Author: anthony Page 35 of 77

Dinner last night with Jim and our friends Sandra and LaDonna. Jim and I got to the restaurant first and were already seating when they arrived.

LaDonna had been hinting that she had a present for me, but all she would say was that it was heavier than two boxes of kleenex.

I was told to close my eyes and then in a moment, to put my hands out. I did so and the object in front of me was spherical and very smooth. Felt like plastic or a resin. I guessed a bowling ball – which was odd. Why would someone give me a bowling ball??

Except it was AWESOME!

Not just any bowling ball, but a clear bowling ball with a skull in it!

I was gobsmacked and just sat there with dazed grin on my face – staring at the skull as it stared back at me.

When I finally recovered after a few minutes I announced that it was the hands-down weirdest thing anyone had ever gotten me. And I loved it.

Jim told me later that LaDonna had asked him if he thought it was too weird and if I would like it. Jim told her that I would like it because it’s weird.

So, only about 6000 of these skull bowling balls were made based on the movie Mystery Men. Janeene Garafelo plays a bowler with a ball that has the skull of her father in it – and the ball is haunted by his ghost. In the movie it can levitate and fly around at her command.  Which is awesome.

I reluctantly put the ball away when it was time to order and tried to engage in conversation. I don’t know successful I was – I kept thinking about the awesome skull bowling ball sitting quietly next to me.

When I got home, I took a picture and posted it to Facebook. Then I put a hat on it and took another picture.

I think I was giddy.

But, it was soon time to go to bed. Time to tuck in the skull and let it dream of flying about and fighting crime.

I had a meeting yesterday across campus and one of my possible routes back to my office took me past Jim’s office downtown. I wanted to say hello, but it seemed silly to go through security and really interrupt his day just for that. So, as I got close to where I thought the window was for his office, I called his cell phone.

He answered and I told him I was outside, but didn’t know which window was his. He said he actually had the curtains closed since it gets cold in his office, but he took a moment and opened them up.

We stood there – he in his office looking out and down and me on the sidewalk looking up and in. We shared a wave and talked for a moment before I needed to head back to my office. It was a friendly conversation but weird to see him across the way and only hear his voice at my ear. 200 years ago we both would have been accused of witchcraft and burned at the stake.

Yea, technology!
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Back at the office and at my desk working on a website when I hear a bell ring. We used to use this small attention-getting bell as the “victory bell” – only to be rung when we had a major success. Since we moved to the new office, I set the bell at the front desk since we don’t have anyone there. Visitors can ring the bell and I’ll go investigate – though it’s actually pretty rare.

I went to see who was there and it was a guy and his teen-aged daughter. I asked if I could help and he said who he was looking for. I said I didn’t recognize the name, but that I would look it up in the directory. I went back to my office, looked up the name, then called them in to verify. They were in the wrong building, but close to where they needed to be. I brought up the map, but it wasn’t very clear how to get there without showing both locations. So, I walked them out the correct door, gave them some landmarks and directions, and some guidance on where they needed to go once they got to the correct building.

The guy said okay and started off – his teenage daughter behind him having not said a word or looked up from her phone.

I stood there for a moment, flummoxed by the social convention disruption, and then went back to work. At no point did either of them say thank-you.

At the risk of quoting Jar Jar Binks: “how wude.”

If the situation was reversed and I was so lost I ended up in the wrong building, I would be so grateful that someone took time out of their day to point me in the right direction, I’d buy them a fruit basket.

If they were to come back and are lost again, I’d still help them out because that’s who I am. But I’d be a little cranky about it because that’s also who I am.
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Finally, today is the 7th workday where I’ve had some kind of headache. None of them have been bad enough to send me home, but just enough to be annoying. I don’t know what’s causing them, but I maybe need to adjust my workstation or take more screen breaks.

Or stop being stressed out. Though, given that I get headaches when I get a massage or try to nap, I’m not sure that relaxing is the answer either.

Two more of my colleagues are leaving UA next Friday. They are both heading to better opportunities – and I remember not so long ago that UA was the “better opportunity”. Smart, funny, talented and engaged in the welfare of the University and our students. And now, heading out.

Strange times.

I don’t blame them and if there’s any surprise it’s that such talented people have lasted so long. I think we’re all still waiting for that other shoe to drop.

I’m still hanging in there. And I’m trying to keep up with my battle plan of being “quietly awesome”. Keep my head down and keep doing what I do. And part of that is being excited for my friends – and being sad to see them go.

