The First Last

I’m often nostalgic around this time of year because June is a memorable month for me for many reasons. June contains Mrs. Dude’s birthday, my brother’s birthday, my mother’s birthday and Father’s Day. And that’s just the first two weeks. But there’s two other dates that also always stand out in my memory: June 11 and 12.

Each of those two dates changed my life in a similar but very different way. June 11^th was the day I graduated from college and June 12^th was the day I graduated from high school. Only someone with a partial photographic memory (used most frequently to recall old completely random info) would remember those specific dates so many years after they occurred. For while the dates may have been insignificant relative to what happened on them, they stick in my mind as placeholders.

June 12, 1994 is a far more notorious date than just because I graduated from high school on that day. That date will live in infamy as the date O.J. Simpson allegedly murdered his ex-wife. But that event is obviously only part of what makes it memorable to me. It also marked my final time spent at the Richfield Coliseum, (where my school’s commencement was held), which closed a few months later. I’d spent countless great nights among my first 18 years at the Coliseum attending concerts, sporting events, and even an NHL exhibition game that had to be canceled midway through because the ice melted.  My final trip to the Coliseum marked one end of my childhood and a new beginning as I moved on to college a few months later.

A month after graduation I went to a Grateful Dead concert, one of many I attended over the years. This particular outdoor show was marred by a huge rainstorm that dampened the crowd, both figuratively and literally. But there was one moment in the second set that has stuck with me through the years. When the band played Saint of Circumstance and got to these lyrics: “Sure don’t know what I’m going for, but I’m gonna go for it, for sure,” I knew college, and the future in general, was going to be a mystery and an adventure. 

June 11, 1999 marked the culmination of my formal education and the official first steps of the rest of my life. At lunch after my graduation ceremony that afternoon, I told my family of my intention to move to Los Angeles later that summer. I didn’t know exactly what I would do when I arrived, but I figured I could wing it. I was young, smart and eager to get started on whatever I’d be doing next.

Cut to almost 14 years later and I’m still trying to figure out what I’m going for. Not that that’s necessarily a bad thing. Every choice I’ve made since then has led me to today. Some decisions have been great and some not so great. Obviously one great one was marrying Mrs. Dude, who collaborated with me to produce both Junior Dudes.

This year on June 12^th, I was daydreaming in the car while cruising on another sunny L.A. day, and reflecting on my high school graduation that occurred so long ago and so far away on that date.  Though my ride wasn’t long, I had a lot of time to think about all I’ve done since then. And when I reached my destination, I parked the car, and then ascended a staircase I’d climbed a hundred times before and picked up my Little Dude from the last day of his first year of school. His journey is just beginning. 

Leaving Room 5 for the final time. . .

Dude of the Week: James Yount

Welcome to the inaugural Dude of the Week!  Each week I'll feature a Dude that I think is worth talking about. It might be a real person, a fictional character or just a Dudely image or graphic that catches my eye.

This week's Dude of the Week is James Yount. James is an amazing graphic designer who just so happened to have designed my new logo. He is uber-creative and also a new father himself.  And we used to goof around together in Physics for Dummies class in high school, so you know he's a great Dude.

If you need any graphic design work done, I urge you to check out James' portfolio and contact him at once.
Don't pass Go or collect $200. 

You can also follow him on Twitter for 140 characters' worth of wit. 

And make sure you tell him that The Dude of the House sent ya! 

So what did James create for me? I gave him minimal direction, yet he came up with exactly what I was looking for. Try to beat that!

If you haven't seen it already, my logo is now visible on my blog & Facebook page for your eyes' enjoyment: 

On that note, I'd like to congratulate James Yount on being the first Dude of the Week! 

If you would like to nominate a Dude that you think would make a good 
Dude of the Week please email me. 

Remember, it doesn't have to be a person & could be a graphic, sign or other Dudely interpretation.   

