First phase of move an interesting one

Well, phase one of "Mikey C -- Westward Ho" has been completed, and to say that it was a rather interesting experience would be a slight understatement of the obvious.

With a full carload of stuff to get me through my first week on the job, I made the trek out to Ogallala and unloaded things into my new apartment. It was as I was unloading that it became quite apparent that this move was off to something of a rocky start.

The first clue came when I was unloading things in the bathroom. When I had first looked at the apartment, I could have sworn there was a shower door in the bathtub, which meant I wouldn't need to worry about buying a shower curtain -- but when I got there, either the previous tenants had taken the door with them, or I had a momentary lapse of consciousness and forgot that the bathtub needed a shower curtain.

The second note came a little later when it dawned on me that the apartment was cold. And not just cold, mind you, but "Hey, Harry, let's hang those sides of beef here in the bedroom" cold. And it was then that it dawned me that I had forgotten to call the gas company to tell them to turn on the gas.

The room temperature when I had this moment of realization? A very balmy, strip-down-to-your-skivvies-and-party-like-you're-on-the-frickin'-beach 51 degrees.

Fortunately, I did have ENOUGH foresight to have at least let the folks running the city's electricity that I'd be moving in that weekend, and they were good enough to leave the lights on. Never have I been so happy to have an open oven, heated to 400 degrees, sitting in the middle of my kitchen.

The morning after also provided its share of hilarity (for everybody BUT me, obviously) when I determined that I could take a bath instead of a shower, although it would be somewhat brisk in the bathroom because of the heat issue. As I brushed my teeth, I looked into the bathtub to discover that there was no stopper in the bathtub. This left me with two choices -- no shower, or a shower that potentially floods the entire bathroom.

Well, you know me . . . gotta have a shower in the morning, or I'm just not looking, feeling or -- more important -- smelling right. Somehow, I managed to get something that resembled a shower and got dried off without catching pneumonia OR leaving a scaled-down version of Lake McConaughy on my bathroom floor. After work Monday, the gas company came by to turn on the heat, and I now have a new shower curtain in the bathroom (which, my mother and sister will be happy to hear, actually matches the decor of the bathroom -- no purple and red polka dots on the curtain this time, ladies).

Fortunately, the start of work at the Keith County News has gone a lot smoother than my first night and morning in my new apartment. I'm slowly getting acclimated to things and have a great staff to work with, which is a welcome change from my LAST situation (which, from here on out, we'll avoid discussing altogether and simply refer to it from here on out as "that time").

I'm slowly learning the names and faces of the people I'll be working with on a frequent basis, and hopefully by the end of the week I'll have everything moved from Omaha to Ogallala and can get down to some serious unpacking and getting back to my normal blogging schedule.

Sometimes it's all in your attitude

I was back in the old digs the other day, getting some last-minute upkeep done on my car, when I was given an unexpected treat.

There is a small mom-and-pop restaurant in Gretna that I used to visit on a rather frequent basis when I was working for the local paper. It was a meeting place for the local Optimists Club every Thursday morning, and there was a young lady who served us that is one of those people you just never forget.

This young woman was the daughter of the restaurant owner, and if you spent more than five seconds around her and didn't come away feeling better about life, then there really wasn't any hope for you. She has such a warm, engaging personality, can talk to anybody about anything and can flirt in a friendly manner with the old farmers just as easily as she talks about whatever it is old ladies talk about.

Shortly before I moved from the community for that ill-fated gig in South Sioux City, this young lady had been diagnosed with ovarian cancer. She had just turned 21 only months earlier, and the prognosis didn't sound very good at the time. As I recall, she was being given months to live and the cancer had spread into her lymph nodes.

In the aftermath of what was happening in my personal life at the time, I had forgotten about this young lady. I would be reminded of her on occasion when I drove by the restaurant on my way to play poker at a local bar, but considering what her diagnosis was the last I had heard, I wondered if she was even alive at this point.

So you can imagine my surprise when I stopped in the other day for a late breakfast while waiting for my car to be finished to hear her giving instructions on an order to a cook in the back. I didn't see her, but the voice was unmistakable. "That CAN'T be her, can it?" I asked myself.

In the middle of my bacon and eggs, she strolled out of the back to talk with another customer, sitting across from him to see how he was doing and how business was going. She got up from that booth and turned in my direction, and it was like time had reversed back to before her diagnosis -- the same cheery face, bright smile and big dark eyes that showed no effects of what she had experienced over the past few years.

We hugged and caught up with each other's lives briefly. She was surprised and happy to hear I was getting back in the newspaper business, and was all smiles as she talked about how she was beating the cancer that had ravaged her body. She celebrated one year of remission last month, said almost all her hair was back (she had it pulled in a ponytail under a baseball cap) and she felt great.

Once I finished breakfast, I decided not to wait for the guy who was working on my car to pick me up. Although it was cold and breezy -- and I was wearing shorts -- it was the most uplifting walk I had taken in some time. Just knowing this young lady was still around and not only beating cancer, but doing it with the same spirit and attitude she has always exhibited, made the $250 bill I had waiting for me at the auto shop and all the challenges that lie ahead for me seem like nothing.

There have been numerous studies done on people who have been through the hell that this young lady has gone through, and a lot of the studies have shown that people who have upbeat, positive attitudes are more likely to get through physical battles such as this than those who paint the gloom-and-doom picture and look at things from a negative perspective.

I've been listening to and reading works from James Arthur Ray and Esther and Jerry Hicks lately, and their words of wisdom have been a key component in the change in attitude I've undergone during the past 12 months. One thing Ray repeats often in his book "Harmonic Wealth" is the phrase "Energy flows where attention goes" -- if you believe good things are going to happen in your life, they will. Conversely, if you believe bad things will happen, they certainly will.

I've experienced a number of events in recent months that would testify to this truth, from my relationship with my daughter to my success in playing poker. Even during my most recent situation where I lost my job, I took a proactive, positive approach to how I was going to deal with the situation. It would have been easy for me to sit at home, self-medicate myself with the woe-is-me attitude and blame others for my current status. Instead, I recognized that change was coming, positioned myself to respond to that change and am now looking forward to my first day in my new position in Ogallala.

We didn't talk much about how she handled her situation, but my guess is that she mentally attacked this in much the same way, and continues to do so today. Even when her insurance would no longer help pay for her treatment, she found part-time work with a reputable company that offered an insurance plan that would take care of her. She has a tremendous outlook on life and I have no doubt she is going to live a long, healthy and happy life -- mainly because of her attitude.

We all have issues to deal with in our life, be they personal, physical, financial, spiritual, emotional or professional. Many times we put the focus on what we don't want, but we can be most successful in these areas merely by focusing our efforts in the direction of getting what we DO want. Sometimes a simple change in focus is all it takes to turn things around.

