A little background: I had declared to my blog readers that at high noon Sunday, I would park myself at the downtown fountain to hand out the brass-like desk lamp and the color-changing light cube to the blog challenge winners. Lest you think I had nothing better to do on a Sunday, I had plans to meet with a former student, who was getting cold feet about going to grad school at NYU. I knew what she needed -- some encouraging words that would set her straight.
“Have I taught you nothing???!!!! Of course you’re going! Why are you still here, sucking the air around me? Go already!”
Yes, I knew what she needed.
It turned out that she also knew what she needed. Prior to meeting me at Blue Moon, she decided and committed. She’s going.
Crisis averted, I was able to focus on the time and the fountain.
This was what happened next.
11:59 a.m.: I push my bike across the street to the fountain.
High noon: A bespectacled man gets out of a nondescript car that’s parked nearby.
He approaches me and asks, “Are you Grace?”
I am cautiously suspicious. “Yes?”
He smiles. “I am golferdude’s emissary.”
Now, I pride myself for my rock-steady ways, but dabnabit, that golferdude threw me a curve ball.
The man did say, “Maybe I’ll send my people.” And thinking he was just bluffing, I had responded, “Maybe I’ll send my people.”
It was too late, much too late. I didn’t have any people with me, and my former student was still wrestling if not her decision to go to grad school, then her peanut-buttered bagel.
All the training and life experience I had as an intrepid reporter went out the window. (See, I’m writing clichés.)
I hand over the brass-like desk lamp fixture. Before I could ask my questions - “Where is golferdude? How do I know you’re not golferdude?" - the emissary disappears.
In my mind I’m yelling, “Tell golferdude to show his face or I’m writing that he’s a grade-A duffer.”
Too late, much too late.
My former student misses the entire exchange. I’m sure a part of her wants to believe me, but who knows with these young ‘uns.
She sits with me for another 20 minutes, feeling, I’m sure, rather conflicted. She wants to be polite and humor her aging prof; she wants to stay away from her addle-brained prof.
In the end, she leaves, taking the color-changing light cube with her. (Sorry, KermieD, Wiffleball tournament or not, you snooze, you lose.)
Note: Marvin49, I still have your fire-engine covered tie; golferdude, This is not the end of this.
golferdude's person: Who is this man holding the brass-like desk lamp?
Showdown at the Downtown Fountain/Prize giveaway
On a routine trip to Pick 'n Save ... I have to digress here. Every time I see that sign, I want to add another apostrophe to the store's name. It really should be Pick 'n' Save. OK, back to the main programming.
On a routine trip to Pick 'n Save Sunday, I was pleasantly surprised by a duo playing live music in front the liquor department, facing the parking lot.
Filled with nostalgia, I thought of the street performers of my past.
Could the parking lot of Pick 'n Save be just like Central Park in New York or the boardwalk at Key West? Be still, my heart.
Maybe, just maybe.
Turns out the two guys, Anthony Stanley and Charles Hutchinson, both 21 and from Milwaukee, are two-thirds of the Charleston Wade band. Keyboard player Wade was a no-show today.
The band was hired by Roundy's, which owns Pick 'n Save and Copps, to perform at a more than a dozen sites.
Says Hutchinson of playing at grocery stores: "It's kinda strange, but it's pretty cool."
Take a look.
For more info about Charleston Wade, visit www.myspace.com/charlestonwade.
Question for you: Which acts would you like to see at Pick 'n Save? I'd like to see a fire-eating juggler.
Earlier this week, I was dubbed the Murdock Avenue's Starbucks Customer of the Week. (Read earlier post here.) My Starbucks bud JJ with whom I've toiled tirelessly to get this designation was out of town, missing my coffee coronation.
This is the response I received from JJ. Click here.
Methinks JJ's slightly delusional. A sticker does not make an official Starbucks Customer of the Week.
Note to all who participated in the Anti-Apathy and "No Mas!" challenges. Take a look at the grand brass-like desk lamp and the flashing color-changing light box.
Claim your prize. You know you want to. (Yes, I'm talking to you, golferdude.)
E-mail me at gracewrites@gmail.com.
Before I get to the Heart Doc, I have to give a little backstory.
I dubbed my blog Grace Writes What Grace Likes as an inside-joke for me. For years, I’ve covered countless school board meetings, city council meetings, interviewed regular folk and irregular folk. And I’ve written many stories on topics that I did not like.
Like Roberto Duran reportedly has infamously cried, “No mas! No mas!”
From today on, I will no longer kowtow to humorless editors.
I will ask all the irrelevant and irreverent questions that I didn’t get to ask.