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On a more positive note, I did a little volunteering today. One of the committees that I’m on at work does some volunteering at the Ronald McDonald house. We did a little cleaning and organized the pantry – and brought some food up from the basement to stock the shelves. I was able to use my “ability to reach things on tall shelves” and “able to carry more than it seems like I would be able to” for the project and we were able to finish up in short order. We had time and could have done more, but that was all they asked of us. Not a bad way to spend part of a Saturday morning.

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One odd bit was when I arrived. One of the staff members was sweeping up outside and buzzed in when I approached. He showed me to the administrator – who was a little taken aback when I said I there to volunteer.

“I didn’t expect you to be male”, she said.

Really? I was there to help do some cleaning and organizing – way to rock the 1800’s, lady.

Also, there were three people from our group that had volunteered. Laura, Bonnie, and Anthony. Pretty sure our names were submitted beforehand – and I would be the Anthony of the mix.

Maybe I should have just shown up in drag.

It would have been no less surprising, but at least it would have been legitimately unusual.

It’s too bad they didn’t have me vacuum or wash dishes – I kick ASS at washing dishes.

I had a dream this morning I was a bounty hunter in a futuristic city – chasing a city employee on a motorcycle attached to a sort of “hover ski” through neon lit streets.

My partner and I were in a car and while we were faster, we were less maneuverable than the woman on the motorcycle/hover ski. She zoomed between the cars on the busy road, hovering a few feet off the ground. So, we took a side street, raced ahead, and cut her off.

With the way blocked, we got out of the car – preparing to confront and capture the woman, but not too worried about the danger. She was an older woman and her solid frame didn’t seem spry or threatening. She surprised us by pulling out an energy weapon and shooting me in the neck – leaving me unharmed, but paralyzed. I could breathe and move my eyes, but the rest of me was immobile.

My partner took cover.  I guessed that the woman didn’t want me dead – otherwise, she would have been carrying more lethal weapons and just flat out killed me when she had the chance. So, I pretended the blast was making me hyperventilate. I began breathing rapidly and gasping for air, pretending to be in serious distress.

Our quarry sighed, then pulled out a huge bowie knife and approached me. My eyes went wide with fear that I’d overplayed it and I was going to be gutted, but she instead pressed the flat of the blade against the side of my nose and put some pressure behind it.

“Keep your temples relaxed or the pressure will blow the top of your head off,” she said

I tried to slow my breathing as the pressure in my head skyrocketed. Just when I thought my head would really explode from the weird pressure point, it suddenly  went away and I was able to move again.   She removed the knife and smoothly sheathed it as I slumped forward.  I turned and caught my partner’s eye and gave a slight nob. We would give her a moment to explain herself before we tried anything else.

I was about to start questioning her when I woke up.  It would be interesting to see if this is in the same “universe” as the quantum entangled bullets.

I got my taxes done yesterday afternoon. Mine aren’t really that complicated – relatively speaking – but I just hate doing them so much I would much rather pay someone to do them and save me the stress. Last time I tried on my own, I ran out of swear words and ended up with some stupid and unsatisfying combinations that didn’t make me feel better.

So, Donna and I were going through my taxes. Donna is an older woman who sounds like she’s got about 8 pounds of gravel in her throat.

I “think” she was working on my taxes – the computer screen seemed to suggest that. And I “think” she cracked a couple of jokes. She mumbled quite a bit – might have been talking to me, maybe the computer. And her voice was course enough that – were Animal from the Muppets to hear her – he would have suggested, “COUGH! DROP!”

Finished things up in short order and I was on my way. One side effect of the tax prep was looking at my medical bills from last year – since sometimes that can be taken as a deduction. Mine wasn’t quite enough for that – but the grand total did take me aback.

$2,965.00

All because of a 1/10 of a second as I slipped on the ice.

It could have been a lot worse if I didn’t have insurance. And it wasn’t all at once, fortunately.

But, still.

I was walking from the parking deck to my office by the most direct route possible and it wasn’t covered by worker’s comp because the sidewalk was technically owned by the city – though, I found out later that the university usually plowed it. Just not on that morning.

I wasn’t angry that I fell. But I was angry that the employer who had been given so much of my time and loyalty over the years was so quick to blame someone else. I could have fought it, I guess, but it seems like a bad idea to sue your employer if you want to keep working there.

And I healed and recovered and got over the injury and being angry.

I’m a little angry again now that I’m looking at that grand total – and I’ll get over that too.

