Olympic nonsense

If they are trying to dampen my enthusiasm for the Olympic Games by making all sorts of ridiculous processes and procedures...they are succeeding.

Today I got this email:

Priority presale for Olympic Games tickets

We would like to invite you to take advantage of an exclusive presale for London 2012 Olympic Games tickets from 11am on Sunday 13 May until 11pm on Thursday 17 May 2012.

You are one of the many Olympic sport fans who have applied for tickets previously and were unsuccessful. To recognise your support for the London 2012 Games, you now have a chance to purchase up to four tickets for one session of your choice on a first come, first served basis.

There is availability in most Olympic sports - however, not all sports will be available on day one. To make the process as smooth as possible for everyone who wants to purchase we will release a new set of sports every day. Read a full list of what tickets are on sale and when. We suggest you look at this schedule carefully, and decide what tickets you want.

We anticipate demand will be high when ticket sales open. There may be occasions when you will be held in a queue while we are processing transactions for the customers ahead of you. If this happens please be patient, don't refresh your browser or move away from that page. You may also receive a message saying that no tickets can be found. This is because the tickets in that price category and/or session have sold out. If this occurs, please select an alternative price/session and try again.

Once you have purchased tickets in the presale, you will not be eligible to purchase further tickets until the general sales of any remaining Paralympic Games tickets on 21 May 2012 and Olympic Games tickets on 23 May 2012.

In short, they recognise I was shafted during the original ticket lottery, and so to make it up they are giving me a chance to buy the crap that was left over before it goes on sale to the general public.  Fair enough, except you only get to buy tickets to one event, and the different events are being released over 4 days, and there's no guarantee you'll be able to get tickets to the event you want! So game theory dictates you should apply each day for one event, even if the event you really want is another day, because odds are you won't get tickets to any of them.  (Remember, over a million people did not get any tickets in the lottery!)

So in other words, it's an even worse way of allocating tickets than the lottery was!

I can't imagine what is wrong with the people organising this, other than they are getting their own tickets out of the 45% reserved for corporate sponsors, and so don't give a damn about the 55% being sold to the public. :-(

Wheat-free

So it's been about 2 months since I stopped eating wheat (or at least started talking about giving it up).  I haven't lost any weight, I don't feel any different, my eczema hasn't cleared up, I haven't found the love of my life or inherited a million dollars or any of the other things that were promised.

But somehow I'm okay with it.  I think it was partly because the withdrawal was so difficult, that was just a red flag to me.  I don't like being addicted to anything.

Obviously I've started eating a lot more rice and oats, which are delicious. (I did eat some spelt until I found out it is just another form of wheat!)  It's also made me appreciate how hard coeliacs have it, since wheat (or at least gluten) is put into just about everything.

For breakfast I switched from cereal to oatmeal, which was nice because I got a hot breakfast now.  I've since switched to an oatmeal from "Rude Health" that combines 5 grains with 5 seeds, so much more balanced.  Throw in a handful of raisins and serve with a banana, and it just doesn't get any healthier.  (If I could ever remember to combine the cereal and soymilk in the evening and let it soak overnight, I am assured it will be even more delicious, but so far I haven't remembered...)

Lunch has been difficult, because all the obvious options are out, and many salads (or at least the interesting ones) like to throw in couscous, "wheat berries," or some form of wheat.  I can usually find a salad or go to the supermarket and get an "Innocent veg pot" such as "thai coconut curry," "mexican 3-bean chili," and "eggplant moussaka."  (Innocent also make a line of smoothies that are also my drink of choice, but more importantly they make the best commercials in the world.)

Dinner has been a hit-or-miss affair, full of stir-fries, tacos, the occasional risotto. Sadly, I've been travelling so much (and busy when I'm here), I haven't really been able to stock up the fridge and plan any meals.  Hopefully that will change soon.

