Monday, July 25, 2011

I’M TERRIBLY SHY & ELEVATORS...

Okay, so people who know me will laugh, giggle and shake their heads. “You shy?” They question. “Yes, me shy…” I answer while blushing. And terribly so, I can add – really. See, you haven't noticed either...

Growing up I was not assertive and so totally not your social butterfly (more so an anti-social cocoon). At the few parties I was mistakenly invited to as a youngster, I was not even a wall-flower - I was the blooming wall. I dreaded being around other people; socially I was always miserable. They would point at me and snicker: “Look at him.” At least that was what I thought they did all the time, but in reality they never even saw me. Of course I was the last selected in anything that involved selecting – actually none of the teams really wanted me. The final nail in my pre-adolescent coffin was a pair of black framed dorky-looking prescription glasses; I was the first and only one in the whole bloody school of 800 students – yes, why not me, duh? My life sucked due to this shyness thing and it didn’t comfort any when my sweet mother kept telling me that it would go away as I got older, like it was a zit or something. I was sure that I needed to hit the age of 132 before this awkward shyness would disappear; and I would probably still be wearing dorky glasses. But then a few things happened that changed a lot.

“You look like Buddy Holly with those glasses…” I could have died and gone to heaven. Not only did somebody speak to me (even though she obviously mistook me for Buddy Holly), but she was the girl of my illicit fantasies. It was at the time I had started an interest in the opposite gender (which of course was another hopeless issue), and that was all she said, you look like Buddy Holly - it was awesome. I raced home to tell my mother. She looked at me through teary eyes: “That’s wonderful Peter; that was so nice of her to say that… and by the way, who is Buddy Holly?”

Another thing that happened was that I had started to comment on a lot of stuff during classes; just sarcastic remarks from observations, just for my own entertainment, I thought. At times my comments were actually giggle material, but for the most they cost me trips to the principal’s office; we became very close over the years. But even though I felt “brave” enough to open up a bit in class, somewhat supported by positive reactions from my classmates, I was still the blushing, sweating-in-really-weird-places and shying-away-from-life dude; but then another Peter showed up. He was an academic genius, and I was not. He was smart beyond the academics, intimidating, though charming and really good looking (with me looking like nerdy Buddy Holly). I was never intimidated by him, by the way. Peter was grand with the girls and they all wanted his attention; they still didn’t know I existed. Peter came up to me one day and simply said: “You are funny; you wanna be friends?” (But in Danish, of course). I was stunned and could only nod: “yes, but why me?” as an answer. And we had a fantastic friendship for many years.

Peter introduced me to jazz, smoking the pipe (legal stuff), using Old Spice, playing the drums, drinking beer and how to operate successfully at parties. I began to feel much better about myself, as he always treated me as an equal. All of a sudden I didn’t fell so dorky, weird and insecure. I was still very shy, but started learning to live with it feeling more comfortable with whom I was; a lot of that came from the respect Peter showed me in our friendship. The funny thing was that my mother did NOT like Peter at all. He was too “advanced”, too charming, too smooth, too perfect, she said; but she was happy that I finally started bringing girls home.

The years Peter and I were friends taught me a lot about how to handle my shyness. Don't get me wrong, I’m still very shy, but you probably wouldn’t notice, but I notice – again and again. But I have gotten so good at handling my shyness that I can get passengers in any elevator laughing all the way up or down – really. By the way, I always thought it the weirdest thing that when we are in an elevator we are seemingly not allowed to speak, so we all keep busy trying to hold our breath while watching the floor-lights turn on and off, floor after floor (my breath-holding record is 11 floors including 4 stops; it happened in the Intercontinental Hotel on Michigan Avenue in Chicago, January 1997); elevators were the ultimate challenge for me and my shyness.

