Day 279: Monopoly, Operation, Connect Four, Etc.

I can't describe how happy it makes me that my daughter likes the same games I liked as a kid. Once in a while, she'll sit at the computer and go about playing a video game here and there, but man, she loves board games. And I do, too. Today, we picked up Operation at the toy store, and we played countless games. And despite being just four and not have the greatest dexterity, she did great. There's so much to be gained by interacting with someone playing a game than staring at a screen. So much more to the time when you're laughing together. When you're fighting the anticipation together. When you're thinking and talking and predicting what's coming next together. I'm not one of those parents that hates video games and thinks they are a waste of time with nothing to offer. To the contrary. Some games put hand-eye coordination to the paces. Some put the mind through the gauntlet. Some require a great deal of thought and do teach things worth value. But where it comes to spending time together with my child, I much prefer a board game. I'm glad my daughter seems to as well. 

Day 278: Less Flub, More Love

This year, I set out to be more positive. In that regard, it's been a fairly good year. Beyond the mental aspects of being more chipper and optimistic, 2012 has been the year I got my ass off the couch and into shape, as well as the year that I've cleaned up my eating act. Of the two physically related improvements, I'm slightly more proud of the change in eating habits. I’m still no saint where it comes to the food that I put in my mouth, but compared to the junk I allowed to enter my body throughout the past decades, this year I’ve been a straight up stud.

I’m no poster boy for nutrition by any means, but whereas in past years I rewarded myself for just getting up and making it to another day of work by stuffing a few cupcakes down my gullet, today, I’m rewarding myself by going home to run several miles over lunch.

As for lunch itself, in years gone by, I rewarded myself for making it through half a day by stuffing a nice, hot, tasty fast food meal down my throat. I convinced myself I deserved it. Ha. Moron. Later, at home, I wouldn’t hesitate to imbibe in some ice cream, a handful of cookies, chips, or whatever other tasty morsel might be around the house right before bed for mostly the same reasons.

Somewhere, around early February or so, though, my tune for food began to change. The initial note that set me on a new course was accepting a challenge to participate and complete The Warrior Dash (a three-mile run with obstacles mixed in) in June. Upon my first workout and instantly recognizing how out of shape I was, I knew multiple changes were order, including the type and how much food I shoveled in my body every day.

It didn’t happen overnight, but eventually I saw the light. I underwent a change. I turned a corner. I pushed myself away from the table that was full of crap and pulled up a chair instead to the table offering a better way of living. And that’s the table I’ve chosen to remain at.

Well, mostly, anyway. I still get confused now and again and sit down at the table serving too much pizza or those scrumptious tacos or that big piece of cake or the cheeseburger and fries, but for the most part, I’ve kept my fork close to the healthier plate. In the past, for example, it wasn’t uncommon to swallow two or three or more Cokes in one day. I haven’t drank a Coke in a good eight months, and I don’t miss it. I also haven’t purchased a package of tasty little chocolate cakes or donuts on any morning. In fact, except for ice cream (a lifelong enticer if ever there was one), I’ve been a much better eater all the way around.

Of course, there’s ample room for improvement, but mostly I’m pretty proud of myself, and overall, passing up on the crap has been one of the most positive changes I’ve made this year. The benefits have been pretty obvious, too. More energy. More stamina. Less weight to lug around. Less back pain. Less neck pain. Less flab. Less irritability. Less grumpiness. Increase self-worth. Increased knowledge about food. A better and more refined taste for food that actually offers some health-related value and doesn’t just taste good. Still no abs, but you can't have it all.

I’m pretty sure I’ll never be that guy who looks in the mirror and completely likes what he sees. But these days, I don’t mind that guy looking back at me. That’s more than I can say for the fella I used to stare at, who at any particular moment in time would kind of gross me out. The challenge now is getting this new guy to stick around a while.

Day 277: Fact Checking

It's sad that to cast a responsible vote today for a political candidate, you have to refer to a fact-checking organization immediately after hearing the candidate give a stump speech, debate his or her opponent, or just spin a 30-second soundbite for the local news station. 

Worse, you also have to fact check the fact-checking organization that you turn to because the reality is that a good portion of the fact-checking organizations now in existence are pulling for one candidate more than the other. Don't believe me? Just let me show you any one of my email accounts on any particular morning. I'm barraged daily with the "truth" as presented by more than a few such organizations. They're all eager to point out the lies, exaggerations, and truth-stretching to me. Today, the morning after the first presidential debate, was a doozy. If memory serves, no less than 13 different organizations or representatives of organizations offered their services to set me straight.

