Thankful 2010

I’ve spent years noting the holiday with a list of various reasons to be thankful. This year will be no different, but I’m approaching things from a different perspective this year. There, I just said it – perspective. This year I am thankful for being able to be on the other side of things. 2010 brought perspective in the form of my bubbly bouncy ball of baby girl.

The universal parental taunt is “You just wait until you have kids.” Something in our heads always told us we were going to do things better, but inevitably we all suffer that moment when we realize we are handling everything just like our parents did.

Obviously I knew life was going to change, and I’m thankful that I’m in a good place to welcome this change. I couldn’t have done this 5 or 10 years ago, and any earlier I might have raised a serial killer.

I’ve experienced many people around me become parents in the last twenty or so years that I’ve been piecing my life together. I can’t say one way or the other if these people were succeeding, failing, or just doing what little they were capable of. I was half expecting some sort of slight madness wash over me. Would I become the military precision parent who runs drills on a strict time schedule? Would I be the parent who can’t structure a single sentence without mentioning their child? Would I have to shut out the entire world because I can only process one thing at a time? Would my child become a universal excuse? Would I be ignorant enough to think that the rest of the world will be delighted enough with my child to let them run amok wherever? You might consider me one or all of these parents, but I’m a thankful witness to those who've bravely gone before me.

I wasn’t prepared for the perspective. I just wasn’t. The maturity that increases with each passing year may bring to light what a tool one may have been previously. Nothing can prepare you, however, for the installation of operating system Parenthood 1.0. Gazing into the eyes of my child for the first 10 minutes of her life was like starting my own life over. Call it an out of body experience if you will. Years of family photos, movies, stories, and memories cannot place you in the moment of how your own father felt when he held you for the first time. I’m now reviewing my entire life again as if I was re-watching a Criterion DVD box set with commentary from the director. I’d love to describe this in detail, but I can’t, it is just something you can’t share unless you live it for yourself. I have so much more respect for my parents, because I didn’t know of all these beautiful small moments and frightening big fears. I understand so many things now, and I am thankful for this clarity.

I’m of course thankful for my wife and the sacrifices she made to bring us our Mia. I give thanks to our families who continue to exuberantly embrace our addition.

I give thanks to you the reader, for your (hopeful) continued interest.

An open letter to the students of Mentor High School

I was greatly affected by the news of yet another Mentor High School teen taking their own life due to excessive and insufferable bullying. I graduated from Mentor in 1990, and I’ve been angry for days at an administration that continues to allow students to be victimized. I could have spent time writing about my own struggles coming up through the Mentor School System, but I’ve decided to open letter that speaks directly to the students of MHS.

Dear Students

One would hope that a national mention of your school might be for something positive: a state sports championship, academic merits, or excellence in community service. But your school is now known nationally as a place where four teens have decided that death was a better option than to continue to suffer relentless bullying from their peers.

Of the many articles I’ve read, it seems like many of you have done your best to distance yourselves from the situation. Some claim to have not known this girl. Others have said they weren’t aware of a problem. Many claimed that they don’t want to be judged for the actions of a few.

Let me ask a question. What if one of your fellow students pulled out a gun and shot someone in the middle of the cafeteria, and then ran off? What would you do? Would you report the crime? Would you turn a blind eye and pretend nothing happened? Would you be afraid to identify the student out of fear of being unpopular? Would you laugh at the victim? You wouldn’t think twice about. You would tell every teacher, school official, policeman, parent, reporter, and bystander anything and everything you saw. You witnessed a crime and therefore it is your civic duty to report it as such.

The simple fact is that you did see a student get killed. It may not have happened in front of you, but you were witness to what caused it. You turned a blind eye to it, and continued about your day. You said noting to anyone, and maintained whatever social status you cling to. You may have even laughed about the victim. You most likely see a crime being committed every day, perhaps multiple times a day. You continue to do nothing.

You are not innocent, and don’t pretend to be. Bullying is not a silent act. You are well aware of who the bullies are, and you are also aware of who the victims are. You are more than likely a victim yourself. Four students are dead. How many more need to die before you are brave enough to act?

