Sunday, March 31, 2019

March 31

I went on a date yesterday. I "met" this woman via a dating website. Dates like this go in one of two ways - either you do a bunch of pre-date texting/emailing to establish the basics about one another's lives (what you do, where you live, broad biographical sketching) or very limited pre-date communication - you've established via the mutual "liking" of each other's profiles that there is some initial interest, so let's save all that conversational lubricant for the meeting. 

This date was the latter. It was fine, which is to say I spent an hour or so of pleasant conversation with a complete stranger who, when the meal was over, I parted with amicably with no expectation of ever seeing again.

Follow me on Twitter - @scarylawyerguy 

Saturday, March 30, 2019

March 30

I am reading a funny-as-all-get-out collection of essays in a book titled We Are Never Meeting In Real Life. I am definitely not the demographic for this book but I am thoroughly enjoying it.

Anyway, in one of the essays, the author, Samantha Irby, is talking about when she applied to colleges and although she had a very high SAT score (1520 on the old 1600 system) her grades were mediocre. She writes: "This is the problem with neither applying oneself nor working up to one's potential, these moments when you are reduced to a bunch of abstract letters and numbers whose unflattering reflection cannot be charmed or joked aside."

Damn. It was a sentiment expressed slightly differently many years ago by @annadrozzy who, while I was lamenting my work-related frustrations (yes, they go back a LONG time) said "it's your talent, you can choose to squander it if you want to." 

For a long time, I did focus on why I did not reach my full potential or lamented that people who I did not think were as talented as me seemed to get ahead while I was spinning in place. It has not always been true, I have had a few moments of glory in the sun, but what I have come to accept is that I got to where I am in spite of the myriad of shortcomings I have - the awful interpersonal skills,  inability to filter myself when I think someone has said (or done) something idiotic, and my total lack of respect for authority, among others - and that I should feel good about overcoming these huge, honking roadblocks instead of crying over the fact I did not become a judge.

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Friday, March 29, 2019

March 29

A few solid days at work were foiled by the news that one of the people I absolutely loathe is not only coming to work in my practice group, but may have been given the job I interviewed for recently. I am fuming. This is someone who had a nice perch in another part of the office, so her transfer seems curious to say the least. Upper management is being very tight-lipped about things, but I will know more on Monday. It seems like a never-ending series of kicks to the balls, especially because this person's reputation as a rat-fucker and back-stabber is well-known. How is that some people continue getting promoted into positions they do not deserve and the rest of us sit there, idling away the time, trying to get ahead and never succeeding?

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Thursday, March 28, 2019

March 28

I have a unique skill of attracting women who show some initial interest in me, only to disappear (or "ghost" in the parlance of our times), and then, once I've moved on emotionally, slide back into my life looking for attention.

Take today for example. A woman, we'll call her "A," texted me for the first time in several weeks asking if I wanted to do something this weekend. A and I had been out four or five times late last year and I thought things were going somewhere (they were not) and had exchanged sporadic texts (invariably initiated by me) in January and February. 

So did I tell her to buzz off? Of course not. I am a sucker. I take the bait every time, I never stand up for myself, and I let people walk all over me. And then I wonder why I am so unhappy.

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Wednesday, March 27, 2019

March 27

When I grew up, I wanted to be Bruce Lindsey. That name probably does not mean anything to you. Bruce is not a famous rock star like another guy named Bruce. He is not a star athlete or a famous movie star. He did not cure a disease or win a Nobel Prize. No, Bruce was a fixer before that term was polluted by Michael Cohen. 

Bruce stood a step behind (and invariably with his down) Bill Clinton. Bruce was Clinton's aide-de-camp, his consigliere, the guy with a portfolio of work that was as broad as it was vague. He disappeared into the background and made things go away or happen, as was needed. He was the guy behind the guy, never quoted, seen but not heard, and trusted implicitly to deal with the stuff that was some combination of fucked up, complicated, and political. 

Today, we might call that being a fixer. Some attorneys have rebranded that into "crisis communications," but I only tangentially got to experience it. I have honed many of the skills - I have made problems go away, distilled complex information to its essence in order to get a resolution, and my counsel has been relied on by the people who are not choosing between good and bad options but between bad and worse options. You would be hard pressed to find me quoted on the internet and my fingerprints are usually not found in the final decision, which is as I like it. 

