By John Y. Brown III, on Mon Feb 3, 2014 at 12:00 PM ET
In 4 weeks I have lost 11 lbs and started doing light daily workouts.
Several friends have asked me what diet am I on.
My answer is “The disgust diet.” Which means that I have no real methodical diet at the moment– beyond eating less (and healthier) and exercising more—but that I am simply fortified with a personal disgust at how far I let myself go.
My wife and kids have been chiding me for a long time to drop some weight and get in better shape but, through a potent combination of denial and self-delusion, I was able to ignore their suggestions.
Until this picture above was taken of me on Jan 1 this year.
A picture, as they say, is worth a thousand words. And I didn’t like the sound of any of the words I heard in my mind when I looked at this picture of me standing outside the restaurant woofing down the remainder of my lunch from the “carry out” container as my family waited for me to catch up.
It’s enough to make any self-respecting fella to make some changes. And hopefully keep the “disgust diet plan” going for another month. And maybe a lot longer.
===
My mind on a diet.
“Ok, but how many calories would the other dish have if I only ate, like, one-third of it?”
By John Y. Brown III, on Fri Jan 31, 2014 at 12:00 PM ET
Negotiation Tactics
Sometimes when you are in a negotiation you can feel like the Washington Generals basketball team (the exhibition team whose record against the Harlem Globetrotters is 6 wins and over 1300 losses).
You aren’t asking for parity or for something that will help you win more games. You just want to persuasively plead with the Globetrotters not to run up the score so much in future games.
In such instances, you are not negotiating from a place of strength; but rather a place of pity.
When you find yourself in this negotiating situation, at least try to get an autographed ball from the opposing team.
By John Y. Brown III, on Thu Jan 30, 2014 at 12:00 PM ET
Why I love YouTube.
Not because it can capture funny home video clips, or humorous gags or sports highlight or memorable musical clips or an embarrassing public moment or a truly newsworthy current event.
Although I enjoy all of those things, too.
Rather, it is because from time to time, a rare gem of a video clip gets formatted to YouTube and shared with the world.
Like, for example, this 1963 interview with Peter O’Toole and Orson Wells discussing Hamlet that reveals the day-to-day personalities of both these extraordinary gentleman.
It’s not just educational; not just entertaining. It’s mesmerizing and magical in its own mundane way.
By John Y. Brown III, on Wed Jan 29, 2014 at 12:00 PM ET
Sales techniques: connecting with the customer.
It is important, sales people are taught, to find ways to identify with the customer to help build rapport.
Last night I had an experience with a sales clerk who tried this technique on me–but it didn’t have quite the intended effect.
I was shopping for a plain blue dress shirt. The sales rep was a heavy roundish fellow who was very affable and extremely helpful.
We found my size but I learned there were three different tailoring styles within my size.
The sales clerk explained, “This shirt has a taper on it and is for men who, you know, still have the wide shoulders and narrow waist (he used his hands to illustrate a small waist). And the shirt you are holding is for guys who, well, who are just really skinny and always will be and have narrow shoulders (he made hand gesture for narrow shoulders). These guys will never have much meat on them.”
He then reached over and grabbed a third blue dress shirt and proceeded, “And then this shirt is for guys like you and me.”
Hmmmm. I guess we sorta connected with that observation but I didn’t care for it personally. Just wasn’t expecting it and almost asked for the tapered shirt because I’m on this new diet.
But didn’t.
I bought the shirt. And the hell of it is that the shirt fits perfectly.
By John Y. Brown III, on Tue Jan 28, 2014 at 12:00 PM ET
We all want our kids to learn how to handle success and to strive to achieve and excel.
But that’s only half the equation. Maybe less. Learning to fail….learning to cope with disappointment, disillusionment and downright depression whenever you try hard for something and coming up short—maybe way short–is indispensable to being a thriving and resilient human being.
Oh,… I’ve had my share of experiences with failure– but one experience in particular that comes to mind is something that happened my sophomore year at Bellarmine College (now Bellarmine University)
Bellarmine had a student essay contest and offered prizes for first, second and third place. I fancied myself a good writer and wanted to give it a shot. It was the first time I’d entered a competition like this and I worked late into the night several nights in a row writing, editing, rewriting and refining my essay. When I finished, I felt I had a mini-masterpiece. I was just sure my little five page essay would get the attention of the judges and stand out enough, I hoped, to somehow place.
The judging took several weeks. I found out which professors were on the judging committee and asked them when the winners would be announced. I was really hoping they’d offer some tidbit about how much they liked my essay, too. One did, Professor Wade Hall. The other, whose name escapes me, was in the men’s room when I ran into him and awkwardly asked him when he expected the winner’s to be announced. He turned his head and said, “Not long. There were only three entrants so it shouldn’t be much longer.”
