You are currently browsing the monthly archive for March 2006.
I appreciate my readers. I also like to help readers live a better life whenever I can. In that spirit, I offer this health advice to you to help improve your quality of life. Don’t thank me. Seriously, don’t.
Q: I’ve heard that cardiovascular exercise can prolong life. Is this true?
A: Your heart is only good for so many beats and that’s it. Don’t waste them on exercise. Everything wears out eventually. Speeding up your heart will not make you live longer. That’s like saying you can extend the life of your car by driving it faster. Want to live longer? Take a nap!
Q: Should I cut down on meat and eat more fruits and vegetables?
A: You must grasp logistical efficiencies. What does a cow eat? Hay and corn. And what are these? Vegetables! So a steak is nothing more than an efficient mechanism of delivering vegetables to your system. Need grain? Eat chicken. Beef is also a good source of field grass (green leafy vegetable). And a pork chop can give you 100% of your recommended daily allowance of vegetable products.
Q: Should I reduce my alcohol intake?
A: No, not at all. Wine is made from fruit. Brandy is distilled wine. That means they take the water out of the fruity bit, so you get even more of the goodness that way. Beer is also made out of grain. Bottoms up!
Q: How can I calculate my body/fat ratio?
A: Well, if you have a body and you have body fat, your ratio is one to one. If you have two bodies, your ratio is two to one, etc.
Q: What are some of the advantages of participating in a regular exercise program?
A: Can’t think of a single one, sorry. My philosophy is: No pain…Good!
Q: Aren’t fried foods bad for you?
A: YOU’RE NOT LISTENING!!! Foods are fried these days in vegetable oil. In fact, they’re permeated in it. How could getting more vegetables be bad for you?
Q: Will sit-ups help prevent me from getting soft around the middle?
A: Definitely not! When you exercise a muscle, it gets bigger. You should only be doing sit-ups if you want a bigger stomach!
Q: Is chocolate bad for me?
A: Are you crazy?!? HELLO!!Cocoa beans?…another vegetable! It’s the best feel-good food around!
How to catch a Polar Bear
1. Go up to a place where there are polar bears, preferably somewhere in the Arctic.
2. Find a patch of ice and cut a hole in the ice.
3. Take a can of peas, black eyed or English, and sprinkle the peas around the outside of the hole.
4. Now when the bear comes to take a pea, kick him in the icehole.
Thanks to Phill Rock
I was reading over at Dave Barry’s blog about Art Buchwald. Art was one of the cleverest humorists that ever lived. Art has entered the Hospice program. He is not long for this earth at the present time. We will lose a great talent when he goes. I have always had the utmost respect for the man. When I saw a column in my local paper written by him it was always like finding a treat. I’ll miss him. I miss him now and he’s not even gone yet.
But I digress. This post is about a Hospice in southwest Florida. My parents retired there many years ago. I went down about every other month to help them and to entertain them. When I wasn’t there I spoke with him on the phone. Every day. My father was one of a kind. He came over from the ‘old country’ on a boat after the war. Everything he owned was packed in a wooden steamer trunk. He was poor. But he was determined to make a life for himself and his family. He found a job in the steel mills. Worked during the day, attended college at night. And began climbing the ladder. He struggled for a while but within twenty years he owned his own business and homes. I say homes because he had a home in the city which Mother preferred, and a home in the country, which was more his style. And his business was a multi-national corporation that successfully did business globally.
He was always ambitious. As a younger man in Hungary, he raced motorcycles as a hobby and played professional soccer. He never, ever bragged. My Mother told me that he was on the best team in Europe and he was the best player on the team. He was the European Joe Montana. This ambition made him a wealthy man.
More recently, after his retirement (he retired at age 80), he had a stroke. Then another. And yes, another. After the third one, his doctor told me he wasn’t going to make it. Wanted to put him into the Hospice program. Said they would handle everything.
He was about to be released from the hospital and Hospice was suppose to take care of all the arrangements. I was to meet with them. I arrived at their office and no one was there. I was hurting anyway, knowing I was going to lose my Father and hoped to count on these people for help. Right.
I finally got a hold of them and the case worker asks me what I’d like to do. What are my options, I ask? Nursing home is one they say. Never. NEVER I tell them. I know he wouldn’t want this. Home health care is the only other, but it would only be six hours a day. Impossible, I tell them. There are no other options, they say. I am heartbroken. I am about to take him home with me, though I know I’m ill prepared for the task at hand. Still, he’s my Dad.
I spent that night on the internet looking up options. Then I find one. Assisted living. Southwest Florida has some of the best. I look into this myself the next day and the facilities are great. Plus my Mother can be with him, unlike a nursing home. I call f*****g Hospice back. Why wasn’t I told of this option? “We didn’t think you could afford it” is the answer. I can. I put him into the best facility there is. He’s happy. Mom’s happy. Everything is working out, no thanks to Hospice.
