“The [...]]]> “Strength is Happiness. Strength is itself victory. In weakness and cowardice there is no happiness. When you wage a struggle, you might win or you might lose. But regardless of the short-term outcome, the very fact of your continuing to struggle is proof of your victory as a human being.” — Daisaku Ikeda

“The first and best victory is to conquer self;” — Plato

A year ago, I was worried about a slight weight gain as we left for China.

Today, I weigh a LOT more. What the hell happened?

“We just had a kid,” I thought. “It’s sympathy weight. Or maybe it’s the stress of landing work and doing work.” I blamed my wife, my traveling, the Holidays, my friends. “I can’t fast on my trip / during the wedding / during BootCamp.” I blamed my apartment’s proximity to an otaku-with-a-sweet-tooth’s wet dream. “I’ll start on Monday / after I finish this Halloween candy / when I eat all the cake I just bought.” I rationalized, I sulked, I ignored. And guess what? The problem didn’t go away.

This is called the downward spiral; a feedback loop from which few escape. Bad habits cause bad feelings which spur bad habits ad nauseam. Instead of looking the problem square in the eye, I played dumb. “I know, I know – don’t worry. I’m on it.” That’s what I said to everyone, but in reality, I had no visibility into how bad the problem had gotten. I had a rough idea (two pants sizes) but the spiral was slow, and so tasty. The spiral is a reactive, animal thing. Creatures are dragged around by their instincts without choice, but as humans, we can choose. We don’t always do it, but we can.

Commercial pilots can make over 200k per year, but computers can take off and land planes pretty easily now. So why are they paid so much?

They’re not paid for the good times. They’re paid for disaster; for the hope that in the split second between death and life, they can apply their training and do the weird thing, the counterintuitive thing, the human thing. To turn into a spiral, breaking the cycle and freeing the plane.

In a car, driving on ice, sliding around, about to crash – anyone would slam on the brakes, sealing their doom. Someone pilot-like could apply the gas and perhaps save everyone. That’s what a pilot does. And that’s why they’re so valuable. When needed, they do the weird thing.

It doesn’t matter how much you’ve screwed up, slacked off, shirked duty. It doesn’t matter how long it’s been since you last worked out, saw the dentist, went to an AA meeting. It doesn’t matter how far you’ve fallen. Wallowing is the spiral. The only decision before you is : “What do I do right now to save my ass?”

And so it’s with a pissed determination I activate the “fasten your meat belts” sign. I’m pulling myself out of this spiral. If you’re in the same boat, join me. Let’s be humans.

The one pervading wisdom of the human race has to be “Tempus Fugit.” Time Flies, they say, and they’re right. A minute ago, the summers lasted aeons.

I blinked my eyes, Jr. High. I blink again, High School. Again, College. Then working, then 400 pounds, then China. Here’s where whoever’s driving the [...]]]>

The one pervading wisdom of the human race has to be “Tempus Fugit.” Time Flies, they say, and they’re right. A minute ago, the summers lasted aeons.

I blinked my eyes, Jr. High. I blink again, High School. Again, College. Then working, then 400 pounds, then China. Here’s where whoever’s driving the Time Bus decides to get stupid.

The last time I had to really reflect, I had just fought in the US Open, 336 lbs – can’t wait to tell you more about that by the way – and after another blink, I’m married, a hundred lbs lighter, and now THREE kids, two of whom speak two languages and one who’s already taking digital pics. Weren’t you just in diapers?

This is not my beautiful wife – this is not my beautiful car. The phrase should really be “Tempus Propero,” or “Time Accelerates.” Because not only is it pulling us through existence at an astounding pace, it’s getting faster.

And faster. I guess there’s nothing to do but hold on to each other for dear life.

That song “100 years” is depressing as hell (“I’m 33 – for a moment,”) because it covers an entire life in three minutes. But when it’s all done for us, will it feel even that long?

In the last conversation with my Grandma Burnie, I told her time flies. She sighed, and replied, “Where did it all go? In my head, I’m still nineteen.” She was eighty.

After you have kids, and when you come up from dank diaperage to breathe fresh air, you feel really mortal. I’m blessed, happy, fulfilled, even.

