John Y’s Musings from the Middle: Better than Gingko!

jyb_musingsMemory supplements may or may not help improve mmemory. But I have discovered a way to make you feel again like your mind is a steel trap.

Going off a prescription medication that has listed as a side effect “Memory.” It wasn’t clear from the side effect list if “memory” was affected negatively or positively as a possible side effect. Turns out it is negative. Fortunately, however, “Not caring about having memory loss” was NOT another side effect. So, my doctor took me off it.

It’s nice having the memory again of a 51 year old rather than a 91 year old. Like taking off ankle weights after wearing them all day, I feel like I can mentally run and jump again like never before. I feel ready to re-memorize all the books of the Bible, memorize the alphabet backwards (just for the heck of it), and learn a new language on Rosetta Stone in one day (but probably not today).

I probably won’t do any of these things. In fact, I am sure I won’t. But it is nice to have the thought that I might and could. Even better than the results I had with Gingko which I bought several years ago but admittedly never gave a full chance. (Full disclosure: I couldn’t remember where I put the bottle.)

John Y’s Musings from the Middle: Intersex Communication

jyb_musingsGetting advice from my wife on the differences in how men and women communicate.

Rebecca suggests if you are mad at someone to just to ignore them. But I worry that the other person (the person you are mad at and ignoring) isn’t aware that my silence means I am mad at them.

I asked if it was possible to follow up with an email explaining my anger strategy.

Rebecca said only if it is a guy you are mad at.

I prefer communicating like a male. It keeps me from having to track down old email addresses, if nothing else.

===

t’s your loss, Honey.

My wife is working on something in our bedroom and asked me if I had time to help by doing her a favor….. I explained that I had a pile of busywork to finish and couldn’t help right now. Rebecca understood and I went back to my office in our home.

But before getting down to work, I saw I had left a basketball in the office from earlier. Feeling fidgety, I picked up the ball and tried to spin it on my finger, like I used to as a boy. I was a little rusty at first… but by the third try it was the ball spinning equivalent of riding a bicycle. You don’t forget how to do it. 

This was exciting to me.

So I took the ball and walked into our bedroom where Rebecca was working away and I started tossing the ball up and down while pacing casually and trying to think of how to bring up the topic most naturally, “Would you like to see me spin a basketball on my finger?”

But before I could ask anything, Rebecca looked up at me and said, “What are you doing in here? I am busy now and I thought you told me you had work to do.”

“I do.” I said. “Have work to do.” I paused and acted like I had been working and was confused how I ended up back in our bedroom holding a basketball. I looked at her and thought one last time about asking her if she wanted to see me spin the basketball on my finger.

“What do you want?” Rebecca asked. “Seriously? Are you just going to stand there? I really have a lot to do now.”

I just shrugged and said, “I have a lot to do too.” And mumbled under my breath “Probably even more than you” as I slinked out of the room with my basketball.

And back in my office I made a decision. I am never showing Rebecca how I can spin a basketball on my finger. Never. Ever. Even if she begs me to.

Unless she begs a whole lot. Over and over and over again. Then maybe.

But tonight, it’s her loss.

Lauren Mayer: Music Hath Charms To Soothe The Defeated Political Party

While I have the utmost respect for this site’s bipartisanship, readers know my views skew quite left.  However, I like to think that humor and music have bipartisan appeal – I grew up in Orange County (the red state in the middle of California . . . . cue rim shot), and even my most rabidly rightwing classmates will tell me they enjoy my videos, even if they know I’m totally wrong about everything.

So in that spirit, this week’s song, while still partisan, is an effort to please everyone.  Republicans can gloat over the political mistakes by Democrats I cite, Democrats can appreciate the strategic advice going forward, apolitical types can enjoy the bouncy catchy tune, and everyone can laugh at this middle-aged suburban Jewish mother imitating an adorabale pop star who is only 20.

John Y’s Musings from the Middle: Life as Dress Rehearsal?

jyb_musingsSomething very thought provoking just occured to me.

What if life really is just a dress rehearsal? If so, how many “live” performances are we talking about and will we be expected to perform in all of them? And what kinds of snacks will be offered at intermission?

Could we maybe do just one full performance and just do some informal Q & A on the other nights?