With everything settled I get ready to head home. I have a business to run. I tell Hospice, who (shudder) is in charge of him because his doctor put him in their care. I tell them I have to go back to work, but call me immediately (on my 800 number, no excuses) if anything changes. I’ll be speaking to him on the phone. Every day. Life is good, right?
Three weeks later, he’s gone. No call, nothing. Hospice calls the next morning and says he’s gone, what do you want to do? What? What happened? When did his condition worsen? Couple days ago. Why didn’t you call? Forgot.
My Mother is at home (in FLA) and doesn’t know yet. I’m 1200 miles away. I tell Hospice, can you send someone over to my Mother’s to be with her when I tell her? Sure. I tell them to drive over to her house, DON’T TELL HER but call me when they get there. OK they say. I wait. No call. I call my Mom. She is in shock. The Hospice lady arrived and blurted out “He’s dead.” Never called me. Nothing.
The people from Florida are called Floridians. I call the Hospice people Floridiots. End of life care they call it. Dying with dignity they say. My Father died alone. Because of Floridiots. It’s too late for my Father and me, but if this post helps one family avoid the heartbreak Hospice has inflicted on me, it’s worth it’s weight in gold.
Disclaimer: The above story is 100% true. I challenge, no I defy Southwest Florida Hospice to dispute any of the above claims.
Can you imagine working at the following company? It has a little over 500 employees with the following statistics: 29 have been accused of spousal abuse, 7 have been arrested for fraud, 19 have been accused of writing bad checks, 117 have bankrupted at least two businesses, 3 have been arrested for assault, 71 cannot get a credit card due to bad credit, 14 have been arrested on drug-related charges, 8 have been arrested for shoplifting, 21 are current defendants in law suits. In one year alone, 84 were stopped for drunk driving.
Can you guess which organization this is? Give up?
It’s the 535 members of the United States Congress. The same group that perpetually cranks out hundreds of new laws designed to keep the rest of us in line.
This is why we trail so many countries in math…
I was sitting in a cafeteria recently, next to a woman who was engrossed in her newspaper. One of the headlines blared: “12 Brazilian Soldiers Killed.” She shook her head at the sad news.
Then, turning to me, she asked, “How many is a Brazilian?”
A friend of mine, a private in the Army told me this story. He went up for his first jump from a plane. All the other privates had jumped and he was left alone in the plane with his Sargent. The Sargent yelled “Jump Private”. He said “I can’t sir”. The Sarge yelled “There is no can’t in this man’s Army. Now jump!”. Again he said “I can’t sir”. The Sarge yelled “If you don’t jump right now, I’m going to stick my penis up your behind”.
So I said “Did you jump?”
He said “A little at first.”
Can you imagine working at the following company? It has a little over 500 employees with the following statistics: 29 have been accused of spousal abuse, 7 have been arrested for fraud, 19 have been accused of writing bad checks, 117 have bankrupted at least two businesses, 3 have been arrested for assault, 71 cannot get a credit card due to bad credit, 14 have been arrested on drug-related charges, 8 have been arrested for shoplifting, 21 are current defendants in law suits. In one year alone, 84 were stopped for drunk driving.
Can you guess which organization this is? Give up?
It’s the 535 members of the United States Congress. The same group that perpetually cranks out hundreds of new laws designed to keep the rest of us in line.
This is why we trail so many countries in math…
I was sitting in a cafeteria recently, next to a woman who was engrossed in her newspaper. One of the headlines blared: “12 Brazilian Soldiers Killed.” She shook her head at the sad news.
Then, turning to me, she asked, “How many is a Brazilian?”
I was reading over at Dave Barry’s blog about Art Buchwald. Art was one of the cleverest humorists that ever lived. Art has entered the Hospice program. He is not long for this earth at the present time. We will lose a great talent when he goes. I have always had the utmost respect for the man. When I saw a column in my local paper written by him it was always like finding a treat. I’ll miss him. I miss him now and he’s not even gone yet.
But I digress. This post is about a Hospice in southwest Florida. My parents retired there many years ago. I went down about every other month to help them and to entertain them. When I wasn’t there I spoke with him on the phone. Every day. My father was one of a kind. He came over from the ‘old country’ on a boat after the war. Everything he owned was packed in a wooden steamer trunk. He was poor. But he was determined to make a life for himself and his family. He found a job in the steel mills. Worked during the day, attended college at night. And began climbing the ladder. He struggled for a while but within twenty years he owned his own business and homes. I say homes because he had a home in the city which Mother preferred, and a home in the country, which was more his style. And his business was a multi-national corporation that successfully did business globally.
