A promise kept (finally)

I'm still not sure what possessed me to make my 5K promise last year. I do know that I blew my self-imposed deadline by a number of months. Life and health got in my way for awhile, and though it was tempting to let my online commitment fade quietly away, I decided a promise was a promise.

Athletic activities have never come easily to me. When skills like motor coordination and endurance were handed out, I was out to lunch. I'm a lousy runner.

On March 16, I kept my word and ran my first 5K. In case anyone is doubting my assessment of my capabilities, know that the 25-year-old winner of the Shamrock 5K finished the entire course in less time than it took me to complete a mile. I met my goal of running the entire race, with no walking and no long pauses. 

I have nothing but respect for a race in which at least half the field warms up with a beer.

At the starting line. During the race I got a lot of compliments on my Team TACA shirt as people passed me. 

Post race. More beer. Tired feet.

To mangle a quote from Dorothy Parker, "I don't like running. I like having run." Which probably means I need to sign up for another race. I'm unlikely to run for the love of it; the looming spectre of another 5K will keep me going.

As of April 1, the fundraising cycle begins anew. For our annual update and slideshow, visit my 2014 Family and Friends page.

More gems from the afterlife

Those we love are never truly gone, especially when we find old letters from them during the process of digitizing financial records.

During my scanning extravaganza (my ScanSnap portable document scanner was money very well spent), I found a letter titled Really Really Useful Advice that my dad wrote me when I was a fairly new college graduate. The letter has turned out to be a good companion to his Guide to Good Nosh. Sprinkled among the legitimate advice were a few gems, probably meant to ensure I read the letter all the way through.

"Beware all brokers. They are bungling chameleons who shall be named Rupert." -- Benjamin Franklin

"And God took pity on Lucifer, so before casting him forth from heaven to live amongst the debris of Humanity he taught him to speak French." -- Attila the Hen [sic]

"And God confounded Satan by creating real estate agents." -- Archbishop of Canterbury

So I'll be digitizing the letter, too, so that it can be passed on to Lauren and Maddie at the proper moment. 

God is an Englishman ...

Happy birthday, part 2: Nosh on!

For my father, there was a very fine line between 'poignant' and 'snivelly.' A few weeks after Lauren, Maddie, and I got back from Europe, I was looking for some culinary inspiration and ran across this gem:

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After he retired, Dad discovered he quite liked taking charge of the cooking and was adept at improvising in the kitchen. One Christmas, he decided he needed to pass on the culinary knowledge he'd accumulated over the years. His 'Guide to Good Nosh' was born.

Thumbing through it, I could practically hear him. Sprinkled throughout the recipes were Dad's unique pearls of parental wisdom.

A few examples:

• His cooking instructions for Salmon Dijon Eh!: "Stick in oven. Pour glass of wine and sip while waiting 25 mins."
• Marinade for kebabs: "Mix and mash, simmer for as long as you like. This also removes odors from most bathrooms."
• Louisiana Crab Cakes: "Serve with remoulade sauce or store-bought tartar sauce if you are planning to prepare the spare bedroom."
• Oven-Roasted Lamb Shanks (notes about the red wine in the recipe): "Any red plonque will do, but I prefer port wine ... The raisins plump up into little port pills!"
• On the red wine called for in his Coq Au Vin recipe: "If you are cooking a lot you can use half wine and half chicken stock -- you miserable cheapskate."
• Serving suggestion for his Rubbishy Lemon Chicken recipe (which shares a page with his Classic Lemon Chicken recipe): "Serve with any old rubbish your laziness deserves!"
• Bashed In Chicken (the first step to making stuffed chicken breasts): "Take a meat mallet, baseball bat, chopper blade or rolling pin and pound the hell out of the chicken. I find it easier if you pick a chicken named Hillary."
• In the tapas section: "Give one to each guest and keep the rest for yourself."

I can almost hear him saying Buenos noshes!

Happy birthday, Dad

Today, my father would have turned 70. I am (naturally) behind on posting the summer travel pictures. In Dad's honor, I am skipping to the middle of the trip, to the day we dedicated to him. 

As the plans evolved for my summer trip to Europe with Lauren and Maddie, we added an important day to our itinerary. My mom decided it was time to bring Dad home to England. He was cremated; the plan was to scatter some of his ashes in significant places. We spent a Saturday morning leaving pieces of him at four important places.