Republicans, Democrats are the problem

When we go to the polls to vote for our leaders in public office, we usually go in with our minds made up that we have selected the right candidate for the job.

We've heard the speeches, suffered through the non-stop political ads, researched the candidates' facts and figures, and we ultimately hope that our selections have helped that candidate win the race for public office.

More often than not, those who go to the polls vote their party affiliation. Many of us consider ourselves Republicans or Democrats and vote accordingly. Some will step away from the party line on occasion and vote for a candidate on "the other side."

I've been registered as an independent for most of my life, which allowed me to vote my conscience without regard to political party. While most of my votes over the years have been for Republican candidates, I felt that I ultimately chose the individual I felt was the best person for the job, regardless of whether or not that individual was Republican or Democrat.

This time, though, I made a change in my voting patterns. Some would call it radical. Others might call it worthless. Still others wonder if people like me should be allowed inside a voting booth.

Tuesday morning, I walked into my voting precinct, signed my name in the register, took my ballots into the voting booth and, without a moment's hesitation, avoided voting for any Republican or Democrat in the federal and state multi-party elections.

Johanns or Kleeb for Senate? I voted for neither.

Terry or Esch in the House? Neither guy got my vote.

Obama or McCain for President? Please . . .

The fact of the matter is, there is a common thread in the tapestry that is what is wrong with America in 2008. And it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure it out, really. Hell, if THIS GUY can figure it out, certainly SOMEBODY would have picked up on it by now.

The common thread is that Republicans AND Democrats are screwing up our nation, spending our tax dollars uncontrollably and whoring themselves out to special interests like there's no tomorrow. And it's time BOTH parties be neutralized by a third party or independent representation that is not beholden to the whims of the powers that be within the Democrat and Republican parties.

But you're wasting your vote by not voting for a Republican or Democrat, some have told me.

Really? I'm the one wasting my vote here? Not voting for a Republican or Democrat is throwing a vote away?

Au contraire -- if I see the problem, I'm not about to contribute to the perpetuation of said problem with my votes. If there's a fire in my backyard and I have a garden hose and a hose connected to a gas pump to douse the fire with, which one do you suggest I use?

With all that ails this great nation right now, and with all the problems that have come before it, the only thing I've seen is the two parties spending every constructive minute bitching about what the other side is doing to create the problem. The Republicans are spending too much. The Democrats want to tax us into oblivion. And we're stuck in the middle waiting for SOMEBODY to do SOMETHING.

So I've actually DONE something about it -- by not voting for a Republican or Democrat.

Now I'm not delusional in thinking that my vote is going to bring about change. Unfortunately, there are about 100 million people in this country who continue to act like cattle headed to the slaughterhouse and continue to vote for Republican or Democrat candidates, thinking THIS group will be the one that turns it around.

Guess what? It's the same sad song, with a brand new verse. And four years from now, we're not going to be anywhere closer to a solution because one party is going to control things and we will reap that which we sow because of the decisions made yesterday. And just so you remember where you read it first -- the harvest is not going to be a bountiful one.

Maybe the decision I made today is one that will open the eyes of enough people to make them realize just where the problems lie. Once we see the end result of Tuesday's election, it will make people realize what I've already figured out -- the Republican and Democrat parties do not represent the wishes of the American people.

Nebraska's safe haven law needs work

"Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"


This is from the poem "The New Colossus" by Emma Lazarus, and is part of an inscription on the interior of the pedestal on the Statue of Liberty in New York City.

A paraphrasing of it might as well be inscribed on top of the dome at the state capitol in my home state of Nebraska:

"Give me your teens, your preteens,

Your misguided children yearning to be free of you,

The wretched result of your incapability as a parent.

Send these, the homeless, angst-ridden to me,

I lift my flashlight beside the hospital door!"


Earlier this year, the Nebraska Legislature created its version of the "safe haven" law that other states have used to give parents who can't take care of their young children a chance to leave them somewhere so that the children can be turned over to social services without parents getting into trouble with the law.

The law has been discussed in previous years in Nebraska, but it took a series of incidents where several newborns were left for dead in Omaha by mothers who either didn't want the babies or were unable to care for them. The law was meant to give newborns and infants in this state a chance at being cared for and loved by adults who are capable of doing what their birth parents were unable, or unwilling, to do.

Since the law's introduction this summer, though, Nebraska has become more of a foster parenting drop-off point for people who are incapable of doing their job and taking care of their teenage children. Since the law came into play, 25 children have been left at hospitals in the state. The number of infants left behind: zero.

Most of the children that have been dropped off in the state have been from in-state adults (I hesitate to refer to them as "parents"), but lately it seems other states have residents who have heard about Nebraska's lack of restriction on leaving children at hospitals in the state. Children from Georgia, Michigan and Arizona have been dropped off at hospitals in the state since the law took effect in July.

The state legislature made a terrible error when writing this law. It may not have seemed like a glaring omission at the time, but not placing an age restriction on this law has opened the door for what I feel are some inexcusable acts by people who are not doing their jobs as parents.

When the law was written, I'm sure those involved couldn't have conceived of an adult leaving his or her 16-year-old son or daughter at a hospital and claim safe haven status. My guess is that they simply ASSUMED the law would be used only by those adults who were no longer ABLE to care for their young children.

Being a parent is no easy task. It's even more difficult when things like illness or unemployment make it difficult, if not impossible, for people to care for their children. In those cases, it's sometimes best for the child to be left with someone who will see to it that they are taken care of in a manner that will help the kids achieve some kind of good life that they would not have otherwise.

But when teenage children are being brought across state lines and left off at hospitals in Omaha, Lincoln or anywhere else in the state, I have a problem with that. In most cases, the problem is not that the adult CAN'T take care of the child -- it's that the parent no longer WANTS to do the job they are SUPPOSED to do.

Parenting is not an easy gig. I was unbelievably blessed with my daughter, who is now in college. We had some tough times those first few years -- we relied on government assistance for a couple of years, and it became more of a challenge when my wife and I separated. Our parents, friends and family helped out more often than we can count, but ultimately it was up to US as parents to make sure our daughter's needs were taken care of.

Most adults, though, don't want the responsibility of being a parent. They don't want to say "no" to their child when the child so desperately needs it. They don't want to discipline the child when the child obviously needs it. Many adults out there are more interested in being their child's buddy, rather than being their parent.

I'm not saying that parents shouldn't do buddy-type things with their kids. My daughter and I used to spend a lot of time at local arcades or putt-putt golf courses doing the kinds of things buddies do. But when it came down to being a parent, it was clear what hat I was wearing at the time, and that's a problem many of today's youth seem to have -- no parent willing to lay down the law when it needs to be laid down.

