Everybody look what's going down

There are times when I don't blog because I can't think of anything to write about. Then there are times when so many things are happening that it's hard to settle on one topic.

Now is one of the latter.

You can't get on Facebook today without reading one opinion after another about the assassination of Charlie Kirk. People who know me could easily guess that I was not a fan, although that hasn't stopped hucksters on FB from trying to sell me T-shirts celebrating the man. FB needs to work on its algorithm a bit. 

Kirk was an alt-right gasbag who made an obscene amount of money serving up hate to unsuspecting incels across America. While he certainly had the right to free speech, he is no First Amendment martyr. I was once a news reporter, and you will not find a bigger supporter of the First Amendment that I. But the First Amendment merely says that the government cannot put you in jail for free speech. It does not say that free speech has no consequences. If I walked into a bar in an African-American section of town and shouted, "I can beat up any n***** in this place!", I would have every right to do so, but it would be a really stupid thing to do. Just because you can do something doesn't mean you should do it. Knowing the difference is what makes us functioning members of society. Kirk fucked around and he found out. 

At the same time, I do not applaud Kirk's assassination. Not only was it morally wrong, but the potential for backlash terrifies me.

One of those T-shirts I've been offered says, "You took one, but we have thousands." The alt-right certainly knows a thing or two about foreshadowing.

I'm afraid this shooting will lead to many reprisals. The alt-right has already proven that they are capable of violence. I'm sure that anyone in America whose job is related to politics, regardless of their place on the political spectrum, has their security cranked to 11 right now. 

It's not just politicians who need to fear, though. It's all of us. Some of the mass shootings of the past few years took the lives of people who appeared to have little interest in politics besides voting--but the shooters still saw them as political threats in some way. Think of the shooting at the Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston, S.C., in 2015, the shooting at the Tops Market in Buffalo in 2022, and the shooting at the Tree of Life Synagogue here in Pittsburgh in 2018. 

I'm afraid there will be much more such violence in the near future.

Winter is coming.

I’m not like everybody else

I guess I should start at the beginning.

I was born January 4, 1966 in Columbus, Ohio. I cannot remember a time when I could not read. It wasn’t something I consciously tried to learn to do. The ability was just there.

I did not see anything unusual about that. I was the youngest of five children, with a 10-year gap between number four and me. I was never around anyone my own age until I went to school, so I had no reference point for my abilities. What do you mean, most 3-year-olds can’t read? Like, it’s hard?

I think I started to sense that there was something unusual about me by the way my family treated me. My older brothers would bring their friends over to the house and have me read books to them. These books would be far beyond my reading level (if there is a reading level at age three)—more on the order of my sister’s college textbooks than Dr. Seuss. I didn’t necessarily understand what all the words meant, but I could read them.

When I started going to school, I was tested and found to be reading at a fifth grade level. The original plan was to put me in kindergarten in the morning and first grade in the afternoon. This did not work. I came out of kindergarten with the idea that school was a place for play, and, so, I had no interest in listening to anything I heard in first grade. After a few weeks, I was given an IQ test for placement in a learning disability class, and…surprise! The new plan: let me finish the year in kindergarten and put me in second grade the next year.

Being skipped a grade in school defined me for many years afterward. Even in high school, I was known as “the kid who skipped a grade” (even though I went to school with at least two others who had also skipped grades). I suppose it was necessary, but there was also a down side to it. As an adult, one year more or less doesn’t make much difference, but it means everything when you’re young. 

I remember it being especially hard to adjust to middle school. Elementary school was a breeze—the teachers were happy if I showed up. Middle school was a completely different game. What is this “homework” of which you speak? Looking back, I understand why middle school was so hard for me. When I started sixth grade, I was only 10. Most of the eighth graders in the school were 13. There’s a big gulf between the two. 13-year-old boys coat themselves in Axe Body Spray and try to impress girls. 10-year-old boys bathe once a week and can’t say “Uranus” without laughing.

High school was better in some respects, but still had its challenges. Imagine how it feels when all your friends are learning to drive and you can’t. And dating? Aside from the prom, forget about it. 

My main consolation was living in my own world. Give me a pen and paper and I could build you a city or start my own baseball team. Give me some records and I could be a DJ. Give me a Racing Form and I had my own racetrack. 

At the same time, I was not completely oblivious to my surroundings. I actually yearned to be popular. I entered high school with a bit of a swagger. Hey, I’m smart, so, of course, I’m going to be popular…right?

I thought I had arrived when I somehow managed to be elected president of the freshman class. All that accomplished was painting a big target on my back. Kids would make ridiculous demands (Throw the class a party! Take the whole class to Kings Island!) that I couldn’t possibly meet, because the position had no real power. (You don’t think high schools really want the students to run anything, do you?) But the kids still blamed me when they didn’t get what they wanted, so it didn’t take long for me to go from hero to zero. I’ve often wondered if my election might have actually been an elaborate prank my classmates played on me. Or maybe I’ve seen Carrie too many times.

