I usually love watching winter sports, especially the figure skating, but also the ski races. This year, as has often been the case in the past, there’s controversy surrounding the Olympics.
Here’s some pros and cons on watching the Beijing Olympics.
Pros
It will entertain you and you will enjoy. Yes, this is important to your mental health, especially after all the turmoil and angst of the last couple of years (pandemics, politics, you name it!)
Support the athletes. Most of these young people have been working all their lives to get to this elite level to compete on the world stage. They deserve an audience, and for winter sports, that audience and window are brief.
Pretty, yes? Is not China, it’s Wisconsin, but it’s a winter photo from a couple of years ago. (there’s no snow where I live)
Support the tradition. At its heart, the Olympic ideal is a good one – to bring the youth of the world together in the name of sport. This, ideally, extends to their future lives where they will use this experience to work in the spirit of cooperation and diplomacy.
The commercials might be the best part. Rich corporations spare no expense to debut Olympics-specific ads during the games. This goes back to my first point on being entertained, but on a different level.
You need a break from Netflix, Hulu, HBO, Amazon and all the rest. Honestly. On a recent visit to my ophthalmologist, when he asked me what I’d been doing during the big P, I said watching a lot of Netflix. He asked, “did you finish?” I said I was close.
Where there are pros, there are also:
Cons
China is an authoritarian regime that currently operates concentration camps for its Uigher (or Uygher) Muslim minority. It’s criminal, it’s disgusting, it’s crimes against humanity. By watching the Beijing Olympics, you give tacit approval to the host country and its actions.
Don’t reward NBC. Like most giant media corporations, its news division will report on how awful China’s brutal regime is to the Uighers and Hong Kong, but still will rake in the bucks from the sports side, the Olympics. They went for the money instead of for what’s right and decent.
Not Los Angeles or China, the blogger in Shorewood, WI, in winter.
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Don’t reward China for its attempt at legitimization. By hosting these Olympics, the dictator Xi Jinping who runs China hopes to get world recognition for his authoritarian corruption. We’ve seen this movie before – Hitler in 1936, Moscow in 1980. At least in 1980, the United States found its balls and did not reward the USSR by sending a team there.
Finally, it’s a time suck and you know it. You have other things to do (like watch the Super Bowl, maybe? Needlepoint? Surely there’s something). It’s always a paradox: watching extremely fit young people competing for medals while you sink ever deeper into the recliner, your poor aging body atrophying by the minute. . .
Those are some thoughts on the pros and cons of watching the Beijing Olympics.
My choice? Perhaps it will be a hybrid, where I watch a few highlights after the fact on youtube or something like that. So I guess I will reward Google (owner of youtube) instead of NBC. Or maybe not. Maybe I’ll just find my balls and work on my own winter fitness.
Better late than never. Finally giving credit where credit is due. To gay Olympians Adam Rippon and Gus Kenworthy for allowing me be a little bit gayer with my dad.
The media reminded me this morning that the Olympics are coming back, next week, to Beijing, China.
(The utter absurdity/hypocrisy of hosting something which is supposed to bring the world together in an authoritarian state with currently operating concentration camps is the subject of another post, however, I want to acknowledge this insane fact.)
Out and Proud Olympians Adam Rippon (l) and Gus Kenworthy
But I digress. I originally wrote a note to myself to do this post in 2018. Life interfered.
2018 Winter Olympics in South Korea
The 2018 Winter Olympics were held in PyeongChang, South Korea, in February. I was back in Milwaukee (Shorewood, to be exact) to help my dad as he’d aged to the point of needing quite a bit of assistance with the everyday things of life.
In addition to that, one of my sisters had become disabled the year before from a series of strokes and was now living in a convalescent home (where she still lives as of this writing in 2022).
My father and my sister were particularly close, so adjusting to these new realities was incredibly sad and a real challenge for the entire family.
Wisconsin is quite cold (OK, it’s fucking freezing — and dark) in the winter so, holed up as we were mostly indoors, the Olympics provided some delightful relief.
The Blogger in Milwaukee in 2018. It was 9 F. outside. Not happy.
