PEZ

Sugar tablets that mechanically protrude from some cartoon character's neck when you pull their head back.... How many of us have discarded an idea because it was stupid? Well the PEZ chaps decided to get rich off of one such idea.

There is one major flaw with PEZ. It's the sudden, surprising disappointment one gets when they realize they've just eaten the last PEZ in the stack. I like to be prepared for the last bite so I can savor it.

Oh and the cherry flavored PEZ tastes like medicine. It's not PEZ's fault really. I think medicine makers have overdone the kid-friendly cherry ploy. Ham flavored cough syrup would be just fine.

The Sky Toilet

I'm beginning to get settled into my new job at the University of Dayton. I work on the ground floor of the library. In my case, "ground floor" means that if approached from the north it's the first floor, but if approached from the south it's the basement. Anyway, it's very nice. I share an office with another developer I work closely with, which so far has been a very helpful arrangement.

The library has seven floors (eight if you count my ground floor) and there is something very special about the men's bathroom on the top floor. It features The Sky Toilet...

It's called The Sky Toilet for three reasons:

1. Altitude. It's on the seventh floor.
   
   
2. The Sky Toilet is positioned right next to a huge window. This gives the pooper a spectacular aerial view of much of campus. Consequently, this also seemingly exposes the toilet-user to the frequent bustle below.
   
   

   This, my friends, is the view from the Sky Toilet. I know the picture isn't too good. There wasn't any bustle at the time and the sun was glaring. But nature doesn't always call when it's best for a photo. You get the point.

   
   
3. The toilet seat itself is several inches higher than what is standard. Honestly, my feet do not reach the floor when I use the Sky Toilet.
   
   

It's a real thrill to use the Sky Toilet. I'm not sure why, but it's definitely cool. I think it's the novelty.

It is believed that a visitor to the Sky Toilet has no need to worry about people seeing them from below because the windows are tinted and no one looks up there anyway. I've noted that the lights are always off. This further obfuscates the window. Still, I personally keep an eye on the pedestrians below. I watch out for people looking skyward, pointing and giggling. Hasn't happened. Probably never will, but I'll keep an eye out...just in case.

This post has nothing to do with piranha.

Everyone should try stuff, right? If you don't enjoy it, at least you learned something, got the experience, and now have a story to tell.
(Note: By saying "everyone should try 'stuff'", I am not condoning the use of illegal drugs, fornication, Jihad, auto theft, impersonating a diplomat, suicide, homicide, genocide, some other kind of -cide, arson, cat juggling or anything else that could get you or I in orange jumper trouble.)

So why not try selling a house in the worst housing market since the Great Depression? Not exaggerating. Well...so they say. Media chaps do like to dramatize a bit. I've never sold a house before, so there's all kinds of fun things to experience for the first time. And just to make it more interesting, we'll move across the state and pay rent while still paying the mortgage. This ups the stakes. Why be boring?

My favorite new experience, thus far, is when someone drives by slow and nosy-like. As a mature, dignified adult, I frantically bolt to a window they probably can't see me through, and gawk back - willing them with my telepathic powers to call the realtor's number displayed on our sign. So far, no worky.

There haven't been any offers yet. Actually, only one couple has even stepped in to look. They were disappointed by the one-car garage...Buy two motorcycles and stop whining! But I fear someone someday will offer way low, and then when they adjust to my counter, the price will be in an awkward spot. What I mean by awkward is "too low but...". What I mean by that is if I wait a few more months for a better offer, I may break even when you account for the loss of mortgage payment I'd unnecessarily be incurring during those months.

I told you this had nothing to do with piranha.

Plantar Wart

I have had a plantar wart on my left foot for about three months. It hurts when I walk and I'm getting real tired of it. I had been using "Dr. Scholl's Plantar Wart Removers" with little success.

So I decided to take action. I called my doctor. I told the the receptionist:

"I have a plantar wart on my left foot. It hurts when I walk. Can you guys freeze it off, cut it off, burn it off, just get it off somehow?"

She said, "Yeah, we can do that."

"Great! Schedule me an appointment!"

"The soonest we can see you is in five weeks. Is that ok?"

"No."

"Well there's nothing we can do."

"Really?"

"Really."

"..." {click}

Frustrated but not despairing I asked a coworker if there was a local family practice where he thought I could get in within a week. He suggested calling the "East Holmes Family Practice". So I did. The receptionist picked up, asked me what she could do...

"I have a plantar wart on my left foot. It hurts when I walk. Can you guys freeze it off, cut it off, burn it off, just get it off somehow?"