After incidents like that, and the inevitable bullying that you’re bound to read about if I can stand to write about it, I hoped that I would have my revenge in college.

If only.

But that’s a rant for another time.

You go back, Jack, do it again

Well, here I am again. I have returned to this blog many times, only to abandon it again despite my desire to keep it going. Time is certainly a factor. I work a full time job, sometimes six days a week, which leaves me little time to blog. Then there is the question of whether anybody even pays attention to blogs in the age of podcasting. My past attempts at blogging didn’t get much of a response.

The real issue, though, is whether I have anything important to say. The best writing, after all, is sparked by some kind of passion. You have to have something to say, and really feel like saying it.

I have also become aware of the limits of life. I am now 59 and becoming more aware that I am not going to live forever. I will be retiring soon (provided that certain people stop twiddling with the stock market), and I really want to leave something on this earth that speaks to who I really am. 

I feel as if I have developed a passion worth writing about—something that will be of value to the public.

Thirteen years ago, I was diagnosed with autism*. That diagnosis changed the way I look at my life. Suddenly, my life story made sense. As I looked back on my life and many of the problems I’ve had, I can’t believe it took until I was 46 to figure it out.

At the same time, that awareness has led me to be concerned about the misconceptions people have about autism and the lack of resources for autistic people. I hope that this blog can draw attention to the challenges autistic people face, and help some people.

It’s not all about autism, though. There’s also horse racing, pop music, progressive politics, TV, pop culture, and the words to every Monty Python routine. Be prepared for strong language, adult situations, and unpopular opinions.

So get on board and buckle up. Probably.

*Milder forms of autism such as mine are often referred to as Asperger’s syndrome. I prefer not to use this term because Hans Asperger, for whom it is named, was a Nazi doctor who played a role in the deaths of autistic children.

Another Song About Love

Girl meets boy, and boy meets girl

They go to senior prom and then go out into the world

They’re Archie and Veronica, they’re Jack and Diane

They’ve started into thinking that it’s all some kind of plan

They may see a gold anniversary
Or they may find that they’ve had enough
But it’s just another song about love

She’s a single mom raising two girls all alone

He’s looking online for a love to call his own

They like the same music, they have the same fears

They’ve lost at love before and can’t remember all the tears

Soon he’s headed east on the freeway

In a car jammed with all of his stuff

But it’s just another song about love

It’s “Stardust” and “Something” and “Unchained Melody”

It’s “At Last” and “Make You Feel My Love” and “All of Me”

They’re all great love songs, I’m sure you know that’s true

But the best love songs are written by me and you

It’s another first date, another new start

Another night together or another broken heart

But we all play the fool, we all know the game

It doesn’t even matter if the sexes are the same

You may be together forever

Or your lives might prove to be rough

But it’s just another song about love

Copyright 2022 Robert A. Fritz

Our little group has always been and always will until the end

Here I am, starting this blog again. I’ve been wanting to blog again for a while, but never had the time. I know blogs are sort of old hat now, but I feel as if I still have something to say, so here I am.

Mensa has gotten quite a bad rap lately, particularly through a negative podcast by Jamie Loftus called My Year In Mensa, in which Mensans are portrayed as right-wing extremists, and even dangerous individuals who threaten fellow members. This week, an article appeared on the New York Magazine website from someone who said some positive things, but still emphasized fringe ideas held by a few, as if they were in the majority. 

Critics of Mensa in the media always seem to use the same strategy. They show interest in the organization, feigning objectivity as they attend Mensa events, or even take a Mensa test. Then they concentrate on the worst people they meet in Mensa, emphasize the things they say and do, and conclude that Mensa isn’t worth joining. The critics are also fond of pointing out that the founders of the organization believed in eugenics, even though the founders are long gone and have nothing to do with modern-day Mensa, which holds no political or religious views. If you’re going to hold its founders’ views against Mensa, then, by that logic, you can’t drive a Volkswagen, either. 

Mensa just can’t catch a break. 

Sure, there are assholes in Mensa, but I have also met a lot of great people through the organization who I am glad to call my friends. Mensa has been a big part of the story of my life for over 20 years, and I can say that it has changed my life for the better. 

I joined Mensa in 1993 after submitting my GRE scores (which got me into Mensa, but not into grad school, but that’s a whole other blog entry), but my job took me on the road for months at a time, so I could not become very involved with the organization. This changed in 2000 when I left that job to continue my education. 

