Unappealing Ice Cream Flavors Created on Iron Chef America

• Trout
• Scallop
• Purple Peruvian Potato
• Veal Sorbet
• Bacon
• Turkey Sorbet
• Asparagus
• Sugared Salmon with Beet Sorbet
• Lentil
• Olive Oil
• Vanilla Ice Cream - with Lobster Sauce
• Skirt Steak
• Prosciutto
• Tomato Sorbet
• Balsamic Sorbet
• Bacon
• Coleslaw

Source: My traumatized memory and GSNN.

Ooh, Slow First Day Back at the Gym

Two realizations on my strength and I get older:

1. How much less I've got, and
2. How quickly it goes

Yesterday was my first day back to the Planet Fitness gym after the week off for Thanksgiving, and I was seriously sucking wind.  In times past, I would return from an occasional week off reinvigorated and have a really good work-out.  Yesterday I couldn't finish my usual warm-up.  OK, it was a warm-up 5K on 8.2mph, but still, it's only been a week.

It could be that this break involved a steady diet of Stew Leonard's cheese bagels and ice cream sandwiches with an all-out Thanksgiving gorging, coupled with mostly a lot of lying around on the couch.  Hopefully yesterday I was just working the last of the tryptophan out of my system.

It does concern me that a more rapid loss of gains could be part of a larger downward trend.  I'm definitely sure I can't lift as much as I used to.  The hard thing is that the memory lasts longer than the body.  Years ago I met my thesis adviser at school's gym one morning just getting back into it (guy was probably only a few years older than I am now), and he lamented to me that "you can remember what you used to be able to do", but if you start with that weight again, you're straining out the second rep.

Heading back today of course for some cardio - consistency is the key - my muscles weren't too sore this morning so I think it's mostly my stamina that went.  December is a weird month and I'm already looking at the calendar for when I'll have to miss - it looks like I'll be back home for the last third of the month in the same routine as last week.  It's sad to think at best now at the gym I'm only lessening what the December holidays are going to do to my body.  Playing for keeps starts in January.

Hiding What I'm Reading

The book I am currently reading, London Fields by Martin Amis, contains a fair amount of naughty bits.  I'm only a third of the way through, enough to know the movie version would be rated R for language and sexual situations - today the protagonist of the black comedy insouciantly justified rape.

I'm painfully self-conscious and worry even about the options of complete strangers.  So it was only after I was assured my seatmate was sufficiently conked out that dared to crack open my book on the Amtrak back to Providence this morning.  There's a lot in there that'd be easy to take out of context.

Several years ago I sat down on a plane to read a book entitled White Man's Burden (by Bill Easterly) for an economics class.  Guess who sat next to me?  A non-Caucasian, let's just say that.  If it came up I could have explained that the book was actually about identifying effective development strategies - a noble goal, of course - but it coming up at all means digging myself out of a hole so I simply buried the spine (displaying the title) in my lap until we departed the plane.

Amtrak coach is cramped enough that it's easy to read over someone's shoulder, and books cannot accommodate privacy screens.  Computers can, but no one bothers with them.  On the train home last Monday I couldn't look up without looking straight into the movie some college kid was watching on his laptop (this morning those same college kids were mostly asleep).  All was pretty tame.  The person in front of me watched Captain America, to my right, Titanic.  So, no one's media choice revealed their perversions, only how boring they are.

Now, back when I was in college - on a trip to the NCAA basketball tournament I ended up sitting next to the mascot on the plane.  On his laptop, in loop, he played the scene in Road Trip when Amy Smart takes her shirt off on loop, pausing it at the most obscene point when the the flight attendants passed.  Maybe you don't have to worry about shame when you hide inside a giant foam head.

It was this memorable plane ride I recalled when I heard how over this most recent Thanksgiving travel period a flier was in arrested in Boston after other passengers noticed him viewing child pornography on his laptop.

