By John Y. Brown III, on Thu May 1, 2014 at 12:00 PM ET  Car talk is different than other conversations. Both the driver and passenger are looking forward and not at each other. Mostly anyway.
It’s not as intimate and more informational.
And both passenger and driver are captives in any conversation.
Earlier today I was stuck in traffic across from a couple about my age. The man was driving and had a grayin…g beard and glasses that somehow seemed fogged.
The woman also wore glasses but had holders on hers so they wouldn’t fly off. She waved her hands animatedly when talking and seemed either to be describing something important to her or venting about something that frustrated her.
The man was basically motionless and emotionless. He preteded to be watching the traffic and concentrating on driving but we were stuck at a standstill in traffic and there was nothing for him to do except listen. But he seemed mostly to be pretending to listen. He wanted her to think he was listening but also wanted her to suspect he may not be listening.
It was his way of communucating that although he cared about what she was saying, he didn’t care that much– and thought she was probably over reacting. She seemed to be getting more dramatic and demonstrative the more he seemed only to be pretending to listen. It was her way of saying, “What I am saying is actually a lot more important than you think it is and you would understand that if you would listen closer to what I am saying.”
As they both kept starring ahead out the windshield.
Then the traffic cleared. And we drove on.
But I suspect their conversation continued.
By John Y. Brown III, on Wed Apr 30, 2014 at 12:00 PM ET  My beautiful wife and some shmo Romantics and realists (and silly young couple arguments).
My son Johnny was talking to my wife and I last week and reminded me that I once described myself to him as a “romantic” and my wife, Rebecca, as a “realist” and wanted to know what I meant by that.
I knew exactly the story he was talking about and I told him that I thought the story depicted well the difference in what it means to be a romantic versus being a realist.
After my wife and I had been dating for several months we started to discuss the possibility of marriage. We were in our 20’s and weren’t engaged yet but felt we soon would be and were talking one night at dinner about our love for one another. It was our conversational version of Billy Joel’s song, “I love you just the way you are.” “Would you still love me if I flunked out of law school?” I asked. “Of course I would” Rebecca reassured me.
But during the course of this otherwise sweet conversation I decided to push the envelope a little too far. I asked Rebecca a hypothetical question. “Let’s say that instead of going to law school I drove a taxi and never went to college and had no plans of ever going to college, would you still love me and want to marry me anyway?”
Rebecca looked puzzled at me as she thought about my question. “I’m not so sure about that one.” She said. “I doubt I would want to marry you if you were that different.”
I was floored! I reasoned defensively, “I would still be me …the same person I am right now. You know? But born into a different economic circumstance and with a different job and background. That’s all.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m sure you’d be sweet and I would maybe date you but I don’t think I would be able to marry you,” Rebecca tried to explain. “In my family, college is just very important and I don’t think it would occur to me to marry you if you weren’t ever going to go to college.”
“Really? You wouldn’t marry me if I drove a taxi and never planned on going to college?” I said woundedly. So I tried to change the hypothetical. “OK. What if I drove a taxi, hadn’t gone to college but was considering going to college? Would you marry me then?”
Rebecca said, “That’s not a fair question.” “So you are saying ‘no?’ I interjected. “I guess so,” Rebecca said. But added, “It’s not fair to ask that and it doesn’t make me shallow for saying I wouldn’t marry you if you were that different. It’s like me asking you if you’d marry me if I was grotesquely overweight right now. I don’t think you would.”
“That’s different.” I said. “That’s something about you personally that would be different. In my hypothetical I would be the exact same person I am now– just born into a different environment.”
“I don’t think there’s a difference.” Rebecca said.
“Of course there’s a difference,” I said.
“Well, if there wasn’t a difference in our questions, would you marry me if I were really, really overweight?” Rebecca asked again.
“I would,” I said. “Even though it is different.”
“No you wouldn’t” Rebecca snapped.
“I would for sure if you were up to…maybe…say just 40 pounds overweight”
“See!” Rebecca exclaimed. “But not if I were 60 pounds overweight?”
“No, I would marry you if you were 60 pounds overweight right now –assuming you wanted eventually to get in better shape.”
“Well, then, if you drove a taxi and hadn’t gone to college but eventually wanted to go to college –and maybe even graduate school– I would probably marry you.”