Around that time, I got a computer for Christmas, and, of course, soon discovered online dating. My first online date was a disaster. My date spent 20 minutes telling me repeatedly that she “used to be a raver” (I’m still trying to figure out what in the hell she meant by that), shot down every attempt I made at conversation, then threw her business card at me and stormed out of the restaurant. Was this some kind of strange courtship ritual that I didn’t know about? 

 

I now find this incident amusing (if only because of the idea that I was actually interested in someone whose chief life experience involved hanging out in clubs with a pacifier in her mouth), but, at the time, I was worried. Was this what the dating scene was all about? Was this all I had to look forward to? 

No sooner had I considered joining the priesthood (which would be kind of weird considering I’m not Catholic) than I went to my first Mensa Regional Gathering. I met a woman there, and we were in a relationship within weeks. That relationship lasted two years. The week that we broke up, I met my wife, Jamie, online, on a Mensa Yahoo! Group. Aug. 30 will mark the 20th anniversary of our meeting in person at the Pittsburgh Mensa RG. We would be married at a Mensa event three years later. 

I have a lot of great memories from my years in Mensa, and I can’t imagine what my life would have been like had I listened to the naysayers. I would probably be dodging business cards on a regular basis.

The Old Lamplighter (In Delmont, PA)

(To the tune of “The Old Lamplighter” by The Browns)

For a good time you will remember
And great food night or day
The old Lamplighter
In Delmont, PA
From January to December
It’s not so far away
The old Lamplighter
In Delmont, PA

You head northeast on 22
We will be waiting there for you
From Pittsburgh, it’s a thirty-minute drive
We’ve got Italian specialties
Filet mignon is sure to please
A banquet room where parties come alive
An institution of good cheer
Even “Mindhunter” was shot here
You’ll walk in and feel glad that you arrived

‘Cause we’ve got steak, prime rib and seafood
And pies baked fresh each day
The old Lamplighter
In Delmont, PA

See us or breakfast or for lunch
We even have a Sunday brunch
We’ve got a table waiting just for you

So bring your family and friends
We know that you’ll come back again

And we’ll be glad to see you when you do

For a good time you will remember
And great food night or day
The old Lamplighter
In Delmont, PA

Florida Man

To the tune of "Particle Man" by They Might Be Giants

Florida Man, Florida Man

You know him from TV and radio-land

Morning DJs talk across this land
About Florida Man

He doesn’t dance and he doesn’t sing

He just likes to do outrageous things

Caught on camera in a garbage can

He’s at it again, Florida Man

Florida Man, Florida Man

Pleading his case before the judge again

Is he on drugs? Nobody knows

Florida Man

Florida Man, Florida Man

Keeps an alligator close at hand

Ask him why, he says it’s his wife

Florida Man

Saw him one morning at a quarter to four

Walking naked in a liquor store

Strange thing was that it had closed at ten

A crazy man, Florida Man

Florida Man, Florida Man

Somebody stole his bag of meth again

Called 911 to get it back

Florida Man

Last week I heard he was down in the Keys

Pooped on the counter in a Mickey D’s

Shake machine was broken again

He just can’t stand that, Florida Man

Florida Man, Florida Man

Gets pulled over by Policeman

They have a fight, Policeman wins

Poor Florida Man!

There's just a meanness in this world

What a week.
It all began last Saturday with a text message from Jamie that I will never forget.
“Active shooter in squirrel hill near shady and wilkins. Be careful.”
I was several miles from that area at the time, but I relayed the message to my supervisor and went on carrying mail.
By the time I got to my regular mail route, in came more details.
“They have the guy in custody.
8 dead.
Inside tree of life synagogue.”
Since I have become jaded about mass shootings and the inability or unwillingness to do anything about them, I replied, "Here we go again."

****

But this was not like other shootings, because this one was so close. Every mass shooting is a tragedy, but they are usually so far away from your everyday life that they become nothing more than a reason to shake your head when you watch the news. A church in Charleston, a school near Boston, a gay bar in Orlando--all might as well be on another planet if you don't live in that neck of the woods. 
Not so this time. While Tree of Life is not on my mail route (it's even in another zip code, strangely enough), I could easily walk there from it. 
The biggest thing I noticed as I walked my route that afternoon was the lack of activity. Saturdays are usually more quiet than weekdays anyhow, but this was different. Few people were out walking, and several people who I did talk to, obviously aware of the situation, told me to be careful. I'd been keeping an eye out for trouble already due to the letter bomb situation (there are two prominent local politicians on my route, both Democrats), but this day was eerie in its stillness. The main noise I heard--which I will never forget--was the constant whirr of helicopters overhead. (No running to make up time today, Bob.) At one point, I heard the schoolmaster from Pink Floyd: The Wall shouting in my head and couldn't help but laugh. 
Nobody on my route was killed that day, but there were several familiar surnames among the dead. The law of averages tells me that some of my customers were in that building. It still seems hard to believe that this happened so close to me--in Squirrel Hill, literally Mister Rogers' neighborhood. 
But in another way, it's not hard to believe at all.

