Love Tours (part 3 of 3)

The finalish stop on the epic Love Tour of 2010 was northern Indiana for a family reunion. I'd literally been home about a week after Lake Charles when it was time to go again, but this time I had Shannon, Leiah, Renee, Ben and Sacagawea with me. Sacagawea is what we named my mom and dad's minivan last summer when my parents did a Lake-ation tour around Kentucky, and boy did she come through when it came to babies on the road.

We loaded up on road snacks (Doritos for the pregnant lady, beers for Aunt Shan the navigator, goldfish and fruit snacks for the babies) and left after Shan got off work on a Friday. The drive was pretty uneventful thanks to the in-van DVD player, but there were moments of toddler potty training emergencies. When they gotta go, they gotta go, and one time Renee, who'd been seduced by the promise of peeing in the grass at Aunt Tina's house, insisted she get to pee in the grass at the gas station. Luckily it backed up to a corn field, like most things in Indiana, so Auntie Am, Master of Peeing Outside in a Forward Squatting Fashion, helped Renee fulfill her dream of peeing in the grass.

There was also that Wizard of Ozian tornado that threatened us the last 11 miles of the trip, but Shan broke out a beer to cope with the fact that we may have to lay on top of babies in a ditch and everything was fine.

Once we got to Tina & Tony's house, things settled into awesome. I swear there were so many boys there it felt more like a fancy fraternity house than the residence of a middle-aged couple whose kids are grown. But then, really, that's just how Tina & Tony's house has always been -- the place to hang out, lose track of entire seasons, eat good food, and drink beer out of oversized cans.

Our cousins Nate and Tee showed the babies the kitty in the barn and gave the city kids a lesson in feeding sheep. I'm a proud member of the city kids. Then our cousin Andrea, with her due-soon belly, her husband Mitch, and her uber cuties Kennedy and Jaden, came over to hang out too. We crowded into the kitchen over one of Tina's famous veggie pizzas and talked way too much while Renee pushed one of Tina's chihuahuas around in a baby doll stroller.Saturday, after the babies had a nap, we hit the road to Hoover for a Scott family reunion at Uncle Carl & Aunt Bea's pig farm. We used to go swimming in the pond at the back of the farm when we were kids, and you'd have to drive through some of the grossest smells ever and a small creek to get there. They've moved the pigs somewhere downwind (thank god) and moved what used to be the bridge to my Grandma's house over the stream at Carl and Bea's. That's progress, 12 Mile-style.
Ben and Renee seemed to be having a nice time walking through the tall grass and over a bridge to a little island in the middle of the pond, which was drained for some reason. Leiah, Shan and I sat and watched them throw sticks and rocks into the empty hole, and Ben got his chance to pee outside, this time on a tree.

I am such a good influence.
The family reunion was good, although I greeted most of the people with, "Hi, I sort of remember playing with you. I'm Amber, of Greg." Weird for a family reunion, I know, but thanks to Facebook, next time I'll know who these people are. Although thanks to Facebook, they are probably dumbfounded at how they can be related to my Buddhistish Socialistish Unemployedistish ass.

At least the babies were adorable. Babies make everything better. Other people's babies that I am the auntie of, that is.

And I found my long lost foot twin. I always wondered who needed smacked for giving me these Flinstones... turns out it's all Scott.
Spending a couple hours at the pond helped Ben and Renee recalibrate their standards, so by the time we visited Aunt Becky, Uncle Vince and Cousin Isaac that evening, Ben had settled into running around shirtless and falling in the grass and Renee was just fine eating dirty strawberries out of the garden.
Our cousin Ryan came over to drink Miller High Life (it's better than low life, haha!) and introduce us to his fianceish Jessie.
We sat on the patio, cracking up at our hilarious Aunt Becky and trying to fight off the mosquitoes with citronella lamps. In the middle of one particularly painful laugh session, Uncle Vince came to the door from inside and said, "I just want you to know that the children are naked and I had nothing to do with it."