Our first stop was the final furlong at Ascot racecourse. My father grew up in nearby Sunninghill. His father was a frequent visitor to the track here. There was no racing that day, so we were able to access the grounds and walk right up to the rails.  

The grandstand was redone in '06, and many, including Dad, were unhappy with the views from the grandstand after that. Nonetheless, Ascot was one of Dad's favorite places for most of his life.

The new grandstand.

The final furlong.

After a beautiful walk, and more than a few tears, we went on to a spot along the Thames River, in Runnymede. We chose the Thames because Dad always loved the water.

He would have enjoyed the boat docked across the way, too.

Our third stop was the churchyard where his parents are buried. Bringing part of him back to his parents felt right.

The church.

I still can't look at this picture without tearing up a bit.

We went on to the Nags Head, meeting up with old friends from our time in England, including Dad's best mate, Reg. The best part about the group from the Nags has always been that it doesn't matter whether it's been 10 hours or 10 years since our last visit -- the welcome is warm and the conversation is easy. We left a bit of Dad in the garden there.

Site of many midday pints back in the day. Now that Heather is an adult, she found her luck with the fruit machine wasn't quite the same.

It was the perfect end to our tribute to him. And it truly felt like we'd brought him home.

More thank yous, and a few hurdles

My first thank you has to go to my Enabler-in-Chief, my sister Heather Cocks. I mentioned my 5K scheme, and she agreed to take me running (the first time I've willingly run anywhere). So I tried it, on a nice, dirt track during our trip to California, and I didn't keel over. If she found her older sister pathetic, she hid it well, and she enabled me even further with a donation soon after I went home to Maryland. Of course, this is the sister whose Cabbage Patch doll got a really weird nickname (courtesy of me), and who was briefly nicknamed Young Ploppy after a character in Blackadder. 

Maybe Heather's support is not so benign after all.

In keeping with this year's track and field theme (what good is a theme if you can't exhaust all possible metaphors?), I hit a hurdle pretty soon after I got home from California. One look at my donation page told me I'm going to have to actually learn to run for real, since I'm more than halfway there.

My intestines had other ideas. 

A week ago Friday, I ended up in the hospital with a bleeding ulcer. Two nights, two units of blood, and two days on clear liquids later, and I was discharged with some stomach-healing meds, orders not to take up smoking, and strong suggestions that I avoid spicy, acidic foods for a while. No activity restrictions, but a warning that, due to the anemia that has accompanied the ulcer, I might not have a lot of endurance, and I should be prepared to take it easy.

(They also asked whether I have a lot of stress. Um, yeah. I mentioned that if they didn't manage to discharge me by Monday morning, I would be attending IEP Round 4 with my IVs still in my veins.)

They were right about my endurance. It isn't pretty. A half hour's worth of physical activity and I'm ready for a nap. In one of life's great ironies, I have a perfect excuse not to run anywhere, and I'm annoyed about it. Where was this about 30 years ago, when every gym class was a nightmare? My donation totals tell me I'm probably going to have to do this, so on I go, maybe a little more slowly. Twelve-year-old me would not approve at all. 

That means it's time for some more thank-yous. Sort of. These are people who knew their donations were pushing me toward the starting line. 

Ginny Reed. My aunt, who is either really supportive of Leah, or found a way to let me know I was never her favorite niece.

Heather Taylor. My athletic neighbor, who offered herself as a running partner. I've played Bunco with both Heather and one of her frequent workout partners from her gym. Cheryl often complained that whenever Heather had a few glasses of red, she devised new, torturous workouts for them. Which means the next time I see her carrying a bottle it's going to be time for some sprints. 

Colleen Sugar. We worked together at The Dallas Morning News, my first job out of college. She was a great colleague. Did I steal too many office supplies from her desk?

Diane Kirk. Diane is a runner herself, an autism mom, and a Health/PE teacher who organizes an autism walk for her freshmen every year and directs the proceeds to TACA. A runner herself, she offered to do this as-yet-unchosen 5K with me. We could do a re-enactment of The Tortoise and the Hare.

Chris Lucey. An old friend from Notre Dame, who lettered in track there. Thank God he lives too far away to watch any of this.

Dan Cichalski. A fellow ex-Observerite from Notre Dame, although he was there with Heather, not me. I expect to see him at the finish line with a Primanti Brothers sandwich.

Seriously, TACA families appreciate your donations. Your help keeps our families moving past hurdles of their own. Our page is still live, until June 30.