I met some great doctors and my physical therapist was really good. My friends and family were amazing and even though my arm will never be the same I got a good story out of it. And I’m part cyborg – so, that’s cool.

But, still.

No matter how many silver linings you find on clouds, they are still clouds.

The adventure for my fourth trip into the lake begins the night before when I dyed my beard blue – to match my Speedos, naturally. It didn’t end up as dark as I would have liked, but still got the job done. I touched it up a little again the next morning and suited up for the day.

My folks came up for a visit that morning and we got some lunch before heading to the lake. I had pre-checked in the night before and we got there around noon for the 2 o’clock jump. We wandered around a bit before I decided to strip down to my Speedo.

It became quickly apparent that I wasn’t the weirdest person there. Which I think is really saying something.

We staked out a spot neat the lake to get some good photos and I jumped up and down to keep the blood moving. It was 65 degrees out – which is amazing for February but still a little chilly with as much skin as I had exposed.

Finally, it was time. The first wave of jumpers hit the water and I left my folks at the beach with my bag of clothes and headed to the line up.

The moment of truth and I was super excited.

I took a running jump and cannonballed into the 40 degree water.

I surfaced and gasped a few times to try and catch my breath. When I finally had enough breath back, I took a deep one and held it.

Then I did an underwater flip. Why?

Because I’m a badass. Sheesh, how many times do I have to go over that?

I surfaced again and made my way to the ladder. I was a bit in shock as I made my way back to the beach – looking for my folks and my clothes.

Only, they weren’t there.

I wandered back and forth along the beach looking for them – which was a little difficult since I didn’t have my glasses.

I was a uncomfortable for a bit – but quickly air dried. In very little time at all I stopped shivering and wasn’t even cold.

Eventually, Mom tracked me down and said they had gone looking for me – and I’d just missed them.

I found a place to sit and got my warm-up pants and shirt on. I didn’t bother with the changing tent since my speedo was pretty much dry.

We headed out and stopped to get hot chocolate – and a doughnut which I proceeded to dunk in my hot chocolate.  We were at Dunkin Doughnuts, after all.

Back to my place and a change of clothes – then out to dinner before they headed back.
Great weather, crazy day, and a pile of fun. I keep trying to recruit people to jump with me, but so far no takers. Even one of my buddies who jumped last year skipped this time – though it was very cool that he came out to watch anyway.

I don’t know if I’ll jump next year – though 5 years would be a nice stopping point.

The best part? I’m pretty much immune to cold for a while afterwards.

Do your worst, Ohio weather – you’ve got nothing on a full body dip in ice water.

I watched the James Bond movie “Live and Let Die” recently. It’s not the one you watch when you want to see a good film – it’s what you watch to get out of the way if you’re trying to be complete about a James Bond collection.

In my humble opinion, one of the worst. Even worse than “Diamonds Are Forever” and the only thing really redeeming about that one is the theme song.

“Live and Let Die” has terrible acting, unintentionally laughable special effects and make up, and a plot someone should have driven a truck through.

It’s also amazingly misogynistic – even for a Bond film. Yes, I’m talking about you, Pussy Galore. If the women in the film aren’t weak and useless, they are literally objects to be passed around. Poor Solitaire gets tricked into sleeping with Bond and suddenly she’s worse than useless. She’s basically luggage at that point.

The worst, though, is the racism. Blatant and unrelenting, no effort is spared to paint every African american in the movie in the worst possible light. Violent savages and brutish thugs to the last. Even the main villain – who can usually be counted on to have a certain flair – is just a drug dealer with a budget. Throw in some voodoo and a ghetto and we’ve got ourselves a movie.

It’s unsettling to sit through and there’s no way it could be made today. We can really only take a couple of good things away from it:

1. We don’t need to debate who is the worst James Bond. It’s Roger Moore.

2. At least things are better now.

But, are they?
Take, for example, the drive back from my parent’s house. The trip takes me through a number of very small towns that could be transplanted pretty much anywhere in the mid-west and it might be a month before the inhabitants noticed a difference. That’s not a bad thing or a criticism, just an observation. Small towns are pretty much small towns. Hey, I grew up in one. 🙂

One of them, though, boasted a garage on the outskirts of town adorned with two flags. On the right, an American flag. On the left…

The Confederate flag.

I’m sure that the rest of the town is populated with some really wonderful people, but in that location, well…

There might have been a time – perhaps during the “Live and Let Die” era – where it might be possible to make a weak claim that the confederate flag could be displayed as a historical artifact.