“Only three entrants?!” I was “in.” I was guaranteed to “place.” I was ecstatic. Of course, I’d rather be able to say I placed among, say, fifty entrants. But placing among just three was OK with me–as long as it didn’t leak out that there were only three competing.
Another week passed and nothing. I worked in a tutoring center in the afternoons and while there late in the afternoon I called Bellarmine and was told the winners had been posted next to the cafeteria.
I was so eager to see where I had placed I was about to burst with excitement. Maybe I had won. If so, I could put that on my resume and law school application. Maybe I could go to Harvard law school. Or at least Vandy or Georgetown. The possibilities were endless. Heck, I didn’t care if I finished third. At least I placed!
I called my sister, Sissy, and asked her to drive over to Bellarmine since I was at work and to please check the posting outside the cafeteria that listed the the three winners of the essay contest. She said she would and would call me with the winners as soon as she could.
I waited and waited….pacing excitedly back and forth. I imagined what it would feel like to officially be one of the winners of a “college essay contest.” I had arrived in academia. I wondered if I’d have to give a speech or thank you address. That would be fine. I’d be ready.
The phone rang at the learning center and I grabbed it. It was my sister Sissy.
“John,” she said, “It’s kinda weird. It says they decided to only award two winners and your name isn’t one of them. I guess because there was only three entrants they only awarded two winners. I’m sorry.”
I was devastated. I asked Sissy to go back and check again. And make sure she read the list correctly and was reading the right list. She did and she was.
And so there you have it. One moment, writing my ticket to an elite law school. The next humbled and humiliated that my third place essay was so weak the judges dropped the third place
award.
But I let it sink in and decided it was a good learning experience and would try to pick my spots better in the future but to keep trying–and to be grateful for the opportunity to compete and even more grateful when I achieved any small level of successes.
The footnote to this story is I ended up an UK law school and loved it. I graduated with honors. And entered an essay contest on criminal law my second year in law school. The paper had to be about 25 pages and contain about 100 footnotes. About 50 second and third year law students entered the contest.
I won.
Actually, I was a co-winner. The auditorium was filled with the entrants when they announced the winner. Professor Welling addressed us and said, “We didn’t have any one essay that really “wowed” us but we had two essays that were really solid so we are splitting the award between two students” and she named me and another student.
OK, it was an unenthusiastic announcement and I had to split the scholarship money. But I got the award. And it’s hanging in my law office today.
But the far more valuable lesson I learned in my essay competition experiences was how to humiliatingly lose, accept it, and learn to bounce back and try harder next time.
Because I had learned the important life lesson that life isn’t about winning. It’s about playing your best and playing honorably and doing so day after day and being grateful for the opportunity —regardless of the outcome.
And I learned that important life lesson not from being a successful winner but by learning how to be a successful loser. Which is even more important to learn how to do if you want to be a winner in the game of life.
By John Y. Brown III, on Mon Jan 27, 2014 at 12:00 PM ET
Here a photo someone took of me today leaving my workout –after just three weeks of training.
I am as surprised as you. But it really is me.
Seriously. It is.
What? Don’t believe me?
The water in the background? Oh, that’s, um, that’s the Ohio River. I go to a gym in front of the Ohio River.
The tattoo? Oh, easy. That’s a washable I put on just joking around this morning…that’s all that is.
The bracelet? It….It…is a family heirloom, or something, I just wear sometimes and happened to put it on today before heading to the gym.That’s all.
The necklace? Um….That…the necklace. I wear that to work out in….for, um, just because it is important to for reasons that are hard to explain precisely to people who don’t work out a lot.
But, yeah, that is definitely me….
It is…really.
Um, OK, Ok. Fine!
Maybe not entirely me—just yet.
I mean, not me, really, per se.
Um, OK. I’m lying.
You happy now!?
It’s some picture I got off the internet.
But could be a picture of me in the future.
Maybe in another lifetime, if nothing else.
===
I started a new workout regiment today. And it lasted only 3 minutes.
Say what you want to about my light and low-stress exercise routine, but at least I am steroid free.
===
Exciting Diet Conversations.
Friend: “Well, John, what are you doing right now?”
Me: “Just sitting here, patiently, doing nothing, waiting to lose more weight… ”
===
“Diet Face”
This is me after making a healthy order at Vietnam Kitchen (great restaurant, by the way).
I am not happy. And making my order begrudgingly. But it is working.
Down 9 llbs in 3 weeks.
