By John Y. Brown III, on Mon Oct 15, 2012 at 12:00 PM ET
White water rafting… in Las Vegas.
(Or learning to improvise on father-son weekends)
When I was 13 years old my parents had recently divorced and my father decided it would be a good time to have a father-son bonding weekend and that we’d go white water rafting in Snake River Canyon Wyoming. It was the first and last time I’ve ever been to Wyoming. Or whitewater rafting, for that matter. But
I do have fond and fun memories of what developed into a rather unconventional father-son weekend.
We arrived at the and were told by the guide that the water was unusually placid and there would be no “white water rafting” but we could still navigate the river’s calm waters, fish, and have cookouts where we stopped to camp for the next four days. My father, who was once fairly described as having the attention span of a strobe light, looked horrified—like it had been announced we’d been kidnapped and wouldn’t see civilization again for a very long time—maybe ever. My attention span was slightly better. Like a strobe light running in slow motion. And although I doubt I looked horrified; I suspect I looked seriously concerned and maybe even a little ashen.
JYB Sr., JYB Jr. and JYB III circa 1972
We spent the next 8-10 hours on a raft. That’s it. Just rafting and fishing unsuccessfully. That night we set up camp and had a fire and played backgammon. That’s right, backgammon. My father and I would play backgammon for a dollar a point. I was down by a lot when we stopped playing several hours later because the dice rolling kept others with us from going to sleep. Earlier that evening our tour guide pointed out on a cave what looked like some Indian drawings. I knew my mom would find this interesting but I could tell my dad had dialed into his primitive survivalist instincts and was concocting a plan to allow us to escape. There were some things he knew he couldn’t protect me against in the wild. But boredom wasn’t one of them. I sensed that a real white water adventure was about to begin—one that wasn’t on the tour guides itinerary.
The next morning after several more hours on the raft of unsuccessful fishing and gliding along the undisturbed waters while I continued to lose more of my allowance playing backgammon, I realized my father had convinced the tour guide to go a direction that would drop us off at the first small town were close to. Suddenly there were people and a small store. We were dropped off, said good-bye, and grabbed the duffel bags I had packed for us.
I had no idea where we were going only that the waters were getting more interesting and adrenaline was on the uptick. My father asked for a ride to the nearest airport. He paid a tall Native American man $50 to allow us to drive his old pick-up truck to the nearest airport where he would pick it up later that day. So, there we were—two city boys roughing it but learning to brave the harsh outdoor elements by persuading a strangers to loan us his pick-up truck so we could get to the airport. The truck had a single 8 track tape: Seargent Pepper’s Lonely Heart Club’s Band. I had always liked “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” but got to listen to the entire 8 track during our drive and realized how much I really liked the entire album. Even “A Day in the Life.”
We arrived at a tiny airport with few flights and none looking to arrive in destinations more appealing than where we already were—except one. We flew to Las Vegas. As we walked into the hotel lobby in Vegas, I think it was fair to say we were the only ones checking in with duffel bags. Because I’d only packed outdoor clothing for our rafting trip—and most father-son activities in Las Vegas were geared more for indoors—we each had to buy new clothes that night. Which was fun. And we had room service where I discovered Matza Ball Soup. Something that wouldn’t have happened had we continued White Water rafting. And to this day I still order Matza Ball soup whenever I have the chance.
We stayed for a couple of days and I not only got even in backgammon, but came out a little ahead. And most important there was the father-son bonding, city style. And the ancient and important ritual tradition of father passing on important life survival skills to the son. I learned well how to improvise, adapt and think out of the box….and am rarely bored in life. Even without having to go to Vegas. And then we boarded a 747 and headed back home to Kentucky from our rugged and largely improvised—and unforgettable— white water adventure.
By John Y. Brown III, on Fri Oct 12, 2012 at 12:00 PM ET
The personal impact of movies on our lives.
I just went through the drive through at McDonalds and ordered coffee the same way I have ordered it for the past 18 years, “Lots of cream; lots of sugar.”
