I guess the world's not in as bad a shape as we're supposed to think, since the newspaper from the nearest big town put the Miley Cyrus fiasco on half the front page, above the fold. It'd be horrid there were, gosh, actually news events that were happening or something. So, given that's probably Crisis A of the moment (never mind the ongoing tensions with Iran, the bumblings of our alleged state legislature, and so forth), I guess my mind is free to consider more profound things:
:: You know by now I'm awful fond of The Park Bench, another nerd-girl blog. Liz often has a way of drilling right to the gooey center of my mind, and she did it again yesterday with this post about how certain foods are "gendered." I've fallen victim to that sort of pressure myself, of really wanting to go to town on a big meal but feeling obliged to stay with a salad. (Granted, as a vegetarian that's often what I have to make do with, but I can piece together a reasonably meatless meal from most menus, and I've also been known to be pragmatic from time to time about meat when there are absolutely no other options. Or when we're at a Chinese restaurant and there are no vegetarian eggrolls available.)
The funny thing is, it used to not always be this way. Does anyone remember how Kellogg's marketed Special K back in the day? It wasn't always about trying to become a hot chick who can fit into a swimsuit. I remember this ad from an old National Geographic in my collection that plugged how Special K was a sensible breakfast for people who were trying to stay healthy and watch their waistlines. The spokesmodel? It wasn't some lady in a swimsuit. It was an older businessman in a blue suit, sitting at a breakfast table with a bowl of Special K in a railroad dining car, looking out the window with this vaguely optimistic smile on his face. I vaguely remember the "Can you pinch more than an inch?" campaign in the 1980s. But at some point Special K got rebranded as a cereal for ladies, and Kellogg's started to put that hourglass-figure motif on the box and it seems every few months there's some fitness offer on the box featuring Kathy Smith. Drove me crazy. It's good cereal, but it drives me crazy still. (I'm not worried about fitting into a bathing suit. I'm more concerned about staying in reasonable shape. I was a fat kid growing up -- a really fat kid -- and if you were fat growing up, part of you never stops seeing yourself as that overweight kid.)
:: Sir Jackie Stewart has written his autobiography, Winning Is Not Enough, and it's now available in the States. I got my copy via Amazon.com preorder yesterday, and after I got home I started to leaf through it. It didn't take me long to get entranced by it. It's a big book, and Sir Jackie has a lot to say in it and a lot of vivid recollections, and you learn a lot about his adventures behind the wheel, as a team owner, and in front of the television camera (which is how I first became aware of him, in my childhood, as a member of the Wide World of Sports team).
There were two sections of the book that really, profoundly moved me, and neither had anything to do with racing. One chapter discusses his lifelong efforts against dyslexia. When Sir Jackie was a child, no one really knew about dyslexia, and so many adults around him assumed he was lazy or "stupid" when, in truth, he was struggling and had no way then to be helped; in fact, he really wasn't aware of what it was until about 1980, when his son was diagnosed with the same problem and, after a subsequent test, so was he. The chapter title ("Am I Stupid?") is haunting in itself.
The other chapter that really moved me is later in the book, and in it Sir Jackie talks about his dogs. The final days of one of those dogs, and Sir Jackie talking about the day he had Boss put to sleep, is one of the saddest things I've ever read. Anyone who's ever had to say farewell to a terminally ill pet (and anyone who knows that part of the price you have to pay for an animal's companionship is the likelihood that you will have to say goodbye sooner rather than later) knows the pain he describes too well. It will move you to tears.
It's a wonderful book. To call Sir Jackie "a motorcar racer" is almost to do him a disservice, because you read through this book and you see there's so much more there. In that regard it reminds me a lot of Janet Guthrie's wonderful memoir, which is a book about a busy life filled with so much more than just a distinguished racing career. I highly recommend it.