So besides my friendship with Peter, some parts of accepting and learning to live with my shyness have actually been achieved in various elevators around the world. Oh, a funny elevator story: I was in the elevator going down from a visit to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris back in 1974; I had the crowd of tourists laughing all the way down. As we were exiting the elevator, I heard this sweet Japanese man ask his wife: “Was that Buddy Holly?” So you see I have come a long way - or perhaps it was the glasses?

 
Make it a grand week...

PS. Buddy Holly (with glasses) and the Crickets had early rock n' roll hits like PEGGY SUE & THAT'LL BE THE DAY in the late 1950s. Buddy died in a plane crash Feb.3, 1959. He was only 22 years old. The Beatles were inspired by his music; they recorded and performed many of Buddy Holly's songs through the years. John Lennon and Paul McCartney were encouraged to compose their own songs because Buddy Holly did and had.

Monday, July 18, 2011

WE ARE WHAT WE EAT – BUT ON SOME LEVELS I HOPE NOT

That’s what they say – as mentioned in earlier posts I’m not totally sure who they are, but they say it anyway. YOU ARE WHAT YOU EAT, so I must be a cross between a cow, some pig, a flock of chicken and a few turkeys, a variety of fish, marinating in slow churned praline crunch yogurt, a few barrels of wine, bread, cheese, some soda and a few gin and tonics. Okay I know that’s not what they mean. It’s the old thing about stuffing good stuff in and becoming healthy accordingly; it's all about what we eat. The following might make you giggle or make you feel nauseated.

Using some USDA figures concerning meat consumption in the USA, based on a set number of servings per animal, the following is not far from reality. Let’s base this on a 60-year life span of eating adult meals. Assuming we are “average” eaters, we down 5.4 cows, 15.8 pigs, ¼ calf (how could you!), .80 lambs (never had any), 573 chickens and about 35 turkeys and a lot of fish, actually. It kind of makes you think, huh? Or barf? Now imagine all these animals lined up in front of you in alphabetic order and with sad eyes. Looks like a mouthful? And it is... So how do you feel now?
Most of us are trying to maintain a lower weight and we try it in a lot of ways. We exercise, we watch sports (oops, that’s not slimming me down), hikes and walks, etc. but I truly believe that we are not too wild about doing that diet thing, eating healthy, as they call it. I for one, use exercise more so than staying away from what I like to eat (or drink). I figure the dog will have to suffer with me for another 30 minutes on the afternoon walk so I can inhale that additional portion of praline crunch yogurt after dinner. The dog is slim and healthy, as I am obviously not sharing any human food with her – maybe I should try her food for a while? There's an idea.
I used to like fast-food and ate it often, as in a lot. A quarter pounder with cheese, fries and a soda; it's not really that healthy. Lots of that saturated fat stuff makes it taste so darn good. Take that away and the Styrofoam box may actually taste better; just a thought. But now I rarely eat fast-food, and it has helped a lot in the losing weight department– really.
I know what my problem is; I like eating good food as I call it, and for the most, my good food you won't find under “healthy” foods. But do I care? Not really. I always try to substantiate my consumption of the foods I shouldn’t eat. That's where “I’ll start that diet thing tomorrow” comes in handy - for the millionth time. Every time I’m eyeing the bad food stuff, the dog is looking at me fearing she’ll pay with the additional 30 minutes the next morning; and for the most she will.
And don’t buy me candy. I fully know that there are not of speck of goodness in candy, not the kind of candy I like to swallow. I buy a couple of bags of Red Vines and I eat them all in one sitting and certainly before anybody gets home. I simply cannot stop and will not share. Eating a few pieces and then put the rest away for later? Are you kidding me?
We are what we eat is true, but breaking it down within my own silly logic, and long list of excuses, I keep inhaling some of those bad things, but I try to decrease the sizes of the portions and that I’m fairly good at. So I don’t think I’ll end up eating the full 5.4 cows and every single one of those 573 chickens. The lambs and the calves can rest assured that I will never even consider them as a meal – never have. But as long as they make slow churned praline crunch yogurt I will be first in line with a big spoon and a frustrated dog.
This brings me to the fact (good transition), that when we live 75 years, we sleep a solid 25 years. What a waste of time that is. Imagine how much more food we could inhale and enjoy if we didn’t have to sleep so much? Something to consider.

