Eric is........???

I've been reading about a new ability through smartphones, and now Facebook, to constantly track your location and post it on social networking websites for all to see. I've even noticed a few of my Facebook friends using it. It caught my eye on Facebook because suddenly I was seeing status updates like:

John is.........home.

I found this puzzling, as John usually has something witty to say in his status updates, not that he's.......home.

So I was curious about this, and I read about it, and I've concluded that I'm not going to use the feature.

First off, my life is so boring, would anyone really care to know where I am at any given minute of the day? I seriously doubt it.

Second, I can think of several problems with posting my every location on-line for all to see.

Imagine how some of these location updates would look:

"Eric is.........in the morgue."

This would be bad, unless I was employed as a coroner...and everyone knew it. But if I get a new job and forgot to tell my mom about it..........uh oh.

"Eric is.......on the toilet." (1:37pm)
"Eric is.......on the toilet." (2:07pm)
"Eric is.......on the toilet." (4:56pm)

It wouldn't really matter if I just accidentally left my phone in the bathroom, or if I was really having potty issues. I'd never hear the end of it.

"Eric is.......at the nudie bar."

I guess my boss wouldn't have to wonder where I've been all afternoon anymore.

"Eric is.......at Chuck's house."
"Eric is.......in Chuck's bed."
"Eric is.......in Chuck's bed."
"Eric is.......in Chuck's bed."
"Eric is.......in Chuck's shower."

That'd be just awesome for the Mrs. to see on Facebook, wouldn't it? "Honey! I locked myself out of the house, and Chuck just let me take a nap and grab a shower over at his house before class tonight! I swear! His wife wasn't even home! Come ON! Stop throwing my stuff out the window into the street!"



Of course, it might be good for law enforcement agencies. Imagine a child molester's updates:

"Child Molester is.......at the park."
"Child Molester is.......at the Cub Scouts meeting."
"Child Molester is.......at ABC Daycare."

Yeah, it wouldn't take long for the police to be taking Child Molester to jail.



Or a probationer's status:

"Joe is.........in Maine."

Well, that's funny. I didn't give Joe permission to leave the State of Indiana!



Or:

"Joe is.........at Bubba's Bourbon Bar."

Bummer, dude. I hope that bourbon was good. Enjoy jail.



Or how about in criminal trials?

Defendant: "Your Honor! I'm innocent! I was nowhere near those armed robberies last night!"

Judge: "Oh, really? Let's check out your Facebook page."

"Brutus is............at 7-11." (1:00am)
"Brutus is............at Speedway." (1:22am)
"Brutus is............at Jiffy Mart." (2:02am)
"Brutus is............in the trees behind the Jiffy Mart." (2:05am)
"Brutus is............in jail." (2:30am)

I don't know how pinpoint accurate these things are, but I can envision a softball game:

"Eric is............at first base."
"Eric is............running toward second base."
"Eric is............out."
"Eric is............too slow to try to leg out a double."

Can you think of more reasons why you wouldn't want your every move tracked? Lemme hear your ideas in the comments section!

My MRI Experience

I had an MRI this morning on my shoulder, and I thought I'd give a completely objective description of my experience. I recognize that it's not the worst procedure to have done--I imagine that a colonoscopy would be even more unpleasant--but I can't say that I'm going to rush to the front of the line to repeat this experience anytime soon.

A brief history for those not in the know: my shoulder started hurting in late June. I figured I just slept on it wrong, and it would go away in a couple days. Instead, it's been getting worse and worse for two months now. Any time I move my arm, my shoulder crunches and pops and grinds and shifts. I'm pretty sure that's not supposed to happen.

Oral steroids worked great for a week while I took them, but less than 48 hours after I took my last pill, the pain was back. Then it was off to a sports medicine specialist, who injected my shoulder with cortisone. The pain went away a day or two later, but the crunching, popping, grinding, and shifting continued. It just didn't hurt. Two weeks after the cortisone injection, though, the pain came back with a vengeance. So with the specialist guessing a tear in my labrum or rotator cuff or both, an MRI was the next step.

Now, I'll preface my description of my MRI this morning with the clarification that I am not accusing anyone of malpractice or anything. Throughout my experience, my brain knew that it was all necessary. I never felt like anyone was screwing anything up. I'm not a doctor, but the path that the medical professionals have taken with my shoulder has made perfect sense to me the entire time. The staff at the hospital this morning were all absolutely terrific--very informative, speaking terms I could understand, welcoming questions, showing empathy, and being happy to assist me with even the smallest things, like tying my gown, since I have difficulty raising my arm above mid-chest level. So if anyone from my local hospital is somehow reading this, you guys did a great job, and I sincerely thank you.

Now on to the experience.

My appointment was at 7:00am, but they wanted me there at 6:30am. So I dragged myself out of bed at some ungodly hour this morning and got myself to the hospital on time. I answered their screening questions ("are you claustrophobic?", "do you have any metal in your body?", etc.) and then waited to be called. While I waited, I recalled the MRI I had on this very same shoulder several years ago. It was an open MRI, so it was a rather pleasant experience. I pretty much just slept for about an hour. My current doctor told me that the MRI this morning would take about 45 minutes, so I was looking forward to a little nap, since I had gotten up so early, and then heading in to work just a few minutes after my 8:00am start time.

They called me back and wanted me to change into a gown. I mildly protested, pointing out that I made sure not to wear any clothes with metal anywhere on it. But they insisted on the gown. They were going to have to have access to my shoulder for when they put the contrasting dye in there.

(Sigh). Fine. At least I got to keep my pants on.

After I got a little help tying the strings on the gown, I got my hospital-issued robe on and made my way to the MRI room, where I was met by a very nice technician. I think his name was Ned. Ned cheerfully explained what was going to happen and then got me all strapped in. This wasn't an open MRI, though, like the last time. This one was like being fed into a torpedo tube. I'm not the smallest guy on Earth, but I'm not the biggest guy, either, and I had my good shoulder kind of hiked up one side of the tube, and the edge of my bad shoulder was touching the other side of the tube. So it was a tight squeeze. They had a little light in there, and a fan was blowing a cool breeze on me the whole time, so I was good, despite the cramped quarters.

I dozed off for awhile until Ned told me it was time to get out. The next step was to get the contrasting dye in my shoulder, and then return for another MRI. My doctor had told me about the dye, but I guess I hadn't really thoroughly considered how they were going to get that dye in there.

And I don't like needles.

So I got to the room where the dye procedure was to happen, and a pretty nurse named Samra was there. (Oh, go run and tell the Mrs. I don't care. Every guy likes to converse with a pretty girl.) So in all of her prettiness, she explained what was going to happen. They were going to inject Novocaine into my shoulder to numb me up, and then the doctor, using a live x-ray feed, was going to inject the dye, watching the live x-ray to make sure he got the dye into the right places. Then they were going to move my arm around to get the dye mixed in there real well. As she was talking, my brain gradually moved from enjoying Samra's pretty smile to realizing what she was saying. Suddenly, I didn't like Samra very much. Sure, I was shooting the messenger, but did I mention that I don't like needles?

Samra's shift was over, so she was leaving, but she assured me that her replacement would take good care of me. And in walked April (also pretty, just in case you were wondering). She informed me that there would be a bit of a delay because there was an emergency that the doctor had to attend to, but he'd be back shortly. So I got to lie there on the table, stare at the ceiling, and ponder what was about to happen to me for about 15 minutes.

