They say Sunday’s supposed to be a day of rest, but that’s not been true for me for a long time. It’s the only day of the week I have no work obligations at either of my jobs, so it’s become a day I get my longer workouts done. My family is gone in the morning,
Short answer: Why not? The long answer: It turns out, in addition to my other food allergies, I’m allergic to barley. All those times I had heartburn after drinking a few beers with friends? That was the allergy kicking me in the guts. I can do ciders, wheat beer, or even sorghum beer, but no
The Booze: An Old Fashioned cocktail I mixed this one up with Redemption bourbon, simple syrup, and spiced orange bitters from Beehive Bitters. The Old Fashioned has quickly become my go-to cocktail because it softens even the harshest of bourbons without completely killing the flavor. It’s also a great way to enhance a a low-grade
Apparently about a hundred bucks. Last year in January and February, we had a lot more cold and snow than this year. A blizzard roared through one Saturday, and after it quit I went out to hang out with some friends. While I was out, the winds kicked up, the temps plummeted to about 8°F (below
Okay, so maybe it’s not that bad. Here’s the deal: I have several friends who get all choked up when the plants start having sex. The trees and grass start spraying their loads in the air, and these poor bastards start coughing and wheezing and sneezing. I often tell them, “Nature has selected you to die.”
They say Sunday’s supposed to be a day of rest, but that’s not been true for me for a long time. It’s the only day of the week I have no work obligations at either of my jobs, so it’s become a day I get my longer workouts done.
My family is gone in the morning, so that’s when I hit the dojo for practice. I always work kata or other elements of my style (Shuri-ryu), practice some kobudo, and sometimes work in some calisthenics or makiwara work. I do more teaching than practicing these days, so it’s become an important time to get my own practice in and work on corrections and advice from my instructors. In general, though, I’m aiming to get a good sweat.
Later in the evening, when there’s nothing going on at the school I work for, my eldest son and I to sneak into their weight room for squats and related leg exercises. My middle son and I have karate together, so this has the added bonus of spending time with his brother.
I’ve been lifting consistently for about five years, and now that he’s old enough, my son’s caught the bug. I have an Olympic bench and barbell set in my office, and we use that at home for separate workouts. We can do leg curls and extensions on my bench, but nothing beats squats, and I don’t have space at home for a power rack or squat stands.
I’ve thought about hitting the school gym on my own for some time now, but for safety’s sake I waited until I had a partner available. My son’s still a bit small to spot me, but now he’s there to call for help if I have an accident and go down.
Funny thing is, most people still tell me, “You’re too old for that stuff.”
I don’t claim to be a paragon of health, but I’ve seen results. I move better than most people my age. I can lift more than most guys half my age. My heart’s strong, and my doctor doesn’t ride me about my weight. My gut doctor remarked on how much muscle I’m carrying, and even my friends have noticed a difference.
My goal isn’t to get down to 5% body fat and compete in fitness competitions, nor do I intend to step into a cage and fight. I just want to stay healthy. Some of the martial arts instructors I train with are in their 60s and 70s, and when I get to be their age, I want to be active and moving like they are. They may have slowed down a bit, but they’re in far better shape than most of their peers. When people say “move it or lose it,” those are the men and women I picture. They stayed active and it’s paid off for them.
Meanwhile, the naysayers are all trying fad diets or cleanses. They don’t look for the shortcuts because they’re lazy, they just buy into the “you’re too old for that” bullshit and are looking for another solution.
A big part of cutting fat is exercise. It’s not just common sense, it’s proven science:
The other part of it is diet. My own diet can still use a few tweaks, and it doesn’t help that I’ve got a bum thyroid. However, fad diets and cleanses are unsustainable. What’s more is some of them prompt the body to tear down muscle, because muscle is expensive to maintain (calorically speaking). So while those weird shakes might result in temporary weight loss, they can also leave people in worse physical shape.
Most of us think about fat and muscle when we’re talking about fitness, but as we age we should also be thinking about bone health. I’ve seen several older folks with shattered wrists and hips after simple falls. Even moderate activity helps keep bones strong. It’s called Wolff’s Law, and the most obvious example of it I’ve witnessed is in the protruding knuckles of a karate practitioner who has spent a lot of time punching things.