But the important thing, of course, are snacks and desserts.  Going wheat-free drove me into the "free from" aisle at the supermarket, where I found 9bar.  When I was in Israel, I discovered a candy bar made from sunflower seeds and honey that was absolutely divine, but of course I haven't been able to find it in England...until I found 9bar.  They added pumpkin seeds (plus sesame seeds, poppy seeds, and hemp) to make it even better!  At 250 calories per bar, I really shouldn't eat so many...but I do anyway.  (To my mind, that's half as many calories as a chocolate bar...so I eat two.)

For dessert, I've been sticking to smoothies, which is good, although I really hate cleaning the blender. But last night I made a very dangerous discovery: Rice pudding is insanely easy to make. Seriously, a pint of milk, 1/4 cup of short-grain white rice, and 2 tablespoons of sugar...mix in an ovenproof pan (not covered), and cook at 300F for 2 hours.  (Mix once after 30 minutes, and reduce cooking time by 30 minutes for convection ovens.)  Add some nutmeg and raisins and...wow.  They say it feeds four, but I ate it all by myself.

So what's my point?  I don't actually have one, other than life is humming along pretty normally despite making such a drastic change to my diet.  If I'd known it would go this smoothly, I would have given up wheat years ago.

Next up...shavuot and cheesecake.

P.S. Hummus and avocado on a spelt waffle with a little chili oil is delicious.  (Not wheat-free, but delicious.)

Good people

Last weekend I went to Amsterdam to see an old co-worker.  In 1998, I (rather spontaneously) quit my job at SEI, and was desperately looking for another, when I attended an "open house" event where Kim was one of the presenters.  I completely monopolized Kim's time, in part because I figured getting to know one person was a better strategy than just introducing myself to a dozen people, but mostly because I found her enchanting.  Full of energy and expression, she was a delight to talk to, and I figured any place she enjoyed working was good enough for me.

I did get the job and I actually hated it (or, more specifically, I hated my boss) and I was already talking to my old company about coming back in a different capacity.  I did get to work with Kim for a while -- and I came away with even more respect for her abilities -- but the whole time I was trying to leave the company, so it was a strained relationship.

Shortly after that, I moved on to another project and she moved to the San Francisco area.  We didn't keep in touch but we had mutual friends, so I got updates when she got married, had kids, and in 2004 moved to Amsterdam.

Fast forward four years, and I find myself in London, just 300 miles away!  I got Kim's email from a friend and made contact but, for fairly ridiculous reasons, it took me another four years to go see her!  It was hard to believe it had been 12 years -- she looked the same -- but the proof was standing in front of me: Her three daughters, aged 11, 8, and 6, whom I'd never met.

Now, on the face of it, this is actually quite ridiculous: I never really knew Kim, we were never really friends, and I just showed up at her doorstep after 12 years and she let me stay for three nights. And I had a great time.  I can't tell you how much I enjoyed talking to Kim, and playing with the kids, and just hanging out doing nothing. And if I were trying to find a definition for "good people," I couldn't do much better than that.

But if I'm honest, it was also very depressing. I didn't realize this before, and perhaps it's because they are family, but when I see my nieces I don't think, I wish I had a family.  But as I watched Kim dealing with a mountain of laundry, a kitchen full of dishes, children arguing, and all the while coming up with a creative way to spend Queen's Day, I was filled with envy.  And when her youngest curled into her side for a story, I had to reach for a tissue.  (Fortunately, I had an allergic reaction to their dog, so grabbing a tissue was not unusual...)

Bluebells

Two weeks ago, I received an email from someone on eHarmony.  It's pretty rare someone contacts me, and most of those I hadn't been interested in, but I'd already seen her profile and had gone so far as to look up the travel distance between us -- over 2 hours -- before deciding not to contact her.

But as she contacted me, I had to respond, and a lively and interesting conversation ensued.  Meanwhile, I had been hoping to go see the bluebells -- as I do every year -- but they generally peak in April and between my travels to the States and Amsterdam, I'd been out of town every weekend in April!  However, on Thursday I learned that, because of the cold, wet spring here, the bluebells were quite late.

There are many bluebell woods throughout Britain, but the only one I knew of was the one Jess took me to, north of London.  This also happened to be about halfway between me and the woman on eHarmony.  I proposed we meet there, and she agreed.  Friday night I even got home early enough (10pm!) to call her and have a brief chat.