Later this month, the Nebraska Legislature is going to go into a rare special session to address this issue and place restrictions on the state's "safe haven" law. But the restriction being tossed around in the media is one that I feel is TOO restrictive.

The proposed change is going to limit drop-offs to children age 3 DAYS or younger, which is far too little time for parents to make a rational determination as to whether or not they can raise and properly care for a child. Granted, there are some cases (particularly among teenage mothers) where the sooner a newborn is turned over to social services, the better. Some teenage mothers are simply incapable of understanding what they need to do to properly raise a child and lack the kind of family support they would need to have around them to get that job done.

For others, though, it might take some time for them. They might think they can do it now, but may become overwhelmed by all the new challenges and feel they can't give the child what it needs. I think if such a situation were give a three-month window, it would still be good for both the unwanted children and the parents who recognize that what someone else can give their child is better than what they are capable of.

I'm happy to see the representatives of my state's governing system actually do the job entrusted to them (something we'd never see out of Washington D.C.), and I hope they go beyond the proposed three-day limit to one that is more consistent with the restrictions that most states currently have. It will not only give those who are new to the planet a fighting chance at a good life -- it will take away a sick and convenient avenue some of these rotten parents have for skirting their responsibilities and leaving their emotional train wrecks at our door for us to unscramble.

More from the "Bits And Pieces" file

More odds and ends from the inner workings of the "Bits And Pieces" file:

-- I'm not one to go out and get gussied up for Halloween. I've never been much for costumes and all the hoo-hah that goes into getting myself made up to be someone or something for one night of debauchery.

This year, though, I kind of broke with tradition and actually took the time and effort to come up with a Halloween costume, which you see here on the right. If you look closely, you will see a bunch of baby chickens attached to my body, and I know the first thing that will come to your mind will be something along the lines of "Is he back in therapy yet?"



The costume I created -- with the help of the fine sewing talents of a good friend of mine -- is a "chick magnet." It's an offshoot of an idea I saw on the Townie News website run by Paul "Fitzy" Fitzgerald -- the idea on his website showed a guy with Barbie Dolls attached to his shirt.

Not having any Barbie Dolls around the house (since I no longer have a daughter in the house), I had to come up with an alternative. Originally, I had planned on going to a costume store to find a bunch of plastic chicks, but could find nothing but ducks. Fortunately, I have about a million graphic art pieces at home from my creative sources and was able to find a chick I could copy and print out about 40 times.

The costume was a hit at my poker league's Halloween bash (even if the cards did not cooperate). The only question I had was -- were they laughing at me because of the funny take on the phrase, or were they laughing because of the thought that I might consider myself to be attractive to the opposite sex?

Considering my recent track record with the opposite sex . . . my money would be on the latter.

-- This weekend my mom's side of the family is getting together to take family pictures.

It seems that every time there's a new addition to the family, there is a sudden urge to take pictures. The last time we got together for family photos, my youngest nephew was a toddler. Now that my niece has reached that stage, the time has come again to gather the family together, dress up and smile for the camera.

Thankfully, the family has not been waiting on me to add another twig to the family tree before doing the picture thing. If that were the case, the wait would be an extremely long one, and a lot of photographers would go hungry as a result.

-- One of the frustrating things about getting ready to move is trying to prioritize the things on your to-do list.

The other day, I found myself with about 10 things that needed to be done that day. Being the world-class procrastinator that I am, I found myself walking around in circles saying the following (to myself, of course):

"OK, first I need to take a shower, but the bills need to be paid so I should do that. Wait a minute, I need to organize my closet and get all the clothes I want to take to Goodwill out of there. I'll do that, BUT FIRST I need to do the dishes. Well, the dishes have been there long enough, one more day won't kill them, so let's get the cable box out and take that back to the cable company. Before I do THAT, though, I need to go through some boxes in storage and get out what I don't need. I'll get that done, but before THAT gets done . . . I need to play some poker."

So at least the day wasn't a TOTAL waste . . .

-- The weekend is going to be a good one, and I hope you enjoy yours. We'll be taking the first odd-numbered day of November off, and the next edition of DGMS will be up Monday morning.

Give props to the advertisers on the blog, and don't forget to forward this website to a friend, have them forward it to a friend, and have those friends forward it to their friends. What the heck -- just forward it to everybody in your e-mail address book, and let them sort it out from there.

Have a good weekend . . .

Happy Republicans, Angry Democrats?

I'm in the process of getting organized for next month's move, so if you don't mind I need to lighten the box known as "Bits And Pieces" today . . .

-- Are you happy with your life, or does it just suck?

Are things going well for you, or does it seem to be one problem after another?

Is the glass half full with more water one the way, or half empty with a leak in the bottom?

The Pew Research Center has done a study on people's attitudes toward life and their political leanings, and what they have found is the following:

** Republicans are happy and optimistic

** Democrats are angry and pessimistic

According to a story in the Washington Post, people were polled about their outlook on life, and they found that 37 percent of Republicans are "very happy," compared with 25 percent of Democrats. In fact, 88 percent of Republicans were either "very happy" or "pretty happy," compared to 77 percent of Democrats. Only 9 percent of Republicans are "not too happy," compared to 20 percent of Democrats.

The happiness gap between the two major political affiliations was first discovered in 1972 through government-funded research. This year, there are a very huge number of happy Republicans and pissed-off Democrats, which might explain some of the negative advertising that's going on in politics these days.

The study also found that Republicans think success is determined by one's own efforts, while Democrats think success is determined by outside forces. This might also explain why McCain wants to give tax breaks to the rich, while Obama wants us to dive head-first into Socialism by "spreading the wealth around."

The study did not determine whether independent-thinking individuals, such as myself, were either happy OR sad. I can't speak for others, but I'm just happy I'm neither Republican NOR Democrat . . . and sad that I'm probably going to have to put up with another four years of crap from these morons representing both parties in Washington.

-- Remember when gas shot up over $3 a gallon?

Doesn't seem like it was that long ago, but it was about 6-8 months ago that the price of a gallon of gas soared above $3 and flirted with $4 in some parts of the Midwest.

I remember hearing some talking bobblehead on the Idiot Box saying, at that time, that we'd probably never see gas under $3 a gallon again. This afternoon, however, I saw one area gas station advertising gas at $2.21 per gallon.

The price of a gallon of gas dipped under $3 about a month ago, and it's been falling like a stone ever since. Not that long ago, it cost me $58 to fill up my car. The cost to fill it up a few days ago? Less than $40.

The price of a gallon of crude oil was up in the stratosphere earlier this year, reaching well over $120 a gallon. It's now half that, and the godfathers at OPEC are going to cut production in an effort to try and drive prices back up again.

