Help Yourself to Some Self-Help

I've never been much for self-help books, or the people that read them incessantly.  What a waste of time and money!  But then, over the last few years, I became one of those people.  Now here I sit, combing the internet day after day for the latest weight-loss tome.  You know the ones I'm talking about:  "You're Fat and Everybody Hates You, Now Change".  "Hug Your Weight Away".  "A Porker's Guide to Pill Popping".  "Jonah's Seafood Diet, Or 'How I Conquered The Whale in Me'".   I have been searching for an easy answer to my age-old question:  How did I get this big, and how do I get smaller?  I've spent so many dollars trying to find this answer in this psychiatrist's book, or that random doctor's book.  Guess what?  The answer doesn't lie in any book.  Know why?  Because the answer lies in a mere a sentence.  Not even a whole sentence, but a fragment of a sentence.

Exercise more, eat less.

Doesn't get much easier than that, does it?  "Exercise more, eat less."  So simple, yet so complicated.  Why complicated?  Because of The Demon.

In my early blog entries (I think, anyway...it's been so long since I read those early entries), I wrote about the demon, or monster, that lives inside my head.  The one that says "Go ahead, Joey.  Stop at Taco Bell.  Burrito Supremes are only 99 cents this month, and they are oh-so-tasty.  And they're good for you, too.  Sour cream?  DAIRY!  Flat, steamy iceberg lettuce?  VEGETABLE!  And the not-quite-red-ripe tomatoes?  FRUIT!  Add in the zesty half-beef / half-possum "meat" concoction, and you've almost got yourself a food pyramid of Pharaonic proportions, wrapped up in a low-fat flour tortilla!  Go ahead, get three of them.  You deserve to be healthy, don't you?"  That demon wants me dead, and won't rest until I'm six feet underground.  Or scattered ashes along the Outer Banks.  Or burning bright on a funeral pyre, my sword and shield at my side, while naked pagan girls dance around giving thanks to The Goddess for whatever the hell they usually thank Her for.  That last one sounds kinda awesome, actually...

Lookit, I know how I got this large.  I ate too much.  I didn't exercise enough.  Duh.  And I know how to thin out.  Eat less.  Exercise more.  Double Duh.  But what I don't know is how to control my food demon.  Some psychiatrist would tell me to look in the mirror, give myself a great big hug, and say "I love you, Joey".  Give me a break.  A doctor would call me "Sir Fats-a-Lot" and try to sign me up for gastric bypass surgery.  A preacher would say "Turn to God in prayer, my son" as he passed me a collection plate.  The truth is, all of these choices have some validity.  They have all helped one person or another get through some tough times, when their demon (alcohol, drugs, or in my case, food) came a-callin'.  But none of these choices have worked for me.

Why is that?

Because I am one hard-headed motherf*cker, that's why.  I haven't given any of these "answers" a fair shake.  I feel stupid looking in the mirror and saying "I Love You" to a reflection.  I'm scared of being told "You'll never eat Indian food again" right before I'm cut open like a piggie at a Farm Life hog killing and getting 3/4 of my stomach stitched up, never to be heard from again.  And at times I'm too cynical to believe that a God who allows such misery in His world would give two shits about my demon plight.  But if I keep shunning the many answers to my problems, how on Earth do I expect my situation to change?  It won't.  It hasn't.  And things are going to stay stagnant until I change my attitude.  Because in the end, the only way I'll survive my demon attacks is by changing my attitude towards myself, towards the food I eat, and towards the learned healers of the Body (Take your vitamins), Mind (Get all lovey-dovey with your reflection) and Spirit (Say your prayers).  Before a change can happen, I've got to believe a change is possible.  Otherwise, Change is impossible.

So where does that leave me?  With a bookshelf full of paperweights, er, I mean self-help books.  But I'm also left with a new outlook.  In the morning, as I stand over my sink and wash my face (and whatever other body parts I manage to find), I'm going to look in the mirror and say something along the lines of "I love you, Joey.  You're not such a bad guy after all.  You are definitely worth taking care of."  I'm also going to Church for the first time in many, many years, where I will pray with as much sincerity as I can muster:  "God, I don't understand you at all.  But I believe in you.  Please save me from the demon inside me."  And I'm going to continue to pray throughout the day, every time the demon rears his ugly rear and farts in my face (which he does with alarming regularity).  Finally, I'm going to drink my shakes, and take my vitamins.  AND I'm going to the gym and swim for an hour.  I'll be in full prayer mode as I drive to the gym and back again, because that's when the demon becomes belligerent, attacking me at every stop light.  "LOOK! A Burger King.  LOOK!  Taco Bell!  OOOOOooooo...pizza!  Couldn't we stop, just this one last time?"

Have I mentioned that my Demon is an asshole?

This isn't the first time I've stood here (OK...sat here) and written great prophecies of what would come to pass.  I have written many lies that started out as The Truth.  This may turn out the same way.  But right now I've got great intentions.  Tomorrow's going to be a very good day, I can't wait to wake up and carpe diem.  But before I wake up, I'll need to fall to sleep first, right?  But I'm not tired.  What should I do?  I KNOW!  I'll read a book.  Oh man...where the hell did I put all those self-help books?  Just when I could actually use one of them, too...

fear

I've got to start updating this damn thing more often. Otherwise, how will I ever become known as the most Gangsta-Ass Blogga of all the Blogga's in the known universe? I ask you. I ask you? Blogga, please...

