I want to tell you a story about Pammy. Before I do though, you should know that before Nothing to Do had nothing to do, I was a Qualified Mental Health Professional. Pammy, you see, was one of many who need the services of a QMHP.
Pammy was born a long time ago and never got to experience the joys of what we call today in our school system “Special Ed”. Back when Pammy was in school, if your peg didn’t fit neatly into the slot designed for the “normal” student, you weren’t labeled Special Ed; you were labeled one of three things: Idiot, Moron, or Imbecile. (I’m not kidding about this). Pammy’s peg didn’t fit.
Years later, at the Qualified Mental Health Professional place, Pammy asked me what was wrong with her. In my most compassionate tone, I informed her that she had an illness called schizophrenia. She seemed to take this OK.
Apparently, after having had a few minutes to think about it, she changed her mind. By the time she got home, she wasn’t taking it well at all and called to let me know just that.
“I just want you to know that I am not schizophrenic. I’m a Moron, and I expect to be treated like one!” Then she hung up.
Why am I telling you this? Just one reason – LAUGH.
Is schizophrenia, or a person who has schizophrenia, funny? Of course not. But life is funny, and if you can’t laugh at the every day stuff, then you’re headed for trouble my friend.
There are a few occurrences in the human experience that you can’t wrap a good chuckle around. I don’t need to go into it, I’m sure you know what they are. But the fact is funny things happen everywhere, even at funerals sometimes, I suppose.
The bottom line is: The biggest downer of all is running into someone who can’t help but take everything seriously. I know two Fat Guys who not only don’t take everything too seriously, they’re trying like heck to get a website off the ground that takes the trivial junk all around us and brings it front and center.
And that’s all I’ve got to say about that.
Until next time…
______________________________________
PHAT FAT FACT: Here’s a way to find out if you’re obese:
(1.2 X Body Mass Index) + (0.23 X your age) – 5.4 – (10.8 X gender)
GENDER: 1 for male; 0 for female
If the answer is > 33 (male), you’re obese.
PHATTER FAT FACT : There’s an easier way. Try on one of Denny’s shirts. If it fits, you need to go on a diet.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Friday, January 23, 2009
DotDot.Fat
I'm back! Either Phil and Denny were too busy eating for the past week and never read Volume 1, Issue 1 of the NTD blog; or their dislike wasn't quite strong enough to prompt an immediate cease and desist order. Either way, with all that in mind, here goes...
I have been hearing rumblings lately from the tubby twosome that somewhere there is someone who is thinking of putting them on the radio for a regular gig. My first thought in that regard is that they certainly have faces suited for it. My second thought is that, while I don't have an over abundance of experience on the airwaves, I believe it originates from someplace called a "booth". This might present a problem. When I think of a booth, I think of either Steak n' Shake or a phone booth (when was the last time anybody saw a phone booth?), neither of which is conducive to hosting 550 pounds of jovial jubilation. Oh, well.
In just a little over three months, twofatguyswithnothingtodo.com has been checked out by close to 35,000 pairs of eyes.(assuming there are no Cyclops who count themselves among our faithful) That's pretty darn good, but apparently not good enough. Every Saturday afternoon, Phil & Denny order a six-foot sub and then sit down to have a web site business meeting. The sandwich usually lasts longer than the meeting, but I have overheard them say (I don't get invited to the meetings) that they wish the message board would become a bit more active. If you are a regular visitor, a first timer, or like most people just got here by mistake, jump in and say "hi". Let 'em know you care.
Did you know that the word "fat" is actually one of the most versatile words in our language? It can be used as a noun, verb, adverb, and adjective...there are only 16 such words in the English tongue. I myself could only think of two others -- "snow" and "poop". Fat has also been adapted as an idiom (fat chance or chew the fat, etc.). It's even been modified as a current slang term for something great or impressive, as in "That fat guy is really phat!"
Before I close and go back to what I do best, nothing, let's go back to the message board for a minute. Supposing Phil and Denny really do get their radio show, what would be a good name for the show? (Please, not twofatguyswithnothingtodo! That's too easy.) Submit your idea to the message board and at the very least get your name mentioned here next week. I can't promise that they'll really call it that (the last time they followed one of my suggestions it involved an ex-cheerleader, a swiss army knife, and a potato), but you never know...
_________________________________________
PHAT FAT FACT: Phil's favorite movie is The Untouchables. Robert
DeNiro purposely gained 45 pounds in order to look more like Al Capone in
his portrayal.
