By John Y. Brown III, on Thu Jun 27, 2013 at 12:00 PM ET
Peanut butter and honey sandwiches on toasted grain bread and I have been going strong now for 47 years….and have yet to tire of one another.
There’s not many foods that I can say that about. Except spaghetti and possibly fresh squeezed orange juice (which I was tricked into liking as a boy because one of my father’s friends– George Baker—told me it would grow hair on my chest after I asked him how he got so much hair on his chest (and back) when he took off his shirt at the pool when I was about 8 years old. I thought it looked manly and was something I’d like to have on my chest and back. Finally, after several years of drinking lots of fresh squeezed orange juice and no new hair appearing, I decided he was fibbing to me when I was about 11.) But by then it was too late. I was already hooked on fresh squeezed orange juice and still am.
But peanut butter and honey sandwiches on toasted grain bread are different because I didn’t have to be induced into ingesting them in the hopes of chest hair growth. I just liked the taste of them and still do.
Spaghetti was something I liked naturally, too, without any increased potential for chest hair growth being part of the appeal. But I didn’t like it as much as peanut butter and honey sandwiches. Which makes peanut butter and honey on toasted grain bread a little more special to me, personally.
PS. I finally did get some chest hair in my late teens but only a little. Not sure what food I ate then should get the credit. Probably pepperoni pizza given my age. But I still prefer PB&H and have never missed any chest hairs I didn’t get because I ate a lot of PB&H instead of whatever food (or juice) grows chest hair. It was worth the sacrifice. And my view of the appeal of chest hair has waned over the years. Today when I see a guy take his shirt off today and he has a hairy chest and back I wonder if he wishes he’d a little more PB&H himself.
By Lauren Mayer, on Tue Jun 25, 2013 at 3:00 PM ET
More and more, public figures seem to be unable to extricate themselves from scandal gracefully, so much so that often the apology gets them in more trouble than the original misbehavior. Think about Bill Clinton parsing words about what ‘is’ means, Mark Sanford permanently making ‘hiking the Appalachian Trail’ into a joke, or anything relating to Anthony Weiner. In this day and age, it’s impossible to say or do anything without some sort of permanent online recording of it, and we are all human and likely to make mistakes, so it’s high time celebrities and politicians learn how to say “I’m sorry” without digging themselves an even deeper hole.
And the first lesson should be, say you’re sorry, you did something wrong, and then stop – don’t try to defend your actions, don’t explain it’s because your spouse didn’t understand you or your parents raised you that way. (This is a corollary of the advice my mother gave me when I became an instant step-parent of an 8-year-old through my first marriage. Mom said that when a kid asks a question, only answer the question, don’t volunteer additional details until asked. So if a toddler says, “Where did I come from?,” perhaps she only wants to know the city in which she was born, not how she was actually conceived. My first solo outing with my new stepdaughter was the week after we’d all seen the movie Look Who’s Talking, and sure enough she piped up, “You know those things swimming around in the very beginning of the movie? What were they?” Recollecting Mom’s words of wisdom, I answered, “Those are called sperm,” and held my breath. Nope, she was satisfied, she just wanted to know the word. Whew.)
Last week Paula Deen could’ve used my mother’s advice – the celebrity chef faced a growing storm over remarks she’d made in a recent deposition, acknowledging she’d used a racially offensive term, as well as rhapsodizing over the charms of a ‘plantation wedding’ with polite dark-skinned waiters in nice uniforms (and commenting about how many jokes there also were about Jews, gays, and rednecks, thereby managing to offend everyone else). Ms. Deen rushed out a series of rather odd videos, in which she apologized, but then continued to explain that she grew up in the south, that’s just how they all talk, she wasn’t a racist, lots of people use the ‘n’ word all the time, and some of her best friends, etc. On top of her appearances strangely resembling hostage videos, she compounded the damage by attempting to explain herself, then no-showing a much-hyped Today Show appearance (and Matt Lauer didn’t hesitate to tell his audience what happened). As the controversy continued to build (and more former employees came forward with claims of discrimination and hostile work environment), Food Network abruptly announced they were not renewing her contract.
