My intention was to write this bloggeriphany yesterday. But, as often happens, I went off on a tangent and never got back to my point. I was off on that tangent for so long, I had to stop for gas, a giant Hershey bar and a chocolate shake. So, I decided to make it a two-parter. A cliff-hanger! Even though the two parts have little or nothing to do with each other. Assuming you don't remember yesterday's drivel...and who could blame you?...or, even better, didn't even waste your time reading it...let me recap: One morning, I referred to myself as the "Orson Welles" of the FirstNews team because the other on-air folks are so slender. For the younger among you, Orson Welles was the creative wizard behind the movie Citizen Kane and many other wonderful works. He also was on the Dean Martin show a lot, so you may have seen him pop-up on one of those infomercials. Basically, as he got older, he got rather large. So, when I referred to myself as Orson Welles, it had nothing to do with his genius and everything to do with his girth. A kindly and, probably, myopic, viewer said I should NOT intimate that I was chubby. As I mentioned, as well, yesterday, America is always talking about weight and fitness. For many it is a serious health issue but, for some, it is more about appearance than wellness. Being extremely superficial, I fall into that last category. Not that you could tell it by looking at me.

The first time I ever noticed I was getting a little pudgy was in college. Turns out a diet of Oreos and chocolate milk for breakfast, a slab of cheese and sleeve of Ritz Crackers for lunch and a package of Oscar Mayer Hot Dogs for dinner is not recommended by Jenny Craig, Richard Simmons or, even, Dom DeLuise. I punctuated that menu with frequent snacks including M&Ms, Doritos and, when possible, French fries. Fruits? Vegetables? Who had time, in college, for that stuff? Exercise? I was young and feeling rather invulnerable so why would I have replaced hours of watching reruns of The Bob Newhart Show with a jog or jumping jacks. Sure, I could've done a work-out while viewing but that really would have ruined the experience for me. I mean, you'd miss the subtleties of Howard Borden's "Hi, Bob!" if you were stretching and straining and sweating. Well, one day, as I was waiting for the bus, I took a good look at my new bus-pass. Who knew that Jabba-the-Hut used public transportation!? This was followed by a comment from a female acquaintance, after I had gotten a short hair-cut: "Wow! You have a fat head!" Then, I noticed that my next semester's classes were all on the third or fourth floors of the various buildings. I was getting winded just by changing my mind. Obviously, it was a conspiracy. I decided to make some changes.

I made a point of eating a good breakfast and decent lunch. I cut way back on snacks. I ate a very light dinner. I also started to exercise a little. (If I use the personal pronoun just a few more times in the story, I will qualify for Ego-Maniac of The Moment! The prize: an I-pod!) My exercise regimen was quite antiquated, heavily influenced by my early-childhood exposure to Jack La Lanne. I loved watching that show. He had his big white dog named Happy. He'd sing while he worked-out. As for "equipment," forget the expensive weight machines, a chair was about as complicated as the gadgets got. So, when it became clear that I needed to find something more active than watching golf on TV, I started doing things the old-fashioned way: jumping jacks, sit-ups and push-ups. Most of the time, I did these things in private. The idea of going through these contortions at some sort of gym or club was crazy. Once I made the mistake of doing push-ups in front of a woman. She laughed so hard, she burned more calories than I did. She said I looked like some sort of giant chicken trying to peck seeds out of a dusty road. Apparently, my form was unbecoming. Basically, as I did the push-ups, my body formed an upside down "V" with my nose touching the floor and my, well, other end, waving in the breeze. "At least you're showing off your best side," the young lady chortled. (By the way, I got even with that laughing girl. I married her and, now, she's stuck with me. All sides of me!)

Still being fairly young, I did lose weight. Eventually, I got downright skinny. Some of the pictures from that period look like something Edvard Munch may have painted...The Scream of a Cheesehead. In fact, I was still quite slim when Kansas City became our family's home. Just about that time, though, lots of factors converged. First of all, I hit an age where my metabolism slowed way, way down. In fact, there were many times I found my metabolism sound asleep in a hammock in the backyard. Of the four of us brothers, the two oldest never really had their body fat sneak up on them. However, the two youngest, including me, discovered that our fat-burning abilities became a bit impaired as we approached the age of 30. Of course, we are far, far better looking than the older two, so it's really a wash. It was as if I woke up one morning and my body said "Well, Joel, the party's over. You can no longer eat anything you wish and, then, quit grazing for just a day and drop the pounds. From now on, things you love, like Nestle's Quick chocolate milk and Velveeta Cheese will not only add tonnage, those goodies will make you feel queasy, if you overdo it! HA! HA! HA! Oh, one more thing, to lose excess weight, you will really have to work at it! You? Work? Fat chance...excuse the expression."

In addition to this attack from within, it turned out that every time my lovely wife was with child, I gained many sympathy pounds. Sympathy pounds act just like real pounds, it just sounds kind of sweet to put it like that. Of course, after the baby was born my lovely wife, the same person who had laughed at my "hen-like" push-ups, would go running and lose the baby weight. I didn't. Even the KMBC news director at the time, noticed I was getting a little paunchy and subtly advised me to lose a few: "Hey, Porky, how about moving out of the light so the rest of the anchors can be seen?" He was not appeased when I told him I was just trying to do what he told me and become a "more well-rounded reporter." I even overheard a visiting talent coach ask one of my co-workers if I'd swallowed a Volvo since he'd last visited. During this time I got a "fan" letter from a viewer saying "I really enjoy watching you even with your 'happy fat!'" I wrote back that the camera adds pounds...in my case, up to 35!

Part of the problem when I gain weight is that so much of it goes to my face. For example, if I put on those 35 aforementioned pounds, 30 of it seems to reside in my cheeks, chin(s) and jowls. I begin to look like an over-achieving chipmunk the night before the season's first snowstorm. It was always particularly disconcerting to have such a tubby, round melon sitting on my puny shoulders around Halloween. At the pumpkin patch, kids would always run up to me, holding their pumpkin choice, to see if the orange orb was round enough as compared to the gourd I used for a head.

Anyway, thank you to that viewer who said I didn't resemble Orson Welles. I appreciate the support. In fact, right now, I'm going to have a calorie-free, big glass of cold, clear water in your honor! Also, I need something to wash down the giant Hershey bar I was eating as I wrote this.