The lesson I hope we all learned from earlier this year is to cut back on the consumption of gasoline, taking better care of our vehicles and getting more done in fewer trips around town. Until our government decides that we shouldn't be subsidizing foreign countries who'd like to see us crumble into oblivion, and instead work on alternative fuel sources that would lessen -- or even eliminate -- our dependence on foreign oil, it's going to be up to us to keep the price of gas in check.

-- You never realize how much you use your back until you hurt it.

I've had back troubles for the last several years, starting with the time I tried to lug a box full of T-shirts up a flight of stairs back in the early days of my web publishing ventures.

It doesn't take a whole lot of effort now to send my back into oblivion. A couple of weeks ago, I tried carrying my overnight bag, a computer bag and camera bag on my shoulders while lugging a garbage bag full of trash down the stairs prior to a trip to visit family.

It's taken two full weeks and numerous trips to the chiropractor for me to be able to move around without any pain. Sitting, standing, or even getting adjusted in bed felt like somebody had jammed a knife in my back.

It was even worse last fall when I lost a wrestling match with a full keg of beer when I was part-timing it as a bartender. That back injury led to some bigger problems, which ultimately led to the discovery of the testicular cyst I had removed about a year ago. I'm generally one of those guys who just grinds it out and counts on the pain eventually going away -- sort of like an annoying acquaintance who overstays their welcome. That pain, though, was so bad that it had me crying on the way to the doctor.

With a move coming up, I'm going to be relying quite a bit on the backs of those who are younger and less apt to go out of whack than mine . . . or make fast friends with the local chiropractor in my new home town.

That's all for now, folks . . . more thoughts and observations on the Halloween edition of DGMS coming up Friday.

If you enjoyed what you've read here, forward this website to a friend.

And if you didn't enjoy it . . . forward it to some jerkwad you don't like.

Differences abound between urban, rural life

I have lived in an urban setting for most of the last 15 years, but I spent the vast majority of my youth growing up in rural communities in Nebraska.

In the weeks ahead, I am moving out of the urban setting and back into a rural community, and my mother reminded me -- as all wise mothers will do -- that I need to be careful as I adjust from the city life to the country way of doing things.

Now if you've never lived in one area or the other, it can be a real challenge to move into a new setting. People who grew up in small towns generally have a tough time getting adjusted to things when they move to the city. Conversely, those who grew up in the city find themselves going absolutely nuts when they spend more than 20 minutes in a rural area. It's the classic fish-out-of-water syndrome, and it can be difficult to get used to.

With that in mind, I have constructed a list of 20 differences between urban and rural communities. I've done a lot of research on this over the years, and I think you'll find it's a pretty accurate comparison between the two ways of life.

So without further adieu, here are Mikey C's 20 comparisons of urban and rural life:

1. Lead news story in the local paper

Urban -- Somebody was shot, murdered, stabbed or robbed
Rural -- Somebody got locked out of their house

2. Time it takes to drive across town

Urban -- 20-30 minutes
Rural -- 20-30 seconds

3. Number of vehicles involved in the typical rush-hour traffic jam

Urban -- Several hundred, with more coming each second
Rural -- Five, one of which is some type of large John Deere vehicle

4. Finger used when acknowledging an oncoming or passing driver

Rural -- Index
Urban -- Middle

5. Your neighbor's name

Urban -- Is a complete mystery unless your kids happen to go to the same school
Rural -- You know not only their names, but the names of their spouses, children, and a good portion of their extended families

6. Number of neighbors you've had conversations with in the past seven days

Rural -- Pretty much everybody in a two-block radius
Urban -- Less than five

7. Focus of conversations you've had with those neighbors

Rural -- The weather, family, other neighbors' lawns, the local football team
Urban -- Next time you turn your music up that loud, I'm calling the cops

8. Of those neighbors, the number you would invite over for beer and to watch football on TV

Urban -- Let me hide all the valuables first, then maybe two
Rural -- Pretty much all of them, unless they're Colorado fans

9. A night out on the town

Urban -- Drinking, dancing, concerts, movies, sports -- you name it, they've got it
Rural -- Go to the urban areas for any or all of the above

10. Dial a wrong number

Urban -- Get threatened with bodily harm if you EVER call this number again
Rural -- Talk to the other party for 20 minutes to catch up on what's happening in their lives

11. The out-of-control neighbor kids

Urban -- Have criminal records and are making meth in their mother's bathroom
Rural -- Have played ring-and-run at their neighbor's house at least once

12. Kids' biggest complaint

Urban -- There's nothing to dooooo
Rural -- There's nothing to dooooo

13. A typical criminal act

Urban -- Anything gun-related
Rural -- Forgot to settle your tab at the local tavern the night before

14. Concept of gun violence

Urban -- An everyday occurrence in our neighborhood
Rural -- Something that happens during deer, turkey and pheasant seasons

15. How your parents find out you've broken the law

Urban -- They see your mugshot during the 10 p.m. news, complete with details about the crime you committed
Rural -- The whole neighborhood knows everything before you get home to tell your side of the story, which is usually nowhere near the truth

16. Home security system

Urban -- Call company to come in and install system that costs several thousand dollars, to say nothing of the monthly system charges
Rural -- Ask your next-door neighbor to keep an eye on the house while you're on vacation, water the flowers, pick up the mail, feed the goldfish and let the dog out

17. Your local state legislator

Urban -- Some guy you've only seen on TV and wouldn't recognize if he knocked on your door in a non-election year
Rural -- Shops in your local grocery store and you know each other on a first-name basis

18. The newspaper publisher

Urban -- Probably never actually worked in a real newsroom, couldn't operate a camera if the fate of the free world depended on it and is only seen in public when the newspaper is donating money to high-profile charities
Rural -- Grew up in a newsroom, still actively contributes to every aspect of the business and is as likely to be seen taking pictures at a local ball game as he is presenting a check to the local Pee Wee baseball organization

19. Biggest complaint about Washington D.C.

Urban -- They're screwing up our economy with more taxes and wasteful spending
Rural -- They're REALLY screwing up our economy with more taxes and wasteful spending

20. Rush Limbaugh is . . .

Urban -- The Anti-Christ
Rural -- God

Parting with stuff you don't need

Do you realize just how much crap you have stored away that you have no use for, yet can't seem to part company with?

When I was growing up, we used to laugh at how my dad's mother couldn't throw ANYTHING away. Soup labels, coffee cans, ice cream pails, the plastic Easter eggs we used to hunt every spring on the family farm -- if she determined it had some kind of value, she was hanging on to it and was not about to throw it away.

The stairway to the second floor of their house had always been the place where these things were stored. For as long as I could remember, we'd always have to maneuver around piles of newspaper clippings, plastic buckets and about anything else you could think of, all in an effort to get to the upstairs bedroom.

