Picky Eaters

picky.jpg

In full diet/exercise “get back in shape” mode, food is ever on my mind. A fellow blogger writing recently about a picky eater in the family sparked this:

I remember how EASY life got after I just started trying all the new foods I was presented with. And damn! Some of them – sushi!! – were GOOD!

I have friends back in Texas who have never had sushi and never will – you couldn’t get them in the same room with it – and darned if that isn’t a tragic loss for them. If I was 12 years old and you presented me with a foot-high chocolate sundae with a gallon of whipped cream and a pound of walnut sprinkles, I couldn’t love it any more than I love sushi. This weird-looking, conceptually freaky – OH MY GOD IT’S RAW FISH!!! – stuff is food so great poor people like me shouldn’t be allowed to have it.

And I never would have known it if I hadn’t tried it.

For me, there was a pivotal moment in trying new things, and it actually came in reading about a dog’s sense of smell.

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Day 2 – Too Much Hank: Farewell to Sugar

saccharine.jpgI had the obligatory withdrawal headache last night. I’d been waiting for it. Anybody who’s ever gone cold turkey on sugar or coffee (in my case, both) probably knows about it. It’s this dull pain that just hangs on for hours, a headache that seems to extend down into the back of your neck. You can’t even lie on a pillow comfortably, but the only hope of getting rid of it is to sleep it off. Which I did, finally.

I feel good this morning! Whoo-hoo! Not as alert as I might with coffee, but all-in-all not too bad.

Someone in the comments suggested I try a sugar substitute, rather than giving up coffee because I was giving up sweetened creamer, and I started to explain in a reply comment my feelings about sugar substitutes. I couldn’t find a short way of explaining without sounding like a luddite, so I thought I’d go into it here. So:

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Day 1 – Too Much Hank

As Day 1 of my Too Much Hank campaign winds down, I recount my successes. Today I went to the gym — yay, me! The computer thingie hooked up to the machines I use said I “lifted” more than 8 tons in my workout. Since the action of each machine isn’t always a lifting one, I prefer to think I “moved” 16,000+ pounds … a very, very short distance. But it was a good workout. I went through the regimen twice, and I feel good about that. I also did a one-mile walk.

This morning for breakfast, I had a fruit smoothie, something I tinkered up a month or so back: In a big plastic pitcher, toss one banana, 5 frozen strawberries, 4 frozen peach slices, 3 tablespoons of frozen blueberries, two cups of milk and a scoop of protein powder. Crank a wand blender down into it and blend until the fruit’s all pureed. Pour into a glass and guzzle, smacking lips and making appreciative “guy” sounds. If you’re aiming for a daily 6-8 servings of “F&V” — fruits and vegetables — you’re starting the day with three already accounted for.  

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Too Much Hank

Too Much HankYeah, I know the color balance of this pic is lousy. I’ll post more later with better color. But I wanted to get this one up today.

On January 19, 2008, this is me at 190 pounds. The guy you’re looking at is 5 feet 3 inches tall. I like to say “I carry it well,” but the truth is, from inside, being like this doesn’t feel good at all. I DON’T carry it well. I gasp, I labor, I trudge. It’s like I’m carrying around a 45-pound backpack, 24 hours a day.

When I go to the zoo, the lady rhinos come over and wink at me. I kept  swatting at an annoying fly a few days ago before I realized it was a small moon in orbit. I was backing up yesterday and heard a beeping sound.

I want to change that. I’m going to do it publicly in order to put myself on the hook in front of everybody for actually accomplishing it. Which makes me nervous. What if I fail? I mean, *I* know I’m a complete doofus, but I don’t necessarily want everybody else to know it.

Anyway, here I am at Day 1. My expression looks like “I’m going to eat you and your entire family,” but it’s really me laughing at the ridiculousness of being this big.

The last straw was when Macy’s contacted me and asked me if I’d like to be in this year’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. On guy wires.

Sorry about that!

The site crashed sometime after midnight — likely all the traffic that came my way as a result of mention on Pharyngula. I upped the bandwidth dramatically; I think it’s fixed.

Like I say below, I’m still working out the bugs.