And it turned out to be truly delightful, most of all because of Adam and Gus, not just one cute gay Olympic star, but two, count ’em, two.
It was also political, since Adam Rippon refused to meet with homophobe VP (at the time) Mike Pence. It’s a stance I admired then, and even more so as time goes by. You stick to your guns. Adam said something like “fun fact: there are huge benefits to being who you really are 100% of the time” which I just adored.
Because I never would have been able to say that in my 20s. I really can’t even imagine what that would have been like to say that to the world. What a wonderful role model for anyone younger – as well as those of us us decades older.
Gus Kenworthy
And Gus — Gus simply presented to me how a happy gay guy who was also an elite athlete would act during his competition. Smiling his million dollar smile, kissing his cute boyfriend before and after his runs, giving charming interviews to the press just like any normal hero who has the world by the tail.
Because he was/is a normal hero who doesn’t give a flying F what anyone thinks of his being totally, unapologetically out.
So how does all this relate to my dad? I would look up the times when Adam and/or Gus would be on the tube and make sure we were watching them. He didn’t mind, in fact I think he enjoyed it, particularly liking Rippon’s stance against Pence (my father loathed the Trump administration).
As odd as it might have been watching male figure skating with my straight father, it was also liberating, as this is the person who introduced me and my siblings to Broadway, to Judy Garland, to Barbra Streisand, to the magical dancing of Gene Kelly, to so much more.
As much as I stifled the urge to squeal whenever Gus would smooch his boyfriend (and the cameras were always there to catch it) my dad watched it with me and didn’t say a word. One time when I was out of the family room to do something in the kitchen, he yelled at me, “Jim, you better get in here, Adam’s about to go on, you don’t wanna miss this!”
It’s These Moments that Make Up Our Lives
It’s the little things. My dad knew I was gay, of course, but it’s not something we discussed a lot. I’d often felt a failure since I’ve never dragged any man those 2,000 miles from California to meet my parents, when all seven of my siblings had married opposite sex partners. I’d never communicated that to either of my parents, but it’s something I thought I should probably do.
I don’t know if that will ever happen, it’s not something on my radar, but whatever, Dad will not be around regardless. He died a few days before Christmas, 2018, at 89.
Last pic taken with my dad (James W. Arnold), September 2018, in a diner in Cedarburg, WI.
So, thanks Adam and Gus, who probably have no idea the effect they have had collectively on millions of LGBTQ. Or maybe they do. You let me be a little bit gayer with my dad.
Fun fact: There are great rewards to being who you are, all the time.
Fairly recently — I’d say maybe within the last couple of years, maybe more — I’ve realized that the world’s patience with me being uncertain — about basically anything — has ended. Because I’m old enough to know everything.
Subtle ageism, perhaps?
Blogger on the left at a callow 16/17. On right, at an uncertain 66.
I’ve always been a fan of the retort, usually attributed to Oscar Wilde, as said to any know-it-all: “I’m not young enough to know everything.”
Because there’s a truth to that. When you’re a young or young-at-heart person, you are sure of things. Even though you could be and often are totally wrong.
Which is something you learn as you mature. As you get older, because with age comes experience, at least lived experience. Even if you’re a total idiot in other regards. Which teaches you a few things:
There are Patterns
Actions come with consequences or results, which are often predictable. There’s less magical thinking and daydreaming, as you internalize the truth of, for instance, not doing the same thing over and over to expect new and different results (the 12-step definition of insanity, by the way).
So if you get a parking ticket and ignore it, it won’t magically go away. It will get more expensive and thus more painful for you. This pattern is endlessly repeated throughout life.
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The Only Constant is Change
I know it’s a cliche, but it’s really true that the only thing you can really count on is that things keep changing. This is one thing definitely reinforced by living longer because you simply get more evidence this is true.
Just when you think things are all set, something will happen to spin the story in an entirely different direction. To paraphrase another 12-step favorite, “if you want the universe to laugh at you, tell it your plans.”
True Catastrophes are Rare
I’m a fairly anxious individual and my go-to reaction for almost any obstacle is that it’s going to be a catastrophe. Possibly the worst thing that ever happened, and I certainly won’t be surviving it.
