I’d like to take this opportunity to apologize to Washington Nationals third baseman Ryan Zimmerman.
This hasn’t been his best year at the plate, with just three home runs and a .229 average in 51 games. Compare that to last year, when he played 101 games and belted 12 home runs with a .289 average.
How is this my fault? Well, before this season I got his jersey. I don’t have a good history with jerseys.
It started when I was in high school and my beloved New York Giants emerged from years of suckitude to become a contending team. They had a star cornerback named Jason Sehorn. I got his jersey. He subsequently blew out his right knee (tearing both the ACL and MCL) and was never the same.
Even player t-shirts aren’t safe. Washington Capitals center Nicklas Backstrom experienced my curse last year when he was elbowed in the head and missed 40 games with concussion issues.
Looking in this section of my closet, there’s another player I’ve put in jeopardy by putting his number on my back.
Of course, I was wearing this shirt when Eli won his second Super Bowl MVP. I guess that’s proof he can crush any challenge.
Some books I love and barely flag anything I want to talk about in these posts, while I end up highlighting tons of things in others I think aren’t so great. Not sure why that is.
“Way of the Peaceful Warrior” by Dan Millman is one of the latter. It’s by no means the worst book I’ve ever read, just for some reason one I didn’t totally get into. Maybe it’s the writing style, or the underlying feeling that the entire story can be explained by thinking the characters ingested massive amounts of LSD, but let’s call it two out of four stars..
The story follows Dan’s experience as a college student who stumbles upon an old guy working at a gas station who becomes his mentor. The old guy, whom Dan nicknames Socrates, puts him through all kinds of training and tests to change the way Dan thinks and approaches the world — things like meditation and changing his diet. Sometimes he presses on Dan’s forehead, sending him on some sort of dream-like, seemingly hallucinogenic journey.
I am not Dan Millman and I can’t say what he did or didn’t experience. That said, I think most people would say some of the things he describes with Socrates are a little out there.
He becomes infatuated with a woman named Joy, and late in the story Socrates does one of his tricks, touching Dan lightly at the base of his skull:
“The lights went out, and I immediately forgot I ever knew a woman named Joy.”
Maybe the most off-putting thing for me is Dan’s portrayal of Socrates as basically all-knowing. Dan is a world-class gymnast, and wouldn’t you know, Socrates shows up at his practice one day and gives him perfect tips on perfecting his form. Again, I’m in no position to question the facts of his life, but taken together it was hard for me to believe parts of the story.
That’s not to say the book doesn’t have interesting points. If it were a collection of phrases or short parables, I may have liked it better. For instance, there’s this piece I think describes what a lot of people go through in the struggle to figure out what to do with their life:
“Everyone everywhere lived a confused, bitter search. Reality never matched their dreams; happiness was just around the corner — a corner they never turned. And the source of it all was the human mind.”
At some point many people have a hypothetical conversation about what they would do if they learned they were dying. But as Millman writes, we’re all dying:
“You DO have a terminal illness: It’s called birth…So be happy NOW, without reason — or you never will be at all.”
Socrates tells Dan a lot about valuing action and being in the present over being paralyzed thinking about the past or the future. One of his final lessons is to teach Dan that the answer to the questions “What time is it?” and “Where are you?” are “now” and “here.”
One of the pieces I did very much connect with is something I think about all the time. Socrates says that “everything has a purpose…there are no accidents.” Of course it’s easier to look at any negative or setback and frame it as a lesson or some other meaningful event. But there have been lots of times I’ve truly felt this idea was real.
Take my trip to work a few weeks ago. I barely missed my normal train and ended up on one that broke down after a few stops. We sat for 45 minutes without moving, meaning I was 45 minutes later to work, and missed out on that much sleep the next day. But when I got out of the station and walked toward the building, I ran into a family of what sounded like German tourists who were lost and looking for the Metro station. Without the delay — during which I read a big chunk of this book — I would have been sitting inside a few blocks away and not there to direct them down an otherwise deserted street.
Sure, that could have been a totally coincidental event, but even so, does that mean it had no purpose?
I can see how a lot of people would find this book life-changing, and as I said, I did get some things from it. But I’m not about to seek the path of becoming a warrior anytime soon.
I’ll close with one last bit from Socrates (which may or may not be a reason to embed the video it reminded me of): “Love is the only reality of the world.”
I’ve written from time to time about people’s Google searches that land them here, most of which are a little strange. Often what I’ve written in the posts they land on in no way helps them.
