Posts Tagged ‘Paul Gaszak’

Celebrities Eat Lunch, Too

Posted: June 13, 2013 in Uncategorized
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By Paul Gaszak, English Faculty

On Monday, I made the short trip from Chicago to Milwaukee to see one of my favorite musicians, Frank Turner. As with many of my favorite singers/bands, he was playing a mid-sized venue (this one being the conveniently named Turner Hall) packed with several hundred devoted fans.

I arrived a few hours early so I could eat before the show. As I left the parking garage next to the venue,  I saw Frank walking back to his tour bus from the next block over and then hanging out with a handful of people, either crew or band mates.

I did a double take, but mostly this didn’t strike me as unusual. As a fan of several lesser known artists, I’ve had countless sightings like this one, because these artists don’t need to hide backstage from rabid, adoring legions. Rather, I’ve seen them by their tour busses, or watching the opening acts with the crowd, or having a drink at a nearby bar after the show.

And I have a policy to not approach them.

Frank Turner

My point-of-view at Frank Turner’s show.

I was heading in the direction Frank had just come back from, but I walked past with no fanfare and no acknowledgement. A few hours later, I would be right near the stage being a fan: singing, dancing, taking pictures. But for now, I treated him like any other stranger on the streets of Milwaukee.

I almost always make this decision about celebrity close encounters, but I’ve never thought out why I act this way.

Until now.

1. Remember – celebrities eat lunch, too: As a teacher, I can empathize with celebrities in one small way: some people in our audience (the students) forget that teachers still exist when not “on stage” in class. We aren’t chained to the lectern; we eat lunch, we have friends and family, we need sleep. Likewise, maybe Frank was relaxing pre-show or coming back from lunch on the same street I was heading toward. He didn’t need me bugging him. Our time for interaction is during the show.

2. Respect, but don’t idolize: A decade ago, I saw comedian Lewis Black at the small Zanies Comedy Club in Vernon Hills before he got famous and started headlining theaters. Afterward, he was at folding table in the back selling his CD. No one was approaching. As I exited past him, I paused to shake his hand and said, “Great show.” He smiled and said thanks. I didn’t orchestrate some attempt to go talk to him, and I wasn’t being a fanboy looking to repeat my favorite punchlines back to him. I didn’t want pictures or autographs. We were in proximity and I quickly acknowledged that I enjoy and respect his work. End of transaction.

3. Do I honestly have anything to say?: One of my favorite authors, David Sedaris, packs theaters for hilarious readings of his works. Before and after his shows, he signs books and meet fans. Oftentimes the line is hundreds deep. The one time I saw him at the Paramount Theater in Aurora, IL, he was sitting alone at a table by the front entrance when I arrived. I could have walked directly up to him, but I didn’t. This is a man whose work I adore, whose writing I try to emulate, whose literature I teach in my classes – yet still, I had no pressing questions or statements for him. So, what was I going to say? “Hey, I love your writing.” No kidding – I’m at the theater, aren’t I? Likewise with Frank or any other artist, do I honestly have anything of value to say to them that they don’t hear from hundreds of other fans at every stop on tour?

4. What if they suck?: Normally, I separate my feelings about an artist from my feelings about their work. But with my absolute favorites, I am nervous. What if they are mean or rude or dismissive? What if they say something stupid that I disagree with? What if they are generally unlikable? I fear that would ruin, or at least severely harm, my ability to enjoy their work in the future.

So, after a truly Wisconsin meal of a bratwurst, cheese curds, and some brews, I headed back to the venue and took my position at the foot of the stage. When I saw Frank this next time, it was a far more fitting situation for our interaction.

This Medal Should Be Yours

Posted: May 30, 2013 in Uncategorized
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By Paul Gaszak, English Faculty

Outside the stadium before the start of the Solider Field 10 Mile race.

Outside the stadium before the start of the Solider Field 10 Mile race.

On Saturday, I ran the Soldier Field 10 Mile race. It was an appropriately timed event: Memorial Day weekend at a stadium that is dedicated to the men and women of the Armed Services.

The route began outside the stadium, went south along Lake Shore Drive, and then led runners back to the finish line inside Soldier Field on the 50 yard line. Running onto the field was one of the primary reasons I signed up, and doing so was even cooler than I imagined.

The finish line inside Solder Field.

The finish line inside Solder Field.

Then, after the race, a different moment that was intended to be special actually left me feeling quite different.

