Shark bait: Continuing the bucket list

So back in June, my friend Mike and I jumped out of an airplane (see previous blog entry from June) to kill some time in our unemployed lives and overcome a few fears and even more make women think we're all that and a bag of chips.

Since that time, we decided to create a bucket list of sorts, things we wanted to do before we kicked the bucket (cue up John Mayer's Say What You Need To Say). And one night during The Discovery Channel's Shark Week, we both came up with our next addition. We were going to go swimming with sharks.

How on Earth do we do that on the budget of an unemployed loser? Certainly we couldn't afford to get scuba certified, or a plane ticket to the Australian reef to come face to face with a Great White.

Our answer came from a rather unlikely, and somewhat non-preferred source - the dreaded Mall of America. UnderwaterWorld, nestled in the basement of the most dreaded mall to all Minnesotans, is home to 5,000 creatures roaming 1.2 million gallons of water. Only one problem. Money.

To swim or scuba with the sharks would set us back quite a bit...nearly as much as skydiving if not more. So we scaled things back and decided to feed the sharks instead.

We both arrived with little adrenaline compared to the feeling we had when we were about to jump out of a perfectly good airplane at 13,000 feet. "Oh, wow, yeah, going to throw some chopped up fish into the water and see a shark eat it," I was thinking to myself.

After a short tour of the facilities, including the lab where they study dead fish and the kitchen where they chop up dead fish for nourishment, we were above the shark tanks, being told the intricacies of properly feeding a nurse shark, a brown tiger shark, and a black-tip reef shark.

I was up first, and after being strapped into a harness (just in case, nobody has fallen into the tank, yet) and another reminder of how to feed them (hold the headless mackerel firmly in the feeding pole until just a few seconds before the shark comes near it, then release. If the shark grabs on to the pole, let go of the pole, etc. etc.), a large tiger shark neared the area where I was moving the fish around about a foot under the water.

I felt a gust of adrenaline as the shark got within a few feet of the fish. "Ok, Steve, don't screw this up, get ready to release, get ready to release, get ready to release." The next thing I know, the shark strikes from over 2 feet away in what seemed like a millisecond, swallowing the fish, and the pole, and trying to pull me into the water. The guide told me "let go, let go, let go" and I let go of the fish with the clamp on the pole. He again said "let go of the pole, let it go." It didn't process in my brain quick enough, and I was wrestling with a 400 pound plus beast who could, quite easily I might add, take off a limb or two from my finely aged human self.

As I let go of the fish, the shark chomped a few more times on the feeding pole and tugged a few good more times before I was able to pull it back out of the water, noticing my feet were covered with water from the shark's struggle.

While the adrenaline rush was nothing compared to skydiving in terms of longevity, it was every bit as intense as I realized, "Holy crap, I just fed and grappled with a shark, yet another thing I fear in the world."

After Mike did his feeding, we went back through the underwater tunnel to see the sharks we just fed from below. As we made our way through, we looked at the various sharks, and taunted them over our superior abilities through a very thick plexiglass tunnel. "Yeah, shark, you think you're bad? You're not so bad. I pwn3d you, shark!"

So now, Mike and I are planning our next adventures. Tattoos? The Running of the Bulls? Drinking the water in Mexico? The sky and the sea are the limit. But the bucket is getting filled.

A letter I never sent

I wrote this letter three years ago today, to the father of Matthew Bohn, a young boy who passed away on United Flight 232 exactly 20 years ago today. Matthew was the first body to come through the makeshift morgue where I worked with my fellow lifeguards as volunteers on July 20, 1989.

July, 19, 2006

Dear Jim and Cindy (please share this with Cindy, Jim) –

This is by far the hardest and most difficult thing I've ever had to write in my life, which is saying something given my career as a writer/communicator. For 17 years, I've been wanting to communicate with you both, but have not been able to find the right words for what I want to say to you.

Obviously this letter is about Matthew…and I know that this isn't probably something you like to be reminded of on a daily basis.

As a father myself today, I can't imagine what it would be like to experience what you did on July 19, 1989. But I want you to know that Matthew had a tremendous impact on people that he didn't even meet – and I am one of those people.

On that fateful day, I was working as a carefree Lifeguard at a swimming pool in Sioux City, enjoying my summer after my freshman year in college. I was 18 years old, and like any other 18-year-old, I thought I knew everything and had the world in the palms of my hands…as I was taking a break in the Lifeguard room at the pool, I heard a news report crackling on our cheap radio. There was a plane crash at the Sioux City airport…big news for around there…but it didn't even phase me at that point that it would impact me.

