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One in five American adults smokes some type of tobacco product.  Astonishing!  In the face of irrefutable evidence that smoking significantly shortens life span and denigrates the quality of that reduced time the beat apparently goes on.  In addition to the guarantee of an earlier death, the economic consequences to the individual and society as a whole are staggering.  The Center for Disease Control (CDC) reports that 443,000 deaths occur in the USA each year related to smoking; Still; Really.  Lung disease, cancer and heart ailments are at the top of the list of those smoking related ailments that contribute to the earlier than necessary demise of smokers.

chemicals_smokeThe New England Journal of Medicine recently published a study wherein researchers discovered that quitting smoking at every age up to 64 can add from 4 to 10 years to the life expectancy of the new non-smoker.   The sooner the activity is stopped, the better the life expectancy.  The study concluded that both men and women that died in 2006 and were smokers at the time of their demise were about 3 times more likely to have died during the term of the study than non-smokers.  This disparity is partly attributable to increased health standards for the non-smoking population.  Consider also that among Americans that died of lung cancer in the early 1960’s women who smoked were 2.7 times more likely to have died from that horrible disease than non-smoking women, while men in the 1960’s died at a rate that was 12 times more likely.  Pretty staggering info that pales in comparison when you come to understand that by 2010 that both men and women that died of lung cancer were smokers was 25 times the rate of non-smokers.  Women, I suspect, caught up to men in this regard due to the increased social acceptability of smoking by females and the larger influx of women into the workforce.  The increase in the overall death rates is in no small part attributable to advances in health care that has helped to stem the tide of other life ending conditions but apparently not so much lung cancer.

We have a number of video tapes of our family when we were kids in the 50’s and 60’s, usually of family gatherings around Christmas time.  In almost every tape the adults are seen with cigarettes burning in one hand and a drink in the other while the kids are scrambling at their feet to rip open their presents – quite often with one or more of the female adults obviously pregnant.  Our parents weren’t being careless or irresponsible, the simple fact is they did not KNOW what we know today about the harm that smoking causes.  I remember my Dad quit in the 70’s; cold turkey.  It was tougher for my Mom but she finally gave up the cigarettes in the 80’s as best as I can remember.

I smoked off and on from 1971 until 1984 – I suppose because everyone else did.  Mostly I worked office jobs and even if you didn’t have your own you spent your days inhaling everyone else’s tobacco smoke because that was just the way that it was.  When I quit for good it was as much for practical reasons than concerns about my health; I had just burned a hole in a brand new tie.  It wasn’t the first time it happened but I was committed it would be the last.

What we know today about cancer includes the understanding that you don’t “catch” cancer like a cold or the flu.  While there is a growing belief that viruses may be at the root cause of some cancers, many cancers require an “irritant” to which we are exposed over an extended period of time along with some genetic predisposition.  And, in many cases, it takes a good long time for the cancer that may be growing inside of us to become noticeable to health professionals.  Consider the mountain of evidence that exposure of our Soldiers, Sailors and Marines to Agent Orange and other defoliants in Vietnam and Korea are now manifesting themselves in deadly lymphomas, prostate cancer, respiratory (lung cancer) and skin cancers – in many cases 40 or more years after the exposure.  Lots of these service personnel also smoked creating what has proven to be an especially lethal cocktail.  Consider also that defoliants have been in use for agricultural and landscaping purposes all over American soil, albeit at much lower concentrations than in the forests of Asia where we so indiscriminately sprayed.  There is a growing body of evidence that chemicals of many kinds contain the keys to unlock predisposed molecule of DNA toward cancer in those of us that possess them.  Tobacco products release a number of chemicals into our organs when inhaled including cyanide, arsenic and lead – known carcinogens  Placing one of these burning time bombs between your lips is literally playing with fire.

I remember when Obamacare (The Affordable Health Care Act) was first being debated and we were told that it would take a number of years for all the features and benefits, along with the resulting costs, to be calculated and understood.  What folks heard (or wanted to hear) was that the program would guarantee affordable health care coverage for everyone but that the details still needed to be worked through.  Since most of the remaining major changes that will take place are scheduled to kick in beginning January 1, 2014 those heretofore unknown details are beginning to squirt out.  Consider the consequences for smokers.

There is a little talked about provision in the Act that allows insurers to charge smokers buying individual policies premiums that are as much as 50% higher than non-smokers.  Estimates range up to an additional $4,250 per year for coverage for a 55-year-old smoker as compared to his/her non-smoking contemporary.  Younger smokers will be charged lower penalties but I think its safe to project those surcharges will escalate along with age and a growing body of evidence that smoking in and of itself increases the potential healthcare expenses for individuals over their lifetimes.  While it is widely believed that surcharges will not be allowed for policyholders that may be overweight or have other pre-existing conditions that potentially require more medical care than average, the discrimination against smokers is allowable and likely.