But we all search odd things from time to time.
Just a few weeks ago, I Googled “thumb twitching” after — you guessed it — my thumb was twitching. In 1812, I would have sat there wondering what malady had befallen my limb, but thanks to modern technology I know it was most likely stress-related.
More fun are my recent searches related to the book. In the course of writing I have run across several instances in which I needed a detail for my character — usually one of the females — and had absolutely no idea what would be realistic.
That’s why my search history has things like “eye shadow color for green eyes” and “updo.” Last weekend I was trying to describe a waitresses’ eyewear, and to get a proper mental picture I did an image search for “old lady glasses.”
I’m proud to report that all three searches were wildly successful.
[Sidenote: I find it fascinating that Blogger, a Google product on which I am writing this post, flagged the word “Googled” as a spelling error.]
Since people like pictures in these posts, let me share one I took during my commute home this morning:
If it looks Instagram-y, it is. Find me at cjhannas.
It’s not often I read a book that ends up having a tangible, practical benefit on my life, but “Drop Dead Healthy: One Man’s Humble Quest for Bodily Perfection” by A.J. Jacobs may be helping me sleep.
The book is about the roughly two years he spent focusing on his health, one part of the body at a time, taking in advice and research from different viewpoints in search of prolonging and improving his life.
In a chapter on sleep, Jacobs writes that on the advice of a sleep specialist, he attacked insomnia by counting backward by threes. He described the strategy as “just challenging enough that it keeps my interest, and boring enough that it puts me to sleep.” Since reading this section about a week ago, I’ve been trying this method, and even with limited data, I think it works.
Jacobs describes his methodology in each section, detailing which experts he talks to and which schools of thought have been debunked by science. He tries to follow the conclusions of widely accepted studies, but as he points out, every day we hear about a new one that can take precedence in our minds: “Our brains are unduly drawn to whatever yesterday’s study revealed — look at that! bacon IS healthy — especially if the conclusion is surprising and counter-intuitive and delicious.”
You’re much more likely to believe in studies about red wine lowering the risk of heart disease if you already drink two glasses a night.
Of course for me, the crowning jewel of medical research would be a study saying the Taco Bell Drive-Thru Diet is the greatest thing ever. While my results show it is amazing, Jacobs notes this is not one he sampled during his month focused on nutrition.
But even some of the things he mentions give me hope that while not perfect, I have some healthy habits. He notes the benefits of video games on eyesight, and that tapping your leg (which I do all the time) “can help cardiovascular fitness.”
In a chapter on breathing, he cites the Harvard Medical School Guide to Stress Management, which says having a “washboard stomach” encourages people to constrict their stomach muscles, adding tension and anxiety that makes them breath improperly.
I knew there was a reason I avoided all those ab workouts.
While he tries out a lot of seemingly extreme steps — like wearing noise-canceling headphones for many hours of the day and walking on a treadmill while he works (which I would try) — his general conclusion is that while we can all do a lot of things better, moderation is a great thing.
A very interesting read if you want to be a little more aware of your body, even if you’re not looking for a major life overhaul.
It’s one of those hypothetical questions everyone has thought about, but tonight roommate MR and I had a detailed discussion of what we would do with three wishes.
The quick consensus: one involving virtually infinite money and one involving a super power.
Neither of us wanted eleventy billion dollars sitting in the bank, but enough on a regular basis so that we would never have to worry about money. My wish would be to randomly fall into sums of money as I needed/wanted, but have the confidence that such events would always happen. MR wants $1 billion deposited in his bank account every January 1.
I argued that his would be wayyyy more fun if the yearly deposit happened on a random day. Imagine the thrill of checking your account balance each morning.
As for super powers, he went with the ability to breathe in both outer space and underwater, while I would wish for the ability to read minds.
The third wish took a lot more thought, since with the other two in our pocket we would already be able to do so many things. But after a while we came up with something we couldn’t buy or obtain with our powers — a time machine.
Not just any time machine, mind you. Ours is not prone to the stereotypical sci-fi convention where stepping on a bug during the dinosaur ages forever alters every moment that follows. It’s completely safe, meaning that we can show an iPad to Ben Franklin and blow his mind without the Cubs suddenly winning the World Series.
I’m pretty sure I could be king of the cavemen if I traveled back with some root beer floats:
Delicious photo by AV
Of course these plans assume we don’t have other concerns, like trying to woo a girl with a pet tiger.
