A man's STILL got to know his limitations

(NOTE: This post was published five years ago today on September 5, 2016. I went back to it to see if it all still holds true. The answer is yes, except that, as recently pointed out, I don't do long tedious car rides as well as I used to. Other than that, these are still a few of the items on my long list of weaknesses and flaws...though to my credit, I fully embrace them all.)

Harry Callahan was right. Here are mine:

• If you're giving me directions, do not refer to points on the compass unless I'm traveling on a well-marked interstate. Otherwise, you're better off telling me something like, "Now when you get to the Dairy Queen that kind of looks like the Mos Eisley spaceport in 'Star Wars,' you're gonna want to take a left. You'll know you've gone too far if you come to the billboard for Swanson TV dinners." Those reference points I can relate to much better than north, south, east or west.

• Does the job involve hammering and/or basic operation of a screwdriver? Fine, I can do it. Are power tools and/or measuring in the mix? In that case, please see my wife.

• Cutting the grass? Yes, I'm a virtuoso. Landscaping of any sort? Yeahhhh, let's call a professional.

• I can sing the melody. I cannot sing harmony. I long ago accepted this fact.

• Athletically speaking, I'm all about running and jumping. Once you start throwing hand-eye coordination into the mix, you're going to want to pick someone else for your team...unless we're talking about hitting a slow-pitched softball, in which case I'm probably still your guy.

• Writing? Yes. Editing? Absolutely. Grammar question? Most likely. Drawing and/or general design? Next, please.

• Would you like me to dance? Fine, but the music must be limited to an 80s power ballad for which homecoming-type, rock-back-and-forth slow dancing is acceptable. There is no foxtrotting and/or Lambada-ing coming from this guy, let me tell you.

• I'm very good at tedious, long-distance car trips. I can be in that driver's seat for 12 hours and still be raring to go. But if at the end of the trip you ask me to parallel park on a busy street, I will melt right before your eyes. Really, my body will turn to liquid and I will enter another state of being that prevents me from even attempting to wedge the vehicle into that tiny space. A similar phenomenon occurs if you ask me to drive a stick-shift.

• I will sit spellbound for an hour listening to Mahler. I will not do the same for Merle Haggard. I'm also ready on a moment's notice for an all-day session of M*A*S*H* binge-watching, but I cannot abide more than seven consecutive minutes of almost any CBS sitcom, "The Big Bang Theory" excepted.

• Roller coaster? Sure, I'll come along if you'd like. Spinny ride? Sure, I'll puke on you if that's what you're looking for.

• I max out at roughly one beer or one glass of wine. Beyond that there's trouble. As for hard liquor, my preferred maximum there would be zero.

When I grow up, I'm going to learn to drink alcohol

As I have often stated, I am the lightest of lightweight drinkers. It doesn't take much to get me feeling buzzed, and I have no stomach for anything much stronger than a Bud Light.

To clarify, I do like beer, but only really basic, lager-type beer.

I tolerate wine, but my one-glass-every-three-months approach is likely to endure.

And spirits? Good Lord, no.

I am envious of those who really enjoy good bourbon or Scotch. It all smells and tastes like floor cleaner to me.

"Sipping" whiskey? If I'm forced to have whiskey, I'm going to throw it all back in one shot.

I'm not saying any of these are bad in general. If you enjoy them, have at it. I'm just saying that, personally, I can't tolerate 95% of what your typical bar will stock.

As always, though, I'll try anything. And I really do mean anything that is considered safe and edible/drinkable. Food-wise, there is nothing I won't eat and nothing I really don't like.

But when it comes to liquor, I clearly did not get that gene.

And maybe that's a good thing.

Now, liver and onions? I'll happily eat it all day. The thought of it might make you nauseous, but just know that, for me, so does that glass of Jim Beam you're nursing.

Live music is probably what I miss the most

I've heard the question asked often over these past 12 months: What's the one thing you miss the most since the outbreak of the pandemic?