Runners filtered back into the stadium and got treated to the typical post-race amenities: water, Gatorade, and a souvenir bag filled with snacks. Another post-race reward at many races is the finisher’s medal. It is essentially a participation trophy as everyone who crosses the finish line gets one, but I like this extra touch to commemorate the accomplishment of finishing the race.

I followed the stream of people while holding my phone in one hand (I use the MapMyRun+ app to pace myself) and a bottle of water in the other. A logjam of people stopped where race volunteers were putting the medals on the runners. Another volunteer then began directing people to another spot for the medals; I went that way.

Instead of volunteers, there was a line of service members in their uniforms putting the medals on runners.

At this moment, I had one of those internal debates that seemed to last far longer than the few seconds of real time it actually took me to walk up to the serviceman on the end of the line who couldn’t have been more than 21-years-old.

The finisher medal.

The finisher’s medal.

My internal debate led me to a conclusion that apparently differed from many runners. Days after the race, feedback online from other runners was overwhelmingly positive about having the service members distributing medals. People said it was cool, that it was an honor.

I felt ashamed.

Here I am: an overweight, sweaty English teacher whose big accomplishment that day was running some miles.

Here he is: a young person voluntarily serving our country.

I wanted to run back to the other line and get my medal from one of the volunteers. This kid shouldn’t be putting a medal on me; I should be putting one on him. He already caught sight of me approaching, though. I wanted to ask to be handed the medal rather than have it placed on me like I did something special or important, but my hands were full, and before my internal debate fully concluded, he was already putting the medal over my head.

All I could say to him was, “Thank you very much, sir. I appreciate it.”

Yes, I was thanking him for the medal and the gesture, but the sentiment carried a different level of meaning that belongs to him and all of our service members.

iCreativeWriting

Posted: May 23, 2013 in Uncategorized
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By Paul Gaszak, English Faculty

One of my goals this summer is to spend one day without my iPhone. While smartphones are incredibly useful and have revolutionized how I (and many people) do things, they can also be soul-sucking, obnoxious burdens. I want one day when I can’t receive phone calls, texts, and e-mails.

However, there is an overwhelming positive to having my iPhone on me at all times that ties all the way back to childhood.

From the age of five, I wanted to be a writer. As a result, I was gifted lots of journals. Apparently some people believe that writers want nothing more than a quiet prairie, a shade tree to sit under, and a journal in which to write their deepest thoughts about puffy clouds and butterflies.

Amazon: You're not helping the stereotype about writers and readers.

Amazon: You’re not helping the stereotype about writers and readers.

The problem, however, is that I hate writing by hand. It takes too long. My handwriting is awful. I can’t save, copy, cut, paste, click, or drag a piece of paper. Mostly, I can just fold paper eight times, stick it in my pocket, and then pick the shreds out of the dryer a week later.

Almost all of my creative writing has been done on technology, going all the way back to DOS prompts and floppy disks. Now I use my laptop and my iPhone.

My predilection for technology presented some problems in the pre-smartphone era, which for me included my college years and most of graduate school. Way back then (all the way at the start of the 2000s!) technology wasn’t that portable, even laptops. This meant any writing I did on the fly was handwritten, presenting all the same problems, including that I would eventually want to transcribe it into a computer anyway.

This is one of the photos I took on the trail.

This is one of the photos I took on the trail.

These days, life is easier. This past weekend while on a hike, I came across a bridge on a forest trail. The image intrigued me and, in less than a minute, I took multiple photos with my iPhone, opened my Google Drive app, created a new document in my “Poetry” folder, and wrote a stanza. Rather than shoving a piece of paper in my back pocket to be forgotten, that file is now saved, sorted, and accessible from any device with internet access.

Turtle Hall of Famer Tricia Lunt sent me this photo recently after a discussion we had about remembering to actually experience the world around us.

Turtle Hall of Famer Tricia Lunt sent me this photo recently after a discussion we had about remembering to actually experience the world around us.

Of course, as useful as technology is for writing, it has its drawbacks. One of the largest goes right back to a reason I want to ditch my iPhone for a day: sometimes we are so busy communicating and documenting our lives via text, e-mail, websites, and social media that we fail to – ya know – experience the world around us. And in my quest to scribble notes and take pictures with my iPhone, I may sometimes be robbing myself of the best writing material of all.

Ultimately, the positives heavily outweigh the negatives in terms of how the smartphone has revolutionized my approach to creative writing. It has significantly increased my organization and productivity. So, now I save handwritten creative writing for meetings at work. My colleagues think I’m taking notes, but I’m actually writing about puffy clouds and butterflies.