I felt this way when I got cancer. I’m still here. I felt that way when George Bush won a second term in 2004. Somehow we all survived that. Trump was/is a catastrophe but he hasn’t succeeded in destroying the country – not yet anyway. Climate change may beat him to it – but I’m optimistic. Because there’s really no other choice that makes sense to me.
Personally, I’ve been fired from jobs, had creditors actually come knocking on my door, had messy breakups with screaming men. Somehow I’m still an outwardly calm 66-year-old.
Perhaps that’s why people, younger mainly simply because there are more of them — can’t seem to tolerate any ambiguity from me. If I don’t possess the answers, then who does?
So, you know, ask me anything — since I apparently know everything.
And yet, I recently passed my 10th anniversary of living in a nicely rent-controlled 1963 apartment in Valley Village. How did I learn to love the valley? (Or, if not love, at least accept. . .)
Author Jim Arnold in a fedora in his home office in Southern California.
How did this happen? In 2011, I sold a condominium in Palm Springs, bored with the desert and longing for a return to urban adventures. With the real estate closing imminent and a deal for a classic Koreatown apartment falling apart, I needed a place to land. Quickly.
How it Came to Be
I had a friend who lived in Valley Village (VV), and he responded to my SOS on Facebook. A couple of days later, I looked at the empty apartment in his building and figured it would be fine as a temporary home and signed the lease.
Despite not knowing much of anything about the neighborhood, there were some major advantages: the rent, first of all, was $300 less than the place in Koreatown, and that’s even before factoring in the extra I’d have to pay for parking. So, in effect, $400 cheaper since parking was included in VV.
Amenities: an all electric 1960s joint, but at least there was a dishwasher, disposal, AC. A pool, even if it was right outside my sliders (note to any reader: NEVER rent right next to the pool, if you value quiet).
Part of my balcony garden in Valley Village
At the time I was enthralled with LA’s burgeoning public transit system and this VV apartment was right around the corner from a main artery stop (the Orange Line Rapid Bus, now also called the G Line).
There were other advantages either in walking distance or a short bike ride or drive: a Gold’s Gym, a Public Library, two Parks, two major groceries and a few smaller markets, Rite Aid, Starbucks, a yoga studio (since closed, now another gym), many restaurants, even gay bars and a OMG! — a gay bathhouse.
In a nutshell, probably the most convenient neighborhood I’ve ever lived in.
And yet, I was not happy there.
The Valley is Like Another City Entirely
The line of hills (ancient crumbling mountains, really) that separate the LA Basin from the San Fernando Valley are more than just a physical barrier. They are also a psychological one.
For instance, say I’m 8 miles away from my nearest friend (which is actually true) on the other side of the hill in Hollywood. Now let’s imagine I lived in Los Feliz, and my nearest friend is also 8 miles away but in Carthay Square (near La Cienega/Olympic). I’d call that “across town,” but the former is “over the hill.”
The geographic barrier makes it seem qualitatively different even though the actual distance is about the same.
Part of Fryman Canyon, in the hills separating the Valley from LA Basin.
For Angelenos, it’s a much heavier lift to “go over the hill to the valley (and vice versa)” than it is to “drive across town.”
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So back to my premise of it being a separate city entirely, even though that is likely more a perception than reality.
Mourning Being Priced Out of Silver Lake as Hyperion ex-Royalty
During this period of discontent, I’d look at listings in the general Silver Lake-Los Feliz area (my favorite part of LA and where I lived previously for many years) and to my chagrin rent prices just kept rising. Eventually prices in those neighborhoods went so high that I, like so many others, was priced out of where I lived rather simply as a callow twentysomething.
How could this be? I was proud that I’d lived in what was a legendary gay neighborhood and felt very much part of it for so long. And then I moved away, and tried to move back, and it wasn’t happening. As another friend said, “I couldn’t get LA back.”
He meant, of course, the LA he knew. Places change, people change. Another friend asked, “Why do you want to move to Silver Lake? It’s not like the place you remember from the 80s or 90s.” He was right, too. It is different. Different people, different buildings, an entirely different vibe. So gentrified. So “straight.” (Not that there’s anything wrong with “straight” — if you’re straight.)
