The Jerk (1979)

Random Thoughts Part One

Some people have said that “there’s no such thing as a free lunch” and I think it’s total malarkey. I eat for free all the time. You just have to know when it’s time to leave.

I find it so strange that something I do can have such different reactions from different people. How the exact same thing can turn someone’s stomach and cause another person to admire me. So maybe the answer is to be true to yourself and those who can’t take it should move on.

Of course being yourself is far too often a tricky thing to be. I’m inclined to change my mind from time to time and it may often seem like I’m never consistent. Except of course that I’m always consistent about how I feel at the time.

Daniel Craig was a better Bond in Casino Royale than any other actor has ever played the role in any other movie. And yes I’m including Sean Connery in that list. And I don’t care if you think it’s blasphemous to say so, it still doesn’t make it any less true.

Yes. I used the word malarkey. Yes, I may use it again. And no … I’m not from the nineteen fifties.

I like football but I don’t really LIKE football. I have never sat down to watch a game by myself. I’d rather go shopping or to a movie to be honest. And I don’t think that makes me any less macho or manly. Maybe it just means I don’t want to watch a bunch of dudes in skintight pants run around with a ball for three hours.

Cover songs can be a tricky thing. It’s odd how some bands can somehow manage to capture the heart of what makes a song great while other (often equally talented bands) can strip a song of it’s life and leave it dieing on the studio floor. Radiohead’s cover of “Wish You Were Here” is an example of a great cover tune. U2’s “Helter Skelter” is an example of a not so great cover tune.

Wouldn’t life sometimes be so much simpler if we didn’t know that feeling called love? Probably. But I doubt it’d be a life anyone thought much of.

Speaking of love. After talking to a pretty cool person tonight I was left thinking about how love can change. How it’s so fickle that sometimes the feeling can change with even the smallest of changes. And so often you can change everything in your life and it will still be exactly as it was when you return.

In the last year I’ve had something like nine or ten people tell me I look like Clark Kent. Including a little girl who turned bright red when she figured out I had overheard her. It’s weird. Does that mean I look like one of the actors who played the character? Does it just mean I have dark hair and glasses? Maybe I should start wearing a superman shirt under my dress shirts … you know, just in case.

When I die I want my service to be concluded with the song “Rainbow Connection” by Kermit the Frog. It just somehow seems appropriate.

The new Ikea store here in town is big. Not big like a mall. More like - big like Paris Hilton’s sense of entitlement or Britney Spear’s false sense of modesty. You know … incalculably big and bordering on the infinite.

It is said that nothing heals a wound like time. Well this may be true but I can tell you that time, however, does not heal all wounds.

The truth is that while I long for change in my life I find that trying to change anything big these days scares the hell out of me. I feel like I’m waiting for something, but I don’t know what.

I don’t love lamp. I hate that son of a bitch.

How is it that Tracy Morgan is so damn funny on 30 Rock, and somehow managed to be completely unfunny in his own show?

“All you need is love.” - John Lennon

“… and this Thermos.” - Steve Martin (in The Jerk)

Confidence (2003)

It was always about confidence.

There are a lot of clichés that apply to my life in recent months, but the most appropriate one had to be the one about hindsight. You know the one I‘m talking about.

What I can see clearly now was how my lack of confidence had really kept me uninvolved in my own love life. How my (what bordered on) self loathing had kept me out of the game for years. It wasn’t my massive weight that kept me single all that time, though I’m sure it would have played a decent sized role if I had ever put forth any effort. It was my own awareness of and the insecurities about my weight that had done me in.

I remember once I had a boss who told me that, “Reality is ninety-eight percent perception. It‘s not what’s actually there … it‘s what you think is there.”

That’s probably the wisest thing a coworker has ever said to me. It didn’t matter weather or not my being overweight would have kept me single. Maybe it did. Or maybe it didn’t. But I always believed that it would … so I never even allowed myself the chance to find out. Never put myself out there because I was so sure I would be rejected.

By not putting myself out there and taking a chance I didn’t have to deal with the reality of why women weren’t interested in me. And more to the point - I wouldn’t have to deal with the reality of why I was so unhappy with myself. I could wallow around in my own false sense of contentment.

So instead I decided to play the part of being every girls “best friend.”

For all of these women I could be the comic relief. I would be the shoulder to cry on when their defective relationships with prettier (i.e.: thinner) boys weren‘t working out. I could bear the weight when these jerks didn’t come through in one way or another and I just happened to be available to pick up the pieces. I found myself always there for them when they needed me. Quick to joke that their problem was that, “they just hadn’t been dating me.” So sure that with my ability to cater to their every whim I would be sure to make them (and in turn myself) happy.