****

Much has been, and will continue to be, said about the root causes of this, and all the other, mass shootings in this country. If you follow me on Facebook, you know how I feel about those issues. I could sit here and talk about guns, Trump, hate speech, what have you, all day, but it's my only day off of the week and I have laundry to do, bills to pay, and a house to clean. Besides, the shooting ultimately isn't about those things. They are all symptoms, to be sure, but the disease is much bigger. 
When I was young, I was a bit of a "true crime" geek, and I have returned to that fascination sporadically since. I have always been intrigued by what motivates people to commit horrible crimes. But this case is different. 
It actually surprises me a bit that I can't bring myself to care about the shooter's motivation, aside from his anti-Semitism, which has been all over the news. I couldn't care less about what books he read, what drugs he took, or his relationship with his mother. To care about those things is to concede that there are some sort of mitigating circumstances that might somehow justify his actions.
And there are none. 

Mensa Alley

MENSA ALLEY

A tribute to my early years on the Mensa RG circuit

(To the tune of “Creeque Alley” by The Mamas and the Papas)

IT student, perhaps it wasn’t prudent

But I left the horse racing behind

Y2K, I just had to get away

And see what happiness I could find

Went to Can We Talk on Thursday nights

With Red and Steve and Roland, doing it right

Soon everybody knew me, one night Red said to me,

“Go to the Dayton RG”

She twisted my arm and that began a whole new life for me

When I got to Dayton, fun and games were waitin’

People gave me hugs all around

Thoughts did strike me that they were so much like me

Paradise was what I had found

I danced and I played games for hours (at the RG)

And then the friendly forecast called for April showers

I made many new friends and even had a girlfriend

My life would never be like before

I wouldn’t be ashamed to call myself a nerd anymore

Every RG was an adventure for me

A play in which we all had a part

Mary Lee was queen and Skinner made the scene

And Gloater taught me double-deck hearts

Many geniuses before my eyes (shut up, Barry!)

But after every quiz bowl, I won the prize

I finally felt free because I could be me

They didn’t even mind when I’d sing

I knew right there and then that Mensa was a lifetime thing

For two great RG seasons, Mensa was the reason

I got out of bed every day

Cincy and SEMMantics, WeeM and Rivers 3

And don’t forget The Queen’s Croquet

Then April said she had to have a baby

She thought I told her no, but really it was maybe

We knew it was lights out, we both cried our eyes out

But I had little time to be blue

Met Jamie on the Hell’s Ms list and then I said, “Yahoo!”

Pittsburgh, Fritzburgh, mighty Steeler blitz-burgh

Sixteen years I’ve been with my bae

Red’s a DVM and Steve is born again

And April swings a different way

Skinner, Gloater, Roland, they’re all gone now

The Mensa RG train will keep on rolling somehow

With every new summer, I can’t help but wonder

Where we’ll be as time marches on

Well, now you’ve heard my story, you kids need to get off my lawn!

Under His Eye

It's been three long years, but I finally have another blog post! I've had several song parodies rolling around in my head for a while (hey, you need something to break the monotony on the mail route), and I finally finished one. It's not great, but I hope you like it. Who knows? I may be back with some more blog entries soon! So here's one for all you fans of "The Handmaid's Tale" out there:

UNDER HIS EYE
(To the tune of "Under My Thumb" by The Rolling Stones)

Under His eye, in a place they call Gilead
Under His eye, that’s a place where things are really bad
Theocracy!
If you’re a woman, your rights are all gone
You’re really screwed and that ain’t no lie
You’re under His eye
Blessed be the fruit, babe

Under His eye, you must give up everything for God
Under His eye, or they’ll hit you with a cattle prod
Nobody’s free, oh, no
If you’re a Handmaid, you’ve got to be bred
And your consent just went bye-bye
You’re under His eye
Ah, ah, say it’s not right

Under His eye, if you’re gay, you better beware
Under His eye, they’ll hang you or cut you down there
It’s treachery
Or they could ship you to the Colonies
The radiation will make you die
You’re under His eye

It’s misery, oh, yeah
The way they do just what they’re told

Too afraid to even cry
They’re under His eye

Under His eye, don’t tell me it couldn’t happen here

Under His eye, our administration fills me full of fear
Why can’t you see? Oh, that’s what I said
Stand up and fight or the day will come
You’re gonna wake up and wonder why
We’re under His eye
Say, it’s not right
It’s not right
Say, it’s not right

Don't take it easy, babe

All you need's a strong heart and a nerve of steel

Well, I can cross the number one item off my bucket list now. 

