It’s been some time since I’ve posted. I’m in the midst if revising my book. It’s been a tedious process. Tedious in that I’ve had to read chapters several times in order to catch the things I’m looking for. But I’m enjoying it surprisingly enough. I’m not a patient person.

Recently I went to a comedypalooza type of show where a dozen comedians put on a great performance. Over half of them are well known in Hollywood. This was an outdoor event with an estimated 20,000 people.

I noticed something. When the stats came out the United States was the most fat country in the world, I never realized how true that was. As I was sitting on the lawn enjoying the show, at least half of the people were fat. Fat enough that I could roll them down the hill and they’d have problems stopping.

Is this a mean thing to say?

Probably. Depends on your perspective.

There are fat people who are very comfortable with their weight. They feel good about themselves, love themselves, love who they are. I’m not referring to those people. I’m referring to those who complain about their weight and do nothng about it.

I have a friend who at his peak was 300 pounds. He was fat. Sported man boobs. He was unsatisfied with his body composition. He took the time to research what his diet should be, exercised almost every day, and avoided the scale. In about a year and a half he’d lost 125 pounds. Not only was that fast, but he looks muscular. When I saw him, keep in mind I was used to the fat version, my limitations on weight loss disappeared.

I went to eat dinner with a friend the other day. Ordered a grilled chicken salad. When it came it was enough to feed a small army. Part of the issue is we eat large amounts of food in each sitting over the whole day. But the real problem is not being aware of how you feel and what you do.

I can’t tell you how often I see people hate on their fatness and carry around a box of Nabisco Cheese crackers. Or they’ll devour candy like Armageddon is coming. And they wonder why they don’t feel good and expect doctors to prescribe dozens of pills for the ailments they suffer.

It’s freaking ridiculous.

Want to change? Then you gotta do it. Just like Nike says. Do It.

One day two ants carried their loads on their backs. These were regular ants that you’d find on your kitchen table, coming from an unseen opening in the wall. On their backs, they carried a dead bug, their golden meal ticket. The dead bugs were at least three times their size, massive. Going with the flow of thousands of others, they lugged the prize. One seemed to have a red tinge on the black-shelled body. The other ant was as black as deep night. Both seemed to race each other toward the main entrance of the ant hill.

The black one tripped the red one. The red ant dropped it’s meal. With no thought of revenge, it picked up the dead bug and continued on its way. The flow of ants out of the hill slowed the black one, allowing red to catch up.

The stream of incoming ants intersected into its path. Both had to climb above, then around, then pushed their way toward the main entrance of the ant hill. First black was ahead. Then red budged its way first. A wind blew, forcing both to drop their treasured meal. They scrambled to reclaim their packages.

Again, both trudged on, racing their way into the cavernous entrance. Once they entered, the tunnels narrowed, and the massive dead bugs scraped against the ceiling. It was loud and the sound of trains leaving and entering the tunnels blared. The ants lowered the weight right on their backs, making the trip through the tunnels harder. Thousands of others traveled up. Foot steps vibrated the floors. Black pushed through, passing red. Red was pummeled back, but it climbed above the others and flew by black. The trip made harder when the tunnels angled up. Each stair was taken one step at a time.

The opening came into view. A bright light shined down. The blue sky marked the finish line. Red made a push to pass the black ant. Black shove the red against the railing. Red grasped its prize and pulled itself up, digging its feet down and plunging forward. The end of the tunnel fast approached. Black and red edged each other, and it was hard to tell who was first. Thousands of ants poured out of the tunnel, and the cold air of their city greeted them. Narrow bands of the blue sky framed by massive sky scrapers. I shifted my backpack on red sweater, walked onto the street, entered my building, and logged on my computer. The day droned on as normal.