Then Ben in his Toy Story tennis shoes and Renee in nothing but her birthday suit came running out of the house having the time of their lives being crazy deliriously happy naked babies. Too bad they didn't pull that stunt at family reunion...

Becky's house had really felt the brunt of the storm from the day before (corn was blown sideways and trees were down everywhere), so we decided to go back to Tina's house since we weren't sure if they were going to get the power back on at Becky's. By the time we left, it was past 11 pm, we'd visited no less than 100 people and, holy smokes, there is only so much love to go around.

As we were pulling in to Tina's we got a text that Mitch, Andrea's husband, had collapsed at a wedding and was on the way to the hospital. What a panicked, awful night that was. Mitch spent a long time in a coma (he had something aneurysmish) but came out of it and is in therapy now. And Andrea just had her baby, Brogen Wayne, a couple days ago.
Finally, I am up to date! Ish.

Love Tours (part 2.66 of 3)

(Yes, this has been two-plus months in the making...)

Soooo, after Memphis, it was time to head to Lake Charles, a place that should be left to mosquitoes and alligators and parasites and a place that I would never visit if some of the best people in the world named Amy and Liz didn't live there. I'd visit them in hell (both of them are very good Catholics, so it's more likely to end up the other way around).

The last time I was in LC was for Amy's wedding, but this time I was there for Liz's wedding AND to see Amy's baby, a chunky butt who is so cute she's lucky I'm not a kidnapper.
Liz's wedding was jam-packed with get togethers starring giant amounts of food and more family members than can really fit in a normal sized house. But somehow, they all squeeze in and fill the room with loud laughs and answers to any question you might ever have.

The first get-together was a Hey, People Are in Town So Let's Barbecue. To Cajuns, barbecue means eat outside, so instead of firing up the grill, Liz had Chris pick up a pizza that was so big it would only fit in an SUV. (I had a picture of Liz and a baby with the empty pizza box that really showed off this pizza's enormity but the computer goblins snatched it.)
After cleaning out that box (and another one half that size), we all sat outside and watched sweaty kids run around the backyard. At one point Amy and I got them organized into a game of red light green light and then there was a pretend eye injury that lasted a couple days. It's like they always say, it's all fun and games until somebody gets a pretend eye injury.

Liz's dream wedding involved a photo booth area, so we did a little web searching and found a way to finagle her computer into a photo booth that automatically prints photos. The night ended with a practice round, and once that final piece of the puzzle was slid into place, Liz officially relieved herself of wedding duties.
The next night was the rehearsal dinner night, so we headed over to Chris' parents' house to cram dozens of people into one house, a house unified by rice and ettouffe. I'm telling you, these Cajuns have a knack for making plenty of room, no matter how many people you have.
After a brief fire performance, the distribution of presents and letting Sam put a spell on me with his sparkling green eyes, we all went to Annie's, my other best friend in Lake Charles, to toast the soon-to-be Domingues.
I'm not sure if it was intentional or not, but I think Liz's peacock-inspired wedding may have been partly inspired by Annie's. It's total kitch, total biker bar, totally worthy of being one of the bars Patrick Swayze "cooled" in Road House... really nothing like what Liz's wedding was except in its shared awesomeness and peacock-y bathroom.
Wedding day was a blur of last minuting and beautifying. We popped over to the reception hall to set up the photo booth, grabbed some Middle Eastern food (LC is coming up in the food department... that stuff was delish!), and watched as Liz transformed from cozy Saturday girl to stunning bride-to-be.
Brides are always pretty. White dresses and styled hair and professional makeup has a tendency to do that to a girl. But Liz, she was the most beautiful I'd ever seen her before. She took my breath away (and her mom's and her baby's) with how gorgeous she was.

I'm so happy for Liz. I've known lots of her boyfriends over the 20 years we've known each other, and finally, FINALLY she picked a good one. I think she and Chris are definitely going to be a happily ever after.