“Too old for this stuff?” Not by a long shot.
Find whatever makes you move and do it! Run. Hit a gym. Join a softball or soccer team. Play racquetball or tennis. Take yoga or spin classes. Ride a bike. Do you. The martial arts just happen to work for me, and it inspires me to dabble in other things like yoga and running so I can be better at karate and judo. There’s bound to be an art that fits your interests, and a good martial arts instructor can often double as a personal trainer.
You’re not too old. My oldest student is 69 years young and trains alongside his grandson. And yes, you have time.
Get to work.
Short answer: Why not?
The long answer: It turns out, in addition to my other food allergies, I’m allergic to barley. All those times I had heartburn after drinking a few beers with friends? That was the allergy kicking me in the guts. I can do ciders, wheat beer, or even sorghum beer, but no more standard barley beers for me.
The good news is, though, if you distill the stuff, it’s harmless. For years I’d only dabbled with some of the well whiskeys and bourbons if people bought me a shot, but then a friend turned me on to Jameson Irish Whiskey, and another friend turned me on to Woodford Reserve, and pretty soon I realized there was a whole new world out there to explore. Add cocktails to the mix and that world becomes even bigger.
I’ve enjoyed reading up on regional blends and flavors, and learning the differences in their histories and what makes a bourbon a bourbon and a Scotch a Scotch. I’m sure I’ll flirt with a few other liquors as well (I’ve had some really good tequilas), but for the moment I’ve barely put a dent in the bourbon selection.
Favorites right now include Four Roses Small Batch, Woodford Reserve, and, from right here in East Peoria, Illinois, J.K.’s Straight Bourbon. The bar where I enjoy my cigars has Knob Creek, which I like okay, but they’ve jacked up the price on it, which sucks.
It’s also given me a good excuse to do the Booze and a Book thing. Look for another entry next week.
The Booze: An Old Fashioned cocktail
I mixed this one up with Redemption bourbon, simple syrup, and spiced orange bitters from Beehive Bitters. The Old Fashioned has quickly become my go-to cocktail because it softens even the harshest of bourbons without completely killing the flavor. It’s also a great way to enhance a a low-grade bourbon and make it more enjoyable.
I rather like the Redemption bourbon straight or in a cocktail. It has a 21% rye mash, so it has just a bit of a spicy kick to make it stand out from some other bourbons.
A traditional Old Fashioned calls for Angostura bitters, but I won a small bottle of the Beehive Bitters through an online offer and it’s a much better flavor. I’ve been nursing the bottle along, and I’m sure I’ll buy one or two of their other flavors when this bottle is done.
The Book: Mage: The Hero Discovered by Matt Wagner
I first read Mage back in high school when two clerks at my local comic shop told me how much they loved it. It was already done and collected in three volumes by then, so I purchased the first one. Before the end of the week, I’d returned for the second two.
I’ve loved this book since. It’s a modern retelling of the Arthurian legend, and it’s just a very clever, beautiful book. It’s been ages since I’ve read it myself, so I’m long overdue for a reread. My sons have both read it, and if you look carefully you can see some of the pages have fallen out because they even re-read it a time or two. I may have to order a new volume.
The second series, Mage: The Hero Defined, is boxed up in single issues somewhere in my longbox collection. I kind of expected the boys to go looking for it, but they never did. I may have to pick up a collected edition of that, too.
The main reason I chose this book this week, though, is because it’s finally been announced that the final series, Mage: The Hero Denied, will be published at last. It’s hard to believe it’s been 18 years since Defined was published. I can’t wait!
Apparently about a hundred bucks.
Last year in January and February, we had a lot more cold and snow than this year. A blizzard roared through one Saturday, and after it quit I went out to hang out with some friends. While I was out, the winds kicked up, the temps plummeted to about 8°F (below 0° with the wind chill), and snow started drifting across most of the roads. By the time I headed home shortly before 1am, things got messy.
