Empty Calories & Male Curiosity, #39 🥃

Do Middle-Aged Men Have Anyone To Emulate That Isn’t A D-bag?

QUICK HITTERS:

1. This week I’m sharing another BIBO (Book I Bailed On) because I saw it in the bookstore the other day. The title is Ghosts of Panama, and it was written by actor Mark Harmon (he actually co-wrote it, but I will spare his co-author the ignominy). I really wanted to like this, not just because I am a huge NCIS fan, but also because Harmon was an outstanding college football player back in the day.

   Unfortunately, the book sucked. Kind of like a couple of his nephews, who formed the hair band Nelson. Although, that fact is canceled out by one of his cool brother-in-laws, John DeLorean. Yes, that DeLorean.

   

   

   Show me two more punchable faces. I’ll wait.

   

   Every boy in the ‘80s wanted one of these. They may have been cool, but as it turns out, they were kinda pieces of shit.

2. Thanks to my friends Sheila Moeschen and Michael Maupin for inviting me to participate in the Curious George Questionnaire last week. If you missed it, and want to learn more about yours truly, you can find it here.

3. This newsletter, along with the accompanying SilentPunt podcast, now has over 200 subscribers. Thanks to you all!

4. In this week’s GOING DEEP I’ve cut and pasted a copy of a weekly newsletter I receive. I signed up a few months ago on the premise that the author was a male my age, who seemed reasonable. Well, he might be my age, but that’s about all we have in common.

   You ladies always complain about the crazy standards society tries to hold you to. Take solace in the fact that you are not alone.

GOING DEEP:

Do Middle-Aged Men Have Anyone To Emulate That Isn’t A D-bag?

Prior to the piece in question, there was an advertisement for NADS. What is NADS you ask? Well, it is organic underwear for men. Because of course it is. I swear, if anyone in my grandfather’s generation ran into ANYONE wearing $34 underwear, they would beat the ever-loving bejeezus out of them on principle alone.

Didn’t know my balls were absorbent.

Below is the newsletter:

(His words are in italics, mine are in bold)

If I’ve learned anything over the last decade, it’s that midlife is rarely about one thing. It’s deep, nuanced, imperfect, confusing, and clear all at the same time. And it can be overwhelming, if you let it. That’s why the goal for this period of our lives is simple: Master the middle. Not by comparing or competing, but by becoming the best versions of ourselves. By being able to look in the mirror and be proud of the man staring back.

OK, this is how they get you. I vibe with all of this.

Did I just say vibe? Shit. Maybe I’m as big a jack wagon as this guy.

Anyway, this paragraph is likely similar to what I read that initially got me to subscribe.

.

This week is a big one for me because for the first time ever we’re taking both of our sons to college. In the span of about 5 days my wife and I will move our boys into college and then be on our own. I’m emotional just writing about it. One way I cope is to break things down into individual pieces and focus on them as they come.

This past week, that has meant a 16-hour car ride with my son while adjusting my schedule to keep writing, keep seeing clients, and to stay consistent with my fitness and mindset. 

OMG he had me until mindset. Next thing you know he’ll be talking about “the grind” 🤮.

And also, clients? Who are these clients? Oh, that is what this newsletter is about, right? You want me to become a client. So I can be as cool as you, right? Maybe then I can hang out with you at the homecoming dance?

Or the moon tower party?

New Subscribers: This is Matthew. We do not like Matthew.

I’m also handling a business deal I’m pulling money out of, the emotional cost of confronting someone who has disappointed me and the daily success we’re seeing with (name redacted) as several of our recent columns have gone mainstream and we want to capitalize on that. 

I mean, have douchyier words ever been written?

Yes, douchyier is a word. 

Google it.

Nerd.

.

What I keep coming back to is simplicity. Because the little things are the big things. 

The little things aren’t the big things.

That’s why they are called the little things.

Sixteen hours in the car with my son. No phones, just us. Talking. Driving through Texas and Colorado. One of our favorite traditions. 

With my son, I felt connected. At peace. One morning, as we crossed into Oklahoma with the sun blazing to our left, driving down Donald J. Trump Highway (yes, that’s a thing…) while listening to I’m on Fire by Springsteen, I thought, “Could it get any more American than this?” 

A) No chance a teenager spent 16 hours not on their phone. Unless they’ve been lobotomized.

