By John Y. Brown III, on Wed Mar 13, 2013 at 12:00 PM ET
Random, scattered and not very deep –and sometimes ridiculous —thoughts.
If people from “past lives” really exist, what do they do all day? Except wait for one of us to try to talk to them? That’s got to drive them bonkers –if you are one of those past lives people. Especially if you have (had) ADD and are not being treated with meds.
Do they watch reality TV shows like us “current lives” folks? And if they do, do they watch reality TV starring only “past lives” people of do they tune in to the same shows we watch?
If it’s the latter, I think it would be nice to have a few “past lives” characters show up in some popular new TV series.
And maybe even have at least one series—a sitcom—about a loveable, endearing past lives family. Sort of a “Modern Family” but set in the late Depression era–and in the show (a story reference within the story) there will be yet another “past lives” family with their own storyline from the 1890s.
By John Y. Brown III, on Tue Mar 12, 2013 at 12:00 PM ET
Quentin Crisp
My introduction to foreign doctors and how the language barrier can have serious consequences ––but also teach important life lessons.
When I was 19 years old I moved to Los Angeles, CA to attend the University of Southern California (USC), famous at the time for football more than academics, but I was shooting for the stars academically and it was the best college I could get in at that time. albeit on probation. Sure, I was excited about attending a big name school like USC, but I was a lot more excited about living in the City of Angels, Los Angeles, California.
I didn’t know much about LA and was just excited to be a kid from KY moving into the big city and trying to fit in. My first few weeks out there I watched David Letterman ever night on my rented television and one night he interviewed and exotic and eccentric writer named Quentin Crisp who commented about the differences in LA and NY City. Crisp said, almost verbatim, “Los Angeles is an endless sunny paradise where everyone is beautiful and rich and awards grow on trees. But if you want to rule the world, you have to live in NY.” Heaven knows why I remember that quote, but it stuck with me and I never quite looked at LA the same after that. Clearly, it was a “beautiful people” town and although I wasn’t really cut out for that, I wanted to try to blend in and hopefully not stick out.
My first week as I was moving in, a female student from UCLA with the guys helping me move my furniture, made conversation with me and then asked her female friend to come over with her to talk to me. I was nervous and excited —but ultimately disappointed when I realized why she summoned her friend. “Oh my God, listen to him talk. Say something. He’s got the most country accent. Say something. Anything.” They then asked where I was from and I told them Kentucky. “Is that a state?” she asked. I said, “No, Kentucky was a small city in Nashville, which was a state next to the state of Tennessee.” No one laughed so I finally explained the joke. And no one laughed again. Although I was asked to repeat parts of it for the accent affect alone.
I went to the beach a lot the first few weeks. I didn’t surf or even know how to hang out at the beach like other guys in LA my age, so I tried to up my game by using something called “Sun In” to lighten my hair making it blonder and more L.A.-ish. It worked well the first day. And second day. The third day, I rubbed it in like shampoo. And it turned my hair what I suppose is a very intense shade of blonde. But most people would just call it orange. Fortunately for me, orange hair wasn’t as out of place in LA as it would have been back home in Lexington or Louisville. I just went with it and was told it would eventually grow out and that “It wasn’t obviously orange. Just from certain angles.” In other words, from some very narrow angles, I may look a little like a blonde surfer dude. But from most other angles I looked like a Southerner who had just moved to LA and tried to bleach his hair blonde but failed and accidentally dyed it orange.
Read the rest of… John Y’s Musings from the Middle: A Kentuckian in LaLa Land
Personally, I am still confused by the difference between time being “digital” or “analog.”
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I thought I could pull it off today for the very first time. In fact, I was determined to and even promised myself I would not retreat from my commitment–no matter what.
And I held off for a record period of time. But I just can’t pull it off and have to come to grips with the fact that I am going to have to, no matter how humiliating and degrading and personally disappointing to me and those who count on me, ask….
“Would somebody please tell me what time it really is now?”
By John Y. Brown III, on Fri Mar 8, 2013 at 12:00 PM ET
Confession.
Not like St Augustine’s….but a more modern version with dental implications.
I would like to make a public confession about something I have been deliberately deceptive about for over 40 years.
I continue promising things will change, but frankly, they never have. And I feel guilt and shame…and mild pain that is helped only by Anbesol gel.
For over 40 years when asked by the dental hygienist and/or dentist “Are you flossing regularly?” I also lead them to believe I have been flossing more than I really have—and to make matters worse—add that I will do better before the next appointment. But don’t.
