I love my wife. Don’t get me wrong. She’s a great life partner, but she’s a lousy sports partner. The problem is she is utterly clueless about sports. Like any patriotic American, I’m a huge sports fan: baseball, football, Australian rules lawn bowling, you name it. But my wife is, how can I put this delicately – an artist.
My wife could no more tell you the number of points in a touchdown than the location of home plate in baseball. Oh sure, she’ll tell you she likes sports. But to her, sports consists of backpacking through the woods or climbing a rock face. Those aren’t sports. As any red-blooded sports fanatic knows, sports require two essential elements: a high def flat panel 56” TV and a large cheese-stuffed, meat-lover’s pizza.
I first suspected my wife wasn’t into sports early in our marriage. One evening, I had to work late so I missed the Monday Night Football game. I called home to ask her the score. After five minutes trying to convince her that pro football indeed could be played on a day other than Sunday, she checked the TV and reported: I have no idea. But I think they’re in extra innings. Seriously, I’d have better luck finding the score in the credits of Breaking Bad than by asking my wife.
My wife will happily tell any random stranger she meets that her husband is far from perfect. On a scale of 1 – 5, I think she’d probably rate me a 2.4.
Okay, so I’m not perfect. When it comes to my looks, I’d give myself maybe a 6 out of 10. My taste in clothes? Perhaps a 4 – although my wife would score me a 1.5 if we’re talking about ties. (What’s wrong with a paisley tie adorning a Lacoste shirt anyway?) My humor writing ability? Hmmm. Are we grading on a curve?
My point is I have plenty of shortcomings, but if you ask my wife, she’ll tell you – especially if you’re a complete stranger – that my most irritating personality quirk is my compulsive need to rank…everything.
For example, in writing this week’s post, I chose Arial 9 point because it’s always been one of my five favorite fonts (right after Comic Sans and just ahead of Garamond). Okay, I admit it. I do have a tendency to rate and rank stuff. I can’t resist asking other people to rank things too. For me, it’s an ice breaker. I’ll often start a conversation with, say, a waitress at a BBQ ribs restaurant, with, “Hi, Carla. Nice rack you got there. Quick question: Which three states would you least like to live in?”
Great news for all of you who have passed the big 50 milestone and are depressed that the best part of life may have passed you by. It has, of course, but be patient. In just 19 years you’ll feel happy again. That’s the findings of a recent study by the London School of Economics. The study determined that 23 and 69 are the two ages at which people are the most satisfied with their lives. And every age in between pretty much sucks.
According to the study’s findings, we experience several up and down periods, peaking at age 23 before dipping in a long, slow decline of satisfaction with our lives by our mid-50s, after which age our happiness rebounds, peaking again just before age 70. After that, for most of us, there really is no point to go on living. So if you’re planning on having a mid-life crisis, the study suggests 55 is the perfect age to plan on having your world shatter into a million meaningless pieces.
Why 23 and 69? Because they’re prime numbers? Good guess but no. (And to those of you who just got out your calculators and figured out that 69 is not a prime number, congratulations.) According to the study, at 23 you are confidently picturing an optimistic future of wealth and career success, probably with an attractive life partner and 2.5 well-behaved kids who get into Princeton on a full-ride merit scholarship. Perhaps you’re already envisioning that second home in the Hamptons or on Cape Cod.
[This week, Tim Jones turns the keys to his blog over to Tuxedo, a 23-pound spokescat representing the views of household cats everywhere.]
Hey, owner. This is your cat. There appears to be a little confusion as to just exactly who’s in charge here. I know, I know. You pay the electric bill, pay the insurance (whatever that is), and you buy all the food. That does not make you king of my castle. I’m afraid I’m going to have to go over the ground rules one more time if I’m going to allow you to stay here.
I think we can both agree that I am pretty low maintenance. Heck, I sleep 20 hours a day, so the least you can do during the other four hours is drop what you’re doing and pay full attention to me – starting with my meals. I have to say a monotonous diet of Meow Mix day after day is not exactly my idea of haute cuisine. And what’s with the dry food pellets? Do I look like a rabbit? Please have your chef start preparing more interesting entrées for me. Might I suggest steak tartare or perhaps Lobster Newburg?
While we’re on the subject of dining preferences, need I remind you that the toilet is mine? Its primary function, we both know, is as the receptacle for my drinking water. I’m willing to let you share, but for God’s sake please make sure little Princess Sarah remembers to flush after she tinkles. It’s gross. You don’t see me taking a pee in her sippy cup, do you?
Over the past few years, I’ve noticed I’ve begun to put on a few pounds. I noticed this primarily because my wife kept saying, “Hey, you’ve put on a few pounds. When are you going to do something about it?”
In my younger years, I used to treat my body like a temple. But lately my body has become more of a Temple of Doom. So I’ve decided to do something about it.
I tried various fad diets: the Nothing-but-fruit diet, the Everything-but-fruit diet, the Mango & Salmon milk shake diet, the “All-You-Can-Eat-Just-So-Long-As-It’s-Cabbage” diet. None of them worked, in part because I usually gave up after about 40 minutes.
I recently discovered – much to my chagrin – that there are no short cuts to fitness and good health. So I came up with eight very simple daily commitments in the areas of fitness and nutrition. I once raced in the New York Marathon. (Okay, meandered might be more accurate description of my pace.) Heck, by comparison, this should be a piece of cake. Drat! Now I’m craving a piece of cake.
I knew I would not succeed unless I wrote down my new commitments. I was later informed that writing them down and shoving the list in my file drawer would not be enough to ensure success. I had to actually track my progress. So far, I’m off to a bit of a shaky start.
DAY 4
Daily Commitment
Actual Results
Healthy breakfast with fruit
Special K with fresh-cut strawberries. Added three tablespoons of sugar just for texture.