People rushed to comment, with strong feelings on both sides. Her die-hard fans swore never to watch Food Network again and claimed that she was being punished for using language everyone else used, while plenty of older southern ladies chimed in that they’d NEVER used the word in question and resented Deen for claiming that everyone in her generation did. Pretty soon the online comments veered off into condemning rap music, accusing Deen of hypocricy for hiding her own diabetes until she got a lucrative pharmaceutical contract, and claiming that peole who didn’t cook with butter were unAmerican. Meanwhile it’s not like Deen is going to be impoverished, between her cookbooks, her restaurants, and various product lines – she’s carved out a unique niche for herself as the former inventor of a bacon-cheeseburger with a donut bun, who now offers slightly more healthy variations on down-home southern fare, and there are multiple websites devoted to her ‘Deenisms’ (such as “The more cheese, the better,” “I’m not your doctor, I’m your cook!,” and “If y’all will excuse me, I’m gonna make love to this here potato”).
I don’t know if a sparser apology would have changed Food Network’s decision, but Deen didn’t do herself any favors by her awkward explanations, including insisting that she just adored all her African-American employees (one of whom she jokingly accused of blending in with a blackboard because he was so dark), and claiming that most plantation-owners treated their slaves like valued members of the family. I do hope she recovers from this debacle – partly because she’s just too darned entertaining to disappear (is there anyone else you can imagine teaching us how to make deep-fried stuffing-on-a-stick?), and partly because I think she sincerely regrets her mistake. (And also because thanks to her, news outlets didn’t have room to revel in details about the Kim Kardashian/Kanye West baby, other than the fact that they have probably topped Gwyneth Paltrow and Frank Zappa in the you-did-WHAT-to-your-kid? baby naming insanity contest.) (The baby’s name is North, by the way – seems way better than Apple or Moon Unit at first, but just think about it for a bit.)
Anyway, it’s been a very entertaining few days, so here’s a song commemorating the whole story:
By John Y. Brown III, on Tue Jun 25, 2013 at 12:00 PM ET
If lottery tickets were plane seats and if being seated in the farthest row back (where there is no recline and you are positioned as a “greeter” for passengers needing the lavatory) and your seat is also in the far corner of the farthest back row.
And if you ended up in that exact seat the last three flights in a row you have been on…..
Well….it would be an awfully rare and potentially valuable lottery ticket .
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Travel tips for visiting NYC.
If you are meeting three male friends who are highly educated and they ask you to meet at MOMA at 5:30pm, you may have troubles if you assume too much.
I assumed that since it was 5:30 they wanted to eat dinner, albeit a bit early.
I further assumed, rather excitedly, that my friends had suggested an Italian restaurant. Pronounced MO-MA. Like Italian, I assumed, for MAMA.
I imagined big homemade meatballs from an Italian family recipe.
Then there is the problem of asking cab drivers to take you, please, to “Moma’s restaurant.” The first taxi driver pulled away without letting me in. I assumed he thought it was only a few blocks away and wanted a bigger fare.
Finally, when my exasperated taxi driver gave up on finding a Moma’s restaurant, he dropped me off at The 21 Club. I asked the kind doorman if there was a “Moma’s restaurant” nearby and apologized for not going to 21 Club. He politely told me one block over. Finally!!
And there I saw my three friends…although running a little late and by this time quite hungry. We were outside MOMA’s–which seemed to be more than just a restaurant (in fact it was big and long and seemed to include works of art as well). “Nice!” I thought to myself.
I asked someone working beside the entrance where the restaurant was. He laughed and said, “Restaurant?! This is the Museum of Modern Art! There’s no restaurant!!” And laughed again.
I alerted my friends they had mistakenly chosen an art museum that lacked a restaurant.
The friend who suggested MOMA’s said, “Oh, I’m not hungry.”
And it was about this time that I put two and two—really more like one and one–together.
We weren’t going to an Italian restaurant with homemade meatballs like I told my wife.
We were going to the Museum of Modern Art. Which didn’t even have a concession stand.
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Airlines should have a SkyMiles-like program for members that rewards them with a free round-trip ticket anywhere in the US every time you miss three flights.
And a free round-trip ticket anywhere internationally if you miss the three flights within a 2 month period of time.
I’m not suggesting rewarding irresponsibility but rather persistence.
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Is there a silver lining to getting re-routed from St Louis, MO airport and instead landing in Kansas City, Mo?
For three of the connecting cities for passengers on my flight it actually works out better for them flying from Kansas City, MO. They deplane and are placed on new and better connecting flight home. Pretty cool and a nice silver lining.
For the remaining passengers with connecting flights, we are flying back to St Louis airport and for eight of the connecting cities, passengers on this flight will still make their connections. Pretty cool. And a nice silver lining.
For passengers flying to Louisville and Baltimore, we have no connection that works for us in Kansas City, MO and we will miss our connection tonight by the time we arrive in St. Louis.
