Thursday, 7/31

First things first.

Last night, I do believe, was a success--

I don't know the exact number yet, but I'm guessing we had somewhere in the neighborhood of 300-ish people joined us last night for “Happy Hour—The Legendary Bars of Marquette and the Stories You May (Or May Not) Remember”. To a person, they seemed to have a good time, and I spent probably half an hour afterwards listening to even more stories that people didn't seem to mind sharing.

That was cool. I think we should do it again, if I must say so myself. Especially because they were actually people who took advantage of the fact that the entire stroll was within Marquette's Social District, and they could get into the spirit of things.

And yes, that pun (probably) WAS intended.

8-)

And second things second—for a tour about bars, especially old ones that were usually filled with a dim haze of cigarette smoke, we had the perfect sky--

Photo courtesy Doug Garrison

Yesterday was probably the second worst day of haze & smoke we've had here this summer (just after the one in June where the smoke was actually rolling in the streets).  I'm hoping the haze & smoke (with an Air Quality Index in the red) didn't cause some people to stay home last night. I mean, I wouldn't blame them. After leading the tour and talking non-stop last night in the haze I woke up in the middle of the night with a bunch of gunk in my throat, and even now my voice sounds kind of raspy.

So, you know, it can go away any day now. Really, it can. Especially because I have a whole...what, day or two with nothing on the schedule? That's rare, and if the smoke would allow me to enjoy the day or two, that would be great.

I mean, I realize it probably won't happen, but a boy can dream, right?

(jim@wmqt.com), dreamer

Wednesday, 7/30

Well, tonight's the night.

Tonight's the night that we unleash “Happy Hour: The Legendary Bars of Marquette and the Stores You May (Or May Not) Remember” walking tour for the Marquette Regional History Center on an unsuspecting public. As I've mentioned, I've had fun sticking this one together, and I'm hoping that fun transfers to what we're doing tonight.

I have a feeling this one may be big, based not only what people have been telling me, but also on the reaction of those who around during the decade from which most good bar stories originate, as evidenced by THIS ARTICLE written by Doug Garrison for “Word on the Street”. There just seems to be something about the bars of Marquette in the 60s and 70s that have this magical hold upon those who could drink back then, and hopefully I was able to put together a show that does justice to all of the stories people have told me.

We'll see. It gets underway tonight at 630, if you wanna join us. And if you wanna get in the mood for the whole thing, check out Doug's article that I linked to above, as well as this one I wrote for the Mining Journal. It might give you a taste of what's to come.

Wish us luck!!

(jim@wmqt.com)

*****

Fisticuffs, Free-For-Alls, and Frenchy

By Jim Koski

Marquette Regional History Center

A few miles up County Road 550 from the Marquette city limits sat a drinking establishment that sparks fond memories from several generations of Marquette County residents...

Snuffy’s.

The bar opened in the mid 20th century as “The Forest Cabin”, an rustic establishment that was planned as “a classy joint”, a place for local residents to hold wedding receptions and baby showers.  The Forest Cabin, in fact, even had its own piano for instances such as those.

However, the club rapidly picked up a different reputation and another name among area residents.  Depending upon which legend you believe, a fight early in the history of The Forest Cabin between either two lumberjacks or between one of Louis Kaufman’s daughters and another individual led one of the participants walking away with an injury that defined the bar for a generation–

“The Broken Jaw”.

Fights at the establishment were common over the next decade, giving The Broken Jaw another nickname, “The Bucket of Blood”.  Tales are still passed around about a fight between lumberjacks and a group of miners, which ended up with the lumberjacks using their logging truck to drag the miners’ car into the Yellow Dog River, as well as a couple who got engaged at the bar, and then after several drinks got into an argument, which led to an engagement ring being tossed into the parking lot.

Both members of the couple, after sobering up the next morning, went back to the Broken Jaw in a search for the engagement ring.  There was no word as to whether or not it was ever found.

But the bar changed both its name and its reputation when it was purchased in 1966 by Donald and Francis Smith.  Donald was a World War II submariner, serving aboard the USS Tuna and USS Redfin, while Frances–or Sis–worked as a secretary for several local doctors.  The couple had been the managers at the Halfway Tavern, near where they had a camp, and were looking to purchase their own establishment.  By then, The Broken Jaw had been closed for several years, so the couple purchased it and reopened it using Donald’s nickname–

Snuffy’s.

Under its new owners, Snuffy’s became a hot spot for music and dancing.  Many local groups were featured at the watering hole, and it also started to fulfill the promise of The Forest Cabin when it first opened, as it became one of the go-to places in Marquette for events like wedding receptions.  For many years, families on a day trip to Sugar Loaf or to Big Bay would stop at Snuffy’s for lunch or to listen to the bands performing.