The Waiting is the Hardest Part

When the doctor finally discharged me he repeatedly stressed one word: rest. He’d had me on 24-hour I.V. fluids for nearly a week and though my body was rehydrated, it was completely listless. Mononucleosis sucks. Especially when you are 17 years old and summer is rapidly approaching. Doubly so if you have an overseas trip scheduled 6 weeks to the day after you are hospitalized.  I knew there was no way I was going to make it onto that plane.

When I returned home from the hospital, the extent of my daily activity consisted of waking up in the morning, going downstairs and flopping down on the couch in front of the TV. All day. Every day. Until it was time for bed when I would sluggishly ascend the stairs to rest some more.  

I knew I would miss the last month of school, which you might think is every teenager’s fantasy.  But two factors made this situation infinitely less than desirable. Like the fact that I couldn’t really eat because my throat was so swollen that simply breathing became a challenge. Or that we didn’t have cable.

I had a set routine, though I don’t remember its exact sequence now. My days were filled with our local Channel 19’s run through classic sitcoms. I didn’t get to hang with my friends at school, so I made new friends to keep me company through my misery. There was Lucy and Gomer, Mr. Belvedere and The Fonz. And especially the Mayberry crew.

Had I been born 20 years later I’d have been texting and tweeting to keep up with the outside world. Instead, I traveled back in time. To simpler worlds and situations that were neatly wrapped up in 22 minutes, accompanied by endless ads for Life Alerts and Life Insurance.  My life should have been beginning, but it felt like it was ending. I had to go on that trip, but how could I plan to go hiking through the desert when a trip to the bathroom left me winded?

I took my recuperation very seriously. I drank at least two giant jugs of Gatorade per day for their electrolytes. I ingested steroids in the kind of doses that people with serious maladies are given. Over the next few weeks I lost 30 pounds, which would be wonderful now but was scary then.

The doctors tried to give me hope that I’d make it onto that plane, but I doubted them. I was pessimistic and felt entitled to be given how miserable I felt every day. Since talking was painful, I limited mine as much as possible. The anguish of isolation did not help.

Finally, with about 10 days until the trip I went to see my Infectious Disease doctor to get the verdict. Nurses checked my vitals and drew 11 vials of blood. Then the doctor ran the most important test he could: asking me if I wanted to go. I did. And so I went. 

Goodbye Blue Sky

In light of the recent tragedy at Chardon High School, I feel a pain that is difficult to truly express.  As a parent it’s hard to fathom that something like that could happen at any time and place to my innocent child. As someone who spent a considerable amount of time in Chardon while growing up, it’s just plain shocking.

It’s no secret that ours is a crazy world.  Incidents and accidents happen every day that unexpectedly and permanently separate loved ones.  Even though these situations are not preventable, they are no less tragic.

When T.J. Lane approached a table of random students in his school cafeteria last week and opened fire, he unexpectedly changed the course of countless lives. And not just the lives of his victims and their families, either.  The effects of his actions will have repercussions for decades to come. What if one of those three kids who died was the person who was ultimately going to cure cancer? Or become President?  How will the parents and siblings of these teens be affected by their loss for the rest of their lives?  

As my Little Dude is only 2, he is pretty much with either me or my wife 99% of the time.  But we are looking into pre-schools for him and it’s a scary thought.  I can’t fathom him being away from both of us, even if it’s only for a few hours each day.  Because once he is out of sight, I won’t be able to protect him and that’s really the ultimate mission of parents. 

T.J. Lane was charged with aggravated murder and has already admitted shooting his classmates and will be tried as an adult, so he’ll likely be locked up for a long time if not the rest of his life.  But sadly at 17, his life is already over, which is a tragedy unto itself.   It makes me wonder if this tragedy could have been prevented.  Did his parents, teachers, siblings and friends (if he had them) really miss all the warning signs? How did he get a gun and bullets?  I’m sure this will all be revealed during the course of his trials, but we’ll probably never really know the real motivation.