Silver Lake hills. You can see the Griffith Park Observatory on the hill near the top center of the photo.
It was a highly bohemian area but now the bohemians can’t really afford it. So what’s left, then? A veneer of past coolness?
Perhaps that’s all an illusion and folks that lived in Silver Lake in the 1950s or 60s lamented what it had become by the time I arrived in the 80s. We always remember the places where we were the happiest. And I realized that was what I was chasing.
Bloom Where You Are Planted
For the longest time my mother had this cheesy little plaque above the doorway in their kitchen that had some cute flowers and the legend “Bloom Where You Are Planted.”
I had internalized that as a kid and always thought it was good advice. And I was trying, trying my hardest, to like the Valley, to feel at home, to try and make friends that were closer than 8 miles.
Which happened — over the course of 10 years, many other people I knew got “priced out” of where they had been living in the LA Basin and also moved to Valley areas. And yet it still seemed “off” to me.
I realized that I had my identity all wrapped up in what my personal definition of Los Angeles was – which was where I was originally “plunked,” right there in Echo Park-Silver Lake, my first impression, if you will, which quickly became my lasting definition.
Which is, of course, subjective and not based on anything other than my own youthful experience.
Looking at My Environment with Different Eyes
So I realized I had better learn acceptance around my circumstances. What I had was valuable and was something people would kill for – an under-market and rent controlled apartment in a great and hugely convenient neighborhood.
I saw the advantages of all that convenience and other things I came to appreciate: less traffic, wider streets, flat bike lanes, the diversity I loved about LA, quirky locations, unique businesses.
Living with a multitude of schools that made mid-afternoon traffic more of a nightmare than was usual even for LA. Getting used to all the kids around. They’re the future, right? Better get used to it.
Now it’s an easy truce. I’ve lived here longer than any place in my entire life. It’s my neighborhood, now. And I’m grateful. Maybe I am learning to love the valley – most days, anyway.
For those who don’t remember, the social media 10-year Challenge was simply posting photos of yourself currently and from 10 years ago. It was a popular Facebook and Instagram thing in 2018, and there’s a reason for that: that’s about the time that Facebook got critically popular (even if launched earlier). Instagram itself launched in 2010 before being bought by Facebook a couple of years later. I guess ten years is a good interval to put out some thoughts on social media.
What I learned was that ten years of it was probably enough! Ten years of photos, rants, videos, sharing memes, sharing political opinions. I mean, did any of us think this was something we’d have to pursue forever?
11/28/11, Jim Arnold with Movember mustacheJim Arnold in 2021 at the Pacific Ocean in NorCal
I had to ask myself: What has it gotten me? How has my life become better because of this? Because of all the precious time I’ve spent on social media?
Social Media Good for Author Presence?
To be honest, I mainly see a presence on social media as an avenue for publicity, ultimately resulting in curiosity about me sufficient to result in book sales. I don’t have much concrete evidence of that, although the concept is sound.
Perhaps that sounds selfish – but then again, I am under no illusions that I’m not the product on a service like Facebook or Twitter, where my data is being sold to advertisers. So for me to have loftier ambitions is really kind of silly when then entire enterprise is exploitive, right?
Yet I’ve never gotten over what I see as the lack of Integrity on social media and the ease of being an asshole, and of calling people names. I’m guilty of this myself. It’s so easy, when you’re behind a screen, to be a boor. (Especially on Twitter, I find.)
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Should I Ditch Twitter?
How hard would it be to give up Twitter? I call people names there, usually Republicans, led by Donald Trump or his surrogates. Maybe they deserve to be called names, but I tell you, even at age 66, soon to be 67, I still hear my mother’s voice telling me “don’t call people names.” That was good advice then and it’s good advice now. We were raised to be kind and decent.
Otherwise, I don’t scroll Twitter looking for information or to follow anyone in particular. There’s just too much there and I’ve always found that just daunting and basically uninteresting. I’d rather read a professionally edited newspaper I trust. That’s enough.