But the thing is, and the thing I did not appreciate when I was in my 20s and watched Bruce operate, is that to do that job you have sublimate your ego and accept that you will never receive credit - publicly - for what you do. Part of living in the shadows is understanding that people either will not or cannot see your hand in the final product. 

Follow me on Twitter - @scarylawyerguy 

Tuesday, March 26, 2019

March 26

As I watched the Duke men's basketball team somehow pull out a victory over the University of Central Florida Sunday night it dawned on me. I have hated Duke's basketball team for more than half my life. As a teenager, Duke was like the the rich WASPs from a John Hughes movie. They were very easy to root against and when the UNLV Runnin' Rebels crushed them in the 1990 NCAA title game, it was glorious. But that was the high water mark for Duke haters. The following year, and with the Rebels just two games away from the first perfect season since 1976, Duke beat them in the national semi-finals. The year after that, Christian Laettner pulled down a three-quarter-court inbound pass from Grant Hill in the East regional finals to beat the University of Kentucky on their way to a second straight title. 

Four more national championships have followed and, as the cult of Coach K has expanded, the students at Cameroon Indoor have become that much more obnoxious, and the reverence for the program has grown. It is so annoying. It is like rooting for Goliath. They already attract the best talent, do they need to get all the calls and all the luck too? 

It is one of the cruelties of sports that so much hinges on so little - a rotation of a golf ball, a toe dragged across the sideline, a spin of the basketball on the rim; and so it was that Duke, losing to UCF by three with just a few seconds to play, somehow ended up winning by one. Because even when they miss a foul shot, they get the rebound and score. Even when they allow the other team to get off a good, potentially game winning shot, it just spins out. Because the player who tries for the put back, who happens to be the son of one of Duke's all-time best players, taps the ball a bit too hard and it rims out. Because it is Duke.

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Sunday, March 24, 2019

March 24

There is a guy in my boxing class who weirds me out. He looks to be in his early 20s and I am pretty sure he has a mental illness. I think he is autistic. His dad drops him off at the studio and the instructor takes time to help on with his gloves etc. He does not follow the combinations, he just sort of swings at the bag. He does not do the calisthenic exercises. He wanders around the studio between sets mumbling to himself with his head down. It is super annoying. 

What he does do is leer at the women in the class. He also leers at the women in the studio next to ours. It is really creepy. I have thought about saying something to the instructor, but I don't know, is it my problem? Is it his fault? I don't know, I just know it's creepy and weird and it messes with my flow.

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Saturday, March 23, 2019

March 23

Mueller wrapped up his investigation yesterday. I am despondent. So many threads are dangling and yet, it looks like Trump and all his cronies are going to get away with it. And the "it" looks like a laundry list of shady behavior on multiple levels. I do not know if I am more bothered because as an attorney I care about the rule of law or as a Democrat who cares about our country's future. Either way, it is amazing to me that the whole investigation is ending with this whimper and no bang. 

I know there are active investigations going on elsewhere, but after all this build-up, I know what is coming. Lots of Goebbels-level "no collusion" messaging, a call for everyone to move on, and probably a few "lock her up" chants for good measure. It sickens me.

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Friday, March 22, 2019

March 22

I finished reading Courtenay Hameister's book Okay Fine Whatever. The title is about how I felt about the book. Ostensibly, it was about Hameister (who has generalized anxiety disorder) spending a year doing things outside her comfort zone. And she does do some of that, but it is really a book about her dating escapades, and in an entirely predictable ending, she meets and falls in love with a guy. Good for her. It is the problem I have with books like this, especially ones masquerading as one thing when they are really another - if it worked for me, it can work for you. Hameister went out with 27 men over the course of a year, got laid a few times, and then, #28 was the one who stuck. I've been divorced for almost nine years, am still single, and go out on like three dates a year. 

It is not to criticize her, but the reality is that books like that do not end up getting written unless there is a happy ending because to do otherwise would reinforce for the people who read it that life does not always have a happy ending. But hey, you too could be in your mid-40s, still trying to decide what you want to do with your life (her description) and somehow scratch out a living teaching writing to adults (?) and picking up some freelance work, and making a go of it. Sure Jan.