I live in a rural area. The wind rips across the corn fields unimpeded, and the population and traffic is low enough in our county that the state’s plowing policy is to aim for 75% clearance. In effect, this means, “You’re on your own, folks.” Also, when climbing out of the Illinois River valley, the hills can turn sketchy quick.
I’ve lived here long enough to get a feel for which roads get the most care, so I gambled on a secondary route home. I also knew the north-south roads would be the worst, and I chose the one that would have the best chance of being clear.
I chose poorly. Once I crossed the county line, road conditions went to crap. A thick layer of snow covered the road about a half mile short of the next town, and when I spotted a pair of flashing taillights up ahead, I stopped.
A second later, this dude comes walking toward me. He’s tall and skinny, wearing nothing but jeans and a hoodie. I get him into the van to get warm, and he tells me his car’s stuck in the snow, maybe partly on the shoulder but mostly on the road. He lives in the town just up ahead, but there’s no way we’re getting through that way.
What’s more, he was getting ready to walk home. He has no phone. In my head I’m thinking this is how a lot of horror flicks start. But he’s about a buck fifty soaking wet, and he’s half frozen, so he’s less than a threat. He uses my phone to call his wife, and we discuss to another nearby town with a Walmart, where his wife can pick him up.
I tell him no way should she be coming out in this mess. I’m too stubborn to grab a hotel room or crash in the car somewhere, especially with a stranger in tow, so I tell him no worries, we’ll try the other route around to his town and see how the roads look.
Back down into the river valley I go. I circle around to my original route and up the hill, which is at least lined with trees before it levels out and cuts across the fields. Turned out it wasn’t such a bad climb after all. A little snow, but no drifts and no ice.
Now this guy, picture a skinny Tommy Chong with long hair—like, past-the-shoulder-blades long—and you’ve got the idea. He was on his way back from a gig with his band, and he works for a music shop in Peoria. Lots of “right on, man” in conversation. We talked about our jobs, our families. Cool dude.
So I get him to town. He lived just off the main drag, and the walk from his stranded car to his house would have been a little over a mile. Again, in sub-zero winds, wearing just a hoodie.
Yeah, he’d never have made it.
Even if he’d had a Tauntaun, it would have frozen before he reached the first marker. We did pass a squad car parked in a bank’s driveway to watch the road, but unless that officer was there the whole time and happened to see him walking by, he’d have dropped from hypothermia and I’d have been reading his obit the following week.
We agreed he was very fortunate. I don’t normally drive that way home, and if I’d been five minutes later, he’d already have left his car. If I hadn’t been stubborn enough to hang out with my friends that night, I wouldn’t have been out there at all. To me, that’s just dumb luck.
To him, it was a bit more than luck. He told his wife God sent him an angel. (Yes, me. Weird, I know.) He called me his angel a couple times, too, and insisted he’d do right by me and buy my wife and I dinner sometime.
I kept thinking, Let’s not make this weird, brother.
I tell him it’s no big deal, I live another ten miles past his town, so either route home still takes me past his place. Even if they didn’t, what am I going to do, flip him the bird and leave him to die? I’d have at least gotten him to a safe, warm place like the 24-hour Walmart or a hotel lobby.
So I get him home. Weeks pass. A thank you note from the guy shows up at work. He closed the note with, “I still owe you!” The Burger Barge gift certificate in the photo above was folded into the page.
Hey, great! My family digs burgers. I throw the card in my notebook and promptly forget about it for the next couple of months.
Summer comes. Kids say they want burgers. Hey, I got this gift card… To the Burger Barge!
My wife and I discussed how much might be loaded on the card. I joked ten bucks. She said maybe fifty, but we settled on $25. We ordered appetizers and let the boys go nuts on burger selection (these guys can eat when we let them). Bill comes to something like $80, and we hand over the gift card.
The waiter comes back, hands it back to me, and wishes us a good day. I automatically hand him my card to pay the balance, and he refuses it.
“You’re good, man. The gift card took the whole thing.”
Well that was unexpected. Jump ahead to this past January, and we used the rest of it. The whole thing was probably around $100.
Not too shabby for a night’s work. Like I said, apparently a man’s life is worth about a hundred bucks.