Congrats my dear Elijah. I love you so much and am so grateful I got to share this day with you.

All I'm Sayin' Is You Better Be a Girl

I know, I know, I promised you Africa and I owe you Liz's wedding and a family reunion and a full account of that impromptu open heart surgery that's officially a Scott tradition, but there's CPR classes and dieting and moving sisters and pregnant ladies that just keep getting in the way. Plus, I miss Jen.

It'll all be here this week or else it will be forgotten and we will move on/resume in present time.

In the meantime, here's Leiah, a rotund 17 weeks and counting. We're not sure yet if it's a boy or a girl, but we are certain it's Mexican. We are also certain that it will be wearing girly clothes if it is a boy. We are also certain that WE WANT A GIRL!

Let Freedom Ring

On July 3, the day before we left for Ghana, we had a little cookout/going away/4th of July party, complete with a grill, a cooler full of beer and a blow up swimming pool.

Then I got so busy with going to Africa, being in Africa and coming home from Africa, I am just now able to offer you, the six of you who can't live without glimpses into my life, this photo essay from that day.





After Africa, I am loving America extra hard right now. Stay tuned for so. much. more.

I'm in Africa.

And it is awesome.

That is all.

Nanti ye,
Amber

My Boyfriend's Back...

Love Tours 2010 (part 2.33 of 3)

After Gio's wedding, I had about 48 hours at home before it was time to set out on the second major phase of Love Tours 2010... the part that involves Liz and Chris.

But, since I am a weenie who doesn't like to do anything by myself, I got my wife, Leigh, to take a half road trip with me to Memphis. I figured, hmmmm, I ride with Leigh to Memphis, and then I'll only have 8 hours by myself from Memphis to Lake Charles.

Leigh found a one-way ticket back to Kentucky for $76 and it was a Memorial Day weekend plan. We were going to Memphis to visit Leigh's cousin.
I met Tara and her ridiculously cool kids at one of Leigh's family get togethers and it sort of felt like we were kindred spirits even though we were only around each other for about an hour. But when I walked into Tara's house in Memphis and saw all the art and heard her big laugh, it felt like being at home.

So much so that within an hour of being there, I took a shower and followed it with a nap on her couch.

Two of Tara's ridiculously cool kids were off on ridiculously cool adventures, but the youngest, Sam, was at home, and he, like Leigh, has magical eyes that put people in a trance and get them to hang on his every word.

And now, my love letter about Sam. Because I love him.

Sam is so cool. He draws robots with extensions that are specialized for flipping hamburgers and cleaning ceiling fans. He wears tie-dyed t-shirts and worries that pink corduroy shorts might make him gay. He walks from room to room carrying a hot wheel with three oozie-like things coming out the top and sometimes transforms it into a finger blaster with the addition of a rubber band. He likes cinnamon rolls and is quick to demonstrate his milk chugging prowess. His philosophy about brushing his teeth is why bother, they just fall out anyway -- a thought pattern affirmed by the loss of a cavity-filled molar an hour after brushing his teeth. His afro won't quit and neither with the pale sage green that makes up his eyeballs. He thinks Megan Fox is hot and wants to be an architect for about three years when he grows up, and then he's going to do a career change and become an artist like his mom. He's quick to take the fall in The Case of the Pipe Found on the Fridge, and when his interrogator asks, "If it's yours, then what do you put in it?" he curls his lips into a shape much older than he is and says, with a rasp in his voice, "Vodka."

He likes high fives, and he is about the most awesome 9-year-old I've ever met.

When I wasn't wishing I had as much swagger as Sam, I was running around Memphis eating at delicious places and drinking entirely too much. Tara, being an artist, is a natural at finding places with character, and whether it was coffee in the morning, salads at noon or fish tacos at night, she not only didn't lead us astray, she led us to delicious.

Blah, blah, blah and then I gained 6 pounds.