Follow me on Twitter - @scarylawyerguy.  

Thursday, March 21, 2019

March 21

Can I just pause for a moment to tell you how much I love my cats? It is funny, when they started spending nights indoors, and then ultimately became "indoor only" cats, I set up my basement as a separate bedroom for me so they could have the other two floors of the house at night - it seemed like a win/win. They could get into whatever shenanigans they got into nocturnally, and I could get an uninterrupted night's sleep. 

Things worked well, but for whatever reason, and I'm not sure why it was, but I started letting Ghost sleep on the bed. At first, it did not go so well. Any time I shifted my body, he would claw at my legs, as cats are wont to do. Then, Pumpkin would start trying to muscle in on his turf and they would get into fights that would wake me up. Eventually though, the kinks got worked out and we can spend a (mostly) unremarkable night all curled up together. Now, if one (or both) don't come to bed with me, I feel off. Sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night and hear one of them snoring contentedly, and my heart breaks a little bit at the adorableness. Pumpkin has to be the first one to say "hi" in the morning by curling around my legs when I get out of bed, demanding a back scratch. Ghost is a little more demonstrative, meowing to get my attention or tearing ass downstairs to be the first one at the food dish. We are a happy little family.

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Wednesday, March 20, 2019

March 20

I feel like I have been moving through quicksand lately. I am not sleeping well and have very little motivation at my job. If I do a few hours of productive work, it is an accomplishment, but some days, I just close the door to my office and surf the web or talk on the phone. I am sure it is not winning me any points with the powers that be, but it is all I can do right now.

Follow me on Twitter - @scarylawyerguy 

Tuesday, March 19, 2019

March 19

I am about halfway through a book called Okay, Fine, Whatever. I picked it up because the author, Courtenay Hameister, has generalized anxiety disorder and the book is purportedly about a year in which she went outside her comfort zone and tried new things. I thought I might find some inspiration, but the results thus far have been wanting. The book is kind of about trying new things - I mean, she uses a sensory deprivation tank, smokes pot, and goes to a strip club - but it is mostly a diary of her dating life. Hameister is in her mid-40s and has been overweight most of her adult life. She was a virgin until age 34 (props for coughing up that nugget publicly) and had a lone serious relationship, which she deconstructs in painful detail. 

Of course, she does things that were she a man, we might frown upon. She makes a spreadsheet of her dates, rates them in various categories, comes up with dopey names like "the Ethical Slut," and picks apart their shortcomings (and some of her own). It makes for passable toilet reading, and I am all for catching up on lost time (which seems to be the main thrust of the book), but really, it is less about overcoming anxiety and more about hooking up, which is fine too, just a bit of false advertising.

Follow me on Twitter - @scarylawyerguy 

Monday, March 18, 2019

March 18

Something clarifying happened this weekend. A woman I had spent time with late last year and I had a text exchange (I know, a very adult way of handling things). Without saying it in so many words, she said while she liked me, she didn't like me. It was all very sophomoric and stupid, but there it was and I needed to hear it. I needed to hear that I had invested emotional energy in someone who was not interested in doing the same for me. Rejection never feels good, but at least you know where you stand.

Follow me on Twitter - @scarylawyerguy 

Sunday, March 17, 2019

March 17

A small bit of good news. The first half of money from my rich aunt whose trust I somehow ended up in came through. It merely passed through my checking account before being sent to my mortgage company, but now my mortgage is meaningfully smaller than it was two weeks ago. Sometime later this year, I will get the other half and do the same thing. I was hoping I would feel better after getting confirmation that the money cleared, but honestly, it did not hit with the impact I was hoping it would. 

I was telling my ex-girlfriend about the whole experience and observed that the hardest thing for me to adjust to is that I had planned out the next 10 to 15 years of my life based on a certain set of facts with regard to money and now I have to rethink it entirely. I know, it is a good problem to have and I am not at all complaining, it is just an unusual position for me to be in. The idea of having **some** financial freedom is one I am not accustomed to, and now I have to figure it out.