===
Score after 3 weeks:
John Brown: 6 6 7
Apple Fritters: 1 1 0
Game. Set. Match.
Lost 10 lbs
===
A side benefit of successfully staying on a diet:
No longer viewing a haircut, clipping my nails or shaving as activities that will reduce my weight.
===
I have been informed facetiously by a friend that there is bodybuilding competition for men ages 50-59.
I let my friend know that I believed I could put together a compelling posing routine –but the muscle mass, body tone, muscular definition, vascularity and ripped abs parts just weren’t there for me and never would be.
===
This is my scale.
After it gives me my weight, it calculates my BMI category –“Fat”
Lovely way to start the day. At least it doesn’t say or shout “Fat!” out loud or make sarcastic remarks to me or sigh with disgust.
On the positive side, if I can lose another pound and a half, I move from the BMI category of “Fat” to just being “Overweight.”
Take that! You dreadful, silently mocking scales!
===
Now that I have thinned down from “Fat” to bordering on merely “Overweight” according to the BMI chart, my taste in music has changed.
I find that now I can only listen to bands with really skinny lead singers like Chris Robinson of Black Crowes or Mick Jagger and all of the Rolling Stones.
I guess we skinny and soon-to-be-merely-“Overweight” guys just need to stick together.
By John Y. Brown III, on Thu Jan 23, 2014 at 12:00 PM ET
An example of an inauspicious start.
I bought an “ab bench” at Dick’s Sporting Goods tonight. It was on sale and they let me have the floor display.
They had one that was boxed that would require assembly by me when we got home—but Rebecca said, “Uh uh” and asked the sales clerk, “How hard is it to assemble? Harder than screwing in a light bulb? Would any tools be required?”
The sales clerk looked at me bemused waiting for a response. I glumly said, “Yeah, I’m not very good with light bulbs. Or assembling things. My wife is right. If you can sell us the floor display, that would make it a lot more likely I’d actually ever use the ab bench.”
The sales clerk was terrific and said, “No problem,” and retrieved the display model to the front of the store and checked us out.
I thanked him and the other sales staff standing around and said to them, “I really do appreciate this. I’ll actually use this. And in a few months, you are not going to recognize my abs. I’m serious. I’m going to be shredded!”
They laughed politely and asked if I was going to carry the ab bench to the car myself or have one of them carry it for me. It did weigh about 10 lbs. I told them, “Normally, I’d be too proud to ask for help. But since I haven’t started my workout regimen yet and there aren’t many people here this late who are looking, I’d really appreciate it if one of them would take it to the car for me.” I then turned to my wife Rebecca and added, “Unless Rebecca doesn’t mind carrying it.”
I was joking, of course, and started laughing myself. I grabbed the “ab bench,” thanked the nice sales clerks, and strode confidently to the car.
Geez, though. I gotta tell you, carrying a 10 lb bench several hundred feet to the car is a lot more draining than it sounds.
===
I was going to get this exercise outfit at Dick’s tonight…. and believed it would fit me…but didn’t buy it.
By John Y. Brown III, on Wed Jan 22, 2014 at 12:00 PM ET
WWKWHD?
Most of these wristbands are proactive and preventive in that they urge us to ask ourselves What would a certain person do “before” action is taken.
But let’s be real. We don’t always remember to ask ourselves before we do something and sometimes still make mistakes.
Then what?
I have a solution. I also wear a second wristband for just such instances. When I screw up, I look at my wrist and ask myself “What Would Kayne West Have Done?”
The question is past tense. And what Kayne would have done is always something much worse and crazier than what I did. And that makes me feel better.
By John Y. Brown III, on Tue Jan 21, 2014 at 12:00 PM ET
I was reminded today of a concerning game I devised at age 5. That was a long time ago and wouldn’t seem to have any reflection on who I am today except what I came up with was so out of the ordinary, it made me wonder less about the events themselves and more about what they said about me.
We lived in a suburb of Nashville, Tennessee and I was playing outside at the bottom of the hill in our front yard with my then best friend George Baker. George was as easygoing and likable a guy as I’ve ever met and I was glad to have him as a friend. He was tall and athletic but I was able to persuade him to play games I made up even if they didn’t make a great deal of sense and even if they happened to put him at bodily risk. George was a good sport.