We went to the Trolley Tour art walk thing, which also happened to be the Zombie Walk. One Zombie had actual worms embedded in his wound and I tried to get him to eat Leigh but he was already full I guess.
Then we went to Silky Sullivan's on Beale Street and watched frat boys act like douchbags. After we'd downed about two gallons of some weak Kool-aid cocktail, we left Silky's and realized we should have been partying in the street. Frat boys trying to bang half naked chicks make for angry people watching; provocative dancing black people partying in the street make for great people watching.
Tara got us a hotel downtown so we wouldn't have to drive. We headed there and Leigh introduced me to her 19-step face washing routine. There were so many bottles I couldn't keep it straight the entire weekend, but Leigh is such a good wife she'd just line them up in order for me. I don't think it worked, but since the regime costs hundreds of dollars, I stuck with it and tried to force a glow.

The next night, I managed to convince them to go to a sports bar with me to watch Rampage fight Rashad in the UFC fight. I mean, Memphis is Rampage's hometown, so I knew it was going to be a blast of a crowd. I made his photo my wallpaper on my iPhone and started howling when appropriate. Which was not too often.
Leigh and Tara said they had a good time. And for that, I'd like to thank Patron Tequila. I had a great time, and for that, I'd not like to thank Rampage who got knocked out and made me really bummed.

I think our last 24 hours in Memphis were my favorite, so much so that I didn't want to leave. We went to a tequila bar and sampled about 10 types of tequila. Then we ate really good queso and fish tacos and there I go talking about food again. I am an addict.

While we were sitting on the patio, a lively discussion broke up between these guys and girls next to us, and it got so crazy we just couldn't ignore it anymore. So we butted in and Leigh secretly told the girls to never admit to anything and I asked one of the boys if he was religious because he was wearing a rosary and he informed me that that's just the fashion. Also the fashion is to make sure your hat matches your shoes. Just FYI.
We were having so much fun we relocated to another place that was staying open, and Tara's friend Evan helped us fine tune our gaydar.

The next morning we got up, went to eat yet another delicious lunch, browsed through some adorable shops, and then settled in, made dinner, drank wine and watched a movie.

About a million of my favorite things happened in the 4 days I was in Memphis, and I think I may have found another good wife.

No, I am not a lesbian... and even Evan agrees. I just think wives are awesome and good ones are hard to come by.

Summertime

A giant juicy watermelon and some beefy rich tomatoes from this morning's Farmers Market to welcome in the new season. Our in-house compost collector better get ready for the harvest.

Dulywed: Tough Love

Mack and I were watching a really riveting and cerebral program on VH-1 called Tough Love recently. In this award-worthy reality show, couples are given relationship challenges such as "resist the whorish girl" and "tame the drunk violence," and then receive Dr. Phil-ish critiques of their behavior.

At the end of the 13-episode experience, they must make a serious and life-altering decision.

Break up or get engaged.

Because if you're on the verge of breaking up, that's really when you should be getting engaged.

Watching Tough Love got me pondering my own relationship, so I looked over at Mack and asked him. Whaddya think? Break up or get engaged.

"Let's do both."

So we did. We broke up. Actually I dumped him.

Nothing much changed, but at least we got the breaking up out of the way. Then we got dressed and went to a wedding.

Later on, while we were sitting on a rock and soaking up the sunshine, Mack asked me to marry him, partly as a joke and partly with some insecure sincerity. There was no ring, no kneeing, but something about this time was way better than the first. It was just a perfect moment of relationship stillness, and if it hadn't been for that stupid show, I may have gone the rest of my life without a guy asking to be with me.

It made all those dishes I've done the past 6 years way more worth it.

Trans Bans

Do yourself a favor and never buy these things again. They are lethal, LETHAL, and they are poisoning your babies.

Also, never buy tubes of biscuits. They are way too easy to make to risk your life for the 6 minutes of prep.

I'm pretty sure you all know how I feel about pizza rolls too. (If you wanna buy pizza, the only one we've found sans trans is DiGiorno regular crust cheese pizza.)


