My two-cents worth and then some. An online journal by LP Brown.

Browsing Category General

The Eye of the Camera Will Make You Fat

by on ·General, Lifestyle and Culture, Opinion

When I was a child in elementary school, on the first day of art class Mrs. Graves, our teacher gave each student a plain gray twin-pocket folder. She told us to store assignments that she would be giving us throughout the school year in the folder and keep it in the cubbyhole of our desk until she collected them. She then instructed us to write our name on the back of the folder and added that we had about 5 minutes to draw something of our choice on the cover. “Be creative,” I remember her saying. “Use your imagination.”

While we were sketching our amateurish masterpieces, she walked around the room. Stopping briefly at each child’s desk, she would look at the drawing and then hold up the folder for the class to see. Afterward, she’d offer encouraging comments about that student’s creation. Some of my resourceful classmates drew pictures of their home, a pet, or their family. One student sketched colorful birds perching on the branches of a leafless tree, and a couple of others attempted self-portraits. I looked intently at each folder. The skill of my classmates was evident. Then I looked down hopelessly at my naked cover.

As the teacher grew nearer to me, I became panicky because I couldn’t think of anything to draw. My brain was producing one big question mark. THAT became my cover. Question marks. Large ones. Small ones. Some were right side up, others upside down and sideways. Using every crayon in my Crayola box, red, yellow, blue, green, orange, brown, purple, and black, I covered the front of the folder with question marks and put down the last crayon as she arrived beside my desk.

Unlike the outspoken woman I became, the little girl back then was self-conscious and painfully shy. As I raised my arm and handed Mrs. Graves the folder, I simultaneously lowered my head to my chest, anticipating criticism for not being more creative.

“Curiosity. That’s what your drawing depicts.” She said cheerfully, after looking at my folder. “Lots of question marks. You are curious about things. Very good.” She handed the folder back, and I forced a smile as I exhaled.

I saved that folder for years and wished that I had it today. It must have been an omen because my insatiable curiosity hasn’t diminished over the years. To this day, I still ponder things that some folks wouldn’t give a second thought about; I want answers. I want to know the why behind the why.

Take photographs for instance. There is a common saying that the camera adds 10 pounds to the person in a photo. I’ve long wondered why people look fatter in pictures; then they do in person. Wait a minute. I think I hear the sound of the PC police approaching. Lest I be accused of body-shaming and offending someone, I’ll restructure the question. Granted that I already have more thickness than I desire I’d like to know why do I – let me emphasize I – look fatter in pictures?

According to Gizmodo, Business Insider and other sources of my research, the camera gives the illusion of people being larger than they are because cameras have a single lens through which they capture images while humans have binocular vision (meaning that we have two eyes). Our brains compensate for this double vision. When we focus on photographed images, we perceive depth and can see around the edges of objects. This perception can give the impression that an object is wider than it is, including our bodies. Other factors contribute to our perception of the images in photos including lighting, posture, poses, clothing, the angel (shooting position) and even the camera lens. When any of these things are askew, it can make images appear larger than they are. Viola! Extra pounds.

If my rudimentary explanation on why pictures make us look fat have you second-guessing whether you ever want to be photographed again, this short and entertaining video will provide some tips on how not to look fat on camera.

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Still Standing

by on ·Activism, General, Lifestyle and Culture

I published my first blog post on September 17, 2010. Potpourri101 had not yet been born. The original blog called bboomersnet.com was consolidated into Potpourri101 in June of 2012.

During my blogging years, I have written many favorite posts. I’ve also written some that I consider bloopers. But I keep writing. I can’t not write. It’s in my DNA.

While reviewing some of the 388 posts published on my site, I came across some favorites like this one, originally published on December 2, 2010, and posted here with some slight revisions.

Stand Up and Be Counted

 “The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.”

Those inspirational words of civil rights activist Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., inspire courageous people who not only talk the talk but walk the walk. Ideally, his words also motivate closet activists, people who hesitate to speak up publicly or take action at the opportune time.

We all know someone who loud-talks up a storm behind the scenes, complaining about what “somebody” should or should not say or do, but when the occasion arises for the whiner to speak publicly about the issue, his or her jaws lock tighter than a hard shell clam.

I believe that some people are born activists, while others grow into those shoes. It doesn’t matter how they arrive at being a crusader, what is significant is that at some point they learn the importance of speaking out and championing their cause, whether it is a global effort like Climate Change or working to eliminate homelessness in their community. Activists are mindful of their Ps and Qs:  they prepare, participate, and when necessary, they question. Then, they pursue a course to affect the cause that they are championing – whether it means joining their colleagues in a public protest, taking part in a fact-finding survey, or simply casting a vote.