People in the D.C. area have many complaints about Metro, but with the number of bizarre conversations I overhear and unique experiences I share with other riders, I rather enjoy using the system.
I’ve written before about the guy who got his arm stuck in the door — body outside, cup of coffee inside. There was also the woman who seemed horrified by the idea of interacting with her seatmate, and the challenge I face trying not to laugh at a humorous podcast moment while standing at the front of a packed train car during the morning rush.
But about two weeks ago I had perhaps the funniest experience of my Metro-riding career.
I boarded the train after work and stood near the front, right next to a seat with two people facing me. They were about two feet away, making their conversation quite clear and the need to mask my reaction quite high. It took absolutely everything I had not to burst out laughing when this transpired:
Guy (apparently looking at an email on his phone): “Ugh, it’s my niece’s birthday Saturday.” Woman: “Oh really? How old is she?” Guy: “She’s 5.” Woman: “Aww, that’s nice.” Guy (very sternly): “No. I don’t get along with her at all.” Woman: “Huh?” Guy: “She sucks.”
It’s not often you hear a grown man say a 5-year-old sucks. Thanks, Metro.
Of course, I shouldn’t judge. I’ve never had a 5-year-old niece and there’s always a chance I will think she sucks. Though the early returns suggest that will not be the case:
I am in no way above using a child to make my posts more appealing, nor stealing pictures from my sister-in-law’s Facebook page (thanks Bethany!).
I’ll close this one by pointing out a streak I have going on at the moment. If you look off to the right, you’ll see the number of posts for each month this year — 7,8,9,10,11. I noticed that trend in late April and posted twice on the last day to keep it going. I intend to continue as long as I can. Judging by my experience posting every day in June 2010, things could get difficult by the time we get to December, but I’ll definitely try.
In case New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg wonders why I don’t visit his city in the future, it’s because of his push to keep me from drinking a Big Gulp.*
I read about this idea this morning in The New York Times, which quoted the mayor saying health departments across the nation are fretting about tackling the obesity epidemic:
“New York City is not about wringing your hands; it’s about doing something,” he said. “I think that’s what the public wants the mayor to do.”
Guess what, Mr. Bloomberg? I asked the public. Granted, it was a survey of only one New Yorker, but she does not support this plan.
“Bloomberg is an idiot,” my friend Mindy told me. “He thinks he can solve people’s health issues. Next ban will probably be on fast food. I think I need to move out of New York.”
Here’s the thing. I agree with his overall push — we consume way too much sugar and many people are completely ignorant about what they put into their body. I’m not exactly a healthy eating nut, but at least I’m aware. I can make my own decisions about when to drink a soda, and when to opt for water, juice or tea instead.
I once spent an entire summer in which I drank a 2-liter bottle of soda every single work day. But I was young and stupid then. That’s why I’m perfectly fine with bans on soda machines in schools. Kids don’t necessarily know better, but adults should.
The real problem I have with Mr. Bloomberg’s plan is the seemingly arbitrary nature of its guidelines. What he wants to ban is the sale of sugary drinks in containers larger than 16 ounces. But as the Times article says, if you’re at a restaurant, go ahead and get all the refills you want. If you’re at 7-Eleven, you can’t get the 32-ounce Big Gulp, but there’s nothing that says you can’t just buy two 16-ounce drinks.
Maybe there is a reason, but in some quick searching I haven’t found any information as to how they arrived at 16 ounces as the limit. The sugar content in a 16-ounce drink can vary so widely depending the product. Why not 20 ounces? Or 12?
I’m not in public health, nor do I claim to have any expertise in this area, but there has to be a better way to do this. He’s not telling bars to limit the size of beers they can sell, and that’s a product that can have an immediate dangerous effect on people around the drinker. Those who overdo it on sugar are hurting themselves over a long period. That’s the message that needs to get across — not that nobody can ever have more than 16 ounces of a sugary drink in one container.
The U.S. Food and Drug Administration recommends we eat healthy food, but even its guidelines say a male of my age can have 330 “empty calories” a day. I think I can rock a large soda at Taco Bell once a week and make good decisions about the rest of my beverages.
*This is a totally empty threat. I’m not the type to launch a boycott over such things. **I would never call soda “pop” either — I’m not from Ohio. I just needed to make the syllables work in the headline. ***Yes, I did originally plan to rewrite the lyrics to “Empire State of Mind” with a soda theme.
