Would You Rather . . . ?

Have you ever played the board game "Would You Rather . . . ?" Designed for older children and adults, the game poses players a series of questions in which they are given the opportunity to pick one of two rather unorthodox situations. The point of the game is to reveal the inner thoughts and value systems of the players.

For example, you might be asked, "Would you rather lose your eyesight or your hearing?" How one answers that question reveals what kinds of interactions are most important to the player.

I've never seen this question posed in the game, but I'll pose it here. Would you rather be liked or admired? You should take some time before you answer. While most of us likely wish to be admired, at the same time being liked certainly makes your day go by easier. Admiration is generated by observation, while fondness comes through human interaction. I can admire someone I don't know--an athlete for their physical prowess; a business leader for their accomplishments; and an artist for their talents. The fact that these persons may fail in their relationships and treat the people around them rudely does not diminish my admiration for their achievements.

Fondness, however, is tied to our emotions. We like people who make us laugh, who remember our birthday, and who pay attention to our appearance. These interactions are personal. While we may not trust him or her with our life savings, we're more likely to invite a person we like to go fishing than the person voted most likely to succeed by our senior class in high school.

Ultimately, I want to be both liked and admired, but it's difficult to pull both off. A high achiever does many things that anger people who observe them. For example, if a person achieves due to their hard work, then the much larger group of people who don't work hard is reminded of their laziness. The admired achiever then gets maligned for being a workaholic, driven or called obsessed by those who would rather achieve without putting in the same effort.

Also, an admired achiever inevitably makes difficult choices that will also alienate others. For example, a person in business will choose some people to be their partners/associates and choose not to do business with others. If being liked were more important than success for that person, he or she would try hard not to offend anyone and could instead maintain unproductive business relationships that would undermine their success. Every successful business venture has created some enemies along the way.

This whole theme has been on my mind because for the past few weeks the director of the vocal music program at Isaac's high school has been mentioned in a variety of conversations day after day. The program is widely admired for its success--contest awards, highly regarded productions, large participation--but the director is widely criticized for an overbearing, some would say abusive, personality. She's called "crazy", "mean", and "bitchy"--and gossipers also enjoy speculating about her personal life. Yet, in the end, parents, students, and many in the community seem to bend over backwards to accomodate and please this director. I honestly wish my children were as concerned about my feelings! Maybe I should try throwing tantrums!

So, at the end of the day, if my choice is would I rather be Norm from Cheers, the guy everybody likes (but nobody takes seriously), or Ellen from Grosse Pointe South, the woman everybody admires (but many dislike), I'm going with Ellen. Maybe Norm sleeps better at night and rarely encounters conflict, but he's also spending his day on a barstool, not doing much for anybody. Maybe Ellen is gossipped about and maligned, but she also is changing lives (and taking names).

I guess the question isn't so difficult after all, is it?

Second Place or First Loser?

There seems to be a recurring theme with my son's baseball teams as of late. While blessed with tremendous talent, dedicated coaches, and supportive parents, this team gets close to the pinnacle of great success, only to falter at the finish line.

While their win/loss record is impressive, and they've beaten many talented teams along the way, in the end, does anyone really care who comes in second? The accolades always fall upon the victors, while the runners up dream of what might have been.

Last season after rolling through their district and state championship tournaments, as 12-year-olds, they fell in the semifinals at the regional tournament in Indianpolis and never made it to the Little League World Series in Williamsport, Pennsylvania. This year again, a squad including most of the same players from last year's team, missed a state championship as 13-year-olds by one run. Most upsetting to me was that in their final game, while the other team kept scratching out runs, our boys wilted in the 90-degree heat and some key players sat out in the late innings to rest. In the end, their opponents won the championship, erasing any sting from two regular season losses to our team.

So, while our boy's accomplishments in baseball set them far above many of their peers, they still have not proven themselves to be champions. What is it that separates a champion from someone who is just really good? What do the boys from Grosse Pointe need to push them to that next level where they will reach the top, rather than simply settle for a pat on the back for a "good effort."

For what it's worth, here's what I think those boys need to be champions.