(Once I indicated a flossed with some limited regularity when, in fact, I hadn’t flossed even once in the last 6 months. Except with the corner of sugar packages and once with a toothpick.)
Over 40 years of cumulative deceit can weigh heavy on a man’s heart. And on his dental health. And I need to come clean.
So I can again, look myself in the eye in the mirror. And at the three remaining wisdom teeth when flossing.
If not for my teeth, I need to at least do it for my soul.
By John Y. Brown III, on Thu Mar 7, 2013 at 12:00 PM ET
At the coffee shop this morning and I notice the subtle difference in how women and men communicate with the same sex when meeting for business purposes. Each table seems to have two people talking away with files and laptops and tablets and legal pads covering up the table leaving a few inches open for their coffee and pastries.
At tables where women are ta…lking to women, they each listen while the other is talking. They are “connecting” and fully engaged with each other.
At tables where men are talking to men, they each are pretending to listen but primarily preparing what they will say next. They aren’t really in connecting mode but rather “transacting mode.”
What is most interesting is that at tables where a man and a women are are having a business conversation the man listens and is trying to “connect” and the women is thinking about what she is going to say next —and trying to pretend like she is connecting.
And here’s the irony: The same man who when talking business with another man knows his colleague isn’t really listening (even though his colleague is pretending to listen), when talking to a women believes they are really connecting (even though his female colleague is only pretending to connect.)
By John Y. Brown III, on Wed Mar 6, 2013 at 12:00 PM ET
When I was 21 I saw an attractive and vivacious young lady who I had briefly dated at the end of high school. (Actually, I sat behind her taking the SAT and got her phone number. The most impressive work I displayed that entire morning–as memory serves)
Anyway, I got her number again 3 years later and asked her on a date. And we went on a date. I asked her on a second date. This time on a Friday night. She called to say she was running behind and so I watched LA Law for the first time. And liked it.
She called again saying again she was running even later and I watched another show I can’t remember but didn’t like as much as LA Law. And then I watched the early news before getting the call that tonight wasn’t going to work out but asking about Sunday evening for a rain check. I said OK.
But got stood up again Sunday.
We made another date for Wednesday for which I got stood up a third time.
Saturday was The Police concert in Lexington and I got two tickets and invited my SAT friend but ended up only needing one ticket that night. For me.
We tried for a rain check again Sunday but something came up and she had to cancel because she was simply “over-extended.” I was irritated but hadn’t heard the word “over-extended” used in that way by someone my own age and was impressed.
And started using the word often in the same context and still do 30 years later. So, I am appreciative for learning that from her.
We tried for a lunch date Wednesday but it got cut short due to something “beyond her control.” I had heard that excuse before but wasn’t as impressed as I was with the excuse of being “over-extended” and rarely use it myself unless I really am truly desperate and can’t come up with a legitimate reason. Which I remember thinking is what she must have been thinking that day.
Friday we had a date but she explained she couldn’t make it. Without any excuse or apology. Standing me up had gone from being a rude and unexpected surprise to the equivalent of a yawn.
I had heard “boundaries” recently and even heard there was a book out I should read about them. I didn’t know a lot about boundaries but knew they had something to so with being more assertive and were a theory for not letting people take advantage of you.
And so since I had been learning new vocabulary words from my friend, I decided it was my turn and I invoked my own new vocabulary word “boundary.” And the fact that I had them. At least one boundary anyway. Or so I said. Or was at least trying to start having a new boundary. With her anyway.
I calmly explained that she had essentially stood me up for dates 6 times in two weeks and that was “not acceptable” to me. strong words that only emboldened me. I continued that because “I had boundaries” that (and I was very delicate but still deliberate in explaining this part) that there would not be a 7th opportunity to stand me up.
Boundary-wise, I had to be this way because “I respected my self.”
And we hung up and never spoke again.
That’s the end of the story.
I never actually saw with my own eyes the boundaries I created and announced that night. But they must still be there. Since that time I have never let anyone stand me up in business or other (non-dating) areas of my life.
By John Y. Brown III, on Tue Mar 5, 2013 at 12:00 PM ET
I first learned about the 80-20 rule while in business school and it is an ingenious formula that apples not just in the workplace but in every area of life —including marriage
With most couples I know each spouse –almost like a rule of nature –believes he or she is to blame for about 20% of the recurring marital disagreements –while their spouse is respon…sible for the other 80%. And vice versa.