Autism is definitely not a sprint

Two things are high on my to-do list this spring: Exercise more, and kick off the fundraising for our Talk About Curing Autism (TACA) chapter. I had a brain wave one day (I know, yikes) and decided to combine the two. So here's my pledge: If I raise $5,000 by the end of May, I will run a 5K in June. That may not seem like much, except that I have spent most of my life avoiding running anywhere. It's usually not pretty when I undertake any kind of athletic endeavor. If you ever took a PE class with me, you know this already. In short, I have found a way to make autism truly feel like a marathon.

So, if you want to make a donation in honor of autism awareness month (or to get a tax deduction before April 15), you can visit our family's page at http://faf.tacanow.org/2013/MD/leah/. If you want to imagine me running around Crofton, grumbling all the way, click on the same link. Also, check back here every now and then. If I have to train for this thing, I will probably be writing about it (and possibly 'wimping and whinging,' as my dad would have said).

BCS = Bloody Charlotte Stores

Heather and I traveled on the same flight to Charlotte before heading our separate ways. I thought the Charlotte airport might be a relief, since Fort Lauderdale was still plastered with ND-Alabama-BCS everywhere, but there was no escape, even a couple of states away.

On the people mover, we passed EA Sports first, with its SEC-centric window and Alabama championship t-shirts on display.

Please, God, let us roll past the Tide.

Next door, we noticed the mannequin in front of this boutique was decked out in Alabama red and houndstooth. 

Really?

When we rolled past the next storefront, I was ready to jump off and place an order.

Where's a bottle of Patron when you need it??

BCS = Big Collegiate Shenanigans

I started this post almost a month ago, and then life, work, and the Manti Te'o shenanigans sapped my blogging motivation. I found this post today, and decided that the game day recap deserved to be finished, as a celebration of Mike's awesome Christmas gift.

Game day was in fact perfect, until about the second play of the game. Things got painful after that, but even the score of the game itself couldn't wipe out the fun of the pregame activities.

We began the day with an early lunch at Primanti Brothers, which Heather and her ND friends Dan and Nate knew about and loved from visits to Pittsburgh, and I knew about through Maddie's love of Man vs. Food. Primanti Brothers sandwiches combine the meat and the sides (cole slaw and fries) between two hefty slices of bread. First order of business after their arrival at our table? Photography, followed by Facebook posts.

Food wins: I could only finish half. The other half was my post-game comfort food.

I followed the crowd and posted mine too, because I figured Maddie would appreciate it. As the others surrendered themselves to sandwich bliss, I briefly considered yanking a few chains by making an 'ick' face after my first bite. I changed my mind when I realized I would probably be dumped in the ocean. Primanti Brothers is no joke. It actually was an excellent sandwich.

At the end of lunch, two more of Heather's friends (and fellow ex-Observerites) arrived from Virginia. In itself, not unusual for a team with a national following. But these two left their houses at the end of the Redskins game the night before (about 9 p.m.) and drove straight through. As Heather put it in her blog post for New York magazine, they "still hadn't slept when they cracked their first Yuengling at our tailgate." No, they didn't have tickets. They just wanted to be there. Since they were the only ones with the fortitude to act like they were still in college, they were heroes.

Hail the conquering heroes: The all-night drivers are on the left and right.

The obligatory I-was-really-there photo.

We got to the Orange Bowl early, and discovered (again) that ND outnumbered Bama by a hefty margin in the parking lots. Taligating skills were on full display. What better way to begin the festivities than to run into Manti Te'o's dad in the parking lot. He was friendly, clearly thrilled to be there, and willing to pose for a picture. One more reason to want the Irish to win, I told Heather. Sigh.

(At this point, I like to imagine that to Brian Te'o, 'catfish' was still something you rolled in batter, deep fried, and ate with tartar sauce.)

Te'o-gating.

I am old enough to remember the ND campus swarming with students in Catholics vs Convicts t-shirts during the height of the Notre Dame-Miami hatred. Heather and I ran in to the 2013 version during our tailgating adventures.

Love it.

We also ran into a dude with a giant beer cross. Or a sword. We still aren't totally sure which. Here is Heather pretending to drink from it:

And me being knighted by it.

Good thing I did this before we ran into the chick with the bourbon shots.

Reunited!