So why did this story affect me more than others?  The news was especially shocking to me because whenever you hear about these situations it’s usually somewhere else far away. If you live in Florida, it’s in Idaho. If you’re in Wyoming, it’s in Virginia, etc. Yes, I live in California, but I grew up in Northeastern Ohio and spent many amazing summers going to camp in Chardon.

Chardon was always a sleepy town at the end of a long two-lane road, known primarily for its maple syrup.   It’s not far from Cleveland, but not around the corner either.  My memories of Chardon include a perfectly blue sky during the day time and a million stars at night.  It was a magical place and I am lucky to still have friends that I made there 25+ years ago.  Some that I talk to regularly, some only occasionally via Facebook. Regardless, they are part of a large support system that I’ve been very lucky to have. People I could talk to when problems arise, or when I’m feeling down.  It’s tragic that T.J. Lane didn’t have that and as a result Chardon will never be the same.  

I'm once again linking up with a great panel of writers at Yeah Write #48. 

Come find some great new material and vote for your 3 favorites:

Burst Your Bubble

Dear stores and restaurants that give balloons to kids,

Thank you for giving the Little Dude a gift that he is obsessed with from the moment he spots it 50 yards away, until it either pops or floats to the clouds within 3 minutes after receiving it.  Naturally one of those two tragic outcomes occurs at the other end of the mall or as we are getting in the car, both of which are just beyond the statute of limitations for obtaining another one.   

I assume that your proprietor must be the devil and that’s why you offer primarily red balloons. Why not just give out melted popsicles or sick three-legged puppies or something else that will likely make kids very upset very quickly?  What is so appealing about balloons anyway? It’s just an overstretched piece of material filled with hot air, sort of like the polyester clothing of most of my high school teachers.  

To those of you at the local grocery store, you are doubly evil. Not only do you torture kids with cheap balloons tied to lollipops, but you also tempt them on the way both in and out of the store with vending machines filled with crap. And it’s not even appealing crap to anyone over the age of 3, it’s just basic garden variety junk.  It’s junk that sets me up for bigger headaches because inevitably whatever toy you show as the demo on the front of the machine is NEVER the one anyone gets when they retrieve their plastic egg.  You always show a cool looking Finn McMissile car and then after I drop in two quarters, out pops an Avian-flu infected feather or a pink plastic toad or a used Kleenex.  I’d rather the Little Dude just play with the quarters if they are going to get thrown out anyway. 

It’s no secret that companies like Camel and Budweiser got in trouble several years ago for using cartoons and animals to attract underage kids to their products they won't be allowed to enjoy legally for many years.  So why do supermarkets believe they can make my son enjoy helping me search the store for the correct kind of frozen peas by offering a giant plastic car covered in Streptococcus strapped to the front of a shopping cart? He obviously won't be driving for a while. There’s nothing that makes a Dude looks goofier than pushing around that monstrous cart with the giant red zit in front.  Believe me, I know from the empathetic nods I get from older men dragged to the store by their lovely wives.

Candy machine at a local restaurant.
Worst "game" ever.

To the local restaurant that features one of those giant crane machines filled with candy, you are the worst.  You make me look like the bad guy because I don’t want to waste 50 cents for one measly Twizzler or pack of Smarties.  Somehow you manage to make people ignore the fact that you charge more than a movie theater and airport gift shop combined for this junk.  

So with balloons handed out like Jehovah’s Witnesses Fliers, and junk-filled vending machines every 20 yards throughout the local strip centers, malls and gas stations, how can I avoid these booby-traps placed just about everywhere I go for nearly every product we use?  I guess I’ll take my business to Amazon.  They ship everything in those bland brown boxes filled with the giant bubble wrap.  While the bubbles will inevitably get popped inside my house, at least they won’t float away right as the UPS truck pulls out of my driveway.

Sincerely,

The Dude