Certainly, such a gross episode makes all other questionable viewing seem strictly PG-13.  But, I still retain my self-consciousness.  I wouldn't reveal to my mom what I was reading when she asked, lest she seek the book out, read it herself, and confirm my exposure to the F-word (Fiction, Adult).

A New Mass Begins Today

Today, November 27th 2011 is the first Sunday of Advent, the first Sunday of the new Catholic liturgical year, and the first Sunday a new English translation of the Catholic Mass is being implemented.

The purpose is to move the mass nearer to the original Latin.  A widely cited example (likely because it occurs within the first five seconds of mass) is that when the priest greets the people with "The Lord be with you", instead of "And also with you", the people now respond "And with your spirit".

Awkward, but I'm no writer.  My first thought upon hearing of the coming changes was sympathy for the all the 80 year-old priests, old dogs who have to learn new tricks after decades of a particular litany ingrained deep into their brains.

As with the rest of us.  My own personal concern was that I would feel somehow an obsolete Catholic.  I do not have a perfect attendance record by any means, but have gone enough that I can get by through motor memory of my mouth.  Certainly not anymore.  Worse, I am also concerned I will feel a disconnect with the Church I grew up with.  It was comforting to have an unchanging continuity, to go to mass for an hour and hear the same unchanging words, anywhere I went, as I did when I was eight.

I slept in this morning but my mom went and told me even the priest was reading off the card.  The people, she said, recited a mix of the new and old.  She felt the new translation is a step back.  When she was young and the mass initially changed from Latin, she said there was an similarly awkward, almost too literal translation.  She preferred the version I grew up which had a more common language usage, which she found more accessible.

I'm not sure how other languages handle their translations from Latin.  At Columbia, our Polish chaplain criticized English (or the American version, anyway) as the only translation to begin the Nicene Creed with "We Believe" - the Latin is Credo, "I believe" - because "Americans think they're special".  I liked our version, it gave a sense of community.  Unfortunately, he won: the Nicene is changed because to  "I believe" in the new version.

I'll be interested to see the faces of the Christmas/Easter Catholics this Christmas when the mass gets going.  Will they worry they've walked into the wrong building?

Epicurus on Happiness (and Shopping)

Did you enjoy your retail therapy, America?  Did it make you happy?  I would guess not in the long run.  Gift-giving and charity are supposed to bring joy, but sadly Black Friday is becoming increasingly about getting a great-priced HDTV for one's self.

Almost five years ago, Christmas 2006, I was home and bummed having ended a long-term relationship.  Flipping channels, I came across Alain de Botton's Philosophy: A Guide To Happiness on PBS World, right at the beginning of Socrates' episode.  It was a heaven-send, and greatly consoled me through the pain I was feeling and brought be comfort.  It was so good, that I stuck around for the next episode in the series, featuring Epicurus and his perspcription for happiness.  It was a different subject-matter, though similarly helpful:

The issue is this: we want, for example, friendship, which everyone agrees brings happiness.  Knowing this, advertisers display a group of friends laughing in camaraderie around a television.  The implied subtext is that if we had that TV, we could have parties, and the socialization and good cheer that comes with them.  So, we buy the television as a means to an end: friendship.  Epicurus reminds us that if we want friendship, the television isn't necessary.  Moreover, if the TV was ever necessary for those others to be spending time with us, then as our mothers would agree, they were never really our friends.

So, most of our problems are due to that we're confused on how to attain happiness.  Friends are free, or they should be.  I found Epicurus's philosophy encouragingly optimistic and accessible.  Part 3 of Epicureanism's simple Four-Part Guide for Happiness states:

What is good is easy to get...

Also from the video, I found it interesting that a wealthy devotee of Epicurus had plastered a local market with reminders of such teachings.  What if everywhere in our local malls were posted: "Go ahead and buy, but it won't make you happy".


------------------------------
Incidentally, the documentaries are based on de Botton's excellent book, The Consolations of Philosophy, which I borrowed from Norwalk's public library the very next business day.  Stumbling across that documentary was an awakening and I count it as a turning-point in my life.