B) Yes, it could be more American. You could be pulled over for your race. Or deported. You entitled, hipster dufus.

By the time we hit Denver, we grabbed lunch at a food hall, checked out a Rockies game, and collapsed into naps before dinner.  

What in the name of all things holy is a food hall? Are you at a college? Then it’s a dining hall. Are you at a high school? Then it’s a cafeteria. Are you at a place of business that sells food?

Then it’s called a restaurant.

.

A morning hike, a plunge, some writing, a few coaching calls. Life is busy, but when I simplify, it all feels aligned. 

A plunge? How about you plunge into Dante’s tenth circle of hell and never email me again? Seriously, I don’t understand rich guys’ obsession with cold plunges.

We had breakfast with Sterling Hawkins, an incredible human being. The best part was sitting back and watching my son and him talk.

I don’t know who this Hawkins guy is, but I’m pretty sure the author is hoping the dumbasses that read this confuse him with Stephen Hawking.

I do my best to write honestly, speak honestly, and live honestly. My fuse is short when others don’t. Just this week, I pulled out of a venture fund because I lost trust in the founder. I don’t care if it’s going to make money. I can’t be in business with people whose words and actions don’t align. Life is too short. 

Honestly, I don’t know what makes a person sound more like a tool…venture fund talk or alignment talk.

Who among us is aligned anyway? Aren’t we all just trying our best to hang on for dear life?

I wake up early no matter where I am. Walking down Arapahoe in Boulder at 6:45 am, I hear my name being called. Bart Foster flagged me down. He was already headed home from a workout. I was grabbing a coffee. These are the little moments.

“I wake up early no matter where I am.” Says a guy who was never in charge of the 3 a.m. feeding. Also, I don’t know who Bart is and I don’t care. Name drops don’t work if people don’t know the name.

And of course he was in Boulder. Where else do middle-aged hipsters with beards hang out these days?

Baby Boomers had Vail.

Gen Xers have Boulder.

Millennials and Gen Z have their parent’s house.

.

I’m an older guy with an older audience now, and in the best way. My recent empty nest column hit 224,000 views with hundreds of comments and emails from others going through the same thing. That’s connection. That’s my reality now. 

OMG I hate this douche canoe so much. Not even a humble brag. Just a straight-up brag. Please, oh please, you glamorous yet virile colossus of a man - tell me how I can be like you.

I also remember my own college move-in. My mom was there. My dad wasn’t; he was bedridden with cancer. She told anyone who would listen that her husband was dying, and then she’d cry. I was mortified, embarrassed, insecure. You never know what anyone is going through.

Ah geez, that stinks. I understand how he feels, even though that didn’t happen to me, I empathize. Maybe I should be a little nicer.

Note to self: Don’t give this man your money just because you connected with his writing slightly. Remember, he is a jag-off.¹

.

Now, decades later, after getting my oldest son squared away, I’m about to move my youngest son into college in Los Angeles. My wife is sad. I don’t like when my wife is sad. We’re gonna stay in LA for a few extra days and my goal is to make her smile. 

Preach brother. Preach.

Seriously Henny, do NOT buy anything from this man.

He. Is. Not. Your. Friend.

.

Midlife isn’t about one thing. It’s about everything, all at once. The joy, the pain, the wins, the losses, the clarity, the confusion. 

The key isn’t control, it’s acceptance. Simplify. Connect. Be honest. Stay present. 

Remember: Enjoy the little things. They’re the big things. 

In health, 

Hue Juhsoul

(This is not his real name)

So, to sum up:

Simplify: You know, cold plunge, travel weekly, grow a douchy beard, and work out in the morning while your wife does all of the parenting.

Connect: With everyone except your children. And name-drop as often as possible.

Be honest: Like, honestly, let everyone know how cool you are.

Stay Present:

Sorry, I forgot the bracelets. Most of these turd nuggets also wear bracelets.

Ok, you folks have suffered enough. Signing off for the week,

This pic of Maverick & Darla from day care last week reminded me of the final scene in Rocky 3. (Freeze frame painting of Apollo & Rocky about to punch each other).

1. Ladies, if you’re wondering, this doesn’t mean what you think it means. JAG actually stands for ‘just a guy’, as in, a regular run-of-the-mill guy. However, over time it has turned into a much nastier term. The only real synonym for it is dick. As in, that guy’s a dick.