“Probably?” I queried.
“Yeah. OK. I would marry you. But only after you finished college.” Rebecca explained.
“Well, I would marry you if you were 60 pounds overweight and wanted eventually to get into shape –but I wouldn’t make you wait until you got in better shape before I would marry you.” I said dejectedly. “We’re just different, I guess. I must be more of a romantic than you are.”
And that is, I suppose, the difference between a romantic and a realist. The romantic is always prouder of his hypothetical position, his hypothetical zest and his hypothetical passion. But a little sad that it isn’t fully reciprocated by the more sensible among us. Who romantics seem inevitably to find and marry. And these realists seem to find a satisfactory amount of admirable real qualities in the romantics they marry. But the romantic feels their spouse—by focusing on only their existing and actual qualities—is missing out on the hypothetical qualities the romantic admires most. But because the realist overlooks the romantic’s hypothetical qualities, and because the romantic overlooks the realist’s actual qualities, they can somehow make it all work. And Lord knows they need each other. But as to who needs the other more? That is a whole different argument. But sounds a lot like the one above.
By Lauren Mayer, on Wed Apr 30, 2014 at 8:30 AM ET Many of the most interesting, accomplished adults I know were nerds in high school, high achievers with inversely proportionate low social status. Revenge for us usually comes in the form of high school reunions – you know, seeing the head cheerleader who snubbed you suddenly be impressed by your business success. (Or in my case, I ran into the object of my freshman year crush – at a school dance, I’d summoned up all my early feminist initiatve and asked him if he wanted to dance, and his response was “Yes, but not with you.” When I reminded him of this exchange 30 years after the fact, he apologized and said he’d been an idiot, and I barely restrained my urge to shout from the rooftop, “Unhappy teenage girls everywhere, sometimes dreams DO come true!”)
Sometimes ‘good student revenge’ comes in the political arena. While I acknowledge that there are two sides to every story, and that political fanatacism and narrow-mindedness come both right- and left-flavored, it has seemed lately that the far right has gotten intellectually lazy, ignoring facts that contradict dogma, and not bothering to check into the stories about voter fraud, welfare cheats, and the complete eradication of racism that fit their agenda. So it’s been pretty amusing to watch the pundits and politicians who championed rancher Cliven Bundy suddenly stampede away from him once his racist views came to light (on the national stage those same right-wingers had created for him). As Rachel Maddow and other liberals have pointed out, Bundy’s statements about only acknowledging sheriffs but not federal government officials was a hallmark of the ‘posse comitatus’ movement, which was based on southern racist resistence to integration, beginning after the Civil War and continuing through Jim Crow laws up to the present day. This doesn’t mean that every rightwinger who defies the federal government is a racist, but it does point out the importance of doing a little background work. (Confession: I learned this myself after voting for John Edwards in the 2008 primary, because he advocated a single payer health system, but before I’d bothered to look into a few of his personal issues. However, I like to think that I would have been a little more thorough if I’d been championing him on national television.)
Therefore, liberals have been indulging in some delicious schadenfreude (look it up if you’ve never seen Avenue Q), and in my case, I set that gloating to music so I could have the ultimate nerd revenge – using “posse comitatus” in a song lyric.
Many of the most interesting, accomplished adults I know were nerds in high school, high achievers with inversely proportionate low social status. Revenge for us usually comes in the form of high school reunions – you know, seeing the head cheerleader who snubbed you suddenly be impressed by your business success. (Or in my case, I ran into the object of my freshman year crush – at a school dance, I’d summoned up all my early feminist initiatve and asked him if he wanted to dance, and his response was “Yes, but not with you.” When I reminded him of this exchange 30 years after the fact, he apologized and said he’d been an idiot, and I barely restrained my urge to shout from the rooftop, “Unhappy teenage girls everywhere, sometimes dreams DO come true!”)