First, they need to put the interest of the team first. The old cliche "there's no 'I' in team" is a lesson these boys somehow lost. In Grosse Pointe, parents raise their children to be "superstars"--and, unfortunately not every person is going to be a superstar in everything. Especially on a team, success comes when role players play their appointed roles. The ace pitcher has to win every game. The closing pitcher must foil any late inning rallies. The short stop must make every play. The clean up hitter needs to drive in runs. And on, and on. Not every player is going to hit homeruns, or throw no hitters, or even play an important role in every game. However, if a player's job one day is to pinch run, then that pinch runner better not make a mistake on the base paths. The run scored by a pinch runner could be the difference in a game. In a tight baseball game, there are scores of opportunities for every player to make a significant impact on the outcome of the game.

However, if someone is unhappy with their appointed role, even if that role seems minor and unimportant, and fails to give their best effort no matter the situation, the team could lose the game. I've seen far too many pouty boys on this team--and it helps explain their lack of ultimate success.

Second, a successful team is not afraid of adversity. One loss typically doesn't end a season. One injured player should not make that big a difference. One bad inning doesn't mean the game is over.

For boys accustomed to easy victories, adversity sometimes feels terrifying. In the past, the Grosse Pointe team sometimes crumbled upon encountering difficult situations. Errors in the field seemed contagious. And the team morale sunk and could not rebound. While here the boys have shown improvement, they need to develop additional strategies for dealing with bumps in the road. We need a spark plug, a rallying cry, something to help the boys regain their focus, intensity, and confidence when the game seems to be slipping away.

Third, the boys need to develop leadership skills. While strong parents and coaches make a huge difference in the lives of teens, sometimes when the adults overmanage and overcontrol, young people fail to learn how to reach within themselves for the strength to succeed. Ultimately, it's the child who stands at the plate, throws the pitch, and catches the ball. No matter how hard the adults work with the child, the child ultimately must perform. If a teen has not stood up and taken responsibility for his own success and failures, they may not feel fully connected to the dream of winning a championship. After all, who's dream is it anyway? The player? The parent? The coaches? If the players are simply living out the dreams of their parents and coaches, they likely lack the spirit and intensity to be a champion. However, if the goal of winning is something the child wants with all his heart, then maybe he can muster enough passion to truly become a champion.

Make no mistake, I'm proud of the accomplishments of the 13-year-old baseball boys from Grosse Pointe, Michigan. Their record of achievement has been impressive. However, if they want to move beyond impressive, to . . . say, remarkable, then they need to learn how to play as a team, learn how to deal with adversity, and find the passion within themselves.

Next week we go to Battle Creek Michigan to see these boys make a run at a national championship. Personally, I believe, unless these boys think they have the skills, the passion, and the motivation to win this tournament, we should save our money and go to the pool instead. After all, winning may not be everything, but in sports, it's almost everything.

Triathlon Journal

Twenty two years ago something horrible happened to me. And, I tell the story all the time. If you've heard it before from me, sorry.

I was living in Chicago with my twin brother Brian. At the time we were into fitness. My brother and I ran 5K and 10K races many weekends--which gave me a pretty impressive T-Shirt collection.

That summer (1988) I decided to take my fitness goals to a whole new level and run a triathlon. At the time Bud Light beer sponsored a series of these events across the county and I signed up for the event in Chicago.

For two months I trained--running three times a week, riding my bicycle, and swimming laps in the local pool. I was not on any specific training plan for triathlons, but I was in great shape.

The day of the race was during a serious heatwave. Even though the event was held in downtown Chicago near Lake Michigan, at 8:00 a.m., it was already 85 degrees, sun blazing, and the temperature was rising. While most participants seemed well prepared for the event, wearing the latest exercise gear and with new, expensive bicycles, I felt completely clueless. I was wearing an old T-shirt, well-traveled running shoes and cotton gym shorts. My bike was a beat up Schwinn Continental.

A quarter of a mile from the finish line that day I swooned. Not just passed out, I had a full-fledged heat stroke, which meant I was carted off in an ambulance and pumped up with IV fluids until I was well enough to go home. While in the ambulance I remember praying out loud, believing I had suffered a heart attack, "God, please let me live and I promise I'll NEVER do anything this stupid again."

Well I lived, and that was the end of my competitive running career. Never another road race, triathlon, nothing. After all, I had made a promise to God and I quit racing cold turkey.

Through the years I've been rethinking those rash words uttered in the ambulance. Perhaps since I was under the false assumption I had suffered a heart attack, maybe my God would forget the triathlon promise. Also, in a true lawyer fashion, I thought of a hundred loopholes to my promise. Loopholes like: what did I really mean when I said, "nothing this stupid again."? Running a triathlon when it's nearly 90+ degrees? Yeah that's pretty stupid. Or, how about running with the wrong gear? Yeah, that's pretty stupid, too. So, if the weather was better, and I was better prepared, there should be no problem with the man upstairs if I were to try triathlons again . . . .