I kid, of course. Here’s the thing: I’m sure his life’s worth a lot more than a hundred bucks to his wife, who was waiting for him at home that night, wondering why he was so late and fearing the worst. I’m sure it’s worth more than a hundred bucks to their children, even if they are adults themselves.
I’m also sure he could have spent that hundred bucks on better things. I can’t imagine he’s making big bucks working for a music store and doing gigs on the side. That’s a lot of gas and groceries for he and his wife. Or a decent cell phone for next time he’s on the road.
I appreciated that he thought enough of my effort to send me the card, of course, but I’d have been just as content had I never heard from him again. I didn’t pick him up for the reward, and I wouldn’t have been shocked if he never got around to that dinner he’d promised while he was just happy to not be dead on the side of a road. For my side of it, I don’t think I could have lived with myself if I’d turned around and left him there, only to read about him in the paper.
What it comes down to is the value of a human life is what we put on it. With all that’s happening in the news these days, it’d be good if more of us remembered that.
Okay, so maybe it’s not that bad.
Here’s the deal: I have several friends who get all choked up when the plants start having sex. The trees and grass start spraying their loads in the air, and these poor bastards start coughing and wheezing and sneezing. I often tell them, “Nature has selected you to die.”
Now it’s my turn. A couple of years ago, I was diagnosed with a handful of food allergies. Actually, the nurse’s exact words, “I’ve never seen this many positive reactions before.” Broccoli is on the list, which made happy (never could stand the stuff), but so are things I’d been eating most of my life, like tuna, salmon, soy, and even tomatoes.
Understand, I was raised on pasta twice a week and pizza at least once a week. When we moved out of the Chicago ‘burbs and couldn’t get good pizza, my mom drove the good stuff an hour home after work. When the pizza joint found out what she was doing, they gave us one of their delivery warmer bags, free. If there’s anything I’m immune to, its should be any member of the nightshade family.
Yet here we are. The short version is when I eat stuff I’m allergic to, my esophagus has the same reaction as my friends’ windpipes when they inhale pollen: white blood cells rush to defend our body from the wicked invaders and everything swells up. I’ll get heartburn, and if I keep exposing myself to these things, my esophagus can swell up to the point food gets stuck. Too much swelling, and I’ll have to hit an ER to have it extracted.
Fun, right? Oh, and if it goes on too long and goes untreated, there’s always the possibility it could turn into esophageal cancer. Metal. \m/
The treatment after my initial diagnosis was to avoid all the allergens, take Omeprazole, and to use the same inhaler as the pollen-allergic crowd. Instead of inhaling it, though, I swallow it. Within a few weeks the swelling was gone and I had no trouble eating. The follow-up endoscopy a couple of months later showed a clear, healthy esophagus. Score.
But I’m stubborn. I eventually strayed back to old habits. I still avoid tuna and salmon, and might have a little soy at a Chinese restaurant or sushi joint, but like I said, I was weaned on pizza and pasta. Avoiding tomatoes is a tough ask for me, even when most of the pizza around here is garbage. So here I am, two years later, getting food stuck from time to time.
Stupid natural selection.
Last week, I decided it’s time to get disciplined again. I’m gonna avoid all the stuff that triggers my allergies. For reals this time.
I’ve already blown it twice.
First, we had fish (tilapia) on Wednesday. I was working out after dinner, trying to figure out why I had such bad heartburn. Then it hit me: the tartar sauce is made with soybean oil. I checked the label and sure enough, mystery solved. The second time I screwed up, I had ketchup with a meal, and I just didn’t think about tomatoes. (Visiting Mexican joints is also fun when you’re avoiding tomatoes.)
Which leads me to my next point: If you don’t already have food allergies or sensitivities, you have no idea what a pain in the ass it is to shop around this stuff. I got a small sense of it when we scaled back on our sugar intake and avoided high-fructose corn syrup, but man, soy is in a ton of stuff. Mayonnaise, tartar sauce, and salad dressings are largely made with soybean oil because it’s cheap and it’s stable (it won’t spoil on the shelf).