Sometimes ‘good student revenge’ comes in the political arena. While I acknowledge that there are two sides to every story, and that political fanatacism and narrow-mindedness come both right- and left-flavored, it has seemed lately that the far right has gotten intellectually lazy, ignoring facts that contradict dogma, and not bothering to check into the stories about voter fraud, welfare cheats, and the complete eradication of racism that fit their agenda. So it’s been pretty amusing to watch the pundits and politicians who championed rancher Cliven Bundy suddenly stampede away from him once his racist views came to light (on the national stage those same right-wingers had created for him). As Rachel Maddow and other liberals have pointed out, Bundy’s statements about only acknowledging sheriffs but not federal government officials was a hallmark of the ‘posse comitatus’ movement, which was based on southern racist resistence to integration, beginning after the Civil War and continuing through Jim Crow laws up to the present day. This doesn’t mean that every rightwinger who defies the federal government is a racist, but it does point out the importance of doing a little background work. (Confession: I learned this myself after voting for John Edwards in the 2008 primary, because he advocated a single payer health system, but before I’d bothered to look into a few of his personal issues. However, I like to think that I would have been a little more thorough if I’d been championing him on national television.)
Therefore, liberals have been indulging in some delicious schadenfreude (look it up if you’ve never seen Avenue Q), and in my case, I set that gloating to music so I could have the ultimate nerd revenge – using “posse comitatus” in a song lyric.
By John Y. Brown III, on Tue Apr 29, 2014 at 12:00 PM ET  I just bought a book to read with my Rebecca.
Finding Meaning in the Second Half of Life by James Hollis.
As Paris Hilton would say, “That’s hot!”
Yeah, I know. When we met I never really saw a book like this as a future gift we could enjoy together. But check out the intro:
“Your life is addressing these questions to you: What has brought you to this place in your journey, this moment in your life?
What gods, what forces, what family, what social environment, has framed your reality, perhaps supported, perhaps constricted it? Whose life have you been living? Why, even when things are going well, do things not feel quite right?
Why does so much seem a disappointment, a betrayal, a bankruptcy of expectations?
Why do you believe that you have to hide so much, from others, from yourself? Why does life seem a script written elsewhere, and you barely consulted, if at all?
Why have you come to this book, or why has it come to you, now? Why does the idea of your soul trouble you, and feel familiar as a long lost companion? Is the life you are living too small for the soul’s desire?
Why is now the time, if ever it is to happen, for you to answer the summons of the soul, the invitation to the second, larger life?”
If you are in middle life, that is pretty hot–in its own way!
Paris Hilton notwithstanding.
By John Y. Brown III, on Mon Apr 28, 2014 at 12:00 PM ET Navigating life…
The problem with taking the high road is that it never feels like a shortcut–and it isn’t supposed to.
But if you are running late and in a hurry or bad with directions and get lost easily, it is tempting to avoid the high road and take the low road instead.
But it’s always best to take the high road anyway. It’s the right thing to do and sometimes even faster.
The low road only seems faster –but rarely is. And the traffic is always horrendous because so many others assume its the fastest route.
===
Thought for the day…
It’s almost May and has been muggy hot for the last week yet it snowed last night.
And you worry about seeming weird or inconsistent to other people? Get over yourself. It’s just the way things are.
===
Illist (Definition) Something is the best,the coolist, the illist example: Coconut soup at Kashmir restautant in Bardstown Road.
Usage: “D*mn, that coconut soup is the illist.”
Just remember the next time you want to sound younger and cooler than you really are …that you will never be too old to humiliate yourself.
By Jonathan Miller, on Fri Apr 25, 2014 at 1:30 PM ET 
From yesterday’s Politico:
PM: There’s a million different ways to ask you the 2016 question. If Hillary [Clinton] doesn’t run, would you even consider it at that point in time?
AG: You say you can ask the question a million ways. I’m going to only answer it one way. With apologies, I’m sure you’ve heard this answer before. I am a recovering politician. And the longer I avoid a relapse the more confidence that I will not succumb to the temptation to run yet again. But I’m a recovering politician. I’ll just leave it at that.
Anyone know a good copyright infringment attorney?
UPDATE:
It turns out Gore has been using this line a lot — even as early as 2002, 9 years before I started this Web site. From National Journal:
If politics is an addiction, Al Gore is still suffering.
It’s been well over a decade since he ran for president, but the former vice president still hasn’t managed to kick his political habit.
“I am a recovering politician,” he said in an interview with Politico Magazine, “And the longer I avoid a relapse, the more confidence I have that I will not succumb to the temptation to run yet again. But I’m a recovering politician. I’ll just leave it at that.”