Don’t kid yourself. This is going to follow you for a long time. Are you proud to list Mentor High School on your college admissions? Imagine listing it on a job application. How many years do you think it will be before people stop mentioning it? “Oh, you’re from that school where all the kids killed themselves.” Every time you open your yearbook, every reunion you attend, every story of the good old days you tell will have the cloud of this tragedy hanging over it.

Do something about it.

Stop being a coward. Take a chance and do something heroic next time you have the opportunity. If you see a student being victimized by others then you need to step in. It may one of the most difficult things you ever do, but I promise you the rewards will benefit you for a lifetime. You might be surprised who stands up next to you. The best defense against any negative force is strength in numbers. Be a community. Be remembered for something better than what history has written for you.

And finally, if you are actually one of those who is guilty of bullying, then I can say that I hope nothing but the worst for you in life. I hope the small amounts of empowerment you gained were worth the empty and shallow existence you have. You are and forever will be a criminal, and your future will treat you as such.

Naked Guy

I hadn’t been in a YMCA locker room for many years, but I’m here to report that some things never change. Upon entering the locker room, right there by the door, is always Naked Guy. Not “I’m slipping out of my towel and jumping into my shorts” Naked Guy. I’m talking about “I’ve been standing here letting it all hang out from every angle as I consider organizing my bag” Naked Guy. No matter what locker room you enter, this guy is there, and usually front and center for everyone to enjoy.

Naked Guy comes in all shapes, sizes, ages, and races. I can’t be as judgmental to suggest that there is something unsavory about this particular man. One shouldn’t assume that his intentions are anything beyond just the freedom of being naked.

Guys are just funny this way. Some guys can get naked together at the drop of a hat… or pants for that matter. My college rugby team was famous for their desire to drop trou with each other. Yet any suggestion of homosexuality would cause a surge of ugly testosterone to prove otherwise. I think there is actually a large percentage of guys who would be perfectly fine with an installation of a sports bar in the locker room. Picture a bunch of naked guys sitting about eating wings and watching the game. Get too messy with the wing sauce, just walk over to the shower and rinse off.

I dated a girl who lived in a newly renovated downtown loft apartment in Cincinnati. Right across the way was this very old school private executive men’s club. Wouldn’t call it a fitness center, because there wasn’t really any exercise going on. Just a bunch of old white men, sitting around in steam rooms. Their casual nudity and lack of window dressings were common issues raised at the resident meetings.

I just don’t have this level of comfort, and I never have. When I’m forced in to sharing changing space with others, I mind my own Ps and Qs. My eyes are on what I’m doing, and I can only expect that everyone else is doing the same. I have what most would consider an appropriate level of self-consciousness, and have no desire to put myself on display.

There are many activities where nudity is acceptable and very much encouraged. However, most of these are considered socially unacceptable in public. Seinfeld had a whole episode about “ugly naked.” There is many a position that need not be gazed upon. Any pre or post stretching routines can all be accomplished with the comfort of briefs. Sure, you might need to hike that leg up on the bench to dry off, but it completely unnecessary as a stance to help drive conversation.

As a general rule, I feel that if your junk is exposed in a public situation, there should be no conversation. This goes for changing rooms and urinals. The only exception to this rule may be at the doctor, and he is telling you to turn your head and cough. I mean, what do you even have to talk about when naked? “Say – how’s your penis?”

As one might assume, I’ve never been in the Ladies Locker room, so I don’t know how relatable this story is to my copious amount female readers. Our feeble male minds have our own ideas, but I’m going to guess there is Naked Woman in there that is in no way matching our Cinemax-inspired fantasy. However feel free to comment, share descriptions or photos if necessary.

Funny Part 2 – Ups Man

Every neighborhood has one I suppose. That one cool kid that everyone looks up to, and longs to be friends with. Our neighborhood had Tim Kraus.

For years I was told by my parents to avoid this particular person. Other neighbors had warned my parents that he was an unsavory fellow, prone to the kind of things that could get an impressionable young man like myself into trouble. As to be expected, that just made him all the more fascinating to me. He lived at the opposite end of the street, and our paths never crossed that much. I heard of him much like we hear of infamous superstars in the tabloids, and therefore many of his exploits were legendary.