I mean, we aren’t even finished with the dress rehearsal yet and it is hard sometimes to stay focused and remember my lines. I am not even sure we need an ending that ties up all the lose ends. Too many loose ends to keep track of anyway. Just go with a Sopranos type ending and wrap it.

John Y’s Musings from the Middle: Bugs

bugsParking next to this truck this morning while eating my breakfast made me think about some things.

First, staring at gigntic bugs while eating is a terrific way to suppress your appetite.

jyb_musingsSecond, although I am a Democrat, I am OK with outright killing these insects rather than just capturing and imprisoning them in hopes of eventually reforming them and returning them to society.

Especially the giant one on the left that I felt like was staring at me during breakfast.

John Y’s Musings from the Middle: Reunions

jyb_musingsReconsidering my high school highlights reel

As I drove to Rebecca’s 30th high school reunion last night I passed the low bridge on River Road and was reminded that one of my most thrilling accomplishments that made me feel my high school class was clearly more awesome than Rebecca’s involved that bridge — and I hadn’t thought about that night for a very long time.

It was the night that me and two other guys from my high school class stripped down to our underwear and jumped off the low bridge into the icy cold water below. As I smugly recollected that awesome night 33 years ago from the perspective of a non-17 year old, it occurred to me I may have over-estimated the raw awesomeness I had attached to that evening for all these years. Somehow, from the perspective of a modestly mature 51 year old adult, that high school highlight seemed to drop form a “10” to about a “6” on a scale of 1-10. I heard that voice in my head that says things to me like, “That was a bad choice..” In fact, I even began to worry that reassessing my high school highlight reel, so to speak, may lead me to conclude that my high school graduating class wasn’t superior to my wife’s. Especially after I spotted three guys at Rebecca’s reunion who looked like they may have jumped off that same bridge in their underwear on multiple occasions.

Reconsidering my youthful delusions is never an easy thing. So I did the only prudent thing to do in this situation and decided to just table the whole issue of whether my or my wife’s high school class was more awesome –until my wife’s 35th high school reunion.

===

Attending your spouse’s 30th high school reunion makes you realize that almost all high school graduating classes have the same stock characters and only a few minor diferemces in the supporting cast and cameo roles.

And for the first time in over 30 years you are forced to entertain the possibility that your high school graduating class may not have been the baddest, coolest, most epic high school graduating class in the history of the universe (excluding the senior class in Fast Times at Ridgemont High but they weren’t real).

And that your 1981 Central High School graduating class may only have been a slightly above average graduating class compared to other high schools in your school distict in 1981.

And then you begin to wonder if you have made any other warped presumptions about yourself and the world in other areas of your life. But calm yourself by being certain there was never a greater, hipper kindergarten class in the history of the universe than yours. But are especially grateful your spouse doesn’t have any kindergarten reunions to challenge your belief.

John Y’s Musings from the Middle: The “Cool Kid” Table

jyb_musingsThis morning had an awesome start. The 4 1/2 minute drive from my house to the coffee shop rocked — literally. I really nailed Eddie Vedder’s voice and the air guitar solo in a Pearl Jam song playing in my car.

But while in line for coffee and waiting to meet a business associate, I couldn’t stop looking at two very distinguished looking businessmen about to meet with each other. While I was stirring half-and-half into my coffee at the condiment bar an even more impressive third member joined their party and they decided to take the “large table in the back.”

The guy I was waiting to meet wasn’t as impressive as these three and I was secretly hoping they would notice me at the condiment bar and invite me to join their table and their meeting. I even asked one to pass me a stir stick and gave a very confident and “important” look as if to say “We have a lot in common. More than the guy I am waiting to meet.” But nothing.

I sat down at a tiny table that hadn’t even been wiped off and tried to look like I was thinking about about a large financial deal. Finally, my guy shows up. But walks past me to say hello to the three guys at the back table.

What if they invite him to join their table and I am left all alone at my small and dirty table? That would really suck. As great a start as my day got off to it was now cratering.

I tried to think of a way to make my table, as I sat by myself, look cooler than the other tables — but feared it wasn’t working. And the worst part of all is I don’t think anyone in the coffee shop even knew about the Eddie Vedder song I lip-synced so flawlessly just a few minutes earlier.

