By John Y. Brown III, on Sun Mar 9, 2014 at 12:00 PM ET
Hope you didn’t miss it! I was there!
Some people are really into watching a solar eclipse ….other people are in to staying up late to observe a meteor shower.
Me?
I like staying up late twice a year to personally live through –wide awake– Daylight’s Savings Time.
To each his own, I suppose.
At least you can’t burn out the rods and cones in your eyes with Daylight’s Savings Time.
This…right now…is where it gets a little crazy for an hour or so as we transition to the complete loss of an hour.
No one really knows what happens or how it works or even if it is 2am or 1am or 3am (except a few know-it-all-types but they rarely stay up this late) —but you get my point.
We don’t even know if it is a good idea for the modern world…but twice a year getting to experience an hour appear out of nowhere and then 6 months later disappear like a puff of smoke, is well worth the wait and an awe-inspiring event to behold.
With the right mind set. And low expectations, of course.
But as with all great natural thrill–and cheap unnatural thrills– there is the letdown or downside. I have to now go to reset all my clocks and my watch.
But it sure was cool while it lasted. And I can’t wait until 6 months from now when I get to do it all again.
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Tomorrow we lose an hour— “spring forward.”
That makes me sad for tomorrow. It is unlikely that it will be as productive a day as the other days this week (which each got to have an additional hour).
In an effort to to be fair to tomorrow, I have decided to totally waste exactly one hour today.
Actually, since this realization of the unfairness about tomorrow only having 23 hours just occured to me today (one day before tomorrow), in an effort to equalize the productive hours of each day this past week, I am going to waste 6 hours today.
By John Y. Brown III, on Fri Mar 7, 2014 at 12:00 PM ET
Click here to purchase his first book
Because my first book, Musings from the Middle, was such an unqualified non-disaster, I’ve decided to offer a follow-up book in late May titled–surprisingly–Musings from the Middle II (or possibly Musings from the Middle 2….or maybe just “More Musings from the Middle” or perhaps “A Tale of Two Cities,” unless that one is already taken)
Anyway, I hope sales break into the low three digits like my first book.
Which is the cool thing about being a self-published author. Even if other people aren’t really excited about you publishing a new book, you still can be. Like I am right now.
Here’s the opening Musing from Musings II:
“It was the best of times,
it was the worst of times,
it was the age of wisdom,
it was the age of foolishness,
it was the epoch of belief,
it was the epoch of incredulity,
it was the season of Light,
it was the season of Darkness,
it was the spring of hope,
it was the winter of despair
But mostly, it just is what it is”
OK. That’s not really one of my musings. I stole most of it and just added the last line myself and hoped no one would notice.
I checked to see if the title “A Tale of Two Cities” was still available, and of course with my luck, it’s not! But it turns out to have a pretty catchy beginning that I tried to crib but felt guilty about and am coming clean now.
But my new book will be all mine with lots of lines like the last one I added to A Tale of Two Cities introduction–that will reinforce this new book’s place among other self-published books that are deemed true non-disasters.
By John Y. Brown III, on Thu Mar 6, 2014 at 12:00 PM ET
Announcer’s voice:
“Is your real life making you depressed because your virtual life is so much more awesome–and only getting awesomer?
(Screen: Image of a “virtual life” making fun of an image of a despondent “actual life”)
Then you may want to consider asking your doctor about ProzacFB.
ProzacFB is a new drug that blocks the brain receptor identified by neurologists called 5HC2-FB (that creates pleasure from receiving “likes” on Facebook).
Once this pleasure receptor is blocked, patients will again be able to return to activities like reading books, exercise, manual hobbies, and interacting more frequently with live human beings.
It doesn’t mean that your virtual life will be ending…..only that your real life life won’t be so darned jealous of it.”
(Screen: Image of an “actual life” staring down image of a “virtual life”)
By John Y. Brown III, on Wed Mar 5, 2014 at 12:00 PM ET
“Look before you leap. But don’t stare.”
50 Years Ago Today (on March 4, 1964)…..a young restless attorney who didn’t have the passion for the law his father did and who was recently married with an infant son decided to throw caution to the wind—in large part because the more cautious road ahead held limited appeal to him–and to leave the practice of law to pursue the unlikely business proposition of selling a unique fried chicken recipe packaged in red and white buckets and promoted by a senior citizen in a white suit, string tie who sported a goatee and was named Colonel (he was commissioned a Kentucky Colonel years Harland Sanders.
