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Dieting and aging. I am in week three of my diet and have lost 7 1/2 lbs. But just had a stark realization about dieting and aging. When a man loses weight as a youth he goes from being “stout” to being “tone.”
And when he loses weight in middle age he goes from being “fat” to being “paltry.” 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.
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. ===
Unfortunately, the mannequin is taller than me. And I didn’t want to risk it not fitting me. 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.
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. And will make you feel better too!
No, this isn’t dating advice (although if the title piqued your interest, at least maybe you’ll read the article . . . much along the same lines as my advice to a friend writing a dissertation she hoped she’d eventually publish as a book, to whom I suggested the title “Heroic Themes In 18th Century French Literature, or Thinner Thighs In Thirty Days.” But I digress . . . ) The Republican Party is trying to reach out to women in order to overcome a growing gender gap. Which is admirable – some of my best friends are Republicans, and they are saddened by their party’s recent tilt to the far right. There are plenty of women who want fiscally conservative candidates but also don’t want the government interfering in reproductive rights, who want small government but also want strong public education and a compassionate safety net, who believe same-sex marriage is not just morally right but pro-business (more weddings!). So they were looking forward to the so-called ‘rebranding’ efforts the GOP leaders have been trumpeting lately. But apparently that rebranding was simply advising candidates to temper their tone, not to change any policies, where politicians were advised to show women their ‘sensitivity.’ You know, like the experiment my kids devised to see whether our dog responded more to tone of voice or actual words – you could say anything insulting or confusing in a sweet voice and the dog just wagged her taill happily. Not that I am claiming the GOP is treating us like dogs (well, actually I sort of am . . . which reminds me of that climactic argument scene in “When Harry Met Sally,” when Harry compares their differing views of the length of time since their ill-fated tryst to dog years, infuriating Sally who yells, “So which one of us is the dog?”) Republican leaders do seem to think that it’s enough to pat us on the heads and speak soothingly, and we won’t notice that they are continuing to promote the kinds of policies and views that have driven women voters away in droves. And there seems to be a new plague of ‘Akinitis,’ ridiculous comments by male politicians about women and sex. (Remember “the female body has ways to shut that thing down”?) The latest offenders aren’t even political outliers like Todd Akin – the chair of the House Judiciary Committee has claimed that a bill banning funding for abortion is a ‘jobs creation bill’ because of all the goods & services that will be required for the future unborn children. (None of which the GOP plans to help pay for – to paraphrase Barney Frank, sometimes it feels like the current House believes the value of life begins at conception and ends at birth . . . . ) And there’s a state senator in Virginia who was quoted saying there really wasn’t any such thing as marital rape, since “she’s in a nightie.” (What about those of us who sleep in t-shirts or pj’s – does that exempt us?) So in the interest of bipartisan cooperation, here’s a little musical advice for the current House leadership in how to appeal to women voters . . . 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.
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. Sometimes when I am at a point in my life when it is time to reinvent myself again, I ask myself if I think I can get away with using one of my older reinvented selves and hope no one notices because I cant think of anything new to do with myself. === I want to become a better person. Not so much because of ambition or a sense of calling.
I am better than the current ads targeting me! And I know deep down that I have better targeted ads inside me. Ads my mom would be proud of. Is it possible to prove God exists through higher mathematics? I recently saw a discussion on this matter and it got me to thinking. Suffice it to say, that I do believe it’s possible to use higher mathematics to prove God’s existence. And I even have first hand experience on this very matter. No, I’m not going to get all highfalutin talking to you all fancy-like about mathematical ideas you won’t understand. Not at all. But here’s how it happened for me. I escaped high school only having taken Algebra and Geometry. I always loved math. But once they started introducing letters into it, I figured they had just run out of practical uses for math and were trying to make it deliberately harder—or they were just showing off. After the letters started up, I just lost interest. My only exposure to calculus was four week of pre-calculus my freshman year in college. That’s all it took for me to realize the stuff had to be Divinely inspired –because it made no logical sense to me. But that’s not the part about calculus that convinced me to believe in God. Into my fourth week of this class –and convinced I was going to fail– I started praying nightly for God to please help me–some how, some way. And the next week it happened. My friend and mentor, junior Allen Ragle, explained to me about the college phenomenon of “dropping” a class. If you are taking a class and it turns out you hate it or it is too hard for you, no problem. You just “drop” the dang thing and all you get is a little ole “W” on your transcript. High schools don’t allow this but colleges do. It was a religious experience for me just hearing this good news! I dropped the class the very next day and had never felt such a rush of Grace in all my young life.