Stay Back from the Edge

Posted: May 16, 2013 in Uncategorized
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By Paul Gaszak, English Faculty

Last week, I went hiking at Starved Rock State Park. The area is beautiful: there are sandstone canyons with waterfalls, outlooks perched over the Illinois River, and miles of forest trails.

The trails are clearly, and perhaps excessively, marked. The full trail map is posted at regular intervals, there are markings that indicate whether you are moving toward or away from the Visitor’s Center, and the squirrels have been trained to answer questions. (But sometimes their advice is nuts.)

iPhone 5-8-13 084Additionally, areas that look like trails that aren’t are subtly marked, “NOT A TRAIL.”

Naturally, whenever I saw those, I went that way.

This isn’t necessarily advisable. Actually, it’s against the law, as the ample signage points out. Warning at SR

Starved Rock’s neighboring park, Matthiessen, also notes on its website: “Hike only the marked trails. Unmarked areas are dangerous. Numerous people have been seriously injured or killed in this park. Be off the trails by dark.”

(What terrible things are wandering the forest at night? Ghosts? Monsters? A really dedicated Deliverance reenactment troupe?)

A quick Google search turns up plenty of news stories about people heading off trail at Starved Rock to terrible results. One was about a woman who fell 40 feet into a canyon, had to be airlifted to a hospital, and THEN got ticketed for being off the marked trails. Because police thought the ticket would teach her a lesson.

Eschewing logic, safety, and legalities, I went off trail multiple times. One time, I scrambled down sandstone, over tree branches, and battled a persistent wasp to get a look at one of the canyons. While climbing down, had I hooked my foot on anything or taken a misstep, I would have fallen down jagged terrain, but that would have just been a good storytellin’ scar.

It was later on in the day when I had second thoughts.

You can't see the ground underneath me? Exactly.

You can’t see the ground underneath me? Exactly.

I climbed down another “NOT A TRAIL!” to look at one of the park’s many waterfalls. A winding strip of land led to a canyon, narrowing to mere inches where I finally stopped to take pictures of the waterfall spilling down about 40-60 feet. While playing amateur photog with my iPhone, I looked down and saw how close I was to the edge.

For a moment, I felt like a kid again who recognized he had just done something stupid, and I could hear my mother’s voice in my head reprimanding me, making sure to use my first and middle name the way mothers (and girlfriends) do when you’re in trouble: “Paul Thomas, get away from that ledge!”

I sidled back to safer ground and then looked back at where I was standing. I would consider it insane to climb onto the ledge outside my 6th floor office window at work,  but apparently if you put a waterfall within my sights, I’ll dangle happily from that height.

We all have different interpretations of what qualifies as dangerous, and sometimes our personal perspectives are contradictory or even absurd. Take for instance:

1. I have never been on a motorcycle; it just seems dangerous. Yet on numerous occasions, I have driven a waverunner in excess of 60 mph out to secluded waters by myself while doing every dangerous thing the user manual likely says not to do.

Brick and bear2. Furry animals don’t bother me no matter how large, how angry, or how much white foam is coming from their maws. I’d happily cuddle a man-eating bear like Brick Tamland. Yet, snakes horrify me; I truly have ophidiophobia. The most terrifying part of Starved Rock was

Even this doe-eyed cartoon snake with eyelashes terrifies me. Actually, the eyelashes make it even scarier.

Even this doe-eyed cartoon snake with eyelashes terrifies me. Actually, the eyelashes make it even scarier.

the sign that warned visitors to be aware of poisonous snakes that may be basking on the trail. But it’s not just dangerous, poisonous snakes – it’s all snakes: big, small, cartoon. Two weeks ago at Kankakee River State Park, I saw a snake the size of a pencil and nearly ran screaming from the woods. My phobia wasn’t quelled any by the fact that the snake was also terrified and desperately trying to get away from the dumb, gigantic, lumbering mammal who spotted it.

skydeck3. I have heart palpitations just looking at pictures of that architecturally sound and completely safe deathtrap-looking box at the Willis Tower Skydeck, yet I’m not bothered by the heights of a canyon I was warned not to go near.

Whether a fear is learned or instinctual, sometimes our sense of danger is triggered even when danger isn’t present (see: tiny snake). And other times, when it should be going off, it doesn’t. Sometimes fear is what drives us or creates a thrill. And sometimes, we just ignore signs, logic, and laws, because they’re all just suggestions – right?