On the other hand closet activists often avoid publicly stating their opinion, preferring to cower in the shadows and grumble instead of taking a stand. No one is right or wrong all of the time. Sometimes we make good choices, other times bad. But regardless, the point is having enough gumption to express yourself. Don’t straddle the line. Whether you support a cause or disagree with it. Man or woman up!  Let your position be known.

People who have the opportunity to speak up and refuse, basically deserve whatever they get from the outcome of a decision by the majority. Life is a crapshoot, a gamble. Each one of us – from the President of the United States to the homeless person on the street – has limited control over some things and no control over others. It is liberating to be able to state a position, to voice an opinion. You may change your mind later on. You may even regret a decision, and that’s okay. Mind-changing is permitted. But you can feel pleased that you at least had enough backbone to assert yourself. As Malcolm X prophesized long ago, “If you don’t stand for something you will fall for anything.”

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Reflections from the Other Side of the Hill

by on ·Baby Boomers, General, Lifestyle and Culture, Opinion, Retirement, The Way I See It

With retirement and advancing age comes the blessing of no longer having to play the games. What games? You ask. There are many. Some of them are easily eliminated when you are, as people like to refer to it, “over the hill.” But I will reflect on a couple.

Let’s start with working outside the home. When the opportunity to take an early retirement presented itself, I took it, albeit with some reluctance and much apprehension. Now, nearly ten years later, I consider myself blessed to have experienced an early retirement. Unfortunately, some people don’t live to see those carefree days.

Unless I fall-down on my luck, I can kiss-off job interviews, the workforce, and PITA (pain in the ass) bosses. Clarification is required here. Not all bosses are PITA. During my years spent in corporate America, I had some wonderful managers. I can honestly say that I loved at least one of them like a father. I worked for that man for ten years until he retired after which I found myself back in the labor pool swimming with the sharks and the backstabbers. Don’t get me wrong, I mingled with many good-hearted and wonderful people, too, and made some life-long friends.

Some of my worse memories are of being in a subordinate position to a couple of obviously unqualified managers whose negative character traits including racism and sexism were as evident as dog poop on the sidewalk. My job history and years of watching the gamers play taught me that just because someone has a prominent job title does not mean that he or she is qualified, proficient or principled. Intelligence is not always a requirement for a high position either. Anyone with the right backing and a base, no matter how unstable, can land the job. You could even become president.  Males are not always the culprits in the workforce either. Some women with authority can be more vicious than men.

I entered the workforce as a volunteer candy-striper at the long ago demolished Freedman’s Hospital, and I remained in the labor force for nearly 50 years. During the time before my escape to retirement freedom, I had some dream jobs and some duds. Now, I have no more demanding bosses, annoying co-workers, performance reviews, office politics, and boring staff meetings. And I have the opportunity to work from home when I want to.

While retirement brings some challenges – such is life – I find that the advantages outweigh the disadvantages and as with everything maintaining a positive attitude is key.

Another game that I am happy to be out of is the dating game. Regardless, of the present-day dangers, the dating game is fun, exciting, and deemed essential for Gen Xers and Millennials. But for many mature adults with whom I have discussed the subject and who are old enough to remember when it was safer to wade into the dating pool, courting now is more hassle than it is worth. Even if my near 20-year relationship should end for whatever reason, (some things like death and taxes are beyond our control), then I am done with dating. If I have learned nothing else in all of my years, it is that I can be quite content by myself, doing my own thing.

There are numerous other rules of the game that can be tossed aside in retirement. I don’t have to worry about the routine of going to bed early or setting an alarm clock to get up in the morning. Barring unforeseen circumstances, I can get up when I want, go where I want to go, do what I want to do. I don’t have to put on work clothes every day, and I don’t have to deal with a daily commute and rush-hour traffic.

Above all, I have time to pursue the things that I enjoy, like learning new things, furthering my education, exercising, reading and writing.

My bucket list is rather short. It is not a copy of someone else’s objectives:  travel the world, ride a hot air balloon, participate in running with the bulls in Spain, or hike the Appalachian Trail. Topping my list is (1) remain spiritual, (2) maintain a positive attitude and (3) avoid letting negative people ruin my day. You see, what I mean? My list is uncomplicated and original, just like me.

More to come on the games of life in future posts.

 

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Sleepless — When the Sandman Does Not Cometh

by on ·General, Health

Who hasn’t had one of those nights when you either could not get to sleep or could not stay asleep? This occasional insomniac recently had one of those evenings, and I recorded my troubles in my diary.