Ore Ida Tater Tots used to have 3g of trans fats for 19 tater tots, but now they removed hydrogenated oils from their ingredients and they are "fine" to eat, even though they still aren't really food. Oreos did the same thing.

There's power in your pennies. Stop buying this shit and they'll stop putting it in your kids' food.

Special Deliveries

This one should be here in December.
And this one is due in January.
Hooray for fresh babies!!! Congrats to these amazing mommies!! Woo hoo for Aunt Ammies!!

Love Tours 2010 (part 1 of 3)

A few weeks ago, Mack and I went to LA to visit his family and to celebrate the love of our friends Gio and Whitney. Gio shares my birthday and was my work spouse when I worked in LA. I spent more time with him every day than I did with Mack, and most nights when I'd come home, the conversations between Mack and I would start with, "Oh, guess what Gio told me/did today..."

So what if I kinda worship Gio a little bit. He's badass. And I find his OCD reassuring.

Gio's now-wife, Whitney, is about a perfect a mate as any guy could ask for. She's gorgeous, intelligent, loving, patient, classy and quite likely the most thoughtful person I've ever met.

And the two of them together, with him stealing rubs on her butt and her melting into his eyes, it's just the way it should be... the definition of a love that doesn't make you sick.

Gio and Whitney went to college together, I think at Carlton or some similar liberal arts school that cultivates ridiculously talented people, and all their pals from that era of their life made the trek to the wedding to celebrate the love they watched blossom over four years. And they brought poems and songs and speeches to offer the couple that made the rehearsal dinner feel more like a grown up talent show.

Oooohhh, that rehearsal dinner, mmmmm. Mojitos and homemade gelato and seeing all those people I fell in love with in LA again. I hope Gio and Whitney had as much fun as I did... although I'm pretty sure their night didn't end with them swimming in their underwear and driving home with a towel on their head and wearing Mack's shirt.
The wedding day started with breakfast with Jordan, Jolia, David and Kathy, other work buddies and their fascinating wives, at this awesome place called The Farmer and the Cook. Everyone at our table was vegetarian/vegan except for David and Kathy, and the table next to us, three young people whose prettiness shouldn't be natural, were on a raw diet. The girl had brought her own magic concoction of nuts and health, so she let us have a sample. And then I had one more thing to add to the list of What Makes California So Awesome.

After breakfast, we decided to go for a short hike and ended up looking over the Ojai valley behind an orange grove. The valley runs east-west so it gets sun all day and in the evening, when the sun sets, everything gets bathed in a pink light.
I planned to see that pink light emerge during the wedding.

A shuttle took us up into the mountain to this mansion that had rose gardens that would make the queen in Alice in Wonderland jealous. We watched Gio and Whitney exchange vows that made me cry about 14 times, and the minister, their friend Tessa who was ordained on the internet, told a story of a note Gio had written to Whitney when they were college about the two of them being whales off Baja California making a life journey together.

See, Gio can predict the future.
After the wedding ended, Mack and I wandered around the grounds drinking Negra Modelos and ended up perched on a rock that overlooked a junkyard. The 200 other people carried on with wedding chit chat behind us, but we soaked up the sunshine and took word adventures into our dream life.
Eventually it was time to eat delicious food, play around with the photo booth they had, and take a look at the popsicle cart, which had such flavors as avocado. Then it was cake and dancing and swirling and drinking so many Negro Modelos that every time I walked up to the bartender, he'd automatically hand me two of them.

I wonder if his birthday is also May 16.
We had to get back to LA pretty early in the morning on Sunday so we could see Mack's mom, who had been working all week, so we packed up and headed out. Mack decided he wanted a cup of coffee for the road and zipped our Ford Focus into a corner coffee shop. And by zipped I mean rammed the curb and popped the tire on our rental.