He was always ambitious. As a younger man in Hungary, he raced motorcycles as a hobby and played professional soccer. He never, ever bragged. My Mother told me that he was on the best team in Europe and he was the best player on the team. He was the European Joe Montana. This ambition made him a wealthy man.
More recently, after his retirement (he retired at age 80), he had a stroke. Then another. And yes, another. After the third one, his doctor told me he wasn’t going to make it. Wanted to put him into the Hospice program. Said they would handle everything.
He was about to be released from the hospital and Hospice was suppose to take care of all the arrangements. I was to meet with them. I arrived at their office and no one was there. I was hurting anyway, knowing I was going to lose my Father and hoped to count on these people for help. Right.
I finally got a hold of them and the case worker asks me what I’d like to do. What are my options, I ask? Nursing home is one they say. Never. NEVER I tell them. I know he wouldn’t want this. Home health care is the only other, but it would only be six hours a day. Impossible, I tell them. There are no other options, they say. I am heartbroken. I am about to take him home with me, though I know I’m ill prepared for the task at hand. Still, he’s my Dad.
I spent that night on the internet looking up options. Then I find one. Assisted living. Southwest Florida has some of the best. I look into this myself the next day and the facilities are great. Plus my Mother can be with him, unlike a nursing home. I call f*****g Hospice back. Why wasn’t I told of this option? “We didn’t think you could afford it” is the answer. I can. I put him into the best facility there is. He’s happy. Mom’s happy. Everything is working out, no thanks to Hospice.
With everything settled I get ready to head home. I have a business to run. I tell Hospice, who (shudder) is in charge of him because his doctor put him in their care. I tell them I have to go back to work, but call me immediately (on my 800 number, no excuses) if anything changes. I’ll be speaking to him on the phone. Every day. Life is good, right?
Three weeks later, he’s gone. No call, nothing. Hospice calls the next morning and says he’s gone, what do you want to do? What? What happened? When did his condition worsen? Couple days ago. Why didn’t you call? Forgot.
My Mother is at home (in FLA) and doesn’t know yet. I’m 1200 miles away. I tell Hospice, can you send someone over to my Mother’s to be with her when I tell her? Sure. I tell them to drive over to her house, DON’T TELL HER but call me when they get there. OK they say. I wait. No call. I call my Mom. She is in shock. The Hospice lady arrived and blurted out “He’s dead.” Never called me. Nothing.
The people from Florida are called Floridians. I call the Hospice people Floridiots. End of life care they call it. Dying with dignity they say. My Father died alone. Because of Floridiots. It’s too late for my Father and me, but if this post helps one family avoid the heartbreak Hospice has inflicted on me, it’s worth it’s weight in gold.
Disclaimer: The above story is 100% true. I challenge, no I defy Southwest Florida Hospice to dispute any of the above claims.
A friend of mine, a private in the Army told me this story. He went up for his first jump from a plane. All the other privates had jumped and he was left alone in the plane with his Sargent. The Sargent yelled “Jump Private”. He said “I can’t sir”. The Sarge yelled “There is no can’t in this man’s Army. Now jump!”. Again he said “I can’t sir”. The Sarge yelled “If you don’t jump right now, I’m going to stick my penis up your behind”.
So I said “Did you jump?”
He said “A little at first.”
Can you imagine working at the following company? It has a little over 500 employees with the following statistics: 29 have been accused of spousal abuse, 7 have been arrested for fraud, 19 have been accused of writing bad checks, 117 have bankrupted at least two businesses, 3 have been arrested for assault, 71 cannot get a credit card due to bad credit, 14 have been arrested on drug-related charges, 8 have been arrested for shoplifting, 21 are current defendants in law suits. In one year alone, 84 were stopped for drunk driving.
Can you guess which organization this is? Give up?
It’s the 535 members of the United States Congress. The same group that perpetually cranks out hundreds of new laws designed to keep the rest of us in line.
This is why we trail so many countries in math…
I was sitting in a cafeteria recently, next to a woman who was engrossed in her newspaper. One of the headlines blared: “12 Brazilian Soldiers Killed.” She shook her head at the sad news.
Then, turning to me, she asked, “How many is a Brazilian?”
A friend of mine, a private in the Army told me this story. He went up for his first jump from a plane. All the other privates had jumped and he was left alone in the plane with his Sargent. The Sargent yelled “Jump Private”. He said “I can’t sir”. The Sarge yelled “There is no can’t in this man’s Army. Now jump!”. Again he said “I can’t sir”. The Sarge yelled “If you don’t jump right now, I’m going to stick my penis up your behind”.