Try it sometime. Pick something to avoid like soy, wheat, or high-fructose corn syrup, and start reading labels in your kitchen. Good luck! I even tried to make gluten-free chili for a potluck, and only found out after the fact that chili beans have wheat in them.
Beans, man! It’s a good thing I pulled the can out of the garbage before taking the crockpot to the event. Two people attending have gluten-free diets, one by choice and one by doctor’s orders.
Which leads to another problem: the food crazies. I went surfing for a mayonnaise recipe, and while there are several, I had to suffer through a couple tirades about the evils of soybean oil to get through them. I’m all about exploring the flavors of the original tartar sauce and mayonnaise recipes, or making something cheaper than packaged goods, but holy hell, I don’t need a tirade about subjecting my kids to the nefarious soy and gluten agendas of Monsanto and Conagra, especially when it’s attached to some shady pseudo-science even the recipe writer doesn’t understand.
For example, one said, gluten is “like glue for your intestines.” Um, no. You want to go paleo, keto, vegan, whatever, knock yourself out. There’s nothing wrong with making choices out of fitness or morality, or even with making a statement against some conglomerate’s marketing and/or competitive practices. Just spare us the junk science and bullshit conspiracy theories.
Anyway. I have to avoid pizza for a while again. And tonight I learned the hard way that extra-virgin olive oil does not make good mayo (too strong), so I need something lighter. Props to Boar’s Head for not putting soybean oil in their Pub Style Horseradish Sauce, giving me an alternative for sandwich at lunch.
Here’s to not letting food kill me any time soon.
We have the power to fill our lives with the things that deserve to be there.
There are a million time management strategies out there, and most of them are bullshit. It always comes down to making time, not finding time.
Vanderkam leans on that same principle of making time versus finding time, but she also makes it plain that there’s a lot more time available than we think.
That’s where procrastination comes in. We don’t feel motivated by the hard stuff, not even the things we want to prioritize. Suddenly we find ourselves reorganizing bookshelves and cleaning toilets (or watching TED talks*) rather than working.
Which leads me to a reminder:
Stop sweating the details and the results and just get to work.
Or you can take a closer look at the mind of a procrastinator with Tim Urban. If you’re going to procrastinate, you may as well understand what’s happening in your brain, right?
Urban really puts things in perspective when he shows you the life calendar. Ouch.
*Actually, I was listening to these in the background while monitoring network traffic and bandwidth, which is a whole ‘nother kind of time suck.
The Booze: Straight Edge Bourbon Whiskey
This bourbon is finished in sherry casks, lending it a sweet flavor that is almost reminiscent of an old fashioned. It’s a smooth, easy drinker, and one I’ve put in my flask a time or two because it’s easy to share with friends. I put most bourbons on ice and sip them slow, letting the ice water them down a bit, but with Straight Edge my glass is often dry well before the ice can melt.
Side note: I picked up a spherical, silicon ice mold after the holidays. It makes a fat ball of ice to chill a drink fast, though the spheres are a bit smaller than I expected. They also tend to fracture along their equator, and the resulting hemispheres melt even faster. They last longer than standard cubes, but if you’re the type of drinker who doesn’t want your whiskey watered down, stick to whiskey stones or even these badass whiskey bullets.
The Book: The Girl With All the Gifts by M.R. Carey
In which I reveal I’m a Kindle reader. Shock! Horror!
Actually, I dig the Kindle Paperwhite quite a bit. It’s small and the backlight is easy on the eyes, which is important because I do a lot of my reading right before I fall asleep. I’ve also passed out and dropped it a few times without damaging the screen.
As for the book, I didn’t pay this one a lot of mind on release because it’s a zombie novel, and I had my fill for a bit. However, several of my friends raved about it, and then it got picked up for movie production (starring Glenn Close):
The earlier teaser trailer sold me. I’m not quite halfway through the book as I write this, but I’m hooked. Carey calls his zombies “hungries,” and the story is set some time after the initial zombie apocalypse rather than during. These are fast zombies for those who care, and Carey draws on nature for the cause of his zombies.