Follow me on Twitter - @scarylawyerguy 

Saturday, March 16, 2019

March 16

Time plays funny tricks on your mind. If I had the power to transport back in time, March 16, 1990 would be high on the list of days I would want to relive. It was the third of three stellar Grateful Dead shows in Landover, Maryland, the weather was unseasonably warm all week - highs in the 80s, I was a sophomore in college without a care in the world. I had no idea how good I had it. I am sure I took it for granted, all of it, but now I look back on those days with something more than just a "twinge in my heart far more powerful than memory alone" (thank you, Don Draper). 

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Friday, March 15, 2019

March 15

There is a saying in recovery that when you focus on what you want, you are focusing on what you do not have. It is used as a reminder to be thankful for the things you have, not the things you do not. I spend a lot of time thinking about what I want and do not have - a partner, a lady friend, a girlfriend, a significant other - whatever you want to label it, and how empty I feel without a person in my life. 

It has been almost six years since I last had a meaningful relationship and it has really worn on me. So much of my day-to-day life, my decision making, my thought process, is informed by this simple, but crippling fact. It feeds into my low self-esteem like a blinking red light flashing WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? It makes me feel like shit about myself and also deepens the loneliness I feel. And any time someone enters (and then exits) my life, it makes me even more discouraged that I will ever find happiness. It is really awful.

Follow me on Twitter - @scarylawyerguy 

Thursday, March 14, 2019

March 14

I was irritated most of the day yesterday. Some information at work irritated me. Some people at work irritated me. My right shoulder irritated me. A woman I was exchanging messages with online irritated me. It was the equivalent of emotional diaper rash. I toughed it out at the gym, doing a boot camp class even as I was favoring my right shoulder and then got home and slept like shit. I went to bed before 9 p.m. but woke up around midnight (too hot) and then tossed and turned most of the rest of the night, never falling fully back to sleep. Today should be fun. 

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Wednesday, March 13, 2019

March 13

The last few days have not been great. I am not sleeping well (side effect of daylight savings time?) and am struggling to make it through a full day at work. Plus, I think I did something to my right shoulder, it does not feel right. I also rejoined a dating website which, UGH, is not great. How is that possible? You try to find someone who you want to spend time with, get to know, to open your world to, but by doing so, you end up feeling worse about yourself. 

Follow me on Twitter - @scarylawyerguy 

Monday, March 11, 2019

Ken Dilanian Blocked Me On Twitter

Ken Dilanian blocked me on Twitter today. For what you may ask? Well, as you might remember, a while back Dilanian wrote a story stating that the Mueller Report would be done by mid-February. The time came and went without the report being issued. I lightly tweaked Ken a time or two because I otherwise think he is a decent reporter.

Today. he retweeted something posted by Mike Barbaro (who blocked me for calling him out for claiming to have popularized the "daily" podcast format - typical New York Times!) that puts the date for Mueller's report at mid- to late-April. So, I retweeted Ken's tweet (can you believe this is how we spend our lives?) and asked why his reporting was so wrong. His response? BLOCK. 

Now look, I block people. I blocked like 10 people today for snarky comments to one of my tweets. My general rule is polite disagreement is fine, but if you attack me personally, I will block you. But I am not a public figure. I am not a reporter who shapes the news every day. I asked what I thought was a fair question. "You reported 'x,' which turned out to be wildly off-base, what happened?" For a profession that takes getting the "record" right so seriously, you would think this was a reasonable question. I did not curse. I did not attack Dilanian personally. I just asked a simple question. You got something wrong. Why did that happen? I suspect that is the kind of question Dilanian's editor has asked him a time or two about this story as well. A lot of us would like an answer. 

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My Howard Stern Show Reunion

In 2013, I went through a painful break-up. No, I’m not talking about divorcing my ex-wife or having my heart broken by Special Lady Friend. This separation was with someone who had been in my ear for the better part of 25 years. When I traded in my Sirius-equipped Honda for a not-Sirius-equipped Toyota, for the first time since I was 18, Howard Stern was no longer a part of my everyday life. 

I started listening to Howard on WYSP in 1988 when I was a college student in the Philadelphia-area, continued on WJFK when I returned to D.C. after graduation, and back to YSP when I moved to New Jersey in the early 2000s. He, Robin, Fred, Gary, Jackie, Artie, Stuttering John, and the rest of the crew were as much family as my own flesh and blood.