The Time Costs of My Thanksgiving Television

About five years ago I gave up cable TV and never looked back.  I've saved hours on my life, countless brain cells, and upwards of $50 each month, so let's say between $2,000 and $3,000 - oh Jesus - and counting.  Between Hulu.com, ordering entire seasons through Netflix, and the TVs at the gym I still manage to get a satisfying programming fix.  About ten TVs play simultaneously at the gym, and I'm always revlived to confirm that there really is nothing on aside from Law & Order episodes and a seemingly daily marathon of Kim Kardashian's wedding, which even her divorce isn't stopping.

My mother still subscribes to cable, and when I visit during holidays it's a chance to catch up on what I've been missing (for some reason when we watch together the intersection on what everyone can tolerate is HGTV renovation shows).  Fortunately, during the holidays there are always lots of good movies.  Since Wednesday I've watched four classics: Gone with the Wind, Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, Miracle on 34th Street, and The Godfather last night.  Although The Godfather is really really good I found I increasingly dreaded the coming commercial breaks.  This was especially due to these very bad Walmart commercials that kept playing.  Often during the same commercial cycle Walmart took out multiple Black Friday ads.  The more I watched the more annoying they became.  I covered my ears to avoid the torture.  I felt I was being brainwashed.

I don't usually watch so much TV, and I wanted to figure out how much of my life I was giving up to commercials to watch these movies.  The metrics are easy.  Take a typical sitcom, slotted 8-8:30 (30 minutes) which is well-know to only be about 22 minutes of programming.  Nothing is for free, and so even analog users "pay" to watch the shows by sitting through 8 minutes of commercials (cable users pay twice, via commercials and cable bills).  In a sense, each minute of commercials "buys" 1.4 minutes of sitcom programming for the viewer.

I calculated the minutes of movie purchased by each commercial minute for the four movies I'd watched.  The slotted times were easy to remember or look-up from yesterday's TV listings.  In terms how that time divides into movies and commercials, I discovered that when you enter [movie name] running time into the Google search bar you are given an estimate of the film's running time, pulled from wikipedia.org, amazon.com, fairly reliable sources.  Of course there could be further editing for TV, but I ignore that for now.

The results are below.  The abbreviation "mb" stands for number of "minutes bought" of the movie by each minute of commercial.

• Gone with the Wind: Slotted for 300 minutes, Run Time 222 minutes - 2.8mb
• Snow White and the Seven Dwarves: Slotted for 95 minutes, Run Time 83 minutes - 6.9mb
• Miracle on 34th Street: Slotted for 120 minutes, Run Time 96 minutes - 4.0mb
• The Godfather: Slotted for 240, Run Time 175 - 2.7mb

Longer movies are clearly much more time expensive - The Godfather was 2.5x more so than Snow White.  Each minute of commercial break during Snow White bought almost seven minutes of movie.  My interpretation is that longer movies allow the advertisers to fit more commercials in.  There's no volume discount here.  On the other hand, a minute of 30-minute sitcom commercials only buys 1.4 minutes of programming, the most expensive of all.  A more complete analysis would account for more characteristics - all else equal, programming with more desirability (perhaps prime-time sitcoms vs. cable movie reruns) should be more time expensive.  There is also already an existing price mechanism in how much advertisers pay for the privilege of airing commercials - it would be interesting to see in what cases that cost is shirted to viewers or borne by advertisers.

Lastly, the quality of commercials was not accounted for here, but makes a big difference, too.  The Walmart Black Friday commercials last night were particularly tedious, and unfortunately more frequent.

Holiday Overlap

When Santa Claus arrives at Herald Square later this morning in Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, it represents the utmost visual concurrence of two holidays.  It is simultaneously both Thanksgiving and Christmas in the most natural sense of the intersection.

In the holiday season we rapidly progress from Halloween to Thanksgiving to Christmas to New Year's, without well-defined delimiters.  Cashier isle magazines have already been changed to their Thanksgiving issues before Halloween even arrives.  Fortunately Halloween and Thanksgiving both contain elements of harvest festivals and so the blend is natural.  I view pumpkin pie has having the greatest cross-over appeal.  It is a kind of final stage of the pumpkin cycle - evil Jack O'Lanterns redeemed into sweet dessert.

