Fat Child Eating

Not to alarm any of the Fat Man Running fans, but I have a revelation to make - I was a fat child. I know, it's shocking. Don't kick yourself for not realizing it earlier - it's easy to miss my self deprecating "humor" brought about by being a 230 lb 14 year old, as well as my current ability to chase a half marathon with a gallon and a half of ice cream. There are a handful of little clues, but you may have missed them if you're blind, have never spoken to me for more than 17 seconds or live in the state of denial that some of my relatives call "motherhood".
Luckily, my childhood is rife with stories of husky sweatpants, little league jerseys that must be mounted over a La-Z-Boy (aka - the "Shirt Stretcher") before they fit, or being thought to be of Asian descent due to excessive forehead fat hanging over your eyelids.

A perfect example of the joys of childhood obesity is the following gem that recently popped up to the delight of MiaManda:

It's 1992. Slick Willie is getting ready to enter the White House, the MLB Player's Union has yet to strike, and a waddling pile of blubber is breaking hearts and taking names while getting straight-As at Skowhegan Area Middle School. The day after receiving his perfect marks, Mrs. F, the social studies teacher, approaches yours truly about his report card.

Mrs. F: "Congrats on the great grades Chad! Did you get a reward from your parents?"
Chad (emitting a distinct smell of onions and obesity): "Yup! I got the best gift a growing boy could ever ask for!"
Mrs. F: "Really? Did your parents give you money? Take you to the movies? Maybe even take you to Walmart without putting you in the harness?"
Chad (glowing with memories of the previous night): "Nope. Even better! We went to Subway and they let me get 2 foot long meatball subs!!!"
Mrs. F: Stunned Silence
Chad: "That's right. Maybe the best gift I have ever had. I scarfed them down in about 2 minutes flat and even had some room left over for extra chips!"

Now, I'm not sure if Mrs. F contemplated calling child services, slapping the smirk off my face, or just crying for humanity, but I can only now understand her shocked silence that spoke volumes.

Weird Al Yankovic - Fat
Uploaded by GuyanaMike.

San Fran: After The Parade

As much fun as I had at the Pride parade, there is only so much over-the-top flamboyance I can tolerate before needing some down time. So in order to get away from grown men running around in spandex, slapping each other on the asses and swearing at every possible chance, I headed to Oakland Coliseum for some good, old-fashioned, heterosexual baseball.

It's often easy to forget that most stadiums don't require dropping $50 with a scalper for the cheap seats. While Fenway is great a couple times a season, it can quickly send you to the poor house. Luckily, Billy Beane has put a team together that rarely draws more than 25,000 fans. While the players must hate it, tourists like myself love the $48 seats that are less than 5 feet from the dugout, first base foul area and photographers.


I also had the added bonus of being able to see one of the more entertaining traditions of organized sports - hazing of the rookies. While I wasn't able to see anyone's face painted with permanent markers or an atomic wedgie, watching Matt Daley head to the bullpen wearing a pink backpack was entertaining enough for me.

To end the day, I followed the lead of nearly every other lard-ass of a tourist by gorging myself on sweets, burgers and entertainment. This town is definitely worth many more return appearances.