However, and unfortunately, as they say: This, too, will pass. Drink it up, men, it’s long after ten.

FINALLY! All went well – EIGHT LBS TWELVE OZS! Good Holy Christ! He’s still TBD, but we have a default name now. More later as it happens. Peace be with you all.

Update: we named him Finnegan. I like it long, or short, as in Finn. More on this later.

Her newest brother is officially late, so it looks like we’ll induce tomorrow. If all goes well, I’ll meet you back here soon!

The weather is perfect, or perfectly bad. You’re with friends and family. Time slows and you throb with the lazy pace of it, as if the world was humming to itself. Nearby, someone is cooking and it smells great, smoky, comforting. Maybe you’re playing in [...]]]> You’ll know what I mean before I finish.

The weather is perfect, or perfectly bad. You’re with friends and family. Time slows and you throb with the lazy pace of it, as if the world was humming to itself. Nearby, someone is cooking and it smells great, smoky, comforting. Maybe you’re playing in the water. Perhaps you’re playing ball with your best friends under the Midnight Sun. Or drinking 40s around a bonfire at the beach. You could be active, or maybe taking slacking to a whole new level. More often than not, music is playing in the background. There could be dancing, there could be kissing. It’s different for everyone.

The specifics vary but the story is the same. There you are, in a day as long as time itself, your worries scared away like pigeons off a statue. You exist as your real self, one rid of concerns about homework, careers, action items, unaccomplished goals, body weight, mortgages, shortcomings, upcoming events, failed romance, minor inconveniences, and the rest of the infinity of crap we load on our own backs. We face the day as perhaps we were meant to, nakedly happy.

I’ve had these days from time to time, and I’ve tried to enjoy them without analyzing. I smile, I rarely say the word “no,” and all things, for that brief time, make a reassuring kind of sense. You can’t force it, but you know when it’s happening.

My brother and I call it “The Feeling.” Our definition was formed during a typical eternal summer day in Alaska, with a meandering sunset keeping watch over dad and his barbecue, smiling Samoyeds happily guarding the estate, and Mom gleefully mixing ketchup and mayo (an unholy fusion which I can easily blame 40 lbs on.) while we and our sister flat-out enjoyed ourselves. As we got older, there was perhaps mild drinking, but no one was wasted, at least on those days.

Later, ours suffered the general atrophy of many American families. We scattered, we each picked up an addiction of some kind (my sister, the luckiest, found ebay), we worked, surviving, barely, yet longing for something with no name. Mine, at least, was a life without form. There were pieces, there were stories. There were many life directions, and there was fun. But that Feeling was painfully absent.

I did what many do – I fashioned a family out of my closest, coolest friends. (I continue to do this.) People need people. And driving to work alone two hours each way to work only to sit in a cubicle for ten hours, then home to eat alone while warily watching your neighbors is no way to foster relationships. American culture is isolating.

I can hear my Dad’s hackles rising. I can hear my brother-in-law’s scorn across the Pacific. I love America. But we’re little people islands – on the freeway, in office buildings, on treadmills with iPods, before a TV, before a computer, on the street, eyes forward, buying groceries online. And it’s only getting worse.

I have cobbled together a great group of friends I see far too infrequently. We have fun when we can, but if you put all of the time we’ll spend together from now until when we die – how much will that be? a week or two? To recapture that feeling, you need a family, a tribe – a pride.

I’ve found that Feeling again in my life. I’m trying to help my friends and family reconnect with it. It’s possible. It’s out there – it never left us – we left it. The first step is to relax. Don’t sweat things. Worry is the polar opposite of the Feeling. Avoid it like the plague. Then surround yourself with your pride. Smile more. Stop, take a deep breath and let the sun/wind/rain/snow wash over you. You’re not in control of the world – let God/Allah/Yahweh/The MCP take care of that. Enjoy the ride.

I recently saw that Feeling in action on a large scale. Hence this long post. My buddy Igor, my family, and I went to a nearby town. My father-in-law’s lion dancing team was hired to come to a village and perform for a couple of hours, to ring in the new year and bring luck and prosperity to the tight-knit community.