PHATTER FAT FACT: Every time he puts on another 45 pounds, Phil celebrates by watching
it again. Since 2006, he's seen it five times.
Till next time....
Nothing To Do
I have been hearing rumblings lately from the tubby twosome that somewhere there is someone who is thinking of putting them on the radio for a regular gig. My first thought in that regard is that they certainly have faces suited for it. My second thought is that, while I don't have an over abundance of experience on the airwaves, I believe it originates from someplace called a "booth". This might present a problem. When I think of a booth, I think of either Steak n' Shake or a phone booth (when was the last time anybody saw a phone booth?), neither of which is conducive to hosting 550 pounds of jovial jubilation. Oh, well.
In just a little over three months, twofatguyswithnothingtodo.com has been checked out by close to 35,000 pairs of eyes.(assuming there are no Cyclops who count themselves among our faithful) That's pretty darn good, but apparently not good enough. Every Saturday afternoon, Phil & Denny order a six-foot sub and then sit down to have a web site business meeting. The sandwich usually lasts longer than the meeting, but I have overheard them say (I don't get invited to the meetings) that they wish the message board would become a bit more active. If you are a regular visitor, a first timer, or like most people just got here by mistake, jump in and say "hi". Let 'em know you care.
Did you know that the word "fat" is actually one of the most versatile words in our language? It can be used as a noun, verb, adverb, and adjective...there are only 16 such words in the English tongue. I myself could only think of two others -- "snow" and "poop". Fat has also been adapted as an idiom (fat chance or chew the fat, etc.). It's even been modified as a current slang term for something great or impressive, as in "That fat guy is really phat!"
Before I close and go back to what I do best, nothing, let's go back to the message board for a minute. Supposing Phil and Denny really do get their radio show, what would be a good name for the show? (Please, not twofatguyswithnothingtodo! That's too easy.) Submit your idea to the message board and at the very least get your name mentioned here next week. I can't promise that they'll really call it that (the last time they followed one of my suggestions it involved an ex-cheerleader, a swiss army knife, and a potato), but you never know...
_________________________________________
PHAT FAT FACT: Phil's favorite movie is The Untouchables. Robert
DeNiro purposely gained 45 pounds in order to look more like Al Capone in
his portrayal.
PHATTER FAT FACT: Every time he puts on another 45 pounds, Phil celebrates by watching
it again. Since 2006, he's seen it five times.
Till next time....
Nothing To Do
Friday, January 16, 2009
DotDot.Fat
Iʼm not one of The Fat Guys, but I know them pretty well. Weʼve been doing this web site thing for going on four months now, and Iʼm still trying to get a bite in edgewise.
I want to accomplish two objectives with this blog that hopefully will become a regular feature on twofatguyswithnothingtodo.com. If you havenʼt pieced it together by now, Iʼm Nothing to Do, but my friends call me NTD. I like to be on a first initial basis with those closest to me.
My first goal is to just get the word out there in the blogosphere that being fat doesnʼt have to have the stigma that we Americans have so delightfully attached to it. Secondly, I hope to shut Phil and Denny up about constantly telling me I donʼt contribute anything to the site.
Just in case you have the ability to read but at the same time lack the ability to discern...we love trivia. Yes, we could have started this website as another panegyric to useless information (last count: 3,333,333 such sites). Instead, we hope to take those self same tidbits, give them just a quarter-turn, and presto -- The Twilight Zone of Trivia. Most of the stuff you see on this site is based (in varying degrees of looseness) on fact. What happens to it after that, well it's anybody's guess.
By the way, we have never, we arenʼt now, and we never will make fun of fat people. See, as far as weʼre concerned, being fat isnʼt a physical state, but rather a state of mind. What word almost always comes to mind when you think about a fat person? "Jolly" -- am I right? It is therefore almost incomprehensible to us that , as a recent study of how people dispose of their disposable income pointed out, the third most popular way to get rid of our money is chasing physical fitness. Talk about a trivial pursuit! There are only two things that we blow our extra money on more freely than the quest to get and stay skinny.
Of course, number two on that list is fast food. Think about that for just a minute. Out of every disposable dollar in our pocket, we spent 14 cents of it eating at McDʼs, then turn around and spend the next 12 cents sweating it off! How did it come to this? FYI: The number one expenditure: Porn. Thatʼs blog fodder for another time.
______________________________________
Phat Fat Fact: If you could extract all the fat from the body of the average 200 pound man, then spread that fat out at the thickness of a piece of copier paper, it would cover an area roughly the size of one-half of a one acre field.