I will talk to people who don’t make the 5 o’clock news, but are newsworthy in their own way.
I will live up to the name of my blog. I will write what I like.
Today, my friends, is emancipation day.
My first segment of 5 Questions features John B. Hiebert, M.D., a renowned clinical cardiologist in Lawrence, Kansas. He has been a practicing clinical cardiologist in Kansas since 1973. From 1993-1997 he was a member of the Kansas Board of Regents and chaired that body from 1995-1996. While a Regent, Dr. Heibert was nominated for the national Regent of the Year award for public universities.
That’s just a snippet of his professional bio.
Just know this: the man is tops in his field.
Take a look.
What do you all do keep your heart healthy and happy?
(Full disclosure: John B. Hiebert is Hubby's uncle and a great all-around guy. The questions came from me; the subject did not ask nor was he given a preview to the 5 questions.)
Prize alert: I will offer a cool yet-to-be determined prize to anyone who can tell me the circumstances of Duran's "No mas!" No fair looking it up.
On the way to Lawrence, Kansas, we took the long way there, avoiding the flood-ravaged state of Iowa.
A little over a week after the Mississippi flooded Des Moines and Cedar Rapids, we headed back home. This time, we traversed the Hawkeye state.
See the rest of the story here.
Sometimes I'll see something in print that just makes my head explode.
See the rest of the story here.
In a stunning move, the winner of the Anti-Apathy Challenge turned down the prize sight unseen.
See rest of story here.
Thank you for all the helpful suggestions on how I can be a better role model to the youth, whom I had unfairly deemed an apathetic lot.
After careful deliberation and finesse dodging of Marvin49’s Illudium Q-36 Explosive Space Modulator (read comments), I’ve declared a winner in my Anti-Apathy Challenge. CJMcD’s suggestion is perfect for someone whose world revolves around food.
CJMcD wrote:
Since it has taken me THIS long to fully realize the importance of food to you, I've gained an insight that may be THE ultimate act of role-modeling for you. Cook for friends and family. Share dinner with a shut-in. Volunteer at a food bank. Work a day in a soup kitchen.
To collect the super-duper yet-to-be determined prize, please e-mail me at gracewrites@gmail.com.
Thank you all for playing, and may the Force with you.
Here are some of the suggestions on how I can be a better role model to the youth. See earlier post on the original challenge here.
From Marvin49: You could deliver breakfast to my office each and every day. Aside from that, being the best Mom, wife and daughter that you can be is all the world can expect.
From golferdude: As for revving up your tired, cynical soul,raisin bagel and cinammon cream cheese always works for me. You, Marvin and I should meet for bagels and mayonnaise sometime and be role models for each other.
Another fine gem from Marvin49: You're fine the way you are GW...cynicism is NOT a bad thing in today's world. Don't worry about it... have a Hoagie...
From CJMcD: Better role model?
Practice random acts of kindness.
And from AFitz, who inadverdently started this revolution of peace, love and kindness: I suggest: smile at a stranger...hug your kids and a friend...think compassion...be kind...The Golden Rule is a winner...and eat a bagel with or without mayonnaise!!
Last minute suggestions before I choose a winner? I'm cleaning off my desks, and I've unearthed many treasures that I'd like to share with smart, well-meaning, well-informed folks like you.
Blog reader AFitz took me to task about my excessive lamenting of the good ol’ days where people cared about what’s going on outside their circle of friends and family. I lamented about the apathy I saw in the college classroom. I whined. I gnashed my teeth and lashed out at the uncaring egocentric youth. See this earlier post and comments to catch up.
AFitz wrote:
“Well...wow...enuf...!!!...GraceWrites & golferdude turn the death of McKay and Russert into a "ain't-the-younger-generation-awful!!!"...and "why arn't they like good ole us???"...
Sorry, but I think that is boring...!!!...and demeaning...!!!
The "old" generation has created the world that the "young" generation lives in...I hope we affirm/live enuf justice/love/compassion that the "young" will be inspired by our "role modeling"...such as McKay and Russert...!!!...They deserve attention and appreciation suggesting that all of us might be lifted to their level of personal/professional achievements...!!!...Help: I need such leaders...!!! AFitz, SeattleWhether AFitz knew it or not, he threw down the gauntlet.
I ask you smart, well-informed readers to pick up the gauntlet. Give me some ideas on how I can be a better role model.
The Passing of Two Journalism Giants
Two of my favorite journalists died within days of each other.
Jim McKay, 86, American sports television journalist, died June 7.
Tim Russert, 58, host of Meet the Press, died June 13.
Here are some fitting tributes to these giants of journalism.