Dear Diary,

It is now 4:12 am Thursday. I went to bed at 11:30 last night. Before I closed my eyes, I glanced at the clock. It showed 12:15 am. I must have dozed because when I next looked at the clock, I was surprised and perturbed to see that it was 1 am. After that, I was sleepless – only not in Seattle. No matter how I tried, with thoughts racing through my mind like a runaway train, I could not turn off my brain, relax and slide back to slumberland. When the futility of tossing and turning for the next few hours produced no palpable results, I decided to get up.

Although this sleep disruption occurs infrequently, I am getting too old to be pulling all-nighters. When I was younger, I could stay up until the crack of dawn and then go to work the next day, no problem. As long as I had a cup of coffee on my desk, I was good. But, alas, being caffeinated doesn’t do it for me anymore as far as staying awake. I can drink a cup – or two – of the strongest brew and still crawl into bed and sleep through the night. I didn’t even drink coffee on Wednesday.

When I am trying not to think about anything except sleep my thoughts are all over the place. I ponder the chaotic state of the country and how race relations seem to have reverted to the way it was before the civil rights movement. I worry about how Godless and mean-spirited people are and the lack of civility in society. I think about events from my past and wonder about things that might occur in the future. I think about people whom I’ve known and loved who are no longer alive. An idle mind may be the devil’s workshop, but a sleepy head is a garage full of disorderly thoughts.

Dragging myself out of bed, I walk to the dining room, open my laptop on the table near the window, and here I am. It’s you and me, Diary. Back in the day journaling with paper and pen was the way to go. Now keeping an electronic diary is much more convenient and easily secured with a password. So while the rest of the world is sleeping, I am typing away.

My inanimate companion, here are some of the things that I’ve done or thought about doing during my sleepless state this evening.

I ate a banana. I read somewhere that bananas help promote sleep. We shall see.

I considered cleaning the bathroom. Changed my mind. Moving the scrubbing pail around and splashing water might wake the sleeping dead. Not a good idea in the middle of the night.

Turned on the TV. Low volume. A slasher movie is on. For about 15 seconds, I stare wide-eyed at a blood and guts scene. That’s more conducive to a nightmare than restful sleep. After channel surfing through a few infomercials, I turn off the set.

Listening to an audiobook usually lulls me to sleep, so I try it. After a few chapters, I start to feel drowsy and return to bed. Immediately, upon hitting the sheets, I began fighting with my pillow. Finally, I land a punch that puts the cushion into a comfortable position. I rest my head on it, close my eyes and began to drift off. Just as I am crossing the threshold to dreamland, my mate starts snoring like an ATV bike on a dirt road. Are you kidding me!

I grow tired of shaking him, only to have him obligingly roll over before the snoring resumes. I’m out of there.

So here I sit. As usual, the air conditioner in the unit of my upstairs neighbor is running and dripping water that sounds like huge raindrops splashing onto my AC directly beneath it. I love this place to have lived here for 42 years, but expecting complete contentment in a tenement is a pipe dream, even when you are part owner of the property.

The microwave clock shows 5:45. How did 90 minutes pass so fast? Leaving my elbows on the table, I raise my hands to my face, interlock my fingers and rest my chin on my hands. With my eyes closed, the only thing I am aware of is the drip, drip, drip of the water splashing on my AC.

And then, a thought hits me. Log in to Facebook. Surely, I will see the little green light indicating that some of my friends are also online and I’ll inbox someone so we can chat. Wouldn’t you know it, only one green light on and that person is someone I don’t know well enough to begin chatting in the middle of the night.

It’s almost 6 am. In another hour or so I would have been getting up anyway; that is if I had slept. What’s the use in hitting the sack now? I’ll be a mess tomorrow, I mean today. Whatever. My yesterday came straight into today with no rest in between. I’m sure that around noon I’ll feel the repercussions of a sleepless night. Or I will still be sitting here, typing. My eyes will grow heavy as sleep creeps up on me. My head will slowly bow causing my upper body to continue leaning forward until suddenly my face falls flat on the keyboard and I will … zzzzzzzzzzz.

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The Wisdom of Shedding Wisdom Teeth Early in Life

by on ·General, Health

As I see it, if there is any wisdom related to wisdom teeth is to be wise enough to have them pulled while you are young. From what I’ve read most people have impacted or decaying wisdom teeth removed in their teenage years and early twenties. If you have passed those marks, let’s hope that you don’t wait until you reach middle-age or beyond to get those 3rd molars extracted.