Another highlight of the weekend was the chance to see my roommate, Rachel. Both of us were convinced that we would run into more people from our class. Then we realized we were scanning the crowd for 22-year-olds, and that ain't us anymore. That's a good way to sober up quickly.

And then it was time to go into the game. We all know what happened next. I tried to stay on a media blackout for as long as possible, but Deadspin and Manti Te'o made that difficult.

However, we won the Battle of the Bands. (By halftime, we were already grasping at straws.) But what's not to like about a tribute to Back to the Future?

The Delorean. The Irish Guard is producing the smoke.

ND fans outnumbered Bama in one more way. I'd swear there were more of us in the stadium at the end of the game. A family of four Bama fans in front of us left with about four minutes to go. We ran into another one on the escalator right after the game, and when we congratulated her and asked her why she wasn't staying for the trophy presentation, she replied, "Oh, we've been to three of these, and I have to get back to South Beach." Say what you will about Notre Dame fans; we don't leave.

BCS = Bizarre Clothing Selections

Or rather, 'clothing.'

Anything above the waist in this pic is body paint. There was a similarly painted Alabama dancer nearby. A couple of doors down, a drag queen was leading a bar in shouts of, "We are ND!" Hopefully Father Hesburgh's handlers weren't taking him out for some air on South Beach this afternoon.

In other fashion news, we have seen more skintight gold pants this weekend than I thought existed. On the Alabama side, lots of houndstooth and fedoras to go with all the red, and quite a few diamond-encrusted, cowboy-booted women.

 

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BCS = Bringing Catholics to South Beach

Saturday, January 6

1:00 ish

This town seems ready for us:

I like that Manti looks like he's about to sack McCarron.

Do you think NIU's welcome for the Orange Bowl was this enthusiastic?

2:00 ish

Florida is not considered an intellectual heavyweight state. This is the land of the hanging chad, among other things. Floridians can be quite clever when they apply themselves, though.

Heather and I decided to pay a visit to South Beach, the epicenter of the pre-game festivities. Traffic and parking, while never simple, should probably carry a surgeon general's warning when the area is overrun with ND and Bama fans. After a couple of false starts, and after giving some consideration to a sit-down meal at a swanky restaurant just so we could use their valet, we spotted a small parking garage. We'd driven in before we saw the rates: $40 for up to two hours, $50 for 2-6 hours. Prepaid. Too hard to back out, and truth be told, I think we would have paid twice that to GET OUT OF THE DAMN CAR. And of course we ponied up the extra $10, because we didn't feel like watching the clock. We reminded ourselves that we'd paid $25 each, which we've paid for parking at sporting events, amusement parks, or even city garages. That sounded a lot better. Needless to say, we were determined to stay on South Beach for at least two hours and one minute.

Floridians aren't dumb. They just have different priorities.

Less than two hours, one minute later

It's beginning to feel a lot like the Orange Bowl:

 

We posed for some pix in the fan experience also. If the ratio of blue and gold to red on South Beach is any indication, I expect ND fans to be in the majority in the stadium.

 

We also spent some time in a beer tent talking to a random alum from the 60s who showed us pix of his grandson and invited us to his massive tailgater the next time we go out for a game (which, given my track record of returning to campus, could be in fifteen years or so). Every so often, he turned around and called 'borracho!' to a woman behind us who was buying him drinks because she thought he looked like Jack Nicholson. I think borracho pretty much summed it up for him.

 

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BCS = Best Christmas Surprise

Saturday, January 5

10:30 pm

The elevator at the hotel is slower than my grandfather driving through a Christmas light show. (He REALLY liked to savor the lights.) Before we left for dinner, we let the front desk know our room smelled a bit damp. On our way back in, we were in the elevator with a guy holding Febreze, towels, and a to-do list with our room number on it. He got off on the third floor, dropped the towels off somewhere, and arrived at our fourth floor room, Febreze in hand, at the same time we did. Note to selves: Allow 20 minutes travel time to the breakfast buffet.

9 pm

When I looked over the hotel reservation and started to re-orient myself to Fort Lauderdale, I wondered if the hotel was located near one of our favorite landmarks from our time in South Florida. Every time we took 595 from our place in Plantation into Fort Lauderdale, we could see it from the highway: the mausoleum for the Forest Lawn funeral home. Or, as we reverently called it, The Pyramid of Death. We were not disappointed. It's right across the street.



Hopefully it is not a bad omen for the Irish.

The woman at our hotel check-in brightly inquired whether we are going on a cruise. She looked confused when we told her we're here for the BCS championship game.

