Unsportsmanlike Conduct

Unsportsmanlike Conduct

(taken directly from the Miami University Intramurals website)

Maybe it’s because I’m old school and I had a different set of heroes. I grew up watching Walter Payton, Tim Brown and Michael Jordan in a day before the “And 1 Mix Tape Tour” when it seemed that being a decent human being was also an important role in being a pro athlete. Now this humanitarian integrity has been replaced with exotic end zone celebrations, fantasy stats and players who would sooner walk over a fallen opponent than help them up. It’s become more about showmanship than sportsmanship. And just like Ronald Reagan predicted, it trickles down to all levels of competition. It goes from the pro game to the college game to recreational sports and all the way down to little league. And it’s aggravating to see the game change the way it has since I was taught what was important. So maybe that’s why I have so very little tolerance when I walk out on the field to see students intentionally threatening, bad mouthing and plowing into their fellow students. The presence of a ball in the setting of a field of grass does not give anyone the right to treat their fellow man with any more disrespect than they would in a classroom, on a bus or at a job. If you’re going to intentionally disrespect another player, fan or official with threats to their well-being or intentional bodily harm, you will no longer be participating in Miami Intramurals. This will serve as every team’s last warning. You signed up to play a game. I don’t care what your excuses are. No officiating is ever that bad and no game is ever that important. No one here is going pro. You are all playing for a t-shirt. And if you want one that badly, I’ll give you one.

Knifeless in Southwest Ohio

Knifeless in Southwest Ohio

It’s been exactly 7 days since the surgery and I must first continue to thank all of you for your continued support. I have gotten probably close to 50 or so e-mails in the last week and I’m still getting people to bring in food and come over to cut chicken and get pizzas out of ovens. I’m learning everyday of new things that I can’t do nearly as well with one arm stuck to my stomach. See, I know that my football playing, breakdancing and puppeteering days are on hold until sometime in 2008, but there are lots of activities I didn’t realize would be so difficult until I tried them recently. And so I have come up with a top ten list of these activities I have realized are very very biased toward two-handed people.

10. Driving. I drive a stick shift. I actually thought this would be a lot harder, but I forgot how incredibly awesome I am. The trick is to shift on the straightaways and try not to do anything stupid. I learned early on when trying to text message and steer and shift all at the same time. When I realized that was too many things to do at once with one arm, I quickly surmised which was the most important and was able to get from A to B unscathed. So it turns out driving isn’t all that difficult, but if you see my car, you may just want to run inland anyway. And I mean inland. The sidewalk may not be safe enough depending on if I’m trying to download ringtones or not. Run towards a building. That should be good enough. I hope.

9. Typing. I guess I kinda knew that this wouldn’t be easy, but I’m cheating. I can peak my right hand out and hit a decent radius of keys around the j and k keys. And I think I’m allowed to do that. I’ll find out Wednesday if I was supposed to have been doing this.

8. Shorts. Ever try buttoning shorts with one hand? It’s real damn difficult. Much like unhooking a rear clip bra with one hand, from what I remember. Only try doing it with your non-dominant hand. The zipper isn’t even really that easy to zip up. Elastic shorts are the way to go.

7. Arm pit sweat. It gets pretty rank under there. I have decided to combat this issue with the use of spray deodorant. However, I won’t lie and say that there are times that I don’t just spray febreeze all over myself and hope that helps. Showering is tough because I have to change band-aids and I have to wash my hair with one hand, etc. so I apologize ahead of time for my possible stench.

6. Footwear. I can’t tie my shoes anymore and so I’m confined to use either my flip flops or my stupid, ugly, not-as-comfy-as-they-say-they-are crocs. Obviously, flip flops are not the most professional shoes to wear but I can’t tie my friggin shoes! I’m just waiting for the first person to tell me to put on a pair of sneakers and I’m going to shove my croc so far up their ass, they’ll be crapping little alligators.

5. Wiping my butt. Sorry to get graphic, but this is not easily done with my left hand. I will refrain from any further discussion on this topic.

4. Tripping. And no, not the kind associated with crystal meth. I mean falling. And I haven’t actually done this yet and I’m really not looking forward to the first time I do. Especially if I’m carrying something. I know I’ll be carrying a lemonade and stumble on my stupid oversized crocs and I’ll have to make a decision whether or not to throw my lemonade and try to catch myself with my only functional arm, getting myself all sticky and risking walking around armless for the next month or keep my lemonade and try to roll over my right shoulder and never be able to use it again or maybe even die. So I’m not looking forward to that.