Like a lot of long-term relationships, this one had plenty of good times, especially when Howard moved to Sirius in 2006. I would listen before work then leave for lunch just as the West Coast feed picked up where the live feed ended. I would listen on the weekends, on road trips, and when I was out running errands. I posted regularly on the Stern Fan Network and rose and fell with every shenanigan and antic the gang got into. 

But as the years wore on, I became disaffected. Some of it had to do with Artie’s decline and departure, some of it with the direction the show took after he left, and some of it was with what I perceived to be Howard’s own boredom. As I noted in a 2012 blog post, the show was losing its way, relying on canned fights, constant rehashing of topics, too few guests, and Howard’s endless shilling for America’s Got Talent. So, when it came time to get a new car, I was ready to move on. 

Like losing any close friend (or family member), it took a while to adjust. I pretty much quit cold turkey, no longer posted on SFN, stopped reading MarksFriggin.com, and unfollowed show members on Twitter. I found other outlets, be it public radio, podcasts, or my iTunes library. Eventually, I moved on. But last summer, I was in a bad car accident. My Toyota was totaled and while I was shopping for a new car, I had a loaner equipped with Sirius. I decided to check in with my old pal Howard. I am glad I did. To be sure, there have been some cosmetic changes, but the show itself, and Howard in particular, sounded great. Catching up on the show felt easy and comfortable. I so enjoyed the experience, I decided to buy a car that had Sirius, and I am very happy I did. While the show is not at the level it was in any of its heydays, it is focused, compelling, and enormously entertaining. 

The first thing I noticed was a lightness in Howard’s voice. While he can still go off on a righteous rant, it seems as if Howard has made peace with much of once made him a tortured man. He no longer feels the need to defend his truncated schedule, lengthy vacations or his marriage (although he did blow a fuse over a recent story claiming it was on the rocks based on an off-hand remark he made on air). He has outlasted many of the villains who long-animated his anger - Imus and Leno have retired; Les Moonves resigned in shame (a fact Howard took particular glee in mocking); and SiriusXM survived its near-death bankruptcy to become an established player in the media world. In short, Howard won. He outlasted his enemies and proved them all wrong. He now sits on a mountain of money, professional acclaim, and contentment that he fought his entire career to obtain. 

And perhaps it is because of this that where once Howard fancied himself a circus ringleader, he now operates more like a pater familias, presiding over a sometimes unruly clan without the need to constantly be the center of attention. Jason Kaplan reigns as the master of tossing people under the bus. JD fumbles for words even as he has evolved from a mush mouth to a married man and wine connoiser. Ronnie has refined his Dirty Grandpa shtick to the point I laugh more than cringe, and while Gary remains an obvious target for ridicule and Howard’s “boff” impression remains laugh-out-loud funny, much of the sting is gone, replaced with affection. Gary has been with Howard for more than 30 years and the material he has helped produce now fuels a new generation of inside jokes like the hashtag “top noine” moments from the week’s shows.  

And Howard has not shied away from extending the family outward. Callers like Bobo and Marianne From Brooklyn are more deeply woven into the show’s tapestry; one wonders whether they are on salary. And nowhere is Howard’s openness toward using talent wherever he can find it on display more than the greater use of the savant Sour Shoes, whose impressions, deep show knowledge, and unique sense of comedic timing has left me crying with laughter many times. 

But beyond the incorporation of new staff members (Brent, Memet) and the deepening of the audience’s bond with others (once 20somethings like Will are now parents, as is Richard Christie), Howard continues to flex his muscles as an unparalleled interviewer. For as much as Howard loves to talk, one of his under appreciated skills is how much he listens. A recent interview with Peter Frampton contained an extended discussion of Frampton’s relationship with David Bowie and his experience playing with titans of the music industry on George Harrison’s seminal work This Too Shall Pass. The satellite format provides ample time for conversational space, so a recent interview with Hugh Jackman revealed the fact that he and Howard had spent time hanging out socially, opening a whole different window into the lives of each, while Sarah Silverman gave a raw interview that made headlines because of her comments about the disgraced comedian Louis C.K.