It seems we are a nation of packrats. I'm sure that you could walk in anybody's house and find a room where there is nothing but unopened boxes full of stuff that had been packed away with the idea that the individuals involved would get around to sorting out, but have long since forgotten.

As it turns out, this annoying trait is one that is passed down through the generations. My dad's house and shop and my mom's house are fast becoming glorified storage units for anything and everything you can possibly think of. Old kids clothes, stereo equipment, rarely-used exercise equipment, knick-knacks of all shapes and sizes . . . if a fire started in either of their houses, it would burn for a solid week.

My sister has a room just like this in the basement of her house. She and her husband have more boxes of stuff in there than you can count, and I'm sure if they spent a weekend going through those boxes they would discover a bunch of stuff that they have no use for, but can't seem to find it in their hearts to part company with.

And now that trait has been passed on to me, as I've found during the last few weeks that I'm in possession of a lot of stuff that I had completely forgotten about.

I made this discovery in beginning the efforts to move to another city. I was looking for some old computer discs to transfer files to my computer when I happened upon a big box full of old bank statements, paid bills and other paperwork.

We're not talking a file folder full of paper here, folks -- When piled on the floor, the pile reached up well past my lower desk drawer. The paper shredder I recently bought to take care of a box of paperwork I had discovered earlier is getting one whale of a workout these last few days. I've filled at least three garbage bags full of shredded paper in the last month, and the pile of paper remaining is going to be good for at least that many more.

I feed it in between hands while playing poker online, feed it some more while I'm eating dinner and give it another good feeding before I go to bed at night. If paper was high in cholesterol, this shredder would have had a massive heart attack several times over by now. With over 20 years worth of paperwork to chew up, it wouldn't surprise me if this shredder keels over from exhaustion -- it's already overheated more times than I care to count.

The good thing in all of this is that it has inspired me to dig deep into my closets and into the boxes of stuff I have stored at my dad's shop. With a move coming in the next few weeks, I have enough time to go through all of this stuff, determine what is of REAL personal or financial value to me and either repackage it for the move, send it to the trash or sell it on Ebay.

My goal is to actually have fewer boxes to load for this move than I did for the last one. If I can get that accomplished, I'm sure there will be more room left in the U-Haul for the REALLY important stuff.

Now what box did I put the remote control to the TV in? I know it's here somwhere . . .

Will the younger generation get it now? Or when it's too late?

It's often been said that life is lived forward and understood backward -- we move through our daily lives doing certain things, but we don't understand the impact on the decisions we have made until after the fact.

It's something that is really beginning to bother me as I continue on into my fifth decade of life. I've spent some time over the past few years looking back on some of the decisions I have made in my life, wondering where my life would be if I had made them differently.

I've also tried to utilize these experiences in an effort to communicate with the generations behind me in an effort to steer them away from some of the dumber moves I've made in my life (and, yes, there have been a few -- more than I care to mention in specific detail here). And the question I'm always left with is -- do the younger generations even get it? And by the time they do, will it be too late?

I'm sure this is something that was, and still is, of concern to those who are older than I am. Between my parents and some of the wonderful personal and professional mentors I have who are getting up there in years, there is a TON of experience there that not only is being lost on the younger generations, but will soon be gone forever.

You never think about your own mortality when you're younger. Mom and Dad are taking care of the roof over your head, the clothes on your back and the food in your belly. More often than not, they even succumb to your unceasing desire to have the best toys, the trendiest clothes and whatever bell or whistle is required for you to be a part of the "it" group.

It is during those years when you can most benefit from the experience of those who have come before you. In the vast majority of cases, whatever challenge the younger generation faces has been experienced by those who have come before them. And yet, it seems that the younger generation is missing out on a golden opportunity to learn from those who have paved the road they now travel on.

My parents never did drugs when they were in college, and while I heard stories about some of my dad's exploits in college, I never really got much information on how to "live the college life." I learned it all on my own and made some mistakes that, looking back, were really stupid. I first smoked pot and experimented with other drugs in college. I drank a TON of alcohol in college. On occasion, I actually studied in college (which, supposedly, is what you are SUPPOSED to do -- but nobody mentioned anything about that to me).

Now, 20 years later, my daughter is in college and is making a move from a private, specialized school to a public university. The reason -- to "live the college life."

Her mother never really got to experience living on campus and doing all the crazy things college kids do, so she really doesn't have much of a personal reference to draw on when talking to my daughter about what she's about to encounter. Therefore, it's up to me to relay this information -- some of which is the kind of stuff no parent wants to see their kid involved in.

I'm very concerned about what "the college life" is all about in this day and age. When my parents were in their college-age years, about the only thing their parents had to worry about was excessive alcohol consumption. Drugs like LSD were just starting to find their way on college campuses during that time, and I'm sure there was a lot of concern about the effects those drugs would have on kids during that time.

Nowadays, it's a bigger, badder and scarier world. Alcohol and LSD are kids' stuff now. There are all kinds of drugs -- including methamphetamine -- that are out there now. Additionally, there are untold numbers of losers out there who seem to take a perverse pleasure in slipping something in the drink of an unsuspecting college girl, with the ultimate goal being to take her somewhere and rape her in her drugged-out state.

We never had these drugs around when we were in college, but having read and written enough about the topics over the years, I know what's out there and I know what kind of damage one of these scumbags can do on another human being -- like my own child.

As I said, life is lived forward and understood backward. The mistakes I've made in living my life are ones that I am able to understand years later, and I hope that somehow I can share those experiences -- much the same way as those older than me have done in sharing theirs -- and help today's younger generation avoid falling into the same traps I did when I was their age.

But will they get it now? Or will they wish they had later?

Failure can't define us -- but it can help us succeed

Nobody likes a loser.

Have you ever noticed how we, as a society, make so much out of the winners in life, while at the same time trip over ourselves to avoid the losers?

Everybody loves a winner, the old saying goes. If you are a winner at whatever you do, people love you. They want to be like you. They want to know what it takes for you to be the winner that you are.

But if you're a loser -- you might as well be dead in the eyes of some. Nobody wants to know what you're doing right, because they just assume everything you do is wrong. You can't get a phone call returned if you're a loser -- nobody wants to talk to you, maybe out of fear that your lack of success is somehow going to rub off on them.

The media, especially, loves a winner. How many times, during this past summer's Olympic Games, did we read, hear and watch stories about swimmer Michael Phelps, who set seven world records and won an Olympic-record eight gold medals in the pool? We heard about everything you could possibly want to know about Phelps, from his upbringing (he has attention-deficit disorder and was told by his school counselors that he wouldn't amount to much of anything), his family and even his amazing diet (which consists of so many calories that it would send most of us mere mortals into obesity faster than you can say "hardening of the arteries.").