That’s always the way I take my coffee but not always the way I ordered it. Before seeing Pulp Fiction in 1994 I would ask for coffee “with extra cream and extra sugar.”
But this scene with Winston Wolfe changed all that. And for the past 18 years and probably the rest of my life, a small but noticeable change occurred in my life.
The coffee tastes the same, of course. But I get a little subconscious Wolfie rush every time I order coffee. And feel like I am a little more in control of the situation —because of my ordering style—than I used to me.
By John Y. Brown III, on Wed Oct 10, 2012 at 12:00 PM ET
Funny the memories that get jogged.
On a Saturday night in the fall of my junior year in high school, I was at a friend’s house who took out an album and handled it with the reverence and care that might be expected if he were handling the Hope Diamond. Carefully, he placed the needle on the vinyl and announced we were listening to one of the greatest albums of all time…..and proceeded to read excerpts to me from a book about the Beatles and the White Album.
16 year olds aren’t supposed to be reverent about much of anything….so I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or listen with rapt attention as my friend went into this hypnotic Beatles mode. So I did neither. I finally just gave in and listened, somewhat reverently, to the music.
And got it.
“Dear Prudence” was my favorite song on album. And ever since that night I still to this day speak of the White Album in hushed tones. ; )
Q: I recently lost a primary race, largely because a bunch of elected officials I had helped for years ended up screwing me. What’s the best way to get back at them? —Name and location withheld
By not spending another minute thinking about getting back at them.
One day in prison, a veteran convict pulled me aside and told me that his brother-in-law had told the feds where his (cocaine) bricks were. “Wow,” I said. “What did you do to him?”
“Thought about the motherf—– for my first three years straight,” he said. “Laid awake every night. Worst three years of my life. But then one day I let it go. Just like that. ’Cause you can’t do time like that. Your boy with the wire…you can’t even think about [the] dude. It’ll make you crazy.” It was the best advice I got in prison; after that, I rarely thought about my ex–best friend.
Your resentment is weighing you down and will reduce the odds of you succeeding in your next endeavor, which would be the best revenge.
By the way, in the future, don’t help others in the hope that they’ll reciprocate. Help people you truly want to see succeed, and then be pleasantly surprised if they reciprocate.
Q: In your last column, some would-be candidate told you he hated asking for money. Instead of providing constructive advice on how to do it, you gave him glib advice about marrying a rich person and other long-shot strategies. How about a better answer? —J.J., New York City
Asking for money can be soul-crushing. But unless we enshrine the public financing of campaigns, it will be a necessary evil. That said, here’s some practical advice about how to make it feel less seamy—and how to succeed at it:
When you first meet a prospective donor, ask for general advice. A few weeks later when an issue arises on which she has expertise, call her and ask for specific advice, but do not ask for money. Then two weeks after that, ask her if she’d be willing to serve in an advisory role on your campaign, a member of “Businesswomen for J.J.” or something. If she agrees, ask for money two weeks later.
Why will this work? First, because now she’s much more invested in you than she would have been had you asked initially. Second, it’s like dating: An attractive woman at a bar gets hit on 10 times a night. A guy can distinguish himself by approaching her without asking her out. When he leaves, she often thinks about the guy who didn’t hit on her more than about the dozen who did.
In other words, after the first few conversations, your prospective donor may be intrigued by the fact that you haven’t asked for money. It’s a fine line to walk, but you can be persistent without being desperate.
Read the rest of… Jeff Smith: Do As I Say — A Political Advice Column
In last week’s debate, Mitt Romney opened a can of worms, threatening to cut PBS funding even though “he loves Big Bird”. People started tweeting, chirping, and otherwise chiming in almost instantaneously – sure, there were plenty of comments about the basic math mistake (PBS funding is .012% of the national budget, so it hardly counts as responsible for our borrowing from China), misplaced priorities (how come adding a $5 trillion tax cut and boosting an already inflated defense budget don’t also concern Romney), and more, but the biggest outcry came on behalf of the big yellow bird himself. Now even without public funding, Sesame Street would go on, thanks to generous viewers, sponsorship, and highly successful merchandising (“Tickle Me Elmo”, anyone). But it was a fascinating illustration of the huge impact of public television for children, now that a couple of generations have grown up with Sesame Street and the other popular shows.