For the first time in my life, I read a book because of a coin flip.
I had “The Help” in my Netflix queue for roughly 328947 months with the vague idea I might want to read the book before seeing the movie. I also thought AV had taken that path, so I asked her if I should bother doing the book-before-movie route.
Turned out she hadn’t read the book, but was ready to help me decide.
“Soooo I’ll flip a coin? And then tell you?” Heads was book-first. It was heads.
As is usually the case, if you’re even thinking about doing both the book and the movie, reading before watching was definitely the way to go. Even the longest movie leaves out important pieces that give contextual weight to scenes that otherwise really miss something. And with a book criticized for being a reductionist “whitewashing,” paring down the elements even more certainly did it no favors.
I won’t begin to delve into all of those pieces since seemingly everyone else weighed in a year ago. But I can certainly see the argument that the story is about a young white woman who heroically used her words to upend the oppressive social structure of this town and lift the black maids from a state of helplessness. The movie version — much more than the book — vastly understates the conditions in the Jim Crow South, making it seem like one woman in this town was responsible for prolonging segregation and discrimination, and that neither is so bad. The depth of dehumanization is not there.
One example of how I think the movie story really gave critics some ammo comes at the end, when one of the maids, Minny, is treated to a meal by her employers. A short time earlier, there is a brief allusion to the fact that she may be facing violence from her husband, Leroy, but nothing is explicitly explained. When she sits down at this table of food, the maid who narrates the story says it “gave Minny the strength she needed — she took her babies out from under Leroy and never went back.”
But in the book, Minny doesn’t leave Leroy because a white couple made her dinner. She faces pervasive abuse throughout the book, staying strong in the face of such abuse for the sake of her kids and needing Leroy’s salary to help provide for them. In the fallout from the book of maids’ stories being published, Leroy loses his job and attacks Minny in a rage. At her limit, and with some money from the book, she leaves: “I done took this long enough…God help him, but Leroy don’t know what Minny Jackson about to become.”
The power in those scenes is entirely different. “Thanks for the mashed potatoes” is not the same as “ENOUGH.”
Despite the oversights, I did like both the book and the movie. The book is well-written and develops a host of characters that show there is no stereotypical perspective of a black maid just as there is no one white employer. It’s a range, just as in today’s world in which discrimination lives on in many forms.
“The Help” is a good story — just an incomplete one. I think the last paragraph of this New York Times review sums it up well:
“At one point Skeeter [main, white character played in the movie by Emma Stone] hears a strange new guy, Bob Dylan, singing a strange new song, ‘The Times They Are A-Changin’,’ and finds herself full of optimism. Had she heard the same Bob Dylan singing ‘The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll,’ his accusatory song about the fatal caning of a 51-year-old black barmaid by a young white patrician, ‘The Help’ might have ventured outside its harsh yet still comfortable, reader-friendly world.
I’m now one step closer to pitching in a Major League Baseball game.
On Saturday I warmed up in the bullpen at Nationals Park — never mind that it was just one pitch and the Nats were playing in Atlanta. It was the last stop on a pretty sweet tour of the stadium.
I went with my mom and brother Pat, who each stepped up on the bullpen mound as well:
If you live near a team that offers this kind of tour, I absolutely recommend you take it. It was really cool to see all of the different areas fans don’t get to go on game days and pick up some nuggets of info about the park along the way.
I put together a montage of photos and video from various parts of the stadium, including the press box, media room, home clubhouse (with a note to rookies Bryce Harper and Tyler Moore to remember their passports), the batting cage under the stands, and of course, the bullpen:
Inside the clubhouse, the Nats have years of team photos along with action shots from games. But one item I found fascinating (yet not enough to take a picture) was a set of yearbook-style photos titled 2012 MLB Umpires. I guess that’s to make sure you know the name of the guy you’re yelling at from the dugout?
I wonder if they get each ump to sign their picture at the end of the year. HAGS.
In this world, there are good ideas and there are great ideas.
Taco Bell making a taco shell out of Doritos was a good idea. Asking them to use the Doritos taco shell in a cheesy gordita crunch (taco wrapped in a gordita) was a great idea, though unfortunately one for which I cannot take credit. That goes to visionary roommate CA.
I was pleasantly surprised at how smoothly Taco Bell took my request. A couple of extra taps on the order screen and they swapped out one type of taco shell for another.
The result is glorious and certainly worth the extra 30 cents.
Now if they could just make a Doritos Mexican pizza.