Stretch 10 minutes
Forgot again. But did climb back up the stairs twice because I forgot my wallet, and then forgot my car keys. Could feel it in my calves.
Drink 8 glasses of water
Drank four glasses. Which is four more than I have ever drunk in the past 25 years, so I consider this a promising start. Man, I gotta pee.
No junk food. Try almonds or carrots
Brought bag of carrots to work. Accidently left them in the car all day. Oops. Spoiled. Gave carrots to a raccoon rummaging in dumpster.
45-minute aerobic workout
Did 20 minutes but ran out of time when I suddenly remembered I had an early morning meeting at the office next Tuesday.
Weights for 30 minutes
Had to lift the bed so my wife could retrieve our frightened cat. That bed weighs a ton. So I’d say I did my fair share of weights. Check.
No eating after 8pm
Okay, I buckled. I had a PBJ sandwich at 9:30. But at least I got my daily dose of fruit with the slathering of grape jelly.
Floss teeth before bed
Totally spaced. Will floss first thing tomorrow morning
DAY 9
Daily Commitment
Actual Results
Healthy breakfast with fruit
Running late. Wolfed down three fruit roll-ups. Green Apple Blast. Contains 5% real fruit. You know what they say. An apple rollup a day keeps… I forget the rest.
Stretch 10 minutes
Bent over to tie my shoes. Both of them. Felt it in the hammies.
Drink 8 glasses of water
Had three Diet Cokes, and one 20 oz. Mountain Dew Code Red. Pretty sure they all are mostly water.
No junk food. Try almonds or carrots
Had two Almond Joy candy bars at 3pm. Was leaning towards a Mounds bar, but was committed to getting my share of almonds.
45-minute aerobic workout
Only did 15 minutes on the exercycle but watched CNN the entire time so it was kind of an aerobic workout for my brain.
Weights for 30 minutes
Weighted in line for 30 minutes at Starbucks for my double tall caramel Frappuccino.
No eating after 8pm
Had a 20-ounce malted chocolate milkshake at 8:45 p.m. I never said anything about not drinking after 8pm.
Floss teeth before bed
Arrgh! Totally spaced – again. Guess I’ll need to come up with a better system to remind me than tying floss to my thumb.
DAY 16
Daily Commitment
Actual Results
Healthy breakfast with fruit
Had two bowls of Fruit Loops. The cereal even has “fruit” in its name, so it’s got to be healthy. Note to self: re: Count Chocula. Apparently chocolate is not a fruit. Bummer.
Stretch 10 minutes
In explaining to my wife why I needed to buy a new set of golf clubs, I stretched the truth for over 15 minutes. Counting that as stretching.
Drink 8 glasses of water
Drank 32-ounce Big Gulp. Some new flavor called Cranberry Splash. Pretty sure cranberry is a fruit – or maybe a vegetable – so once again, think I aced this one.
No junk food. Try almonds or carrots
Scarfed down two slices of carrot cake – with almond slivers on top. Killed two birds with one stone. Sa-weet.
45-minute aerobic workout
Went to health club to run on treadmill. Opted for the Jacuzzi instead. Lots of air bubbles, so that’s sort of aerobic, I think.
Weights for 30 minutes
Fell asleep in Jacuzzi so ran out of time. Double up tomorrow.
No eating after 8pm
Had a chocolate-covered donut and rocky road ice cream at 9:45pm but technically it was only 7:45pm in Hawaii. Show me where I said it had to be 8pm in my time zone! Nowhere!
Floss teeth before bed
Totally spaced. But in my defense, I was thinking about it. Then my wife distracted me by asking me how my day was. So it’s her fault.
I have to say, this is much harder than I thought. It’s now day 21 and frankly, my progress has slowed down a bit. Today my exercise consisted of channel surfing. So technically, that’s a kind of surfing. And surfing’s aerobic.
And while I was channel surfing, I saw this infomercial about a breakthrough new miracle fat-burning pill that melts away fat while you sleep. One customer claimed she lost 50 pounds in two weeks. I have to try this out. And here’s the best part: No flossing required.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
PS: If you enjoyed this week’s post, let me know by sharing it on Facebook, posting a comment or giving it a. Better yet, why not set a goal to forward this post to 500 of your closest friends. Better write down this goal before you forget it.
I’m not proud that for most of my adult life, I have tended to play it safe. I’ve always obeyed the rules and did what I was told. I’ve always used my turn signals, always separated the white from the dark laundry. I’ve always followed a predictable routine. If it’s 6:15 am, I’m hopping on the exercycle. If it’s 6:20 am, I’m in the bathroom flossing. A boringly predictable life.
But not anymore. I’ve decided life’s too short. I’m not going to be a conformist sheep following the herd anymore. I’m going to zig when they expect me to zag. I’ve decided to shake up my button-down life – starting by unbuttoning my collar. Hell, I just might not even wear a tie for work tomorrow. And there’s not a damn thing my boss can do about it (since I’m working from home tomorrow).
Lately I’ve turned into a rebel. It feels so liberating. My natural hair color is coffee brown. But last week, feeling in a dangerous mood, I dyed it mocha brown. I feel months younger. And look closely at my hair. I’ve started wearing my left sideburn an eighth of an inch lower than my right one – my silent protest to The Man that I will not conform to society’s rules anymore.
At sporting events, I now do the wave two seconds after the rest of my section. Sure it pisses off some fans. I’m living life on the edge.
I love my wife. Don’t get me wrong. She’s a great life partner, but she’s a lousy sports partner. The problem is she is utterly clueless about sports. Like any patriotic American, I’m a huge sports fan: baseball, football, Australian rules lawn bowling, you name it. But my wife is, how can I put this delicately – an artist.