So I'm not sure why I suddenly got cold feet while I was sitting at the restaurant, waiting for her.  Perhaps it was because I hadn't met anyone knew in some time.  Perhaps it was because I was someplace I had last gone with Jess.  Perhaps it was just because I was exhausted from working 16-hour days and travelling all over.

Whatever the reason, it turned out to be completely unfounded.  She walked in and I was instantly infatuated.  She was bright and sparkly, with beautiful blue eyes, short dark hair, a slight build, and -- this is important -- lovely hands.  She was intelligent and clever, with a fascinating history and interesting insights.  We spent about four hours, between the restaurant and woods, and had an absolutely lovely time.

And the bluebells were perfect.

Protein

Wikipedia defines proteins as, "polymer chains made of amino acids linked together by peptide bonds."  What that basically means is that the word "protein" is a catch-all for about 30 different amino acids. Most of those your body can produce itself, but 9 (the "essential" ones) you need to get from external sources.  Protein is the the major structural component of all cells in the body -- including muscles, organs, skin, and hair.

There are three "urban myths" around protein:
1) Animal protein is "better" (or more complete) than vegetable protein
2) Vegetables don't contain enough protein
3) Without sufficient protein, you will feel tired and listless

I'll tackle these individually:

1) In 1971, in the book "Diet for a Small Planet," the author advocated a vegetarian diet but, referencing an old study on rats, stated that vegetable proteins were "incomplete" -- in other words, they did not contain all the "essential" amino acids.  This had actually been proven false years before, but the idea caught on, mostly by people who promoted meat!  The author has since recanted this claim but the myth still lives on.

2) By weight, meat is 23-33% protein (depending on cut), fish is 18-23%, chicken breast 25%, and lamb 27%.  By comparison, fruit is 7% protein, rice is 7.5%, nuts are 11%, wheat 14%, vegetables 22%, beans 28%, and soybeans are an amazing 38% protein.

That said, the US Dietary Reference Intake guidelines recommend 50 grams of protein per day for a normal sedentary person (although some estimates think this is too high, and may be as low as 12 grams per day).  At 4 calories per gram, that's about 10% of the "average" 2,000 calorie diet.  More importantly, since most food contains more than 10% protein, as long as you eat 2,000 calories per day, you will get more than the recommended amount of protein!  The problem with iceberg lettuce (for example) isn't that it is deficient in protein, but it is deficient in calories -- at 1 calorie per leaf, you'd have to eat 31 heads of lettuce to get 2,000 calories!

According to a National Health and Nutrition Examination Survey from 2007-2008, the typical American diet provides a net protein intake of 102 grams to males and 70 grams to females a day.  The body is unable to store excess protein, and so it is processed by the liver and kidneys, and excreted through urine. It also causes the body to excrete calcium, although no one is sure why.  High animal protein intake increases the probability of forming kidney stones by 250 percent.
So the real problem isn't that vegetarians don't get enough protein, but meat eaters get too much.

3) Proteins have four calories per gram, while fats and carbohydrates have nine. That's why exercise burns fat, not muscle--your body is selectively choosing the best energy source.  If a person consumes too few calories, and has no fat reserves, the body will start to eat muscle (and then organs); however, as you can imagine, this is pretty rare in developed countries.

To sum up, there is *no* relation between protein and energy; if you eat enough calories, you will get enough protein; there is no difference between animal protein and vegetable protein; and if you eat too much protein, your body will quietly throw it away (and you may get heart disease, cancer, and/or kidney stones for your trouble).

Now I have to figure out why, on some days, I have no energy.  (Which is why I started researching protein.  When I started this, I believed all three myths!)

You can read more here: http://michaelbluejay.com/veg/protein.html

My uncle

My rants on America the beautiful, hidden sources of wheat (corn muffins and tomato soup!!), and television will have to wait while I post another maudlin article on my uncle.