What About “Meta?”
Instagram would be harder because while I get almost zero comments or likes or anything on Twitter, I get more dopamine hits from Instagram. Although, still, it’s not a lot compared to true social media butterflies. I find my presence there low stress, and there’s not much animosity. So for now, I’m keeping it.
I recently rejoined Facebook for the author publicity reasons – I read a book on promotions that insisted a Facebook Page was a very good thing for authors, so I have one now. It’s only been a few months, but I find that Facebook itself is kind of boring these days and prefer looking at the photos on Instagram.
Still I really wonder about the opportunity cost of social media and is it really a worthwhile trade-off: there’s so many other things I could be doing, including fitness activities, piano playing, more writing, even. Work, certainly. Pursuing sex and lovers. Interacting with pets and animals. Cooking delicious food. Seeking more love in the world?
Those are some of my thoughts on social media, but the conversation’s not over. Stay tuned.
A few lies about retirement, or, just a few things I know so far from personal experience and common sense.
You can’t retire with a mortgage
Well, here’s the thing. Of course you canretire with a mortgage! I’m not sure I know anyone who is retired who has also paid off the mortgage, although I do know a couple of high-earning folks who probably have. But honestly, they’re a tiny minority in my life.
My late father, my siblings who are retired, and closest friends who are retired all have or had mortgages when they stopped working.
I wonder, did Liberace pay off his mortgage?
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I think this “rule” is a relic of that post-war past when middle class Americans could afford to buy a house with a middle income and live as a family on just that one income for 40 years, then retire for a few healthy years with a defined pension and their social security. And no mortgage, cause they paid it off in 30 years and they never moved!
Those days are ancient history for the vast majority. I know some contemporaries whose parents would have hit this sweet spot. But they’ve largely left the planet by now.
You can’t be a renter and retire: homeowner or else!
This myth is also something I often see in financial articles about retirement. Again, I think this is a bias that the financial press has about homeownership being the correct aspirational goal for everyone.
This is a hard one since we, as Americans, are conditioned to believe this myth from childhood. I used to have this argument with my father all the time. He was very invested in the idea of being a homeowner – well, he was a man with a wife and eight children, of course he’d want a stable home with something like a yard for his kids to play in. Also, I think he liked the security of knowing what the payment would always be.
The blogger perusing a box of Heartland granola in Dad’s kitchen.
I have a very different frame of reference. I’ve always been single, I don’t have children or other dependents, and both times I owned homes (condominiums, in my case) I soon felt antsy and trapped and really didn’t want the responsibility to take care of the many things that you get to be in charge of as an owner.
To get back to my main point – it may be desirable for the financial industry if everyone is a homeowner – more money for mortgage brokers, banks and real estate folks – but you can be a renter and retire just fine. I’m doing it, as are countless folks in apartments and senior housing around the country.
And one last point on that – a pet peeve of mine – are those who say you’re just throwing your money away on rent. How ridiculous! You are buying a roof over your head with that money – my current roof costs about $16 a day. If anything, the Great Recession schooled us on how foolish it would be to assume that real estate was always an investment that would appreciate endlessly. In most areas of the country, you’d be better off investing in an index fund.
And finally – for now, anyway, this lie about retirement:
You need a certain amount of money to retire
Is it $1.7 million? Seriously? If that’s true, most people will never be able to retire.
This is the headline for the above linked article on CNBC.com: Most Americans say you need $1.7 million to retire—here’s how much money to save each month to get there
So it might be nice – real nice – to have that cool $1.7 million when you finally stop working, but the truth is one day you’ll find yourself older and not working and realize you’ve “retired,” whether you’ve got the $1.7 mil or not.
The serene face of a new retiree who does not have $1.7 million in the bank. Happy anyway.
I think this – perhaps it’s a good, general, rule of thumb – but at its heart is the wrong metric. What you should focus on is spending level, not income level.
By focusing on income level, the financial gurus perpetuate as a truism that all people spend all of their income. But, let’s say, you make 150K per year and only spend 75K. Wouldn’t it make more sense to pin the retirement numbers on what you actually spent? I think so.