I was just about to lose my ability to resist the urge to run out of there while no one was looking when the doctor arrived. I don't remember his name, but he seemed very nice. He just wasn't as pretty as Samra or April (see how guys think?), and at this point, I wasn't entirely sure this whole process was going to be worth it, so I was sizing him up to determine if I could knock him down, and if he would be fast enough to catch me before I got to my car. I could probably put up with a little shoulder pain for the rest of my life, right?

But it was too late to back out at that point. The doctor sterilized my shoulder and his hands, got his gloves on, and then explained that he was going to give me the Novocaine now. It would feel like a bee sting, he said. Okay, I can handle that. I've been stung by bees before. No biggie.

What he failed to mention was that it was going to be like being stung by an entire nest of angry hornets, not just a singular bee sting. I'm not sure how many times he shot me with Novocaine, but I'm estimating somewhere around two or three thousand times. Give or take.

Then he waited a few minutes for the "Novocaine" to take effect. I use quotation marks because I'm pretty certain that someone accidentally filled his little jar of Novocaine with tap water.

(Mom, you may want to avert your eyes at this point.)

I wasn't looking at my shoulder while he did all of this because if I see a needle sticking in me, it's pretty much instantly lights out. (Although in retrospect, that might have been a good idea.) All I heard was the doctor instructing Pretty April to give him the 746-gauge needle. I think that's what he said, anyway. I don't know much about needle sizes, but I think the larger the gauge, the bigger the needle. And Pretty April gave it to him. That bitch. Now she was on my shit list, right next to Samra.

I'd equate what happened next to having someone use an auger on the front of my shoulder. Earlier, while Pretty Samra was trying to seduce me, only later to betray me, she asked me where my shoulder hurt the most. I thought she was just concerned for my well-being. Apparently, though, she conveyed that information to the doctor, and that's where he decided to plant that PVC pipe they claimed was a syringe.

And let me tell you, the Novocaine didn't do much for me.

I tried to keep my emotions to myself to save face in front of Pretty April, and I was doing okay until the 982-gauge needle hit bone. I think it was bone. Bone or cartilage. Or something hard in there. Whatever it was, I just about came out of my skin. I kept waiting for the Novocaine to kick in, but it failed me badly.

Then the doctor had Pretty April wheel in a 55-gallon drum of dye, and I swear that doctor injected every last drop of it into my shoulder...one little squeeze at a time. I was mildly surprised at this point that the dye wasn't mixed with hydrochloric acid, or some other substance designed to increase the level of agony I was in. I really wasn't liking Pretty April much at all at this point, since she was an accessory to this torture. With the 1243-gauge needle still firmly in place four inches into my shoulder, the doctor used a garden hose to feed the 55-gallon barrel of dye into my shoulder, frequently checking the live x-ray screen to make sure the dye was going where it was supposed to. About 17 hours later, he let me know that I was done.

That was about the time that the Novocaine started working.

It reminded me of those Wile E. Coyote cartoons, where he falls off a cliff, and as he hurtles toward the ground, he's desperately yanking on the rip cord of a faulty parachute that never opens. Then he hits the ground in a cloud of dust...and his parachute opens.

When I was finally fairly certain that the 2988-gauge needle was out of my shoulder, I tried to sit up, but Pretty April was right there to put her hand on my chest and keep me prone. I told her, "Nice try, Pretty April, trying to seduce me some more by being pretty and now caressing my chest, but I'm on to your game now, you little sadist!"

Or maybe that's just what I was thinking. I'm not really sure. I was still a little woozy from the 19,687-gauge needle being removed in the same fashion that a knight retrieves his sword after impaling someone with it. If I remember correctly, blood was spraying everywhere from my shoulder after the needle was removed, but Pretty April got me patched up with a Band-Aid.

It wasn't even a cool Band-Aid like Batman or SpongeBob SquarePants or anything like that. It was just a plain old boring Band-Aid. Pretty April's evilness knows no bounds!

Then the doctor put some professional wrestling moves on me, forcing my shoulder into positions it's never been in before: yanking, jerking, rotating, bending. I desperately tried to tap out several times, but he didn't seem to notice or care. He claimed this was helping the dye get into every little crack and crevice inside my shoulder. Sure it was, Hulk Hogan.

Finally, the Battery on a Probation Officer was over. As Pretty April helped me sit up and gave me a moment to stop the room from spinning, I noticed the enormous rock on her ring finger and thought to myself, "That poor bastard, Mr. Pretty April. I can only imagine what she puts him through."

Then I had to stagger back to the MRI room where Ned was waiting for me. Apparently, he had been in the break room with Pretty Samra, Pretty April, and Dr. Kevorkian when they all hatched their scheme to inflict as much pain as possible in my shoulder, all in the name of medicine. Because as cool as Ned had been the first time he MRI'd me, he decided this time that it would be hilarious to make me put my bad arm up above my head before he stuffed me back in the torpedo tube.

Six and a half minutes of agony later, he pulled me back out of there, let me put my arm down, and then shoved me back in there for another 15 minutes or so to MRI me some more.

Finally it was over. I stumbled back to the dressing room, eventually got my gown untied and off and my shirt back on (not easy tasks when your shoulder is on fire), and made it out to the car, where it hurt just to dig my keys out of my pocket and lift up the remote to unlock the van. I felt a little light-headed, so I sat there for a few minutes, collecting myself before I headed out into traffic, and I noticed that it was 9:30am. I had been there for three hours.

I think I'm going to have a word with my doctor about how to better prepare his patients for the MRI experience, including a warning not to fall for those damn sirens, Pretty Samra and Pretty April.

They're evil.

What I Learned in School Today

I often ask Olivia and June what they learned in school each day, so I figure it's only fair to tell what I learned during my first day at IUPUI.

I learned that my class is full of all walks of life. We have three probation officers, including me, a corrections officer (prison guard), two police officers, two people who are trying to become police officers, two people who want to work for Homeland Security, three people who want to work for the Drug Enforcement Agency (and two of those are already interning with the DEA), one woman who is the director of an Emergency Response Unit, and several people who don't know what they want to do yet. We have people who just got their Bachelor's Degree in May, and people like me who have taken a roundabout path into grad school. Several students in my class are my age or older.

I learned that there are not many electrical outlets in my classroom. I need to bring my laptop in to class with a fully-charged battery, so it will last through the nearly 3 hours of class time.

I learned that I feel kind of rebellious for checking my fantasy baseball lineup on my laptop while I'm in class.

I learned that I like my professor. He conveys a very relaxed outlook on things. We certainly have a lot of work to do for this class, so this isn't going to be a walk in the park, but he set the tone tonight for a setting that promotes discussion and exchanging of ideas without judgment or excessive pressure. I like that. I feel comfortable in his class.

I learned that this class--and maybe this is the way graduate school is in general--is a lot less lecture and a lot more student participation in discussions and presentations. I like that, too. I learn a lot better that way. And I love to debate.

I learned that my 14 years of experience as a probation officer is going to help me a lot in this class. In the month of November in particular, we'll be covering the police, the Court system, prosecution and defense, and community corrections, such as probation and parole. It's going to be really nice to be able to look back on my own experiences as I absorb the reading materials and participate in the discussions. My work experience won't allow me to simply skate through this class, but in some aspects, I'll have a jump on some of the other students.

I learned that the massive amount of required reading will be my greatest challenge. I'm a slow reader. I always have been. My dad has offered to help me with some tips on more effective reading. I think I'm going to take him up on his offer. Writing a 10-12 page research paper is not going to be a problem. You might have noticed that I kind of like to write. But getting through all of the reading is going to be a huge challenge for me.