Several weeks ago, Jamie and I went to Las Vegas for our 10th wedding anniversary. It was an experience I’ll never forget. Like many American cities, Vegas is a place that you can’t completely take in over the five days we were here, so I’ll share some random observations on the place. 

1. Las Vegas is, in ways both good and bad, the most American of all U.S. cities. It contains incredible wealth, and, of course, the promise of more wealth—but if you walk just blocks from the casinos, you’ll see homeless people sleeping in doorways. 
2. 1957 is over and all five members of the Rat Pack are dead. Don’t go looking for your mom and dad’s Vegas—it’s gone. Today, “Old Vegas” means a $3 martini at happy hour, and Frank, Dean and Sammy have been replaced by rappers and club DJs whom I don't know from a can of paint. (The more I think about it, “1957 is over” is great advice for life, not just Vegas.)
3. McCarran Airport is the only airport I’ve been to that has slot machines (although I didn’t see anyone playing them). Hey, you have to do something to break up the incredibly long walk from the gate to baggage claim.
4. A downtown hotel—the Golden Nugget—was an excellent choice, as The Strip, with its crowds and craziness, would have overwhelmed us. Even at 11 p.m. on a Sunday night, the crowd walking around the GN still resembled a scene from the movie Idiocracy.
5. One thing I noticed, being a letter carrier, is that mail trucks were on the street at 8 a.m. I later learned that the work day starts at 5 a.m. for letter carriers in Vegas. And when the temperature hits 90 by 11 a.m., you know why. 
6. I highly recommend Eat Las Vegas for a great breakfast.
7. I was a bit disappointed in the selection of tracks at the sports book. Maybe I’m spoiled because I have a Twinspires account, but—I flew across the country to bet Finger Lakes? Then again, I’ll take a 60-1 shot across the board at Yonkers Raceway, no matter where I bet it.
8. It was cool to go to a window and bet on baseball as if it were a horse race. And I’m now 2-for-2 on baseball. Thank you, Buccos!
9. Our first Vegas show was the drag show Divas featuring Frank Marino. Quite well done. You mean that wasn’t really Britney Spears?
10. The Neon Museum is a priceless look at Vegas history. It consists of old neon signs from long-gone casinos and other attractions, accompanied by remarks on the city’s history—both glorious and not so. 
11. Guy Fieri’s restaurant in the Linq is really good. Not what I expected after reading a hilariously bad review of his New York City restaurant. 
12. Our second show was The Million Dollar Quartet, based on the real-life meeting at Sun Studio of Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash, Carl Perkins and Jerry Lee Lewis. The music was live and great. 
13. The Strip is home to the most garish architecture I’ve ever seen, and it all seems to be fighting to occupy the same space. 
14. How ironic that, for all its glitz and glamour, the most beautiful sight in Vegas is the mountains off in the distance. 
15. The area on Las Vegas Boulevard between the downtown casinos and the Strip casinos looks like it was destined to be on “Cops.” Bail bonds, strip clubs, pawn shops, quick loans. And wedding chapels, too. 
16. Name a hit TV show, classic movie, or recording artist, and there’s probably a slot machine based on it. 
17. Our 10th anniversary dinner was at the Chart House in the Golden Nugget. The hotel’s theme appears to be fish—you can swim alongside them in the pool and watch them in a large fish tank as you eat at the Chart House. There are fish in the tank that I never knew existed—none of which, thank goodness, were on the menu.
18. There’s no greater feeling than winning enough money at blackjack and craps to pay for the trip. 
19. Except celebrating 10 years with the love of your life.

I was the dandy of Gamma Chi

I recently remarked on Facebook that it’s never good when you see a college fraternity on the six o’clock news.

And, sure enough, it isn’t. Fraternities have been in the news for all the wrong reasons lately, ranging from videos of racist songs to posting nude pictures of women on the internet.

After the story about the infamous SAE song broke, I read a thoughtful Facebook discussion about diversity and racism in college. It may surprise some that this discussion took place on a fraternity’s page—the page of my fraternity, Pi Beta Sigma.

That’s me, third from left in the top row, in Pi Sig’s 1986 composite picture. Pi Sig, AKA The Bulls, was founded in 1908 and is not only the oldest fraternity at Otterbein College, but the oldest fraternity in America without a national affiliation. 

The story of how I came to pledge Pi Sig is, in itself, strange. When I was looking at a college, the thought of joining a fraternity was far from my mind. What I knew about frats came from watching “Animal House,” although I knew the film was not a documentary. I’d heard that frats were expensive and, generally speaking, an indulgence for rich kids. 

During my senior year, a high school friend was attending Otterbein. While I had committed to going to Otterbein (as it was the only college to offer me a scholarship), I still had some misgivings about what the social life was like. I knew that it was a Methodist school with a dry campus and limits on opposite-sex visitation in the dorms, and I had the slight suspicion that I was being shipped off to Bob Jones University. 