Fact checkers have always been around, but I can't recall them ever being so quoted or relied upon.  Seems after any particular convention speech or debate or important appearance, the fact checkers turn up more lies than facts. In addition to representing suspect behavior by candidates (including those from both major parties; I'm not playing favorites here), all the inaccuracies tell me that candidates are taking us for suckers. They think we're too lazy to do some research and call their bluff. They think the average voter only cares about how he or she looks or talks. They think we voters are only headline hunters. We can't dig deeper. The candidates believe we're so tied to our respective parties, we only want rallying cries. Who cares if the cry holds any truth? They think were so partisan in nature that as long as they graze even close to the truth we'll be OK with it. 

Damned thing is, the candidates are mostly right. We are sheep to a great extent. I'm guessing most people do vote with their heart and not their head nowadays. I do believe many people just want to pick sides and not hold everyone responsible for the words they speak. I think politics has become a game instead of a right. It has become a contest instead of electing the best person for the job. I think politics is a matter of taste and lifestyle. I do believe politics has become to a great extent a matter of having the ability to look past a candidates flaws, or worse, justify them. 

It's sad that deceit has become a fine art. It's sadder that the straightest information a person can receive today comes from a television station that's devoted to airing comedy programming. I'd wash my hands of the whole thing and save myself a lot of grief in checking the facts that a checker has already checked, but it's my duty. A lot of people died for me to have this duty. A lot of people sacrificed personal happiness so that I could check the checkers, so that I can listen to a candidate and call "bullshit, sir." So that I can get in line every November and use the power that's been bestowed upon me simply by being born in this country. 

So, I'll watch the debates, no matter how painful they are, and I'll do the due diligence afterward. But I won't kid myself as to what it is I'm watching. The right to free thought is just as important as the right to free speech. 

Day 276: Autumn, A Time For Baseball

If I had my way, I’d park my arse in a comfy chair starting Friday for the first Major League Baseball playoff game and not get up unless it was to feed my face or pay a visit the little boys room until the final out was made in Game 7 of the World Series. Of course, I don’t have my way, and odds are I won’t get to watch even a good chunk of the playoffs, but someday . . . someday I will make the wish a reality. You mark my words. Baseball is my favorite sport. The baseball playoff season is my favorite time of year sporting-wise. Yes, dear family, it’s that time of year ago, when the leaves turn fabulous colors, the air gets nippy, winter clothes come out of storage, and dad/spouse stays up way too late way too often watching inning after glorious inning.

Look, I’m not stupid and I’m certainly not a baseball evangelist. I’ll be the first to admit that the baseball season does stretch on too long, and baseball probably is a boring sport to the casual fan. I understand why football wins out as American’s pastime these days. I understand why the Super Bowl is a national holiday. I understand that baseball will never again reach such heights. It’s destined to be the little brother that no one pays quite enough attention to or bothers to pick first. Baseball is a slow-moving game. There are too many meaningless games. Managers in their retirement years do look silly dressed in uniforms. Players are overpaid. Tickets are too expensive. Yet, I’m a believer in baseball. And here’s why:

• -        Baseball played on autumn-fueled nights are not only brilliant in their visual presentation, they’re full of the most enjoyable stress and pressure that’s ever been cooked up. “On-the-edge-of-my-seat” originated during a baseball game, or at least I envision it did.
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• -        Baseball playoffs are all about matchups, and matchups matter. It’s chess played out in a team format. It’s manipulation. It’s tricks and treats. It’s preparation and intelligence. It’s two generals plotting out a game plan and using their armies to execute it. There are no ties. No sudden playoffs. No overtimes. We’ll play all night if we have to.

• -        Baseball playoffs are all about surprises. The unexpected does occur. The home run no one saw coming does leave the yard. The base that could never be stolen does get snatched. Dominate pitchers do make mistakes. Overpowering hitters do come through. Stars are born before our eyes. Goats are, too. Heroes rise to the occasion, and they just as often fall short of their mark. Players do carry their teams to victory.

• -        Baseball has a universal audience. Mothers, daughters, sons, fathers, grandfathers, uncles, aunts, cousins, friends, acquaintances, and strangers unite to root for the home team. They rise in the middle of the seventh together. They sing together, too. They pass each other’s beers and peanuts down the line. Community.