I hate to break it to you ladies, but weather you know it or not you’ve known a guy just like me at some point in your life. You know that super nice guy that always seemed to be around when you needed a friend. Let me clue you in on a little something. That guy really, really, really wanted to fuck you. I kid you not.

But in return for this friendship I would settle for a little harmless flirtation at work. And of course these women would manage to keep me just out of reach when it came to being anything more than friends. Always too busy to do anything for the few weeks they happened to be single. I was relegated to the status of “the best guy ever” and then they would go home to some jerk who was ten times worse than the guy before him.

But hey, he had a motorcycle. And … you know … he looked good in his truckers cap (or trendy chain wallet, skinny tie, polo shirt with a “popped” collar, low slung jeans, or wait … no … he was probably in a band. I swear to you they are almost always in a band.)

But I wasn’t bitter. Honest. I swear.

But the truth is that it wasn’t these women’s fault. It was nobody’s fault but my own. I allowed myself to be treated that way. My self esteem was so low that I figured it was better to be there for them. And I suppose that I always held out some misplaced hope that if I made myself always available for them that they might be able to see past my appearance to see the real me.

The flaw in my logic there being that the real me was in fact a doormat that allowed myself to be used by women on a daily basis. And I’ve learned in the most painful way there is that trying to do nothing but please someone is only going to inevitably drive them away. No matter how good your intentions are. What’s that cliché about killing them with kindness? You know I think I have a better understanding of why death is referenced there …

And of course we all know the old cliché about where nice guys finish.

Maybe I don’t need to be a nice guy. But I do know that I do need to be a good guy. A decent guy. I grew up a large part of my life exposed to guys who weren’t so decent all the time. I’ve seen firsthand the kind of emotional (and far too often) physical damage that these types of guys (not men) can inflict on women. I have stories that would make you ashamed to be a part of the same species as some of these “winners.”

But even with all that I still hold out hope that this cliché isn’t always so true. I know several (and by that I mean five or six) women who have somehow managed to avoid all of the garbage out there and settled down with truly decent men.

Maybe it’s just that women want to bone (all class aren’t I) the jerk … but they know he’s not who they’ll end up with. I have this crazy idea in my head that eventually these women figure out what’s important in a relationship. They come to realize that they don’t have to be treated like they (too often) allow themselves to be treated by so many of these losers.

But I digress.

I think another issue I had was that I saw things too often in black and white and not in the shades of gray that exist in real life.

I’ve spent a lot of time wrestling with being a nice guy. Worrying so much about being seen as an asshole that I would be too conservative. I had this thought that all women (by default) would assume that all men were (naturally) terrible people right off the bat. So I would overcompensate by being the nicest guy I could. Saying nothing offensive or being too opinionated so as not to be seen as anything other than the best guy ever. With this newfound twenty-twenty vision I know this almost certainly made me uninteresting and worse still … it probably made me pretty boring more times than not.

But the thing is that I like to think that I am a nice guy. I am coming to terms with the fact that I have to not allow myself to be such a doormat to the women I allow into my life. I am figuring out the fine line between being nice and being a sucker.

But in the end, for me, it comes full circle to this idea of self confidence. I’ve had to almost admonish myself for thinking I am anything less than handsome. I have turned my looks into a joke that only I laugh at. And after a time I notice I’m the only one laughing. So slowly I might start to think that maybe I am an alright looking guy. And that false confidence has slowly turned to real confidence. And now I sit back from time to time and wonder to myself, “Am I desirable because I look better than I did before? Or is it that I don’t doubt myself like I used to?”

And to tell you the truth … I don’t think I really care what the answer is anymore.

The Anniversary Party (2001)

November 15 - One Year Later

One year ago my life changed forever.

It’s hard to believe that there are people who know me now that couldn’t even imagine the person I used to be. I go through life these days a changed man. I sometimes find myself staring at my reflection wondering who I’m looking at. Am I still the fun loving “Hurley” I’ve been my whole life or am I closer to the “Sawyer” I now more closely resemble? And more importantly, if you don’t watch Lost … did that last analogy make any sense at all?

It’s only been twelve months since I closed my eyes knowing that there was a chance that I may never open them again. The risk of an operation outweighed (nice turn of phrase I know) by the fear of having a heart attack before I turn thirty five. The thought of being alone forever (because no one could see me for who I was - only for what I looked like) strengthened my resolve to go under the knife.