Within 24 hours of that moment, my life would be changed forever, and your son was at the very heart of that change. That night, on the 19th, the local Red Cross asked for lifeguards to come out to help serve food and refreshments to the rescue workers. As an 18-year-old, being naïve and thinking I was indestructible, I served kool aid and hot dogs to firemen, national guard troops and EMTs covered with soot and sweating from the intense Iowa summer. I strained to get a look at the crash site some 1000 yards away, but could not see anything. As I left that night, I assumed that was as close as I would ever come to this disaster.

The next morning, I received a wake-up call that will never be paralleled in my lifetime. I was told that I was needed back at the airport for volunteer work, and that the pools were going to be working on a skeleton crew basis. Without going into too much of the details that you don't need to know…I ended up working in the makeshift morgue that morning, and Matthew was the first person we had come through that morning.

I was in the phone room when you or one of your loved ones called in with descriptions of what Matthew was wearing, and I recognized the clothes the minute he came in the morgue. I couldn't begin to describe what I felt at that moment, but it was a moment that forever changed me.

As a lifeguard, I was used to teaching and coaching kids like Matthew to swim, either just for the sake of being able to swim, or for competitive purposes. It had never before occurred to me that we as humans did not have control over our lives or deaths…but Matthew changed that for me in the blink of an eye.

Today, the father in me can't imagine how each of you has survived through this…and admire your courage and bravery just in waking up each day and living your life. But I also know that there is a positive that came out of this horrible time in many peoples' lives…the fact that we all learned that life is not in our control, we don't know when our time will be up, and it is up to us to wake up each day and live it as if it might be our last on earth.

It is a lesson that most in life never learn, and yet, because of your son, I learned it at a very young age and have applied it to my life. I am not a particularly religious person, but I do believe in a higher spirit, and that our souls go elsewhere when we leave here. I have a tendency to think about Matthew on a fairly regular basis, and even "talk" to him sometimes to thank him for the lesson he taught me…but I wanted this thanks to come to you as well…so you can see at least a sliver of the good that came out of his death.

He did not die in vain, but instead impacted not only me, but everyone who was in the morgue that day. I hope that this letter does not cause discomfort for you…my intention is for this letter to give you, and probably to some extent, me, some peace on this. Matthew, from all that I've read about him, was the typical All-American boy, much like my childhood was for me, and I have never been able to shake the fact that he had no control over what happened that day. I tell my story to as many people that will listen, hoping that they will get something from it…to learn to live life more deliberately and not take anything or anyone in life for granted.

Your son was a hero to me, even though we never met. I wanted you to know this. I hope that this letter gives you a positive feeling, and I apologize if it doesn't.

Sincerely,

Steve C

Plymouth, MN

The Daddy Mack Will Make You Jump, Jump!

Have you ever wondered what goes through a person's mind as they fall to the ground at 70 mph 13,000 feet in the sky?

Yeah, me too. Now I can say without a doubt that it is everything and nothing going through that person's mind. It is like every amazing moment in a person's life melds together with a Zen sense of nothingness...nothing that happened before or will happen in the future matters at that moment.

How do I know this? Because last Saturday I decided to tempt the Gods and do a tandem skydive jump out of a perfectly good airplane.

A friend had brought it up casually with me a few months ago, and he said he was putting together a big group of people to jump sometime this summer, probably in July. Things changed, and he found out he'd not be able to have the larger group outing until later in the summer, so we made a spontaneous decision to go, just the two of us, without the bigger group.

We met at the skydive location about 15 minutes before we were scheduled to check in, and were greeted with 25 mph gusts on the ground. That equates to somewhere over 100 mph winds at 10,000 feet. So we waited. And waited. And waited some more. 3 hours later, the place was packed with all of the people who had scheduled a jump for the previous 3 hours.

And who was lucky enough to be the very first tandem jumper out of the plane for the day? Yours truly. As I donned the jumpsuit, I had visions of Goose and Maverick...and then got snapped back to reality when I passed a mirror and saw how ridiculous I looked in the too tight jumpsuit. In hindsight, I really should have followed through on my original plan to don parachute pants for the jump.