I learned that I'm just not comfortable trying to take notes on my laptop. I'm comfortable using a pen and paper. I have my own form of shorthand, and I make a lot of notes in margins and draw arrows and things like that, which I can't quickly duplicate on a computer. So I'm going to take notes in the manner in which I am most comfortable, even if I am 14 years behind the times.

I learned that a lot of other people in my class are likely going to do that, too. I saw a few, but not a whole lot of laptops out today. And none of the other "old-timers" like me had a laptop tonight.

I learned that I fit in just fine at IUPUI. No one cares how old I am. Everyone has their own worries. And there are plenty of other people my age or older who attend class there. No one even gave me a second look today on campus.

I learned that I need to put some money on my student ID, known as a JagTag. You can pretty much pay for anything on campus with your JagTag, much like a pre-paid credit card. Even pop machines accept JagTag payment. So I'm going to put $20 on my JagTag, so I can buy pops and snacks on campus. Then I don't have to worry about carrying cash (which I rarely do, anyway).

I learned that my evening class and, likely, my Saturday class will spare me from a lot of the parking headaches I hear about from other IUPUI students. I had no problem finding a parking spot tonight right across the street from my building.

I learned that being in school at the age of 40 is totally different than being in school at the age of 18. Different things are important to me now, and I'm a hell of a lot more focused. Being married with children, I don't have the distraction of girls at school. I'm not eagerly anticipating the next party or night at the bar anymore. I'm not worried about what my parents are going to think of my grades. I'm not worried about trying to make friends or being cool. I am self-motivated, self-driven, and infinitely more mature than I was way back in 1988 when I took my first crack at college. And having life and work experience to incorporate into readings and lectures is invaluable.

I learned that my days off work will no longer be filled with relaxing on the couch, watching movies all day. I'll be reading, instead.

I learned that graduate school is going to be much more interesting to me than my undergraduate studies. All of my coursework is directly applicable to my life and my career. Even the required core curriculum classes are interesting. There's no requirement for science classes, political science classes, physical education classes, or any other classes I'm not interested in. I understand that the core curriculum classes at the undergrad level are designed to expose students to a multitude of disciplines, but I have a terrible time trying to learn something that I see no use for in my everyday life. Exhibit A: Calculus. Exhibit B: pretty much anything in the scientific world.

Most importantly, I learned that I can do this. I'm not exactly sure what I was fearing the most: sticking out like a sore thumb on campus as "the old guy," not being able to handle the coursework, not being smart enough to earn a Master's Degree, my general fear of failure, or what. But after tonight's class, when the professor went over the syllabus, the course requirements, the requirements of the 10-12 page research paper we have to write, and all of the readings, I realized that I can do this. This is nothing I can't conquer. It might take my brain awhile to get back into college-level shape, but I'm a stubborn SOB, and there is absolutely nothing in this class that I cannot do. That was an enormous weight off my shoulders. It's certainly not going to be easy by any stretch of the imagination, but it's also not going to be impossible.

Hopefully the first day of my other class on Saturday will be as encouraging as tonight was.

Back to School

I'm about to start my second trip through college. Well...to be precise, it's my third trip because I took "the scenic route" through school the first time, majoring in Miller Lite, with a minor in Girls. Not surprisingly, it took a second trip a few years later to finish up a degree that employers actually value.

As a result, I always found this exchange in the movie "Tommy Boy" hilarious:

Tommy: Did you hear I finally graduated?
Richard Hayden: Yeah, and just a shade under a decade too. All right.
Tommy: You know a lot of people go to college for seven years.
Richard Hayden: I know, they're called doctors.

It took me eight years from start to finish. And I'm not a doctor.....

So today's the big day. It's my first day of class at IUPUI as I begin my quest for a Master's Degree in Criminal Justice.

I'm nervous as hell.

It's been 14 years since I last took a college course, and things have changed a little in the last decade and a half, to say the least. I'm still getting used to almost everything being done electronically now. I have my own personalized page on IUPUI's OneStart system, which displays all of my pertinent information in one central location, which is nice, and it's apparently the hub of a lot of information and activity at the university and with my classes. I'm still getting used to the idea of uploading term papers to the website, rather than printing them and handing them in to the professor.

The graduate school environment is taking a little time to adjust to, as well. I got my Bachelor's Degree from Texas A&M University--somewhere north of 40,000 students. Class size--especially at the freshman and sophomore level--often numbered over 100. IUPUI, however, only has 8000 graduate students, and I learned at Orientation last weekend that I'm one of about five people getting my Master's Degree in Criminal Justice. I also learned that this is the first year this program is being offered at IUPUI. So while I was shocked when my advisor recited some information about me from memory, I guess I can't be too surprised that he can remember stuff about five people. Don't get me wrong--I really like the small environment and my advisor knowing not only that I exist but also a little bit about me. It's just strange to me right now.

So this afternoon, I'm going to campus a little early to get my JagTag--IUPUI's clever little name for their student ID's. It apparently holds all sorts of information about me on it, it can be used as a pre-paid credit card at several locations on and off campus, it gets me into the lounge (by way of a swipe pad) at the building where I'll take most of my classes, and who knows...it probably has a GPS tracking system in it. They might as well just microchip me. At A&M, my student ID was my picture and signature laminated on a card. I don't remember ever using it, other than showing it to get a couple bucks knocked off the cover charge at local bars.

Then, I'll have to figure out how to configure my laptop so that I can get wireless internet service on campus. Again, no such thing existed during my A&M days.

Finally, I'll make my way to my classroom (I've already located it) and read from one of my textbooks while I wait for class to begin (that part's still the same). Once class begins, I'll be recording the lecture directly to my laptop (never done that before). I'll be doing that in part because I'll be attempting to take notes on my laptop for the first time ever. I've never done anything but take hand-written notes in class before. This could immediately turn into a disaster, so I'm taking a good ol' fashioned pen and notebook with me, too. The recording is for any part of the lecture that I miss while I'm frantically changing methods of note-taking during the middle of class.

After tonight, it'll just be a matter of knocking the rust off my old brain and getting back into the swing of studying, writing papers, doing presentations, etc. I'm really excited about it, and as I get going, I'm sure the butterflies will go away.

But for now, I feel like I'm going to barf at any second.

At least I won't have to worry about bombing out of school this time from majoring in Miller Lite and minoring in Girls. I switched to Coors Light several years ago, and if I take even a single class in Girls, I'll be getting a degree in Divorce with a minor in Child Support.

My Dynasty Team

I think I mentioned previously that my brother-in-law runs a dynasty fantasy football league that I've played in since its inception five years ago. I've had some success in the 8-team league, finishing 4th, 2nd, 1st, and 2nd in the four previous years. Yes, I've played in the last three consecutive championship games. Sadly, I've only gone 1-2 in those games.

We had our draft last week, so I drafted ten players to add to my ten keepers. My keepers were:

QB - Aaron Rodgers (GB)
QB - Tony Romo (DAL)

RB - Chris Johnson (TEN)
RB - Maurice Jones-Drew (JAX)
RB - Ray Rice (BAL)

WR - Reggie Wayne (IND)
WR - Vincent Jackson (SD)
WR - Mike Wallace (PIT)
WR - Pierre Garcon (IND)

TE - Jermichael Finley (GB)

On any given week, we have to start two QB, three RB, four WR, two TE, a kicker, and a team defense. Scoring is pretty standard in this league, and we get a point per reception.

Being the runner-up in last year's championship game, I had the 7th pick (out of 8 teams) in every round.