Oddly enough, I don’t remember when I started hanging around him. Being so drawn to him for years, I guess I eventually just gravitated to him. Around the age of Junior High, I started to spend nearly every day with him. He wasn’t nearly as bad an egg as he was made out to be. There was indeed something about him that made him a beloved character to us all. He was funny.

Granted, what is funny to a bunch of goofy kids playing in the street isn’t widely regarded as classical comedy. Whatever you want to brand this humor, Tim was by far a master craftsman of it. Nobody could work a crowd of giggling sophomoric misfits like he could. His eyes were shifty with creative delight. His laugh crackled with obnoxious joy. He was often imitated, but nobody could ever come close to his unique brand of delivery. His spoke of body parts and physical acts that we wouldn’t become familiar with for years. His use of obscenities was only used for greater impact. There was truly nothing sacred, and he wasn’t afraid of anyone or any subject.

He had many targets of his humor, but he was honestly never really mean to anyone. The guys on the other end of his jokes became characters larger than themselves. He’d crack heavily on you and you would love him for it. Dale Setzer was perhaps his favorite victim. Tim’s imitation of Dale always started with a “Dah!” Tim made up many hapless adventures involving Dale and his assorted bodily functions and fluids. I’m not sure if Dale ever really knew of his star status, and our collective fascination of him.

I’m sure that we never really knew what we were laughing at. Perhaps Tim didn’t even fully understand why something was funny. One of his random catchphrases was “Lacrosse is a faggot college sport… Dale plays with his dick.” My apologies for the insensitivity of the remark, but keep in mind – we were a bunch of dumb kids. We didn’t understand half of the comment, but his delivery of it kept us in stitches each time he said it.

Everything he did was comical: the slack way he carried himself, his low-rider bike peddling, his crooked middle finger delivery. He took delight in his surroundings, and he introduced me to the subtle absurdities of our every day existence. The UPS man was always the “Ups” man, and later the “U-Piss” man. Various people in the neighborhood had similar nicknames based on his random observations.

His appearance was somewhat odd in style. In the blazing heat of the summer he wore a tropical button down shirt with a battered white t-shirt, dark jeans, and high-top sneakers. All of these items were usually one size too big. He would never wear shorts. Despite this, he was always considered the most attractive of our merry band.

What started out as me basically just being a hanger-oner evolved into one of the most valued friendships I’ve ever had. Like most great comic minds, Tim was covering up a great deal of emotional pain. It’s not my place to go into his troubles, but suffice to say that Tim’s path in life was not a smooth road. It was an important life lesson to learn what kind of masks people wear for protection.

Tim remained a loyal friend through the difficult transition to adolescence. Years later my Dad commented that he was wrong about Tim, and how impressed he was with him in the end. I’ll always envy Tim, and I’ll continue to long for the same kind of adoration he commanded.

I’ll also never be able to not call the UPS driver the “Ups” man ever again.

The Worst Job I've Ever Had

Whenever I reflect on the difficult job market out there, I continue to count the blessings of my employment. I have never been out of work since leaving college, and even better, I've always worked inside my intended career. However, things didn't start out so well. My first year out of school was trial by fire that I have never really been able to let go. Like many of the things I obsess over, I keep this experience with me every day.

As a character flaw, I'm quick to point out that I was never on the fast track to personal growth. With each passing year I reflect on how little I knew prior, and how I wish things could have been clearer for me. The only class I excelled in grade school was art, and it was the obvious path I should take. What exactly I should do in art was the trouble I had. I wasn't cracked enough in the head to be a fine artist, and I wasn't interested enough to teach. The only viable path was commercial art, and my high school teacher recommended the Graphic Design/Illustration program at Kent State University. I spent many years expecting that I would eventually just be an illustrator, and generally struggled with the graphic design portion of my degree. Eventually though, I began to have more confidence in my design, and it became clearer that this was going to be a more marketable skill once I left school. After being selected to be an intern at American Greetings, my confidence spiked, and I soared through a successful final year of college with the highest marks I had ever achieved.