But…if you are from Louisville, KY at least you are not from Baltimore. MD. And that’s pretty cool. And a nice silver lining. And remember, after the merger in 2003 Louisville became the 16th largest city in the US (edging out, you guessed it…. The city with airline passengers who have really lousy luck, Baltimore, MD).
As for passengers from Baltimore, MD on this flight, maybe you’ll find a silver lining next time your flight gets re-routed. And take heart. You are still a larger city than Kansas City, MO. And will be leaving here for St Louis shortly.
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Updating metaphors.In a discussion last week with a top manager he kept referring to “carrots” and “sticks” and how he needed both with his employees to achieve the results his company was pursuing.
I wanted to tell him “Carrots are OK but some employees might want something else instead — like a raise, or flex-time, more involvement in the project and better communication. Or maybe celery or edamame.
Things have changed a lot since the “carrot and stick” metaphor was invented and there are more appealing options and attention-getting threats.
Sticks can still be effective but so can shaming, alienating, lateral transfers, and bad progress reports. Or tasers. Caning can get attention much better than just an ordinary stick. Ask anyone in the advanced economy of Singapore.
Maybe we should update the “carrot and sticks” metaphor by changing it to “Edamame and Caning.” It seems to be a more appropriate and modern version of an exhausted and outdated business metaphor.
Just an idea. From 10,000 feet in the air with nothing to do except offer random and silly thoughts while waiting to get through turbulence that makes it hard to concentrate on anything serious and calls for something silly to distract myself from a bumpy plane ride.
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One if the many reasons I love Louisvlle.
Leaving Kansas City this morning to go home to a city that is more secure about itself, Louisville. A city that others already know is a city and doesn’t have to include the word “city” in its name for fear it will be confused with a state.
Some people just can’t catch a break: A man with 140lb testicles is unhappy with removal surgery after the operation leaves him with a 1 inch penis. [New York Post]
By John Y. Brown III, on Mon Jun 24, 2013 at 12:00 PM ET
Thought for the week
This week I will do something amazing —something that will stun others and impress myself
Ok. I gotta be honest. I wrote the first paragraph two weeks ago and got sidetracked by something.
I found out while getting coffee (which is when I write my posts) that The Summit shopping center go bought and they are trying to thinks of a new name.
No one asked me but I tried to …think up new names but didn’t come up with any really good ones. I figured “Apex” was too close in meaning.
By that time I had already gotten back in my car and then other things happened and, well, I just lost track of time
So back to the doing something amazing thing I was talking about earlier (in this post two weeks).
Hmmm. I am now out of the mood to do something amazing. That thought happened two weeks ago and has run it’s course.
I mean… if I do something amazing this week by accident that stuns others and impresses myself , I am happy to pretend like I planned to do it. I can do that. But I don’t want to try to do something amazing now. I’m not feeling it. Maybe it will come back later today and I’ll amend this post
Maybe my goal this week should be simply to focus better and not get so easily distracted. That’s actually a good idea for me. I’m going to hold that thought for a couple of weeks –like I did the “do something amazing” thought –and come back to it when I have more time.
What about NuLu? That would be a cool new name for the Summit.
Shoot! I just realized I forgot to put Splenda in my coffee and have to go back to the coffee shop now.
I can’t even remember what this post was about ….Oh, yeah, doing something amazing in, like, two weeks. Right? No? Look. I can’t do this now. I have to get my coffee right first
By John Y. Brown III, on Fri Jun 21, 2013 at 12:00 PM ET
Weird habits I have.
Whenever I buy a hardback book I always–always-pull off the book’s glossy jacket. The book dust jacket feels funny like its something to look at only —not read. More for show.
But after ripping it off and throwing in the wastebasket, it now looks like a book ready to be read. For the substantive and thoughtful person….like me.
And for about 3 days the jacket-less hardback book sits on my desk at the ready–for some real reading.
But about the third day I realize I’m not going to really read the book and check my wastebasket to see if the crumpled dust-jacket is still there. I pull it out and un-crumple it and read the book synopsis. There’s always a great synopsis on the book on the book jacket.
I read it carefully until I know enough to have something intelligent to say about the book if ever asked.
And then put it away on my bookshelf…without the jacket. And crumple and throw it away one more time.
And the oddest thing of all is I still feel like I am a little deeper and more serious –in other words, slightly superior–than people who leave on the jacket and just place the book on their bookshelf. Without ever even reading the dust jacket.
By John Y. Brown III, on Thu Jun 20, 2013 at 12:00 PM ET
Facebook Reality Check.
If you are a middle-aged male and get a friend request from a 20 year old very attractive woman along with a breathless message about how much she likes your profile picture and would like to meet you and sends you her private email address, be careful.