A Decision to Dunk

Posted: May 9, 2013 in Uncategorized
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iPhone 5-8-13 001

By Paul Gaszak, English Faculty

On Tuesday, I took advantage of the beautiful weather by going for a run to my local park. When I arrived, I took a break on the basketball court and took a picture of the hoop with the pond in the background.

And at this moment, I made a decision.

When I was 21, my dad and I would walk in the evening to the park where I spent countless days and nights playing basketball. We would shoot around and then I would spend the remaining daylight pursuing my goal:

Dunking.

I’m not exactly built to dunk. I’m 5’10″, over 200lbs, and I have the wingspan of a T-Rex. However, I was (and I suppose I still am) a deceptively good athlete, meaning people are surprised I have any athletic ability at all.

Explosive jumping ability was not born into me, but I was still very close to my goal. I could grab the rim, and I could get high enough to jam the ball into the rim, but not through it. I was mere inches away, but by my mid-20s, I declared myself “too old” to accomplish this feat and accepted that I would simply never dunk.

On Tuesday, I changed my mind:

I am going to dunk.

Of course, I recognize how counterintuitive (ie: ridiculous) this sounds. If I couldn’t dunk during my “athletic prime” when  I played basketball constantly, then what chance do I have now, particularly since I was only able to hit the backboard on Tuesday?

I have a good chance, but I base my odds more on my mind than my body.

One of the charming aspects of teaching college is being around bright, enthusiastic young people who are pursuing their dreams. It is refreshing when students declare what they want and believe with every ounce of their being that things will turn out that way. I was one of those students at 21. I used to say I would be a rich and famous writer by the age of 25. Nothing made me believe otherwise, except for turning 26. (I’m kind of a famous writer now, though. How many ‘LIKES’ does the Flaneur’s Turtle have on Facebook?)

I was a fairly typical 21-year-old. I worked hard – I was going to school full-time during the day and working full-time during the night – but still, my concept of “hard work” was lackluster, and my concept of how to make dreams happen was clearly and lazily off the mark.

And my quest to dunk proves that.

Ten years later, I realize that some training (particularly plyometrics) would have gotten younger me over the rim to my goal in a few months, or even sooner. That’s how close I was. But I didn’t identify my goal, figure out the solution, and then dedicate myself to carrying out the plan.

At 21, a few inches seemed insurmountable. I had myself convinced that I was working hard at my goals and dreams, but if I couldn’t do something with relative ease, I either didn’t try or gave up.

At 31, an entire foot seems inevitable. If I’m far away from my goal, I’ll figure out how to achieve it, and the hard work will just make the payoff sweeter.

To achieve goals, to make dreams come true, to have something special in your life – it takes hard work, dedication, commitment, and sacrifice. It takes figuring out how to make things work and then ACTUALLY trying to make them work.

If 21-year-old Paul had honestly bought into that philosophy, I would have dunked a decade ago. But now I have bought in, and that’s what gives me a shot to throw it down.

 

31 Years and 13 Miles

Posted: May 2, 2013 in Uncategorized
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By Paul Gaszak, English Faculty

Everyone has a personal answer to what makes a birthday special.

For some, it’s going to dinner with family. For others, it’s taking a vacation or getting the perfect present. Or maybe it’s a raucous party followed by waking up next to a stranger and a stack of inappropriate Polaroid pictures, leading you to ask one very important question: “Where did I find a Polaroid camera?”

Sunday, May 5 is my 31st birthday, and I have something different planned.

Normally, my birthday and I don’t get along much. It all started with the trauma of my 8th birthday when my parents bought me a cassette stereo instead of a TurboGrafx-16. I’ve had recurring 16-bit nightmares ever since.

See that smiling boy on the box? That wasn't me. I was denied the chance to enjoy the TurboGrafx-16's limited catalog of awful games.

See that smiling boy on the box? That wasn’t me. I was denied the chance to enjoy the TurboGrafx-16′s limited catalog of awful games.

Truly, though, I do have too many bad birthday memories. I now approach the day with caution rather than excitement, and I consider it a rousing success if I make it through my entire birthday without feeling utterly depressed. Consequently, I now react to birthday candles the same way Frankenstein does to torches.

Therefore, I made a proactive decision to make my birthday fun, challenging, and memorable this year by running the First Midwest Bank Half-Marathon.

I’ve run plenty of races, but never a half-marathon, because 13.1 miles is a long way. Put it in perspective: if the nearest grocery store to your house was 13.1 miles away, you’d either move or start a farm.