When the job posting for a Graphic Designer at Cedar Point Amusement Park came to my attention, I thought that I had hit the jackpot. This was by far one of my favorite places to visit, and I knew my skill set would be perfect for them. I was over the moon when I got an interview, and accepted the job with no reservation. I had no idea the worst year of my life was about to begin.

The root problem of this job leads back the man that hired me and was to be my boss. Please let me start by clarifying that this is not a cliche "I hate my boss - stick it to the man" bunch of hooey. I've no desire to perpetuate commonality. His name was Paul. He was a gray man. There was no color to his skin. He was probably only in his 40s, but he looked 20 years older. His breath stank of cigarettes, his teeth stained with coffee. His eyes sagged in deep dark sockets. He carried himself like there were weights hung from his appendages. A living Jacob Marley who has already been assigned the eternal chains of damnation. As loathsome creature as you ever saw. It became clear right away that he was hated and feared by everyone. He was the abusive father to the suffering family that had no other choice to live with him and bear it. I was told he was a recovering alcoholic, which didn't as much help to explain his situation as it was to help further define his low level of humanity. I can't find a single solitary decent thing to say about the man. He was a failure as a human being. He sat in his cave of an office, spewing obscenities, making racist remarks, barking into the phone, and dressing down any unfortunate soul who crossed his path. Many managers in other departments refused to deal with him, some outright refused to speak to him. The ones that had to would seemingly lost days of their lives stressing over it. There was one woman who had pushed to the brink of severe mental illness. His negative energy hung over our dank office like the thousands of Seagulls who circled the parking lots. It took only one conversation for me to be completely rattled by him. He thrived with the thrill that he had such an effect on people.

I'm not going to I'm not going to continue on without making it clear that I am not without fault. I was as green as could be entering the job world. I have this ability to make all the mistakes you are usually told to avoid. Paul reminded me many times in my interview that I didn't know anything. I never felt that I proclaimed that I had, but he wanted to make sure that it was understood that I knew nothing. I was actually fine with that. I was ready to learn as much from this man as I could. The problem is, Paul didn't want to teach anything either. It's as if he never really wanted me to know anything. It was much easier for him to ridicule me and berate me if I had no knowledge. He had this uncanny ability to make me give him the wrong answer. He'd bait me into second guessing everything I knew to be correct. It was almost a game for him.

The other designer in the department was a small mouse of a woman. She was married to a park manager, some schlub who was being groomed for bigger and better things by being forced work non-stop from March to November. She had three children, none of whom she ever spoke warmly about. She was plain, neither attractive nor unattractive. She was an unfulfilled woman. The single joy of her week came on Friday afternoon when she would phone the guy who I replaced. The guy that I am told suffered through close to 7 years of Paul at his worst. I'm going to be so bold to suggest that these two had something on the side. It may have just been that survivor syndrome that forms a unbreakable bond between people after experiencing a traumatic event. I thought at first that I could confide in her, seeing that we were now in the same unfortunate situation under Paul. I was blind-sided by the fact that she wasn't as harmless as I perceived. When given the opportunity, she would lash out at me like a pit bull. A beaten and abused dog that was still loyal to its master. I guess I made her situation bearable by taking all focus off of her, and allowing her and Paul to have a common enemy.

One major issue was that I couldn't make two moves without having to ask one of them a question. The guy before did practically everything, and therefore they knew nothing. This guy didn't leave any directions either. I'm rather sure that the bristled responses I got were because they didn't want to own up to not knowing. Mouse lady spent most of her time on the phone for Tech support for Adobe Illustrator, mainly because she just didn't know how to use it. Paul caused a great deal of damage to his own machine because of his short fuse. So anytime I needed to know where a file was, or who to call for certain jobs, the chain of command, or be privy to one of the thousand park processes - I had to ask them. I started collecting my questions, because if I was going to get yelled at, I might as well get it all over with in bunches. I eventually got yelled at for doing that.

There was one particularly ugly day when they cornered me in a conference room and told me everything they didn't like about me. She screamed at me that I didn't listen, despite the fact that she never had any direction for me. They actually told me to lose my attitude, as if I was somehow doing something to wrong them. I'm reminded of the scene in Animal House where the one fraternity was paddling recruits, and they had to yell out with each swat "Thank you sir may I have another!" I can't describe how upsetting this was. Never have I been brought so close to tears in my professional life. I have never since encountered a situation where someone was belittled to a near breaking point, and I honestly can't imagine being near or a part of such thing now. I hate them both for that.