First, by the numbers. My uncle was born in 1927, and he will be 86 in June. When he was 13, he watched his best friend get run over by a car; at 14 his mother died; at 17 he dropped out of high school and joined the navy. It was 1944 and he spent a year escorting convoys across the Atlantic; when the European theatre ended, he was posted to the Pacific where they were having trouble convincing the Japanese on remote islands that the emperor had surrendered. He came back to his home state
of Connecticut, got a job in an insurance company, and married a woman 6 years his senior. He was a natural born salesman, with an easy disposition and a penchant for alcohol, and he soon made his way into the hot new sector of office calculators.

His company moved him to Florida just as the Kennedy space center moved to Houston; they then moved him to Silicon Valley while it was still a sleepy little suburb, and finally they moved him to Atlanta. His wife didn't enjoy the south and quietly moved back to Connecticut, then proceeded to divorce him. In Atlanta he met, and married, a true southern belle, and they've been married 44 years now.

Sadly, the past few years my uncle has been sliding downhill. 18 months ago, when I visited, I was sure it would be the last time I saw him. Remarkably, he pulled through, and last July he was doing quite well. This trip I thought he was doing okay, except this morning he was still asleep at 10am. I went in to wake him, and when he opened his eyes and saw me, he was absolutely terrified. He recovered quickly, but I knew something wasn't right -- for years the man always woke up and said the exact same thing: "I'll get a job in the morning, ma." It was one of those jokes that had passed from being annoying to hilarious, and I'd give anything to hear it again. Seeing the fear in his eyes was heartbreaking.

He got up and had a cup of coffee, but when he went in the kitchen to put the cup in the sink, we heard the thump. No yell, just a thump. I was the first in there, and he was sprawled on the floor with his head still propped up by the oven. His elbow had a small cut and his head was a bit braised, but no other obvious injuries, but all he wanted to do was lie down. Obviously, I couldn't let him nap on the kitchen floor, but I also discovered I couldn't lift 150 pounds of dead weight. I guess I'd never tried to pick someone up before; I was actually surprised at how ineffectual I was, and it certainly made me appreciate my 93-pound aunt, who has had to deal with this several times before.

I eventually got him into a chair and he eventually recovered, although he was incoherent for a while. He later went to bed, and I ran some errands. After I came home, and with everyone else asleep, I saw him come out of the bedroom, go in the kitchen, open the box of tea bags I'd brought (yes, I brought my own tea!) and tear one open. At that point I intervened, taking away the teabag and asking what he was doing, and he was completely incoherent, and inconsolable, worried about something he needed me to ship to his mother-in-law. I got him to sit down again and after a while he was back.

Around 5pm he went back to bed and I followed him in, and he wanted to talk so I sat beside him. He said some profound things, he said some nonsensical things, he reminisced about his first dog, Buddy (although he couldn't remember his favorite dog, Clancy), we talked about getting old, about what's important, about who we were. (The parallels to his life are remarkable: In his late 30s he'd been married for about 16 years, got divorced, moved to a new area, got remarried, and started his life over.) But mostly we just gushed over how much we mean to each other, in some tear-stained moviehouse version. Of course, it might have helped if he could hear a word I said, but he is completely deaf.

But it really got me to thinking how people connect. We are, to use an English expression, "chalk and cheese" -- he is witty where I am thoughtful; he savours the past while I am planning the future; he is social and likes crime novels and crossword puzzles, whereas I can't stand any of that. He's hopeless with money, can't cook an egg, has never done his own laundry, and likes to get big dogs and let them go feral. He thinks all of his friends look like actors, such that you can hardly watch a show without him saying, "Doesn't that look like so-and-so?" (The answer, invariably, is "no.")

But the trait that he has that I don't, the one thing I envy him for, and the reason I'm so grateful to be part of his life, is that he really cares about people. Not superficially, not casually, not condescendingly, but from the core of his being, he genuinely cares, and people respond to that no matter their age, background, or circumstances.

Sure, some people have taken advantage of him (his step-daughter and grandson, to name two), and he's lost touch with most of his friends over the years (mostly because his hearing keeps him from using the phone and his eyesight keeps him from driving), but I know from talking to his friends over the years, that they all kept George in a special place in their heart.