Then there was the U.S. Olympic basketball team, a team of NBA athletes we already knew quite a lot about (if we actually pay attention to the NBA during the regular season). Players like Kobe Bryant, LeBron James, Dwight Howard and Jason Kidd have had their life stories told over and over again before the Olympics, and we heard even more in the days leading up to their gold-medal win over Spain in the finals.

There were many more stories of winners told throughout the games, but we didn't hear much about those who didn't win the gold, and even less about those who didn't perform well enough to earn even a bronze medal. Is that lazy journalism? Are we exerting so much energy covering the winners that the losers are cast aside and not worthy of our time?

Unfortunately, it comes down to a simple fact of life -- we love to know about the winners, and really aren't all that interested in the losers. But have you ever thought about those people who aren't successful on the world stage -- whether it's the Olympics or some other arena in life -- who are still winners in the game of life?

Many times, it's how an individual responds to defeat that ultimately defines whether or not that person is a winner in the ultimate game -- the game of life. It's how we bounce back from a losing effort that ultimately determines whether or not we are a success -- not in the eyes of the media, but in our own mind.

One Olympic athlete who I am quite sure fits this mold is a young man by the name of Brad Vering. Vering is a wrestler from the small town of Howells, Neb. He was a three-time state champion who went on to become a national champion in college while wrestling at the University of Nebraska in Lincoln and was a two-time member of the U.S. Olympic team in Greco-Roman wrestling.

I've had a number of opportunities over the years to meet and talk with Vering. When I was publishing an online wrestling website, I was able to feature Vering and had the chance to talk with him personally about his successes and failures in the sport.

Vering has worked incredibly hard to earn the chance to compete in two Olympics during his life. He has had a lot of success, but has also failed on numerous occasions. In fact, after his defeat in the 2004 Olympics, Vering struggled to keep his status as one of the best in his weight class. He tasted defeat on numerous occasions and almost didn't get a second chance at competing in the Olympics.

This summer, Vering was winning his first match when he was suddenly turned in the final 10 seconds. The two points he gave up was enough for his opponent to earn the victory and, in essence, kill Vering's hopes of winning a gold medal.

Does this make Vering a loser? Certainly not -- this young man has achieved more success than most of his critics could ever hope to achieve. I haven't had the chance to talk with Vering about his future plans, but I'm going to bet that whatever it is he decides to do with his life beyond wrestling is going to be a huge success. The lessons he has learned in victory -- and, more important, in defeat -- are lessons he will carry into whatever he does with his life from here on out. He may not have been a winner in his sport's ultimate arena -- but he is a winner in the ultimate game and will be throughout his life because of those lessons.

A number of years ago, the shoe company Nike created a commercial centering around basketball legend Michael Jordan. The commercial showed Jordan, in slow motion, getting off a bus and making his way through the bowels of an unknown arena.

As he walked, you could hear his voice talking about all the failures he has had as a basketball player. Many times he was part of a team that went down to defeat. He went many years without winning an NBA title. He was called upon to take the game winning shot and missed several times.

The commercial highlighted all the failures Jordan has experienced in his life as a professional basketball player. This man is arguably the greatest basketball player of all time, won six NBA titles and numerous Most Valuable Player awards, scoring titles and nominations to All-NBA teams, and yet all this commercial focused on was the failures he experienced. But it was how the commercial ended that brought home the importance of experiencing failure -- "I have failed numerous times in my life," Jordan says in the video. "And it is because I have failed, that I succeed."

Nobody likes losing, and nobody goes out and tries to lose in the game of life. And as much as we hope we can be successful in everything we do, failure (or the fear of it) should not define who we are -- it should drive us to learn from the mistakes that we made and help us succeed, no matter what we do in our lives. It is from losing that we can be a winner, and if we can be a winner in our own minds, it really doesn't matter what the rest of the world thinks of us.

Why waste your votes this November?

About 230 years ago, our Founding Fathers were knee deep in what we now know as the Revolutionary War, fighting for our nation's independence from England. It was a revolution that forged the greatest form of government ever, a government that was of the people, by the people and for the people.

Today, that government is no longer of, by OR for the people who must live under its laws. We the people are being screwed, time and again, by individuals who are elected BY us, but do not REPRESENT us in Washington, D.C. Instead, these individuals represent and fight only for Big Money, Big Entertainment and Big Government. And in less than three weeks, we will be asked to go to the polls and vote for our representatives in local, state and federal offices.

Most of you will vote the same way you have always voted, basing your decision on who you feel best represents you. Some vote strictly because of party affiliation -- Democrat or Republican -- while others will vote for the best person for the job, regardless of political leaning.

I've been alive for 42 years and had the opportunity to vote in all but one of the last six presidential elections (the exception being 1996, when I moved late in the election cycle and didn't get registered in time to vote). During that time, I voted for the candidate I felt best represented my interests, and I will carry that same qualification with me when I go to the polls on Tuesday, Nov. 4.

And while I won't say here who I WILL vote for this November, I can safely tell you who I WON'T vote for this November:

1. Any Democrat, and

2. Any Republican

I say this because I have found a direct connection between what ails our great nation and the cause. And in each and every incident that I have seen, I have found a common thread: Democrats and Republicans.

Let's face it -- both political parties are going out of their way to tell you how BAD the other candidate's party is, how they're going to raise taxes, hurt the economy, screw up our schools, give tax breaks to the rich -- if you wait long enough, they're going to start running ads blaming the Chicago Cubs' 100-year World Series dry spell on the other party's lack of leadership.

And you want to know something? They're BOTH right.

The Republicans have had a leader in the White House for the last eight years who, to be kind, isn't the brightest bulb in the chandelier. From the needed, but misguided, War on Terror to the inability to respond to disasters like Hurricane Katrina, this is easily the worst Republican-led administration in history.

But before the Democrats start throwing stones in glass houses, let's not forget a Congress that laid out all sorts of promises that they would clean up Washington when they were elected in 2006. To this point, the 100-day agenda they set forth is nearing day 700, and they have not come close to fulfilling the promises made to voters two years ago.

The problem we have, as voters, is that both parties are going to continue to contribute to the stench that is our political system, because the vast majority of Americans are going to vote for representatives of one -- or both -- parties when they go to the polls.

I will be among the exceptions to that rule -- because I will not vote for a single Republican or Democrat when I go to the polls on Nov. 4. I will vote ONLY for third-party and/or independent candidates for each and every office that I possibly can. And if an independent or third-party candidate is not available, I will write myself in as a candidate.