OK. So far, so good.

Let's talk about fear. Fear has motivated me to do absolutely nothing for a long time now. In fact, I'm afraid to continue writing about this very subject. Why? Because admitting the truth hurts. It doesn't hurt just me. It would hurt a few others too. At least I think it would. But I'll never know, because I'm afraid to find out.

That kinda sums up my life, and why I haven't done much of anything since college: I'm afraid to find out things. In particular, what I'm capable of achieving (writing/directing-wise, health-wise, relationship-wise, etc). I'd rather play it safe and sit around all day eating, working a dead-end job, etc. And I don't understand why other people aren't as afraid as I am. I don't know how they do what they do. How can they trust someone enough to marry them, raise children with them. Don't they know they'll only get their heart broken? Don't they know their spouse will cheat on them? Don't they know that one day their children will turn on them, resent them, hate them, and worst of all, disappoint them? How do people get over that fear? Or do they even have that fear? Am I the only one?

I've been told I'm crazy. Of course, the person telling me I'm crazy was one of the people who helped drive me crazy in the first place. I don't doubt for a minute that there's something wrong with me, that somewhere along the line, a switch that shouldn't have been switched went off in my head. Other people don't let fear rule their life. Other people don't sit and eat until their almost 3 times heavier than the average man. So yes, I guess I am crazy. Thanks for noticing.

Crazy or not, I've got to make some changes. The same changes I've been blogging on and off about for the last few months. If my health doesn't turn around, I'm a dead man. If I turn my health around, but don't get my creative juices flowing again, then I'm still a dead man. Emotionally, anyway. Oh, did I mention that I'm easily overwhelmed? Which usually leads to fear: "How am I going to get all of this done?". And fear always leads to...nothing. Nothing. What's the point? Do nothing, eat something.

I've GOT to do something.

Tomorrow is Sunday. I'm going to achieve TWO things on Sunday. The first thing is I'm going to take the trash out. I won't go into details, but let's just say I've been putting this off for far too long. Second thing is, I've been putting off the Master Cleanse for a long while now. Tomorrow afternoon, I'm getting the ingredients to start on it sometime during the upcoming week. I'll need herbal tea, lemons, maple syrup, etc. Sure, it's a harsh thing to do to a fella who's used to eating his troubles away, night after night. These are harsh times, though. I need to learn discipline. I need to remember there are consequences to all of my actions, whether I'm eating too much, or standing a friend up, or breaking my word, etc. I am a man. Well, I should be a man. But I act like a child. That's a hard pill to swallow, and a tough fact to admit. But it's the truth.

And like I said before, admitting the truth sure does hurt.

But there are other truths to consider. I am a talented writer and performer. I am a good person who wants to do good things for others. I have the ability to make people laugh. The only thing that hurts in regards to these truths is the fact that I have all but hidden them from the world. Except for the making people laugh part. I've used (and sometimes abused) that ability for too long. I'm tired of hiding the rest of my good qualities, using my bad health and morbid obesity as an excuse to sit on my ass and rot while the world keeps on spinning, and friends and family keep on living, with or without me.

I'm done saying what I'm going to do, I'm done saying what I'm going to stop doing. It's time to do. It's time to be. No fear. So I'm going to post this blog entry, even though I'm afraid it's too rambling, and it doesn't make sense. What if Mark Twain had said that after he'd written "The Adventures of Huckelberry Finn"? Yeah, that's right, I am totally comparing myself to Mark Twain. Because that's how I roll. From now on.

Blogga, please...

And Now for Something Completely Different...

This week I watched the 1976 film Network . It left me speechless...not the easiest thing to do, I'll admit.

In its time, Network was considered an extremely well acted, well-written satire. Watching it now, it looks more like a documentary, unfortunately. Take a few minutes and watch this monologue from the movie, admittedly doctored up a bit, but still effective (the original movie clip without all of the bells and whistles can be found here). If you're a Fox News fan, you might want to skip the first 42 seconds, because it makes fun of Mr. Charming himself, Bill "Shut Up" O'Reilly.

If you get a free minute (or four), please watch the video. Listen to the monologue. And be sure to remember it the next time you sit down to watch the evening news, or your favorite television show. Personally, I'm too much or a couch potato to go so far as to turn off the tv for good, forever and ever amen. But I'm going do my best to watch with an open mind. We all should. We can't believe everything the boob tube tells us. Lies, spins and cover-ups abound, I don't care who says otherwise.

And no, I'm NOT just talking about Fox News, either. Liberal Media...HORSE SHIT! ALL the major networks are guilty of manipulating, hiding or sexing up the news in one way or another. Don't believe me? Take a look at this clip from The Daily Show, one of the few news sources I actually trust. Frightening, if you ask me. Which you didn't, I realize.

OK, I'm done. Not trying to preach here...just trying to share.

Thanks for reading (and watching).