We had a brief pit stop that allowed Mack to show off some of his man skills and let me relish our good fortune at being held up in such a magical place.
Then we were on our way back to real life, knowing that we're not as good at marriage as Gio and Whitney will be but we're getting pretty good at making it through the rough spots without killing each other. And that's probably the most important part of happily ever after.

Dulywed

Last night, while I was engrossed in an episode of Forensic Files, Mack made this little video. Which is a hilarious and troublingly accurate portrayal of our life together. Except he's not nearly that polite in real life. And I look nothing like Sarah Palin.

WTF BP?

Shame, shame, shame. On BP for letting this happen without a viable emergency plan in place, on our government for allowing inaccessible drilling in our ocean floor, and us for not getting off this sinking oil ship without first destroying one of the most beautiful places on our planet.

Enough with the oil, the greed, the laziness and this unfounded sense of entitlement we have.

Wisdom Teeth

While we were in L.A., we got to see Bubba get sworn into the army. There was some question about whether his blood pressure would hold out long enough for him to get accepted, but he got it under control and he'll be heading off to learn how to fly helicopters in August.

Bubba, in the army. That's totally not a joke.
During the swearing in, the leader guy said the lines and had the enlisters repeat after him, as is the normal swearing in process. He started with, "I, state your name," blah blah blah, and someone actually said, "I, state your name," instead of stating their name.

God bless the USA.

California is fruity.

California is a fruit show off. Lemon trees in parking lots, orange trees lining the highways, nectarine trees in neighbors' yards... and then the fruit selling guys, who cut up mangoes and pineapples and canteloupes and watermelon and coconut and cram it all into a giant bag for $5.

Those fruit guys should win Top Chef honors for what they do on sunny days.

Mack's dad is a bit of a fruit junkie, so their house is always stocked with fruit. There are, of course, bananas and oranges and apples, but thanks to the Iranian store Elat, there's also cherries and blackberries and sweet lemons. Elat sells fruit for half of what it is at the regular grocery store, so even if you have to park your cart and then scramble around the store collecting your goodies, it's worth it.
Just before we got to LA, they'd stocked up on fruit from Elat, including baskets of strawberries. Or some steroidal version of strawberries.

That is a strawberry next to a Gala apple... a strawberry so large that only it and about six of its giant friends fit in the normal-sized strawberry basket. Now that's almost as impressive as a pluot.

[An apple aside, since we're on the subject, my mom and dad discovered these apples called Honey Crisps that are the best apples on the planet. Sprinkle a touch of cinnamon on them and it's like dessert. Honey Crisps put other apples to shame.]

Nap Time at Man Care

Laila and I were playing around the other day, taking walks, looking at Japanese erasers and trying to figure out what Water Babies are exactly and why they are strangely fun, when we decided we should probably come downstairs and be more social.

And we walked into this.

That's right. Three grown men, all having naps, with That 70s Show on in the background. I've seen Mack in this state, usually with the news on, on several afternoons, but to see him, his brother and his dad all napping together made me wonder if it's genetic and not just gender specific like I thought it was.

Just a little stroll.

Tom took us on a hike today, and by hike I mean a 7-mile power walk that worked butt muscles I didn't know existed.

It was an absolute incline until we reached the overlook, but the incline was speckled with courting hummingbirds and interesting animal poop and deer tracks and lizards so there was enough distraction to get me to the top... which was outfitted with recycling containers because that just how conscious people are here.God this place is freaking wonderful.

3 plus 2

I actually don't mind getting older... probably because my birthdays are always so awesome they're worth living for.

This year things got started on May 9, which was a celebration of Renee's birthday, my birthday and Mother's Day rolled into one. Renee was just about the cutest 3-year-old I've ever seen opening her presents, so even though celebrating with her meant sharing the spotlight, she provided entertainment that was worth it. And it's always fun to share your birthday with Mother's Day, since in a twisty way it's also your mom's birthday... her giving birth day.