Having the coworkers closest to you making life hard is one thing, but then having the entire office location start in on you is another. I am embarrassed now to have not recognized sooner just how united the entire organization was against me. All the clues were there, I guess I wanted to think so much more of these people. The office admin would come in and regularly ask me If I liked what I was doing. She was hoping for any bit of negativity she could take back to the Office Manager, who would report directly to Paul. One of the the Paint Shop guys would just plainly ask me daily if I had gotten another job yet. I was particularly troubled by him, as I didn't remotely work with him. He got so disgusted with the concept of me he couldn't even eat in the break room with me. Even the park architect and his drafting assistant would be baited into being criticizing me, coming in with random comments about my work. I picture them now huddling in one of the front offices, plotting out new and innovative ways to make life difficult for me.

It was by far the lowest point I had ever reached. I felt like I couldn't just quit. All through college they warned you of tarnishing your resume with short stints. I had nothing else to compare the situation to, so I could only imagine it was like that everywhere. I also didn't want to fail, especially since this was my first job. My self esteem couldn't have been lower. I had to learn how to fight it, or I'd never get anywhere. I was becoming one of them. One of the lost souls who hated everything about their miserable existence. If I was such a terrible designer, why wasn't I ever fired? Why was I never asked to leave? It was because these zombies of the graveyard that is Sandusky, Ohio fed on the life that I had. I would have eventually lost every positive thing about my being. I set a mark of at least one year, and once I hit it - I looked for another job. Oddly enough, I was hired by the first place I interviewed at. Strange, since I was so inept and all.

I left with every shred of dignity I could muster, because If anything, I could at least be a better person about it. I gave my two weeks notice, and intended to give them every single hour of work up to that point - despite the fact the the new job needed me right away. I did everything by the book. The mouse woman asked me on my last day if I would remember them, perhaps expressing a slight pang of guilt. I gave some polite non-answer at the time, but if could answer her right now I would say this: "Yes - you've stayed with me every day of my career. I learned who I didn't want to be, and that was the only valuable thing you taught me."

Wrestlemania Predictions

The WWE presents their Super Bowl of Wrestling today, and as usual I am sucked in by the promise of spectacle. I really should be more cautious with my anticipation as the WWE has not been delivering a quality product worth the $65 pay-per-view price as of late. Last year’s 25^th anniversary should have been a classic to celebrate a quarter of century of Wrestlemania moments. Instead it was a lazy and predictable show with only one major highlight match.

Let’s start off with that match. Two of the WWE’s greatest performers met at Wrestlemania for the first time. Shawn Michaels and the Undertaker each have highlight reels full of notable and perhaps infamous moments. Both are reaching retirement age, but still managed to outshine every one else. The WWE was so happy with this match they decided to do it again. I guess my question is why? In my view, there is no good way for this to end. If Shawn Michaels wins, the hallowed WM winning streak of the Undertaker is over. If the Undertaker wins, then the Shawn Michaels legacy is perhaps damaged by not being able to achieve this goal. Does Michaels deserve the honor of ending the streak? I’m indifferent to it, because part of me feels he isn’t, but on the other hand he is the only one in the current locker room that deserves the honor. I’m not sure why the WWE has decided to paint itself into a corner with this one. I fear a trick ending that will not leave us feeling satisfied.

The one gimmick match that WWE needs to retire is the Money in the Bank Ladder Match – AKA “the full of wrestlers we don’t know what to do with but can’t leave them off the card” match. This match started years ago with only 6 performers, and it is now bloated to 10. This match has featured some incredible spots and bumps over the years, but one can only jump off the top of ladder so many different ways. Shelton Benjamin, Kane, Fat (Matt) Hardy, and MVP are all past their prime or push, and could all have been left off the card. Christian and Kofi Kingston deserve better matches. Let’s hope that the deserving young superstars making their first appearances can make this match memorable. Who wins? I still say Christian should win, and then challenge Edge at the end of his title match later in the evening. The WWE just isn’t brave enough for this bold of a move.