She said, "Oh sure. We can help you with that!"

"Great! When's the soonest I can get an appointment."

"Are you a paitent here?"

"No."

"Well, we're not accepting new patients. Sorry."

"..."

"Again, sorry about that. Goodbye now..."

"WAIT! My doctor can't see me until after the second coming. You don't accept new patients. What do you suggest I do?"

"Umm, you could call the Pomerene Express."

"...Why the heck would I call a train?"

"No, Pomerene Express is a stat care facility."

"Oh. Ok I'll call them." {click}



At this point my spirits were up because - hey, a stat care will see anybody, right? So I called the train. The receptionist picked up and I said...


"I have a plantar wart on my left foot. It hurts when I walk. Can you guys freeze it off, cut it off, burn it off, just get it off somehow?"

"Uh, let me check with the nurse practioner."

I was put on hold, and half listened to soothing jazz music.

The nurse practioner picked up the phone and asked, "Hi. Where is this wart?"

"It's on the ball of my left foot. A painful contact point. I've been trying to treat it with Dr. Scholl's Plantar Wart Removers, but it's not going too well."

"Has it been getting bigger?"

"No."

"Ok. I used to work for a pediatrist and we got these a lot. What you need to do is put a piece of duct tape on it, and that should clear it up."

"..."

"Hello?"

"..."

"Still there?"

"Ok. So what you're saying is that I need to take my scientifically researched Dr. Scholl's things and toss them in garbage, and instead put a piece of duct tape on my foot?"

"Yep."

"Was the pediatrist you worked for named Dr. MacGyver?"

"Are you trying to be funny?"

"Sorry. Ok. Thanks. I'll give it a shot." {click}


Shortly after I got off the phone. I took off the Dr. Scholl's thing and tried to dig as much of the skin away as I could with a pair of nail clippers. I also googled plantar wart solutions, and the duct tape therapy actually had some good reviews. Who'd'a thunk it? When I got home I put a piece of duct tape on my foot.

Later, I will update this with a verdict on the treatment...

12.04.2008 It is later and the duct tape did not work. I ended up going to a podiatrist who put a potion on the war that caused my body to reject the skin on which it was applied. It formed a big painful blister and eventually I picked it off. The wart is now gone.

Cancel Credit Protector Fee

I didn't ask for it, in fact I explicitly told them not to do it, but the credit card company put a $0.89 fee for every $100 spent on my account. That's ok. They made it real easy to cancel. It only required 30 steps.

1. Call the 866 number associated with the Fee posting.
2. Listen to computer menu.
3. Press 1 or "oprima dos".
4. Press 8.
5. Press 3.
6. Enter account number
7. Hold
8. Tell nice man from India my personal info and that I don't want to pay the fee.
9. Hold
10. Nice man from India tells me he'll transfer me to someone who can help.
11. Hold
12. Talk to a woman, who addresses me as Richard Harmon.
13. Explain to the woman that I am not Richard Harmon.
14. Give the woman my personal and account info and tell her I want to cancel the fee.
    
15. Hold
16. Talk to a different man from India.
17. Hold
18. Talk to another guy. Tell him I want to cancel the fee.
19. Hold
20. Talk to another woman. She says she'll transfer me to the Credit Protector people. (Yay!)
21. Hold
22. Talk to the Credit Protector woman. Tell her I want to cancel.
23. Listen to Credit Protector woman's spiel about why I don't really want to cancel.
24. Tell her that I do, in fact, still want to cancel.
25. Listen to Credit Protector woman's spiel about a cheaper option.
26. Tell her that I do, in fact, still want to cancel.
27. Listen to Credit Protector woman's spiel about how they'll send me a $20 dollar Visa checkcard as an incentive for continuing to use their service.
28. Tell her that I do, in fact, still want to cancel!
29. Listen as Credit Protector woman finally agrees to remove the fee. (Yay!)
30. Tell Credit Protector woman to enjoy her day of immoral fees and bribes, say bye-bye, and hang up.

What's a Sport?

Semantics is a funny thing. Over time the meanings of words evolve. For example, there once was a man named Guy Fawkes who tried to blow up Parliament in 1605. He failed, got caught, and was sentenced to death. Note that to this day he is considered the only man to enter the legislature with honest intentions. As an insult, the word "guy" started being used to describe shady men such as criminals and thugs. Then it became a more general word to describe any man, and today it is even used to describe women as in, "What are you guys doing?".