I’ve been thinking about this race for a while. So, a month ago, I decided to test myself to see if I could run this distance. I went to the gym, jumped on a treadmill, pumped up my Running playlist, and I took off…and pulled up short at 6.5 miles. I tried again a week later, pushing myself to 10 miles. A vast improvement, but still more than three miles short.

I thought that was the end of the discussion.

But a few Sundays ago while watching Celebrity Apprentice and eating Cocoa Puffs, I reexamined the race’s website with my birthday in mind. I weighed the pros and cons of running this race:

PROS:
1. It will be a great accomplishment.
2. It’s something I want to do.
3. It will make for a special birthday.
4. Women will be impressed by a half-marathon. (Because a full marathon is just showy and self-important).

CONS:
1. I may collapse in exhaustion short of the finish line and neighborhood children will run out of their homes to point and laugh while their parents take video with their iPhones to post on Facebook. And I will cry, but I’ll be too dehydrated to form tears (ie: ocular dry heaves). The footage will go viral, I’ll be on Tosh.0, and David Letterman will invite me to do a Top 10 List of “Why ‘Big Guys’ Shouldn’t Run.”

Despite the cons and the lack of evidence that I could legitimately run an entire half-marathon, I also considered that not signing up would result in spending my entire birthday depressed about this failed opportunity. Thus, another crappy birthday.

So, I signed up.

And then I sent nervous, whiny texts to everyone I know. Everyone said, “You’ll do great!” but I know what they were really thinking.

The next morning, fueled by one part determination and one part paranoia, I decided I had to prove I could run this distance.

Can you spot the deer, the Bigfoot, or the Blair Witch in this picture?

Can you spot the deer, the Bigfoot, or the Blair Witch in this picture?

I headed outside in beautiful weather and ran, and ran, and ran. Given the rural-ish setting of my home, I ran past farm fields, past horses, past cows and chickens, past wild wandering pheasants (all of whom were very unimpressed with me – pheasants are jerks), past a deer I tried to take a picture of, past Bigfoot, and possibly past the Blair Witch. And 2 hours and 19 minutes later, I ran an entire 13.1 miles. (That would put me in the top 68% of runners based on last year’s finishing times. Yes, I’m that obsessively competitive.)

Now, with only days to go, I have a new attitude, a new confidence, and a new pair of shiny red running shoes.

...if only I were running the race on a yellow brick road.

…if only I were running the race on a yellow brick road.

Some people may think it’s insane to want to wake up at 5:30am on my birthday in order to go through hours of self-inflicted physical torture. (For others, torture might be your thing. Whatever floats your boat.)

This brings me to both my original idea and a Fresh Prince of Bel-Air reference. There is a great episode in which Will tries to make Geoffrey’s birthday special by getting him a date and taking him to a club. When it all goes poorly, Geoffrey explains to Will, “For you, birthdays are a time to paint the town red, but for me, it’s a time of reflection.”

Just as we all have different tastes and perspectives, we all have different outlooks on what will make our own birthday special. Birthdays are sold as “our day” when we can do and have whatever we want. However, we’ve all at some point had to spend our birthdays pleasing others or letting them down, because people too often want us to celebrate our birthday the way they would want to celebrate their own. (I know am I am guilty of having done that to others, and it’s wrong.)

So, it is up to us to determine what will make our birthday special, and we must also respect the wishes of our friends and loved ones on their birthdays so they can have their own special day. And after a lot of hand-wringing, cocoa puffs, and Celebrity Apprentice, I decided 13.1 miles would make my 31st special.

Raffle-Related Regret

Posted: April 25, 2013 in Uncategorized
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By Paul Gaszak, English Faculty

This past Friday, I attended a “Volunteer Appreciation Dinner” at my dad’s VFW post for everyone who had accrued a certain number of hours of volunteer service. Every Monday night, my dad and I help clean and rearrange the hall after their weekly Bingo. It’s not life-saving work, but it’s a helping hand.

It was a nice event with about 75-100 people, and at the end of the evening, there was a raffle. The prizes weren’t extravagant – restaurant gift cards, bottles of wine and alcohol – but nonetheless, the raffle was nice touch.

As the Post Commander announced the winning tickets, I thought about my raffle-related regret from a couple years ago.

My older brother is into tabletop gaming, specifically Warhammer and Warhammer 40k. If you’re not familiar, basically they are extraordinarily complicated board games. The rules aren’t just a sheet of paper like in Scattergories or Scrabble; the main rulebook is the size of a college textbook, and there are additional books that add depth to the rules. And the rules are constantly evolving, which makes it a task to keep up with. There is also the hobby side to the game, which requires players to purchase, paint, and customize their own game pieces and game boards.

