Test 2

So, I got this email in my work-related account the other day. My immediate reaction was concern, because PayPal = MY MONEY.

While I do have a PayPal account, it is not associated with my work email. So that was my first clue that this person needs to step up their phishing game.

Upon closer inspection, I noticed that the writer of this message has no concept of capitalization. Just look at the first full sentence:

Your PayPal Account has been temporarily Locked!

Why were “account” and “locked” capitalized?

And don’t even get me started on the broken grammar and poor spelling:

We detect unauthorized Login Attempts to you PayPal Account from other Ip Adress.

Yikes.

Beter luck nxt Times, terible phshing Person.

For months, I have been working on the LionPATH project for Penn State. This is the enterprise student system that will be replacing the legacy system that the University has used for more than 30 years.

LionPATH went live in mid-August, which was an achievement for sure, but initially we were only collecting applicant data. We hit a major milestone last week when we produced the first admission decisions in the new system:

That’s the first pile of offers of admission to Penn State.

That is my fantastic colleague Caley, modeling the very first offer of admission latter that was produced from the system.

“So what?” you say? “What’s the big deal?”

The project has been going on for nearly two years (even though I joined up a couple of months ago), and it has taken lots of great folks a LOT of hard work to get this thing up and running.

So, this is merely a self-congratulatory post because I think that it is pretty friggin’ awesome that this thing works – and works well (so far)!

I was on the teevees the other evening as part of Dr. Eric Barron’s “Higher Education in Focus” program. We chatted about Penn State’s application and admission processes.

…and I was the only one wearing a bowtie. BOOM.

Dad. Why did you need SOOO MANY drill bits? These are only the ones that I kept!

Upside: I now have a working table saw, drill press, belt sander, and a ton of other stuff. WHO WANTS TO BUILD A BAR?! This guy does!

Dad. Why did you need SOOO MANY drill bits? These are only the ones that I kept!

Upside: I now have a working table saw, drill press, belt sander, and a ton of other stuff. WHO WANTS TO BUILD A BAR?! This guy does!

A peek inside of an Instant Message conversation between The Wife and I had recently:

The Wife 2:23 pm: phew The Boy got a 91.38% on his math test today

Admissions Dude 2:23 pm: NICE. Attaboy!

The Wife 2:23 pm: this access [to his academic record via an online portal] is addicting

Admissions Dude 2:23 pm: haha... *thump, thump, thump*

Admissions Dude 2:24 pm: that’s the sound of your helicopter blades

The Wife 2:24 pm: he’s 12

The Wife 2:26 pm: it’s going to go like this:

• 12 years old = helicopter,
• 13 = toy heliopter,
• 14 = paper airplane,
• 15 = occasional snowflakes,
• 16 = sprinkles, and
• 17+ = special ops helicopters that only come when called upon

Admissions Dude 2:24 pm: hahahahaha
"special ops"
BRILLIANT

The Wife 2:24 pm: well thank you

She’s awesome. And I’m not worried about helicopterizing my kids – given all of the helicopter parents that both The Wife and I have experienced in our work in higher education. We have made vows to each other that we won’t be like THAT. Hopefully.

So yeah. This happened.
100 miles were DESTROYED today in the Tour de Chocolatetown (http://tourdechocolatetown.com). Actually, because I took a wrong turn and went a few miles out of the way, my total distance was just under 104 miles.

When I woke up this morning and was prepping for the ride, I could not eat much breakfast because I was so nervous. I have never gone this distance (my previous personal best was 60 miles). Would I get leg cramps? Would I be able to finish?

The answers to those questions are a resounding ‘no’ and 'damn right’.

Made some repairs to my cycling shoes prior to the big ride on Sunday. I hope that the “crazy glue” holds the toes…

Yesterday’s 50-miler. Pictures of my bike leaning on things.

It might not be what you would expect, but this is what success looks like.

*mic drop*

A college friend sent this to me on the Faceblast. My day, made.

A college friend sent this to me on the Faceblast. My day, made.

55 mile ride. Pictures of my bike leaning on things.

Testing. Testing. 1, 2, 3... IT’S ALIIIIIIIIVE.

(green = the process is working)

If you had told me that today I would be pouring over Pennsylvania education legislation to update office policies and procedures, I would have called in sick.

Dad, looking fierce

So, it’s been a year since my dad passed away. Yeah, it’s been a year already.

May 30th, 2014 he was riding his motorcycle and another driver accidentally hit him. The coroner told us that he was likely killed instantly which, as you might imagine, was little consolation in the immediate aftermath of the accident.

Here is what I’ve learned in the 52 weeks since he died.

1. It never goes away, but it does get easier. I love my dad very much and miss him. Every day. In the past year my family, particularly my kids, have accomplished a great many things. My dad would have been extremely proud of his grandkids and their talents. It hurts to know that my kids won’t have their “Popeye” (that’s what they call him) watching at their ballet recitals or soccer games.
   
   Currently, we are in the process of selling our home and buying a new one. There are so many projects or situations where I would have loved to have sought his advice. Instead, I have to settle with trying to imagine what stellar wisdom he would have imparted to me (and I guarantee that it would have indeed been stellar).
   