It may be that I left Howard in a transitional phase. Like Neil Young (one of Howard’s favorite musicians), the Stern Show is ever-evolving. Given time, he figured out what the next chapter in the show’s history would be. The one thing Howard’s critics always missed was his intuitive understanding for radio as a medium—as “theater of the mind”—Howard perfected a talent that was aptly captured in his movie Private Parts. People who like him listen for a long time, but people who do not like him listen even longer, the reason being the same—they want to hear what he will say next. Howard is a dexterous talker who can stretch, vamp, be controversial, or conversational depending on what the situation requires and his sharing of personal aspects of his life leaven him just enough that you forget it is a fictionalized, or at least, shaded version of the truth. With less to prove, there is more for Howard to share, be it his passion for art (initially photography, now painting) or his later-in-life conversation to animal rescue (thanks to his wife Beth). 

To be sure, the show retains some of its familiar parts. The phony phone calls, the staff fights, the Wack Pack, and the gimmicky segments that feel like nothing more than product development for the Sirius App (one thing that has not changed is the grab for more of your money - first it was Howard TV, now it’s the Sirius App). Even so, some things are different. Certain words like faggot and retard have rightly been excised from the show’s lexicon, the programming has been streamlined (Bubba and Ferrell are long gone, the side projects like Geek Time have been largely jettisoned (sadly, Ralph is still around), Howard 101 basically exists as a channel for the show’s more than four decades of archived material), and the show now starts at 7 a.m. (and thankfully, without Benjy in the studio).  

One thing that has not changed is the beating heart of the show - the interplay between Howard, Fred, and Robin. The trio has broadcast together for nearly 40 years (Stern and Norris go back even further) and the effortlessness of their conversation is truly comfort food for the soul. Whether it is Howard doing an Elvis meets Nixon riff or offhandedly mentioning he once knew a guy who left a good job to go “punch up scripts in Hollywood” (a deep cut reference to long-departed Jackie “the Joke Man” Martling’s alleged reason for leaving the show) listening to Howard and Robin just talk to each other is radio gold, whether it is during her news segments or when Howard brings up a topic to discuss, she is the first among equals - the one person who will immediately call him on his bullshit and also defend herself when old scabs like her ordering of an $800 bottle of wine get picked. Fred remains the steady bass line, his on-air voice spoken through the drops he slips into Robin’s news stories or Howard’s riffs, showing his own touch-feel for the comedic vibe Howard is going for at any given time. It is like listening to a band so tight and so in sync, they know the notes each will play beforehand. It is a marvel to behold. 

As for me, because I am not listening with the same level of obsessive attention I once did, I can enjoy the show without being as hyper-critical of it as I once was. To extend the relationship metaphor a bit further, I know the flaws, but they are far outweighed by the pleasure I get from hearing Howard and the crew do their thing.  

How long this will continue is an open question. Howard’s contract runs through the end of 2020 and he openly muses about retirement. If he does, no one can begrudge him that right. He has created a body of work that is unparalleled in the industry, his influence now reaching a generation of broadcasters that were not even alive when he first rose to prominence. His legacy will live on through the hundreds of thousands of hours of content he has produced. My own sense is he will sign a final contract, perhaps of a shorter duration, take his well-earned victory lap, and then ride off into the sunset. I will be with him every step of the way.


Follow me on Twitter - @scarylawyerguy 

Sunday, March 10, 2019

March 10

Today, I did what is the equivalent in TV and movies of saying "clear my calendar." I just ... did nothing. I did not leave the house, I napped on the couch all morning, binge watched a charming little show called Miracle Workers and basically made a lazy lump of myself. I needed it. I am trying to listen to my body a little more these days and so, I also skipped the gym (heresy!) Maybe this will help me start the week better than I usually do, which is waking up and immediately thinking, "Ugh, another week of this shit."

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Saturday, March 9, 2019

March 9

I turn 50 in exactly 19 months. I know, all of it is arbitrary, that "age is just a number," but I cannot tell you how much time I spend thinking about it. Like, it consumes huge chunks of my inner monologue, often for days at a time. I am not talking about the low-key stuff like being AARP-eligible, but the bigger concepts of aging and death. How you can be healthy one day and dead the next (see, Luke Perry), or seemingly healthy only to find out you have some terminal disease. 