The answers are often predictable, though no less poignant and heartfelt. People miss getting together with family and friends. They miss visiting their elderly relatives. They just want to go the movies or a ball game again with a crowd all around them.

There are many things I miss about which I comfort myself by keeping in mind that this will all eventually end. Some elements of our lives may change forever, but we'll still end up a lot closer to our previous "normal" than we are now.

For me, that will mean a return to Severance Hall.

Severance is the home of the world-renowned Cleveland Orchestra, an ensemble to which I am a subscriber. In fact, this was supposed to have been the year when I went all in with my commitment to the group.

Whereas in the previous few years I bought partial season packages of six or seven concerts each, my original plan for 2020-21 had been to attend a full slate of 13.

I was excited.

For one thing, these concerts are occasions when I get to spend a few hours with one of my two oldest daughters, Elissa and Chloe. They switch off on which concerts they attend with me. It's fun not only for the shared experience but also for the conversation (as well as the intermission wine I always buy them).

Nearly as important is the magic of the music. I use that word "magic" intentionally because I don't know how else to describe the sound those musicians onstage at Severance Hall produce.

It's one thing for me to listen to my classical CDs (I have nearly 200 of them), but quite another to hear these famous works performed live by world-class musicians. I never tire of it.

The Orchestra delayed the start of the season until January, then again until this month. They fully intended to do in-person concerts starting right about now by taking a long list of precautions to keep everyone safe.

But eventually it dawned on management that, even with the most stringent of measures, it made no sense to put an older audience at risk by having them together in one indoor venue, even with partial capacity.

So the season has gone fully virtual. I listen to the recorded performances the Orchestra puts out every other Thursday, and I enjoy them, but it's just not quite the same.

Someday. Someday we'll be back for in-person concerts. And when we are, that very loud sigh of contentment you'll hear coming from the balcony section will be mine.

A man's got to know his limitations

Harry Callahan was right. Here are mine:

• If you're giving me directions, do not refer to points on the compass unless I'm traveling on a well-marked interstate. Otherwise, you're better off telling me something like, "Now when you get to the Dairy Queen that kind of looks like the Mos Eisley spaceport in 'Star Wars,' you're gonna want to take a left. You'll know you've gone too far if you come to the billboard for Swanson TV dinners." Those reference points I can relate to much better than north, south, east or west.
  
• Does the job involve hammering and/or basic operation of a screwdriver? Fine, I can do it. Are power tools and/or measuring in the mix? In that case, please see my wife.
  
• Cutting the grass? Yes, I'm a virtuoso. Landscaping of any sort? Yeahhhh, let's call a professional.
  
• I can sing the melody. I cannot sing harmony. I long ago accepted this fact.
  
• Athletically speaking, I'm all about running and jumping. Once you start throwing hand-eye coordination into the mix, you're going to want to pick someone else for your team...unless we're talking about hitting a slow-pitched softball, in which case I'm probably your guy.
  
• Writing? Yes. Editing? Absolutely. Grammar question? Most likely. Drawing and/or general design? Next, please.
  
• Would you like me to dance? Fine, but the music must be limited to an 80s power ballad for which homecoming-type, rock-back-and-forth slow dancing is acceptable. There is no foxtrotting and/or Lambada-ing coming from this guy, let me tell you.
  
• I'm very good at tedious, long-distance car trips. I can be in that driver's seat for 12 hours and still be raring to go. But if at the end of the trip you ask me to parallel park on a busy street, I will melt right before your eyes. Really, my body will turn to liquid and I will enter another state of being that prevents me from even attempting to wedge the vehicle into that tiny space. A similar phenomenon occurs if you ask me to drive a stick-shift.
  
• I will sit spellbound for an hour listening to Mahler. I will not do the same for Merle Haggard. I'm also ready on a moment's notice for an all-day session of M*A*S*H* binge-watching, but I cannot abide more than seven consecutive minutes of almost any CBS sitcom, "The Big Bang Theory" excepted.
  