CONGRATS to Japan’s Women’s Soccer Team winning the World Cup gold
CONGRATS to the USA Women’s Soccer Team winning the World Cup silver
CONGRATS to Sweden’s Women’s Soccer Team winning the World Cup bronze.
And thanks to all the other teams for a terrific soccer tournament – really.
The quality of women’s soccer is consistently getting better and better - way to go girls.

Monday, July 11, 2011

TRYING TO COMPREHEND CAN AT TIMES MAKE US DIZZY – AND SOME SOCCER

I don’t know about you, but I often stop and think about it, contemplate what the heck I’m doing, why are we here and why us. Don’t you? We can walk and chew gum, we talk and dress and drive, invent a lot of stuff, communicate, buy water in bottles, wear shoes and the list is long. And we can’t find anybody else like us or close to us at all in this vast universe space thing we supposedly live in. Sounds familiar? And that’s where the “comprehension” part comes in – for me.
There are certain aspects of our existence we as human beings cannot comprehend. That Carla is still dating that loser jerk and politicians haven’t found a way to move the country forward instead of constantly bicker to save their own political behinds; that baseball crowns a World Champion every year when only two countries are involved (and Canada is like a sibling to us, yeah?), why bicycle helmets have to make everybody look so dorky; those are but a few of the things we have a hard time comprehending; but we can for the most if we try hard.
But the really big one, the one we cannot understand, comprehend or cannot be explained into believing is that thing about the universe, the solar system we supposedly sit in the middle of. Okay, I can swing with the part about where we are, but it’s the infinity, meaning the unlimited extent of time, space, distance and quantity that we can’t cope with, cannot comprehend. So we fly off into the sunset, the universe and way beyond and it never ends; simple enough? But really thinking about it; doesn’t it make you a tiny bit dizzy? Okay I hear Carla’s loser friend saying: “It gotta end somewhere…” Yeah, but if it does, what’s on the other side? There gotta be something… Yeah, but only infinity (I better sit down now).
It’s the thought of infinity, the never ending part I get dizzy thinking about. It’s like waiting in the dentist's office for that root-canal surgery, but a lot longer. The experts will try to explain it to us, and every time they finish, believing it’s understandable and logical, I point a shaking finger at them and say: “But then what? If we are in this huge cosmic ball, there still has to be something beyond… So there; it will never end.”  And it never will. It’s a fact we cannot comprehend; weird, huh?
Every time my thoughts head down Infinity Way, I do feel humbled concerning who I am, why and where; it puts a lot into perspective, it really does. In spite that I believe I am the center of the universe (especially on birthdays and stuff) my thoughts quickly dismiss that arrogant feeling and I find myself in the place I should be most of the time: happy, smiling, friendly, human, sharing and content, because I realize that I am just this tiny cosmic speck (with dorky looking bicycle helmet), and there is not a heck of a lot I can do about that infinity thing – and I’m fine with that, also because it makes me dizzy.
SOCCER/FOOTBALL
For those of you living under a rock, the 2011 World Cup Women Soccer (football, that is), is raging on in Germany. Yesterday I watched one of the most exciting soccer games I have ever watched, men or women – and I have coached and watched thousands of games. The American women’s team was fighting against the wind, played most of the game with 10 players (Brazil with 11), a few calls not going their way, but by never giving up, came from behind and won the game in such extraordinary fashion, dramatic and to the wire – I also left the field exhausted, and I had only been watching; it was a pure piece of poetic justice.
The American’s coach Pia Sundhage is Swedish, and her comment after this awesome game was that she was yet again stunned about the tenacity, the determination never to give up that every single player exposed. She added that to her, this fierce will to win at all cost is what America is all about – I couldn’t agree more.
Think about infinity once in a while – I do, especially when I get too much into myself, me into that self-inflicted center of the cosmos. Together with that and the proverbial deep breath, I’m back on earth, both feet (in shoes) planted solidly on the ground, eating Humble Pie. It tastes good – it really does, once in a while...
Best Regards, Peter