So here's how the draft went for my team, the Wolverines:

1.7 - Johnny Knox, WR, Chicago - I was ECSTATIC to get Knox! My WR depth isn't great, especially with Vincent Jackson missing at least three games via suspension and possibly up to ten games, or the entire season, via holdout. So I was looking for an everyday starter. I knew who was going in the first four picks, but I wasn't sure about the fifth and sixth picks. I figured that either of those guys would likely take Knox. The guy with the fifth pick took C.J. Spiller, and then the guy with the sixth pick stunned me by taking Donald Driver (old, and not the #1 WR in Green Bay). Having the #1 WR on a Mike Martz-led offense with a decent QB at the helm drop into my lap was outstanding! I was thrilled!

2.7 - Donald Brown, RB, Indianapolis - I didn't really want to take Brown for a couple of reasons: he probably won't contribute much this season, and he's my third Colt. I don't like having that many players from one team on my roster. But with Joseph Addai likely leaving the Colts after this season, I think he has great keeper value, and I was surprised to see him fall this far. I couldn't let him fall any farther.

3.7 - Demaryius Thomas, WR, Denver - Like Brown, I don't expect Thomas to contribute much this season, but he's more of a long-term prospect. He's a rookie, he's super-talented, and he's been doing well in training camp. I feel like I got him at a good value.

4.1 (via trade) - John Carlson, TE, Seattle - I was targeting him in the draft to complement Finley. I've read a lot of positive things about Carlson from fantasy football prognosticators, sports writers, and even Seattle's QB, Matt Hasselbeck. The fact that he's a Seahawk is an added bonus, since I'm an avid Seahawks fan. I nearly took him at 3.7 but decided to risk it, take Thomas at 3.7, and try for Carlson two picks later at 4.1, instead. It was a close call--the guy picking a few spots before me instantly complained that he almost drafted Carlson but chose Malcom Floyd instead. Interestingly, I had originally targeted Floyd as a fill-in for Vincent Jackson, especially since he's holding down Jackson's WR spot in San Diego while Jackson is out. But since I got Johnny Knox with 1.7, I wasn't going to consider Floyd for another two or three rounds. The fact that I didn't get him because he went in the 3rd round didn't bother me a bit.

4.7 - Vince Young, QB, Tennessee - I only need Young for two weeks this season--weeks 4 and 10 when Rodgers and Romo have their bye weeks. I picked Young because he has fairly decent match-ups in those weeks: vs. Denver in Week 4 and vs. Miami in Week 10. Neither defense is a push-over, but neither is particularly good, either. I nearly took Matt Hasselbeck here because he's a Seahawk and because he plays against St. Louis (HORRIBLE defense) in Week 4 and Arizona (pretty good defense) in Week 10. But I decided on Young because Seattle's offense is in turmoil right now, and they have a new coaching staff to get used to. Young's had his issues, but he's very familiar with the Titans offense, and the head coach has been there for years. I'm thinking that defenses will be stacking the box to protect against Chris Johnson, which would, in theory, leave the receivers a little more breathing room. And while I'll miss out on that sweet Rams match-up, I'll take two mediocre defenses, rather than a terrible one and a very good one.

5.7 - Fred Jackson, RB, Buffalo - Again, I was looking for bye-week filler. Two of my RB are out for Week 9, and one is out for Week 8. I have Donald Brown to help fill in (at home vs. Houston on Monday Night Football in Week 8, and at Philadelphia in Week 9), but I need two fill-in RB in Week 9, especially with Brown going up against a top defense on the road that week. So with Jackson still available, I decided to take a chance. I know C.J. Spiller will be taking his job soon, and they have a horrid offensive line in Buffalo, but I was hoping that he'd still be getting the lion's share of the carries midway through the season while Spiller was learning the ropes. And Jackson had a sweet match-up against the horrible Kansas City defense in Week 8, and against the below-average Chicago defense in Week 9. It was a risk I was willing to take at this point in the draft. Four days after the draft, that risk blew up in my face. Jackson broke his hand in his first preseason game, required surgery to repair the damage, and is expected to miss 4-6 weeks. Should be plenty of time for the insanely talented rookie from Clemson to steal his job. Jackson is now likely waivers fodder as soon as I decide to pick up someone else. Dammit.

6.7 - Philadelphia Defense - The Minnesota defense went in the round prior to this one, so I figured it would set off a run on defenses (it didn't). I was pondering taking Golden Tate in this round, but the guy four picks ahead of me had the same idea. I wasn't real excited about anyone else that was available at that point, so I figured now was as good as time as any to take my defense, and Philly was my top-rated defense. Plus, in the weeks of our playoffs, they play against the Giants (Eli Manning should be imploding by then and committing all kinds of turnovers) and the Vikings at home (Brett Favre is usually good for several interceptions, and if he decides not to play that week, Tarvaris Jackson is horrible).

7.7 - Kenny Britt, WR, Tennessee - I had this guy last season, and he wasn't particularly good. He's very talented on the field, but he's a knucklehead off the field. If he ever gets his head on straight, he'll easily vault into the #1 WR in Tennessee. Or maybe not. If he turns into a great keeper, I stole him near the end of the 7th round. If he tanks again this year, I haven't invested much in him. I did realize, however, after I drafted him that I now have three Titans on my roster. Dammit.

8.7 - Tony Scheffler, TE, Detroit - He's my fill-in TE during Finley and Carlson's bye weeks (Week 10 and Week 5 respectively). He's pretty talented, but he was suffocated by a TE-unfriendly offensive scheme in Denver for a few years. He signed with Detroit this season, and the Lions are trying to utilize him the way the Colts utilize Dallas Clark. Granted, the Lions are no Colts, but if they're TRYING to get the ball to him, he might be good for a couple weeks when I need him. He gets Buffalo's rotten defense in Week 10 and the Rams' sorry excuse for a defense in Week 5 when I need him. I'll take it.

9.7 - Nate Kaeding, K, San Diego - This was my last pick, and nobody else interested me at this point. I often don't draft a kicker and just wait to see how the preseason pans out, grabbing one at the last minute before the season starts. But when no one else interests me here, and the kicker for one of the NFL's better offenses is still there, what the hell. I guess I'll take my damn kicker.

So there you have it. I'm sure I've put everyone to sleep except my brother-in-law, who is probably feverishly taking notes now that he knows what I'm thinking.

Interstate Compact War Stories

I am the Interstate Compact contact person for our county. For the uninitiated, the Interstate Compact is a set of rules and procedures that all probation and parole departments from all states must comply with when transferring supervision of probation from one state to another.

Well, all states are SUPPOSED to comply with the rules and procedures.

The basic set-up for an interstate transfer is this: each state has its own Interstate Compact office. A transfer request goes from the local probation officer to the Interstate Compact office of his/her own state, to the Interstate Compact office of the receiving state, to the local probation officer in the receiving state. Communication from the receiving state takes the reverse path back to the original probation officer. So, for instance, if I want to transfer supervision of probation to Pullman, Washington, my request first goes to the Indiana Interstate Compact Office in Indianapolis, then to the Washington Interstate Compact Office in Olympia, then to the local probation department in Whitman County, Washington.

The whole process is done electronically. There are a whole slew of rules that we have to follow (somewhere around 65 pages, if I remember correctly), full of criteria that make transfers mandatory (the receiving state is required to accept supervision) or discretionary (the receiving state has the option to say, "No, thanks. Keep your probationer in your own state.") and full of deadlines for various procedures. Transferring probation to another state is a rather time-sensitive process. The ladies who work in the Indiana Interstate Compact Office have done a great job emphasizing to all of us that we are subject to massive fines, the wrath of God, and other bad things if we don't comply with the rules and the time deadlines. So I work hard to make sure I'm always in compliance.