It makes way more sense. But then, of course, it’s a lower number for most people, then you wouldn’t need all these financial advisors and their investment products. Heavens! What then – the gurus who write these things for financial sites like the ones I’ve linked will be making less money.
As with so many things, it’s helpful to follow the money to figure out who’s really benefiting from this kind of advice.
I suppose everyone is different in how they experienced the last year and a half-plus. Still, there are things that really changed in the pandemic, although our lists will differ.
I got my Moderna booster yesterday, and I’m beyond grateful that I could get one. Also, I was pretty darn impressed by Kaiser Permanente and how quickly they seem to have ramped up and repurposed areas for vaccine administration and testing.
Blogger Getting Covid-19 Vaccine dose, February 2021
That got me thinking about how much has changed in the last 19 months or so and about how our lives are different. My life in particular, of course.
Here are the top five things that really changed during the pandemic – for me, anyway.
Exercise/Working Out
During lockdowns I was relegated to taking walks in the neighborhood, then incorporated some resistance band workouts to my routine once I was able to buy them. Slowly, I added various pieces of home equipment including a dip bar, a chin-up bar, and finally, a set of adjustable dumbbells and a legit flat bench.
Dip bar and resistance bands in apartment hallway
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Like everyone else, I was thrilled when the gyms reopened, first as an outdoor venue in a parking garage, then back to the old building with a mask mandate. Problem was, they didn’t enforce the mask mandate and I was uncomfortable, even being vaxxed myself, around maskless heavy-breathing gym bros and gals. So –
I’ve gone back to working out at home and hiking. For now.
Sex
As a single gay man of a certain age, the ready availability of partners had been dwindling already pre-pandemic but came to screeching halt once lockdowns kicked in.
I didn’t go into the pandemic with a partner or any FWB’s like I may have had earlier in life. The helpful venues we had in the community (the baths, the sex clubs) also closed down. Hookup apps don’t really work for me (I just really don’t want to meet status-unknown strangers for right-this-moment-sex at this stage of my life).
I’m ready for you, guy.
Honestly, it reminded me a lot of the fear of the early AIDS days. So basically I went back to what I did then – porn and chat lines became my closest friends. As some sex positive play venues reopen now with mask and vax mandates, I’ll be testing the waters – slowly.
Cooking for One
Can you believe I never ordered food delivery at all pre-pandemic? Yet ordering takeout to be delivered right to my door became my Saturday night treat for months during the pandemic.
It was one thing I could look forward to all week. Even though I mainly ricocheted between a gourmet burger joint and a Lebanese restaurant over and over. It was worth it.
Easy Whole Wheat Bread
Also, I continued to bake bread for myself, something I’d begun pre-pandemic. I also made a few different kinds of stews (all vegan) which I portioned out and froze. It got to be a steady habit so I’d have to say I ate more consistently and much more healthy during the pandemic. (Basically the cratering of dining out just by itself made me healthier, I could feel it both in my waistline and my wallet.)
Structure
I began to structure my solo days, and soon realized that my life had come to resemble a never-ending kind of high school schedule: The morning walk was first period PE. My creative writing/book work became second period Creative Writing/English. Firing up Mango Languages/Novela watching became third period Spanish. My piano practice became fourth period Piano/Music Theory.
Finally, the Sciatica stretching/Kegel routine became fifth period PE-lite. Then came lunch. And then I made everyday a short-schedule day so I’d have the afternoon off.
I kept this structure six days a week. On Sundays, I replaced most of it with grocery and other shopping and then cleaned the house. I ended up getting a lot done and having much cleaner floors!
Is Going Out Worth It? The New Calculation
Finally, I’ve had to make a new calculation about leaving my house for really anything at all. As in, is it really worth it? As strange as this sounds, living in Los Angeles definitely has its drawbacks, the chief one being, for me, traffic.
Closely followed by general congestion in that there’s just too many people out there. Most of the time.
Actually leaving the house: The Blogger at an Orange Line stop, waiting patiently.
Things that I do: movies – even if theaters are open, do I wanna sit in a closed theater with strangers for two hours? Maybe I’d rather watch the movie at home where I can pause it to go take a piss?