My friend reassured me that this was far from the case. One of the things he talked about was the Greek system, especially the frat he was pledging—Pi Sig. He talked about all the frats, what campus cliques each tended to draw from--and how they were often used as a way to bend campus rules. 

Right away, I liked the idea of Pi Sig (even though I had not yet even visited the campus). I guess it was the sense of belonging to something that attracted me. While my friend left Otterbein soon after pledging, I was still determined to check out Pi Sig once I got there. 

Something about the place clicked with me, and I’m still not sure what. Several other Otterbein frats attracted athletes and were very much part of the jock culture, which did not appeal to me. But Pi Sig was more of a mixture. There were members who studied theater, music, English and journalism, among many other majors. The atmosphere was more bohemian than one might associate with a fraternity. If Jack Kerouac had started a fraternity, it would have looked like Pi Sig.

The frat’s culture was also more diverse than some frats that have been in the news lately. While I was there, Pi Sig pledged students from several different countries—South Korea, Japan, England, Germany, Syria, and Thailand, among others. And we managed to do this on a campus where "diversity" usually meant your roommate was Catholic. I recall a song that was written during pledging one year—a parody of CCR’s “Down On The Corner”:

You don’t need a ticket
To the universal frat
Eight countries holding,
Ronald Reagan can’t stop that
So if you think of England,
Japan or Germany
The Bulls are who to talk to 
And the only place to be

That’s a far cry from “There will never be a n***** SAE”!

I recognize that Pi Sig is not a typical fraternity. I suspect that Otterbein’s Greek culture, in general, is a bit different from that at most other colleges because the organizations are local, rather than national, and the dues are much lower, which makes them more accessible to the average student. From what I’ve seen, fraternities at most other colleges are the province of the privileged and bring with them many associated problems. If I had gone to a major university, a fraternity would not have interested me. 

Maybe it's just because I'm older, but I now think of fraternities, in general, as a bit antiquated and immature. By definition, they are sexist in that they do not admit women—no way to get around that. And it's hard to think of a good thing you can get from a fraternity that you can’t get elsewhere in college. Learning to work with people? Male bonding? There are many other activities that foster those things. 

When I see news stories such as the SAE controversy or read about fraternities being involved in sexual assaults, I start to think that maybe the time has come for frats to go the way of panty raids and freshman beanies. 

But when I catch up with Pi Sig on Facebook and see that many of its members are good, decent people, I can say that I am still proud to be a member of the organization. If I had to join a fraternity, I picked the right one. 

Sometimes it gets so hard to hide it well

Three years ago, I found out something about me that made much of my life make sense. 

I was diagnosed with Asperger Syndrome.

For those who do not know what Asperger Syndrome is, it is a form of high-functioning autism. If you asked someone what an autistic person is like, they would probably say Dustin Hoffman’s character in Rain Man. (While that character was based on someone who was not autistic, there are some similarities.) Autism actually varies widely and affects people in different ways. Most autistics are not afraid of flying, nor are they especially adept at counting cards. 

Some of the characteristics of AS include difficulties in basic elements of social interaction, restricted and repetitive interests and behavior, speech and language abnormalities, and problems with motor skills. I have all of these characteristics.

It is hard for me to write this, but I think it is important to try, because I feel that my experiences are things that people can learn from—Aspies, their families, and perhaps even myself. 

I could spend a month of blog entries on each of the Aspie characteristics and how they have impacted my life. The most prominent one is the inability to read people. It has been only recently—since my diagnosis—that I discovered that I have a big problem understanding people and their motivations. I tend to take things people say literally, which often gets me into trouble. Case in point: I was in law school for a year—the mistake of my life. At the beginning of the year, one of the officers of the student bar association spoke to the first-year students. Among the things he told us was, “Don’t worry about your grades. They’re like the lottery.” I took this to mean that your grades somehow did not matter. I’m still not sure what he really meant—maybe that you can work your butt off and still get a C. Regardless, it’s way too late to figure out that statement. 

One might look at my Facebook profile and wonder how I can have a problem with people. My college major was, of all things, public relations. But I saw PR as more of a writing job, and it appeared to be a way to write that promised more job opportunities (or so I was told) than majoring in journalism or English.

The irony is that I actually thought I was good at working with people back then. The reason I thought this seems silly in retrospect. I figured I was good with people because—are you ready?—math and science were my worst subjects in high school (and I think that might have had more to do with how those subjects were taught than any lack of ability on my part). I’m bad at math, so that means I’m good with people, right? There’s a lesson in that. As I learned, in rather humiliating fashion, during a seventh-grade field day, just because you can’t hit doesn’t mean you can pitch.

Words are all I have

Why do people blog? I think it’s because it gives them an opportunity to make a difference. Blog and you could end up on the news or make a difference in some way. And we all want to make a difference. Not many people want to just exist. 

