Thus shrieketh the headline.
That one is gonna get a whole lot of looks, for which I am sure the writer will be grateful. It’s always fun to be the latest Biggest Loser, which allows you time in the spotlight being lauded for curbing your curves.
Give it a few months. A few. Like I love to say, and people justifiably despise me for it, wait a while. 95% of us put it right back on and then some. …
Just after January 1st this year, my buddy Daniel (not his real name) was pedaling on his stationary bike. “Just an easy ride,” he said, a former Army Special Forces guy of 70+ with a penchant for long mountain bike rides, runs and hikes.
His resting heart rate is about 55, which is one of the prime indicators of good health and longevity. A guy who watches his food, pounds down oatmeal and blueberries and serves up tuna and chicken as opposed to steak, Dan stays up to date on his diets, allowing for activity and his age. …
In the aftermath of the collective mind-fuck of last week, which will continue, I offer the following question: where are America’s good men? Where are its good women?
Sure isn’t Ted Cruz or Josh Hawley or any of the other cringe-worthy politicians who are backpedaling on their assess away from Trump at the Last Possible Moment. Calling these cretins “senators” insults the institution.
For my part, Hawley’s iconic salute to the rioters swiftly followed by his inept bumbling about thanking the thin blue (and often complicit) wall that nearly cost a number of elected officials their lives, then his puerile bleating about losing his book deal to Simon & Schuster…well. …
“What program were you on?”
“What pills did you take?”
“Which diet were you on?”
“Were you in Weight Watchers? Jenny Craig?”
Um, NO. None of the above.
In 1988, the year after I dumped 85 pounds, people peppered me with these kinds of questions. and have ever since. There hadda be a secret. There just had to be a system. There just HAD to be an easy answer.
As as society we are fixated about weight loss. …
In 2016, just after the Election That Fucked America, my closest friend in the world — of more than forty years — offended and hurt me deeply by telling me I “should give Trump a chance.”
I knew evil when I saw it. Rape survivors have radar.
I wonder what she’s thinking today.
This summer, another life-long, 40+ year friendship, told me that she had attended the Mr. Rushmore rally.
I sucked in my breath as I heard this brilliant fellow veteran smash a wrecking ball against the once-solid walls of our sisterhood.
“I don’t believe in this Covid crap. …
The most treasured takeaway from 2020, a year of terrific tumult which has spilled into the early days of 2021, was friendship. Not just any friendship, but several of them, and all of them with Black women fellow writers.
One of those friendships, which was cut on the crucible of George Floyd, flexed and strengthened during that terrible summer, was forced to expand or contract based on shared values and tentative trust. All this was done by phone and email.
We didn’t just make it. The trauma and the challenges created a bond for which I am beyond grateful. For it was through her eyes as well as those of other Black writers that I had a very different bird’s eye view of how the events of the year touched Black lives, especially those of talented women writers. …
I feel strongly enough about the Capitol Hill riots to make it an article
Twenty four hours ago I sent emails to all of my Oregon elected representatives. One of those Senators, Jeff Merkley, had his laptop stolen by one offender while other minions defaced one of the most iconic buildings in the world.
First, I published the body of it in the comments of this piece by David Dennis, Jr. which very much speaks for me:
As a military veteran, as someone who worked on several Presidential campaigns, who worked on Carter’s Inaugural, who worked as a lobbyist for years in DC, THIS IS HALLOWED GROUND. …
As long as you love rain, and I do, the Pacific Northwest is the place to be this time of year. I moved here last August for the rain, the moss, the low-hanging green, the dense ground cover of fast-moving ivy.
I signed up for this after fifty years in Denver, a place many Oregonians head to (or Bend, if the gas runs out) to get away from the above. …
In a Covid-quarantined world, with so many of us working from home, you get the impression that those running Zoom meetings have learned little from the in-person experience of how meetings are not only cumbersome, but also badly run and often horrifically unnecessary.
People do not willingly submit themselves to self-important people with nothing to say unless they plan to stay employed. That said, physical presence, as we all know, doesn’t ensure or even imply engagement.
It can, and does, ensure resentment.
To that, a tip of the hat to fellow Medium writer Malky McEwan whose piece this morning caused me to fall out of my office chair and hurt…
His only point of reference is himself. — Charles Hatton
I don’t remember where I was the day of the Belmont Stakes in 1976. It was June 9th, and I was finishing up my Army officer’s training in Georgia. The Bicentennial was afoot.
What was also afoot, and completely beyond my ken that year despite my great love of horses, was the great Secretariat’s stunning record-setting run for the Triple Crown.
It wasn’t until years later, when I returned with great enthusiasm to horse riding, that I started collecting horse movies. War Horse, of course, Seabiscuit.
Disney, my old employer, tells that story. Enough of it is real to be legit, albeit as with all Disney movies certain details are fudged for the sake of drama. However, you can’t even begin to overstate the drama of this animal’s achievements. …