The other difference is the titular character, Melanie, is a smart zombie. Something is different about several child zombies, and as the novel begins the rest of the characters are there to study these kids. We get some background of the world and other characters through Melanie’s eyes, then the shit hits the fan and things start moving along at a good clip.
Carey’s prose is lean and engaging, and he shows good balance between Melanie’s innocence/ignorance and telling the reader exactly what’s happening. Zombie fans will find the usual hunger and chow-down horror here, though Carey doesn’t go overboard with it. Casual readers and horror fans should enjoy it alike.
I’m also pleased to see some of the scenes in the trailer are ripped straight out of the novel. That gives me hope the movie will be pretty great, too.
Now I just need to finish the novel before the movie lands.
If you enjoy horror or dark comedy, then you need to check out Santa Clarita Diet on Netflix.
I shotgunned the whole first season in an evening. The best part is each episode is about a half hour long, so the show moves along quickly and doesn’t get bogged down in back story, dramatic dialog, or lingering shots of scenery to create atmosphere.
The plot is fun. Even if you’re tired of zombies, Santa Clarita Diet brings its own spin to the table. And while it’s definitely a comedy, it’s not a rehash of Shawn of the Dead, either. It’s very much focused on how a boring suburban family—including a soccer mom, an aging dad who has lost his cool, and a bored, rebellious teenager—copes with a major, bizarre change in their lifestyle after mom has to eat people now.
Drew Barrymore and Timothy Olyphant play well off one another, and the supporting cast is a lot of fun. The writing is sharp and witty, and the plot teases out just enough back story over the course of the season to keep the audience interested. Nor do the writers make the viewers suffer through an “information dump” episode. There are a few instances the writers appear to set up a trope from horror or zombie flicks, only to take it in a different direction.
Even better, the characters actually grow and change. The first episode dives right in without wasting time on setup. The stakes are raised for the characters throughout the season, both in terms of the family’s relationship and the dangers of their circumstances. While I feel the characters are archetypes reflecting the humorous side of the series, they still evolve with each new challenge.
I’m ready for season two. Bring it on.
The Booze: Templeton Rye (4 year)
I dig bourbon, but I’ve started to flirt with ryes and rye blends and Templeton makes some good stuff. It’s sweet, with notes of caramel and just a bit of a burn when it goes down neat. I’ve tried the six year as well, and my only regret is not trying them side by side.
This is also the first time I brought out one of the Glencairn whiskey glasses I got for Christmas. They claim the shape of the glass concentrates the aroma, and they weren’t wrong. Would I use them every time? Probably not, but I’ll definitely run a few more drinks through them to get a better sense of their nose.
The Book: Dynamic Karate by Masatoshi Nakayama
One of my students was a Shotokan practitioner twenty years or so back, and he loaned me this book. I have a shorter, sort of companion book by the same author, Best Karate Volume 1: Comprehensive. Both books deal with basics and fundamentals, and another student asked why I’d need to read it if I already knew most of what’s in them. The rest, he felt, would probably be specific to Shotokan or at least be handled differently in our style.
I told him that’s not exactly true. Sure, the basic techniques—the punches, kicks, blocks, and stances—are effectively identical, but fundamentals are always important and I’ve already picked up a few differences in language and a few nuances that might help explain techniques to students having trouble picking things up.
In short, even if it doesn’t enhance my own training or karate knowledge, it will at least help my instruction, and that alone makes it a worthwhile read.
I tell my students, “The day you stop learning is the day you stop living.” Practice is important, but studying is also important, especially for advanced students. It applies to more than just the martial arts, too. Writers, for example, should be studying their craft and learning from others. I have friends in their 30s and 40s going back to school and taking new career paths.
It’s never too late.
For the first time in ages, I suddenly find myself forced to sit and relax.
It’s Columbus Day, so I have the day off from the day gig, and it’s Monday, so I have the day off from the night gig. That made it the perfect day to get some new tires for Lenore, and I set the appointment a few weeks ago.
I layered up for a chilly morning ride. The forty-minute trip is the longest ride I’ve been able to make this season, partly because of the old tires and partly because I spent a lot of time ferrying kids and/or gear around. It felt damned good to be on two wheels again, despite the two pinheads who tried to ruin my day by pulling out in front of me.