Fast forward twenty-two years. My daughter Lonelli has been on a personal mission to re-invent herself this year. One of the key components in this transformation has been an impressive training program with the goal of running a triathlon in August in Chicago. Eerily, the dates, course and distances are almost identical to the race twenty-two years ago where my competitive running career screeched to a halt. This summer, as part of her tune up for Chicago, Lonelli has participated in a number of mini-triathlons, which are called Sprints. In a sprint, a contestant swims, bikes, and runs, but the distances are roughly half the distances of a regular triathlon.

Clarisa and I went with Lonelli to her first Sprint a few weeks ago. The course was in a beautiful state park fifty miles north of Detroit. The day was perfect for a race, slightly overcast (no blazing sun) and seventy-five degrees. The course had a few hills, but nothing too challenging. The swim was held in a small lake.

For her first time racing, Lonelli did exceptionally well. And we all enjoyed the atmosphere at the event, lots of upbeat, fitness-oriented people encouraging one another along with their families and supporters. I had forgotten how fun these competitions can be. That day Lonelli suggested I do one of these tune up events with her--and my mind began to work.

In the six months since I left American Laser Centers, I've been on my own personal re-invention program, for which weight loss and improved fitness have been key components. And, a Sprint triathlon was definitely within my abilities.

When the summer began, I replaced running on the treadmill with daily, morning lap swims at the Grosse Pointe City pool. And in three weeks of training I worked my way up to a distance that was farther than the swimming portion of a Sprint. So I knew I could do the swim--I did it every day! And, the run was no problem. I exceeded the Sprint running distance at least three times a week during my regular workouts.

But, despite my optimism, three nagging thoughts dampened my enthusiasm. First, my bike is an ancient Schwinn Continental with a heavy steel frame and a headlight attached to the front. I bought it a few years ago for ten dollars at a second-hand shop as a joke--it reminded me of my old racing bike in Chicago! It was really not suitable for a race. Second, while I was capable of completing the triathlon components one event at a time, I had not combined any two of the events during the same workout since that ill-fated day twenty-two years ago. I needed to step up my training. And third, of course, there was the little matter of my promise to God . . . .

Without taking too much time to reflect or agonize over my concerns, I ended up throwing caution to the wind and signed up for a Sprint distance triathlon held on Belle Isle, which is a Detroit city park in the middle of the Detroit River. I decided my bike would have to work; I'd do some additional training; and, God would definitely understand. After all, I was doing this to support Lonelli!

So yesterday, at 7:30 a.m., I found myself standing in the Detroit River ready to begin my first triathlon in more than two decades. This time my gear was better--I was wearing a nice-knee length speedo bathing suit, which looked like every other contestant's suit. Further, I knew my shoes, shorts and shirt also were appropriate for the race. But, that old bike . . . .

I knew the swim would be a challenge, not so much because of the distance, but because of the conditions. Unlike swimming laps in lanes in a pool, an open water swim is far more difficult. Imagine what it's like with more than 100 men flailing away all around you, kicking, grabbing and trying to find some clear space to swim. Further, besides the crush of bodies, I experienced an adreneline rush at the sound of the opening horn. Within 100 meters I found myself hyperventilating. I almost panicked and quit the race. Fortunately, I was able to say a prayer, focus on my strokes, and I calmed down.

In the end, the swim went fine. And I felt good leaving the water and trotting to the transition area where I put on some shorts, my shirt, sunglasses, shoes and socks and hopped on my bike. All day I joked that I had the worst bike in the competition--which, in actuality was a true statement! The course was two laps around the island, which I completed. Since I had not trained a lot for biking, my strategy was simply to stick with a decent pace and save my legs for the run. I got passed A LOT during the bike portion. But, it was a beautiful day and I really enjoyed the 20 kilometers, it just took me forever to finish!

I felt surprisingly strong for my 5 kilometer run. As the course progressed, rather than slowing down, I sped up--and I found myself passing lots of competitors, many who were younger than me. I even had a nice little kick at the end of the course and crossed the finish line feeling pretty good.