If the answer sounds familiar, that might be because he’s been saying it since at least 2002, when he used that language with a crowd in Mexico City.
“I am Al Gore. I use to be the next president of United States of America,” he told listeners during a speech focused on free trade at Ibero-American University. “I’m a recovering politician.”
In 2006, the rhetoric surfaced again when, after a special screening of An Inconvenient Truth, someone asked him imploringly if he’d run for president again.
“I’m a recovering politician, on Step 9,” he said. “Thank you for your sentiment.”
That was eight years ago. Fast-forward to 2011, and there’s this: “I consider myself a recovering politician.” Fast-forward some more, and there’s this: “I’m a recovering politician, on about Step 9.” (That last quote was from a 2013 event hosted on Capitol Hill by Sen. Sheldon Whitehouse, and I remember it, perhaps, because I was there.)
If politics is an addiction, Al Gore is still in rehab. And withdrawal, like his talking points, lasts a lifetime.
By John Y. Brown III, on Fri Apr 25, 2014 at 12:00 PM ET Today at Starbucks, which I go to because of proximity, I walked in and ordered a Very Berry Coffee Cake and before I could order my coffee the barista said, “You get bold roast, right?” Feeling proud that this morning I must have that “bold roast kinda guy” look, I tried to deepen my voice a little and said, “Yes, please.”
All was going well until I got into my car and… saw that there was nothing “very berry” about my coffee cake. In fact, it was offensively barren of berries. I couldn’t help but take it personally. I was one of the first customers this morning and saw other Very Berry coffee cakes –and Bountiful Blueberry muffins– in the case that had many more berries than the slice I got.
I thought about going back in and –assertively but not aggressively–asking for a different piece that was more “very berry.” But then I worried if I walked back in to complain about not having enough berries in my Very Berry coffee cake the barista might rethink his view of me as a “bold roast kinda guy” — and think I was more of a “mild roast” type.
I decided it was better to be viewed as masculine and be non-assertive (and have fewer berries in my coffee cake) than to be viewed as milquetoast and be assertive (and get a piece of coffee cake that lives up to its Very Berry name).
Tomorrow I am going to Heine Bros. a few miles farther away. I don’t face these challenges to my masculinity when I order things there. Most of their baked goods are unisex. And it’s safer to be a “mild roast kinda guy” there without feeling self- conscious–which is what I really am anyway.
By Jonathan Miller, on Fri Apr 25, 2014 at 9:35 AM ET
By John Y. Brown III, on Thu Apr 24, 2014 at 12:00 PM ET Is it me or do ATM’s seem more talkative than they used to be?
It used to be you’d slide in your card and enter the amount you wanted and out the money would come.
Nowadays, though, ATM’s seem emotionally needy and ask endless and unnecessary questions–about my balance, my different accounts, service charges, and my judgement (“are you sure you want this amount?”) and on and on.
It’s as if they are lonely and just want some sort of interaction with anybody or anything.
I am waiting for them to ask me if I saw the game Thursday or ask me where I am headed next– or maybe try to guess what the money is for. “Is it bigger than a bread basket? If so, press 1”
I feel sorry for them but I just don’t have time to nurture these machines.
Maybe someone can let them have one day off a.week to socialize with other ATM’s so they can get their emotional needs met–and then when they deal with me just give me my money instead of playing 20 Questions.
By John Y. Brown III, on Wed Apr 23, 2014 at 12:00 PM ET Alright!
That’s it!
Decisiveness is a critical ability we each must develop to navigate life successfully.
By the time we are 50 we have to be able to size up data guickly—almost intuitively–and make snap decisions on the spot on important matters. And never look back at what might have been.
Like just now, after exactly 3 months of dieting and low-intensity weight training 7-9 minutes a day (including breaks) 3 or 4 days a week, I have lost 16 lbs and cut 4 inches off my waistline.
And I have just decided, this moment, that I WILL continue with this health regimen but I WILL NOT ever compete in a 50 and older male bodybuilding competition.
This is a perfect example of making two critical life decisons –one TO DO something and the other NOT TO DO something–and decide decisively on both in just a matter of minutes.
And never look back at what might have been.
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