3. Eating a taco. I was trying to figure out what food to eat that would be easiest. Honestly, I thought taco bell would be one of the easiest things to eat. Well, it turns out you use two hands a lot more often than you think. Or I least I do. And it’s just impossible to keep the beef in the chalupa. Of course, once I accepted that I was just going to pick the escaped meat and shredded lettuce off the wrapper and shove it in my mouth, I was fine. But it wasn’t easy.

2. Shaving. I’d almost sooner let an ex-girlfriend with a grudge around my face with a razor than to try to trust my left hand again. I don’t even think I had the razor pointed the right way at one point. I’ve taken the approach of just not shaving much of at all for the next three weeks. The same goes for brushing my teeth.

1. Sleeping. This absolutely sucks. I am actually not experiencing that much pain at all but I can’t get comfortable and so I can’t sleep. I get a lot more irritable because of this. I’ve been taking my pain pills hoping that they’d act as sleeping pills. I realize this is stupid, but I do it anyway. Those people that know me well enough know that I didn’t wake up at 8 in the morning to send this e-mail. This is the one thing I didn’t see coming that seems to make it much worse than my Achilles surgery recovery. And the other 31 years that I didn’t have surgery.

There you go. A little insight into some of the less known difficulties associated with rotator cuff surgery. I refrained from including one slightly more lude thing that is also difficult with one’s dominant arm in a sling. The hint is that it is sommonly said that if one tries this with their non-dominant hand that it feels like someone else. While that is true, it is someone very uncoordinated. Now I’m gonna go try to rest for a couple hours before work.

Above the Knife

Above the Knife

So thanks to everyine for the 40 or so e-mails, the 20ish phone calls and test messages, the couple house vists (Di, Wak and Kelly) and the care packages (Loraine, Tracy and Lindsey) I have receibed in the past few days. You’ve all made it so mush easier, especially Seth’s mom for driving me to, from, and stauing with me in the medical center during my surgery. I can still only type with my left hand so please excuze my brevity. I promise you that I have gotten all your mesages and I’ll get back to you in time when I can type with both hands.

So I used to make fun of people who got shoulder or hand surgery and then had to be transported in a wheelchair to their car. What’s wrong with their legs? Why can’t they just walk to the car? Then I tried to stand up from my hospital bed. I reached for the closest wall I could find to regain some balance. The closest wall was a nurse named Corrine. Judging from her reaction and the “party girl” tattoo on her lower back, I’d say she was pretty used to guys climbing all over her. Needless to say, I have new respect for that wheelchair to the door trip.

So the pain started to get really intense around 7pm Tuesday, when the bulk of the anesthetic wore off. Thankfully, it wore off sometime around 4am that night. This is especially good since I believe I was taking pain pills like they were skittles. So as of now, it feels like I was just hit by a truck, not a train full of trucks. Anyway, I’ll be back at work tomorrow and I’ll catch you all up soon thereafter. I just wanted to send out a quick thank you and update and smiley face. 🙂

Under the Knife

Under the Knife

I feel strange apologizing for appropriating my own mailing list, but I thought I’d let you all in on something in the off chance I haven’t complained about my life to everyone on the face of the earth yet.

About a month ago, I hurt myself participating in an activity typically reserved for people 10-15 years younger than me. As a result, I tore my rotator cuff, something I did about 10 or 15 years ago participating in activity typically reserved for people my own age. I didn’t get surgery then because I didn’t see a doctor for 3 months. Turns out that was stupid. So this time, I’m getting surgery. Tomorrow. In about 6 and a half hours. The doc says I’ll be in a lot of pain for the first couple days, but I’ll have an arsenal of weaponry in the form of little white pills to combat the throbbing. After that, I’ll be in a sling and swathe for 6 weeks (including sleep) and then I’ll be in physical therapy for 3 or 4 months. No big deal. I’ll be ready to try out for the Eagles by training camp in 2008.

So here’s kind of what I need from you. I’ll be at home watching the last season of the Sopranos on dvr and the first two seasons of Moonlighting on dvd from Tuesday through Thursday. Chances are I’ll be a little bored and finding new things I won’t be able to do without use of my right arm. Like maybe getting a pizza out of the oven, washing my hair or playing chess with myself. If any of you locals want to stop by, please do. I’ll put on some old school Bruce Willis and Cybil Shepherd for you. And I won’t make you wash my hair either. But there is an application should any of you want to…

Anyway, I gotta go get some sleep before they put me to sleep for a few hours tomorrow. What I’m saying is drop by, text me, call me, e-mail me or at least think of me tomorrow, whether in loving sympathy or joyous humiliation, I’d appreciate it. Thanks and I’ll see you all on the other side of the knife.