The alternatives do not seem great either. Aging imposes the small indignities, incontinence, leaky bladders, etc. while taking bigger bites too - bones that become more fragile, muscles that cannot bear the weight they once did, arterial walls that narrow. For someone who prides himself on being fit and energetic, the idea of having those things taken from me slowly is its own form of cruelty. 

I am doing the best I can to stave off those effects. I want a long retirement filled with the hobbies I enjoy - exercise (even at a lower intensity), photography (I envision days spent photographing Arizona mesas, canyons, and cacti), and reading (even if I have to wear glasses), and time enough to myself for whatever else catches my eye. It is most of the reason I stick with my job. It is, in its way, the ultimate form of delayed gratification. Earning and saving all this money so that one day, maybe as I close in on 60, I can call it a career and go do what I want. That is, unless I drop dead before then. 

Follow me on Twitter - @scarylawyerguy 

Friday, March 8, 2019

March 8

As ridiculous as it sounds, it can be hard to carve out even the few minutes it takes to post a daily update on my life. Take the past few days as an example. Wednesday, I was in court all morning (things went fine, thanks for asking) and then went back to the office for the rest of the day, then to the gym for a killer workout, and by the time I got home, showered, fed the cats (and myself), I had like 20 minutes before I went to bed. Yesterday, I was up at 5 am, did my morning routine, dashed off to the grocery store before work, then came home and was asleep before 9 pm. Overnight, P and G found the precise spot on the bed that made it nearly impossible for me to stretch out around them (a fact I discovered at about 2:30 am), so I slept like shit and here we are Friday morning. 

It is in weeks like this that I worry that time is slipping through my fingers. What I described above is the last 72 hours or so of my life, but they are not dissimilar to the 72 hours to come, or the ones after that either. Is this how I am going to live out my days - random shuttling between errands and work, never finding love, or time enough to myself? It can be incredibly discouraging. 

Follow me on Twitter - @scarylawyerguy

Wednesday, March 6, 2019

March 6

I have to go to court today. It is not something I do much anymore and I am not looking forward to it. I used to relish the opportunity to go, the back and forth, the preparation, the cutthroat desire to win. I just do not have that need anymore. If anything, I have shrunk from confrontation, maybe it was the fallout from divorce, but I really do not like arguing with people anymore, and while court proceedings are usually civil, there is a binary result - you win or you lose. All things being equal, I prefer not to play the game at all.

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Tuesday, March 5, 2019

March 5

I spent a lot of time yesterday debating about whether to go to the gym after work. Part of me wanted to rationalize skipping the gym because I did have to shovel a nice swath of heavy, wet snow in the morning off my driveway (that is sort of a work out right?). The other part of me could not find a good reason not to go, other than not wanting to. I went. As per usual, I did not regret it once I was there. The thing is, when I was younger, it would not have even been a question. I was a five-day-a-week-come-hell-or-high-water gym goer. Now, I am down to four days a week and sometimes I slip and only go three times a week. 

It is one of the cruel punishments aging levies - you need to work out harder to maintain your fitness level, but it is harder to do so and it is easier for your motivation to wane. If your motivation wanes, it is harder to keep pushing. Quite the vicious cycle. 

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Monday, March 4, 2019

March 4

I did not sleep well last night. A couple of factors likely contributed - I took a two-hour nap in the afternoon (oops). I grabbed a shovel and cleared off my driveway at 9:00 p.m. trying to get ahead of the storm that was still going on. I ate after I came inside. The snow plows woke me up a few times even after I drifted off but never felt like I was entirely asleep. And then of course, my feline alarm clocks went off just a little after 5 a.m. I now have to shovel off the inch or so of slushy mess that accumulated after I did my one pass last night and head off to work. I will be struggling to keep my eyes open after lunch.

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Sunday, March 3, 2019

Book Review - The Elephant in the Room

When you hear the term “mid-life crisis” your mind probably flashes to sports cars and extra-marital affairs. But when you are pushing 50 and closing in on 500 pounds, experience a death in the family, and have to worry about the tensile strength of every chair you sit on, perhaps it is not surprising that weight loss might be a more logical direction to turn. And so, Tommy Tomlinson’s engaging little book, Elephant in the Room traces his attempt to make life changes (that actually work). 