Fifty two weeks ago I had gastric bypass surgery. In those three hundred and sixty five days I have lost over 185 pounds and I can honestly say that it’s changed my life both for better and for worse.

I’m healthy. A month ago I had a full physical and I’m happy to report that every single result came back positively. Low cholesterol, good resting heart rate, all my blood work is normal, and I’m almost exactly where I should be weight wise. I can run, swim, bike, and do weight lifting with no real problems. Physically I am doing very well indeed.

The down side? Well let’s just say that spending the first twenty eight years of your life being almost ignored by women has done a number on my psyche. There’s no handbook for the kind of emotional changes I’ve been through. I go back and forth from day to day about how I feel about the attention I am now getting. I am now comfortable enough with my looks to acknowledge that I am a decent looking guy. I know I’ll never be a Brad Pitt … but I also know I’ll never have to worry about being mistaken for Brad Garrett. In the abstract - being considered a good looking guy is something I’ve always dreamed about. But the reality - she can be a much harsher mistress.

I’ve noticed that it’s both men and women that treat me differently. Sometimes it’s just a matter of being a little more polite on the elevator. Or the cashier being a little more chatty while waiting in line at the store. Passers by eye contact lingers a bit more and often times now there’s a smile to go along with it. Store clerks ask me if I need help more often. It’s these little day to day things that seem to have changed the most.

In the last few months I have done my best to live my life honestly. I strive every day to be truthful with myself and with those I interact with. This strange “life as an honest male” can be a more painful way to live your life. Whoever said “the truth hurts” knew what they were talking about.

But living my life without the little white lies to cloud things has made my life overall less complicated.

With that in mind - you might be wondering about the big changes I’ve gone through in the last year. Maybe you’re curious to know how I’m different than I was before I lost all the weight?

Well here’s a little uncomfortable truth:

I am more aware of my vanity. I find myself looking at my reflection more often than I used to when I was fat. Checking my hair. Seeing how my belt matches my shoes. Asking my roommate if this jacket or that one looks better with my shirt. Taking extra time to get ready before going out when there’s any chance I might need to look my best.

At first I think I’d justify looking a little longer in the mirror because of the dramatic changes that were occurring to my body from week to week. I think these days I just want to make sure I look my best. Almost like now that I do look better that it’s important for me to try to look better. I find myself shopping for clothes at department stores or the mall instead of my (formerly) normal Target or (more often) Big & Tall store. Not just for clothes but for clothes that will make me look better.

I’m not proud of the vanity I seem to have developed and I worry a lot that I have become the kind of guy I used to really hate. That jock’ey, Abercrombie & Fitch, frat guy type who thinks he’s gods gift to women. I hate that guy and it scares me that I look more like him than I used too.

There have been more pictures taken of me in the last year than in all of the years before I had my operation. The reason is simple. I’m not ashamed of the way I look anymore. A picture is no longer a painful reminder of how out of control my weight had gotten.

What’s the other big change? Well without a doubt it’s how women treat me now. Let’s see if I can just put this as bluntly as possible.

There were a total of four women who ever expressed any interest in me as more than a friend in the twenty eight years of my life before I had weight loss surgery. And that number includes my ex-wife. I don’t want to (and won’t) go into too much detail here … but in the last year that number has risen to a level I never thought possible.

I had a girlfriend within four months (and that would be around eighty pounds less Rod) of my operation. I was twenty nine years-old the first time a woman ever approached me at a bar and flirted with me.

This newfound attention from the opposite sex (and to be honest from gay males anytime I am near the warehouse district) has not been all I thought it would be. I walk a fine line. Knowing that I should be happy women are attracted to me and trying hard to not resent them for just now noticing me. I understand the reasons. I know that the way I looked before made me a different person. It’s just that only my physical appearance has changed. I still feel like the same guy who was ignored by women for years. I haven’t completely figured out how to make those two realities mesh quite yet.

So one year later and the life I have now would be unrecognizable to the person I used to be. I am healthier now than I was then. I don’t worry about not seeing my niece and nephew grow up anymore. I don’t fear falling over of a heart attack at thirty four anymore.

But am I a happier person now? Yes my life is different. But is it better?

Honest answer. Some days I know the answers to those questions. Some days I don’t think I’ll ever figure it out.

Today? Today I’m happy I can see my feet without using a mirror. I like that the waist on my jeans are ten sizes lower than they were a year ago. Today I am healthy and happy and looking forward to the rest of my life. And maybe (just for) today I might be alone but I’m not completely lonely.

Not completely …