That apparently doesn't hold true for other states, however. I am CONSTANTLY frustrated by other states that clearly have no regard for the Interstate Compact rules.

Most recently, I sent a transfer request to California. By rule, they have 45 calendar days to investigate the request and respond. Forty-five days came and went, so I sent a message to California, asking them to respond. No answer. I enlisted the help of the Indiana Interstate Compact Office, who contacted the California Interstate Compact Office, who contacted the local probation officer in California. No answer. More messages went to California, asking them to respond to the transfer request. No answer. Finally, after 104 days--more than twice as long as the Interstate Compact rules allow for--California responded...and rejected my request. After the rejection, I sent a message out there, asking if there was a particular reason that it took 104 days to respond, when the rules only allow for 45 days. You can probably guess how that has worked out. No answer.

Right on the heels of that fiasco, I sent a request for reporting instructions to Georgia. Reporting instructions are who, when, and where the receiving state wants the probationer to report to upon arrival in the receiving state. By rule, states have two (2) business days to respond to a request for reporting instructions. I sent my request on July 29, which gave Georgia until August 2 to respond. August 2 comes and goes, and no response. The Indiana Interstate Compact Office was all over it, and they immediately started sending messages to the Georgia Interstate Compact Office, requesting a response. It took somewhere in the neighborhood of five or six messages for Georgia to finally respond--on August 11. That's nine (9) business days, for those of you scoring at home. Their reasoning for being so slow? They're down three employees right now, so they're really busy. I didn't realize that being busy exempted us from complying with the Interstate Compact rules!

Speaking of Georgia, I transferred someone to them quite some time ago, and when it came time to discharge his probation, I ran his criminal history...only to discover that he had committed a new criminal offense in Georgia that they never told me about. Not only had he been arrested, he had been convicted, placed on probation in the same county that was supervising my case, violated his probation there, and was sent to jail on their case. But for some reason, Georgia never stopped to think that I might want to know about that, too.

And STILL speaking of Georgia, I currently have a probationer I transferred there over a year ago. Interstate Compact rules require that we send annual progress reports to the sending state when supervising one of their probationers. Has Georgia done that? No. But they want to close her case out (two months past her discharge date) because her probation has expired. I sent a message to Georgia, telling them that I won't approve the case closure until they send me a progress report, since I have no idea what she has completed and not completed while on probation. In fact, I had to file a probation violation, alleging that she completed nothing while on probation, because I had no information from Georgia to the contrary. I sent the message to Georgia a week and a half ago. Still waiting on that progress report.

Florida routinely pisses me off. The latest was a probationer of theirs who I was supervising, and he picked up new felony charges here in Indiana. Florida issued a warrant for his arrest as a result, didn't bother to notify me that the warrant was issued for over a month, and then when my probationer was arrested on the warrant, Florida refused to extradite him. So Indiana authorities had to release him. I sent repeated messages to Florida asking them what, exactly, they wanted me to do with him since he's doing nothing on probation, he's not paying any of his fees owed to Indiana, he's committing new felonies here, he has a warrant out of Florida, but Florida won't come and get him. Weeks go by with no response. So I ask them to allow me to close out the case. A month and a half goes by, and no response. The Indiana Interstate Compact Office got involved, and after lots of messages back and forth, Florida finally responded: they denied my request. They still want him to report to me. Why? I have no idea. Absolutely nothing constructive is coming from me wasting my time meeting with him.

Texas has pissed me off several times. So has Kentucky. And New York. Arkansas ignored me when I was having problems with one of their probationers and was asking for their help. My one experience with Utah has been a pain in the ass, trying to get any response of any kind from the Utah probation officer. Ohio is hit or miss--sometimes they're great, and sometimes they're total pricks. I'm not entirely convinced that Virginia has computers, because I routinely send stuff there, never to be heard from again.

Illinois has pissed me off a few times by rejecting various requests before they even send it to the local probation officer to decide. One time, I sent a discretionary transfer through, but it was going to the county where one of my favorite probation officers in the whole wide world works. I was pretty confident that she'd accept supervision, even though she didn't have to, because she understands the concept of doing what's best for the probationer, even if it means more work for her. But the Illinois Interstate Compact Office didn't even let her see the request, much less respond to it. They just denied it. So I contacted her directly, we worked out a little arrangement on the side, and she supervised my probationer for me outside of the rules of the Interstate Compact.

I could go on forever with war stories from the Interstate Compact. I'm not saying that Indiana's poop doesn't stink, but by God, if you transfer a case to my county, you're not going to have any of the above problems.

What sets me off the fastest is when states don't give a damn about what's best for the probationer. All they do is look for a reason not to accept the case, so they don't have to do the additional work.

It also sets me off when probation officers in other states don't respond to requests for communication. We're on the same team, folks! Show a little professional courtesy! Treat others the way you want to be treated!

And it chaps my hide that these offending states never suffer any consequences. No fines, no wrath of God, no sanctions for thumbing their noses at the Compact rules. So what motivation do they have to change their ways? None.

I have had some good experiences with the Interstate Compact. Oklahoma accepted a case from me that they weren't required to. So did Hawaii. I've had mostly good experiences with Michigan. South Dakota is doing a great job with one of my current probationers. West Virginia has communicated well with me on a few cases, and South Carolina has been more good than bad. Arizona was a total pain in the ass before the current automated system went into effect, but now they're pretty good.

And just today, with the help of one of the ladies at the Indiana Interstate Compact Office, Tennessee did me a huge favor and let one of my probationers head their way immediately, when they didn't have to.

So I'm curious. If anyone is still awake after reading this novel, and you have experience with the Interstate Compact, as a state contact person, a local probation officer, or a probationer, post a comment below and share your experiences, good or bad. I'm curious to know if I'm the only person in the country who wants to drive down to Atlanta and smack every one of those people in the Georgia Interstate Compact Office up side of the head, and if my positive experience with Tennessee was an anomaly, or if that's how they normally do business.

Let's trade war stories! It'll make you feel better, and who knows...maybe someone in Georgia will read this and be motivated to get their shit together down there.

What's Been Going On

I feel like writing, but I can't think of anything in particular to write about. I hate that feeling. So I guess I'll just summarize what's been going on my world lately. Because I know you're just hanging on the edge of your seat to find out what's happening in my piddly little existence, right?

Most immediately, I have a fantasy football draft tonight. I play in a dynasty league run by my brother-in-law, RC. If memory serves, this is our fifth year of the league. I have a lot of fun with this league. After each season, we keep 10 of our 20 players, so we can keep the basic core of the team together, while still infusing new blood into our teams through the draft and trading. I've played in the championship game for the past three years in a row, but I've only gone 1-2 in those games, including losing to RC last season. If I keep this up, I'll soon be known as the Buffalo Bills of our league. I have a lot of good keepers, though: Aaron Rodgers (Green Bay) and Tony Romo (Dallas) are the quarterbacks I kept; Chris Johnson (Tennessee), Maurice Jones-Drew (Jacksonville), and Ray Rice (Baltimore) are my keeper running backs; Reggie Wayne (Indianapolis), Vincent Jackson (San Diego), Mike Wallace (Pittsburgh), and Pierre Garcon (Indianapolis) are the wide receivers I kept; and Jermichael Finley (Green Bay) is a tight end that rounds out my keeper list. Those who play fantasy football probably recognize that I'm pretty set at QB and RB for the year, but I need to beef up my WR's, especially with Vincent Jackson missing 3-10 games this season. Our drafts are always a good time, so I'm looking forward to it.