Sharing my birthday meant we got to have two cakes... a chocolate one for Renee (that said Happy Birt because Bad Mommy Shannon ran out of icing) and a vegan carrot cake for me. I hate to say it, but I think I may like sharing my birthday.

My birthday week was pretty good. I did a little bit of work, played volleyball, cleaned the house, and then on Friday, I met up with Ruble and Steve for giant-sized birthday Red Stripes.

Saturday was a little lame, since I spent the day in a nursing home giving bed baths and feeding old people, but it was also waaaaayyyy better than the Saturdays I've been having, where I sit in a room with people whose development is questionable and whose accents border on unintelligible. Sunday, my actual birthday, was a little more of the same as Saturday, but it was also THE LAST DAY of nurse aid torture.

I wanted to go to the drive-in for my birthday, but it started raining so we had to do a change of plans. I was stumped. All my favorite restaurants are closed on Sundays, but Mack called and found out that the new Dudley's on Short Street was open. Thank god.

We met Leigh and Nash and ate some of the best pan-fried snapper in the world. It was served over some magical greens and craveable beans and I basically licked that plate clean.

Just as we were sucking down the last of our mojitos, the waitress brought down a carrot cake that Leigh had brought... complete with a small forest fire on top. I saw her coming because the flames caught the corner of my eye and I thought there was some sort of disaster headed our direction. The heat coming off that thing actually made me sweat in the short time it took for my dinner mates to serenade me with Happy Birthday.

But in that small moment, with 32 candles blazing in front of my face and a smile wiped across it that overwrote any essence of cool I was trying to project, I accidentally achieved birthday euphoria.

It seriously felt like those people on Intervention who talk about feeling a rush when they put the needle in their arm.

All the voicemail singing, all the Facebook love (some of it from people I didn't think really even knew me), all the special dates, all the cheers and good food and laughs. If you've gotta be addicted to something, birthdays are it.

Ya'll 'member Jesco???

The Dancing Outlaw? The one who was half spray paint huffer, half mountain genius? The one who threatened to murder his wife Priscilla if she made sloppy, slimy eggs?

Well, he's baaaaaccccccckkkkkkk.
I read today that there's a new documentary about Jesco White and his family coming out called The Wild and Wonderful Whites of West Virginia and I am soooo excited about it.

Jesco tap danced his way into my heart during an Advanced Writing for the Mass Media class I took in college. He was shocking... for his idiocy and his brilliance... and it's good to see he's not only still alive but still living in his crazy way.

For reasons that aren't entirely noble, I love mountain people. I love hollers and twang and twisted logic and the incomprehensible, self-induced tragedy that these people rise above time after time.

A few years ago Mack and I got hooked on the PBS series Country Boys, where one of the main subjects was a death-metal sex-having teenager aspiring to be a youth pastor and the other was a great-in-his-own-mind dreamer who decided it was more important for him to work at Taco Bell than get a free ride to college.

Those country boys were good, but they were no Jesco. They were nothing like the Whites.

Where have I been? Climbing up on my soapbox.

I was just studying for my anatomy final, which covers the reproductive system, when I read this: diabetes causes erectile dysfunction.

I'm about to get all judge-y so feel free to bail now.

In addition to being in anatomy, I'm also spending my weekends doing my nurse aid training. You have no idea how awful that class is. Think traffic school, but 8 hours long, every weekend for 5 weeks, full of morbidly obese smokers.

In both classes, the words "smoking is a factor" and "smoking increases risk" and "obesity contributes" keep coming up. Over and over and over.

Heart problems = fat + smoking. Lung problems = fat + smoking. Sex problems = fat + smoking.

If there are two things you can do to add quality years to your life, it's not smoking and not getting super fat.

All you have to do is look at me to know I am not a fat hater. Or a smoker hater, for that reason. I like beer and French fries and pizza and potato chips, potato chips, potato chips as much as the next person, and I'm hauling around an extra 10-15 pounds as proof. And there was a decade there where I was without question a certified "bum smoker."