Much has already been said of Christmas creep.  I think it nothing to hear Christmas music in the malls mid-November.  But now Christmas has increasingly cannibalized November, so that preparations for decorations in stores have begun before I've even put my pumpkin out.

I endeavored to identify items with a foot in both Halloween and Christmas.  I thus present, to the best of my knowledge, the overlap of Halloween and Christmas:

• Tim Burton's "The Nightmare Before Christmas"
• B-Horror film "Jack Frost"
• The Ghost of Christmas Future
• Sexy Santa, Ms. Claus, or Elves costumes
• The song "Linus and Lucy", featured in both the Halloween and Christmas Charlie Brown specials
• Late October in many stores

Happy Thanksgiving!!!

Phaedrus' Pharwell

And on the final day of the Olympics, I leave you with another Greek's farewell blessing...from Plato's Phaedrus...



Socrates: "Dear Pan and all you gods of this place, grant me that I may become beautiful within; and that what is in my possession outside me may be in friendly accord with what is inside. And may I count the wise man as rich; and may my pile of gold be of a size which only a man of moderate desires could bear or carry.



Do we still need anything else, Phaedrus? For me that prayer is enough."



Phaedrus: "Make the prayer for me too; for what friends have they share."



Socrates: "Let's go."

Born on Third, Thinking They Hit a Triple - And Those Born Outside the Ballpark

I’ve realized I’ve been flaunting a lot recently with the theme of unrealized potential. I’d like to do a little more with that today. A couple weeks ago, Matt Bai wrote the article “Is Obama the End of Black Politics?” for The New York Times Magazine, with the section:

Elijah Cummings, the former chairman of the Congressional Black Caucus and an early Obama supporter, told me a story about watching his father, a South Carolina sharecropper with a fourth-grade education, weep uncontrollably when Cummings was sworn in as a representative in 1996. Afterward, Cummings asked his dad if he ad been crying tears of joy. “Oh, you know, I’m happy,” his father replied. “But now I realize, had I been given the opportunity, what I could have been. And I’m about to die.” In any community shadowed by oppression, pride and bitterness can be hard to untangle.

Cummings’ father was referring to a deliberate and intentional oppression. What about circumstances where people are never allowed to develop to their potential simply given the conditions of the environment which they were raised into? Many of the great thinkers were born into wealthy families – the common interpretation was that the capacity for higher through was exclusively hereditary, ignoring the obvious (and in my view probable) alternative that wealth set-up an individual for further greatness in the event a genius emerged.

Maybe in an isolated tribe in the bush, there exists a human with – or at least the potential for – incredible genius, with the ability to make breakthroughs that might ameliorate the conditions of mankind. Yet that genius remains untapped, simply because of the circumstance this person was born into, isolated and never connected to the rest of society. Instead of curing cancer, reforming government justly, or solving the energy crisis, they spend their days flinting tools from stones.

During the opening ceremonies of the Olympics, as the Palestine delegation entered the stadium, the commentators identified one athlete as a swimming and commented that the there isn’t a single Olympic-sized pool in all of the terretories. Imagine a country without swimming pools – maybe there’s a natural-swimmer there greater than Phelps that never had a chance to discover what he might have been.

It's True, It's True!