Now the challenge with doing something like this is that I have to do my own research on the independent and third-party candidates that are out there. The mainstream media is such a pathetic lot that it spends much of its time telling us about the two main political parties that it is in bed with (mainly the Democrats, except for the Republican-leaning Fox network) and spends no time informing its readers and/or viewers about the alternative candidates that do exist and are options in almost every state.

But isn't voting strictly independent or third-party a wasted vote, you ask? And I'll answer that with a question of my own -- considering the garbage we now have representing us in Washington, and our desire for true change in the way we are represented in Congress, isn't the wasted vote REALLY the one in which a Republican or Democrat selected?

You want REAL change this November? Are you looking to start a REAL revolution toward true representative governance in our nation's capital? If so, then why waste your votes this November on two political parties who are part of the problem and DO NOT represent real change?

Feb. 5 -- A special day in history

February 5th is a special day in history. Two people who are very near and dear to my heart were born on this day, and I think this is as good a time as any to not only with them a happy birthday, but thank them for the influence they have had on my life.

The first, of course, is Hank Aaron.

Now I know you've just read that paragraph and are thinking to yourself: Mike, are we tipping the bottle a little too hard again? Are we well on our way to turning into a replica of Jeff Bridges on "Celebrity Rehab" very soon?

Well, not really . . . you see, Hank Aaron was the man who first piqued my interest in sports. It was in 1974 when I bought my first pack of Topps baseball cards (10 cents for 15 cards, plus a stick of bubble gum . . . best deal in sports ever). The first card in the very first pack I opened was the first card in the series, and the card honored Aaron as baseball's new all-time home run king.

That baseball card really got me interested in the game of baseball and, to a greater extent, sports in general. I remember watching Aaron hit No. 715 on April 8, 1974, as the Atlanta Braves played the Los Angeles Dodgers. He took a 2-0 pitch from Al Downing over the wall into the bullpen in left-center field. Atlanta relief pitcher Tom House caught the ball in the bullpen as Aaron circled the bases, and as two fans rushed from the stands to pat him on the back and congratulate him, he circled the bases and came home to history. Not long after that, I started scouring the sports pages and driving my parents nuts with statistical data of every baseball, football, basketball and hockey player whose name I could pronounce (try saying the name Otis Sistrunk without any front teeth sometime).

Over the years, I was able to read more about Aaron's career and the sheer hell he went through as he, a black man, creeped closer and closer to a record held by a beloved, iconic white man. The death threats and the garbage he went through while pursuing this record and playing for a team located in the Deep South (where enlightened, intelligent, unbiased thinking, even in 2008, is still somewhat elusive) was beyond belief. Reading and learning about his life and career made me really appreciate that first baseball card -- and the man who was the subject of that card -- all the more.

But it was something that happened on Hank Aaron's 56th birthday -- Feb. 5, 1990 -- that I will never, ever forget. Someone came into my world on that day whose impact has been so awesome that words can not describe.

It was around 12:20 p.m. that afternoon that we received word that a baby girl was born. And what's even more awesome is the fact that -- believe it or not -- it was my daughter.

We had long settled on the name Kylie Kay if our new arrival was a girl (it was either Jordan Michael or Derrick Michael for a boy, depending on who won the argument over the first name -- I had considered Michael James II, but I would be doing time in prison the first time somebody called him Mike Jr.). I was really hoping for a boy, and for a very brief second I was disappointed when the doctor said I was the proud father of a baby girl (The disappointment, for what it's worth, was VERY brief. It might have been half a millisecond -- significantly shorter than the amount of time her mother disappointed me, but that's another story entirely).

I can't begin to tell you -- even 18 years later -- how it felt at that time to be known as somebody's daddy. Everybody was calling me daddy, and all I could think about was not dropping this wonderfully fragile little bundle in my arms (I was going to strike a Heisman pose with her in my arm and run down the hallway screaming "TOUCHDOWN NEBRASKA," but decided not to after determining that my mother, sister and still-recovering wife may all jump me right there in the room and bludgeon me to death with a catheter).

From day one, she rocked my world like no other human being has even come close to achieving. I remember watching this three-month old infant lying on the floor and rolling toward the TV when the opening credits to M*A*S*H blared from the TV -- and all I could think was, "Ohmigawd, she's a M*A*S*H fan just like her daddy. Isn't that GREAT???"

And it wasn't long before we found out whose attitude she had. One day after coming home from work, we wrestled around in the living room before I told her to go play while I made dinner. And from the mouth of a five-year-old child, I heard this response: "Daddy, I'm going to KICK YOUR ASS!"

Yep, that's my kid.

Then there was the time I took her to her first Nebraska football game. She was excited because she was going to see Eric Crouch play, and Crouch attended her elementary school. By the time Nebraska had built a 52-0 halftime lead against Baylor, my daughter turned to me and said, "Geez, dad -- these guys SUCK!" She slept in my lap the entire second half, but I never had more fun at a Husker football game since the day my dad took me to my first game in 1977.

I remember the first photo she ever took with a camera. She wanted to help her dad out while I was trying to get Nebraska Wrestling Illustrated off the ground, so I let her take pictures at a Nebraska wrestling dual. The VERY FIRST photo she snapped was a photo of a wrestler on his back, with everything from the shoulders down going straight up in the air, and the photo was as crisp as a brand new dollar bill. My fellow newspaper friends saw the photo and said I should fire the photographer I've got (me) and hire her instead. I'm not sure which of us was more proud of her work that day.

Not that long ago, a boy that she was dating broke up with her, and it seemed like the end of the world was approaching. She was beside herself and crying like a baby, and it was up to me to inform her that boys are idiots and they're going to break your heart (I left out the part that girls were a big pain in the ass, figuring that would probably do more harm than good at that particular point in the situation). My initial thought was to hunt down the offending young man, slice him into jerky-sized strips and ship him via FedEx to a remote location west of Butte, Mont., to rot in hell, but I figured getting her heart broke -- as hard as it was on both of us -- was the only way she was going to learn about life.

(For the record, it should be noted that she has made a rather significant upgrade with her new boyfriend -- but as far as he knows, he's just one slippery step away from me hog-tying him, strapping him to the hood of my car and rolling it off a steep embankment. As long as he doesn't know any different, I think he's going to continue treating my daughter as well as he has so far.)

For all the interesting and fun times we've had, though, there has been a lot of regret that I've carried around when it comes to my daughter.

I spent a good chunk of her formative years being more committed to my career than I was to her. Rare was the night during those first few years where a game, a meeting or some other news story did not take precedence over an evening with my family. There were many reasons why this was why it was -- some personal, some professional -- but I missed out on a lot of things in my daughter's life that, sadly, I will never get back.