Amazingly, in my first completed triathlon, I finished fourth in my age group (men between the ages of 45 and 49). I was ecstatic. When the final results were posted, however, I found out I was fourth out of a group of six competitors, which was less impressive. However, my run was the fastest speed for any man over 45 by more than two minutes. My swim, while not among the fastest times, was middle-of-the pack. But, the bike. . . . The man who won my age group swam slightly faster than me, ran a lot slower than me, but finished the bike portion TWELVE MINUTES ahead of me. I finished dead last in the bike. I may have been the slowest male biker in the competition!

When I picked up my bike as we were getting ready to leave, a group of people came up to me and said, "We wanted to see who rode this bike."

"Why?" I asked. "This is the worst bike here."

"Yeah," said one in the group, "you rode a 'ton speed.'"

"I know," I responded. "Feel how heavy this puppy is." The young man was amazed a racing bike weighed so much.

The first person spoke again. "We wanted to tell you that this bike is a collector's item. Have you ever tried to sell it? We were concerned someone might try to grab this bike and we wanted to be sure the owner claimed it." That was funny. Thousand dollar bikes all around and they were concerned someone might take my second-hand Schwinn!

Now my mind is racing. If I improve by bike time by six or seven minutes I can win won of these competitions. I need to sign up for another event. If I sell the Schwinn, I can pay for a decent racer!

Is this a new obsession? We'll see.

A Father's Pride

I have great kids.

And this is not the wine talking, really. OK, maybe I have enjoyed a couple of cold glasses of Chardonnay, and it's been a spectacularly beautiful summer's day in Michigan. But even with those mood elevating conditions, I still have to say, my kids are phenomenal.

I look at them and I'm amazed. How did an ordinary, kind of dorky guy like me contribute such extraordinary individuals to the human race? And what's even more amazing is that, so far, we're batting 1,000 with this brood. They are handsome, smart, loving and kind--all of them! They have risen above their father in so many ways and continue to grow. God bless them.

Today is Father's Day and I'm deeply in love with my four children. It's not just that they've shown me special Father's Day kindness--though the gifts were nice, the hand written cards charming, and the meals they prepared delicious and designed to please me--it's just that I can't stop looking at them and feeling overwhelming joy and pride.

I want to introduce you to them.

Our oldest son is Angel. Many have said few men have been more appropriately named than him. He's truly angelic in nature. Still, for me, his finest quality is his compassion that seems to know no bounds. He will give you the shirt off his back, the last dollar in his wallet, and his last ounce of energy if that's what you need. And, unlike most, Angel never feels jealousy over the accomplishments of others. If you're enjoying success at anything, Angel will sincerely share your joy. Similarly, if you're feeling despair, Angel will go to that dark place with you and be your only friend, if that's what you need. I've never known anyone with Angel's capacity for empathy--it's a trait his friends and family sometime don't fully appreciate, but yet delight in benefitting from.

Next comes Lonelli. Yes she's the one featured in the photo at top. This picture was snapped today after she completed her first ever triathalon. Understand that Lonelli has suffered some serious injuries in her day and feels constant pain--yet she has doggedly soldiered through the pain to reach her fitness goals. I've never met a more determined person than Lonelli. When she embraces a goal, she pursues that goal with unwaivering determination until she achieves it. She does it over and over, like her campaign to gain admission to the U.S. Naval Academy, to earning a full-ride scholarship to the Darden School of Business at the University of Virginia, to snagging a much-sought-after marketing position in Detroit in the midst of one of the most severe economic downturns this country has ever seen. And while pursuing these goals, Lonelli actively enlists the support of friends and family, because she knows their support is crucial to her on-going success. Lonelli knows what she wants and can formulate solid plans to reach her destination. I wish I had her drive.

As if the accomplishments of the older two are not impressive enough, what can I say about 18-year-old Amelia? Her most recent achievements prove that hard work and consistent efforts bear amazing fruit. How else can you explain her impressive first-year college GPA (3.73) and earning an "A" in her recent South Africa travel seminar, when fellow classmates, who included upperclassmen and law students, struggled to pass the class. How else can you explain why Amelia was recognized by her Drake professors this year as one of the school's top ten freshman (out of a class of 800+ students) despite a demanding academic schedule, a full load of extracurricular activities and leadership positions and holding down a part-time job? She even found time to have a boyfriend! Few teenagers I know demonstrate her gutsy maturity.