Back to the gym – do I wanna fight traffic, find parking, and spend an hour in a gym with inconsiderate unmasked bros (and gals too)? Maybe it’s more pleasant and safer working out with my own tunes in my little hybrid home setup.
The 12 Step Meetings I’ve been going to for over 30 years: Same as gym with traffic and parking. It’s so much easier to log into a Zoom call. And I don’t have to be wearing pants to do so! So there’s that.
Restaurants – the main attraction had been the company. Not the food, really. I am not a great cook, but I almost never sicken myself in my own home. I often feel sick the next day after eating out.
So yeah, I think I make a different kind of calculation for going almost anywhere – is it really worth it or can I get what I’m looking for right in my own backyard, so to speak?
I guess time will indicate whether or not these changes are permanent. At the same time I don’t intend to be a hermit.
A sense of isolation pervades all this and I didn’t/don’t like that. But I do want to make better choices for myself and the planet.
Overall, I know these pandemic changes will appear shallow to anyone who was really impacted by the pandemic by getting sick or having loved ones die, and I’m aware of that disconnect. I’m grateful every day that I have been privileged to have access not only to vaccines, but also to government actions that did their best to mitigate the pandemic’s damage in our city – and I’m talking about masks and lockdowns.
I’ve always known that my front teeth were crowded and crooked. Thus, I’m starting my Invisalign journey.
I’ve noticed the crookedness more in recent years. Honestly, I think I have to “thank” social media for that. I’ve probably taken more pictures of myself in the last 5 years as in all of the 61 preceding!
The blogger’s teeth prior to Invisalign start.
So you really get to look at yourself, flaws and all. And I always wanted straight teeth.
Some might say “why? You’re already old.” Well, I’d rather be even older with nice teeth than crooked ones, so there.
Outcome, Duration and Cost
What I hope to achieve here is a nicer smile, a better bite, and straighter teeth in the process. My orthodontist told me he expects my “case” to take 1.5 to 2 years. It’s costing me about $6500. I’m paying monthly, so it’s kind of like a used car payment. A used car in my mouth.
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I’m on week 2 of my Invisalign Journey, so really, it’s just begun, and I’ve yet to see any changes. I’m taking photos once a week and I expect there will be quite a difference after a couple of months.
I have aligners for 52 weeks, which I change weekly. After those are done, they do what they call “refinements,” and that duration will only be known once the first part is finished and evaluated.
What I like Best
What I like best about my Invisalign Journey so far is the anticipation of the end results. Since that’s largely fantasy at this point, I’m also enjoying the fact that I can’t snack while wearing the aligners, which is better for my 66-year-old waistline. (Look up the Invisalign Diet – it’s a thing.)
What I like Least
What I like least is just the flip side of the above. I guess I never realized how much of a snacker I really was. Now I only eat three times a day when I take the aligners out. It’s been a situation of trying to shovel all the nutrition and the treats in that pie hole for 24 hours in a rolling two hour window (you’re supposed to wear the aligners for 22 hours a day).
If that’s the worst thing I think I can handle it. I’ll post updates, maybe quarterly, and report how it’s going.
Even before the pandemic started, I realized I didn’t like hardly any of the commercial loaves of bread I was finding in stores.
Not only that, most seemed to have a list of a hundred ingredients, half of which were unpronounceable chemicals. It was like, how can I justify putting this poison inside me every day?
I wanted more control. And, I wanted to be healthier, lean and mean, while still enjoying bread, as I’ve always loved it.
I’m not anti-wheat. I don’t have celiac disease. True stone ground whole wheat sounded (and tasted) wonderful to me. So this is the recipe I found, which I could live with.
Oh – this is a non-knead bread recipe. I forgot to mention I’m pretty lazy and don’t want to work that hard for my toast!
There are only four things in this bread: flour, water, salt and yeast. That’s it. No preservatives, no added seeds or flavorings or toppings – though, for sure, you can add things if you want.
But the basic recipe is really simple.
You will need:
4 cups of Whole Wheat Flour
2 Cups of White All-Purpose or Bread Flour
Salt (1 Tablespoon)
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Yeast (1.5-2 Tablespoons) I use instant yeast.