Her first words and first steps are something her mother saw alone -- daddy was working. A lot of bedtime stories were told in mommy's voice, hardly ever in her daddy's (although we do have "The Monster At The End Of This Book," a Sesame Street story that, to this day, still makes her laugh uncontrollably, but only if I read it in Grover's voice).

I had moved closer to her in 2001, leaving a daily newspaper position to take over a weekly paper in Gretna. Five years later, I moved again, this time two hours away from my daughter for another newspaper job. It was around this time that God was telling me that I had a choice -- either the career or my daughter. I was going to lose one, and I needed to decide which I was willing to give up. Considering the choices being presented, and the fact that I finally had something of a clear head to assess the situation, the choice was easy.

During this past year, my daughter and I have connected in a way that has been missing for some time. She drops by more often than she used to (of course, she has her own car now) and we hang out more -- and have fun doing it -- than we have for some time. I have enjoyed watching her as a leader on the Millard West flag corps and seeing her beam with pride and joy as she performed and played to the crowd, knowing daddy was up there watching (and her mom and step-dad, too).

And we have spent more time talking about the future than I'd ever thought we'd do. And unlike her father back when he was that age, she actually APPEARS to be taking in this valuable information and looking to apply it in her life (something her father is, only recently, learning to do with the advice he's received from those who came before HIM).

She's also discovered that dad's music -- old, outdated and worthless, in her mind, not that long ago -- is actually some pretty awesome stuff. Most of her friends have Britney Spears or some other hip-hop or techno garbage filling up their iPods. Her playlist includes Rush, Loverboy, Van Halen and Night Ranger. A specially-constructed five-CD set made up entirely of music from her dad's voluminous rockin' library of songs is all that is playing in her car's CD player (did I raise her right or what???).

Up until recently, I worried a lot about how my daughter's adult life was going to turn out. She's so bright and beautiful, yet so fragile and naive about the real world that I worry that there is some loser out there who is going to screw her life up in some way, shape or form and her dad will have to spend the rest of his days on death row after hunting down and exterminating the scumbag in retaliation.

I worried until the other day, when I got a phone call from my daughter. Seems there was a bully in her school who was picking on a physically-disadvantage young man. Not only did my daughter tell the jerk to buzz off, but when he didn't seem interested in hearing what she had to say, she arm-barred his worthless ass and pushed him face-first into a table, suggesting that either he knock it off or she was going to get the school resource officer (police officer on patrol at the school) involved.

I'm not worried anymore -- at least, for her (God help whoever screws with her, physically or otherwise).

What I am, though, is indescribably proud of somebody who has hit more home runs in my life than Hank Aaron and every other home-run hitter in the world combined. To quote a verse from the Stevie Wonder classic, "Isn't She Lovely":

"Isn't she pretty -- truly the angels' best -- I am so happy -- we have been Heaven blessed . . ."

I have been blessed, more than I can even begin to count, by somebody who turns 18 years old today.

Happy birthday, punkin'. Daddy loves you more than you'll ever know.

Pilates -- the new word for pain

I want to apologize to everybody for not having updated this blog for the past 2 1/2 weeks, but I have been in a lot of pain lately.

After the start of the new year, I decided that I would set a goal to lose 30 pounds. In doing so, I thought I'd set a target date as well, and I've called it the "152 by 152" plan -- losing 30 pounds would get me to 152 pounds, and the 152nd day of the year is May 31, the day my daughter graduates from high school.

I'm working out, trying to change my diet and things are going a little slow right now, but I'm hoping to start seeing results soon (I'm holding off on switching to the Nicole Ritchie diet until April, if at all possible).

Recently, my local church began offering a Sunday evening pi-yo class, which combines pilates (pronounced pih-LAH-tees) and yoga in a 60-minute weekly workout.

What I didn't realize is that pilates is actually something that has its teachings in Hindu religions and has a specific English-translated meaning. That meaning is -- this is going to hurt like hell in the morning.

When you hear people talk about pilates and see it done on those commercials promoting so-and-so's new system for improved health, it seems like a good opportunity to burn calories, tone muscles and get you in better shape.

What it actually does, however, is stretch muscle groups you had no idea existed, put your body in positions God never planned on you being in and leaving you hot, sweaty and wondering if you have the chiropractor's number on speed dial.

Early in the first class, I realized that something was wrong when the instructor told us to stand on one leg, lift the other leg up to our knee, rotate the lifted leg 90 degrees, place our hands behind our back and bend forward.

"And don't forget to breathe," she reminded us in that soft, relaxing voice.

I stood on one leg, lifted the other leg about halfway up and fell on my ass. On my second attempt, I managed to balance myself long enough to get the second leg up, rotate it 90 degrees and somehow got my hands behind my back.

But, as I started bending forward, I began feeling light-headed. Soon, I was seeing stars. A few seconds later, I passed out and fell like an unbalanced handful of Jenga blocks.

I forgot to breathe.

After regaining consciousness, the instructor had us place our hands on our mats and assume a push-up position. We were supposed to hold that position for 10-15 seconds, then do a push-up and drop our hips so our spine looked like an inverted banana.

I used to be able to bench-press 1 1/2 times my weight, so I figured this shouldn't be much of a problem. I held the push-up position for approximately eight seconds when, without warning, my biceps and elbows decided they were going into business for themselves. Only the soft rubber mat below my body saved me from adding a visit to the plastic surgeon to repair a broken nose.

I positioned myself a second time, this time using the girls' push-up position (and I know right now what you're thinking . . . good God, I am such a wuss). I did the push-up and assumed the inverted banana position, feeling a small sense of pride that I was actually able to complete a move. What I wasn't prepared for, though, was the response my lower back would have for me when I was done with this specific exercise.

To put it in polite terms -- my lower back is not speaking to me right now. I REALLY wish I had the chiropractor's number on speed dial, even as I type this one day after class.

At the end of class, there are a group of "warm-down" exercises that are meant to help ease the stress and strain of the previous 45 minutes. There are some yoga exercises that are supposed to help bring a sense of peace and calm to your inner soul, leaving you feeling good physically, mentally and spiritually.

But as I lay there in the darkness, all I can think about is the throbbing in my back, the screaming pain in my legs and the knives that seem to be sticking out of every other joint in my body. Mentally, all I can do is question whether or not this is worth losing 30 pounds over, or if I'm better off with being satisfied with the way things are now. Spiritually -- I'm wondering what Jesus WOULD do . . . continue with the class, or beat the pilates instructor to death with a frozen chalupa.

The well-worn phrase for getting better physically is "no pain, no gain." I guess that, in order for me to get down to that desired weight by my daughter's graduation, I'm going to have to suffer in an effort to get myself down to 152 pounds by the end of May.

And I'm optimistic that I'll reach that goal -- provided, of course, that the chiropractor's office is open Sunday nights.