I’m going to date myself here by admitting that Sesame Street didn’t go on the air until I was already in elementary school, but I still remember it vividly (and loved to watch the other shows from my day, including the original Electric Company). My husband was 3 at that time, so he was the absolute perfect target audience and watched avidly. (Yes, I’m a cradle-robbing cougar, and I love it!) And I was re-introduced to PBS kids’ shows when I had my own kids – they particularly loved the music videos, like “Put Down The Ducky (If You Want To Play The Saxophone)”. I loved the puns that were clearly designed to keep us bleary parents entertained, like Ethel Mermaid singing “I Get a Kick Out Of U”. And PBS was great about generally making sure its kids programming appealed to parents – I can’t be the only mother who noticed that the adorable young men who hosted Blues Clues were pretty easy on the eyes.
Whether you agree or disagree with him, Romney clearly touched a nerve – so in tribute to PBS programming in general, Big Bird in particular, and the Sesame Street tradition of fun music, here’s a musical plea for our favorite large yellow non-flying bird . . .
By John Y. Brown III, on Tue Oct 9, 2012 at 12:00 PM ET
Disappointing iPhone discoveries.
I am very disappointed with the camera app I discovered last night on my iphone that also records video.
It’s a very cool app, for sure. Not being critical of the app or of how it works. In fact, it actually works extremely well–which is really the cause of my problem.
It was the disappointing quality of what I decided to record that is bothering me.
But then again I am probably being way too hard on myself.
I mean think about, how many people have ever said the words, “OMG, I just recorded myself singing and I sound much better than I even imagined I would.”
Not many. And I am in the majority.
Was hoping I sounded like an aging American version of Paul McCartney singing Blackbird. Instead it sounded more like my father’s half-hearted attempts to sing along with the hymnals at church before he’d eventually stop because he didn’t want to call attention to himself for carrying a poor melody.
Maybe Apple should include a warning saying, “Actual recordings will sound like a time your parents sang and embarrassed you and not like the singer you are impersonating.” That might help a little.
Very disappointing discovery, and the last time I’ll be pointing that app in my direction.
Here’s my last video recording of me ever on my iPhone. Without the audio. Because, frankly, I learned last night that I look much better singing “Blackbird” than I sound.
By John Y. Brown III, on Mon Oct 8, 2012 at 12:00 PM ET
Do you know your strongest demographic?
A favorite campaign story I was reminded of recently happened in 2007 when my family at our first major fundraising event in Frankfort. I was the Lt. Governor running- mate candidate with House Speaker Jody Richards. We were huddled in our van before the event with my 11 year old son, Johnny, listening intently as we went over fresh poll numbers.
I tried to include Johnny so it would make sense to him and explained that the poll was broken up into different demographic groups based on age, sex and so on.
I explained to Johnny that we did OK with 18-24 year olds; better with 30-45 year olds and even better with those 55 and over. And went though other demographic breakdowns with him as well.
We arrived at the event and over a 100 people were present. Johnny did what any 11 year old would do first and went for the food table. We stayed until almost everyone had left and Johnny walked up to me exhausted–with the arms pulled up from his over-sized sweat jacket— but eager to report something to me. He seemed excited and told me, “Dad, I shook a lot of hands tonight.”
I said, “Well, wonderful honey, but you didn’t have to do that. But I sure appreciate it!”
“I enjoyed it and everyone was really nice.” Johnny responded before pausing and then adding. “I think my best demographic is women over 55.”
I almost embarrassed myself I laughed so loudly….but was quick to remind Johnny, who didn’t understand what was so funny, That’s an awfully good demographic to do the best with. And that he should consider himself lucky.
White water rafting… in Las Vegas.