And finally, our youngest Isaac--a child whose talents seem endless. Rarely have I seen a person who is so good at so many things--and he never seems to show off. Children and adults alike recognize his musical aptitude, his athletic prowess, and his academic accomplishments and agree that he deserves success. People root for him because he's charming not arrogant and is a friend to all. He oozes charisma and flashes wit at appropriate and sometimes inappropriate moments, but no one seems to mind when he goes over the top. As he grows into young adulthood, Isaac will face unique challenges and temptations, yet he's just so clearheaded and loveable, I expect he'll face those challenges with his typical flair.

Scripture urges parents to train up children in the way that they should go and promises that when they are old, they will not depart from it. I believe that my children have benefitted from my wisdom, my love, and my usually gentle guidance. However, as a far-from perfect parent, I have no right to take that much credit for their achievements. Their accomplishments belong to them. My wife, our families, nuturing teachers, church leaders and others all have helped mold my children and have encouraged them to push themselves beyond simply what is expected. As a result, my children still believe the world is full of mountains to climb and opportunities to experience.

I am full of love and pride for them today. For me, every day is Father's Day.

Better a Living Dog . . .

"Whoever is joined with the living has hope, for better a living dog than a dead lion." Ecclesiastes 9:4

First, I wanted to be cop.

I remember going to a Thanksgiving Day parade in downtown Detroit and seeing handsome officers in their dress blues riding beautifully groomed horses down Woodward Avenue. The policemen were stern faced and seemed oblivious to the crush of onlookers. At that moment I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wanted to be a cop--because cops ride horses in parades! I was five years old. My ambition changed in August 1967 when I witnessed police officers clubbing suspected vandals with truncheons during the terrifying days of the Detroit riots, when my city was set aflame with hatred and violence. I no longer wanted to be a policeman. I was six years old.

Later I wanted to be an architect because of a drafting class I had in school. After that I wanted to fly helicopters, raise cattle, and own my own business. In high school my dream of being elected the governor of the State of Iowa was so well known that a friend purchased for me stationery with my embossed name and title: "Governor Kevin Piecuch". I think I still have some of those sheets in a box in my basement.

And, like every child who loves popular culture, I also imagined conquering the world as a rock star. That ambition I kept to myself.

And yes, being a lawyer was also a dream, one deeply held and one I attained a little later than I planned . . . but it was one dream I realized. Other than finding a life partner or raising children, I can't think of anything sweeter than achieving your dreams. It's true.

As a person get's older, however, you realize that many amazing dreams you ached to achieve as a youth will never be realized. And as these dreams wilt and fade, and fall away like blooms off a flowering tree, you somehow feel your life has lost a little bit of beauty. And when you look at yourself--you stop seeing the future star, but instead stare at the ordinary guy you never wanted to be, but now find yourself anyway.

To make matters worse, with age you not only lose dreams, but you realize missed opportunities, times where you see in retrospect that, but for a bad decision or some other mistake, you might have achieved something special and maybe enjoyed a better life. Dreams fade and regrets haunt, no wonder so many old folks are depressed.

If you are taunted by feelings of anguish because your life has not turned out quite the way you planned, you must listen carefully to the writer of Ecclesiastes. Life is a remarkable gift--and as long as you have life and breath you always have hope for a better tomorrow. To spend your life, however, chasing ghosts and aching over things you cannot change achieves nothing, instead it wastes your life, which is the most precious gift all of us share.

Remember, regardless of how you got to your present reality, you possess talent, skills and experiences that make you valuable. Maybe you're not the lion (or the governor, or the cattle rancher) but that's not to say that being the dog is worthless. I just read that dogs are now being trained to detect certain cancers in humans through their keen senses of smell--isn't that remarkable? And, getting to be the lion in the world sometimes requires paying a steep price. The sheer effort to get to the top has brought ruin to many (look at Detroit's former mayor Kwame Kilpatrick). Sometimes, maybe it is better to be the living dog than the dead lion.

I'm all for driving ourselves to use our talents and achieve goals. No need to be ordinary slobs who sleepwalk through life not really trying to improve the world. At the same time, stop beating yourself up over lost dreams and missed opportunities.

While all young people dream of better lives, there's no reason why us old folks can't be optimists and dreamers, too! And, our dreams should be all that more vivid, attainable and less naive because they are colored by our own experiences.

As long as you have life and breath, look forward with hope and don't look backwards with regret. See how looking backwards worked out for Lot's wife? I'd rather be like John the Evangelist who at 90 years old could still envision a new heaven and a new earth where every tear was wiped away and every sorrow healed.