Hallelujah! For Jerry Eifler, Lee Whitlock, Gene Thompson, Ivan Schoen, Jim Sichko and my other friends who are also well-connected with the Big Guy…. I would have included a list of friends who had likewise established themselves in the field of mathematics, but don’t seem to have any at the moment…. Which, I guess, is what happens when you leave math at pre-cal. Just in case you haven’t seen Avenue Q or studied German, Schadenfreude means “enjoyment obtained from the troubles of others,” which makes it sound like sadism or bullying. But combine it with hubris – in case you haven’t studied Greek or read op-ed pieces about Anthony Weiner, hubris is “extreme pride, arrogance and overconfidence.” So when someone displaying great hubris has a spectacular public failure, one could make a pretty good case for ‘justifiable schadenfreude.’ For example, have you ever enjoyed the delicious satisfaction of seeing a driver pulled over for speeding who a few miles earlier cut you off? Or isn’t it fun to hear someone telling a clearly fabricated story get tripped up by a question he or she can’t answer? It’s not that we are relishing the pain of other people, but occasionally it is sure nice to see someone get caught (often referred to as ‘hoisted by one’s own petard,’ which is a Shakespearean phrase meaning lifted by one’s own explosive device, and that makes me seem kind of mean, but ‘getting one’s just deserts’ makes it look like I’ve misspelled a bakery title . . . but I digress). Anyway, Chris Christie may have had nothing directly to do with ‘Bridge-gate,’ as the flap over the GW Bridge closure has come to be known. And maybe it doesn’t strain credulity that several senior members of his staff planned an enormous revenge plan without consulting or informing him. However, despite his press conference performance as a mild-mannered clueless mayor sad about being lied to and betrayed, he does have a bit of a track record for being vindictive and combative. Plus in the past few months he’d made any number of disparaging, sarcastic remarks about the reporters and state legislators looking into the whole thing. So is it any wonder that plenty of people are taking just a little, teeny tiny bit of joy in his discomfort? Incidentally, it looked for awhile like Christie had achieved the impossible – creating bipartisan agreement, since both Republicans and Democrats were criticizing him. But apparently most Republicans got the GOP memo on the subject, so they’re now all talking about the left-wing media witch hunt, and why aren’t we as critical of Obama not knowing about the IRS conspiracy to cover-up the security situation in Benghazi to distract from the health care website rollout, or something along those lines. So now that we’re back to ‘business as usual,’ I’m indulging in comedians’ favorite form of ‘justifiable schadenfreude,’ which is finding comic relief in a politician’s self-imposed difficulties: “Bridgegate!” – “Want to quickly and easily get your credit score right now for free? If you answered ‘Yes’ then click here…. Oh, wait a minute…. Let’s decode that offer. “Would you like to pay a $30 monthly fee to have your credit score sent to you each month (nearly $400 a year if you forget to cancel) and if you try to cancel it’s a real pain in the neck because although they will sign you up in a jiffy… online, to cancel you have to call in during certain hours and remain on hold for a maddeningly long time until you speak to a customer-service representative who will essentially refuse to cancel your membership until you shout at them that, “Yes, you understand all the amazing benefits of having your score sent to you monthly and despite the My wife and I have just endured the worst flu virus either of us has ever experienced. This was no ordinary “Stay-in-bed-and-watch-TV- flu.” This was more of a “Don’t-speak-to-me-for-three-days-except-to-bring-me-a-cup-of-tea-on-the-third-day-or-a-copy-of-Albert-Camus’-The-Plague-but-preferably-tea-because-I-don’t-have-the-physical-strength-to-read-and-I-was-serious-about-not-speaking-to-me-seriously-oh- |
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