Henry Cejudo, the 21 year-old U.S. wrestler who grabbed gold in Beijing was the hero of his event, but 12 years ago in Atlanta, Kurt Angle won gold and later made the transition to the WWF, lecturing crowd of the philosophy of his 3 i's: Intensity, Integrity and Intelligence. You could see the technical finesse in the simplest of his moves. But moreover, he was undoubtedly the funniest wrestler. He would make fun of the local sports teams, especially when there was a scandal in the news: "unlike Darryl Strawberry, the only thing I'm addicted to is gold" or telling the Boston crowd if only they followed his three I's, they might actually be able to win a World Series. More broadly he would parade around ridiculing the stereotypes of wherever his visited (such as threatening calling INS to the crowd in San Diego):

• And just like so many other cities in this great nation, Greensboro, North Carolina doesn't' have the most intelligent people in the world and nor will they ever.But, just like the old song goes: two out of three ain't bad, so if you stick with the intensity and the Integrity, you'll do just fine.
• Virginia is for lovers, provided those lovers are not from the same family
• (In D.C.) Like George Washington, I cannot tell a lie. The Big Show is a big waste of talent. And Like Abraham Lincoln, I'm honest almost to a fault. If the Big Show had my 3 I's, then maybe he wouldn't be such a big disappointment and like Marion Barry, actually I'm nothing like Marion Barry and shame on you for reelecting that guy.
  I'm the European Champion. But I realize down here in Texas, not a lot of people know where Europe is. But hey, hold on a second, its not your fault. Actually its your educational system here in Austin Texas. It is. But once I win that belt, not only do I promise to entertain, but I promise to educate you as well."
• I used to think the only good things to come out of Canada were maple syrup and Michael J. Fox, but I was wrong.

He often mocked his fellow wrestlers: "Down here, I see a 7 foot tall 340 pound bag of muscle who hides behind a mask and doesn't speak a word and why, because he lacks integrity and he obviously lacks intelligence. Sure he has intensity. There's no doubt about that, but that can only take you so far, Kane."..."Maybe if you spent a little less time crying over spilt milk, and a little more time drinking it like me, you'd finally be a winner"..."I just want to say to everyone that, even though I suplexed an eighty-two-year-old pregnant woman, I am still a role model for children, not to mention elderly people as well." His very best commentary very knowingly poked fun at the ridiculousness of the WWF:

• (On Scotty 2 Hotty's "worm") If your Olympic Hero were to use the Worm in the 1996 Olympic Games, it would be so embarrassing to all the other athletes - and our country, mind you - that the USA would have finished behind Guam.
• ...not to mention our former tag team champions lost their titles after my good friend Christian was hit in the genitals with a hockey stick by a midget! I mean enough is enough."
• (To "Justin Credible") You know... when one speaks your name very fast, it just sounds like just incredible
• (To "The Undertaker") Undertaker, if that is your real name..."

Life needs more Kurt Angles'...

In Scott's bedroom is a Polaroid picture of my brother (he was probably about 11 or 12 at the time), Angel's huge arm is around him. We were both fans and I - a freshman in college at the time - told him about a visit Angle was making to Trumbull mall, so Scott went, excited to meet his hero. Angle came to him when his back was turned, and the picture was taken just after Scott turned around. He looks so happy in the picture. When times were rough for him, and especially the night he died, I always wonder if he looked at the picture. I also think of the picture - the younger, happier version of himself - looking out into the room at him, silent witness to whatever misery might be going on.

But thank you for taking the picture with him, Kurt Angle. It meant - it means - a lot to me.

Supermom

The Today Show ran a segment this morning about Olympic moms. I can picture the scene in the stadium. It's before the match; as mom spit-mousses her son's cowlick down, she catches sight of her rival, thinks of their many brutal encounters. Her expression cools and eyes narrow: "Run along and play, Billy....Mommy's gotta go to work..."

Bronze Badge of Courage

Walter Dix won a bronze medal in the 200m track and field; he originally placed fifth but a double disqualification - two runners stepped on the lane lines - moved him up to third place.

When he heard the news, his response was something akin to: "but I still lost..."

It's actually a horrible way to win a medal: someone else's screw-up. Deep down he could believe he only won on a technicality - two other runners were really faster than him, and even if any advantage from stepping on the line was accounted for, they still would have had faster times. I wonder if silver medalists promoted to gold after a doping scandal wonder if, even with the drugs, the disgraced athlete really was better. Even if they cheated, perhaps if they didn't cheat, the outcome would have been the same - to receipt of the gold medal is a lie: the cheat should have it. The holder doesn't deserve it. I wonder if these thoughts stir in the promoted-gold-medalist's mind late at night.