I'm launching a new business next week, one that is going to change my life . . . again. And, later, I have some other rocking plans poised to help real people. What dreams are you planning to achieve this week? Let me know, because I'm here to cheer you on. LIVING DOGS UNITE!!

Pleasures of Plain Vanilla

When I go to an ice cream shop, I'm struck by all the choices. Some of the flavors sound really interesting. Others sound kind of gross. But me, I pretty much order the same flavor every time. Maybe I'll mix it up with sprinkles, or if I'm really indulgent a waffle cone, but in the end I usually end up with one of my tried and true favorites. And, when I do switch things up and stray from my favorite flavor, invariably I say, "that was OK, but not as good as . . . ."

I should stick to my Baskin Robbins pattern in other areas of my life. After all, good doesn't stop being good simply because its familiar. Conversely, bad isn't a good choice simply because its different.

For most of us, thriving in life has meant striving to "be good." You know what I mean: honesty, hard work, and loyalty are necessary qualities for people who are successful in school, their careers and in their relationships. Further, those of us who are attached to religious faiths are mindful of whole lists of behaviors, attitudes and actions that bring us into a right relationship with our creator.

And those of us who have been "good" in our lives know that goodness brings real rewards and blessings. One cannot truly feel the pleasures of academic achievement, earn respect and admiration of business associates, and build solid, meaningful relationships without goodness. Further, while God graciously reaches out to us even if we've sunk to the lowest depths (yes, I've been there), how much healthier and satisfying are the times when we're open to the moving of God's Spirit within us on a daily basis, when we're not running and hiding from God (like Adam and Eve in the Garden) but actively seeking God's face (like Moses on Mt. Sinai).

Strange thing for me is that despite my experiences, every day I find myself in the ice cream store making choices. And, despite the fact that I already know what tastes good, I stand there and contemplate every offering. Sometimes I find the choice agonizing. I say to myself, "Maybe I should try Blueberry Cheesecake just this once? Maybe I'm missing something? Can I stand not knowing what that flavor tastes like?"

The Holy Scriptures tell us that the Tempter appears to humanity as an Angel of Light, who is very attractive to the eyes. Further, people of faith know that the Tempter works hard to confuse the righteous. The Tempter tells us to eat the forbidden fruit because doing so will make us wise. The Tempter tells us there are short cuts to fame and fortune. The Tempter tells us no one will ever know . . . . And the words of the Tempter can stick in our brains urging us to take the broad, easy path in life.

However, Jesus said that broad is the way and easy is the path that leads to destruction, and many are those who travel it. But narrow is the way and difficult is the path that leads to life and few are those who find it.

It's ironic how deceiving appearances can be. While being good appears to be the conventional choice, and being rebellious seems brave and courageous, as far as personal morality is concerned, the opposite is true. Resisting temptation is far more difficult than giving in. Being lazy takes much less effort than hard work. And why tell the truth (if it gets you in trouble) when lying is soooo easy.

My fascination with sin, fueled by a steady diet of television crime dramas and questionable "research" on the internet continues to surprise me. One would think that after years of seeing that the pleasures of sin are shortlived and ultimately leave a very bitter taste in your mouth, I would easily choose goodness. But yet, there I am, every day, looking at all those flavors and wondering, "Maybe I'm missing something. Maybe just this once . . . ."

God help us all. Goodness and righteousness may seem dull, conventional and boring, yet without them we cannot find peace, happiness and fulfillment.

Choose your flavors wisely.

Yeah I Like Coney Islands

After five months of healthy eating, I was wondering whether I had lost my taste for fast food. Without regular fixes of Taco Bell chalupas, White Castle sliders, and Subway meatball sandwiches, I found myself 20 pounds lighter and my "bad" cholesterol at a respectable number. Can't say I've been craving those foods either.

But, in the last couple of weeks, unique fast food opportunities came my way, and I felt compelled to indulge. First one came in Iowa. During several road trips this year traveling back of forth to Des Moines with my college daughter Amelia I saw an oversized, illuminated sign advertising a fast food restaurant from my youth. Right off of I-80, mid way between Iowa City and Des Moines, a Maid-Rite hamburger shop beckoned me.