• Roller coaster? Sure, I'll come along if you'd like. Spinny ride? Sure, I'll puke on you if that's what you're looking for.
  
• I max out at roughly one beer or one glass of wine. Beyond that there's trouble. As for hard liquor, my preferred maximum there would be zero.

10 ways I'm different now than I was 20 years ago

(1) I love coffee and wine. I used to hate coffee and wine. Especially wine. Now I regularly consume both. There is no logical explanation for this.

(2) I lost hair on top of my head. Most days I forget this is the case, because I don't regularly look at the top of my own head. Then I'll see a picture of myself from the back and realize, "Oh yeah. That."

(3) I'm more careful about using the brakes on my car so they last longer. A few $600+ brake jobs will do that to you.

(4) I no longer sincerely believe the Cleveland Browns or Cleveland Indians will win a championship during my lifetime. I used to hold on to this belief because I couldn't stand the alternative. Now I'm more honest with myself.

(5) I don't talk as fast. Or at least I don't think I do. I used to talk fast all the time. Maybe my brain is slowing down. Or maybe I'm just generally a lot calmer.

(6) I listen to a lot of classical music. Much like coffee and wine, I was never a fan until a few years ago. Who knows why?

(7) I not only don't need to have a lot of money, I don't WANT a lot of money. I've seen the problems money causes. No thank you. (Nor am I looking to be poor, either, mind you. Just comfortable. How about that?)

(8) Twenty years ago my worldview was limited to North America, as I had only visited various parts of the U.S. and Eastern Canada at that point (well, I guess I also spent a few hours in Mexico when I was 8). Since then I have visited Germany, France, the UK and China. It's amazing what spending time in foreign countries will do to your perspective.

(9) I don't wear glasses anymore. Nor do I wear contacts. God bless you, Guy Who Invented LASIK Surgery.

(10) The number of children in my house has exploded by 400%. This is more of a wonderful thing than I can even begin to describe to you.

Golf + guyness does not equal me

There are at least two activities enjoyed by millions of people that don't appeal to me, but I really wish they did.

One is drinking wine. We covered that here. My philosophy on wine is that it all tastes like vinegar or feet, or a combination of both. I've tried almost every kind of wine imaginable, and I have yet to encounter one that was even remotely palatable to me, let alone enjoyable.

And as I've said on numerous occasions, this is a shame because I want to like wine. People who are into it are really into it, and it always looks to me like they're having fun drinking it. But I just can't do it. I can't drink any wine without retching.

The other activity enjoyed by many but not by me is playing golf.

I can tell you, almost to the day, the last time I played golf.

It was October 1993, and we had a church golf outing. A bunch of guys from the congregation got together to play at a course out in Middlefield, Ohio, called Grandview.

My golf experience to that point was spotty. I actually took a golf class in college and got an "A" in it, but that didn't mean I really knew how to play golf.

So as we approached the first tee, I told the guys in my group that I was a pretty terrible golfer and would probably slow them down.

I then proceeded to launch a beautiful tee shot that stopped within 10 feet of the hole.

Everyone figured I was just sandbagging it and would tear up the course.

And I did tear up the course, in the sense that I created a series of huge divots every time I attempted to strike the ball and missed.

Incidentally, it took me five putts to get that ball into the first hole. Yes, from less than 10 feet away, it took me five strokes to finally sink it. And my putting just got worse from there.

Thus, I have abstained from golfing for nearly two decades now, with no plans to set foot on a course again any time soon.

And much like wine drinking, I also see this as kind of a shame. Golfers are very passionate about their sport and always seem to be having such a good time.

But I'm miserable on a golf course, and it's not just because I'm so terrible at it. I think the game is just too slow and requires too much concentration for my liking.

Of course, the athletic endeavor in which I most often engage is distance running, which in my case is also pretty slow. But it doesn't require much concentration at all, so I prefer it to golf.