As we boarded the plane, the fear I had over the previous few weeks suddenly subsided. As we took off on the grassy runway and slowly climbed to 13,000 feet, my tandem instructor went over last minute instructions, then handed me a lifesaver candy and said "Here's a lifesaver, because you can't count on me for that." Ha. Ha. Wait, was he kidding?

As the door rolled open on the plane and we were given the thumbs up to prepare for our leap, a really quick but fleeting sense of panic came over me. Just inches away from me, 13,000 feet below, were houses that looked like dots. Buildings that looked like postage stamps. Farm fields that looked like patterns of a quilt.

Then with a last minute thumbs up to the camera man, we were out of the plane and shooting toward earth at 70 mph. Let me tell you that if you ever want to see what your face would look like if it were made of rubber, go skydiving. Oh, and they tell you to smile, but I recommend just keeping your mouth shut. Same principle as when you are on a motorcycle...you don't know what can make it into your open mouth at 70 mph.

After a freefall of about 60 seconds, my tandem instructor tapped my shoulder which told me to grip on to my shoulder harness, and he pulled the chute. There is an odd sensation that occurs as you drop a few inches lower from the tandem jumper when the chute goes out...for a second it feels as if you are going to drop to the ground. A little bit like that feeling you had as a kid when your older relatives used to pretend they were going to drop you when you were in their arms. Only you are thousands of feet above the ground at this point.

From there, it was a calmer, peaceful journey to the ground. After a quick popping of my ears so I could hear my instructor, we began our way down to our landing point. Slowly, the ground went from what looked like a miniature museum display of smalltown America to familar landmarks...Oh I recognize that road. Oh I recognize that car. Oh I recognize that person.

"Lift your legs. We are coming in fast," my instructor yelled. Time to land already? Wait. No. Rewind it back up again and do it all over. Please!

I have to admit, outside of the witnessing the birth of my sons, this was without a doubt the coolest moment I've experienced in my life so far.

So you can count on me returning to two miles above the ground sometime soon. I'm hooked.

Simpler Summer times.

As school is wrapping up for my sons in the next two weeks, I take myself back to my own summer memories growing up in Morningside.

It was a neighborhood where everyone, every single kid, got along. It was The Sandlot meets Stand By Me meets The Wonder Years.

Whether it was a game of backyard football, or rigging up plastic sheeting to serve as a slip n' slide, a full day of playing army in the backwoods, or a night of kick the can or hide and seek, it was rare that there wasn't something happening in the old neighborhood.

I wish so much that my sons could have that same experience. But it is a different time indeed.

We didn't have cable TV, well maybe we did, but we barely got to watch it.

We didn't need to play video games. Granted, there were daylong Atari tournaments for sure, but it wasn't the same addictive quality that video games have over today's youth.

We didn't have sports practices and games, music lessons, swimming lessons, etc., etc., etc., stacking up on our daily summer schedule.

It is sad, really, to think that there was a time when we used to let kids wake up, and start an unknown adventure every day. Explore the woods. Pick up a baseball. Gather up change and walk to the corner store, Johnny's Market. Look for buried treasure. Go snake hunting.

I look back on those days as some of my favorite in life. Everything was so innocent. So pure. So right.

/end.back.in.my.day.rant

The Online Dating Scene: Top 5 Tips

As I mentioned in my previous blog entry, The Hickey Date, I've had my share of online dating over the last 3 years since my divorce.

There are some very important tips that you should follow if you are about to venture out into the cyberworld of matchmaking. Here are my top 5 online dating tips:


5 - Never agree to go on a date with someone who has more pictures of their pets on their profile than of themselves. Let's face it...if they have that many pics of Fido, they are either a) a person who treats their pet like a child, a big red flag, or b) a person who looks worse than their drooling bulldog...a ginormous red flag.


4 - "That's an old picture of me. I don't look anything like that anymore." Um, hello? Then why do you have it posted? NEXT! People using old photos on their profile are either saying "this is when I looked my best, 6 years ago" or "I can't afford a digital camera or I don't have a friend with a digital camera, therefore, I am not worthy of your time."


3 - If you show up and you notice an Adam's Apple on Tiffany, you are fully authorized to fake a heart attack to get out of your date. This rule is recognized in over 36 nation states currently.


2 - Talk on the phone with your potential date before the actual meeting. I learned this the hard way. I had been emailing a woman that I seemed to be getting along great with, and we agreed to meet. We never spoke on the phone before that date. I showed up, and as she spoke, I could hear her voice combining one of Marge Simpson's sisters with Fat Albert. Do. Not. Want.