Wanted: A Bow With a Scope

Wanted: A Bow With a Scope
So this past Wednesday was Valentines Day. Or as I call it, National Singles Awareness Day. Now I’ve taken some fair and some unfair shots at the holiday in the past and I think I’ve about exhausted most of the standard topics of “It’s such a Hallmark holiday’” “It sucks for people in relationships even more,” and “Exactly where is the line between admiration and stalking?” And so I am here to talk about something else. Something off the beaten path. I’m actually going to try to make a case IN FAVOR of Valentines Day, even though the line between admiration and stalking is always a good fallback.
So last year at this time, I was in a… well, some sort of a relationship. I didn’t know exactly what it was then and I still don’t now, but that’s a story for another day in a much more private setting (like a therapist’s office). So this year proved to be a much worse Valentine’s Day since I didn’t have even what I could quantify as an awkward relationship. I had none. Nothing. Squat. Bubka (sp?). But what I have this year that I have in common with last year is hope. Almighty, brilliant and suicide-postponing hope. And this hope manifested itself in the form of a cute redhead in my class who has absolutely no idea how old I am and will NOT until we get to know each other to the point that she’s pot committed. In the relationship that we’re already in inside my very unhealthy mind, this will occur in about 2 weeks. And I vowed to myself that I wasn’t going to hurt this girl ever. Which can be seen in the restraint I showed last week when the other girl in my class (I need to take more classes) eye-raped me in the bar and instead of taking her home, I simply stood there awkwardly and repeated the mantra in head “She’s scaring me… She’s scaring me… She might kill me…” until I convinced myself not to do anything. If you know me well enough, you realize that this pattern of behavior can also be attributed not only to my desire to be a nice guy, but also my ineptitude as a real man. But we’re moving on.
So anyway, this redhead and I have been exchanging extremely obvious looks since day one of class. And I just could not muster up the sac to do or say anything. Every time I tried, I was cursed with another mantra. “She’s only 19… She’s just a child… You’re too old for her… You’ll pull a muscle…” But I finally forced myself into the awkward tension much like those cartoon elephants force themselves into glasses of water at the carnival and I asked her to dinner. It was a smooth line too. “So I have a proposition for you. How about you come and watch me play volleyball and I’ll take you to dinner? OR how about I just take you to dinner?” It was even field-tested on my only other redheaded children’s librarian so I figured it had to work. However, the line wasn’t quite delivered like that. I don’t have transcripts of the tape, but I think it came out much more like “So I have a proposition for you [long awkward pause]… Hey, did you fucking see Lost last night?” OK, it wasn’t that bad, but it didn’t go quite like the way I rehearsed it. Either way, I was doing back flips over the fact that I asked her out. And yes, I wrote that correctly. I was doing back flips merely because I asked her out. That was an accomplishment enough for me. The fact that she said yes just added a reverse handspring into my routine. And I did pull that muscle. Damn mantra.
So I now have a date with a 19-year-old gorgeous redhead from my class who will inevitably read this someday (Hi Sara). And she is the most beautiful, kind, intriguing, intelligent and absolutely beautiful woman there ever could be who could really give me a back massage about now. Unfortunately for this piece, all this happened on the day directly after Valentines Day. Mother Nature thwarted my plans for the actual Valentines Day. Damn her, that thwarter of plans. Thankfully Father Time is on my side. Until I have to tell her how old I am in two weeks. Then I’m going to pretend I don’t even know the man.
Quote of the Day 2/16/07
Two weeks ago…
Ben: “Hey Dustin, in the off chance that you have somebody to buy flowers for this holiday, can you buy them from me? My fraternity is doing this fund-raising [blah, blah, blah].”
Me: “Well, I’m not seeing anybody now. Haven’t in about 9 months. But it is 2 weeks away and smaller miracles have been known to occur. But right now, the forecast doesn’t look too good.”
Ben: “Yeah, I know. That’s why I said ‘in the off-chance.’”
Hey Ben. I’ll take two flowers now. One for Sara and one to shove up your ass. And in the “off-chance” it doesn’t hurt enough, let’s leave the thorns on it.
“You’re not too old for her… You’re not too old for her…”
Dutty.
Still Standing Right Here…