8 pm

Lots of BCS signage and welcome goodies at the Fort Lauderdale airport, which appears to have spent much of the last decade under construction, with minimal progress. I rounded a corner into what looked like a mostly-finished shopping area designed to look like a cutesy village and saw this:

As Heather put it on Facebook, "It took me an embarrassingly long time to realize this is an art installation, and not just some sad dude in a strange room." Oh, Florida, I have missed your quirks.

5 pm

The crowd at the gate in Charlotte is sporting a lot of ND blue and gold. I feel like I am traveling incognito because I am not wearing anything with Notre Dame on it. I end up seated next to an older couple wearing everything Bama -- the woman has teased hair, red boots, a prairie skirt, red jacket with Bama boutonnière, and an Alabama diamond watch. I resist the urge to play the fight song, helped by the fact that I have to turn off electronics for takeoff.

Morning

I looked at Mike this morning and said, "I'm probably too old to get away with saying, 'I'm going to the 'SHIP, baby,' aren't I?" Even though I already knew the answer, I was still slightly disappointed when he agreed with me.

In my student days, there were plenty of alums to giggle and roll our eyes at on football weekends. Lots of middle-aged men in plaid pants and ND logos who sometimes wanted to visit their old dorms. I wonder whether the alum stereotype has changed since then. Maybe now the students giggle at people like me, who would not be caught dead in plaid pants, but will be carrying around all the same gadgets they have and trying to act like we're still students.

 

 

 

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Why a cure?

One of my favorite events in May is the autism walk at our local high school. The freshman class earns required service credits, and TACA earns some much appreciated fundraising dollars. I get to put on my official shirt and tell an auditorium full of teenagers about autism during the pre-walk assembly, hopefully in a way that resonates with them after they leave the room.

Arundel High School educates a spectrum of teens with autism, in both the functional life skills program and the general education classes. I knew going in that a few of this year's walk participants have autism themselves, and it made me wonder how they might feel about the word 'curing' in TACA's name. Not everyone loves a group that talks about a cure. Now and then, I'm unfriended on Facebook, or a comment reaches my ears that TACA volunteers are off the wall or simply terrible people. That's fine. I can take it. I wanted this audience to understand one of the basic truths of my life: I can advocate for treatments and even cures and still love my child just as she is. The two coexist just fine.

After introducing TACA, saying my thank-yous, and telling them they are the best class ever (as I do every year), this is what I told them:

What do we mean when we talk about curing autism? I'll tell you what it doesn't mean: It doesn't mean taking away the unique gifts some people on the autism spectrum have. Kids with autism are some of the funniest, smartest people I know. Some have gifts in music or in art, or can do cool things that most of us can't. I don't want to take away who they are. But I would love to make it easier for them to sit in a classroom where people are crumpling papers or tapping pens -- all the noises you probably hear in your classes every day -- without wanting to come out of their skins. 

But as you've already heard today, autism is a spectrum. I see some people wearing the light blue walk t-shirts. I've also see plenty or darker blue shirts out there. All of those shirts are blue, but they are a lot of different shades of blue. The autism spectrum is like that too. On one end, we have the people with unique talents. In another place on the spectrum are people who have trouble expressing themselves. 

Imagine for a minute the last time you were sick. You've probably all had a day this year when you woke up in the morning and didn't feel well. Maybe you had a sore throat, or the flu, or a stomach bug. You wake up in the morning and you know you can't go to school. What's the first thing you do? You come downstairs, tell your mom or dad, 'my throat hurts,' 'my stomach hurts,' 'I have the flu,' 'I have the West Nile virus.' 

But what if you can't talk? What if you don't have the skills to express how you're feeling? How will you let people know you're sick? If you have autism, and you can't talk, the adults in your life probably use a lot of picture schedules and checklists to tell you what you need to do every day. Even while you're feeling like you might throw up within the next two minutes, you have someone waving something in your face, telling you it's time to brush your teeth or it's time to do math, when all you want to do is curl up and wait to feel better. Imagine how you might react to that. You might throw that schedule right back at the person who's giving it to you. I know kids who have banged their heads against the wall when they're in pain, or who lie on the floor and cry or scream, because that's what they can think of to do when something is wrong. My daughter can talk, but she's not good at telling me how she's feeling. Sometimes I can't tell that she's sick until she gets upset. That's hard for me to deal with, but a million times harder for her. 