Today 50 years ago was the day that my father (and his financial partner, Jack Massey from Tennessee) bought the rights to sell Colonel Sanders 11 secret herbs and spices and the day Kentucky Fried Chicken Corp was incorporated.
It was a very good day for my family, Kentucky, Colonel Sanders, people who like fried chicken and the practice of law.
It was a less momentous day for poultry everywhere.
Happy 50th Anniversary to a dreamer, my dad to dreamers everywhere for that matter), a man who dared to act on his unlikely dream. Until it wasn’t just a dream anymore.
By John Y. Brown III, on Tue Mar 4, 2014 at 12:00 PM ET
I started seeing a new dentist today.
We visited before my check-up and it turns out we know some of the same people and spent time in some of the same places when we were kids.
We seemed to hit it off and I think he felt like I was pretty solid guy.
And then he looked for the first time into my mouth. When he came up it was as if there was a sign in the… back of my throat that said “This guy makes lots of bad choices about what he eats and has been lying to dentists about flossing regularly for nearly five decades. You shouldn’t trust him –unless you want to end up like his right third molar. Once upon a time that molar trusted him and look at it now.”
I wanted to explain but didn’t want my new dentist to know I knew what he was thinking.
So instead I changed the subject to something more positive and forward looking: teeth bleaching and the best toothpaste brands for sensitive teeth. And, yes, I sucked up big time by asking his assistant (where he could hear) for a recommendation for the strongest dental floss available as I tried to create the impression that I had, in fact, always been a serious flossers who simply needed better guidance —and now I was finally getting it.
When I left we shook hands and I felt I had rehabilitated myself in his eyes—but only partially. He didn’t base his entire opinion of me on my lowly right third molar. He realized there was more to me than that one poorly cared for tooth and it was just one of 31 total teeth in my mouth (I had a wisdom tooth extracted last year due, in part, to negligent dental hygeine. But there were mitigating circumstances that are too complicated to rehash here). My other 30 teeth weren’t necessarily impressively maintained–a basis for trust and respect —but at least they were good enough to buy me a second chance to make a better first impression.
It’s too bad because I think had my new dentist at “Hello. I really needed to get my teeth cleaned today and am glad you could fit me in.” But then I had to go and open my mouth wider…and let him look inside. That was where things went all wrong –and I now wish I had been more reserved and selective about the teeth I showed him on our first meeting. But then again, I am quickly reminded, it is the dentist office and it is hard to show only the teeth I want him to see without coming off as a tease– or a complete and utter idiot.
It is just important to remember that for most people you meet for the first time, they view our eyes as the windows to our soul. But with dentists it is several inches down and only after you open wide. Our teeth, viewed in this way, are a kind of Rosetta Stone of who we really are as a person. Are we responsible? Do we have our priorities right? Do we plan ahead? Do we do daily maintenance work for the things that matter most in life? Can we be trusted with the health and welfare of 32 permanent adult teeth? And how do we manage decay and tooth desertion (or extraction) ? None of us can, if we are really honest with ourselves, answer every question “yes.” But we can try.
And let us not forget that no matter how good we pretend to be on the outside, a dentist peering into a new patient’s mouth is like a seasoned and street smart pastor who has seen it all staring into our flawed, and unflossed souls.
We hope when meeting a new person that they will see us as we want to be seen. But when that new person is a dentist that hope is short-lived. As soon as the dentist comes up from glancing into our mouths that first time, we can be sure– that at best –they will sadly see us as we really are.
By John Y. Brown III, on Mon Mar 3, 2014 at 12:00 PM ET
When I am trying to express myself but can’t find the words I need it usually isn’t because there aren’t enough words to go with my thought. But rather because I don’t have enough of a thought developed for any words to attach to.
Being articulate, it seems to me, isn’t so much about knowing lots of words as it is about thinking clearer thoughts. And then the words will fall into place….rather than forcing words around an incomplete idea until it sounds like you understand something you really don’t.
===
Thomas the Teenage Engine
I miss Thomas the Engine. Not personally. But as a parent.
I wish there were a Thomas the Engine for teenagers to help parents teach teens important life lessons.
Just not sure how to make an animated series about locomotives teen-friendly.
===
I feel a lot… like
A spinning top
Before it hops
And starts to flop
Careening to its final stop.
By John Y. Brown III, on Fri Feb 28, 2014 at 12:00 PM ET
I think we could use a few new curse words.