A few weeks earlier I had broken George’s thumb playing Batman and Robin with him. I asked George to play The Penguin and I played Batman because I wanted to jump off the bed and on top of my 5 year old friend George (now The Penguin) just like Batman had done in an episode we just watched. I put on a towel cape, got into the mindset of the caped crusader about to rescue the city of Gotham and got a running start on my parent’s bed and pounced just like Batman on little George. But unlike the Penguin, George started crying like a baby after I jumped on him. Whaling, in fact. I tried to get him to be quiet because he was going to ruin our game but he wouldn’t stop until his mom came in. The next week George came over to play with a cast on his thumb and I was told I couldn’t jump on him anymore for awhile.
This day we were playing outside and looking for something new to do that didn’t involve capes, jumping or reenactments from Batman and Robin. I don’t know how I came up with the game I’m about to describe, but I did. All by myself. And in just a matter of seconds.
I reminded George that we both liked to run and having a cast on his thumb didn’t prevent him from running. He agreed. But how could I make plain old running interesting? I told George to step down right beside me on the side of the road that ran in front of our house. The speed limit was about 35 miles an hour but often cars, when they would drive by, would go even faster.
I said we’d wait until the next car came and when it got really close to us–maybe 10 feet away–we’d take off running as fast as we possibly could run when I said “Go!” and try to get across the street before the car hit us. I guess, according to my game, if we made it across without getting flattened by the car, we won. If that didn’t happen, I guess that meant we lost. Frankly, I hadn’t fully thought through all the details at this point. But I was ready to get started.
I can’t say in retrospect that I understand why George, the sensible one between the two of us, went along with my idea. But he did. Or seemed to.
We stood beside the road for a couple of minutes waiting for the next car so we could get started. Finally, we saw one coming. Going about the speed limit, all I remember about the car was it was a dark green color and an older car. As it approached –and got within my “adrenaline zone” of within 10 feet –I shouted “Go!” and took off running as fast as I possibly could. I wasn’t wearing my usual superhero cape but felt I had some sort of superpower as I took off running. Think Flash Gordon not Batman. Except that superhuman feeling didn’t last for long.
They say baseball players can see a 90 mph pitch in slow motion so that they can even see the seams on the ball slowly spinning before they swing. After about 5 paces of hard run, I could see the gleaming metal front fender of that old dark green car just a few feet away from me–and it was moving in slow motion.
And here’s the hopeful part. I may be an adrenaline junkie; but I’m I’m not stupid. OK. I am stupid but not really, really super stupid. Anyway, at that moment I made a brilliant split second decision to turn around and run back the other way to the side of the road. And I did.
I looked up and there was my sensible friend George just standing there looking at me with this goofy scared and confused grin on his face as if to say he was sorry for not running with me—but also saying that he never even considered running with me and couldn’t believe I was serious.
The car came to a screeching halt and the woman driving was white as a ghost, mortified at what I had just tried to do. She took a few moments to gather herself and catch her breath. She was still in a state of mild shock and with her voice quavering she scolded me (and George, even though he hadn’t done anything) and made me promise her I would never ever try anything like that again. I promised I wouldn’t.
It finally began to sink into me that my idea was, in fact, a very bad one despite how much fun it may have sounded when I first thought of it. And it did sound pretty exciting. I just didn’t do a good job of thinking the game through to the end before proposing it.
I can’t believe, in the first place, I would ever think up such a game. Yeah, I was only 5 but that’s not a good enough excuse. I didn’t bother to think. I just had a fun idea pop into my head –and went for it. Along with anyone else I could get to join me.
That was 45 years ago and my friend George Baker is alive and well and has a nice family of his own and many new friends besides me. And I’m alive and well, too, but had to wonder what this long ago incident says about me. They say kids who drink alcohol are “self-medicating.” Maybe the risky games that I made up was a form of “self-medicating.” A 5 year old jonesing for an adrenaline hit.
Or maybe not. Maybe I’m overthinking it all. Perhaps I was just an adventurous kid who overshot himself with that particular game. And there’s nothing more to read into it. Maybe.
A few weeks later my dad pulled into the driveway and found me playing by myself in the backyard –not the front yard near that dangerous road. This time I was climbing up the side of a wall where my parents parked their car. I had climbed all the way to the top and was hanging by my hands and had gotten stuck. My hands were getting very tired and if I let go I would drop about six feet and that looked like a bad idea. So, I decided to just hang tight and wait for someone to drive into the driveway and rescue me. My plan worked. My dad came home and helped me down before my hands got too tired.
Another day; another game.
But also the beginning of the end of my days as an adrenaline junkie. I had hit my bottom. I guess hanging by the whites of my fingertips made me re-think things.
I can’t remember what game I made up after that. But if memory serves, my parents started buying me lots of board games after that. And I became one heck of a Chinese Checkers player.
In 4 weeks I have lost 11 lbs and started doing light daily workouts.
My mind on a diet.
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