Take the word "awesome". "Awesome" is a word that has become diluted. It's intent is to describe incredible wonders such as the Grand Canyon and God's almightiness. But now someone hands you a nifty ball-point pen and you say, "Wow! This is awesome!" The word has become diluted.

Just like the word "awesome" the meaning of "sport" has also become diluted. Football is a sport. Yahtzee is not. This is obvious, but why? And what about billiards? What we need is a working definition to help us determine which activities are sports and which are not...

My definition of a sport:
Sport: noun, any wholly, bodily-kinetic, competitive event where participants interact with each other, or alter the game state, dynamically in real-time, for the purpose of gaining advantage with opposing end goals of winning the contest.


I've broken my definition into three easy to apply criteria.....In order to be considered a "sport" all three of the following criteria must be met:

1. Competitive: Is the event a competition with opposing end goals of winning the contest?
2. Physically Dynamic: Is the event wholly, bodily-kinetic? Meaning; do the competitors move and use their whole bodies as part of the contest?
   
3. Real-time: Do the competitors have to interact and with each other in real-time, or are they changing the game state for their opponent in real-time in order to get an advantage?

Now before I make some people's feelings hurt, and before I'm accused of causing mischief. I'd like to make it absolutely clear that I am not trying to belittle any activity that my definition excludes from sporthood. Ok?

So using the criteria...

Is Basketball a sport? Yes.

1. Competitive: Yes
2. Physically Dynamic: Yes
3. Real-time: Yes

Obviously Basketball, Football, Baseball, Soccer, Lacrosse, Hockey, Volleyball, Rugby, Boxing, Fencing, etc. are sports. If you're not sure, apply the criteria. So, Let's take a look at those contests that are up for debate...

Poker? No.

1. Competitive: Yes
2. Physically Dynamic: No
3. Real-time: You could argue it, but no.
   
   

Ping-pong? Yes.

1. Competitive: Yes
2. Physically Dynamic: Yes
3. Real-time: Yes

Ping-pong, or more properly - Table Tennis, at the elite level is immeasurably more intense than the casual game you played in the basement with your mom, dad or cousin Timmy. Just YouTube the elite players such as Ma Lin or Wang Hao. You'll notice incredible agility, footwork and power combined with intense competitive emotion.

Billiards? No.

1. Competitive: Yes
2. Physically Dynamic: Not really
3. Real-Time: No
   
   

Golf? No.

1. Competitive: Yes
2. Physically Dynamic: Just barely.
3. Real-time: No way

Dare I even approach this sacred cow? Before your golfer fury gets you into trouble with Bob Barker, imagine an exciting football play...with a hard hit. Now imagine a close game in the Final Four...60 seconds on the clock, down by 2, full court press. Is golf really the same kind of activity? It is not. Golf is a game of skill. It fails the real-time test. You're playing against the course - not your opponent. There is no competitive interaction. No defense. Each competitor just plays as well as he/she can and whoever does it in the least strokes wins. You don't even have to see your opponent to lose to him. Not a sport. A game of skill.

Wii Sports Boxing? No.

1. Competitive: Yes
2. Physically Dynamic: No...but frighteningly close
3. Real-time: Yes

Footwork is not part of Wii boxing. I'm sure many people play it from their couch. It just isn't quite"wholly, bodily-kinetic". It's close though. This is somewhat alarming because standard video games clearly are not sports; yet this almost made the cut. But it came close. I suppose a full virtual reality game could be considered a sport by my definition. Nintendo isn't there yet, so until then, we'll continue to go outside to play.

Auto Racing? No.

1. Competitive: Yes
2. Physically Dynamic: Not quite
3. Real-time: Yes

Here comes some more pain...but should it be painful? I'm not denying the skill or the intrigue. I'm just defining "sport". This one truly was close, but racing, although physically demanding, cannot be considered physically dynamic. You can't justify that it is a "wholly, bodily-kinetic, competitive event". The driver moves his arms, feet, and head, but not his or her (didn't forget Danica) whole body. Compare Auto Racing's whole body involvement to three hours of two-player Wii Sports Boxing... Wii Boxing requires no footwork. Auto Racing requires no getting off your bum.

Olympic Track Events, Swimming, etc? No.