Phatter Fat Fact: At exactly 3:47 PM on the day of the Summer Solstice, Dennyʼs shadow covers the other half.
Till next time...
Nothing To Do
I want to accomplish two objectives with this blog that hopefully will become a regular feature on twofatguyswithnothingtodo.com. If you havenʼt pieced it together by now, Iʼm Nothing to Do, but my friends call me NTD. I like to be on a first initial basis with those closest to me.
My first goal is to just get the word out there in the blogosphere that being fat doesnʼt have to have the stigma that we Americans have so delightfully attached to it. Secondly, I hope to shut Phil and Denny up about constantly telling me I donʼt contribute anything to the site.
Just in case you have the ability to read but at the same time lack the ability to discern...we love trivia. Yes, we could have started this website as another panegyric to useless information (last count: 3,333,333 such sites). Instead, we hope to take those self same tidbits, give them just a quarter-turn, and presto -- The Twilight Zone of Trivia. Most of the stuff you see on this site is based (in varying degrees of looseness) on fact. What happens to it after that, well it's anybody's guess.
By the way, we have never, we arenʼt now, and we never will make fun of fat people. See, as far as weʼre concerned, being fat isnʼt a physical state, but rather a state of mind. What word almost always comes to mind when you think about a fat person? "Jolly" -- am I right? It is therefore almost incomprehensible to us that , as a recent study of how people dispose of their disposable income pointed out, the third most popular way to get rid of our money is chasing physical fitness. Talk about a trivial pursuit! There are only two things that we blow our extra money on more freely than the quest to get and stay skinny.
Of course, number two on that list is fast food. Think about that for just a minute. Out of every disposable dollar in our pocket, we spent 14 cents of it eating at McDʼs, then turn around and spend the next 12 cents sweating it off! How did it come to this? FYI: The number one expenditure: Porn. Thatʼs blog fodder for another time.
______________________________________
Phat Fat Fact: If you could extract all the fat from the body of the average 200 pound man, then spread that fat out at the thickness of a piece of copier paper, it would cover an area roughly the size of one-half of a one acre field.
Phatter Fat Fact: At exactly 3:47 PM on the day of the Summer Solstice, Dennyʼs shadow covers the other half.
Till next time...
Nothing To Do
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Cub Febvre, Caught It!
Several years ago, when Jim Levebre was named manager of the Cubs, I had the idea that we, just in case this was THE year, should have some t-shirts printed and ready to take to Wrigley in mid August to sell to the ever faithful. The shirts would simply say "I've got pennant Febvre!"
Good thing we let that one go.
Being a Cub fan was my birthright, and I obligingly watched year after year as my Cubbies steadily declined from the near miss of '69 through the Bill Madlock/Bill Bonham years and 100 losses in 1975.
Then as suddenly as hope faded, the sun dawned bright and clear in 1977. You remember 1977, don't you? That's when baseball fans could still go to baseball games without taking out a second mortgage. Many were the times in that era that we would decide at midnight to get up at 5:00 the next morning and drive to Wrigley and pay $3.00 for a bleacher seat. If I was born a Cub fan, 1977 was my baptism, confirmation, and funeral all rolled into one.
This was the year of Bruce Sutter. From opening day of '77 through early July, Sutter was simply the most dominating pitcher the game of baseball has ever seen. If you think that's hyperbole, then go back and watch You Tube or where ever else you can. I'm telling you, if you're too young to remember, the man was unhittable. His split fingered-fastball made everyone who batted against him look silly. Of course this was before thje day of the "closer" as we know him today. If Sutter had been used as, say, Trevor Hoffman was used, he might still be pitching, and still making Hall of Famers shake their heads. For April, May, and June of 1977, Sutter made Sandy Koufax look like a batting practice pitcher. I'm still not kidding. Unfortunately, whenever the Cubs would get a lead, Herman Franks would bring in Sutter to close it up. Even if it was the fourth inning. He didn't get hurt in July -- his arm fell off. OK, now I'm kidding.
That wasn't all. This was also the year of Jerry Morales, Manny Trillo, and Rick Reuschel, all stars all. By the end of June the Cubs had ammassed a record of 47-22 and led the second place Phillies by 8.5 games. I won't go into bloody details, but Cub legend Jack Brickhouse would say it best after the carnage of August and September "The Cubs finished .500 in 1977, but they had to lose17 out of their last 21 games to do it!" They finished 20 games out of first. That's still is, and always be, my favorite Cub team.