Everyone was gathered around the town square, and I mean every single resident of the place. They stood around, smiling, gawking at me and my Eurasian kids, laughing when I took their picture, cheering the acrobatic stunts of the lion dancing and kung fu teams, and, yes, lighting off enough fireworks to alter Earth’s orbit.

It was 80 degrees with a cool rambling wind. (Do you know how rare it is to see blue skies here?) The crowd was keyed up and so were we. Everyone was having a blast, I even started singing Ice Cube’s “Today was a Good Day.” in my head.

After the performances were done, the entire town filed into the square to eat a huge meal together. It’s a New Year’s tradition here. 3000 people, eating a spectacular dinner as one big pride under the dusky blue sky. It brought a tear to my eye. Fireworks followed food and then it was time for me and my small pride to go back to our den, tired and happy as could be, wrapped snugly in the warm blanket of The Feeling. I didn’t even have to use my A.K.

So many days on this trip have contained me asking myself, “Is this Heaven?” And the answer, at each moment, was a resounding “YES.” Because heaven’s not a where, it’s a when, and the Feeling is your escort and host. There you are, old friend – i missed you.

I arrived in HK safely with my buddy Igor, still fasting and relatively intact.

I never thought eating would fill me with [...]]]> long post means much has happened. I’ll keep it as brief as I can – wife is waiting and kids are finally asleep. Don’t make me spell it out.

I arrived in HK safely with my buddy Igor, still fasting and relatively intact.

I never thought eating would fill me with such trepidation. Nay, let’s call it abject fear. In my mind’s eye, I pictured myself instantly regaining all the weight I’ve lost (111 lbs) in a flurry of tearing clothes and fart sounds. It didn’t happen.

wife was SHOCKED when she saw me. Tatiana didn’t recognize me, but knew me by my voice. She gave me a big, if hesitant, hug. And my 6-month-old son thinks I’m hired help. I caught my wife’s shock on tape. She then spent the next few days trying to convince me to refatten back to 280 lbs. Fat chance! (sorry about that one.)

two great tastes that belong together.

there are many ways to protect one’s yard.

Under “Seasonal Fruit Dishes”, they list brands of cigarettes. “These strawberries taste like grandma’s tracheotomy hole!”

Hong Kong at night wins. hands down.

My nephew is the talk of the town. He is cleaning up in the new year red-envelope-grab.

This sounds like a Sikh Food Fight.

then what the hell is a bargain for?

it’s only a store, fokker.

he’s still the man here. That makes me The-Man-In-Law.

If this reads right to you, try again. All Aboard!

even at my goal weight, I may never be that flexible.

I missed them like one would miss a lung.

what would make someone walk by this bin and say, “Honey? How about we stay in and fry up some scorpions?”

Should the next word be “here” or “elsewhere?”

I wouldn’t dream of it…

Best. backpack. ever. It also doubles as a hamper.

When your product is food, aren’t quality and taste the same exact thing?

northern chinese bum, writes long missive in chalk, expects rewards, gets zero. In the US he’d already have been in two Soundgarden videos.

My expat friend Mark in HK. His Mandarin makes my Cantonese look like your Basque. He took us to the best dumpling place ever.

so what am I supposed to do: get in the way?

i love how the logo is two yellow spheres nestled close together. In fact, I really love it.

Corn with Beacon? You’re insane! And while we’re at it, just toss out a WTF? for each of the other pizzastrosities. And only here would Buttered Toast be in the same category.

That last sentence shits all over English Grammar.

the 80s are IN here, BIG TIME.

I wonder if they know that 361 degrees is another way of saying 1 degree. Well, in a circle, anyway…

Still waiting – okay, wrapping this up…

exercise the power NOW

I might have to get this on a poster – what the hell else do you use your brain for? ballast?

In Mong Kok – the word throng just pales.

This one has it all – a vague yet intriguing command, a little-used-in-Amwerican-English word, and an evocative but mildly disgusting mascot. Good Times.

I leave them for a few months, and my daughter learns an entire language, how to ride a bike, and good manners. I have several bachelor friends who should come here and do the same,

click on my son to see the video. “Paladin – daddy’s almost done with fat camp – I’ll see you soon!”