Bad news and good news at the bike shop. The bad news is my tires didn’t get ordered. I wasn’t looking forward to the idea of burning vacation time to make another trip back, but worst case, it’s doable. Fortunately they had some different tires in stock and, after cutting me a bit of a deal for the inconvenience, it shaved quite a bit of moolah off my original quote.
Works for me.
They only have one service tech, so install’s gonna be a while. One of the parts guys gave me a ride to a Starbucks down the street, and fortunately I had the foresight to bring a Chromebook along. Now I find myself sitting here with time to actually get something done for the first time in a long while.
Where the hell did this year go? I haven’t been on the motorcycle, my writing has suffered, my workouts have suffered, I haven’t touched my camera in over a year, and I have several projects that need to be done at home.
Damn. Something’s got to give.
In the meantime, I have two anthology invitations and several projects that need my attention. Let’s see if I can’t finally put a dent in one.
Labor Day. I guess Summer’s done, then.
This one shot by in a flash. The daily grind of two jobs played a role in that, I’m sure.
My family has gone back in the house, and as I sit here watching this evening’s backyard bonfire die down, I’m thinking about the long list of things I intended to accomplish over the summer. I haven’t finished a single one.
That’s part of why my cigar time is so valuable to me. I’ve talked about it before, how it forces me to slow down and sit still for a while. Sometimes I write a little, sometimes I noodle over work- or family-related things, and sometimes I just plain tune out and chill.
Soon, though, it’ll be too cold. I won’t have this cigar time, and this year that worries me more than ever before. I realize now I need to find a new zen to fill the void. It may be as simple as cleaning the office again, turn it back into a workspace rather than a collection point for all the paperwork and bullshit that stacks up in our kitchen. Reclaim a space where I can spread out with creative and brain fuel rather than chaos and stress.
Or maybe it’s the bourbon and cigar talking.
My last Gurkha Yakuza cigar is burning down with the fire, and I’m not all that sad to see them go. They’re not a bad smoke, but they’re definitely not a casual, anytime cigar for me.
The Yakuza has a medium-full body, with a heavy, leathery smoke that has a subtle bite almost like gunsmoke. Seems rather fitting for the brand. Though the wrapper is on the dark side, it’s not oily or bitter like, say, a maduro, with a lighter taste not indicative at all of what’s to come once it’s lit. And despite the stronger flavor, it doesn’t linger long on the palate or overpower an accompanying drink.
So, while not unpleasant, it demands one’s attention. It’s a quality smoke, like much of the Gurkha line, but not one I’d pass around to my friends who prefer lighter or even flavored cigars. It’ll be one I’d pick up as part of a mixed package in the future, or as a one-off smoke at a shop when I’m in the mood for something heavier.
“Period. Full Stop. Point. Whatever It’s Called, It’s Going Out of Style” is a bit of a mind bender.
My first reaction was, “What? No way.” Then, halfway through the article, I realized the Times had pulled a fast one: they only used a period once to make a point (no pun intended). The rest of the article? Bereft of periods.
And it’s still perfectly readable.
I’ll admit I’m one of those annoying people who writes text messages in complete sentences, and unless I’m in a real hurry I’ll even copy edit the damned thing before hitting send. Am I just doing it out of habit? If so, is it habit of upbringing, or habit because I think like a writer?
Just now I grabbed my phone and surveyed various messages from friends. My first thought: maybe just the avid readers type in full sentences? Not so much. Two guys my age, one a reader and one not, write in full sentences. A few people several years behind me? Not a period to be found, except one case where there were two sentences in the same text. When she didn’t use exclamations or question marks, there was only a period to end one sentence, and the second sentence was left without.
All of their messages make perfect sense, and I’ve long since stopped noticing the missing periods. And they’re using full sentences, not abbreviations and acronyms. (Maybe those died with the death of numeric keyboards and the rise of autocorrect and predictive text? Either way, I don’t miss them.) I don’t get the impression they much care I use periods, and they certainly don’t take them as aggressive or indicative of emotion. Perhaps it’s time to see how our high school students feel about it.