Psychologists and marriage experts tell us the key is sharing that burden equally between the spouses. But such advice flies in the face of science and the 80-20 rule .
My bold innovative idea to solve this age old imbalance is to include a third partner in every marriage. Not a third party that is actively involved at any level of the day-to-day marriage (from finance to romance) but rather an extra person to lay blame on when the primary couple needs to displace blame.
Just do the math. If each primary spouse is willing to accept 20% of the blame , then having a third person available in the marriage for the remaining 60% is the perfect solution! And during periods of above-average disagreements, the third party has another 40% to be absorbed if necessary.
This allows us to use mathematical and scientific principles to our advantage to manage around the 80-20 rule in both work and play –and even within the sanctity of marriage.
By John Y. Brown III, on Mon Mar 4, 2013 at 12:00 PM ET
So, is it better to grow up or stay a boy (or girl) forever?
Watching my daughter this weekend in the play Peter Pan made me a proud dad (so score one–a very big one–for growing up).
But focusing on the merits of the characters, Wendy vs Peter Pan, had me leaning ever-so-slightly in favor of Peter at the end of the play.
I mean, let’s look at their legacies. Wendy had a nice run for several decades when the play was first published and performed. She’s viewed today as a “good girl” and “model daughter.” More Jan than Marcia in Brady Bunch terms. But has she ever had a book written about her neurosis titled “The Wendy Syndrome”?
Nope.
Do we know who played Wendy opposite who played Peter Pan?
Nah. We just know Sandy Duncan played Peter.
And what about having your own line of peanut butter?
Ever heard of Wendy’s peanut butter?
No. Never happened.
And don’t try slipping in Hamburgers. Different Wendy. Different family. I saw her father in the play this weekend and he looks nothing like Dave Thomas.
So, on balance, would the world be better off if Wendy caved and never grew up?
Who’s to say? We would at least probably have another pop-psychology book and additional brand of peanut butter. But as the Wendys of the world would quickly –and correctly–point out, we have plenty of pop-psych books and peanut butter as it is and don’t need more. And note that Wendy grew up to have a nice family in a middle upper class neighborhood.
That’s all true of course. But the Peter Pans of the world would quickly note, Peter has an entourage of lost boys –just like the awesome HBO series! And, of course, Peter is always the last one to bow and gets the most applause –after flying in for his final bow as he drops fairy dust on the audience who is cheering him on.
And you got to admit –even if you are a Wendy—that may not be very mature, but it is pretty cool.
By John Y. Brown III, on Fri Mar 1, 2013 at 12:00 PM ET
The conventional wisdom is that as you age (into your middle years) you first become mellower but as you age beyond, shall we say, the middle years midpoint, you become less patient and more irritable (some might charitably call it more assertive).
So, is that all true?
I have decided only partially. I like a good deal of the impatient “assertiveness” (aka irritability) comes from realizing the backlog of years and years of not being assertive enough—-and trying to catch up and clean the slate before we run out of time.
And maybe even get in the last word. With that rude sales clerk, or call center “relationship manager” or waiter who always seems to give us short shrift.
And who, if we had an 18 year old’s body and a 70 year old’s temperament, would try to stare them down before inviting them outside.
But since we have a 49 year old’s temperament and 49 year old’s body, resort to much subtler passive-aggressive tactics, albeit still tougher than ever before. And tip them only 13%. Instead of the standard 15%.
I can’t wait to see them again when I’m 55 –and even more “assertive.” That petulant boy is only getting 11% tip when age 55 rolls around!See More
By Jonathan Miller, on Thu Feb 28, 2013 at 12:00 PM ET
I have been listening this week to a lot of music from an alternative rock band from the late 80s and early 90s named “Mother Love Bone.”
I know. Great band but name is hard to explain away if I died unexpectedly in a car accident and the police on the scene noticed my IPod set to Mother Love Bone pictured with their gifted and androgynous lead singer, Andy Wood, who died before their debut album from a heroin overdose.
Which is why I am mentioning this now. If some tragedy befalls me and there is talk of my “disturbing interest” for a man my age in a rock band named (there is no subtle way to pronounce it) “Mother Love Bone” —please someone chime in and say it was just a “passing phase” and that I was much better known for my love of classical music, Beethoven, Bach and the boys.
Who, be quick to add, showed clear signs of androgyny too but no one ever mentions that and maybe they (Andy Wood, Beethoven and Bach) were just all great musicians and we should leave it at that.
If it’s the latter, I think it would be nice to have a few “past lives” characters show up in some popular new TV series.
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