Wednesday night marks the beginning of softball season. Last season ended with a 1-6-1 record and a broken ankle for me. We're hoping to improve on both counts this season. We had our first practice yesterday, which was a blast. I've been having some shoulder issues lately (abbreviated version: I think I have a tear in my rotator cuff of my non-throwing arm), but the doctor shot me up with cortisone on Friday, and it worked great by Sunday. Not even the slightest bit of pain as I batted and fielded. My ankle is completely healed, so I had no issues with it, either. My batting felt good from both sides of the plate (yes, I can switch-hit), except for the screaming line drive that I sent directly into our pitcher's thigh. He seems to have escaped serious injury, but I still feel bad about it. I knew as soon as that thing came off my bat that it was bad news. I was yelling an expletive before the ball even hit our pitcher, but he didn't have any time to react. He was a manly man about it, though, only sobbing uncontrollably for about 20 minutes afterwards. My fielding needs some work, but once I got comfortable with the idea that my shoulder wasn't going to be a problem for me, my fielding improved. Looks like I'll be playing third base on Wednesday night.

I've continued to enjoy coaching t-ball on Saturdays. Our last game is coming up on Saturday, and that's a bummer. It's been a great experience, and I've loved teaching four- and five-year-olds about baseball. Too bad it has to end on Saturday. But I'll coach again next year, and Olivia and June will be on the same team. That ought to be interesting!

I got the tattoo of Lady Justice on my lower leg finished on Friday. I spent 3.5 hours in the chair about a month ago getting most of her done, and the finishing touches were applied in 45 minutes on Friday. I learned that I'm allergic to the red ink that was used about a month ago. And since this is the first tattoo that I've had done over two separate sessions, I learned that the second time around is considerably more painful than the first time. The tattoo artist explained that my skin is still "inflamed and pissed off" from the first round of work, especially where I had the red ink done. All of that aside, Lady Justice turned out absolutely spectacular, and I really like the woman who did the artwork. I'm definitely having her do my future tattoos. I'll post a picture of the final product after Lady Justice is done healing.

I've been watching a bunch of movies lately. The Mrs. and I saw "Despicable Me" in 3-D a few weeks ago. It was terrific! We loved it! I also watched both volumes of "Kill Bill" recently. I had never seen them before, and I was a little skeptical, because I'm not a big fan of Quentin Tarantino's movies. I really enjoyed both movies, though--the first volume slightly more than the second one--as it was an entertaining story with plenty of action. "The Taking of Pelham 123" and "From Paris With Love" were both entertaining (I guess I was in a John Travolta mood), as was "Transsiberian" with Woody Harrelson and Ben Kingsley in it.

I downloaded Buckcherry's new album, "All Night Long", last week. I love Buckcherry, but this album is not my favorite of theirs. I'm pretty disappointed. Another favorite band of mine--Disturbed--has a new album coming out later this month, so I'm hopeful that I'll like it better than Buckcherry's new effort.

Coming up sooner than I'd prefer to think about is my first college class in 14 years. I have orientation on August 21, and then I take the plunge with my first class on the following Tuesday, August 24. The Mrs. and I drove to the campus a couple weeks ago and walked around a little bit so I could get my bearings. She said she'll pack me a lunch in a Snoopy lunchbox, complete with milk in the Thermos, and that I can borrow one of my daughter's backbacks--either Barbie Princess or Dora the Explorer--to fill with my protractor, some pencils, a Trapper Keeper, and a box of crayons. I sure hope I fit in with the other students on campus.

And that about sums up my exciting life of late. Are you still awake?

My First Fan Mail!

I finally managed to write something that stirred up some comments and questions! I'm going to call it "fan mail" because I've always wanted to write a column like I see on-line all the time, where the writer responds to readers' feedback. Now I feel so important! So let's get to it!

Q. Daddy, I have to go potty.

A. That's fine, Olivia. Go use the potty.

Q. In reference to your Addiction is a Monster column, is our addiction to coffee and soda parallel enough to an addiction to drugs and alcohol for us to understand a drug addict's or alcoholic's world?

A. Certainly not. The point I was trying to make there was that the behavior associated with addiction is the same, regardless of what the addiction is. When I'm triggered to use caffeine, my unwillingness to waver from my daily routine of coffee and soda is an addiction. To be separated from my substance of choice would cause me some emotional trauma, make me cranky, and send me on a hunt for a pop machine.

When we start talking about drug and alcohol abuse, the effects on the addict of being separated from his substance of choice can be much more extreme. Depending on the substance and the level of addiction, medical assistance may be needed during the process of detoxification. But the fundamentals of addiction are still the same.

Say, for example, that an addict's drug of choice is Vicodin, instead of caffeine. The addict is triggered by some occurrence or routine or something, and his unwillingness to waver from his routine of popping some Vicodin is an addiction. To be separated from his Vicodin would cause him emotional trauma, make him cranky (as well as some other side effects), and send him on a hunt for more Vicodin.

Unfortunately, though, there are no Vicodin machines, where he can drop in 50 cents and get his fix. So he has to resort to illegal means of obtaining his drug of choice--doctor shopping, buying it off the street, stealing from people to pay for pills, prostituting himself for pills, etc. Another huge difference between an addiction to caffeine and an addiction to Vicodin is that Vicodin addicts have to use more and more of the substance to reach the same level of high that they reached the first time they used. Maybe a 5 mg Vicodin pill got him high as a kite the first time he used, but as his body adapts over time, then it takes a 7.5 mg pill to reach that same high. Then it takes a 10 mg pill. Then two 10 mg pills. Then four. Then eight. So as the addiction grows, the need for more pills and more potent pills grows, and the illegal activity required to obtain that amount and concentration of pills grows.

As a caffeine addict, my need for caffeine doesn't increase over time. I don't have to chug four 2-liters of Diet Mountain Dew to get the same "high" that I got from a 12-ounce can a couple years ago. Nor do I have to add six Red Bulls to my Mountain Dew to increase the concentration of caffeine in order get the same effect. So no, while my addiction to caffeine leads me to the same fundamental behavior as an alcohol or drug abuser, it certainly doesn't allow me to understand the world of an alcoholic or a drug addict, in and of itself.

Q. In reference to the same column, if my child was a drug addict or alcoholic, is there any viable option for me somewhere between enabling and tough love, or are there variations on tough love that aren't so extreme?

A. There are certainly other viable options. I'm not saying that as soon as you catch your 19-year-old with a beer, throw her ass out on the streets. There are plenty of ways a parent can help their addict child without enabling. My #1 recommendation is to get the child professional help. Simple internet searches of substance abuse counselors in your area will give you a number of leads. A parent can call the local probation department, parole office, police department, or hospital for suggestions. Then take your child to counseling. Maybe it takes sitting in the car outside the agency for two hours, three times a week to make sure Junior stays in there, but I'm sure that's a sacrifice that most parents are willing to make for their child. Junior might just be going through the motions in counseling at first, but eventually, something's going to start sinking in. If finances prohibit going to a counselor, there are a number of free twelve-step meetings all over the country for a variety of addictions. There's Alcoholics Anonymous (AA), Narcotics Anonymous (NA), Gamblers Anonymous (GA), and Sex Addicts Anonoymous (SAA), for example. Again, take Junior to meetings yourself and sit outside until the meeting's over.