But honestly, I didn't know better. Or I was young enough to not care. Now, though, I won't tolerate being stupid. I will not love my vices more than I love being able to walk around without feeling like I'm going to die. I just will not, no matter how old I get or how hard it gets to lose weight.

I have lost weight, gained weight, lost weight, gained weight my entire life. And knowing me and my love of beer and French fries and pizza and potato chips, potato chips, potato chips, I will live in that cycle for the rest of it. But I have set firm limits for myself that I will not trick myself out of.

The other day, one girl in my class made a comment about how much sugar was in juice and how she didn't realize it until that morning in the gas station when she was looking for a healthy alternative to soda. She's also trying to lose weight, and I said, "If you cut out soda, you will lose 10 pounds without even trying."

And then, one of the 15 Mountain Dew junkies in my class said, "I love my pop, there's no way I could give it up. Besides, you gonna die of somethin'."

Isn't she going to feel stupid for saying that when she's 49, half blind and an amputee? What about her kids or her husband? Are they going to feel alright about her deterioration in the name of fucking soda?

Of course, it's not just about soda, though. It's about being lazy and how un-fun it is to force ourselves into healthy living. Sinister things are way more fun... and faster and more delicious. I get it. But we don't walk around masturbating whenever we feel like it and we shouldn't be letting ourselves enjoy a triple decker fudge brownie every commercial break either.

One girl in my class brought macaroni noodles cloaked in mayonnaise and Bacon Bits for lunch today. Then she went and helped herself to about 30 Tootsie Rolls from the candy jar. Another girl opted for a family size bag of Doritos and a Mountain Dew. A couple others were McDonald's subscribers or Sonic fans. And I sat back there eating my salad with Balsamic Vinaigrette and a tomato sandwich (with mayo and salt) thinking my god these people are poisoning themselves in the name of convenience.

After lunch, diabetes came up again, this time with pictures. Diabetic socks and injections and pills and obesity and gangrene and amputation, and I just wanted to pull a Dead Poets Society and stand on my chair and hold up a big mirror with flashing red warning lights so that these people could realize their fates if they keep this up.

I just don't understand how people just can't care. My friend Seth was a preemie, was diagnosed with diabetes as a kid, and has to give himself insulin injections before every single meal for the rest of his life. He did nothing to earn this lot in life but be born too soon. He is active and eats right and takes care of himself, even though he understands that someday his disease is going to make him blind and steal his limbs and, as I just learned, prevent him from getting a boner. It's unfair that Seth works so hard to have what Mountain Dew fuckers take for granted, what they're willingly giving up.

One of the super fats in my class is wanting to have a baby but can't get pregnant. Wonder why. Another one has high blood pressure, as she just learned (and was shocked about) when we were taught how to do vital signs. Is she really surprised, considering she just had a second lunch consisting of Tootsie Rolls?

I don't get it. I guess there's comfort in ignorance, because ignorance absolves you of responsibility for your actions, but I call bull shit.

Most of these mega-chunks are in the South, most of them live in small towns, most of them have little else to do but eat and go to church. And now I'm gonna slam on church, so feel free to bail now if you haven't already.

Isn't gluttony a sin? And for some reason I seem to remember lust and sloth and greed are also sins. And not just sins but deadly sins. I've never been to cadechism, but I think deadly sins are worse than regular sins, like, you know, the type of sins that being gay or masturbating or lying are supposed to be. So in that regard, aren't these Bible thumping super fats who are not only killing themselves but also their babies worse than the abortion-getters and gay families they rise up against? By being such an incredible strain on our health care system for no other reason than they couldn't care less about the effect of their actions, aren't they committing a more egregious social offense than any flaming homo might?

(*I'd just like to say that I find flaming homos delightful.)

Seriously, ya'll, the rest of the world is not like this. In other places, people are normal sized. In other countries, we look like gluttons and sloths and totally ungrateful, engorged, greedy piggies. But forget about how we look to other people... how do we look to ourselves?