There are events and tournaments of all sizes where gamers go to play against one another. A few summers ago, my brother organized an event in the town hall near his home. About 50 people attended the event, which included a full tournament, a ton of food, gaming items to purchase, and a raffle with proceeds going to a local animal shelter. Since it was a fairly sizable event, he asked me to help out.

When I was in mid-teens, I played these games with my brother. They are fun, but they’re also expensive Librarianand time-consuming. And I was terrible at – and thus didn’t enjoy – the hobby side of it. I can’t paint a bathroom wall in my house without messing up, let alone an intricate miniature the size of my thumb. So, after more than a decade of not playing the game, all I was really qualified (and required) to do at my brother’s event was to serve food and sell raffle tickets.

Despite sometimes being labeled as geeks, the majority of gamers are just regular people with a hobby they enjoy. Their lives aren’t consumed with the game and they don’t all live in Mom’s basement. Like my brother, a good number of the people at the event were married guys with children and they partake in the hobby during the little spare time they have between work and family.

One guy had his son with him, a cute little boy of about 10 with a mop of red hair hanging over his forehead. The little boy was also playing in the tournament, and he was so excited to be playing with the “big kids” that he couldn’t stop smiling. Halfway through the day, he and his dad came over to look at what raffle prizes were available; there were an assortment of gaming prizes, ranging in value from probably $8-$100. The little boy looked over everything excitedly and then asked if he could please have some raffle tickets. His dad bought him a few and I tossed the tickets into the big, clear container with the rest.

After the tournament, my brother held the raffle. I pulled the tickets and he announced the winners and distributed the many prizes. During the process, the little boy stood next to his dad with his tickets clutched in his hand. After every number, the boy desperately checked his tickets. As the prize table started to empty, the boy got antsier and his eyes drooped in despair. I kept hoping I would hand over one of his tickets.

A lot of people won a prize. A few people won multiple prizes thanks to buying lots of tickets. That wasn’t a “bad” thing, necessarily; after all, most of those people bought a lot of tickets not just for the prizes, but because they wanted to support the animal shelter the money was going to. And then there was the little boy: his tickets never got called. He sat down in defeat. I felt completely guilty as the person pulling the tickets.

For everyone else in the room, these prizes were more of a discount than a victory – they all could buy this stuff for themselves right after the event if they wanted to. For that little boy, it would have made his entire day to win something. Like all little kids, I’m sure he got over it quickly, but I was still hurt on his behalf, especially when it dawned on me immediately after the raffle ended that I had the power to cheat. With a little legerdemain, I could have pocketed one of the kid’s tickets and passed it off as a drawn ticket whenever I wanted to, without my brother or anyone else knowing. I would have cheated someone else out of a prize, but it would have been worth it to make that little boy’s day.

Sure, it can be argued that kids have to learn they can’t always win, and that it was right of me to maintain the integrity of the raffle. But, 1) Every kid will endure enough losing in his/her life as they grow up; I don’t have to pile on, and 2) It was an raffle for gaming supplies, not the lottery.

After everyone left the hall and my brother and I started cleaning, I told him that I wished the little boy had won something. Nonchalantly, he said, “Oh. Why didn’t you tell me? I would have just given him something.”

Duh. I guess that would have worked, too, huh?

At the VFW, my dad and I both won gift certificates in the raffle. When my dad won, he yelled and waved his winning ticket over his head as a joke and to make a spectacle of himself, because that’s his style, not because the prize excited him that much. We both can afford a $20 meal, so the prizes were more of a discount than a victory. When I won, I merely said thank you. I don’t get excited easily, which sometimes works to my advantage, but at other times I’m envious of people who can be cheerful and excited about the little things in life. And, being that as it is, I was disappointed that I didn’t cheat to bring some joy and excitement to a kid’s life.

Grasping for Funny

Posted: April 18, 2013 in Uncategorized
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By Paul Gaszak, English Faculty

When I was in third grade, I made a new friend in class named Ryan. Given that I was in the same school system K-12, many of the faces stayed the same throughout the years, and Ryan was no different. However, like many kids, just because we knew of each other didn’t mean we were friends. When we did become friends, Ryan invited me to come hang out with him and his already established group of friends on the playground during recess.

The group was standing in a circle waiting for us. Ryan brought me over to them and promptly introduced me by saying, “Everybody, this is Paul. He’s funny!”

