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.