I ate Maid-Rites a lot during my teenage years in Muscatine, Iowa. In case you've never tasted a Maid-Rite hamburger, this franchise specializes in loose meat sandwiches. Rather than grilling or frying hamburger patties, at Maid-Rite hamburger meat is sauteed in an open pan along with chopped onions and a secret combination of salt, pepper and spices. This meat is served up on a bun along with dill pickle slices.

Maid-Rite style sandwiches briefly achieved national attention when Rosanne Barr opened a restaurant on her television show where they served, you guessed it, loose-meat hamburgers. Rosanne discovered Maid-Rites when she and her former husband Tom Arnold lived in Ottumwa, Iowa. I'm not sure if she loved the sandwich or thought the idea of loose meat hamburgers was so ridiculous that it became a running gag on her comedy show.

Joke or not, every time I passed the restaurant I wanted to eat a Maid-Rite. And I always said to my fellow passengers, "Let's stop and get one. They're great!"

So last week, driving back from Des Moines, my wife agreed to stop at the restaurant under the giant Maid-Rite sign. She was probably sick of hearing me talk about these sandwiches. While I couldn't persuade her to try one, I was almost giddy with aniticpation.

The restaurant was clean and modern--not the dingy, greasy smelling hole in the wall I remember--which was a good sign. And the menu had expanded. Not just the traditional Maid-Rite, the restaurant offered new fare, like a Cheese Rite (which was slathered in Cheese Whiz); a Bacon Cheese Rite (add hard bacon bits); and even a Texas BBQ-Rite (bring on the barbeque sauce!). I elected a "Classic" Maid-Rite, which was the sandwich I remembered. And, and the sandwich delivered to my table featured and big bun and a heaping mound of loose, cooked hamburger meat. I took a bite, and . . . the Maid-Rite prompted no memories. In fact, the sandwich was kind of bland actually. Ketchup and hot sauce helped a little. Not sure what I found so delicious in a Maid-Rite when I was a teen. Not special at all. Guess I won't be stopping next time, not even if I need a Cheese Whiz fix! Such disappointment.

On Friday last week, my hankering for fast food hit me again when I found myself in Philadelphia. After Maid-Rites turned out to be less tastey than I remembered, maybe my tastebuds would find redemption in a new fast food. For years I heard of the much bragged about Philly Cheesesteak but had never tasted one. An opportunity to try the sandwich presented itself in the Philadelphia airport where I had time during a layover to try one for myself.

The sandwich was not what I expected. I imagined the cheese was going to be yellow--either sharp cheddar, American, or Velveta. And the steak--well I expected seasoned chunks of beef that looked liked pieces of a sirloin steak piled on a hoagy bun. Guess what? That is NOT a Philly Cheesesteak. The Philly Cheesesteak I ate in the Philadelphia airport, and I got a "loaded" version that included grilled peppers, mushrooms and onions, was bland, kind of like the Maid-Rite sandwich I had four days earlier.

The meat in a Philly Cheesesteak looked like the flat pieces you get in a gyro, only this meat was not seasoned like a gyro, in fact I couldn't taste any seasoning at all! And the cheese was not yellow cheese, but white. But not good white cheese like gouda, mozzarella or swiss, this sandwich featured soft Philadephia Cream Cheese. Does that sound good to you? Philly Cream Cheese and hot beef together? In a sandwich? I like Philly Cream Cheese in celery sticks and on top of bagels, with capers and red onions, but as a complement to tasteless gyro meat . . . yuck.

To get over the disappointment of my Maid-Rite hamburger and first-ever Philly Cheesesteak, I knew I some needed truly delicious fast food. I wanted to remember that high-fat, high-sodium, inexpensive menu items could actually satisfy. So, last night Isaac and I hauled ourselves to our local National Coney Island and ordered some truly good fast food: a "classic" Coney Island sandwich. For those of you not from my neck of the woods, a Coney Island is a hotdog served with mustard (never ketchup), chopped onions and chili (no beans) on a steamed bun. As if that wasn't enough all by itself, we also ordered chili cheese fries (bring on more chili and copious amounts of Cheese Whiz) and a spicy hani (seasoned chunks of chicken, chopped sauteed veggies inside a pita).

Look at the attached photo. Doesn't that look good? Doesn't Isaac look happy with our meal? And yes, we're drinking Diet Cokes. Very satisfying. I'm going back to health food knowing that there are still artery clogging choices I can enjoy any time I feel like falling off the low fat, low carb, low sodium band waggon.

Now that's fast food, Detroit style!