I don’t respond to these annoying friend request/messages because I’m happily married and tell them so. But I know not all of my middle-aged male peers are in a marriage/relationship and might find this generous invitation appealing. I’d like to offer some friendly peer advice that I can give objectively.
Sure, these young women have tracked down our overweight, under-toned profile pictures on Facebook and find us every bit as irresistible as we know they should. That’s a given. And, sure, they are probably going to keep stalking guys like us, because, you know…we got it going on and they can’t help themselves and are essentially powerless to our feeble and imaginary charms.
So…. as realistic as this offer for Facebook friendship and romance probably seems to you, just remember that no one is as great as they sound on Facebook and she probably looks better in their picture than she looks in person. And may be really hard to talk to after you have a torrid romance. And, let’s face it, you’ll probably end up getting bored and have difficulty hanging out with her 20-something friends. And then there are the awkward Facebook status decisions about whether you “are in a relationship” or not to deal with.
All I am saying is: think it through.
Especially before you respond to her faux personal email by sending a digital picture of yourself flexing your flabby, withering physique.
I’m just saying, as a friend, in the long run, if you are going to strip down and get in bed with anyone today, just stand in front of a mirror and take off your dark patent leather dress shoes, white tube socks and short plaid pants——and get in bed and take a nap alone. You’ll need the energy to mow the lawn later today. You just don’t have time for a tryst with a beautiful 20 year old this afternoon. As much as she is wanting to, it’s probably going to be a pain and keep you from going to CVS to pick up your medications after spending that traditional 30 minutes every Saturday browsing your favorite hardware store. She’s just going to have to deal with that.
By John Y. Brown III, on Wed Jun 19, 2013 at 12:00 PM ET
Socrates admonished “Know thyself.”
That’s tough–especially if you are a shallow person who is more interested in getting to know the popular person sitting in front of you rather than your inner self.
But an even more elusive conundrum than knowing who “we” are is knowing who “they” are.
You know who I am talking about: the extremely quotable and seemingly irrefutable “they”— as in “You know what ‘they’ say.”
Which has been a perennial problem. Everyone seems to know “what” it is that “they” say but NOT who “they” are.
Not anymore.
One of the serendipitous outcomes of the recent NSA scandal is out nation’s cutting edge technology tools has identified a group of six friends in Newark, N.J. who appear to comprise the mysterious and powerful group who seem to have something wise and influential to say about almost everything.
Here is a close up from a secret aerial shot just last week as the group was leaving a MENSA meeting and about to, ironically, opine on the NSA controversy –while also reminiscing about the groups most famous commentary: why we should never “assume” anything because, “You know what they say. It makes an a**….”, well, you remember.
Reaction to identifying the small but internationally revered group has ranged from relief to self-reflection.
One news reporter for a local station said, “That’s “they?” Adding “I see them roller-blading together all the time in the park near my station. They are terrible roller-bladders and can sometimes be really obnoxious. The one one the right has body odor.”
A local mother who often quotes they to her two teenage children spoke for many when she reflected, “I have to admit, they don’t look that impressive close up.”
And then added, “I am going to start thinking for myself more in the future. I don’t trust them–I mean “they” –as much as I used to.”
In the workshops and retreats I lead, a definition of health is always part of the conversation of the day. I feel this is essential because we have such limited time on earth to enjoy being in a human body, to experience love, to revel in nature. The healthier we are the more opportunities we have for these things to be possible over the course of the mere decades we get to have.
Often, in asking students the question, “What role does beauty play in your definition of health?” they think I’m asking about human physical beauty. I do understand the confusion since vitality can be clearly visible in one’s countenance.
But what I’m really asking about refers to the experiential and how much personal time is spent engaged with art, music, literature, nature, spirituality, or other meaningful things one would classify as beautiful.
Oftentimes, we don’t realize that a complete definition of health includes the integration of beauty into our lives, but it does, in a big way. Beauty fills a giant space in the core of human beingness.
On the flip side, as we age and tend to spend more and more time thinking about what’s wrong and worrisome, we further reinforce what’s broken. But how to fix and solve those problems comes only partly from the itemized solutions and goals we think up. The rest actually comes from allowing ourselves regularly scheduled time to just be with something profoundly bigger than our problems—with something beautiful that stirs both heart and soul.
Though spending time in “beauty” might not provide the specific solutions we desperately need for problem x, it absolutely creates the fertile ground from which creative solutions can be born. It creates perspective, it soothes, it reminds us that we are not here merely to struggle. Beauty reinforces hope.