We hear the same four or five over and over again.
Any suggestions?
“Trog” seems to have some potential. As in “Trog you” or “Trog it.” Or “What the trog?”
And maybe “Blat.” Like “Oh blat! I am in trouble now.” Or “He is a real blathead?”
I think “Constantinople” would make a killer new curse word but it is apparently being used for something else. I could really put my heart into that one.
By John Y. Brown III, on Thu Feb 27, 2014 at 12:00 PM ET
Our family is comprised of my wife, Rebecca, our son, Johnny, our daughter, Maggie, and our two dogs, Macy and Winston.
But on Monday we had–not what I would call an actual addition to the family–but a temporary intruder that has introduced himself (or herself) into our extended family. After several hours of agonizing pain in my lower back a CAT scan confirmed I had given birth to a small calcium deposit more commonly known as a kidney stone.
The process of birthing a kidney stone is cruelly painful. It feels like a tiny army has invaded your body and is attacking your lower back with miniature jackhammers.
I have been told repeatedly that a kidney stone is the most painful condition a man can experience—“like childbirth.” OK then. I’ll treat that way. I’m going to give my calcium deposit (or kidney stone) a proper name while it is residing swimmingly in my bladder waiting to burst out into the universe.
Buster has a nice ring to it. And I think I’m calling it a he.
For real childbirth the gestation period lasts about 38 weeks –or 266 days, on average. But for a male to create and discharge a fully grown calcium deposit is much a much shorter gestation period—about 3 or 4 days. Tops.
A dog’s gestation period is 61 days. A cow’s 279 days. The only thing on the shorter end of the spectrum even close to a man’s incubation period for a calcium deposit is a fly. Flies have gestation periods of about 4 days. But it’s not really gestation because they lay eggs. But they get it all done in 4 days and the only thing close to what I’m doing now with my kidney stone. I looked it up on the internet.
So, back to Buster. Our newest family member, sort of. I’ll be giving birth to him shortly. I’m in Day Three of my gestation period. The doctor expects Buster to be birthed (or “passed”) tomorrow, provided I drink lots of water and take Flomax. The male/kidney stone equivalent of Lamaze.
How did I find out I was “with stone?”
It all started late Monday afternoon. Day One was just awful. I didn’t think I had done anything deserving punishment….but the nurse–trained to read the body language of patients– knew immediately something was wrong with me when she walked into my hospital room and I was screaming at the top of my lungs “Oh God. Ohhhhh God!!! Oh God! OH GOD!!! Please help! OH GOD!” She asked me to point to the pain and I pointed to my lower right back.
My wife was shushing me and I waved my finger angrily at her and said, “No! No! Don’t shush me! Screaming it the only thing that helps distract me from the pain!”
Admittedly, it was not my finest moment as a husband. Or hospital patient. And I later apologized to both Rebecca and the hospital staff.
As wimpy as I felt for making all that noise, I was grateful the nurse knew exactly what to do. She administered a pain medication that sedated me and then took me in for a CAT scan. A CAT scan sounds like it could be fun. Something with a small furry house pet like our dogs, Macy and Winston. But it’s not. At all. It’s really boring. They put you on an oscillating bed and slide you back and forth through this giant contraption that takes pictures of your insides. That’s it. There are no cats anywhere. I guess the main take away about my reflections on the CAT scan is that the pain medication was working well.
About 30 minutes later a doctor came into my room and told me that I was about to be a proud father of a small calcium deposit. (Those weren’t his exact words, but you get the idea.)
I asked how big was my creation. The doctor said 2mm. “Smaller than average” and it should drop into the bladder soon “because it’s so small.”
I felt slightly self-conscious and think the doctor was embarrassed for me not being able to create a bigger kidney stone.
Feeling relief from the pain medication I felt more like myself and asked the nurse if she’d seen any other men with kidney stones this week. She said she had several kidney stone patients recently. After a pause, I asked, “How big was my kidney stone compared to the others?” I blushed while awaiting my answer and explained, “It’s a guy thing.” The nurse said, my stone was “big enough to cause a lot of pain” but wouldn’t offer a comparative opinion. I took it that my kidney stone fell on the small side. Maybe the smallest. The “runt” of all the stones seen recently in this hospital.