I have not blogged in quite some time, mainly because I work six days a week. Any spare time is devoted to spending time with my wife, cleaning up around the house, feeding various animals, and falling asleep in front of Penguins games. 

I also, frankly, don’t have much stomach for being involved in controversy. There have been past blog entries where words have offended certain people, even though those words were not aimed at those people. Incidents such as this keep me from saying what I want to say and take all the fun out of blogging. 

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what kind of legacy I will leave on this earth. If few people want to just exist, even fewer want to not exist. The thought of becoming nothing is too horrible for most people to contemplate—that’s why religions were created.

I will be gone someday. It does not appear that I will have any children. So what can I do that will live on after me?

Writing seems like the most logical way to leave something on this earth. I have written a novel, which is available at amazon.com (end of commercial). All the people who have read my novel could fit comfortably in my house. I still say it’s a pretty good read. 

A blog seems more alive than a book that will sit on a shelf for 20 years and end up in a yard sale, anyhow. With a blog, I can say what’s on my mind at any given moment and it’s always out there, for better or worse. It will stay out there as long as there’s an Internet.

So you may see more blog entries from me in the future. I’m not sure what form the blog will take. I’m not one to bore people with the minutiae of my life. I don’t share pictures of my dinner or rant about the jerk who shut me off in traffic. I don’t feel comfortable doing that and I don’t think a whole lot of people are interested in it, anyhow. 

I would like to turn a blog into a kind of memoir—sharing parts of my life and the lessons I’ve learned from them. I feel as if I have a lot to say about certain subjects and I think people could be enlightened by them. 

You might hear from me again soon. Or you might not hear from me until I rededicate this blog, again, two years from now. 

You need not wonder why

In between betting races online at Oaklawn Park, I decided to take a look at this blog, since I haven't been to it in a while.
I see two posts from 2013--which was an improvement over one in 2012. These figures are down from a record 28 in 2008. (And Jamie's and my sports blog, The Fritz Blitz, hasn't been touched since 2012.)
Why has my interest in blogging dropped off?
It's simple. I have no time.
In September 2012 I became a letter carrier for the U.S. Postal Service. This job is six days a week (and will be for the foreseeable future, regardless of what you might have heard on the news) and is very demanding. I have already blogged about the time pressure, but the physical demands are also considerable. My over/under for weekly falls would probably be in the 1.5 range.
When I come home, I'm usually exhausted. My new hobby is falling asleep in front of the TV. I've slept through a lot of classic movies lately, not to mention the Winter Olympics and Ken Burns' Jazz.
I guess I have no right to complain. I'm not going to bore you with the many convolutions of my career, but, as I look back, I really have myself to blame for winding up in a job that isn't very enjoyable and leaves me with no free time.
There's a big upside to the job, though. It pays much better than any other job I've ever had, so I now have the opportunity to pay some debts and make my limited spare time more enjoyable. I have to keep reminding myself that, while I was on my previous job, I had to take a second job to make ends meet. And the U.S. Postal Service is still a pretty secure outfit, regardless of what certain Congressmen may try to do. 
The only reason I'm blogging right now is that, being a government employee, I have President's Day off.
So, while you won't hear from me as often as you used to, I'll try to blog when I can. Here's to Washington and Lincoln and all the rest (OK, I'm not sure about Nixon). And Oaklawn Park. I'm winning.

An open letter to Suzy Lee Weiss

Dear Miss Weiss,

I read your recent Wall Street Journal op-ed piece, “To (All) the Colleges that Rejected Me,” with some amusement and a great deal of confusion. Since you attend Taylor Allderdice High School in Pittsburgh, it appears that we live only a few miles from each other, but it seems that we do not live in the same world.

In this piece, you accuse colleges of lying to you, and you attack their emphasis on diversity and extracurricular activities. You now say that the piece is satire, but the tone is insulting. To imply, for example, that Elizabeth Warren got where she is because she is of Cherokee descent, when many Native Americans live in poverty you cannot imagine, is offensive to both Warren and Native Americans.  

I can empathize with you in one respect, though. I, too, remember the college search as very frustrating. It was my first realization that the achievements in which I took great pride were actually quite ordinary. Colleges didn’t care about my prowess in my local TV station’s quiz-bowl game, and their definition of community service didn’t include being my dad’s designated driver on the way home from the racetrack.

But the similarity of your experience to mine ends there. I grew up in Columbus, Ohio, in a neighborhood that was near the middle of the bell curve as far as income and social standing. My father ran a barber shop and put four of his five kids through college—and the fifth one makes the most money, of course.