1 - Use creative wordplay on your dating profile to lure the women in for dates. An example: "Activities: Currently unemployed and staying home playing video games all day drinking beer" becomes "Economically self-sufficient man taking stock of his life and exploring his options." Or "Lazy fat guy seeks sugar mama" becomes "Artistic soul in search of a woman who has it all, but needs companionship and love." It's not that hard. Give it a try.


Happy dating!

Reconnecting with my hometown, that SUX

There was always a little bit of George Bailey in me as a kid. I was convinced that I was going to leave my hometown and travel the world (and to a large extent, I have)...and never look back.

When people used to ask me where I was from originally, I'd say "Sioux City. A great place to grow up. And leave." I really am glad I had my eyes opened to how lucky I was to grow up in a place like that.

Then a funny thing happened. I grew up. Last summer I had my 20-year HS reunion, an event I was dreading in many ways. I was probably one of the few single members of my class for one thing, I figured. In addition, I didn't exactly have a blast at the 10 year reunion. You could say my excitement level about the 20th reunion was somewhere between getting a root canal or doing your tax returns.

But I went to the reunion, and surprise of all surprises, I had an awesome time. And I reconnected with people I hadn't talked to in years, as well as began conversations with classmates I never took the time to know back in the day. And that has continued over to the Internet through email and Facebook, as well as text messages and phone calls.

Over the last 11 months, I've been in Sioux City visiting family and friends more than I had in the previous 20 years since I left. I've talked with friends over a dog at Milwaukee Weiner House, or enjoyed a fresh out of the oven Jerry's pizza with my sons, and hearing them get excited when we go to visit my parents about the prospect of ordering "That one guy's pizza."

Every time I've been back, I have been lucky enough to hang out with people from my past, and found that it is easy to pick up where things left off, and reminisce about childhood and high school memories.

And now each time I pack up and head down to Siouxland, I think to myself, I'm going home. To Sioux City. A great place where I grew up. Period. Someone order me a Charlie Boy!

Here soooooeeeeeeey, sooooeeeeeeey!

I may just be too cynical to be cynical at this point, but I'm confused at what the big deal is about the Swine Flu, aka H1N1 Virus, and the hype surrounding it.

I like pigs. A lot.

There's bacon, and ham, and pepperoni. Canadian bacon, hot dogs (at least some part of the pig goes in there), and if you venture up into Canada, they even have back bacon. Pork chops, pork tenderloins, pork on a stick. *Pausing to wipe the drool off my keyboard*.

Not to mention my favorite pig, Floyd of Rosedale - a bronze statue trophy that the Iowa Hawkeyes and Minnesota Gophers play for each year. Ol' Floyd spends alot more time in Iowa these days. I guess pigs are more at home there?

Ok, but back to this virus. I seriously have friends who are freaking out about this, as if they are about to die. Now I know that you can't just scoff at the reports of a pandemic or epidemic, but at the same time, is it really worth the wasted energy to sanitize your entire house, dig a bomb shelter and put your kids in HazMat suits when you send them off to school?

I guess if I'm going to die, I'd rather have it be from a virus caused by making out with a pig then to have a man-eating pig eat me. It's also much better than falling off a 30-story building into a vat of acid. Or falling down a flight of stairs into a bed of steaming hot nails.

I guess my point is, while it may make sense to stay home if you don't feel well, and wash your hands when you are in public places, beyond that, if you are altering your life drastically, well, you are nothing but a Pigist. And I don't have any time for any more haters in this world.

"You better run faster than small town gossip"

There are few people who come into your life that truly leave an imprint that lasts beyond their time. Let me tell you about one of them for me.

Walt Fiegel was unparalleled. This man simply commanded your respect the minute you met him, but he reciprocated that respect with a respect for you. It didn't matter if you were his starting quarterback, his student manager, or someone he just passed in the hallways at my alma mater, Sioux City East High School.

Walt was one of a kind, and he taught me, and literally thousands of others, some very valuable lessons in life.

"Don't forget where you came from."

I did do this, for a long time, unfortunately, but in the end this life lesson came back to me. When I left my hometown of Sioux City, I had no intentions of ever looking back or reconnecting with people from there. I was George Bailey in "It's A Wonderful Life." I was going to leave that crummy town and do bigger things. But then I realized that so much of who I am as a person was shaped by that place. Those people. And now I won't cut that reconnected bond.