Then, the 1970s occurred.

Fans of Snuffy’s recall nights like the one where a streaker ran through the establishment, clad only in a snowmobile helmet.  And as the decade wore on, and times changed, the bar adopted a new slogan, one that would define it for the rest of its existence–

“The Place of the Middle Aged Swinger”.

Snuffy’s went the equal opportunity route, hiring both female and male strippers, often performing one right after the other.  The male dancer, a gentleman named Frenchy, even became a bit of a local celebrity, as he told customers he only disrobed to make enough money to buy a ranch in Montana.

Despite the colorful cast of characters and the rich history of the bar, it eventually closed in 1983, the victim of a change in Michigan’s drinking age and of Snuffy’s declining health.  He died a year later, while Sis passed away in 2005.  However, the building that had once housed “The Bucket of Blood” still had two more lives to lead, first as “The Rainbow Connection”, which was opened by Marquette theater impresario Venetia Bolz as an alcohol free teen club.  When that venture failed, it was turned into the Center for Native Americans in Marquette County, used by local groups for pow-wows and gatherings.

The building, which had evolved in use over the decades, was eventually torn down.  Memories of it, however, will linger in the local collective consciousness for years to come.

********

Stories such as this will be the focus of “Happy Hour: The Legendary Bars of Marquette (And the Stories You May (Or May Not) Remember)” walking tour, put on by the Marquette Regional History Center on Wednesday, July 30th.  The walk begins at 6:30 at the History Center, with a suggested $5 donation.  For more information, call the History Center at (906) 226-3571, or visit marquettehistory.org.

Tuesday, 7/29

I hope yesterday's TV piece wasn't too preachy.

Normally, when I do my weekly bits , they're leavened with a great bit of humor. I'd like to think of myself more like Andy Rooney than, say, some angry talking head on any one of a dozen modern day cable networks. But there's something I've been pondering the past few weeks, and I finally had the idea of how to present it without sounding like I was yelling at kids to get off my lawn.

And it was all thanks to Otis Redding. And a guy walking his dog.

I've been trying to figure out how to address the issue of kids on e-bikes, and the problems that they cause. It's a very line line between pondering and admonishing, and for the longest time I wasn't able to straddle it. But then when I went running Friday morning I saw a guy walking his dog and doing something he shouldn't, a word popped into my head, and a little while later, I (think) I had what I was looking for..

Was I entirely successful in not sounding like a crank while still trying to get my point across? Well, perhaps you're the better judge of that than I, so in its entirety, here's Jim as a Cranky Old Man in Training.

With, of course, special thanks to Otis Redding--

(jim@wmqt.com) 

Monday, 7/28

I'm not quite sure what this means. I'm just hoping it's nothing bad.

My annual week of dork-dom—counting license plates from different states in Marquette during the week leading up to “Art on the Rocks”--is complete, and while this is in no way a scientific survey and in no way is an economic indicator, I'm starting to wonder if people are starting to get worried about their finances.

Why? Because (and once again I stress this is NOT a scientifically accurate survey) this past week I saw the third lowest number of plates from different states in the 20+ years I've been doing this.

Over the past week I saw plates from 28 different states, which for most cities would be an incredible number but for Marquette beats only 2008 (the start of the Great Recession) and 2020 (Covid). Like I said, I don't know if this means anything, but in years when the economy's chugging along and people aren't worried about their finances, I can see plates from almost every single US state and a bunch of Canadian provinces.

But not this year.

Conspicuously missing were plates from most of New England and the West Coast, two areas that usually supply a big chunk of the count, plus a large chunk of the southern US. Also missing were any Canadian plates at all. That's only happened once before—during Covid, when Canadians weren't allowed in the US. Now, Canadians don't feel welcome here, and thanks to that, I didn't see any at all during the week.

Like I said, I don't know what—if anything—this all means. One thing I did note that there were a LOT of plates from nearby states—Indiana, Ohio, Minnesota, Illinois, and Wisconsin—which makes me think that maybe people are sticking closer to home these days. The only other state that really stood out on my mind was Arizona, but seeing as how the half of the UP that doesn't winter in Florida winters in Arizona, I'm not too surprised by that.

Once again, I'm not an economist, nor do I play one on TV. Maybe I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time to see plates from the states that I missed, and hopefully, the tourism industry in Marquette is chugging along despite of what I saw (or didn't see). I can't stress enough that this is not a scientific survey; it's just a dork being a dork. That being said...

The number of different states I counted last week was...interesting, to say the least.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 7/24

To quote a great British philosopher...and now for something completely different.

While I have had history tours on my brain the past few weeks (and have been writing about them the past few weeks) I'm thinking of other things, one of them being the fruit that is about to pop into our collective U.P. consciousness any day now--

Blueberries.