But that's not what this is about. This is about what being a Cub fan is all about. It's about Larry Biitner. (no typo, two ii's). Biitner was a journeyman utility player who played for the Cubs during most of the mid seventies. He never made an all star team, but he played first base, outfield, and he even pitched. I remember one game, the Good Kid, Lou Boudreau was talking as the Cubs had lost their starting catcher early in the game and the game was going into the twelfth inning. When asked who the Cubs third catcher was Boudreau said, "Well, technically it's Trillo, but he's too valuable to put back there. My guess it would be Biitner (a lefty)."
Biitner did what baseball players should do. He did what we should all do, whatever our calling is in this life. He did two things -- He showed up and he suited up every day. That's all. From there it what ever was asked. How many players from today can you say that about?
At the end of that heaven/hell 1977 season, I drove to Wrigley Field all by myself to pay homage to my heroes. The guys I still remember to this day. As the game ended, me and the rest of the 6,000 or so faithful filed out. I wanted one last glimpse of my guys, so I headed over to the place where the Cub players parked. There were any number of nice Cadillac's, Corvettes, etc. And there was one old beat up station wagon with, I swear, rust in the faux wood side panels. Who do you think got in that car? That's right. Larry Biitner.
So, if this does happen to be THE year, I won't be hoisting any to Lou Pinella, Milton Bradley, Greg Maddux, Andre Dawson, Sammy Sosa, Fergie Jenkins, or even the saintly Ernie Banks and Ron Santo. In fact, I won't be hoisting anything.
No, that will be me, over in the corner, silently weeping my tears of joy for Larry Biitner. My Mr. Cub!
Good thing we let that one go.
Being a Cub fan was my birthright, and I obligingly watched year after year as my Cubbies steadily declined from the near miss of '69 through the Bill Madlock/Bill Bonham years and 100 losses in 1975.
Then as suddenly as hope faded, the sun dawned bright and clear in 1977. You remember 1977, don't you? That's when baseball fans could still go to baseball games without taking out a second mortgage. Many were the times in that era that we would decide at midnight to get up at 5:00 the next morning and drive to Wrigley and pay $3.00 for a bleacher seat. If I was born a Cub fan, 1977 was my baptism, confirmation, and funeral all rolled into one.
This was the year of Bruce Sutter. From opening day of '77 through early July, Sutter was simply the most dominating pitcher the game of baseball has ever seen. If you think that's hyperbole, then go back and watch You Tube or where ever else you can. I'm telling you, if you're too young to remember, the man was unhittable. His split fingered-fastball made everyone who batted against him look silly. Of course this was before thje day of the "closer" as we know him today. If Sutter had been used as, say, Trevor Hoffman was used, he might still be pitching, and still making Hall of Famers shake their heads. For April, May, and June of 1977, Sutter made Sandy Koufax look like a batting practice pitcher. I'm still not kidding. Unfortunately, whenever the Cubs would get a lead, Herman Franks would bring in Sutter to close it up. Even if it was the fourth inning. He didn't get hurt in July -- his arm fell off. OK, now I'm kidding.
That wasn't all. This was also the year of Jerry Morales, Manny Trillo, and Rick Reuschel, all stars all. By the end of June the Cubs had ammassed a record of 47-22 and led the second place Phillies by 8.5 games. I won't go into bloody details, but Cub legend Jack Brickhouse would say it best after the carnage of August and September "The Cubs finished .500 in 1977, but they had to lose17 out of their last 21 games to do it!" They finished 20 games out of first. That's still is, and always be, my favorite Cub team.
But that's not what this is about. This is about what being a Cub fan is all about. It's about Larry Biitner. (no typo, two ii's). Biitner was a journeyman utility player who played for the Cubs during most of the mid seventies. He never made an all star team, but he played first base, outfield, and he even pitched. I remember one game, the Good Kid, Lou Boudreau was talking as the Cubs had lost their starting catcher early in the game and the game was going into the twelfth inning. When asked who the Cubs third catcher was Boudreau said, "Well, technically it's Trillo, but he's too valuable to put back there. My guess it would be Biitner (a lefty)."
Biitner did what baseball players should do. He did what we should all do, whatever our calling is in this life. He did two things -- He showed up and he suited up every day. That's all. From there it what ever was asked. How many players from today can you say that about?
At the end of that heaven/hell 1977 season, I drove to Wrigley Field all by myself to pay homage to my heroes. The guys I still remember to this day. As the game ended, me and the rest of the 6,000 or so faithful filed out. I wanted one last glimpse of my guys, so I headed over to the place where the Cub players parked. There were any number of nice Cadillac's, Corvettes, etc. And there was one old beat up station wagon with, I swear, rust in the faux wood side panels. Who do you think got in that car? That's right. Larry Biitner.