Parents can also talk to their addict child. It sounds pretty basic, but a surprising number of parents that I deal with don't know how to talk to their kids. I hear plenty of parents saying things to their kids like, "You quit using drugs, or I'll kick your ass!" or "What the hell is WRONG with you?!" That's not helpful. No parent wants their child to be an addict, and discovering that their child is one causes a great deal of shock and anger in parents. But it's important to resist the temptation to constantly yell at the child. Try having calm, private, civil conversations with Junior in a place Junior is comfortable--maybe his bedroom or something. Try to learn why Junior is using, what may be bothering him so much that he feels he has to escape by using alcohol or drugs, what his triggers are, and what his point of view is. Understanding goes a long way toward solving a problem. Chances are real good that Junior already knows it's not right to snort cocaine. He doesn't need his parents screaming that at him every time he turns around. It might take awhile, and several attempts, but eventually Junior will likely respond to a genuinely concerned parent who is trying to understand the situation without criticizing, belittling, or shaming him.

On the flip side of that, saying, "Well, I smoked pot when I was young, so what can I do? I can't really get on him about something I did" doesn't help, either. If you burned your hand touching a hot stove, and you saw your child heading toward a hot stove, would you just say, "Well, I burned my hand when I was young, so what can I do? I can't really get on him about something I did"? No! You do what you can to protect and inform your child. You tell your child that you did the same thing, that it was a mistake, and you don't want your child to experience the same pain.

Help Junior find a healthy guide. Steer Junior toward healthy activities. Spend time with Junior. Show interest in him. Something as simple as shooting hoops with Junior for awhile will go a long ways toward building a comfort level, even if you don't say a word about his addiction while you're shooting hoops.

If you're housing and feeding Junior, make him contribute. If he doesn't have a job, make him work around the house to earn his keep. And help him find a job. If he's working, charge him something like $200 per month for room and board. It's a heck of a lot cheaper than anything he'll find out "in the real world" and yet he's still contributing to his own care. If you're uncomfortable taking money from Junior, start up a savings account for him, without his knowledge, and put everything he pays you into that savings account. When he's ready to get out on his own, he'll have a nice little nest egg of his own making.

The point I was getting at in my original column was that when you've tried everything you know to try, and the addict is still taking you down with him, at some point, you have to draw the line and save yourself and anyone else being adversely affected, especially kids. You can't have Junior leaving his drug paraphernalia laying around the house for his younger siblings to find. You can't have him stealing from you to support his addiction. You can't have him stumbling in drunk at 3:00am every night. You can't have him hosting parties at your house with all of his addict buddies while you're gone. You can't just endlessly wipe Junior's ass. Eventually, as painful as it is, you have to tell Junior that he's no longer welcome in your house until he gets himself straightened out. And then enforce it.

Q. In your column about payment options for college, you made fun of IU - Bloomington, you little smart-ass! I'll have you know that we do have computers at IU Bloomington--we're supposedly the most wired university in the galaxy. Everything is calculated for profit these days because we're no longer really a state university. Twenty percent or less of the budget comes from the state. Guess where the rest comes from? I just bought two tickets to an IU football game, for the privilege of watching IU lose. In addition to the high price of the tickets, I was charged a $10 service fee. I bought the tickets at the IU ticket counter, on campus, in person, at Assembly Hall. By the way, they took my credit card.

A. I suppose I should have added the phrase "for student bursar accounts" to my statement that IU Bloomington doesn't accept credit cards at all. Clearly, a credit card can be used at other locations on campus.

And, of course, I was exaggerating about IUB not having the internet or running water.

That $10 service fee that you were charged for football tickets is just another example of what I was talking about. What "service", exactly, did they provide you that's worth $10, above and beyond the exorbitant ticket prices, after you walked up to their front door and got the tickets yourself? It's infuriating!

That's an interesting statistic about how much funding comes from the state for "state" universities. I did not know that. For a nation that is encouraged by our President to further our education, we sure have a funny way of making that possible for people to do. And for a school that desperately tries to improve attendance at football games, when the team perpetually gets its ass kicked week after week, their exorbitant ticket prices and $10 service fee when no service has been rendered sure seems like the wrong way to go about it.

Q. Daddy, I think June just flushed a towel down the toilet.

A. Be right there, Olivia.

Well, this was fun! I enjoyed it a lot! Keep that fan mail coming!

How Much Does It Cost to Use Sidewalks?

For those who don't know, I'm headed back to college in a few weeks. I'm starting work on a Master of Science degree in Criminal Justice and Public Safety at Indiana University Purdue University Indianapolis (IUPUI) later this month.

I got my bill today for the fall semester, which I obviously knew was coming, and it was the amount I anticipated. No problems there.

But when I started looking into the payment options, I got a little irritated. You see, I had been planning to pay for my tuition and fees with my credit card. We pay our credit card in full every month, so we wouldn't be charged any interest, and the bonus for doing that is that 1% of our purchases on that card go toward our kids' college funds. I thought it would be pretty cool to contribute to my kids' education while paying for my own education.

Well, that's not going to happen. I can pay IUPUI with a credit card, but there is a 2.7% service fee charged by a third-party company! WTF?! This third-party company is going to make $65.00, just off of me! And I'm just going to school part-time! There are about 22,000 undergraduate students at IUPUI, and another 8000 graduate students, so if they all pay with a credit card....... let's see ....... carry the 4 ........ move the decimal point ...... multiply by .027 ....... and ........ holy crap! That company is making a killing off of students! It doesn't take a college degree to know that the 2.7% fee I'm going to be charged is more than the 1% that will go into my kids' college funds, so I guess the credit card is out.

So, I thought, I see that I can divide this amount into four payments throughout the semester. That'd be cool. I have all the money for school in my savings account, so I figured I could make four payments, and meanwhile, some of that school money is still sitting in savings, earning interest.

But no. There is, of course, a service fee for making payments. And what is that service fee? $15.00. PER PAYMENT! Seriously?! It costs the university $60.00 to keep track of one student's payments?! The shit is all automated, I'm sure! I know that virtually every single e-mail I've ever gotten from IUPUI thus far has been automated, so you can't tell me that there is a steamy, smoke-filled warehouse somewhere on campus, full of dirty, malnourished children slaving away for 20 hours a day over an abacus to figure out payments. There are 30,000 students at IUPUI, and if all of them made payments, that's 30,000 x $60 ....... $1.8 million EACH SEMESTER. Even if only half of the students make payments, that's a cool $900,000 per semester, just in service fees! For what I'm virtually certain is an automated service! What a load of shit!

Granted, I haven't had to pay for college in 14 years, so I'm sure there were ludicrous fees back then, too, that I've just forgotten about over the years. And IUPUI points out on their website that other schools do this, too (like that makes it okay). But it still kind of irks me that I'm giving IUPUI $2400.00 for one semester's worth of education, and they want to nickel and dime me to death with asinine fees on services that are commonplace in today's society. I wonder if I'm going to be charged for the oxygen I consume on campus, too. $4.00 per breath. Exhaling is 50 cents extra.

I guess I should feel fortunate that I'm not going to Indiana University - Bloomington--the mother ship of the IU system. They don't even accept credit cards at all. Makes me wonder if they have the internet yet in Bloomington. Or running water.

So I guess I'll scrounge around and see if I have any checks left. I can't remember the last time I paid anything with a check, this being the Computer Age and all. Then I'll have to go buy a stamp, because I know I don't have any of those anymore. How much is a stamp nowadays, anyway? $5.00? Is snail mail even still in existence? I'll write a check for the full amount, and send it by Pony Express or carrier pigeon to IUPUI.

Gosh, now that I think about it, I sure hope they accept checks. Because I'm fresh out of gold bullion, and my horse-drawn carriage is in the shop.

Addiction is a Monster

Addiction is a monster. It doesn’t care who or what gets in its way. It wreaks havoc on our lives. It controls us. It destroys relationships. It can destroy our bodies and our minds. It can hurt others. It can destroy our bank accounts. It can take away our freedom. It can kill us.