Bob Costas on Jim McKay.
I am incredibly saddened by Russert's untimely death. (Really, is death ever timely?)
One of my best friends who writes for the New York Times called me to commiserate about a man whom we've never met but feel we know so well. We're reeling that this man who has such a passion for politics will miss the presidential elections. Election night won't be the same without Russerts' smart, pointed analysis.
My children asked me why I was sad. I told them that two honorable men who loved what they did and did it so elegantly had died.
Memorable Tim Russert Moments
The Bailing Butt and Bucket Biceps Workout Program
Before I get to this new whizbang workout program, I have a few final words to say about my foray into detoxland.
At my celebratory breakfast at American Table at the week's end, Heidi says to me: "Thank you so much for inviting me to your retox."
JJ, being the always supportive friend that she is, eyes my two breakfasts. "I'm eating one of your crepes," she declares. "You are not supposed to overdo. You're just supposed to do."
And apparently, I was supposed to make do with two crepes.
Now the new workout program - The Bailing Butt and Bucket Biceps Workout Program.
During stressful times, I forgo activities like regular exercise. Like the time my husband and I bought our first house, I had been training (for real) for the Madison Marathon. With three months to go, I went cold turkey. No training. No running. With two weeks to go, I realized, "Hey, I have a marathon in two weeks."
Those of you who run marathons know that the last two-three weeks are supposed to be easy weeks. I did it backwards. I went easy for the first 12 weeks and crammed the final two weeks. I went for a long run. Well, why the heck not? Marathoners will tell you the importance of the long training run.
Marathoners will also tell that that doing a long run cold is stupid, stupid, stupid.
When I told my sis-in-law who has run marathons what I had done (or not done), she says brightly, "Great job, Grace, you made it almost half-way." (I had suffered through a grueling, ugly, ugly 11-mile long run, 2.1 miles shy of a marathon's half-way point.)
So when the skies opened up Thursday, I refused to let my regular exercise regimen be swept away.
A sidenote on the recent floods: I am gratified to see people helping people. Good on ya. (That's the Aussie in me coming out.)
Here is the six-step Bailing Butt and Bucket Biceps Workout Program.
1. First squat for hours on end while scooping flood water into a small bucket.
2. Pour water into a five-gallon bucket.
3. Carry five-gallon bucket upstairs.
4. Walk away from house.
5. Pour water.
6. Repeat.
I took turns with two other people and carried buckets, while our flood-stricken friend bailed. If filled to the top, the five gallons of water weighs 40 pounds. At the beginning, I was all gung-ho, thinking, "Oh, my working out at the Y is paying off." A few hours later, I'm dragging the bucket behind me, water splashing every which way, thinking, "I need to eat more meat."
Two days after the flood, I visited with my friend who tells me, "My butt is sore."
I reply, "My biceps are sore."
A great workout, indeed.
To comment or to return to the Northwestern site, click here.
What have I learned after almost seven days of being meat-free, caffeine-free, processed sugar-free, dairy-free and wheat-free?
1. I can go meat-free for a week and still live. I'm known for bringing extra meat to dinner parties for fear of not having enough meat. For one Thanksgiving, a friend flew in to share the day with hubby and me. She knew I had no culinary skills and told me she'd take care of the cooking. All I had to do was to get a turkey for three. I bought a 19-pound turkey. I figured that much of the turkey was bones, so it was really a 15-pound turkey. My husband, a mathematician, put his hard-earned degrees to work. He said, rather incredulously: "You thought we'd each eat the equivalent of 20 Quarter Pounders???!!!"
Well, when he puts it like that, it does sound a little much.
But I digress. Back to the lessons learned.
2. Caffeine headaches aren't terminal. I suffered greatly the first two days, but after that, I embraced it and became one with the pain. No, I didn't, but let's just pretend I did.
3. A tall decaf soy no foam latte is just good as the real stuff (if you live in an alternative universe, then yes, it's just the same.)
4. I don't have to feel guilty about leaving abandoned food behind. Some people collect stray animals, I collect stray food. I caught myself reaching for the kids' leftovers, grabbing a handful of pretzels and unwapping loose candy. Eight times in one evening. And I wasn't even hungry.
5. I am stronger than my cravings. JJ and I walked through Caramel Crisp Cafe this afternoon for the first time. I was sorely tempted by the ice cream and caramel corn. But I didn't succumb today. (Tomorrow, however, is another story.)
Odds and ends: Two of my detoxing friends bailed with a few hours left. One ate fruit; the other sneaked a slice of pizza. I'd taunt them about their wimpy weak minds, but I won't because the detoxed me is a kinder, gentler me. I won't point out that I won the detox. I'm above keeping scores even though I did lose 2.5 pounds. (But who knows how much of it is real.) And I beat JJ 5-0 in raquetball this week. But, again, who's keeping score?