Do yourself, your family, friends and bank accounts a favor.  If you smoke, quit now.  If you don’t smoke, don’t ever start. 


stock-illustration-5624775-barber-shop-toolsMy father passed away last year in October.  As a child of the 1950’s and 1960’s with 6 siblings you can imagine the stories and reminiscing that went on during the week’s worth of activities that brought us all together to celebrate our Dad’s life.  Growing up in Long Beach, California it never seemed we lacked for the necessities but luxuries, like haircuts in a barbershop, were rare with the financial demands that a family of 9 creates.

My Dad would assemble me and my 2 brothers in the garage every other Saturday with his electric clippers to administer the type of haircut one gets when they lose a bet or agrees to have their locks shorn in the name of charity.  The one point of differentiation between the 3 haircuts was that Dad always left my younger brother Bobby with an inch long strip of fringe covering the very top of his forehead as what can only be described as bangs.  At the time, I thought it was to help my mother identify him among the 7 of us kids but looking back on it I believe Dad thought that would make him tougher.  Given the level of abuse Bobby took from the rest of the pre-teens in our neighborhood over his “do” I believe my father was on to something.

If we wanted a different haircut, well, we needed to learn how to finance it.  When I was old enough to understand that the other half of the population that was not of my same sex (and not one of my 4 sisters) were worthy of my attention I reckoned it was worth $4 of my paper route money each fortnight  to allow the barber next to the Rexall drugstore to perform his artistry on my burgeoning locks. Another buck or so for Palmolive Hair Cream or ButchWax gave me the confidence I needed to be able to stand against the brick wall lining our high school gymnasium to watch the girls from our educational establishment dance together on Friday nights after the football games.

One marriage later, I purchased a “blow dryer” which allowed me to shape my rather substantial head of hair into various styles as I aged, each of which required a minimum of a half can of hairspray to hold in place.  By my 30’s I think I was spending upwards of $35 for my haircuts which were no longer provided by a barber but now a “stylist”.  I got pretty good at the home styling part until I started to notice that the amount of hair I was attempting to tease seemed to be progressively less and less and increasing amounts remained in my brush after the daily grooming routine was finished.  Once I eliminated the possibility that using too hot of a setting on my blow dryer was causing the reduction in volume I started reconfiguring the remaining product of my follicles in the most efficient way possible but never to the level of Donald Trump.  It worked well for years.

In 1998 I underwent a course of chemotherapy for Lymphoma and the predicted hair loss was acute.  By the end of the 2nd of 6 administrations of the “CHOP” regimen I did not have a hair anywhere.  Sympathetic friends and healthcare providers cheerfully reminded me that post-chemo hair comes back darker, thicker and even in the case of my string straight hair there was a chance it would have some curl.  Truthfully, I secretly loved the freedom of not having to deal with hair during the chemo intake period, especially since I was spending considerable time with my head firmly planted in the toilet bowl.  Nonetheless, once I completed the 6 month curative process I was eager to see just how dark, thick and curly my new mop would be.

What a load of bullcrap that turned out to be!  The regrowth post-chemotherapy stopped at the level of a quintessential Franciscan Monk’s hairline.  The dream of a screen test identifying me as the next leading man in a Hollywood Blockbuster was replaced by the reality that the only part for which I could ever be cast would be riding a burro with rosary beads draped around my neck trailing after Antonio Banderas in some godforsaken Mexican desert.

The really lousy part of it all, though, is that in spite of my inability to generate hair growth on the top of my head where it belongs, biology apparently dictates that the hair needs to get out somewhere.  I recall a few years ago my granddaughter, Sydney, then 5 or 6 years of age sitting on my lap when I recognized the look of fear and utter disgust in her eyes.  Papa, what’s wrong with your ears???”  She shrieked loud enough for Elvis to hear, wherever he is,  “OOOHHHH, its HAIR!!!” she warned anyone within earshot.  Once the crimson color left my face I deposited her on the floor and headed to the bathroom014 to see just exactly what frightened her so much.  Donning my reading glasses and with as much light as I could artificially create I looked at my ears in my wife’s magnified make up mirror.  What I saw would have brought weaker men to their knees.  Apparently my post-chemo hair recovery had consolidated itself in the edges and crevices of my ears in multicolored sprouts that had the consistency of 10 gauge electrical wire and grew in no discernible pattern.  I knew I needed to take action if for no other reason than to save my other grandchildren from the psychological trauma I had already caused my eldest.

I immediately turned to the Internet:  I found recommended methods for trimming the unwanted hair; ways to melt it away, wax it off and chemically remove it.  I learned that hair inside the ear canal actually has a useful purpose and must be dealt with more sensitively than the hirsute manifestation everywhere else on the half circles that stick out from the sides of my head.  I learned that electrolysis has a spotty record with stubborn ear hair and, by the way can, only be used on the outer ear in any event.  Never had I imagined that my problem seemed to be shared by nearly every man (and more than a few women) over the age of 39.  I felt only a little less embarrassed.

My visits to the barber shop these days to see Mike the Barber for my $15 Reverse fade with a 1 1/2, Zero on top are spent mostly with my barber using various implements to eradicate as much of the unruly hair growth that has since evolved from my ears to include an invasion of my eyebrows where 4 to 5 inch silver sprouts spring up literally overnight.  I find he does a far better job at controlling the affliction than I with my wife’s makeup mirror and the collection of implements I’ve acquired over the years.  Between visits, I do my best to control the ever present offenders with regular assists from Google …..


Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata is playing on the “Light Classical” channel on Time Warner Cable’s Music Choice.  The song is so beautiful it’s distracting me from the task at hand which is to get this damn blog under way.  I secured the URL a couple of years ago and put it in the inventory – it’s taken  me that long to figure out what I want to write about.

The truth is, I’ve known what I want to write about but I’ve let too many opinions cloud my thinking:  “Limit the blog to 1 or 2 subjects“: “Make sure you have something to market – and sell, sell, sell!”; “Find out what folks are interested in and then tailor your articles to those interests”. Blah, Blah, Blah.

Bottom Line:  Today’s an anniversary of sorts.  Two years ago this very morning I had my neck and tongue fileted by Dr. Paul Kim at Loma Linda University Hospital.  1/3 of my tongue and 30+ lymph nodes from my neck and shoulder went missing; all in the name of curing tongue cancer.  Dr. Kim is obviously so good at what he does that I sit here today able to eat (too well) and speak as if nothing ever happened in spite of the pre-warnings from well-meaning friends, acquaintances and health care professionals about what might very well have been.  Save for an 8 inch scar that traverses my neck like a badly drawn trail map that I like to call my “tattoo”, tasting or chewing anything on the right side of my mouth, whiCSL12411 (2)stling or sticking out my tongue, everything is back to normal; whatever that is.

Turning 60 this year gives me an absolute right to the name of this blog.  And, since I apparently haven’t totally thought this thing through in the past couple of years while continually mulling it over in my mind it may turn out that other Boomers will have an opportunity to write about their experiences here – I haven’t decided, yet.  If you have an idea that you’d like to share let me know and I’ll give it some appropriate consideration.  That’s the beauty of it:  For a few bucks a year this is all mine and I can do whatever I want.

So, what will I write about?

I know way too much about cancer; something I never wanted to study, believe me.   In 1998 at the tender age of 45 I was diagnosed with lymphoma after 6 months of not understanding why I felt like dog poop and had continually tried in vain to cough up my lungs.  My son, Geoffrey, died in 2010 at the age of 26 from the very same disease – absolutely devastating.  No other genetic link in our family that we can find.  Two of my best friends succumbed to the big “c” last year.  Other non-blood relatives and friends are currently fighting the fight.  I’m a Team Captain and Event co-chair for the American Cancer Society’s Relay For Life because it was the only way I could figure out how to fight back.  Layer all of that together and you’ll come to understand why I will write about cancer.  It has or will affect all of us in some profound way. There is no escape.  It’s important stuff to know about and try to understand.  It was a blog about the death of my son that unleashed the writing beast in me.

A paying writing “gig” tells me at least somebody likes reading the things I write.  I’ll bring some of that to these pages.  TripBucket is a website that is dedicated to helping its registered users complete their bucket lists.  They hired me to provide content because I can occasionally write a complete sentence, I suppose.  TripBucket also motivated me to start designing my own bucket list which is now bigger than I can possibly complete even if I live to be 100.  Not likely, given my history.  You’ll gain some exposure to TripBucket here as well.  The next item awaiting check-off on my list is a 40 kilometer (sounds more impressive than 25 miles, doesn’t it?) bike ride that I hope to complete in the next few weeks within the Tour de Palm Springs.  I’ll tell you how that goes.

I am a licensed Real Estate Broker and Mortgage Broker in the State of California.  I’ve held a broker’s license since 1986; a salesperson’s license before that.  I own a real estate business (with a partner) and I suspect you’ll read a fair bit about the state of real estate and business in general if you decide to follow this blog.

We have a really big family:  GIMG_0800randchild #6 is on the way before June 1.  6 children between my wife and me that have made everything from Public Safety (courtesy of the LAPD) to the art world their vocation.  6 brothers and sisters, lots of in-laws, myriad nieces and nephews, 2 ex-wives, my mom in the Texas Hill Country and my incredibly supportive wife of nearly 18 years – all of whom provide fodder for life’s lessons.

I like to cook.  I once took a class at the Santa Fe School of Cooking, ate the product and lived to tell.  I figure that gives me all the permission I need to share recipes and methodology for some pretty great meals.  I typically forsake the kitchen for the barbecue – I hate calling it the “grill” because it can do so much more.  And, I don’t particularly like to measure but I’ll do my best in communicating the formulas. I think men, in general, struggle for a creative outlet and cooking can so easily fulfill that need.

So here’s the deal.  I’ll write about what I want.  You let me know when you think I’m full of crap or you agree with what I’ve said and if there is something you want me to investigate and report back I will do my best, as long as the subject is interesting to me, too.

Did you know that Beethoven wrote the Moonlight Sonata for his student, an Austrian Countess with whom he was desperately infatuated?  Two years passed before he was able to come to grips with his inability to marry the love of his life due to his station in society and move on.  Hardly anyone knows her name.

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