Language has always been dictated by usage. English has changed quite a bit since Shakespeare, as evidenced by Shakespeare presented in its original pronunciation. Check out this discussion and demonstration by the same linguist cited in the period article:
Fascinating stuff, really. Perhaps we’re seeing language evolve rapid-fire before our eyes in the form of digital content.
Perhaps, then, the period is no different from manuscript habits like using two spaces after a period or double-spacing after line breaks. I once drove an editor mad with tabs at the beginning of paragraphs because software handles first-line indents now, and he finds that a lot more flexible with digital publishing. Are they next to go, or is it just him?
That all said, I don’t see the period disappearing anytime soon. I’m sure publishing will be slow to take up such a drastic change, and academia is even slower. I’ll find it hard to give up the period, even if someone somewhere leads the charge to make it official. I’m sure copy editors and typographers are already having heart attacks at the thought of it.
The next generation may not care. If my kid takes up writing like he says he’d like to, how will his habits change within the next 10-15 years?
On the one hand, it may be a function of design. I read about the punctus in a similar article. That thing sounds pretty cool, but it’s long dead. I bet most of you are googling it right now (and look how “googling” has become a verb, even for those goofy people who still do it on Yahoo!).
It’s about more than just readability, too, because most of us have seen variations of this crop up on our Facebook feeds:
I do wonder about the effect dumping the period would have on someone with dyslexia, or other learning disabilities. Or “emerging readers” (elementary students). That might be a question to bounce off the special ed teachers and reading specialists at my day job.
I’m not advocating for or against the period. My gut says, “This is madness!” Yet my brain had no problem processing the article without periods, and I’ve been reading texts and email from people without them for years. We gave up the fight for good grammar in texts and email a long time ago, with exceptions for situations like job applications.
Language evolves, whether oral or written.
Perhaps it’s a matter of ephemera. A text is not meant to last. Neither is a tweet. Nor any other social media output. They’re all mean to communicate something quickly and disappear, despite being stored in a feed until an account is deleted. Even this blog post will scroll on back in time, read for a few days—or perhaps just hours—and quickly forgotten. If it is going to be thrown away or has to be shoehorned into 140 or 160 characters, it really doesn’t matter.
Consider, then, e-books. Are they ephemeral?
“But Mike, books are available forever!”
We’d like to think so, wouldn’t we? Writers love the idea of books stocked in perpetuity, sitting in dusty stacks to be discovered by future generations. With the sheer volume of digital output produced every moment, though, this is increasingly unlikely. I don’t peruse my e-book collection, and I’d hazard to guess those of us who wistfully fondle our bookshelves are very much in the minority.
It’s all consumed and forgotten, consumed and forgotten. As evidence, we can point to the endless number of books published and forgotten over the last 100 years. Walk into any used book store and consider how many books were consumed and discarded. Why pretend e-books are any different? Because Amazon can let you leave it on their servers forever? They’re just going to get buried deeper and deeper beneath the ever-expanding catalog, just like that used book store overflowing its stacks.
A hundred years from now, maybe the period will go the way of the punctus, and language will have come full circle. Maybe someone will find an ancient link to Winter Kill and say, “This #book has periods, how quaint Now where the hell is book three”
I bounced the article off several English teachers. Two noticed the lack of periods, neither liked it, and one felt the article writer “cheated” by using several single-sentence paragraphs. Good luck filling long literary or non-fiction passages with a lack of periods.
Another didn’t notice the lack of periods, but had the same feeling: dense paragraphs of text would be tedious.
And let’s consider, the whole reason the punctus and later the period were invented were because of those long, dense paragraphs of text. We want to be entertained or enlightened by reading, not fatigued. Which, to me, comes right back to there being a big difference between direct, ephemeral communication like a text message and something intended to be around for a while.
Finally, the special ed teacher said the period is a big part of learning to read, especially for emerging readers with difficulties. Removing punctuation would make things considerably more difficult for a large portion of their classrooms.
But if we put emoji in their place. . .
Jesus. I don’t even want to think about that anymore.