Combine all the flour in a big enough bowl. You can sift it together or mix it up in some way (I don’t have a sifter so I use a wire whisk which seems to work fine).
In a separate bowl, mix the yeast and salt with about 3 cups of warmish water. I also use the previously employed whisk to smooth out clumps in this yeasty soup.
Then comes the only passably difficult part of this entire process: Adding the flour to the yeasty water and mixing it all up. Do this a little at a time. I use a big wooden spoon for stirring the batter which very quickly turns into a big ball of dough. It may seem that there’s just not enough liquid for this much flour but keep stirring and mixing and I promise it will work (or, add a few drops more of water here and there if it just isn’t happening).
At some point the spoon is no longer effective so I grease up my hands with some olive oil and ensure the ball of dough is totally mixed by using my hands. Now, you should have a nice warm ball of dough in your bowl. Congrats, the hard part is done. Cover it with a kitchen towel and set your timer for 2 hours, to let it rise.
This recipe is for round loaves, so I use a simple cookie sheet for the second rise and for baking. Grease the sheet and divide the risen dough into two (or more, if you want smaller loaves) balls, place apart on the sheet (to allow for more rising), and cover again with your kitchen towel. Set your timer for 40 minutes for the second rise.
Baking the Bread
Preheat your oven to 450 degrees, and set it to bake. I like a thicker, crustier crust, so I put a cup or two of hot water into a pan in the oven underneath the bread just before putting the loaves into the oven.
Also, just before baking – since we want our bread to look pretty – I use a serrated knife to cut a few little grooves across the top of the dough (which also makes slicing easier once baked).
Bake the newly risen round loaves for 20 minutes at 450. Remove and allow to cool before slicing. (Ovens vary, so you may have to fiddle with cooking time slightly. On my ancient apartment electric oven, I usually bake these babies for 21 minutes.)
So there you have it – your own homemade bread and you know exactly what’s in it, since you made it yourself! As a single mature man with a household of one, these two loaves usually last me 7 – 10 days.
I slice these loaves up in large chunks and freeze them in bags right after baking. That way my bread is always fresh, never stale or spoiled. This bread is great for sandwiches, toast, and to accompany dishes like stews, perfect for the fast-approaching heartier times of year.
(Entire process takes 3 hours plus whatever time it takes you to mix the ingredients together and mix the dough into the ball – say maybe 15 min. So let’s say 3 hours, 15 minutes total.)
One of the things self-published authors and other “content” creators struggle with is the constant need to feed the publicity machine. So, in addition to the usual social media outlets of Instagram, a Facebook Page, and this blog – I’m Starting a Monthly Newsletter.
One of those things where you have to opt-in and actually request it. (Here’s a link right here.)
A writer in the morning, wondering what he’ll dream up.
To (hopefully) prime that pump and quite frankly, bribe you to sign up is a free gift. (Wait, is that an oxymoron, aren’t gifts by definition, free?) In this case, it’s the original (and award-winning) screenplay of Kept, which is a yet-unmade movie I wrote about love, lust and real estate scams in Palm Springs.
This screenplay is also totally the basis for my novel Kept. So I’m hoping that if folks read the script – a fairly quick read of an hour or so — they might want to read other things I’ve written.
Ah, downtown Palm Springs, shown here at Gay Pride in 2013.
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Along with that, I’ll cover any ancillary writing things like events, books I’m reading or might recommend, writers I particularly like.
Filling the Well
Additionally, I hope to elaborate on what I do to “fill the well,” that is, fill my level of life experience that a writer needs to sustain imagination. I find that’s a constant challenge for me, to go out into the world and experience all that’s there and all that’s new for me personally (especially in the ongoing, and seeming never-ending, pandemic).
Perhaps I’ll throw in a recipe or two (if Mr. Bouie can do it. . .). And of course, there will be loads of photos, maybe even a few videos if I get thusly inspired.
So I hope you’ll sign up to get this monthly missive. Promise that you won’t hear from me more often than that, unless a book launch is imminent.
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