It doesn’t matter what the addiction is, or whether it’s big or small—the behavior is the same. We develop a fondness for something, for a variety of reasons, and we turn to that “thing” whenever something happens that triggers us to use. Maybe we eat when we’re stressed or upset. Maybe we smoke cigarettes at certain times of the day. Maybe we can’t get the thrill of gambling out of our thoughts. Maybe we steal things for the excitement. Maybe we have promiscuous sex in an effort to feel wanted and desirable. Maybe we drink alcohol to have fun and relax. Maybe we use prescription drugs to ease pain. Maybe we inject heroin to escape pain. Every addict has at least one preferred “thing” and at least one trigger that leads the addict to partake in the “thing.”

I know I’m an addict. If I don’t have my coffee in the morning and a steady stream of Diet Mountain Dew throughout the day, my world is not a pleasant place. My trigger is simply waking up in the morning. I have a very addictive personality, and that hasn’t always led to the healthiest habits or behavior. When I find something I like, or that makes me feel good, I wear it out. Ask the Mrs. what happens when I find a new song I like, for example. Four hundred consecutive plays later, the Mrs. is ready to pull her hair out, strangle me, and throw my iPod out the window, but I still can’t get enough of the song.

I deal with all kinds of addicts on a daily basis. Most of the addicts I deal with struggle with alcohol or drugs or both. Sometimes it’s inappropriate sexual desires or other less common addictions, but most of the time, it’s substance abuse.

I have learned a few things over the years about addiction that I’d like to share, since I bet every single person on the planet is an addict or knows an addict.

No one beats an addiction until they want to. I lead horses to water all the time, but they don’t always want to drink. I can force someone to attend substance abuse counseling, but until that person is internally motivated to conquer their addiction, they just sit there and let the counselor’s words go in one ear and out the other. No probation officer, judge, counselor, parent, spouse, boyfriend, girlfriend, or sibling can force someone to overcome an addiction. Only the addict can do that when properly motivated.

Loved ones who are trying to help are often only enabling the addict. Parents have a natural instinct to protect their children, so when Junior loses his job, his apartment, his vehicle, and all of his possessions because of his addiction to cocaine, it’s natural for Mom and Dad take Junior into their own home and provide him with free room and board until he can “get back on his feet.” In my professional world, we refer to this as Mom and Dad wiping Junior’s ass for him. But now Junior doesn’t have any motivation to do anything constructive with his life. Nor does he have anything to prohibit him from focusing all of his time, energy, and resources on his cocaine addiction. Plus, he has a whole house full of stuff he can steal and sell to fund his addiction. Mom and Dad have just inadvertently made things worse, instead of better. I also commonly see addictions fueled by parents who don’t care what their kids are doing, who condone or even encourage their addictive behavior, and/or who try to be the child’s friend, rather than their parent. Having no rules at home is a recipe for absolute disaster. What’s that about idle hands being the devil’s playthings? Kids have plenty of friends. They need their parents to be parents.


Every addict has one or more triggers. Some addicts have the ability to sit down and identify their own triggers. Some addicts need help with that. But it is essential that addicts identify their trigger(s) if they have any hope of recovery. There’s a reason I ask a million seemingly irrelevant questions of my probationers. I’m probing for information. What stresses you out? What motivates you? What triggers you to use? Probationers don’t even realize that what appears to be casual conversation is providing me with all kinds of clues about that person. I’m picking up on verbal and non-verbal cues, body language, what the probationer says, what the probationer doesn’t say, and so on. If I can get into your head, I can more effectively help you.

Once the triggers are identified, then the addict needs to find healthy ways to deal with those triggers. A solid support system is an essential place to start. Some find this at 12-step meetings. Some find it with long-term recovering addicts or sponsors. Some find it with friends or family who don’t use. I frequently see recovering addicts get more involved in church. Addicts need someone healthy to talk to when the addict is triggered to use—what a substance abuse counselor friend of mine calls a “healthy guide.” Healthy activities are also essential when recovering from an addiction. Instead of smoking marijuana to relieve stress, go to a gym and work out when you’re stressed. I once had a probationer who relaxed with alcohol. After his fourth drunk driving conviction, he had finally had enough, and he realized that he needed a more constructive way to relax. For him, it was home repairs. While on probation, he made countless repairs to his house, he built a huge patio outside his back door, and he built a really nice deck around his above-ground pool. He even commented that he spent less money on lumber and supplies than he would have on alcohol. And there’s no telling how much value he added to his home.

An addict’s environment needs to change if there’s any hope of long-term recovery. This is often one of the most difficult obstacles for addicts to overcome because it involves massive change in his or her life. Separation or divorce may be the only option if both spouses are addicts, and only one wants to get clean. Perhaps a career change is necessary to reduce your level of stress, if your trigger is to use when you’re stressed. If you’re addicted to marijuana, and all your friends smoke dope? Guess what? You need to find new friends. Try convincing an addict that his lifelong friends are bad for him, and that he needs to stay away from them at all costs. These aren’t easy things to do, but they’re necessary.

While it’s a very understandable reaction, loved ones of addicts often kick themselves and wonder what they could have done differently to prevent the person from becoming an addict. Most of the time, the answer is: nothing. Plenty of addicts come from well-adjusted families. A wife wondering what she could have done differently to prevent her husband from becoming an alcoholic and drinking a case of beer every night after work is just spinning her wheels. Fretting about woulda-coulda-shoulda’s and blaming yourself for the addict's behavior is pointless and self-destructive. The addict isn’t going to change until s/he wants to. That most often occurs when the addict hits what s/he considers to be rock bottom.

Sometimes “tough love” is what’s required to ultimately help the addict. It’s VERY hard for loved ones of addicts to do this, but sometimes ultimatums have to be issued. Lines have to be drawn in the sand. Guns have to be stuck to. Addicts have to be arrested. Or left in jail. Or kicked out. Or divorced. Or avoided. When the addict is taking everyone and everything down with him or her, at some point, loved ones have to save themselves. Sticking with an addict who has gambled away their life savings and second mortgage on their house is financial suicide. Sticking with an addict who gets drunk every night and hits you isn’t good, either. Sheltering an addict who steals from you to support his or her addiction is unacceptable.

“Tough love” isn’t a walk in the park, nor is it pleasant. Loved ones feel like they’re abandoning or turning their backs on the addict. They feel disloyal, or that they have let the addict down when they should have done more to "help" the addict. Addicts lie, and they say nasty, hurtful things when they’re backed into a corner, with access to their “thing” of choice obstructed. Loving someone and being told that the feelings aren’t mutual, or that the addict hates you, drives a hot iron stake right through anyone’s chest. The addict knows this, and if that’s what it takes to get the loved one to back down and take back the ultimatum, the addict will say it. The addict knows what buttons to push with his loved ones. Whatever it takes for the addict to get his “thing” of choice, the addict will do it.

Loved ones have to remain confident that what they’re doing is in the addict’s best interests, as well as the loved one’s best interests, and they have to remind themselves repeatedly that this is the addict talking. It’s not their spouse, their child, their parent, their sibling, or their friend. That person is buried somewhere under the addiction.

Lead the horse to water, but understand that the horse may not drink. And sometimes, even though it tears you up inside, you have to let the horse go and just pray for the best. There’s a big difference between supporting an addict in his recovery and enabling that addict to continue his addiction. If you choose to do so, you can let the addict know that as soon as he gets his shit together, you’ll be there for him, but until that happens, you have to save yourself.

Because addiction is a monster. And it doesn’t care who or what gets in its way.