Monday, July 4, 2011

I DO LOVE YOU - BUT NOT THAT WAY

I have a problem with the way you so loosely use the word LOVE. And I say YOU as I do not freely throw it around as frivolously as most people do.
Growing up in Denmark I cannot recall a single time my parents verbally expressed that they loved me – not once. When I finally told my mother I loved her, I was perhaps 40 years old; there was a long pause on the line and then a sweet and soft voice: I love you too, Peter (in Danish, of course). That was the first and last time ever. But around here the LOVE word is exploited and pushed around and in my opinion, being brutally stripped from what it should really mean and therefore denied the only way we should use it, which is in a much more serious manner - in my opinion.
Endearment, devotion, adoration, fondness, affection, warmth, closeness, intimacy, attachment, passion, infatuation, crush, etc. are just a few of the words related to LOVE. The writer dude Ralph Waldo Emerson looked very highly upon the true meaning of LOVE (as I do) and wrote this about it: “Our highest word and the synonym of God…” Okay, that’s a bit much, but you get the idea.
Of course LOVE also has meanings of action: Make out, kiss, cuddle, neck, embrace, make love, romance, have sex, and my all-time favorite: Have the hots for… Plato (some Greek dude who lived around a very long time ago), and I think a bit more alike concerning our interpretation of the LOVE-word: “Desire for beauty which should transcend the physical… and then attachment and something sexual...” You follow? Or is this all Greek to you?
Plato was only somewhat correct, so I'll give you my much deeper and self-made philosophy concerning the meaning of LOVE: “If I can kiss it – and it can kiss me back, then I can say I love it - if I want to (that would be human beings… now now, don’t get all giggly on me). So you see it doesn’t fit with “I LOVE my car, dress, movie, bacon cheeseburger, property taxes", or whatever you want to make it. I can’t LOVE my car, because according to my own philosophy it also means being intimate with, so that would be really weird, nearly impossible and should be illegal in most states. You see, my car won’t kiss me back; nothing personal, I’m sure… So I can’t LOVE my car, but I can LIKE it (and I do).
I must admit that to some extend I am wrong concerning the way you so freely use LOVE, with a bit of confusion in the mix. When one girlfriend tells another girlfriend that she loves her, it seems fine and acceptable. But if a male friend tells another male friend that he loves him, for the most that would be awkward (depending on sexual preference, of course). I do understand that when you say: “I LOVE your outfit”, it’s not because you want to have a passionate physical relationship with it – I hope. So you see that I’m not totally lost, just a bit confused - duh!
But looking around I am still trying so hard not to cringe and giggle when Frank, weighing in at 380 pounds, smelly and rather hairy in weird places, tells me he loves his 4X4 Chevy truck, because in my twisted mind that is not a pretty picture. But I do try to accept that what he is actually saying is, that he likes his truck, and really doesn’t have the hots for it, that way – I hope. I’m getting better at understanding.
I love my wife and have found that there are not enough words to describe how much I love her. That’s when I see the true power in that single word LOVE, as it does (according to me) cover every description possible and beyond.
Writing all this actually makes me feel better, as I begin to see that you might be right and I might be somewhat wrong (that would be the second time I’m wrong in the last 4 years), but still and in spite of that, you will never hear me use LOVE loosely.
John and Paul wrote a sweet line in one of their last Beatles songs:
And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.”
However corny, I do believe it is true – I have to, according to my philosophy.
Just for you, I’m going to say this, but only once ever, so pay attention:
I do love you – but not that way (sorry Frank…)


Remember this week, that we all look terrific when we smile :)