I was discharged with medicine, directions to drink lots of water and given a paper sifter to capture Buster when he was ready to meet the world. I returned Tuesday with no stone. The doctor wasn’t surprised and said it sometimes takes “several days to pass.” That’s all well and fine but I could tell he felt like I wasn’t trying hard enough and should really try to put my heart into it more. I was a little depressed—disappointed in myself, I guess, for not delivering.
Then again I am 50 years old. Birthing a calcium deposit at my age isn’t as easy as it sounds.
I am proud but hope this doesn’t affect my diet. Because in a way I am eating for two now.
As the nurse checked me out for the last time, she said to me routinely “I hope you feel better.” I said, I “didn’t feel that.” And added, “I don’t think your heart was in it.” She laughed and tried again and I said, “Better…but ….no…not really.” The third time was a charm and I left with us both laughing….kind of cool way to end an awful experience.
And soon–maybe tonight—Buster will pass. Pass into this universe –ever so briefly—and then get flushed into oblivion. OK. I know. Buster is just a calcium deposit. But he is my calcium deposit. And as painful and miserable as a kidney stone is to experience, it is possible—if you try really hard like I am doing now—to find something positive in even the most miserable experiences. A silver lining, if you will—that is un-phased by the jagged edges of my little runt of a kidney stone that is about to be introduced, albeit briefly, to this amazing but sometimes very painful world.
By John Y. Brown III, on Tue Feb 25, 2014 at 12:00 PM ET
Memories….of my memory….remembering things….that I didn’t really remember….but thought I did…but was something else.
Seeing someone on the street late last week I said to them…
“Hey there! How are you? I was just talking about you to someone the other day….Oh, who was it…Actually it was about a month ago not the other day. Who was it I was talking to? I can’t believe I can’t remember. Oh, it wasn’t about you but something you were doing.
What…you know ….that, umm, what is the name of that charity you are involved with.
Or not charity, but project you are on the board of. The, um, the…..Oh, I remember now. It was about someone who wanted me to introduce you to them because they wanted to discuss the project with you.
That’s what it was….and, well, darn it, I told them I would introduce you two and I just forgot all about it until just now.
The paralysis of Atlanta—and its rising-star mayor, Democrat Kasim Reed—during the first of two recent storms highlighted more than just a possible managerial deficiency. The fact that Reed had spent the morning of the storm receiving an award from Republican Governor Nathan Deal—as well as Reed’s post-storm refusal to blame the flummoxed governor—suggests something broader: a durable alliance between the Obama 2012 pit-bull surrogate and his conservative Republican governor. Such an alliance is less rare than one might imagine. In an age when people lament partisan polarization, one area of stubborn bipartisan cooperation endures: the seemingly counter-intuitive pacts between black Democratic mayors and conservative Republican governors.
National political observers detected a similar relationship a thousand miles to the north in 2012, when then-Newark Mayor Cory Booker tied himself in knots to pretend he was considering a challenge to Governor Chris Christie. Most New Jersey political insiders understood this to be a necessary feint—one that a playful parody film featuring the two men seemed to confirm. After Senator Frank Lautenberg died, Christie repaid Booker—and did himself a favor—by spending $25 million in state funds on a special election for Senate just three weeks before his own November election. It wasn’t enough to simply not run against each other; Christie ensured that he and Booker would not be turning out their own supporters (who would be unlikely to split tickets) in the same election.
Given that black Americans voted for national Democratic candidates at a 90-plus-percent clip in 2008 and 2012, why would leaders from Democrats’ most loyal faction tacitly support conservative Republican governors? What exactly does each side have to gain from these political non-aggression pacts—and are they durable or likely to collapse?
From the white governor’s side, there are several things to gain:
Direct short-term electoral benefits: By dividing urban black mayors from their party, a Republican governor can do slightly better in cities for his reelection campaign, either by winning a premium of black voters above the roughly 10 percent a generic Republican can expect, or by minimizing black turnout (not through underhanded Ed Rollins or Allen Raymond sort of way, but by dampening the enthusiasm of black community leaders who are often critical to urban voter-mobilization efforts).
Indirect short-term electoral benefits: By wrapping themselves in black political clothing, these white Republican governors are pulling a sort of reverse Sister Souljah: They are using black mayors as a vehicle to show white suburban women that they are not the scary, borderline-racist kind of Republican who howls about birth certificates, Kenya, and food-stamp presidents.