As freshmen in high school, you've probably all had a lousy day at school before too. Maybe when you arrive home, you tell one of your parents about this kid who was messing with you, or that teacher who yelled at you. Your parents probably try to find the right words to comfort you, but as a parent, I can tell you that inside they're sad. It hurts them too because they love you.
I can also tell you that if and when my daughter is able to do that with me, inside I'll be cheering. I will try to say and do all the right things to comfort her, but if you hear the sounds of a party coming from Crofton, that will be me. Not because I like seeing my child unhappy (I don't), but because I will know that we have found one of the biggest pieces of our autism puzzle. If she can tell me when something is wrong, my job to keep her safe, healthy, and happy just got a whole lot easier. Those are the things we need to cure.

I'm not trying to create a cookie-cutter child, or the prom queen or the class president. I'll settle for a long conversation. I talk with doctors and specialists and other parents because in the end, I want to talk to my daughter.

My nephew thinks I have an eating problem

During my visit to California in January, Liam insisted that my lap was the best seat at the table, and decided he needed to help me finish my dinner.

Fantasy Football 2010: It's On!

With half an hour to go to our draft, unsurprisingly, Mike is perusing the preseason stats and I'm searching for the perfect team name and logo. Perhaps that is why he is the defending league champion and I barely made the playoffs.

This year's team will be referencing The Hangover. I've christened us Not Up In Here! (One of my fave throwaway lines from the movie.) My main reason for boring our handful of blog readers with a fantasy post is that I need a url for my team's logo.

Guess I'd better pick some players now, huh? I hear Ben Roethlisberger is set to have a great season!

Why I love Craigslist

Every so often, I advertise for home program therapists on Craigslist. I've found some very good people through my Craigslist ad, which very clearly states (this will be important later) that I'm looking for someone to work with my autistic daughter and gives a brief summary of our program and the hours needed.

I'm usually able to triage my respondents pretty quickly -- the ones who look great on paper; the ones who look okay, which means they may be great in person or total duds; and the ones who should not have bothered to reply to the ad. Sometimes I'm wrong -- crappy applicants can come in some very good disguises. In the past, I've had one show up an hour late for an interview, and a few not show up at all. Another one had great credentials on paper, but virtually no personality when she arrived. She cut the interview off early, citing a family situation, said she'd follow up with me, and I never heard from her again. Which was fine, since our conversation would have revolved around me telling her I'd hired someone else.

This go-round has been notable for a few hilariously bad initial responses:

Hi.. So i was looking around and i saw your ad, I was curious if this was still for sale? Let me know! Thanks

Although I freely acknowledge I have occasionally been tempted to sell all three of my children to the highest bidder, I assure you I have never acted on that impulse.

Hi, Your ad is just want i wanted, but does this work 100% properly? Please contact me soon! Thank You

I checked, and I did not inadvertently substitute the words "refrigerator we just replaced" for "home therapists."

Dear Hiring Manager:

I am actively seeking a job as an Instruction Designer. I am an accomplished and quality-focused individual with years of experience and strong track record as a professional. Throughout my career I consistently establish integrity, quality and professionalism to provide organizations with broad array of services.

Although economical and environmental factors have not provided the job security I seek, it has provided me with a well-rounded history of organization, management, and solid knowledge base within my employment history.

Through a balanced combination of know-howe, I offer a demonstrated ability to exceed expectations from business and quality service perspectives. I believe my solid experience, expertise, education and character will make me a very suitable candidate for the Instructional Designer position.

My resume can only go so far in detailing what I can bring to your organization. This is why I believe it would serve us best to meet personally, in an interview, to discuss your needs and to demonstrate how I can add to your bottom line through my skills, expertise and experience.

Again thank you for your time and attention. Thank you in advance for considering my value offer. I look forward to our conversation.

Insert jokes about our bottom line here. I was curious, so I opened the resume attachment. Here's the summary:

Perceptive, creative, and disciplined business leader, expert in tackling the complex challenges of driving continuous improvement. Has an outstanding track record in identifying and analyzing uncertainties, risks, and opportunities that generate future growth, and tailoring business solutions through traditional and innovative avenues. A change agent, resourceful and inventive, acknowledged for elevating revenues, boosting team performances, and creating an environment of achievement for management and staff.