Edge came out of nowhere at the Royal Rumble, and that is possibly the best thing for this event. He takes on the current World Champion and WWE Most Valuable Player Chris Jericho. I have high hopes for these guys, and I hope they are given enough time to truly make an epic match. These two are in the prime of their careers, and this match could easily vault them into wrestling immortality. Edge will and should win.

The other title match could be John Cena’s first solid attempt at a decent WM moment. I’m not a big fan of Cena, and neither are a lot of older fans. We dislike him so much because we can’t seem to piece together why he is the most popular and recognizable star. For once though, he has a decent story going into the event against Batista. The WWE is picking up a storyline that is nearly 2 years old, which in today’s short-term memory booking is eons. Both Cena and Batista have never had a classic WM match, despite being in the main events on multiple occasions. They have a chance now to do something, but I certainly wouldn’t trust them to close the show. Cena will win to please the kids.

Every single past WM has had a special guest spot that is used to generate some press headlines. This year that person is Bret Hart. Hell froze over recently when Bret made a special appearance as the guest host of RAW. You have to hand it to Vince McMahon, he’ll bend over backwards for any angle to generate some attention for cash. These two old guys are slated to have a no-holds-barred match, but seeing as though they are both old men now, I’m guessing there is only going to be a lot of holding. Headlocks, punches, a few kicks to the gut, and a sharp shooter to end it all. This might actually be painful to watch. At least Bret gets one last strut down the ramp, which will make this whole match worth it.

I have to say I’m both shocked and maybe a little impressed that Triple H is not in the main event… AGAIN. Just before the Royal Rumble – it certainly seemed like we were headed down that road… AGAIN. Let’s just be honest – Triple H is a classic WWE performer, but he is no Hulk Hogan, Rick Flair, or even Shawn Michaels for that matter. He is a man who has played his political cards better than anyone, heck he even married the boss’s daughter. Is he a great wrestler? Yes? Does he deserve a spot on the card? Yes. He is exactly where he should be this year. Helping put over one of the WWE’s most impressive new products – Sheamus. HHH will win it - let’s just hope he has the generosity to elevate the Celtic Warrior some.

The rest of the matches are just filler. The Tag Team Title match features 4 guys with different speeds and styles – it may be uneven. CM Punk and Rey Mysterio are rehashing and old Rey/Eddie Guerro storyline. Randy Orton taking on Legacy is also a take on a classic “wrestling stable breaks apart” angle. The Divas may or may not be on the card to add a little jiggle to the event.

I expect to be surprised, so I am hoping that there is many a plan to swerve us well-informed fans. So please amaze us WWE. We know you have it in you.

How do you teach a baby to smile?

How do you teach a baby to smile? You are born with this incredible power to make another human being. You spend the greater percentage of your life looking to mate. Some have an easier time procreating, while others must spend a great deal of time and money. You go through this tremendous mental preparation similar to that one Creed song. You turn your world upside down for 9 months, and then completely flip it over 3 or 4 more times after birth. You are charged with nurturing this child to enhance development. You read books, read web sites, and get opinions from everyone from family to the grocery checkout lady. You make countless trips to the store, and you buy only the best things you can afford. You clean and feed this child day in and day out. You do what you can, even if you aren’t going to ever win parent of the year. You commit yourself to sharing with them everything you know about life. You promise to not let them make the same mistakes. You hope to shield them from the evils of the world, but give them enough space to find their place in it. You pray that you’ll do it right.

So how do you teach a baby to smile? You can’t, and that is just the way it is.

The single most pure thing a human being can do is just inherent in our structure. You look at them one day and they just beam at you. You can only encourage them to do it again. You turn into a lunatic with goofy faces, voices, and songs just to have it happen again. This baby knows no fear, angst, or hardship. Sure they cry, but that is a somewhat involuntary reaction to their needs. They don’t have to smile, they just do. Your world becomes so small when this happens. Everything in your small bubble makes sense.

You can’t teach a baby to smile, but you can learn a lot from theirs.