Long-term electoral benefits: For more a decade—and with special urgency since Election Day 2012—we’ve heard about the Republican Party’s acute need to diversify its electoral base. The instant elevation of Marco Rubio into a likely presidential candidate —before he was even sworn in!—and a similar phenomenon with Dr. Ben Carson are proof of the party’s desperate quest for a candidate with appeal to minorities in a rapidly evolving nation. Of course, white Republican presidential aspirants won’t cede this niche to minority candidates; indeed, one of George W. Bush’s key selling points as he positioned himself for the 2000 Republican nomination was that he had received 49 percent of the Latino vote in his 1998 re-election. (It later emerged that this figure was inflated and the actual number was 40 percent).
Chris Christie’s concerted efforts to win Latino and black votes (of which he won 51 percent and 21 percent, respectively, compared to Romney’s 27 percent and 6 percent) in 2013 suggest a similar thrust, albeit one that is likely obsolete now. Clearly, ambitious governors like Christie and Kasich use Democratic mayoral support—generally, the kind of tacit, “sitting-on-their-hands” support that accompanies tepid endorsements that mayors like Booker, Coleman, and Reed offer Democratic gubernatorial candidates—to burnish their electoral resumes for future national candidacies.
Possible entrée into the Obama White House: Republican governors who may face future primaries aren’t always keen to be too closely associated with President Obama (Christie’s infamous post-Hurricane Sandy embrace notwithstanding). Forging close ties with mayors who acted as top Obama surrogates and can get calls to the White House quickly returned can come in handy for those whose public rhetoric may preclude close relationships with the Obama Administration.
Of course, benefits also accrue to the black mayor in these détentes. Here are a few:
Direct economic benefits: This might include support for major projects (both public subsidies and assistance in lining up private-development financing), as well as political backing for initiatives that require state support. These create jobs and bolster the tax base in cities like Newark and Cleveland that have suffered steep declines. More broadly, Republican governors give mayors someone who can lean on legislative leaders on matters that aren’t too ideologically charged but can help the mayor’s city—often a leading state economic engine.
Support for urban school-reform efforts: This may come in the form of political support (urging legislators or executive branch appointees), economic backing (money for performance pay bonuses or charter-school start-up, for instance), or a hybrid of both (Christie’s alliance with Booker to attract—and spend—Mark Zuckerberg’s $100 million gift to the state-controlled Newark public schools).
Long-term political benefits: Ambitious black mayors hoping to be the next Obama—or at least the next Deval Patrick—can take advantage of their relationships with Republican governors to provide a veneer of moderation. The goal is to avoid the fate of candidates like former Charlotte Mayor Harvey Gantt, who are seen as being too liberal for a statewide race (an impression driven in part by their color, political-science research has suggested), even if they’re not particularly liberal.
Fundraising: Governors can quietly introduce the mayors to their donors, and/or provide a sort of “Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval” with traditional Republican business donors, giving big-city mayors access to contributors who would not otherwise be inclined to support them.
But what are the costs for each side? The answer is, not many. Republican governors have little to lose by propping up big-city Democratic mayors; Republicans have almost no chance of ever competing for office in these areas. Though extra attention to urban areas could potentially have a slight demobilizing effect on rural conservatives, the effect is probably negligible.
Black mayors also have little to lose. Though their constituents have been pressed into action around election time, local black political elites have historically been excluded from state and national party strategy, instead being belatedly pressed into action around time. And of course, white statewide aspirants have been engaged in mini-Sister Souljah acts around the country for years, distancing themselves from the party’s urban base and focusing electoral appeals on white suburban and exurban swing voters. Consequently, some black Democrats feel scant party allegiance, making it easier to cozy up to Republican governors.
The biggest risk is that their Republican allies might lose. As mayors, they’ll be forced to travel to the state capital and supplicate to Democratic governors who can likely glean from a precinct analysis of urban election returns whether a mayor really worked to turn out voters in his home wards—and could probably ascertain a decided lack of enthusiasm from any number of actions or non-actions during election season.
Of course, these mayors wouldn’t be cozying up to the governors if they thought the Democratic candidate was likely to win. Politicians’ self-preservation instincts are as powerful as those of coyotes, who will without hesitation chew off a trapped limb in order to escape a bear trap.
Given the federal investigation swirling around Chris Christie, Cory Booker may already be detaching himself from his old ally. Likewise, given how widely panned Deal’s storm management performance was as we head into election season, Kasim Reed might want to consider gnawing off his own leg caught in the trap named Nathan Deal.