Take it from someone who knows. I thought I had all of my wisdom teeth removed decades ago. When low and behold my dentist tells me that I have one remaining and it needs to come out.

“After each exam, you tell me that I have a mouthful of beautiful, perfectly good teeth,” I said to him. “You do,” he replied, “except for that remaining wisdom tooth. It now has a cavity.” “Can’t you just fill it?” I asked anxiously. He responded, “The cavity extends below the gum level. Better to have that tooth pulled now, then for me to fill it and you have more trouble with it later on.” For two months I resisted until I finally relented and said okay, “Let’s do this.”

I’ve been going to the same dental office for nearly 25 years, and Dr. P has been my dentist during all of that time. He and his entire staff are wonderful people, and they all have an excellent bedside manner. If it were up to me, I’d vote theirs the best dental practice in the city. And judging from reviews I’ve read on Google their other patients feel the same way.

Last Friday was D day. The wisdom tooth is coming out. I am as anxious as a woman about to give birth to triplets on a crowded Metro train.

Dr. P doesn’t do extractions. He leaves that to Dr. M. While she and her assistant prepare me for the inevitable, the dentist and I engage in an active conversation about the various types of yoga, an exercise that we both enjoy. After the “prep-talk” (which I know is a distraction to calm my nerves), the actual process begins and lasts less than 10 minutes.

The procedure wasn’t bad because before injecting the general anesthesia Dr. M used a local anesthetic to numb the area of the soon to be removed tooth. I relaxed a bit feeling confident that like Dr. P, Dr. M knew her stuff. When she went to work, I didn’t feel the needle nor the pressure of the extraction. After yanking that baby out, Dr. M stitched the hole.

Since the wisdom teeth are in the rear of the mouth, unless you tell someone, no one but the patient and the dentist would know that you have missing teeth back there. Warning people:  when anyone tells you that the aftermath is worse than the oral surgery, believe them.

Although I have a low threshold for pain, typically, I am not a pill popper, so I mindlessly refused a prescription for a painkiller. “You may need something after the numbness wears off and for the pain in the coming days,” Dr. M warned.  No. Nada. I refused. The pain cannot be worse than recouping the $325 bill for the procedure. Or so I thought.

Let me tell you – when the numbness began to wear off I wanted to scream “Impeachment!” But Dr. M was not the person I had in mind.

The sheet detailing instructions for extraction post-operative care is pretty specific. During the first 24 hours, I faithfully follow the long list of dos and don’ts. Do drink plenty of water. Do not spit or drink through a straw.  And although caffeine was listed along with no alcohol or smoking (I could live without those first two items, because I am not a drinker or a smoker.) but no coffee – now that is a problem. I confess, I brewed a cup of java but made sure to let it cool down to lukewarm before drinking it. No hot foods or liquids also meant that I had to let my chicken soup cool down almost to the temperature it was in the can before consuming it. About 3 hours after the extraction the pain begins to creep in.

Seeking relief, I swallow Ibuprofen. When that doesn’t work, I switch to Extra Strength Tylenol. A double dose soothes the beast for a little while, and when the pain demon rears its ugly head again. I do it again.

My appetite has waned for the past couple of days, but fortunately, for me, some of the foods that I enjoy are on the list of recommended things to eat following a tooth extraction. Applesauce. Ice cream (nothing chunky like Butter Pecan or Rocky Road). Broth-based soups. Jell-O. Smoothies. Mashed potatoes. Yogurt. Instant oatmeal.

It is now day three post-surgery. I awoke this morning feeling like tiny people wearing spiked shoes were tap dancing on my sensitive gum. My head ached. The lower left side of my face throbbed. I rolled over and grabbed my new best friend, Tylenol Extra Strength, from the nightstand. I crawled out of bed like a battle-wounded soldier, ate a banana, drank a protein drink and then popped two Tylenol ES capsules into my mouth. After a short while, whallah! I felt like I could conquer the world. Or if not that, I could achieve something less dramatic like writing a blog post which is long overdue. It’s been nearly seven hours since this morning’s dose of pain-killer, and it feels like the teeth-munchkins are putting on their spiked shoes and getting ready to dance again. But I’m prepared. My best friend is right here with me, besides the keyboard.

While searching for another solution to after-extraction pain, I discovered the following amusing and possibly prognostic quote about wisdom teeth. “It seems like everybody at one point in their life had wisdom teeth but got them pulled out. And later you find out that the teeth weren’t the only wisdom that’s been removed.” Author unknown.

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