The first wrestling medal I ever won was 3rd place...out of three in the weight class. It was the worst feeling - like getting an award for sucking.

It's a funny story now, but I pretended to be sleeping the whole bus ride home. I hid that medal in my drawer: I always hoped my first medal would be a source of pride. I wonder if medals won by others' disqualifications are displayed or hidden?

Biased Sample

On the MARTA there's a commercial that regularly runs displaying a "typical" time at Harrah's Casino. Wow! I should really go...the gentlemen win every bet they make and moreover find no shortage of beautiful women casting seductive glances their way.

China similarly is casting a polished - and from what I've heard, deceitful - image of the country to coincide with the games. Like the China pavilion at Epcot. Weren't people calling these the genocide Olympics? Did impressive opening ceremony choreography just displace the uncomfortable realities in our minds?

Never Say It's Over: Forever's a Long Time

Here I am, at 27, starting school in the fall. 10 years ago I certainly never thought I'd be here now. How many summers did I say it was my last summer working at Stew Leonard's, only to return the next fall? I was back at cashier after earning my master's degree. How many times did I think I'd never talk to a certain person again, even ten years ago, not predicting Facebook and all the ways to reconnect again. I've learned to never say never, because the rest of my life is a long time, and a lot can chance that I would never imagine.

A shout-out to Oksana Chusovitina, 33, the gymnast I previously mentioned who took home the silver last night on vault in gymnastics. I'm sure there was one day when she thought she'd never do gymnastics again, and here she is, the second-best in the world (and personally I thought she should have gotten gold - the first place winner had bad landings...).

Sunday Secrets

One of my favorite things to do each Sunday is read the secrets at PostSecret. I finally thought of a secret to send in (i.e., I realized something about myself that I want to be a secret)...when I have some time I'll do some arts n' crafts and make a postcard...stay tuned - I won't say which one it is but I'll post if it's accepted...

One week left of the Olympics, and this blog's postings, though it, like the Olympics, will return...

Lightning Bolt

Usain Bolt is fastest man alive, after yesterday running the 100m in 9.69 seconds.

The guy’s name is Bolt – he was always destined to be fast, with a cartoonish inevitability, like Captain Hook ending up with a hook or Remus Lupin becoming a werewolf.

It brings to mind the very self-aware Spiderman II’s great line (via J. Jonah Jameson) which I love: "Guy named Otto Octavius winds up with eight limbs. What are the odds?"

Swimming for a Cause

On the Today Show this morning the conversation was not about Michael Phelps: The Swimmer but Michael Phelps: The Millionaire. The claim is that with the money he is/will make he will never have to work again. Well, MC Hammer and Mike Tyson probably thought at one point the money would last forever – though Phelps isn’t living such extravagant standards. No pet tigers.

I’m so fiscally responsible that if I won the lottery I’d never run out of money and so would never need to work again…but I’d want to. It’s the boredom, you see.

They talked of Phelps starting a foundation as those with too much money often do. One person interviewed said he will probably want to spread the gospel of swimming: promote a sport that has done so much for him. “The Michael Phelps Center for Kids Who Can’t Swim Good…Yet”. Poetic irony would be a protégé of Phelps breaking his record one day – Phelps knowing the record would still be standing if he never while the former PhelpsPhan stares him down with a defiant rebelliousness: “now the student has become the teacher… “ What I do agree with is their claim that Phelps is probably inspiring a new generation of swimmers.

At least in the short-term.

I’ve certainly been planning to cross-train in the pool, and watching his races makes me think what good exercise it would be; it’s pushing me to get in there quicker. But I’m easily malleable like that. Watching gymnastics in the 1990s, I would run around my house doing summersaults. Yet, when I feel that cold water my interest in swimming will experience shrinkage – and the youngins’ watching the games now have Wii, so how long will it last? I thought I might want to go into politics after staying home sick one day watching the movie “Dave” on TV. It took a year of Advanced Placement Comparative Politics and half-semester of undergraduate political science to make me realize what a dry boring topic it was, just invented for phonies to fill their egos. But I digress. If Phelps inspires many, and only a few stick with swimming, then at least some will have found a calling, and that’s a beneficial multiplier effect we cannot deny.