Everyone turned and stared at me.

The introduction was flattering, but what was I supposed to do now? Talk about creating immediate expectations. So, I pulled a microphone out of my back pocket, turned it on, and started with, “So, what’s the deal with the cafeteria food….”

Okay, I actually just said, “Hey,” and received a mumbled chorus of “Hey” in return.

How spectacularly anticlimactic. The group had to be disappointed, like buying tickets to see Louis C.K. and instead getting Carrot Top. I didn’t know I was going to be introduced like that, though! I didn’t know I was supposed to have material ready! I wish I had the perfect thing to say that would have made everyone in the circle laugh.

And this story comes to mind because of what happened in Boston on Monday.

A couple weeks ago, I told my esteemed colleague and “Father of the Flaneur’s Turtle” Michael Stelzer Jocks that when it comes to the Turtle, he is the intellectual counterbalance to my idiocy. In his posts, he explores history, delves into psychology, compares and contrasts cultures; I make jokes about Easter candy.

However, the eclectic nature of The Flaneur’s Turtle  is one of its strong suits. The authors are not many faces with one voice; we are all individuals with our own interests, personalities, and writing styles. Consequently, each author has a different role. My students have told me I fill the role of “hopeless romantic” or “comedian” depending on the post.

Today, I’m sort of a hopeless comedian. Like everyone else, I find what happened in Boston to be horribly sad and deeply tragic, and I feel an additional touch of kinship with all of the victims and families because of my obsession with running.

But, I am terrible at comforting people during grief, loss, and hardships. I don’t know what to say, and even if I do, I say it wrong. And I could try to be intellectual about a tragic event like this, just as Michael was in his last post, but he’s smarter than me and I can’t pull that off.

However, I can occasionally make people laugh. So, I set out to write a diversionary post. During bad times, I don’t want to laugh in order to hide from reality or diminish the significance of what has happened; I merely want to provide some momentary escapist entertainment. During races, there are water stations along the way for the runners. The stations aren’t meant to be places where runners stop and quit, but rather where they get a boost as they carry on with their struggle. At times like this, I like laughter to be the water station. We can all acknowledge there is a long road ahead and more hard times to deal with, but we can use a little boost to help us along.

Unfortunately, sometimes I find myself grasping for funny, having nothing witty to say, no water to offer, and no clever one-liners to impress the gathered circle.

 

 

Catching Up with Turtles

Posted: April 11, 2013 in Uncategorized
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By Paul Gaszak, English Faculty

This week, I have a couple follow-up anecdotes to my two most recent posts. In a way, I feel like I’m pulling the sitcom cop out of having a clip show. But I’m not! This is NEW material. This isn’t like Fresh Prince of Bel-Air showing old clips of Carlton dancing – these are all new Carlton dances. So, let’s dance.

Shuffling My Personal Best

Chicago PicsThis past Sunday, team “Run RMU Run” ran the Shamrock Shuffle. The race itself was exciting and fun as it navigated runners around the Loop through spectator-lined streets. One of my favorite moments along the way was running down State Street past the Chicago Theatre. I took this photo on my iPhone without breaking stride. (What can we call taking photos while running? Options: 1. Flash & Dash 2. Joggin’ Photog. 3. Obnoxious.)

My other favorite moment was a guy standing on the side of the road around Mile 4 who was dressed likeCowbell Will Ferrell from the famous SNL cowbell skit. True to the skit, he had the shirt riding up his belly as he hammered away on a cowbell. What made it even funnier was that he was standing all by himself and he never broke character. It’s a good thing, because at that moment in the race I was tired, and the only cure was more cowbell.

Everyone on our team ran at their own pace, so we found each other after the race to share in a deserved sense of accomplishment. Everyone did really great and had good reason to be excited.

In my post last week, I said one of my goals was to beat my own personal best time for an 8k. I did that by 21 seconds with a time of 43:17. I finished 8,403 out of 33,266 runners, placing me around top 25% of all runners, which was my other goal. I was very pleased with both accomplishments…until about midday Monday when I began whining around the office about how I could have done better and then set my goal for next year at a time of 39:30. To run that fast, I’ll need a lot more cowbell.

Easter Treats

My mom loves bargains. Mark something as discounted and she will buy it, regardless of its worth or necessity. Take, for instance, the bags full of discounted Easter candy she had on the kitchen counter when I visited on Monday. I mostly avoided diving headfirst into all of the sugary goodness, though I may have eaten some of the Starburst jellybeans she bought.