Actually, I prefer almost anything to golf.

The other day in my post about amusement parks, I suggested that I would rather stick a hot poker in my eye than go to Cedar Point. The hot poker line is one I more often use in relationship to golf than anything else.

If you give me a red-hot poker and a set of golf clubs and suggest that I have to put one or the other to use, I will immediately set to shoving that poker into my eye socket if it means I don't have to embarrass myself on a golf course.

Golf is just the latest in a series of man-oriented activities that don't appeal to me. As I've mentioned before, I don't do well in any measure of Real Guy-ness.

I don't like (nor am I any good at) using tools. I've never driven a motorcycle, and I don't really want to. I've never had any form of facial hair.

By almost all accounts, I fail my gender miserably.

I do, however, like sports. I'm an intense hockey, football, baseball and soccer fan. Ironically, I actually enjoy watching golf on TV sometimes if it's the last few holes of a big tournament and the competition is good.

But the one thing I can absolutely guarantee is that you won't find me back at Grandview any time soon with a golf club in one hand and a glass of wine in the other.

You can bet on that.

Vinegar and feet

I have more than 700 Facebook friends.

I don't say that to boast, because there's nothing really impressive about it. Anyone who wants a lot of Facebook friends can have them, either by throwing out friend requests left and right or accepting any request that comes their way.

I fall into the second group. I have Facebook friends with whom I'm only passingly familiar, but I really hate to reject anyone's friend request, so I always figure, "Well, I must know this person somehow. Though honestly, I can't remember the last time I was in Nigeria."

Anyway, I have a lot of Facebook friends, which means there's always a lot of activity in my FB news feed. And at least once day, one of those friends (usually female, usually about my age or a little older) will post something to the effect of, "Sitting on the couch drinking a glass of Chardonnay and relaxing. Wonderful!"

And I get jealous. Not necessarily of the "relaxing" part, though that would be nice. But of the Chardonnay part. I am envious of anyone who drinks and enjoys wine, because I cannot stand the taste of it. It's revolting to me. All of it.

But understand, I really, really WANT to like wine. I wish I enjoyed it, because it just sounds so much fun. To me, all wine -- and I mean ALL wine -- tastes like vinegar, or feet, or some combination of the two.

Interestingly, the same is true for Terry. Neither of us even much likes the smell of wine, let alone the taste. I realize we're in the minority here. And believe me, we've tried and tried, but neither of us has ever tasted any wine we've liked. Ever.

Some people seem genuinely offended when they hear that. They're convinced they can "fix" us. "Have you ever tried this wine or that one?" they'll ask. And we'll usually say yes and yes, and both made us want to throw up. "How about a sweet wine? A dry wine? Cabernet? Zinfandel? Merlot? Red wines? White wines? Dessert wines? Mad Dog?" Yes, yes, yes, yes, YES, YES, YES! They're all terrible, do you hear me? VINEGAR AND FEET!

Our church serves Welch's grape juice for communion, so that's what we have every Sunday. But occasionally we'll visit a sister church that uses real wine, and we won't know about it. I'll take a hefty swig and then do that involuntary shutter thing you do when you've ingested something that disgusts you.

But again, I really wish this wasn't the case. I attend plenty of business events where people are walking around carrying their glasses of wine, looking all adult-like and sophisticated. I'll usually have a beer, because I like beer. But only one beer. More than one and the appeal drops away quickly for me.

Plus, I start to get woozy after more than one beer. Seriously. I'm a 42-year-old man and more than one beer starts sending me over the edge. You can't call me a lightweight drinker. I'm whatever is under lightweight. "Featherweight," maybe? So after that first beer I'll usually have water or something while everyone else is drinking their Bordeaux or Fauxfaux or HoHoHo or whatever it is that grown-ups drink.

If you have wine suggestions, I'll gladly accept them. But I'm telling you, my wife and I are wine-proof. It's sad, really.