I wouldn't mind elevating my revenues, but at this point I was wondering what was up on Craigslist -- a server snafu, or an unusual number of people who can't read? I did receive a good number of responses from people who actually seemed to know what the ad said.

This one was my favorite:

Sup?

I got your ad on Craigslist
I am going make this message

short and sweet.
If you're interested to make a 'lil bit money on the internet,
then look at this page called: XXX

I am not going to bore you with a bunch of facts...
But, I will tell you that it will help.
Pretty much you bid on things,
and then resell it for more. The website is cool!
You can get a iPad there for like 1 to 2 dollars.

I'm bringing in around an extra $250 a day
just by selling the items I get on the
website and putting it on e-Bay.

Tell me how it goes!

Right in the trash, my friend.

I am interested in your ad. I am preschool teacher with Bachelors Degree in Elemntary Education. I have no previous expereince working with autistic children but it sounds interesting andc after I checked bfiefly the progam you mentioned you are using I think it would be great learning axperience.

I live in XXX. If you are still in search of a person to work with your girl please feel free to contact me with some more details as how namy hours a week/ month would you need and the kind of activities expected, is there a set curriculum or you just work on skills needed at the moment?

Spelling. Lots of spelling.

The last one could be a candidate for Teacher of the Year, but I allow one typo before I stop reading. If I were a career counselor, I would nag all of my clients to write their cover letters as though they were corresponding with someone with a nasty copy-editing habit. I would also advise them to read the ads they're answering.

Debating the really important questions

Because I have about 15 other things I should be doing, I have instead decided that there is no time like the present to settle a key question in my life: What to name my fantasy football team.

Last year, I looked to the NFL itself for inspiration and named my team Ricky Williams' Stash, in large part because I could then use the following image as my team logo:


Unfortunately, my fantasy team was much like Ricky's career: High hopes, but ultimately a bomb. I decided mistake #1 was my namesake choice.

In my sophomore season, I am looking across the pond for inspiration. What better source than Monty Python and the Holy Grail? Lots of humor possibilities whenever my team arrives at the bottom of the league. Because, let's face it, I am in this for trash talk and self-abuse. I am much more likely to spend time geeking out over my team name than I am over draft-day possibilities. Which is undoubtedly why I was invited back.

Plan A in my quest for the fantasy grail was to name my team the English Pig-Dogs, because who can resist using this as a logo:

But as I searched the web for pictures of French taunters, two other options presented themselves.

Plan B is the Killer Rabbits. Movie counterpart was badly underestimated, and this team is definitely off the fantasy radar. Drawback: The rabbit turns out to have nasty, sharp, pointy teeth. If my team turns in the same toothless performance as last year, the logo won't be so appropriate by about October. Big plus, though, is a poster-worthy logo possibility:


Or this:


(Admit it. Part of you wants to see a killer rabbit design on an NFL helmet.)

And then Plan C began to form. The Black Knights. The beauty of this one is that the logo could change throughout the season. I can start out with all four limbs and some 'None Shall Pass' trash-talking (which means I'd better draft a decent defense).


And then I can begin amputating limbs as my team's fortunes fall:


I could even end with this, when all hope is lost:


Small downside: less meaningful if my team turns out to be decent. Hey, that's why they call it fantasy football, people.

Opinions welcomed from the two or three people who will read this on Facebook. So little time, so much procrastinating ...

Our 15 minutes

Just realized I never posted the text of the TACA article from the Annapolis Capital:

Parents with autistic children reach out to help each other

By THERESA WINSLOW, Staff Writer

Published 07/09/09

Six years ago, Alison Hamilton's life was in turmoil.

Her oldest daughter, Leah, was just diagnosed with autism, and she'd just given birth to twin girls.

"It was devastating," she said earlier this week. "And I couldn't help thinking, I had these two gorgeous new babies … what if it happens to them, too?"

Luckily, her twins are OK, and Leah's made a lot of progress with the help of providers and advice from other parents with autistic children.

And now Hamilton's trying to return the favor by helping to start a local chapter of the support group Talk About Curing Autism (TACA). The chapter, which is one of 24 throughout the country, serves both Anne Arundel and Montgomery counties, and has meetings in both regions.

Since March, there have been two meetings in this area, and another is scheduled for 6:30 p.m. Aug. 30 at 130 Lubrano Drive in Annapolis. The group also holds more informal "coffee talk" sessions, one of which is set for 7 p.m. July 30 in the cafe at the new Whole Foods in the Annapolis Towne Centre.