So, if this does happen to be THE year, I won't be hoisting any to Lou Pinella, Milton Bradley, Greg Maddux, Andre Dawson, Sammy Sosa, Fergie Jenkins, or even the saintly Ernie Banks and Ron Santo. In fact, I won't be hoisting anything.
No, that will be me, over in the corner, silently weeping my tears of joy for Larry Biitner. My Mr. Cub!
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Dad, Ron Santo Pizza, and Seven Inning Games
"NOTHING TO DO" SHARES SOME BOYHOOD CUB MEMORIES THIS WEEK....
As I told you last week, I have been a Cub fan all my life. I must admit that this, coupled with being born and raised Catholic, not only provided me with my two biggest pre-adolescent influences, it also created some confusion in my still developing brain.
For example, there was the short lived phase when I thought that Jesus’ favorite disciples were Peter, Luke, Fergie, and Leo. It got really confusing when my Dad would yell at the radio (pre-cable days) “Jesus Christ!” I thought he was listening to mass, but it turns out it was another Cub flub in September of ’69.
Speaking of my dear old Dad, it was because of him that I didn’t know major league games lasted nine innings until I was eleven years old. You see, my family would pile into the car, drive 5 hours, meet our friend Marty at Kohl’s Tavern on Ashland Avenue for a few pre game beers (or in my siblings and my case, cokes) and then head to Wrigley for the game. After all that, Dad would announce in the seventh inning that he wanted to avoid the traffic jam during rush hour on Lake Shore Drive, and compel us to the car. At least he let us listen to Vince Lloyd call the last couple of innings on WGN radio.
Back to the game for a minute. One thing about Dad, as anyone who ever knew him for more than five minutes will tell you – he wasn’t stingy with his money. We could, and would, order anything on the Wrigley menu. Cokes, popcorn, Red Hots, and the like were consumed by the bushel by the Lechner family. But our favorite thing by far was Ron Santo Pizza. You could get one slice, or a whole pie, but the best feature wasn’t the cheese, or the pepperoni. It was the funny looking caricature of a smiling Ronnie right on the box.
Ron Santo, despite his diabetes, ended up out living Dad. And while you’d be lucky to find a Ron Santo pizza box anywhere except some landfill somewhere, the memories of Wrigley Field, over-priced cardboard crust pizza, leaving the game to avoid the traffic, Marty, and most of all Dad will always be there…just like the hope of a World Series for the Cubbies.
As I told you last week, I have been a Cub fan all my life. I must admit that this, coupled with being born and raised Catholic, not only provided me with my two biggest pre-adolescent influences, it also created some confusion in my still developing brain.
For example, there was the short lived phase when I thought that Jesus’ favorite disciples were Peter, Luke, Fergie, and Leo. It got really confusing when my Dad would yell at the radio (pre-cable days) “Jesus Christ!” I thought he was listening to mass, but it turns out it was another Cub flub in September of ’69.
Speaking of my dear old Dad, it was because of him that I didn’t know major league games lasted nine innings until I was eleven years old. You see, my family would pile into the car, drive 5 hours, meet our friend Marty at Kohl’s Tavern on Ashland Avenue for a few pre game beers (or in my siblings and my case, cokes) and then head to Wrigley for the game. After all that, Dad would announce in the seventh inning that he wanted to avoid the traffic jam during rush hour on Lake Shore Drive, and compel us to the car. At least he let us listen to Vince Lloyd call the last couple of innings on WGN radio.
Back to the game for a minute. One thing about Dad, as anyone who ever knew him for more than five minutes will tell you – he wasn’t stingy with his money. We could, and would, order anything on the Wrigley menu. Cokes, popcorn, Red Hots, and the like were consumed by the bushel by the Lechner family. But our favorite thing by far was Ron Santo Pizza. You could get one slice, or a whole pie, but the best feature wasn’t the cheese, or the pepperoni. It was the funny looking caricature of a smiling Ronnie right on the box.
Ron Santo, despite his diabetes, ended up out living Dad. And while you’d be lucky to find a Ron Santo pizza box anywhere except some landfill somewhere, the memories of Wrigley Field, over-priced cardboard crust pizza, leaving the game to avoid the traffic, Marty, and most of all Dad will always be there…just like the hope of a World Series for the Cubbies.
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