Given the choice, why not go there? “There” is anything that does it for you.
For me, the natural world satisfies a lot of this definition involving beauty. I am mentally and viscerally
enthralled by the relationship between sky and ocean, and the constant fleeting change between them.
I took photos of this magnificent show last week over the course of 90 minutes, from about 7:15pm to 8:30pm as I hung out in the calm Gulf water and then from my chair in the sand. So moved and awed by these gorgeous natural elements, I actually sang, out loud (don’t worry, no animals nor marine life were harmed in any way).
However, what I feel is profoundly beautiful, and what you feel is beautiful, probably differ. What is it for you? The important thing is to know in one’s heart what that is. Conscious awareness is essential here in order to participate in the experience when it shows up.
While I love the ocean, I spend most of my time in Kentucky, which I also love. I’m enthralled here too, from my front porch.
I took this photo yesterday while observing my doggie, Apple, as she watched a family of robins hop around the front lawn in the rain.
I was acutely aware of everything good about this rainy day, the smell of the warm damp air, the sound of water, the flowers and happy birds everywhere.
It took just 10 minutes on the porch for my bad mood to be soothed after paying medical bills all morning.
I would definitely classify this experience as a beautiful one—I love a rainy morning in the summer, but it was Apple’s calm, sweetly quiet observing that made my heart melt in the midst of it. And all at once I felt a revelation about the simplicity of beauty in beingness. What matters most can be so routine and so right in front of us all the time that all it takes is some stillness and some noticing.
I’ve lived in my house for 16 years, and I work from home for the most part, I can’t remember the last time I made the conscious decision to sit out on the front porch with Apple during a rain shower.
So now I know. These occasions add up; they make a difference in the overall quality of a life lived. Near the end, I want to say that I lived a beautiful life. So I intend it now—I’m seeking it and living it—trying to make enough time for the nourishment of beauty in my definition of health today.
It must be working; I feel pretty good these days too.
By Jonathan Miller, on Tue Jun 18, 2013 at 3:00 PM ET
I thought the GOP hit bottom with women voters in 2012, thanks to “legitimate rape,” “binders of women,” etc., and I was looking forward to the ‘new and improved’ party after its public autopsy and rebranding. But apparently several holdouts haven’t gotten the memo – and it’s not just bothering us leftist liberals. Several republican strategists and senior leaders (including Bob Dole) have been critical, college-age republicans say the party is out of touch, and Rep Charlie Dent of Pennsylvania said the party was ‘stupid’ to focus on abortion and parsing words about rape instead of on jobs and infrastructure.
But there are still plenty of state legislatures, talk-radio hosts, and US Congressmen who seem to be obsessed with reproductive functions – they remind me less of responsible leaders and more of my teenage sons, but even they’ve outgrown that phase (although they still enjoy rating each other’s burps). And of course I understand that a few idiotic comments don’t represent an entire party, but it’s hard not to see a pattern, between all the mandatory transvaginal ultrasound laws, the Governor of Iowa signing a law that makes him personally responsible for deciding which women in his state can have a federally-funded abortion, or Saxby Chambliss claiming that sexual assault in the military was just a result of all those young people’s hormones. Critics were quick to point out that many of the accused assailants were well past puberty (although I’ll cut the man some slack, given that my 47-year-old husband still frequently behaves like a teenager), but what I want to know is whether Chambliss realizes that by his logic, we should expect (and forgive) sexual assault every other place where hormonally-charged young people live together (like college dorms).
And don’t get me started on the insane illogic of opposing both abortion and family planning. (We’ve already seen how poorly that works from religious leaders – My former mother-in-law was a devout Catholic who nevertheless used birth control, like almost American Catholics, because as she put it in her beautiful Italian accent, “How can-a the Pope tell-a me how to have-a sex if he no-a have sex?”) Or the incredibly tone-deaf misogyny of people like the Governor of Mississippi, who attributed the decline in American education to the fact that mothers have entered the work force. (However, I’m getting a good laugh out of the attempts in some states to limit abortion by calculating based on the date of woman’s last period, which means that she was pregnant 2 weeks before she actually conceived.)
Fortunately, this trend is making life incredibly easy for comedians, particularly those of us who miss Todd Akin et al., as well as a great climate for ’60s-type protest songs. So here’s my contribution:
Spaghetti was something I liked naturally, too, without any increased potential for chest hair growth being part of the appeal. But I didn’t like it as much as peanut butter and honey sandwiches. Which makes peanut butter and honey on toasted grain bread a little more special to me, personally.