What might be dismissed as a gimmicky New-Year’s-Resolution-weight-loss story is a much darker and introspective book that belies its modest length. Tomlinson begins by tracing his upbringing in rural Georgia where the menu was invariably deep-fried-something, to his knockabout years in college and meteoric rise to newspaper columnist in his early 30s. Along the way, he meets the woman who would become his wife and for whom he has nothing but great things to say and builds a life and career that is fulfilling while struggling with a waist line that ultimately expands to sixty inches in circumference and a number on the scale that reads “460.” 

We pick up the story in 2014, as Tomlinson embarks on his latest attempt at weight loss and lifestyle change. After trying every quack diet under the sun, this time, he tells us, he is keeping it simple - a basic tracking of calories consumed and calories burned, efforting to make sure the latter is greater than the former each day while also strapping a Fit Bit to his wrist to track his movement. As the months roll on, Tomlinson weaves in stories from his own life and travels. He is a winning storyteller with a folksy Southern charm that makes the reader understand why he had a column in the Charlotte Observer for more than twenty years. 

We also meet a few villains along the way - the weight loss industrial complex, the fad diets, fast food restaurants, and reality shows like The Biggest Loser - a multi-billion dollar hustle designed for failure, only to promise better results when the next “it” diet becomes popular. There is also enough research and medical discussion to check the high level boxes - be it about metabolic rate or the merits of exercise, the risk factors for heart attacks or strokes, but at bottom, Tomlinson discovers something he could have learned by reading my 2011 blog post on this topic - that the key to success has less to do with focusing on a number on the scale and more about adopting smart habits that become your day-to-day routine. 

About halfway through, I wondered where all this was going. At the end of April 2014, this 460 pound man had lost a grand sum total of just six pounds. Six. It is at this point that the book takes a darker turn. It is possible this modest result affected Tomlinson’s writing, because the book starts to take on the tone of a farewell letter written by a man worried about an early demise. Chapter after chapter marinates in a stew of shame, regret, and self-flagellation. 

Laced into these chapters is crushing guilt at good fortune squandered, that Tomlinson’s gluttony affected his friends, his family, and his wife. It is difficult reading, and Tomlinson is unsparing in his own self-critique. The shame of having the drive-thru attendant at Wendy’s know his “usual” order. The morning-after guilt from plundering a sleeve of cookies or a pint of ice cream. The regret of places unvisited, experiences he missed, even the children he never had, simply because he is fat. In this way, Elephant is as much a memoir of addiction, of humiliation, and self-loathing as a weight-loss journey. 

And while Tomlinson is hard on himself, there is an underlying tone of self-pity that was my one quibble with this otherwise strong effort. It is fine to acknowledge you have essentially suffered from indefinite arrested development, but it was not the best look to concede that you frittered away decades of adulthood in a suspended form of adolescence in a job that did not require you to punch a clock when so many people who struggle with their weight do not have that same luxury. While it is laudable to admit you have spent decades fucking off, that a health crisis required you to exert a bit of self-control and discipline over your life had the mild aroma of white male privilege that some might find off-putting. 

Ultimately, there is less a happy ending than a better path. While the number on the scale (eventually) goes down significantly, it is the lifestyle changes Tomlinson achieves that are the more important take away. His story is well-told, a cautionary tale for those at risk of health problems due to their weight while providing inspiration for those looking to make positive changes in their lives. 


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Saturday, March 2, 2019

March 2

My interview went well (I think?) Afterwards, I thought, "was there anything about your qualifications you did not mention?" And the answer was basically "no." I made the best case for myself, answered questions openly and directly, and acknowledged a few of the places I knew were not my strongest points. 

I am trying to put it out of my head now. All I can do now is wait to see if I make it to the next round. In the meantime, there was just enough "wintry mix" this morning for me to make the business decision not to travel out at 5:30 a.m. for breakfast. I have a few errands to run later this morning as it looks like things are clearing (and warming up). 

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Friday, March 1, 2019

March 1

I have a job interview today. I am trying not to get my hopes up too high, which is hard, because this position is well-suited to my skill set and I really want it. I am reminding myself that this is just a first round interview, so I cannot get the job today, but I can put myself out of the running if I fuck it up. So, avoid unforced errors, listen to the questions, pause before answering, and be a good salesman for why I am the right person for the job. God, I hate this.

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