You’ve listed some of the colleges that rejected you—Princeton, Yale, Penn and Vanderbilt. Getting into these colleges was not something my peers and I needed to worry about. Nobody from these schools recruited us and no teacher or counselor mentioned their names. These were mythical places that topped lists that we read in news magazines while waiting for the dentist, nothing more.

For most of my classmates, the college search began and ended with two words—Ohio State. Now, I have many OSU alumni as Facebook friends, so, before they think I’m putting down Ohio State, let me say that it’s a very good school in many respects, and their football team doesn’t suck, either. On the other hand, I’ve never read a magazine article titled “How to Get Your Kid into Ohio State.”

Why Ohio State? Proximity was a factor, as were its size and the ease of admission. But the school’s most important feature was its relatively low tuition. The kids in my neighborhood wouldn’t have been able to afford Princeton or Yale, even if they were accepted by those schools.

In the world where I grew up, being accepted by a college wasn’t an issue so much as paying for it.  I was accepted by four schools—Ohio State, Ohio University, Michigan State and Otterbein. I went to Otterbein, a small liberal arts college in Westerville, Ohio. Most of the people in your social set haven’t heard of it, and those who have probably have it confused with Oberlin. It was not my original first choice, or the second, or the third, or the 50^th. Frankly, the only reason I applied there was that there was no application fee at that time. And the main reason I went there? It was the only college that offered me a scholarship--which meant a lot to me, and even more to my parents, who were footing the bill. And Otterbein worked out well. I graduated four years later and have a lot of happy memories of the place.

I think the college search is getting to you, Suzy. Maybe what you really need is a year off. Not to go “find yourself,” whatever that means, but to try a different approach. The U.S. Postal Service is currently taking applications for City Carrier Assistant, which is the job I’m working now. After a year of delivering mail under tight deadlines in all kinds of weather, neighborhoods and road conditions, I guarantee that you’ll be happy to go to any college that will take you.

Might I suggest Otterbein? Who knows? You might like it.

Best wishes,

Bob Fritz

Between you and me and Grant Green

2012 rolled by with one lousy blog post. Well, it wasn't lousy. It was kind of funny. But it makes me think--whatever happened to my desire to write.
I have this novel (which is still available through createspace.com, thank you) and I think I did a pretty good job on it. Sometimes I think I said all I really wanted to say in that book. It's a good story, if I do say so myself, but I don't feel like it should be the last word on my life.
A lot has happened since my last blog entry. In July I lost my job. Nine years with the company and they decided my job performance just wasn't good enough. Still trying to figure out why that happened. I felt like I was going nowhere there anyhow--hadn't had a raise in four years.
In August, my dad passed away. He was 88 and died of liver cancer. He ran a barber shop in Columbus for 56 years. It's closed now and has been cleaned out down to the tonic case. My mom has been left with a lot of work to do and a lot of old racetrack tickets. The racetrack was where Dad was happiest, if you could have called him happy. And it was where I was happiest for quite a few years. Money is too precious to me now. I can't believe now how much I used to bet on horses back when I was working for the Racing Form. And dogs, and blackjack, and...
Then, in September, I was hired as a letter carrier for the U.S. Postal Service. It's much better paying than my previous job, and also a lot more work. It's not your father's Postal Service. The clock is everything there. Get the mail out and be back by five. The carriers are very supportive and I've learned a lot from them, though. I was supposed to have a 90-day evaluation, but the manager said the other day that I'm "past that now," whatever that means, so I'm assuming that I'm good. Having a job situation so up in the air has really made me live life one day at a time. Each day that I still have a job seems like a bonus to me now. It does make me wonder what might have happened had I worked half this hard on any of the other jobs I've had in my life.
So, here I am. Jamie isn't feeling well and went to bed early and I'm listening to Grant Green playing "A Day in the Life" on YouTube. Not a bad way to spend a Wednesday evening, I guess.
So why do we blog? I look through other people's blogs and there seems to be so much repetition. Someone's photographs here, some teenager who can't stand life anymore there. How much is really worth wading through? I remember when blogs were new and seemed more interesting. When I first got a computer, it was so neat to go anywhere in this thing we call cyberspace and discover new people. Of course, there are some people you wish you'd never discovered.
Perhaps Facebook is the reason why I haven't blogged. Whenever I have an opinion that I want to share, I can just do it more directly over there. But there are times when it's just me and Grant Green and my dog scratching in the background when I just want to let loose and solo. I was always fascinated by the way Jack Kerouac wrote--first thought, best thought. Then again, it resulted in some inconsistent writing.
Maybe I should try blogging more. If nothing else, it's fun to look at your thoughts in print and try to figure them out. So you may hear more from me, maybe not.
All I know is that I've got a lot of mail to carry in the morning with my seven years of college. You can see me walking through Homewood or Point Breeze or Shadyside in all kinds of weather. And maybe I'll see you. It might help to live in Pittsburgh, though.