I’m Back!

h.jpgHank on the RiverAnd still fumbling my way through learning WordPress. Kindly ignore the sawdust and debris — and the Kindergarten appearance — until I get things all fixed up.

I’ve been away for a year writing books and sitting on my fat ass gaining weight. I have some ambitious plans for the site, and for the next phase of my life. (First of which is that the fat ass has got to go. But also look for an announcement sometime this spring for a Very Big Project that I think will attract a lot of interest.)

Come back and visit when you can!

Hank

PS: Until I can figure out how to post it as a link in the sideboard, check out what I do now at

www.EditorQuick.com

After being a magazine / newspaper editor and writer for 22 years, I’m doing proofing and editing — and copy writing — freelance now. (Doesn’t mean I won’t make lots of mistakes here. Just means I get paid to tell other people about theirs. And I’m GOOD at that.)

You need me to proofread your writing, and help you make it better. You know you do. 🙂

Thank you, Miss King

I had a geometry teacher in high school in about 1968 or so, a certain Miss King, one of those rare teachers you have who leaves a permanent mark.

This was the mark she left:

Sometimes, there is only one right answer.

I was pretty good in school, producing a decade or so of straight A’s without much trouble, but even I occasionally got the wrong answer. Mixed in with the lessons I absorbed for most of those years, though, was the lesson of “partial credit.” If the answer to a test question was “hydrocarbons” but you put down “carbohydrates,” you could usually wheedle at least half credit. Considering the infinite number of possible answers that would include neither “hydro” nor “carbo,” lots of times the teachers would give you more than half credit, sometimes as much as 80 percent. Because you almost got it right.

The lesson, that pretty close is often good enough, certainly affected our aim. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one caught up eventually in providing answers that were only good enough.

But in life, even in the safe, rich life so many of us enjoy in the West … 

Continue reading “Thank you, Miss King”

Thank You, Miss King

I had a geometry teacher in high school in about 1968 or so, a certain Miss King, one of those rare teachers you have who leaves a permanent mark.

This was the mark she left:

Sometimes, there is only one right answer.

I was pretty good in school, producing a decade or so of straight A’s without much trouble, but even I occasionally got the wrong answer. Mixed in with the lessons I absorbed for most of those years, though, was the lesson of “partial credit.” If the answer to a test question was “hydrocarbons” but you put down “carbohydrates,” you could usually wheedle at least half credit. Considering the infinite number of possible answers that would include neither “hydro” nor “carbo,” lots of times the teachers would give you more than half credit, sometimes as much as 80 percent. Because you almost got it right.

The lesson, that pretty close is often good enough, certainly affected our aim. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one caught up eventually in providing answers that were only good enough.

But in life, even in the safe, rich life so many of us enjoy in the West …

 good enough is sometimes not good enough. These many years later, I know you can be ten cents off in your bank statement and pay $100 or more in overdraft fees.

But Miss King was the first to impress the lesson on me. She did it in a nice way, but there was a steely firmness in her insistence that sometimes the right answer was the right answer, and no other answer would do. Real life could be unforgiving even of the most wholehearted good intentions, and deaf to the most insistent wheedling.

In a world that can kill you in a split second or, worse, suck $100 out of your checking account in the same amount of time, this is a real-world lesson every young person needs to learn. But nobody before Miss King had made this amazing and useful point.

There are people I’ve thought about going back to thank for giving me the pivot points around which my life changed, and Miss King would be somewhere high on that list.

But … she was only “Miss King” – none of us were ever given teacher’s first names. The one time I tried to ask about her, about ten years after graduation, the school official I spoke to treated me like I was a slow-burning psychopath. Apparently, no benign motivation could possibly exist for wanting to get in touch with a teacher that many years later.

She’s out there somewhere, an attractive black woman probably long since married and no longer Miss King. And she has no idea, will never have any idea, how grateful I am to her for the life-changing lesson.

Sometimes, there is only one right answer.

Thank you, Miss King.

With warm feelings of gratitude, I hope all the years since our 9th grade geometry class have been kind to you. I hope you had a long, fulfilling career, and a life of successes, joys and boundless good health.

And to all the teachers out there, who have collectively made such a difference in all our lives:

Thank you for what you do. Some of us students actually do learn things, and sometimes you really touch us in unexpected ways.