1. Competitive: Yes
2. Physically Dynamic:Yes
3. Real-time: I'm a little torn, but I'll say 'no'.

They are trying to get to the finish before their opponent in real-time but unlike hockey, the event could be run one competitor at a time. You couldn't have one hockey team play their game on Tuesday and their opponent play on Wednesday. The real-time aspect of these racing events is immaterial and the outcome is not dependent on real-time alterations of the game state. At least in auto racing the racers interact with each other. However, it would be funny if someone grabbed Michael Phelps' ankle in Beijing. That's probably the only way to beat him.

Competitive Eating? No.

1. Competitive: Yes
2. Physically Dynamic: No
3. Real-time: No
   
   

We are the tenants of the English language. The line has to be drawn...or else Yahtzee becomes a sport.

A Quick Jaunt

What should have been a quick jaunt to the grocery and pharmacy somehow turned into a series of unfortunate events where Jude Law could narrate and you’d laugh, cry, shake your head, and say things like, “Gracious me! What hullabaloo!”
Here’s how it went down…and if at some point during the tale you notice a point where I messed up and should have handled the situation differently, make a note and let me know.

I needed to go to the grocery store and the pharmacy, which are both in the same part of town and only five minutes from my home. I hopped in my sporty, fuel efficient, ’95 Civic and headed toward the target zone. As I approached Main St., I saw the first in a series of signs directing people toward Sugarcreek, Ohio’s annual “Fabulous Fifties Fling”. This was a problem. The downtown area would be thronging with tourists, antique cars, carneys, and Golden Buckeye Card-holders. The streets would be blocked off in unpredictable patterns, which meant detouring, and parking would not be at all pleasant. I at once considered aborting the mission; however, my 22 month old milk-aholic would have been distressed without her dairy fix, and the pharmacy was closed on Sundays so this was the only chance until Monday evening. So I made the decision to proceed…

It became evident that I would not be able to park very near the pharmacy, which meant that I had to go there first; otherwise the milk would curdle due to the thermonuclear heat. After circumnavigating the blocked off portions of town, I found an area by some railroad tracks where I could park about a quarter mile from the pharmacy. Truly the best I could do. Oh, and I was wearing flip-flops; an additional nuisance because the first portion of my little hike was over double tracks, through dirty gravel, snakes, and thorny weeds. I strolled through the aptly named “Fabulous Fifties Fling” and make it to the pharmacy (my first objective).

I tell the nice lady at the desk that I need a refill. Nice lady says, “Ok, but I’m not sure how long it will take because our computers aren’t working right.”
I ask nice lady, “Could you give me an estimate – just a ballpark guess?”
Nice lady says, “No.”
“No?”
“No.”

{I paused to tactfully formulate my response so as not to sound like I have a surly attitude, which I do at this point.}
I ask, “Do you think it will take more or less than three hours?”
“Oh. It won’t take that long!”
“Ok…Do you think it will take more or less than 15 minutes.”
“It will definitely take longer than 15 minutes.”
“I see. So do you think it will take more or less than two hours?”
At this point she catches on to my ploys and tells me it probably would take an hour. As I exited, I puzzled over why she didn’t tell me that to begin with.

I then had a few things to consider. Should I just go ahead and get the groceries and take my chances with warm milk? How much could I trust the nice lady’s estimation? I didn’t really feel like participating in the “Fabulous Fifties Fling”. Note that back in the fifties it was just called the ‘Fabulous Fling’. I decided to flip-flop back over the snakes and railroad tracks. I got in my car and meandered over to IGA.

I took my time at the grocery store because I had an hour to kill. The only hitch I ran into was that the Velveeta shredded cheese my wife had asked for was sold out. Life goes on. I kicked around the idea of homemade General Tso’s Chicken, but decided it may be too hard to pull off without a deep fryer and Chinese immigrant to help prepare it. I checked out, adding forty cents to my Discover cash-back bonus, got in my car and headed back toward the railroad tracks.
After my third romp through the cacti, pythons, and pistons, I found my prescription ready and waiting (it only took an hour). I paid for the drugs and for a final time made the trek back to the tracks.

As I retraced my circumnavigation of the downtown area, I wondered why a town with a large Amish community makes a fuss over old cars. There's horse-drawn buggies all over the place. If you want antiquity…why settle for 20th century? Then, around the time John Mayer had repeated, “Say what you need to say” for the zillionth time in that overplayed radio hit, the car directly in front of me rear ended the car directly in front of it, ergo trapping me between them and the traffic behind me.

Sometime later I managed a U-turn, a wider detour, and no more unfortunate events. My quick jaunt had come to a merciful end.

It floats around. It's gotta land somewhere. I was in the path of the tornado.
-Andy Dufresne, The Shawshank Redemption