Random Thoughts: The A to Z Blog of the Overactive Mind

  Golf. The only sport where you can gain weight while playing it. (I refuse to call poker a sport, despite it being 'played' on sports networks) Other possibilities include pulling a hamstring by sneezing mid-swing, throwing out your back while lifting the flag out, or yelling 'fore' with so much force that you fall backwards. Yet, you may still feel like you've conquered nature.  It's a game that takes four hours, costs a small fortune, and involves a tiny ball that hates you. And yet, it's beloved, even revered, idolized by millions. Perhaps especially by those of a certain age group who see golf as not only recreation, but as a retirement plan with exquisite landscaping. I like to call it what it really is: G.O.L.F. - Glorious Oldies Lifting Fodder. Swing and a Miss... Again Let's be honest. The average golfer over 50 (that includes me, and I love it) spends more time complaining about hitting that tiny white ball than actually hitting that tiny whit...

  Football is many things to many people. It's a sport, a strategy, a culture, and an excuse to eat enough hot wings in one sitting to guarantee bloating for the next three days. But at it's core, football is about one thing: extremely aggressive group hugs. Try to imagine the following scenario in any other setting: A big, muscle-bound man sprints 20 yards at full speed with the intention of wrapping his arms around another muscle-bound man and throwing him to the ground and then holding him while others pile on. Depending on your background, that's either a felony or a family reunion. But in football? First down. There's something both slightly unhinged and endearing about a game where bombastic physical contact is precisely scheduled, refereed, and replayed in slow motion while commentators praise someone's abilities to hit another human with the force and accuracy of a guided missile. Man, that's beautiful! Fashion and Emotion on the Field There is a certain...

  There was a time (and yes I'm old enough to remember but not too old to tell if I was having a porridge induced dream or not) when receiving an envelope in the mail held about the same majesty as would finding a sealed scroll on your doorstep. Is it a letter from a friend or relative? Maybe. Is it a flyer from a local store offering huge discounts? Possibly. Is it a surprise bonus cheque from your boss in appreciation of your work? Hopefully. This is not that time. Not anymore. Today, we mostly get contest entry forms that boldly and honestly say "You may already be a loser," and election flyers for some guy whose picture looks like it was taken with defunct passport cameras. You know; the ones where it looks like the flash surprised him mid-enema. But once in a while, an envelope appears in our mailbox with proper name, address and postage like it was sent on purpose. And this is where the real intrigue begins. Because the larger the envelope, the larger the uncertain...

  It happens in every family Zoom call - somewhere between the male members in the family trying to speak, sing (and yes, maybe even fart) the loudest and "You're still muted, Aunt Gladys" - the dad joke gets unleashed. At first, everyone stares blankly at the Brady Bunch gallery-view window with the offender in it. In the meantime, he's thinking the pun is good, his delivery was confident and the joke inescapably funny. That's when the reaction happens: a chorus of eye-rolls, deep sighs and at least one "Really, Dad?" And yet, the strangest thing happens. Even though everyone in the family audibly groaned at the joke like Grandpa trying get his head through the arm hole of his favorite polo shirt, it sticks around. It gets repeated. Mom tells it at work or to the members of her book club or cooking class. The teenager who rolled his eyes a week earlier is telling the same 'lame' joke to their friends in class, and they are laughing. Ironically, ...

  Let's begin by saying something honest about the foods we eat: the worse they are for us, the more we seem to enjoy them. That's true for me anyway. I love calorie-rich foods. I'm a red meat and potato guy. Also a chip guy, chocolate bar guy, pretzel guy, popcorn...well, you get the point. And that point is: If I set aside all those things and actively chose a salad, my system would probably slip into toxic shock and take me out! Lunch is a cruel mistress, and calories her weapon of choice. However, something has to be said about calories themselves: they are the sneakiest little invisible traitors on the planet. Yeah, I thought it was murder hornets, too. But no, it's calories. Because they are everywhere. They lurk behind innocent croutons and hide in your "no sugar added" creamer like a ninja assassin on a stealth mission. They hide mockingly behind that "just one bite" of cheesecake you thought wouldn't count because you stole it off somebo...

  Okay, let's get one thing out of the way right from the beginning: beer is NOT a health food.  I know - I wanted it to be true too!  Sorry, but that's just the truth.  Still, you might be clutching your favorite brewski like it's kale juice with tiny bubbles, and you wouldn't be the only one. But here's one way to know for sure it's not a health food:  there are no hipsters to be found having a tailgate party at Whole Foods with their six-packs of "locally sourced barley hydration."  However, it has been touted as a healthy choice throughout it's cozy existence as one of man's best friends.  So, let's take a journey on frothy waves into the golden, red, pale, blonde or stout black glass of lies we've all chosen to sip from. Liquid Bread:  A Balanced Diet Includes All Food Groups, Right? Once upon a medieval time, beer was considered "liquid bread."  Monks brewed it to provide nourishment and sustenance during fasts (loophole...

  Let's talk about attraction.  It's a mysterious force that somehow draws us to someone who - on paper - might not check many of the boxes our younger selves thought we were into.  That's the funny thing about what people call "chemistry".  When we're younger, attraction seems like it's all Chanel No. 5 and sex appeal - until you grow up a little and realize it usually boils down to dollar store aftershave and rejection.  You spend your whole life thinking you're looking for a Brad Pitt or a Jennifer Lopez.  What you fall in love with is someone who leaves a wet towel on the bed, clothes lying beside the hamper, and squeezes the toothpaste in the middle (sorry, my love.)  But here's the kicker: you're happy! You see, I used to think attraction was all about symmetry, bone structure, and the ability to make entering any room look like walking a fashion runway - without the eating disorders.  I think we all do it.  Perhaps my wife assumed love...

  Hi there!  I'm SC Thompson - 50(ish) years old, 6'4" tall, and powered by caffeine, curiosity, and the constant hum of a brain that refuses to believe in shutting down; the lights are always on and everybody's home...even those who weren't invited. We all have an inner sanctum of thought.  Some people have a peaceful inner monologue.  Mine is more like a 24-hour ice cream truck blaring MC Hammer in suburbia and claiming "Too Legit to Quit" status.  I've spent years listening to this mental chatter, wondering if there's any meaning to the madness or if I've just set up a free workshop for the neurotic inside my head.  Thoughts pop in, hang out, and refuse to leave.  Here's the deal: the brain is a wonder.  Truly.  It controls everything - our thoughts, memories, fears, desires, bad karaoke decisions... But the one I have?  It wonders what it's thinking.  It questions the questions.  It loops back around, shops at the idea stor...