Today I felt the most normal.
But tomorrow (Wednesday) I'll be even more so because I'll be celebrating my week with breakfast at American Table, which serves the best crepes ever.
Thank you for listening.
To return and or comment on the Northwestern site, click here.
Having gone without food for more than 33 hours, I see the light at the end of the proverbial tunnnel.
See what happened during the day of fast. Go here.
None of that quiet martyrdom for me during this 7-day dextox program. When I suffer, the world suffers with me. See how here.
See the Pickin' the Chikin' results here.
AS you know I'm detoxifying for seven days. This is day 3. Read previous blogs to catch up. My nonalcoholic drink of choice is a Starbucks tall nonfat NO FOAM latte. I don't believe in paying for foam. Foam, like air, should be free.
Today this is what my barista Michelle handed me.
Here is what it looks like up close.
To think, I'd even thanked her for it.
(Thanks, Michelle, and the rest of the Starbucks clan at Murdock for being good sports.)
For the record, my coffee today tasted like liquid rice cake. Yum.
First lesson learned from being in this detox program: Read the label.
In this particular detox program, in addition to meat/caffeine/sugar, I am also supposed to eschew wheat and diary. So I avoid the milk, yogurt, cheese in bread aisles at the grocery store.
I'm in the organic food section, thinking I'm safely ensconced from insurgent trans fat and whatnot. (You have to know that I prepped for this detox by scarfing down the last of the Memorial Day brats and my kids' Halloween candy the night before. Yes, you read that right. Halloween candy that I was supposed to have taken to work to share with students and co-workers.)
My husband and children were eating chicken last night so I didn't want to feel left out. I bought what I thought was soy-based chicken, you know, fake chicken.
Instead, I bought fake fake chicken.
I bought meatless and soy-free naked chik'n cutlets. When I told my friend, a flexitarian, what I had eaten, she asked, "If it's not soy, what's in it?"
Good question. It turns out that I had inadvertently sabotaged my detox. I suffered for naught. My friends would say they suffered more with my constantly blurting out, "Fix me! I have a headache! I haven't had coffee or meat in __ hours."
My fake fake chicken contained mycoprotein, rehydrated egg white, onions, textured wheat protein.
Oy.
Well, might as well finish the box tonight.
Random thoughts:
* I feel like that guy in SuperSize Me, the guy who ate only McDonald's for a month to see what it would do to his body. He logged everything.
I'm going to follow his model. A day after I started the detox, I played racquetball with my friend JJ. It was a little after 9 a.m., and I already had a headache brewing for lack of brew of any sort.
At 9:25 a.m. I had to stop and suck air. I've never had to do that before.
At 9:45 a.m. I got dizzy, but my headache was gone.
I whiffed several balls, but that could just be lack of talent and hand-eye coordination.
JJ made an astute observation this morning after my lackluster effort.
"Maybe you thrive on toxins," said JJ, who does not believe in depriving oneself of anything. "Maybe this detoxifying is really bad for you."
At this moment, JJ speaks the truth.
* I just finished the box of fake fake chicken. I will start anew tomorrow. But that stuff ain't half bad.
Going meat-less Day 1. See what happens here.
I am 3 hours into my detox program, and I've already fallen off the wagon.*
How's that for an intro?
My name is Grace, and I'm die-hard sugar/caffeine/meat addict.
But for the next seven days, I'm giving it all up.
Why? Why am I giving up what I consider integral ingredients of "the good life" for an entire week?
Because it's a good story, and if you've read my profile, you'd know that I put myself into nutty situations for a good story. (For a little background on my adventures, read Selling the Brand 'You' and Going the Distance.)
I am doing this "Seven Day Program to Aid Digesting, Elimination, Detoxification and Cleansing" (That's the actual title.) with several friends among whom are a physician, a dietician, a social worker and a crisis counselor. We're all women in our late 30s to early 40s, with children ranging from toddlers to college-aged.
Today we had our kick-off breakfast. All but one of us (I won't name names) are happily on board with the program. One of us began whining 20 minutes into the breakfast. She prattled on and on about not wanting to give up meat, ice cream and her tall, non-fat NO FOAM lattes.
Let me tell you, the whining was relentless.
And that was just breakfast. More to come.
* In my husband's eyes, I committed an egregious crime against good coffee. Instead of milk, I mixed organic rice drink in my fully caffeinated coffee. Let my mistake be a lesson to all: Don't do that.