Tomorrow will be my last day here; I probably won't get back for another 8 months, maybe longer. I will leave my aunt and her mother to watch over George, although neither of them are in better physical condition. The neighbor who kept an eye on him has moved away, and the people who take him to church (usually against his wishes) only see him on Sunday. His doctor has George on a dozen pills, some of which I wish he would stop taking -- I don't know how much longer George has, but at this stage I'd prefer he had a clear mind than lower cholesterol -- but otherwise can't do anything to make George healthier or more comfortable.

Part of me would like to put George in a home, where I know he'd be safe and looked after, but I know the only things that are important to him are his wife, his dog, and his bed -- taking all three away would be worse than death. I don't know what happens next -- Lord knows I wish I had the answers -- other than I go back to England, not because I have family there, or roots there, or anything there really, other than I like it there. And I leave my uncle, this man I profess to love, the closest thing I've had to a father for 15 years, to face his uncetain future...without me.

Dark moments

In the dark moments between living and sleeping, the self-reflection overwhelm us. The good times are fleeting but the regret lingers. The things left undone, the words unsaid, the self recriminations. We fill these moments with routine, with music, with distractions. On a plane, I cannot escape.

I am dating two lovely women, who only serve to remind me of Jessica's absence. They are both beautiful, but not as. They are both clever, but not as. They are both interesting, but not as. Can I settle for 'not as'?

My heart wants to connect; it is tired of being alone. My head wants to connect; it doesn't enjoy my company in the best of circumstances. But my soul won't connect, because it knows what possibilities there are. Only recently awakened, it is the genie I cannot put back in the bottle.

And yet, in the dark moments, I wonder if I'll wander lost forever, trying to find something I'm not even sure I ever had. It feels a bit of a dream, or perhaps a nightmare: the overarching need, the constant longing, the absolute certainty; it all appears to be completely irrational. Why would I want that again?

Why can't I live without it?

The Invitation

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love for your dream for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life's betrayals
or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own.
if you can dance with wildness
& let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers & toes without cautioning us to
be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true.
I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty even when it is not pretty every day.
And if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon,
"Yes."

It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.

--Oriah Mountain Dreamer

Auto blues

I don't love my car.  Actually, at the moment, I hate my car.

I only bought it because my company offered me a company car or a cash equivalent, and of course I immediately took the cash and then bought the cheapest car I could find.

So I tell myself, when I have to spend money on the car, that I am still coming out ahead.  However, in the past week it will have cost me £1,685 (US $2,685).  That's more than I paid for the darn thing!

I've had problems with the exhaust system since I bought it (it was 10 years old, after all) and I've had it patched twice, but the problem kept recurring.  In the UK, you have to pass an annual safety test (MOT) and I knew it would fail, so last week I spent £300 replacing the whole thing.

Thus I took it for its MOT reasonably confident it would be fine...only to be told a shock absorber was leaking, which meant I had to replace both of them, and some part required to replace them was frozen, so needed to be replaced as well, and it came to £335 -- plus £35 for the test!!

I then took my test result to the post office and gave them another £220 for property tax. (Why you renew your car tax at the post office is beyond me.)

And when I got home, I sent a cheque for £790 for my insurance for a year, which is slightly less insane than what I paid last year.  (The UK works on a "no claims" policy, and of course coming from the States I did not have any "no claims" so for the first two years I was paying the same price as a 16-year-old who just got his license!)

Usually when you buy a car, the MOT, tax disc, and insurance are due at different times, making it a little more palatable.  When I bought the car, I had to get it inspected, taxed, and insured all at the same time, and thus each year renew it all at the same time.  So I expected to pay about £1,100 for the car, but that's not to say I budgeted for it...

My commute

120mph on a 'pendolino' train, so named because it tilts into the corners, providing an...interesting...experience.

I've been working near Manchester for the past month, 2-3 days per week, which will likely continue until September. The train from Reading takes 3 hours and is miserable, so the past two weeks I've been staying overnight in London and taking first class on the fast train. It's only £40 more round-trip (or as I like to say, £10 per hour) but the difference is amazing.

I can even get work done, when I'm not posting photos on my blog. :-)