So I said “Did you jump?”
He said “A little at first.”
I am, what some call, a techie. That is, when my friends destroy their computers, they call me. I can fix anything in any computer. They have been a hobby of mine for a long time. I had a PC before there were PC’s. It was a Z80. Anyone remember those? Then there was the 8080, followed by an 8086, an 80286, 80386 and 80486. The Pentium you know today was originally an 80586.
Consequently, techies like me have terms normal people don’t know. My favorite is ‘Picnic’. This is the most common problem with computers today. Anyone want to guess what that means? It means ‘Problem In Chair, Not In Computer’.
Being a motorcycle enthusiast myself, people have asked me lots of motorcycle questions. One question that always comes up is ‘Which motorcycle has the most cylinders?’. Some say six, others say eight. But no one ever believes me when I answer ‘48 cylinders’. “did you say four or eight?” they ask. I say “48″. “No way, not possible, can’t be” is what I hear then. Until I show them this picture. Then they say nothing. It leaves even the most seasoned riders speechless.
Here, for your enjoyment, is that picture.
I am, what some call, a techie. That is, when my friends destroy their computers, they call me. I can fix anything in any computer. They have been a hobby of mine for a long time. I had a PC before there were PC’s. It was a Z80. Anyone remember those? Then there was the 8080, followed by an 8086, an 80286, 80386 and 80486. The Pentium you know today was originally an 80586.
Consequently, techies like me have terms normal people don’t know. My favorite is ‘Picnic’. This is the most common problem with computers today. Anyone want to guess what that means? It means ‘Problem In Chair, Not In Computer’.
Being a motorcycle enthusiast myself, people have asked me lots of motorcycle questions. One question that always comes up is ‘Which motorcycle has the most cylinders?’. Some say six, others say eight. But no one ever believes me when I answer ‘48 cylinders’. “did you say four or eight?” they ask. I say “48″. “No way, not possible, can’t be” is what I hear then. Until I show them this picture. Then they say nothing. It leaves even the most seasoned riders speechless.
Here, for your enjoyment, is that picture.
I am, what some call, a techie. That is, when my friends destroy their computers, they call me. I can fix anything in any computer. They have been a hobby of mine for a long time. I had a PC before there were PC’s. It was a Z80. Anyone remember those? Then there was the 8080, followed by an 8086, an 80286, 80386 and 80486. The Pentium you know today was originally an 80586.
Consequently, techies like me have terms normal people don’t know. My favorite is ‘Picnic’. This is the most common problem with computers today. Anyone want to guess what that means? It means ‘Problem In Chair, Not In Computer’.
Being a motorcycle enthusiast myself, people have asked me lots of motorcycle questions. One question that always comes up is ‘Which motorcycle has the most cylinders?’. Some say six, others say eight. But no one ever believes me when I answer ‘48 cylinders’. “did you say four or eight?” they ask. I say “48″. “No way, not possible, can’t be” is what I hear then. Until I show them this picture. Then they say nothing. It leaves even the most seasoned riders speechless.
Here, for your enjoyment, is that picture.
An American businessman was at a pier in a small coastal Mexican village when a small boat with just one fisherman docked. Inside the small boat were several large yellow-fin tuna. The American complimented the Mexican on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took to catch them.
The Mexican replied only a little while.
The American then asked why didn’t he stay out longer and catch more fish?
The Mexican said he had enough to support his family’s immediate needs. The American then asked the Mexican how he spent the rest of his time.
The Mexican fisherman said, “I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, take siesta with my wife, Maria, stroll into the village each evening where I sip wine and play guitar with my amigos. I have a full and busy life, senor.”
The American scoffed, “I am a Harvard MBA and could help you. You should spend more time fishing and, with the proceeds, buy a bigger boat. With the proceeds from the bigger boat, you could buy several boats, eventually you would have a fleet of fishing boats. Instead of selling your catch to a middleman you would sell directly to the processor, eventually opening your own cannery. You would control the product, processing and distribution.
“You would need to leave this small coastal fishing village and move to Mexico City, then LA and eventually NYC where you will run your expanding enterprise.”
The Mexican fisherman asked, “But senor, how long will this all take?”
The American replied, “15-20 years.”
“But what then, senor?” asked the Mexican.
The American laughed, and said, “That’s the best part! When the time is right, you would announce an IPO and sell your company stock to the public. You’ll become very rich, you would make millions!”
“Millions, senor?” replied the Mexican. “Then what?”
The American said, “Then you would retire. Move to a small coastal fishing village where you would sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, take siesta with your wife, stroll to the village in the evenings where you could sip wine and play your guitar with your amigos.”
Thanks to TZ at Laffaday.
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