The Dream Team

It's August 14th, 6 months since Valentine's Day...and six months 'til Valentine's Day!

For those of you playing the field, I offer 20 Beauties of the 2008 Beijing Olympics. I'd give them all a gold...oh yeah!!!

What's My Age Again?

Sometimes people lie about their age to make themselves older. 16 year-olds lie to get into R-rated movies. 17 year-olds lie about their age to buy cigarettes, 20 year-olds lie about their age to buy liquor, and 13 year-olds say they’re ten years older when they dial phone sex lines. Many of the living world war veterans are only still alive because they lied about their age to go war in the first place. Half of the Chinese women’s gymnastics team is lying about their age to be eligible to compete (I wonder if down the line there will be a Marion Jones-type exposé where the team is stripped of their gold medals when evidence emerges a number of them were too young – youth is the new steroids).

Sometimes people lie about their age to make themselves younger. Usually this is people who don’t want anyone to know how old they are. This doesn’t make much sense to me, because it should all be about appearance – is anyone ever surprised when a morbidly obese person admits they’re 400 lbs? They weren’t hiding any secret by not giving the weight away. You look how you look, and will disclosing one’s age suddenly make others notice wrinkles they wouldn’t have already seen? Perhaps there’s a biasing effect; maybe getting numerical clue does focus one’s observations.

At what age range are you honest? Maybe you’re never always honest, because age is very relative, and you might want to nudge the number as certain way as company changes. Personally, at 27, I feel very old and out-of-touch around teenagers yet young and naïve around middle-aged people.

Brown and Rotten Banana, Watching the Olympics

Suddenly I feel old watching the Olympics, because most of the competitors are younger than I am. In 1996 I was younger than everybody. In 2000 and 2004 everyone was about my age, but now in 2008 mostly all athletes are younger than me. My heart is heavy thinking how that boat has sailed.

But maybe there is hope for me. As I mentioned, Dara Torres is setting world records at 41 and over the weekend I saw Soviet-born German gymnast Oksana Chusovitina at 33 competing in a sport dominated by 16 year-olds (and would be dominated by even younger girls without recent restrictions imposing 16 as the minimum age for competition). There’s an article about older Olympians in today’s New York Times: “Age Is Little Match for Money, Science and Effort”. The article cites scientists who argue there’s no scientific basis for athletic peaks having to be in the early 20’s; that mundane time constraints such as employment preventing training requisite to be an Olympian limited potential much more than age-related physical deterioration.

I’m aware that I’m evaluating my Olympic potential based on my age rather than my lack of athletic ability. I think the reason for this is that deep down I don’t really care about being in the Olympics; instead, I’m haunted by the feeling that I missed out on many simple aspects of childhood, adolescence, and teenage years. I’m unable to let go of that loss and seeing 19 year-old gold medalists reminds me of my own unhappiness at 19. Sometimes I worry I will sabotage my own children’s emotions, because else the happier they are the more miserable I will be.

I never really cared about sports, but it’s the social connections I felt I never had that naturally seem to accompany athletic aptitude that I think is at the heart of the matter. Because of risks I never took, all I see are the opportunities I missed and I wonder about what might have been if things were different. Although most of the time I’m cripplingly under-confident, there are other times I think could have had, or might have had, much more to ever offer than I got the chance.

I found my muse yesterday, and if I were to write a poem, the metaphor I would use for myself is fruit that went bad on the grocery stand; something ruined and wasted that never had a chance to be tested (or tasted). A banana or mango that was never picked up or overlooked which would have been fresh produce but instead turned to brown rot and was thrown out by grocery clerks, or what would have been mouth-watering baked bread that ran its expiration date out sitting on the shelf.