• -        Baseball is tradition, and no other sport possesses and enjoys as much. It’s the unspoken. It’s the situations. It’s the records. It’s the statistics. It’s the Green Wall, the Ivy, the Cove, the Bronx, the Subway, the hotdogs, peanuts, foul pole, and white chalk. It’s the double play and put out and K. It’s the sacrifice bunt. It’s the hit and run. The playoffs only make each all the more calculated and important.   

• -        Baseball playoffs are all about leisure. Hours to bask in the competition. There is no clock governing time. There’s no time out on the field for review. There’s no flag. No whistle. No penalty box. There’s no technical foul. No jump ball. The most difficult task and skill that baseball requires of its fans is recognizing a balk.

Baseball playoffs have been a major part of my life since I was a grade schooler when my dad let me stay up late on school nights to watch the Royals and Yankees battle deep into the night. When George Brett was a warrior. When Billy Martin became my hero. When I dreamed of playing in the show one day. When I fell off to sleep peacefully and happily when the Yanks won and despondent and angry when they didn’t. Baseball playoffs has been on my car radio via AM stations. They’ve been on my television and computer screens, too. They’ve been in my head and heart, and they always will be. 

In truth, I wished I loved all aspects of my life as much as I love baseball and the playoffs. I’d probably be a better person. 

Day 275: Half The Sky

Sometimes, fate intervenes in such a way that it not only has a profound effect on your life, it changes it, and sometimes, fate changes your life dramatically. I'm not positive, but I think last night was one of those times. As I played Candyland with my daughter, I was trying my best to also watch a U.S. Senate debate between Bob Kerry and Deb Fischer on the local PBS station. After it concluded, a teaser ran for the show coming up next. 

In it, George Clooney spoke about the numerous atrocities committed against women and girls around the world, and in some cases, very, very young girls. These atrocities include everything from sex trafficking, rape, physical and mental abuse to outright murder of babies unfortunate enough to be born females and not males, who hold more "value." As a father of three girls ranging in age from four to 17, I was naturally intrigued. 

The documentary turned out to be entitled "Half The Sky" and was presented through PBS's fantastic "Independent Lens" series. Within minutes I was enthralled, horrified, crying, mystified, demoralized, uplifted, inspired, and incensed. Those feeling haven't altered much in the hours since. 

I won't pretend to be an expert about "Half The Sky," but here's what I can relay. The documentary is based on a book of the same name written by journalist Nicholas Kristof and his wife Sheryl WuDunn, both Pulitzer Prize winners. In the book, the pair tell of their travels and experiences through Africa and Asia and their meetings with "extraordinary women struggling there, among them a Cambodian teenager sold into sex slavery and an Ethiopian woman who suffered devastating injuries in childbirth. Drawing on the breadth of their combined reporting experience, Kristof and WuDunn depict our world with anger, sadness, clarity, and, ultimately, hope. "

The documentary essentially tells those stories from 10 countries, but it does so by involving the help of several female actresses, including America Ferrera, Diane Lane, Eva Mendes, Meg Ryan, Gabrielle Union, and Olivia Wilde. Brilliantly, their celebrity statuses are used to draw attention to issues that need the attention and so much more. You'd be better served by me just letting PBS describe the film: 

Across the globe oppression is being confronted, and real meaningful solutions are being fashioned through health care, education, and economic empowerment for women and girls. The linked problems of sex trafficking and forced prostitution, gender-based violence, and maternal mortality — which needlessly claim one woman every 90 seconds — present to us the single most vital opportunity of our time: the opportunity to make a change. All over the world women are seizing this opportunity.

I've written before about my general appreciation of women. I admire the obstacles that even the most successful of women have to deal with on a daily basis. I admire that despite women still being placed on a different status level than men just because of gender, they continue to battle and make their way. But within the gender, there are women who battle and then there are women who scrap, claw, and literally hold unto for dear life. The women featured in "Half The Sky" fall into the latter camp. These are women who have survived being sold by their own mothers to brothels at the age of three and younger. These are women who have been raped, beaten, left with a sexually transmitted disease, and banished from their families in shame, only to watch the man who did it all to them walk free, if he's ever even arrested in the first place, which most aren't. These are women who are forced to quit school in the first, second, or third grade to stay home and run households, all the while being treated no better than dogs. 

It takes a lot to make me cry. It doesn't happen very often, but when it does, it really does. Last night I cried. I cried hardest for the heroic women who not only survived but now live solely to nurture and better the lives of those girls who have experienced the same evils as they did. I can't say that I've come across more inspiring, magnificent women before. 

In all, the documentary has motivated me to take action. What they means, I don't know exactly yet. But as one women so wisely pointed out, all I need to do is look within my heart to find the answer. We can all do something. We just have to act. Just take the first step. 