   All of that said, for me the pain has gotten more and more dull as time has gone by. In the weeks and months of last summer, particularly the first two or three months immediately following his passing, it didn’t take much to bring tears to my eyes. Now, while I still think of him everyday, I don’t get nearly as emotional. At least, not as easily. Life goes on.
2. Love of family is strong. Support from family is essential.
   
   This is an easy one, plain and simple. I don’t know where I would be if it weren’t for my family. The love of those around you can quiet the angriest and most violent of storms.
3. Forgiveness is easy for some, and more difficult for others.
   
   I won’t go into the long, long version of the story. Suffice it to say the individual who hit my dad was a teenager. Immediately, there were accusations of, “they were probably texting” or “stupid kids were goofing around and not paying attention”. After two separate investigations, one by the Pennsylvania State Police, another by our family attorneys, all evidence points to the accident being just that: an accident. I have come recognize this and have forgiven the other driver. However, there are still those in my family who are in the anger stage of the grief process, and show no discernible signs of progress anytime soon.
   
   But that’s okay. Everyone grieves differently. I made peace with the whole situation in a relatively short amount of time. This doesn’t mean that I had/have it any easier than the next member of my family, it just means that we process these things in different ways.
   
   However, my fear is that those family members who are still angry and want “justice” for my dad’s accident will think that I am being too soft on the other driver. I’m afraid that people will think that I am somehow not as sad as I should be over his passing. This is simply not true.
   
   On the contrary, I don’t want to dwell on negative things like punishment for the other driver involved. In fact, in the days immediately following the accident – when details were still sketchy at best – I vividly remember thinking, “man, this teenager now has to live the rest of their life knowing that they killed another human being.” That is a heavy burden for anyone to carry, but especially for a teenager. Being angry and getting “justice” for my dad won’t bring him back. It is what it is. Oh, it sucks, but as I said earlier, life goes on.

I miss my dad terribly, but I know that wherever he is, he is happy. That notion, in and of itself, brings a smile to my face.

Postscript: A big thank you to all of those who have written, texted, called, emailed, or sent smoke signals in support of my family in the past year. Your kindness is appreciated more than you know.

Dad, looking fierce

So, it’s been a year since my dad passed away. Yeah, it’s been a year already.

May 30th, 2014 he was riding his motorcycle and another driver accidentally hit him. The coroner told us that he was likely killed instantly which, as you might imagine, was little consolation in the immediate aftermath of the accident.

Here is what I’ve learned in the 52 weeks since he died.

1. It never goes away, but it does get easier. I love my dad very much and miss him. Every day. In the past year my family, particularly my kids, have accomplished a great many things. My dad would have been extremely proud of his grandkids and their talents. It hurts to know that my kids won’t have their “Popeye” (that’s what they call him) watching at their ballet recitals or soccer games.
   
   Currently, we are in the process of selling our home and buying a new one. There are so many projects or situations where I would have loved to have sought his advice. Instead, I have to settle with trying to imagine what stellar wisdom he would have imparted to me (and I guarantee that it would have indeed been stellar).
   
   All of that said, for me the pain has gotten more and more dull as time has gone by. In the weeks and months of last summer, particularly the first two or three months immediately following his passing, it didn’t take much to bring tears to my eyes. Now, while I still think of him everyday, I don’t get nearly as emotional. At least, not as easily. Life goes on.
2. Love of family is strong. Support from family is essential.
   
   This is an easy one, plain and simple. I don’t know where I would be if it weren’t for my family. The love of those around you can quiet the angriest and most violent of storms.
3. Forgiveness is easy for some, and more difficult for others.
   
   I won’t go into the long, long version of the story. Suffice it to say the individual who hit my dad was a teenager. Immediately, there were accusations of, “they were probably texting” or “stupid kids were goofing around and not paying attention”. After two separate investigations, one by the Pennsylvania State Police, another by our family attorneys, all evidence points to the accident being just that: an accident. I have come recognize this and have forgiven the other driver. However, there are still those in my family who are in the anger stage of the grief process, and show no discernible signs of progress anytime soon.
   
   But that’s okay. Everyone grieves differently. I made peace with the whole situation in a relatively short amount of time. This doesn’t mean that I had/have it any easier than the next member of my family, it just means that we process these things in different ways.
   
   However, my fear is that those family members who are still angry and want “justice” for my dad’s accident will think that I am being too soft on the other driver. I’m afraid that people will think that I am somehow not as sad as I should be over his passing. This is simply not true.
   
   On the contrary, I don’t want to dwell on negative things like punishment for the other driver involved. In fact, in the days immediately following the accident – when details were still sketchy at best – I vividly remember thinking, “man, this teenager now has to live the rest of their life knowing that they killed another human being.” That is a heavy burden for anyone to carry, but especially for a teenager. Being angry and getting “justice” for my dad won’t bring him back. It is what it is. Oh, it sucks, but as I said earlier, life goes on.

I miss my dad terribly, but I know that wherever he is, he is happy. That notion, in and of itself, brings a smile to my face.

Postscript: A big thank you to all of those who have written, texted, called, emailed, or sent smoke signals in support of my family in the past year. Your kindness is appreciated more than you know.