Every so often, people ask me what I’m up to. Obviously, a lot of my time is spent at work, but that leaves many hours for other activities. Some of that time is spent playing hockey (more so in the winter than the summer). Other blocks of time find me playing poker, as seems to be the fad these days. Reading newspapers and books eats up some time, but I’m still left with large sessions of mindless web surfing. Web surfing can be entertaining in the short term, but, much like watching television, it generally isn’t a good way to use up precious recreation time. Well then, what is a good use of those many hours?

An evening college class seemed to be the answer. I wasn’t looking for anything even remotely related to my day job or even my future full-time endeavors. No, I wanted something interesting, exciting, and — most importantly — fun. What topic did I choose? How would I spend countless hours for the next four months? Wait for it…

Firefighting!

A “Firefighter I” course, to be specific.

Of course, there was a huge problem coupled with that decision: I wasn’t sure whether or not people take that type of class on a lark. A conversation with the college registrar allayed my concerns enough to register.

At the first class, I was relieved to see that my fears were unfounded. About two thirds of the 16 students are affiliated with fire departments, but the other five are, like me, taking the class out of independent interest. The median student age seems to be around 22, which adds to me sense of belonging. The teacher is semi-retired from fire fighting (after 25 years) and definitely seems to know what he’s talking about. The course itself is split between lecture and lab, so there’s lots of hands-on practice of the various techniques that are discussed in the classroom. So far, it’s a blast.

Why firefighting? As I mentioned earlier, I think the topic is interesting. I enjoyed playing with the Pike fire trucks. I have a certain [non-malicious] fascination with fire (albeit not quite to the level of a certain pyro). On top of those whimsical reasons is a solidly real one: the physical challenge of firefighting activities provides stark contrast to the posterior-enlarging days of working at a computer.

Why take the course if I’m not part of a department? Due to my living in St. Paul, which is served by career firefighters, I don’t have the option of joining a department on a volunteer (part-time) basis. When I move to a suburban location, I plan to pursue a volunteer position, but that might be many (many!) years away.

Until then, it’s a fun diversion.

I went to my first NFL game tonight.

Courtesy of my sister, I got to watch the Vikings beat the Chargers from the third row at about the 10-yard line.

I have been to the Metrodome many times to watch baseball, but the crowds were always light at those games (maybe 25,000 fans). The Vikings game was different: the house was sold out, and 60,000+ rancorous fans were packed inside. The vibe was much more energetic. Now I understand why people get so excited about going to football games; it’s not just the game itself, it’s also the experience.

Still, none of it can compare to a being at an NHL game. The energy and action of hockey can’t be beat.

Late Saturday afternoon, I was sitting at my computer when I got an instant message from a girl I knew in high school:

• [stacy]: hey keach, are you going to this shindig downtown tonight?
• [me]: which shindig would that be?
• [stacy]: the class reunion that surbhi organized
• [me]: didn’t know about it

Prior to that moment, I wasn’t sure if I would go to my five-year reunion. However, in the face of being asked directly by a good friend, I couldn’t refuse.

The actual reunion was held at the Shout House, which is a dueling piano bar. That was both good and bad. The place had a lot of energy, which was good. Unfortunately, it was extremely loud, making conversation quite difficult, which was bad for a reunion.

Nonetheless, I had a number of good chats. One person, my high school class valedictorian (who also happened to be voted “most likely to come back and teach” in our senior yearbook), was a high school math teacher for a year before quitting to work at Wells Fargo. A surprising number of people had read my blog, but a surprising number weren’t sure that it was actually mine. How could that be?

They didn’t recognize me.

My appearance has changed quite a bit in the past five years (then vs. now). I’ve gone from glasses to contacts, switched to a new hairstyle, changed the way I dress, and lost some weight (some of which has unfortunately started coming back). With the possible exception of House, I doubt anybody at Rose can grasp the full extent of the transformation. People who haven’t seen me in a while, even people who really should know who I am, have a difficult time recognizing me. One of my uncles was such a person. A good friend that I saw at the reunion was another.

The good friend, who also happens to be named Jeff, was standing outside Shout with his girlfriend when I walked up with a group of mutual friends. They all greeted each other with the usual pleasantries, then Jeff stuck out his hand at me, and I shook it. “Hi, I’m Jeff,” he said, as I said “Hey.” His greeting was insipid but sincere; he genuinely seemed to be introducing himself to me. I wasn’t quite sure what to do, and neither were the rest of my friends, for silence befell the group. A couple of seconds went by before somebody said, “It’s Jeff Keacher!” My friend Jeff took a startled step back and with a red face said, “I didn’t recognize you! You look completely different!”

I briefly considered exploiting my inadvertent incognito at the reunion, Groundhog Day-style, but decided against it.

In hindsight, I’m surprised by how little most of my classmates changed in the past five years. With rare exception, they were just as I remembered them. I think I changed for the better.

Friday night, I played hold ’em at Canterbury. I’d never played there, so Tom and Kyle were at my table to make things interesting by intentionally “donking it up;” in other words, they were being extremely loose and aggressive.

The game was rife with temerity. Wild stuff happened, like Kyle going runner-runner to make a straight flush on the river, which left the guy who made his ace-high flush on the turn rather annoyed. That was crazy, but it didn’t compare to what happened next.

The table eventually discovered that the three of us knew each other. A guy to my left asked how that could be. My reply, “College,” prompted another question: “Which college?”

At that point, I went into my normal I’m-from-this-little-college-that-you’ve-never-heard-of routine. “A small college in Indiana,” was my response. Immediately, he dug deeper: “Which one?” “Rose-Hulman.”

Silence.

“Seriously?” he asked. Well, of course I was serious. If I were going to lie, why would I pick an obscure institution in the middle of nowhere? He continued, “I graduated from Rose twenty years ago.” It was my turn to be stunned silent.

It turns out that the man to my left was Alan Carty, an ME who now owns a company called Automation Resources, Inc. He also runs a recruiting services company called Automationtechies, which is related to a second coincidence: Alan had communicated with Kyle in the past in an effort to find a Rose undergrad to fill a position, but the two had never met face-to-face.

We chatted for a while about the usual Rose things. He was particularly interested in the search for a new president; perhaps it was the recruiter in him shining through. We touched on the stereotypical Rose grad; he didn’t think he fit that mold. He talked about time flying by and having his own daughter in high school; that amused the guy to my right, who had just turned 18 an hour earlier. Good stuff.

It’s funny how chance led to that meeting. Certain cards fell for a certain player that caused him to leave the table at a certain time. I happened to join at just the right time due to my following Tom and Kyle to the table that happened to have three open seats. Alan just happened to be playing well enough to be at the table when I arrived. The conversation just happened to turn to college. It all worked out.

That was the first time I’ve met a Rose alumnus at random, but I’m sure it won’t be the last.

Today, I met the founder and the CEO of the company that I work for. The 55-year-old Fortune 500 company. Of course, when I say “met,” I really mean “shook the hands of,” but it was still a neat experience. It’s not often that lowly engineers get to meet either of those people in a corporation with a $66 billion market cap.