I believe my first step is learning more about the Half The Sky Movement. I believe ultimately I'll turn my attention and resources to Room To Read, a program featured in the documentary that works to help educate children who otherwise wouldn't receive one. This includes girls in impoverished countries who have typically been forced to settle for a life sans education and opportunities. 

For those interested, Room To Read was started by John Wood, "an overworked Microsoft executive" who "escaped to Nepal for a much-needed backpacking getaway. While hiking in the Himalayas, John met a Nepalese “Education Resource Officer” who invited him to visit a school in a neighboring village. Little did John know that this short detour would change his life forever. At the school, John saw the harsh reality confronting not only this village, but millions of Nepalese children–a dilapidated schoolroom and a severe shortage of books. John was stunned to discover that the few books this school had had–a Danielle Steele romance, the Lonely Planet Guide to Mongolia, and a few other backpacker castoffs–were so precious that they were kept under lock and key...to protect them from the children!

As John left the village, the headmaster made a simple request: "Perhaps, Sir, you will someday come back with books." His request would not go unheard. John emailed friends asking for help collecting children's books, and within two months had collected over 3,000 books. The following year, John and his father, accompanied by a train of eight book-bearing donkeys, returned to the village in Nepal. Seeing the faces of the children with the books convinced John to leave the corporate world and devote himself to becoming the Andrew Carnegie of the developing world. In late 1999, John quit his executive position with Microsoft and started Room to Read."

Thank you, fate. I owe you one. 

Day 274: Leaves & Wind

There are few things to me more romantic for some reason than leaves and wind coming together in unison. The sounds, the smells, the visions they create are entirely unique, and they have never failed to lift my spirits each fall. Make no mistake about it, I'm completely a summer person. I live for the temperature rising above 80 and staying there. But the fall has it merits. Even a cynical, snow hater like me can admit that. The leaves may signal winter is soon to rear it's ugly face, but that doesn't mean I don't love their beauty. That doesn't mean I can't appreciate the dance they do with the wind sweeping them up. That doesn't mean I can see the leaves for the simple but endlessly joyful gift they are. 

This morning, the combination of wind and leaf infinitely brightened up my otherwise mundane ride to school and then work. As I drove down the roadways of Lincoln, that combination circled my cars windows. They passed in front and under me. They kicked up excitement. They motivated me to take to the woods to see and feel more. It was pretty much all I could do not to open the door and reach out to let my hands scoop up a handful of brown, rusted leaves just to feel them crunch in my grasp. 

The swirling and twirling and whirling of leaves are pretty much the essence of fall. They represent death, but they also represent chaos and hysteria. They present utter change. The leaves and wind present the old being ushered out in anticipation of the new. The dark before the storm. The labor before the birth. 

Nature puts it all right there in front of our eyes, if only we look. A different gift every day. Different interpretations. Different meanings. Different representations. What the leaves me to me probably aren't what they mean to you. The power of the mind. The power of nature to influence the mind. The power of being an individual. 

Day 273: The Week That Was

As a friend pointed out so wisely the other day, these weeks have been so busy and are going by so quickly, it will be Christmas before we know it. I hate that. Really hate it. I hate when time goes too fast to even contemplate. We're too busy trying to keep up with the next minute to appreciate the previous minute that just went by. That's a shame, but it doesn't have to be that way.

At first passing, if asked, I'd say this past week was just about like all the rest. But that's not true. Upon further examination, it was a hell of a week, actually. This past week:

1. I taught my daughter how to play hopscotch, and she was good, and we had a blast. 
2. I roadtripped to Minneapolis with a good friend, saw the Yankees play in a beautiful ballpark, sat about seven rows from the field, and can't wait to do it all over again. 
3. Watched a horrible movie with my wife, missed seeing another movie because we couldn't find a parking place, and couldn't think of anyone I would have rather done each with. 
4. Had a great piece of cheesecake. 
5. Cut my hand on a glass doing dishes and had seven stitches after sitting in the waiting room for four hours. 
6. Went on two walks with my daughter. 
7. Ate a very fine Mexican lunch with two of my three daughters and my wife. Many chips and salsa were consumed. 
8. Watched a very good football game. 
9. Watched "The Avengers" with my very own little, budding superhero. 
10. Ran roughly nine miles.

And that just scratches the surface. I live a pretty good life, but sometimes it takes some reflection to see that through the million and one responsibilities that this life brings. I'm glad I have the sense to see the joys, big and small. That's the whole damn point to begin with.