As I was preparing to leave, my mom looked through one bag filled with an assortment of giant chocolate Easter bunnies and asked me, “Do you want to take some of these home?”

“No, I don’t need that stuff in my house.”

“Then, how am I going to get rid of all of these?”

“You could have started by not buying dozens of giant chocolate bunnies!”

She then tried to persuade me to take some of the candy to work, but I said no because I could already feel the “Why did you bring junk food?” glares of my colleagues. (Of course, we always eat the candy when it’s the office…we just make sure to be angry about it first.)

Mom dropped the discussion after that, not because I had convinced her, but because she knows that I have no willpower when it comes to candy. I stop by my folks’ house enough, and those Starburst jellybeans can’t last forever (or, really, past Monday night, because I ate them all), so it’s only a matter of time until one of my visits involves me gnawing on the head of a stale chocolate bunny while wishing some Reese’s eggs had been available on discount instead.

Shuffling My Personal Best

Posted: April 4, 2013 in Uncategorized
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By Paul Gaszak, English Faculty

ShuffleThis Sunday is the Shamrock Shuffle 8k in downtown Chicago. Nine of my Robert Morris University colleagues and I will be running the race as part of team “Run RMU Run.”

TrumpTechnically, we are in the “Team Competition,” which means our individual finish times will be combined and ranked against other teams in the Corporate Division. The fastest teams will win prizes. The losers will be fired from their respective workplaces. It’s like the Apprentice, but with less combover and more jogging.

As I organized our team for this race, I encouraged everyone to think of this as a fun opportunity for us to do something together, not as a true competition against other teams or each other. Come the next workday, I want us to be able to share our stories of the race and be excited to share an experience like this again, not gloat about who was fastest.

As a team we will not be out for blood.

For me as an individual, it’s a slightly different story.

In the past year, I’ve gotten more and more into running races: 5k, 8k, 10k, obstacle course races. I grew up on competition. It started as a kid with my dad and I fighting over Scrabble and Boggle at the kitchen table, and then carried into playing basketball throughout my teens and early-20s. I like to compete. It motivates me in athletics, at work, and even in my creative endeavors. For example: When my college girlfriend,a Poetry major, told me I “couldn’t write poetry,” I started writing it just to prove her wrong. Granted, that made me not only competitive, but also spiteful and shallow…and perhaps a poor selector of girlfriends. But I digress. And I published poetry before her. But I digress.

I am not a delusional competitor, though. Just because I love basketball doesn’t mean I think I could beat Michael Jordan in his prime. I could hold my own against some college-level players in my day, but the bottom line is lots of players were just far more talented and skilled than I was. Those were just the facts, and I accepted that.

Likewise, just because I now love to run doesn’t mean I expect to keep pace with the “Elite” division runners who start at the front of the Shuffle. In fact, not only will I not be with the Elite runners, but judging on last year’s results, approximately 9,400 people will finish ahead of me. Literally.

My hope is to complete the 8k (4.97 miles) in 43:00-44:00 minutes, which is far off of last year’s top finisher who ran the race in 23:18.

So, if I will be running 20 minutes slower than the top finisher, what “competition” is there to be had?

The answer: Lots.

First, I enjoy competing against myself. I will never run a 23:18 8k. I don’t think I can even drive a car that fast. My personal record, which was this week, is 43:38. So my first goal will be to set my personal record. If I run the Shuffle in 43:37 or faster, I will be pleased.

Shuffle 2Secondly, I don’t judge myself against the best runners; I judge myself against the field. While 9,400 may finish faster, last year’s Shuffle included over 34,000 people. That means that my anticipated finished time will have me across the line sooner than 24,600 people! In other words, I’ll be around the top 25% of all runners. I can be proud of that.

With basketball, I wasn’t born into a body gifted enough for the sport. At only 5’10” and with a vertical leap that measures in the negatives, my ceiling was not very high. It’s the same in running. I am not long and lean; I have short legs and big arms. As I once told a friend of mine who runs marathons, “I can’t run a marathon, but I can bench press multiple marathoners.” I know that I am biologically ill-suited to ever be an Elite runner. Add to it that through most of my life the only running I did was either on a basketball court or to a refrigerator, and it makes even running 5 miles straight seem like an accomplishment.

So, on Sunday, while my team collectively won’t be aiming to compete, I will have my own personal competition. I won’t be delusional and aim to be something I simply never will be, but I can continue to push myself to tap out the maximum of my potential in something that I really enjoy doing.

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