On the subject of "Writing to scales."

Hello, scale. You have been nice to me. Last year, you fell faster than the stock market. I liked that. Um, the scale, not the stock market.. that stunk.

Now you are "trying to make an adjustment" and have those numbers go back up. I mean the scale and the stock market this time. For that I am mad at you. (the scale, not the stock market.)

For months, people have been glowing at me. Or is that gushing.

"Oh, you have lost weight."

"Oh, you look so good."

"Oh, Mr. Clooney."

Okay, maybe not that last one, but people have been much nicer and more complimentary.

I have found it easier to bound up the stairs at work (um, when I feel like getting to work.) I have found it easier to get to sleep (now that I take Ambien again.) And the half coke/half diet coke mix at Chipotle has been working like a charm! So much that I now have three of them before I am finished, and that's after I have stopped and had one at the local Circle K to wake me up in the morning.

And I am writing more than ever. At least, that is what I intend to do, but something is always coming up like life or work or going to the gym. Wait, I haven't been to the gym so that's not the reason.

I looked at the calendar and it lies to me to. It says I am old now. It says I am more than half way to 90 and that I could go all Jack Bauer cliffhanger any minute. Damn it!

So, Mr. Scale. I am talking to you. I am tired of you mocking me, and I am going to attempt once again to prove you wrong so you will once again feel so right.

I have a premiere to get ready for... September 11th (lovely day for a premiere, but I don't forget it.) I want to take the stage happy with my looks to make people laugh with me instead of at me.

Will you be my friend again? And by that I mean a real friend, not one of those people who wants to Facebook friend me after hearing I was a slim guy who turned out to be portly.

Okay, I am leaving now. I see a pair of warmups and running shoes in my future. I'll see you later.

Yours truly,
Johnny Blogger

On the subject of "Preparing for the Back Nine"

"I'm not over the hill. I'm just on the back nine."
- A pillow that belonged to my Dad that I brought home with me from his house.

In just 6 days, I will no longer be 45 and lost in cyberspace. Yes, the calendar page turns and with it, the sense of being young.

I know it is just a different day, and the world does not change. The perspective, however is beginning to change. On my radio is still the music of a 20 or 30 year old. My sense of humor is more of a teenager than a middle-ager. Life's dreams, goals, and challenges - now, that is a different story.

Last week, I was privileged to be given access to Seattle Golf Club to tape a series of interviews with some golfers of the past from a local university's program. In this role, I was able to talk to people with a wide range of memories from those who won a championship two years before I was born to those who just recently graduated. While all the stories were wonderful, I related more to the stories of the older generation than the younger, and that both surprised and saddened me.

Listening to the stories of the older golfers was like listening to my Dad. The camaraderie, the memories, the love they had for each other, all became very apparent. It was the kind of story I had not heard from a member of that generation since my Dad passed away three years ago.

Walking through the locker room at that club brought another fact into focus. The design of that room is eerily similar to that of the club that my Dad belonged to in Bethesda, Maryland. At "BT", I felt as though I was part of an incredible privileged group of people who had made a difference. At the Seattle Golf Club, I sadly felt like a visitor who had not achieved what I believed I could where I could be amongst the members.

Talking to the members of the championship teams, many doctors or successful business men or golf pros, I was transported back to a time when time on the course was time spent reconnecting with my Dad. A bad day on the course was better than most good days in the office.

The last time I shared a golf course with my dad was one of the greatest experiences of my life. We played in a father/son tournament, and finished just two strokes out of the awards. We came so close, but it didn't seem to matter. The next time I would see him, he would be recovering from heart surgery, unable to even get to a golf course let alone play.

The last time I saw him, we talked old golf stories, and looked at some pictures. We knew that no matter what would happen, we always had that weekend at BT.

Now, I get ready to make the turn and head to the back nine. I haven't set foot on a golf course to play since he died. It seems too painful as if I hit a good shot, that would always be the one I would want to call Dad about.

The trip to Seattle Golf Club brought with it other thoughts. Would I ever live up to the life where I felt I could belong? My life has taken such strange turns lately. My old self would be longing for the "club life" or the "good life" as my Dad always called it.

My current friends, the ones who make me happiest, are not club types, but rather ones that seem more "touchable" and more "reachable."

I don't want to give up the dream of success that allows me perks and privilege, but I never want to lose touch with the friends who have shaped my life.

The conflict seems like a 20 foot putt to force a playoff in a tournament. Making it keeps the dream alive. Missing it doesn't mean the end, but it makes you wonder what if.

Right now, the question of "what if?" seems to be taking the shape of "what could be?" Exciting and scary all at the same time.

What lies on the back nine? Do I play an iron and play it safe or go for it with the "Loco" driver that was my final golf present from my dad? I step up to the tee soon. And frankly, it's a daunting task.

Yours truly,
Johnny Blogger

On the subject of I don't know... a new chapter.

Last blog I said it's more important to know what you don't know.

Here are some of the things I don't know how to do...

I don't know how to use Twitter effectively. I can explain what it is to my friends and watch them RT and # and @ all day long, but I can barely figure out how to follow someone.

I don't know how to effectively coach a kid's soccer team. I took over a team when the coach bailed and the aggregate score of our first two games has been 24-3. And that is with my son getting 14 saves in each game as goalie.

I don't know how to be an auctioneer. A few years ago, I was asked to conduct a live auction at my kid's school's spring arts festival. The item, a quilt, went for 750 dollars. For some reason, this made me the new school auctioneer. In these tough economic times, it's hard to get people to part with their money. Tonight, I auctioned three items and two were purchased at bargain prices, but still a chunk of change. Sadly, it was my wife who bought both.

I don't know how to pick good produce at the grocery store or cook anything other than steak. When I do try to do something more complicated, heaven help the victims.

I don't know how to find places I have been before. The other day I had an appointment at a place I have driven by, but never been to. Sadly, when I needed to find it, it took three calls to my wife, and this was after I found it on my Google maps on the iPhone. Turns out, I drove past the place twice while trying to find it.

I don't know how to stay up past 11 without something to engage me. I have started to fall asleep in the middle of my favorite television shows, just like I used to kid my dad about doing not that long ago. What am I? 70 now? Get me the senior menu. If I am doing something like Karaoke or being at a show, I am fine, but at home, someone must be turning on the sleeping gas.

Sadly, I don't know how to finish this blog as I started with a long list and now it's gone from memory. Must be time for me to go to bed. Getting old... not much fun.

Good night, and good luck to you and you and you.

Yours truly,
Johnny Blogger