Random Thoughts from a Restless Mind

1) Halloween. Maybe 40 or 45 kids came by Lovely Daughter’s house in South Carolina last night. Beth and I joined Megan, Ryan, and two neighbor households who set up shop in Megan’s driveway and handed out candy. After some 11 or 12 Halloweens at home on a childless little street with no trick or treating at all, it was a nice little blast from the past.

Does anyone still give out 250-300 pieces like candy like we did when our kids were little? Are those days gone everywhere?

Those were good days indeed.

2) Classic. Did you catch last night’s Game 7 of the World Series? The same two teams that brought you an 18 inning classic and perhaps the best single game performance by a player in World Series history delivered what may go down as the best game 7 ever. It was almost enough to make you ignore the fact that this was a battle between the J.P. Morgan vs. CitiBand of MLB.

Still, aficionados of the game will be debating that Blue Jay slide at home on a force play for decades. My take: he runs across the plate and the parade is in Toronto.

3) Prohibition. Savannah, Georgia never fails to entertain. We made a quick visit yesterday for brunch and a visit to the Prohibition Museum. Did you know that the first federal income tax was instituted shortly after the start of national prohibition? No? Me either. Turns out almost 70% of state and federal revenue was from taxes and other fees levied on the producers and purveyors of spirits in the U.S. Legislators and other government officials somehow missed this little detail about how the government was financed back in the day.

Of course, the passage of the 21st Amendment officially calling off prohibition did NOT mean the end of income taxes. Shocking, I know.

If you do make it to Savannah–and I highly suggest you do–make sure to put this museum on your list. Come thirsty; there’s a “secret” speakeasy at the end of the exhibits and they serve up some legit versions of the classic cocktails of the age.

4) Handbook. As in “The Preppy Handbook”. Written by Lisa Birnbach and three other authors who somehow never got any attention and published in 1980, this tongue-in-cheek pretty much nailed a certain group then in residence at my tiny little liberal arts college, their siblings and their parents. Although deep down I realized that there was a whole world that I’d never really seen, The Handbook was kind of a “how to” and “you shoulda” for those in and out of the loop. Imagine my horror when I discovered that wearing tan cotton pants did not automatically mean I was sporting chinos.

Even if I took the “Dickies” tag off the pocket.

In the end all it took was graduating, getting a white collar job, moving to a city, popping that collar on the weekend and becoming a young urban professional or “Yuppie”. Even a public school kid like me was a member of that tribe, with or without reading The Yuppie Handbook (Piesman and Harlee). What Yuppies and Preppies did definitely share was a tendency toward navel-gazing and self-satisfaction, whether born to it (Preppy) or acquired of it (Yuppie). This inevitably led to caricature and open scorn, especially toward those who didn’t get the message that imitation via Handbook was not really the greatest compliment.

Still, the truest of Preppies who grew up to be Yuppies always seem to show up dressed just right for pretty much every event and occasion. Sartorial aging in place, as it were.

5) Head shot. It’s been a minute since my last official set of head shot photos for professional purposes. You know, website bios, promotions for speaking gigs and the like. I tend to show up in candids pretty well, my smile straight and both eyes open and all atwinkle. Posed shots? Meh, not so much. The files that landed in my inbox with the most recent photo session are uniformly execrable. When I’m out and about I am regularly and routinely told I look much younger than my calendar age. And if I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror I’m not all that young, but I’m also not as old as that batch of headshots makes me look.

Although my wardrobe is definitely, how shall I say it, dated.

Not only do I look like the aging Yuppie wanna-be Preppie that I am, I have obviously spent nearly zero time and effort to either dress my age, or dress like a particularly good specimen of someone so generously endowed with years of life. Stuff is a little too long or a little too loose or–yikes!–a little too tight. My daily “uniform” of slacks, button-down and bow tie is just fine; it’s my brand and makes introductions quick and easy: “you DO wear a bow tie.” Even there, though, stuff could fit a bit better.

Does it really matter? Or is this just a coping mechanism for the shock of a truthful camera? Frankly, I don’t really know. What is clear, though, is that I could stand to be a bit more thoughtful and proactive in both looking my age, and what it means to do so as you get older. Neither fat nor particularly thin, I certainly know how to become more fit. If memory serves, the fitter I felt, the better I tended to feel about my “look”, whether or not I was in sync with either contemporary or classic style. Every 8 or 10 years brought a rather natural reassessment and re-set, usually driven by a proactive move toward better health and fitness.

Driven by the hard turn at mile-marker 49, somehow I just drove past marker 59 on auto-pilot.

In my defense I had my first hip replacement at 59 and before I really got reacquainted with my midsection my second hip gave up the ship. Before I knew it I was 6 years away from the end of my CrossFitty years and all of the health benefits that accrued therefrom. Gone was not only levels of fitness I’d not seen since college, but the desire and will to continue chasing them. Worse, it seemed my attention to style and the like went right out with them. And if someone has published the go-to Handbook for Aging Yuppies, I somehow missed that, too.

It’s too soon for this, of course. Too soon to be truly only doing deadlifts and squats so that I can get my arse off the loo without a hand up. Between the ears I still think like a Crossfitter. I’m deficient in all 10 essential characteristics or skills in fitness, especially strength. My buddy Jeff has done an excellent job of staying fit in 9 of 10 (he hates running and all things long, slow, aerobic); he still likes me and would be happy to help, I’m sure. The better you feel, the better you look.

My better 95% Beth has always had a fine-tuned sense for what it takes for me to look good without consulting any type of Handbook, Preppy/Yuppie or otherwise. She’s already started to make suggestions that look promising. If round one of updating to stylish old Yuppie ends up not cutting it long term I’m sure she’ll be happy to contribute v1.0 to Goodwill and set us off on v2.0. The better you look, the better you feel.

Those pictures turned out to be a stiff kick in the can. It’s too soon to capitulate to the calendar. Too soon to train for anything other than the continued effort to be a little better tomorrow than you were yesterday. To look like you could be a model on the page whenever those old Handbook authors get around to publishing their guide for the mature Yuppy. Pop a collar or two on top of a pair of real chinos that fit just right. Thumb my nose at those lousy professional head shots and just use one of the crazy good candids taken by Beth any time someone asks for a photo.

Maybe just go ahead and write that damn Handbook myself.

I’ll see you next week…

This entry was posted on Sunday, November 2nd, 2025 at 6:29 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.