"Go home and tell your mother that you love her."

Every football practice in high school ended with this one. It was key to Walt, and it was a great lesson to learn. Our mothers, perhaps like nobody else, have a connection and bond to us that is unbeatable. That bond deserves our respect. It deserves our honest and truthful words. And it is a simple thing to do. Which is why it is so fitting that the annual fundraiser to remember Walt is always held on Mother's Day weekend.

"Tough times don't last, tough people do."

This one speaks to me more than anything else. I've had my hard times in life, as we all do, but over the last year, I've felt more negative scenarios than ever in life. And every time I'm about to give up and say "why me?" or "are you kidding me?" I can reflect back on the days of being at best a mediocre football player on Walt's team, and realize that this was what it was all about. He taught every one of us to go out into the world, and when adversity hits, to not give in. Don't give up. Keep fighting. Find a way to smile every day. Find a way to look at the positives. Don't succumb to the enemy. For this, I owe Walt more than any other of his lessons.

If you would like to honor this incredible man, it is quite easy. On Friday, May 8, and Saturday, May 9, the Walt Fiegel Foundation will be holding an auction/dinner and a golf tournament. Pay your respects to this incredible man by either attending one or both of these events, or by sending a donation to the foundation, which is dedicated to providing scholarships to local athletes who embody what Walt stood for.

While I myself will likely not be able to make it to the events this year, I plan to send a donation so that his spirit can continue on and others in Sioux City will realize how blessed we were to have someone like Walt to touch our lives. Visit http://www.waltfiegel.com/ for more information.

And remember, if nothing else, that tough times don't last, to hug your mother, and don't you ever forget where you came from. Thanks Coach, and may you have a smile on your face as you watch all of your former players and students live out your life's lessons.

Considering a new hobby - Stand up comedy

So some of you may know that in my grad school days and thereafter, I started doing Improv comedy with a troupe in Iowa City. Some people hear that and say "oh, cool, tell me a joke." Improv is not the kind of comedy where someone is standing up on a stage telling jokes from a routine, for those who don't know. It's like what was done on Drew Carey's show "Whose Line Is It Anyway?"

Well that was an awesome experience that I miss tremendously, but since moving to the Twin Cities, it is much harder to get into a troupe for Improv. They are either fully professional actors doing it all the time as a career, or a group that only does it for their own entertainment in some church basement.

But recently, after a conversation with a good friend in which I had him rolling on the ground in laughter roughly every 30 seconds, I learned about an open mic night at a local comedy club, and he has told me that he thinks I need to go and try it out.

SO, I'm in the process of coming up with a few different routine ideas, and may within the next month or so tackle one more thing on my bucket list, if you will.

For those who live in the Twin Cities, I'll let you know when I'm taking the stage, and will slip you a $20 bill if you laugh.

Getting back into shape...the beginning of the journey

When I was 17, it was a very good year...

Back then, I was a competitive swimmer, specializing in backstroke and individual medley, and had a washboard stomach and much more hair. I continued competing in swimming until my sophomore year of college, when burnout and a bum shoulder made me look for other options to occupy my time. But up until that time, every summer, I used to participate in a mini-triathalon to celebrate the University of Okoboji Homecoming festivities (and if you aren't an Iowan, you likely don't know that there is not really a University of Okoboji).

Since leaving the pool, somehow over the years, my six-pack abs turned into "buddhalicious."

I've decided recently, after hopping in the pool and doing some laps, that before I turn 40, a year from this August, I'd like to return to doing the Okoboji triathalon. This year seems highly unlikely, as it is only 3 months away, and I have a lot of work to do...but by this time next year I'm hoping I'll be on a workout regimen of swimming, biking, and running that will make it realistic for me to do the event.

Today was my first day on a bike that didn't involve pulling a Burley full of little ones in quite some time. I had planned to ride a 10 mile portion of a trail near my place, but instead ended up doing a 12-mile loop that included some roadways as a result of a close trail due to construction.

It felt really great. I even managed to go to a full sprint for the last mile, and the burn in my legs was something I hadn't felt in quite some time.

I'm sure by tomorrow at this time, my butt will be killing me and my muscles will be aching, but you have to start somewhere. Who knows...if I'm lucky, maybe I'll manage to get rid of some of this buddha belly in the process?