American history.

For parents of young kids, it reduces (and in some cases eliminates) the cost of daycare. That is if your kids are in public school, which my son certainly will be, judging by his early fascination with the toilet plunger. But even so, for parents it still means nights spent helping with homework. Of course I won’t have to worry about that. My kids will surely ask my wife to help them in that matter, as her college aptitude scores (ACT, SAT) make mine look like I left halfway through the exams. But this means I’ll be left to prepare my own dinner and perhaps even, if I’m thinking about it, dinner for the rest of the family. Oh the injustice.

And let’s not forget the school plays, recitals, sporting events, band concerts, dances, fall festivals and parent-teacher conferences. To top it off, we'll be expected to show up for a lot of these events.

Granted, all of this is still a few years down the road for my wife and I. But even now, as I’m years removed from my own No. 2 pencil days, I can’t help but feel bad for all those impressionable minds trudging through the halls wondering what they should do with their lives. And I feel sorry for the students as well. Day after day of hot, cramped, neck-snapping bus rides, school-issued lunches, the fear that comes with entering the great unknown that is the gym locker room. For boys, entering the gym locker room is like watching a Mike Tyson fight: you have absolutely no idea what’s going to happen.

Although perhaps my worries are completely misplaced. After all, if I asked the average school-aged kid, “How was gym today?” I’d probably get a response like, “I don’t know anyone by that name.”

So whatever the case may be, good luck to all the students and teachers out there. Just stay off the road.