Now, there’s pretty much no way around just flat-out racism.

So, as I drove past that garage and saw those flags, I was struck by anger, disappointment in my fellow Ohioan, and sadness. And whatever pride I saw in the American flag was quashed by its companion.

And the irony. A symbol for freedom and pride next to one for slavery and shame.

So, not better – but perhaps more easy to recognize and separate out from the background. And knowing that we, collectively as a nation, still have a problem with racism is as good a first step as any to doing something about it.

Is there an AA for racism on a national level? A 12 step program for a country? Do we all need to crowd onto a psychiatrist’s couch and talk about our collective childhood?

How do we fix this? How do we reach the owner of those two flags and get them to take down the flag on the left – and take real pride in the one on the right? Because if we can’t reach that one person, how will reach the rest of the nation?
It’s got this one middle class – and middle aged – white guy, thinking.

I made some progress the other night with the punching bag. I got into a good rhythm and felt pretty confident. And powerful – which for all my bluster I’m not really used to feeling. I paused for a moment to catch my breath and adjust the hand-wraps when I noticed that there was a little pink color on the cloth.

Frowning, I investigated further – thinking I hadn’t wrapped my knuckles properly and was bleeding. But, my hands were fine – no blood.

The pink color was coming from the red bag.

I had punched the color off it.

More likely is that I had sweat a bit and the moisture had leached a little dye off the canvas.

Still, I felt a little bad-ass. Which is entirely the point.
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That bad ass feeling didn’t last, though. I wasn’t feeling great at work yesterday and then got stuck in all kinds of traffic when I foolishly decided to run some errands after work. My last stop was to the drugstore for something to help with the sinus pressure.

The were about 17 million different varieties of medicine on the shelves and a couple more million represented by cards you had to take to the pharmacy to buy.

I stood there, scanning the labels and boxes for a bit – growing more frustrated. Finally, I picked up one of the cards that looked promising and took it to the counter.

I asked if this would help with sinus pressure and the clerk at the counter had to check. She then went looking for the box, had to ask about that, was told the box was red and replied that all the boxes were red.

I waited.

She came back, asked for my driver’s license – which I already had out, naturally – and proceeds to scan that to start ringing up the sale.

But, of course, I had to “prove” that I wasn’t going to take this home and make meth out of it.

So, a couple of screens of text, a check box, and a signature. Then discount card questions, a couple other things I can’t even remember, and finally the actual payment.

When I was done getting through all that and had completed the transaction, I raised my hands in victory and gave about a 1/25 volume shout – all I could manage. The clerk smiled and I told her I should get a sticker just for getting through all that.

As I headed out, it occurred to me that this could have been prevented by having a button the clerk could select labeled:

“He looks terrible, but I don’t think it’s meth.”

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I took the day off today and spent most of it asleep. Just me and the cat, curled up and trying to rest.

I think I’ll fix myself some dinner and spend the evening not checking my email.

Ah, bliss.

A large chunk of my professional life has been tech support.  I started full time at UA on the Help Desk and if I’ve got a calling, it’s been in helping people with technology.

We’ve still got a couple of gaps in the switchboard schedule and so on Friday mornings I grab my laptop and answer the main phone for the university. I usually work on my emails while I’m on the calls – they don’t take a lot of brain power usually and I can switch gears pretty easily.

On one recent Friday, I answered the phone with my usual “Good Morning, University of Akron, how may I help you?”

An older woman – I could hear it in her voice – responded with, “It’s nice to hear a man answering the phones,”

She went on to ask for a department and I transferred her over.

And… I wasn’t quite sure how to take that.

I guess, yea for me in bucking traditional gender roles in the workplace?

But, why does it matter?

My female student operators would have done just as well answering the phones  – my only advantage over them is that I’m so freaking old that I know everything about the University. I’ve been told I have a pleasant voice and it kicks into a deeper range in the early morning. My female operators have ‘brighter’ voices, but either gets the job done.

It seems so weird to me that there are gender traditional jobs – when gender is so irrelevant. Plant a tree, pilot a rocket, stock a shelf, design a building – gender doesn’t matter in the least. I’m happy being a guy and being able to pee standing up is pretty awesome – but there’s not much of a job market for that skill.

For my part, I hired one female and one male operator to add to the schedule. He had experience and a pleasant voice – and that was good enough for me. As we have turn-over in the schedule, I’ll do my part to hire a better gender balance for that role. Maybe, in a small way, I can do a little bit to bring some gender equality to our workforce.