"I want to pay it forward," said Hamilton, 38, of Crofton. "There is no single road map, and that's where it can help to network with people. The networking has made a huge difference (for me)."

The initial TACA meeting served as an introduction to the group, but some discussion of treatments also arose, she said. The second local meeting featured a physician who sees a lot of autistic children. About 30 people from throughout the region attended each gathering, Hamilton said.

The interest didn't come as a total surprise, but she was pleased by the turnout. Hamilton said she was fairly certain there was a need in this area for TACA or something like it. "We've had some people say, 'I feel like I'm home. I found my group,' " she said. "We're thrilled. We're very pleased."

Denice Rulo, of Severna Park, who has one son with autism and another with Asperger syndrome and also helped form the TACA chapter, said the group can help people navigate through what can be a daunting amount of information.

"It's all about figuring out what's available out there," she said. "(Doctors) say that 'A' word. That's a huge bomb in front of you and early intervention is the key, but they don't tell you what that early intervention is."

Like Hamilton, Rulo said she was helped by other parents and wants to repay their kindness.

"He's come a long way," she said of her son, Jacob, 7, "and I owe it to the moms I've met along the way. We have each other."

TACA members have other resources as well.

Everyone who comes to a meeting gets a free copy of the organization's "Autism Journey Guide," said Rebecca Estepp, TACA's national manager. The 351-page guide is packed with all kinds of information about the disorder, as well as different therapies and diets.

"TACA helps parents 'hands-on' through a variety of ways: support meetings, new parent seminars, parent mentors and a Web site with a live chat option," Estepp wrote in an e-mail.

She added that parents also can call the main office in California for assistance. "TACA aims to give parents real, tangible help as quickly as possible," Estepp added.

Helping hand

It's hard to miss Hamilton's home, thanks to the large puzzle piece hanging from the front door.

The puzzle piece is a symbol for autism, and serves as a kind of calling card for her involvement in the cause. She also has a couple autism stickers on the back of her minivan and an autism-related license plate holder as well.

"It's part of our lives, you know," she said. "I believe in autism awareness, especially with the rising number of children with these diagnoses. It truly is a tidal wave."

Jill Zaukus, of Pasadena, another parent who helped organize the chapter, said one of the most important things the group can provide to families is hope. She said hope is what keeps her going, too, as she faces the challenges of rasing her two autistic sons, Andy and Bradley, 8 and 7.

Like Hamilton, Zaukus said life is a series of constant adjustments, with schedules built around therapy appointments. But both women are resolute in their determination to help their children and other families grappling with autism.

"We keep trying," Zaukus said. "It's not that we don't accept our kids, but we're always striving for more - and that's our hope. There could always be some new therapy, some new treatment."

For more information about the local TACA chapter, visit the Web site at talkingaboutcuringautism.org. There's also a Yahoo group, which has 65 members and is available to parents and caregivers: health.groups.yahoo.com/group/TACAMarylandDC.

For general information about TACA, visit the Web site at www.tacanow.org.

There's only one team we watch in this house ...

Mike loves it when I pull out that quote from Rudy. Thanks to a friend from our local pool, Lauren and Maddie inherited some excellent spirit wear which might send members of Mike's family on a Longhorn shopping spree at Christmas. Perhaps their cheers are helping, though. One of the rallying cries for the season is, "Our Father, who art in Heaven ... please not another 2007." I am reluctant to jinx it by editorializing, so I'll just say I'm pleased that 2008 will not be worse.

Waking up the echoes

Heather and I were thrilled to be present for Notre Dame's first (and sadly, still only) victory of the season. Young Jimmy Clausen maintained his perfect record -- he is now 45-0 in Southern California, as our friend Doug pointed out after the game. While I am a huge fan of The House That Rock Built -- I have many happy memories there of yelling myself hoarse and ducking flying oranges (I was there at the zenith of the Notre-Dame-Miami rivalry) -- clearly Notre Dame should look into renting the Rose Bowl for the remainder of the season. It might also help if Heather and I were to take hiatuses (hiatii?) from our regular lives and follow the Irish, perhaps in a state-of-the-art RV with Onward to Victory painted on the sides in blue and gold. Since ND's only win this season occurred in our presence, it seems it's the least we can do to help the team.

Besides, continued tailgating involving jello shots might produce more pictures of Heather that look like this:

Mike is bracing for divorce papers

No way can I compete with this.