Lauren Mayer: Bipartisan Nostalgia

In this hyper-partisan era, many writers wax nostalgic about when politics were more civil, when Tip O’Neill and Ronald Reagan could work together despite their differences, when people disagreed politely.  That’s the great thing about nostalgia – you only have to remember the good parts (like how I love 1930s clothes and music but wouldn’t want to restore that era’s sexism, racism, or economic inequity).  Likewise, there was plenty of political ugliness in the past – but I do think the op ed pieces have a point, in that these days we have lost even the superficial veneer of civilized disagreement.

With that in mind, this week’s song is a hybrid of my own admitted fierce partisanship and an effort to emulate the 1930s, by adopting the gracious tone and witty wordplay of a Noel Coward song.  I may be totally one-sided here, but at least I can do it with grace and style!

Rod Jetton: How Campaigning Works

156_Rod_Jetton_(R)_Marble_HillWhile walking driving the highway one day an old Senator was tragically hit by a semi-truck and died.

Surprisingly, his soul arrives in heaven and is met by St. Peter at the pearly gates.

“Welcome to heaven,” says St. Peter. “Before you settle in, it seems there is a problem. We seldom see a powerful politician around these parts, you see, so I’m not sure what to do with you.”

“No problem, I understand,” says the Senator. “Just go ahead and let me in.”

“Well, I’d like to, but I’ll have to check with Jesus first and see what to do about what you.” After checking with Jesus St. Peter retuned and said, “What we’ll do is have you spend one day in hell and one in heaven. Then you can choose where to spend eternity.”

“Really…? I’m awfully confident that I want to be in heaven,” says the Senator.

“I’m sorry, but we have our rules.”

“But I’m sure I want to go to heaven!”

“I understand, but first you have to spend twenty four hours in each.”

And with that, St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to hell.

The doors open and the senator walks out into the middle of a beautiful green golf course. In the distance is a magnificent clubhouse and standing in front of it are all his friends and other politicians who had worked with him in politics.

Everyone is so happy and in elegant tuxedos and evening gowns. They run to greet him, shake his hand, and reminisce about the good times they had while getting rich at the expense of the people. They played a friendly game of golf and then dined on lobster, caviar and the finest champagne.

Also present is the devil, who really is a very friendly guy having a good time dancing and telling the funniest stories. They are all having such a good time that before the Senator realizes it, his twenty four hours were up and it is time to go.

Everyone gives him a hearty farewell and waves goodbye while the elevator rises…

The elevator goes up, up, up and the door reopens in heaven where St. Peter is waiting for him, “Now it’s time to visit heaven.”

So, twenty four hours passed with the Senator joining a group of contented souls moving from cloud to cloud, playing the harp and singing all the old time hymns. They were having a very good time and before he realizes it, the twenty four hours have gone by and St. Peter returns.

“Well, then, you’ve spent a day in hell and another in heaven. So where do you want to spend eternity.”

The Senator reflects for a minute, then he slowly muttered: “Well… I would never have thought I would say this, I mean, umm… heaven has been delightful, but hell was a whole lot better than I expected it to be and all my friends were there… so I think, umm… I would be better off in hell.”

Without saying a word St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to hell.

Now as the doors of the elevator open he’s in the middle of a barren land covered with waste and garbage. He sees all his friends, dressed in rags, picking up the trash and putting it in black bags as more trash falls from above.

The devil comes over to him and puts his arm around his shoulders and says, “Congratulations you made it!”

As the Senator looked around he stammered, “I don’t understand… yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and clubhouse, and we ate lobster and caviar, drank champagne, and danced and had a great time. Now there’s just a desert wasteland full of garbage and my friends look miserable. What… what happened?”

The devil smiles at him, takes a puff on a big fat cigar and says, “Yesterday we were campaigning …

But today, you voted.”

Vote wisely today!

John Y’s Musings from the Middle: Bad Ass

10629860_10154779059785515_7732292093066543696_nThis is my facial expression that I just had to use at Starbucks which says, “Would you please hurry heating up my Michigan Cherry Oat Bar because I am running late for my meditation meeting.”

This is not an easy message to communicate and is a nuanced combination of “East end haggard bad ass” and “New agey metrosexual hungry.”

But I think I pulled it off.

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