A couple of weeks ago I wrote about how I was a strawberry-holic, and my (if this is a word) holic-isms are not just limited to that fruit. Blueberries probably run a close second (or third; I'm still trying to decide where to stick cherries), but that's probably not too much of a surprise. After all, I was born in the U.P., where I seriously do believe that blueberries might be the official fruit of the peninsula.

At least, that's what I talked about on TV this week--

By the way, the crack in there I made about secret blueberry picking spots? That's not a crack. Just ask my dad.

8-)

Because blueberries are so high on my list I'm looking forward to the Blueberry Festival tomorrow. I have the day off, as does Loraine, so we (along with my mom, who comes every year) can just take our time strolling through very single thing blueberry-related and see how much we can eat.

And if that's not the definition of a great day, I don't know what is.

Hopefully, if you're in the area you'll get to check it out, as well. The rain is (finally) supposed to stop, so why not make a day of it. After all, if nothing else, you'll be paying homage to the official fruit of the U.P.

I mean, it must be official. Some dork on TV said so.

8-)

****

As I mentioned, I have tomorrow off (corporate holiday) so there won't be a new one of these. I'll be back Monday with my review of the Blueberry Festival, the final results of my annual weird license plate count, and, I'm sure, more babbling about the “Happy Hour” tour I managed to avoid today (well, at least up until now).

Have a great weekend!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 7/23

Okay.  Now I know how Victor Frankenstein felt.  The monster is starting to come to life. 

With one week to go before my “Happy Hour: The Legendary Bars of Marquette and the Stories You May (or May Not) Remember” tour, it seems to have taken on a life of its own. Both the History Center and I have been fielding questions left and right about it, I'm going on TV tonight to talk about it, I was interviewed for a story about it this past Monday, and it seems like every single person who ever visited a bar in the history of Marquette is thinking of going.

So...yay??

I mean, I am in no way complaining. To have all of these people interested in something I'm doing is a GREAT thing. And, if I have to say so myself, as I'm putting it together I'm thinking it's gonna be a hoot for anyone who joins us. But then there's a practical issue to consider—namely, having to guide however many hundred people show up around downtown Marquette on the same night the Washington Street Market is going on.

I keep joking about this with the crowds as these tours get bigger and bigger, but we'll try our best to make sure no one dies.

Keep your fingers crossed.

Of course, this IS a monster of our own creation, and it probably doesn't help that we keep coming up with different ways to promote it, much like the video below. My pal Emily brought her Steadicam out on the street, I babbled, she edited, and, well, several dozen more people will probably decide to come out to the tour just because we did it.

Yeah...we really have no one to blame but ourselves, right?

Anyway, check out the video and, if you want, join us a week from tonight for the actual tour itself. After all, if I'm going to be leading hundreds of people around downtown, what are a few more, right?

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 7/22

It seems like Loraine and I are becoming Marquette's soccer “Welcome Wagon”.

Let me explain—twice in the past month we have been playing at different Marquette pitches, and soon found ourselves kicking balls around with young people not from the area. A couple of weeks ago, we were at Kaufman, and noticed a young man and his mom just wandering around, looking at everything. We got to talking, and asked Haleel—who's eight and from Green Bay—if he wanted to play with us.

And boy, did he.

As it turns out, his dad was fishing on the Dead River, and Haleel and his mom were just wandering around, and watching us. When Loraine asked if he wanted to join us, he jumped right in, and played his heart out. His mom, as it turned out, played in college for St Norbert—even against NMU once or twice—and when they heard there were pitches right near the Dead they decided to check them out.

A half an hour later, Haleel was exhausted. But, according to his mom, had the time of his life.

Then Sunday we were at the Wright Street fields, when a couple of kids and their adults popped over with a ball and were kicking it around near us. Noticing that the older of the kids kept looking over at us, Loraine asked if he would like to join us, and that's how we met 7-year old Jack from Ontonagon and his aunt Ali, from Grayling--

Jack had just moved to Ontonagon with his parents, and had to pull out of the youth team with which he was playing. I'm guessing that's why he was with his aunt and another cousin at the pitch, and when Loraine saw he was looking at us and asked if he wanted to join us, you can tell he wanted to. Jack, I must add, has a wicked right foot, and knows where to place the ball.

I hope he gets to keep playing, because he really does have some talent in that foot!

It's funny; I think Loraine and I get as much of a kick out of having these young people join us as they get playing. Both of these events occurred just as we were winding down a hard workout, and having the chance to just “play” was quite fun. Plus, you could just tell by the way the kids were looking at us that they really wanted to join, and I'm pretty sure the adults they were with got a kick out of it, too.

And if they went home with the thought in their heads that Marquette's filled with friendly people and amazing opportunities that just pop up without any warning; well, glad we could do that, too.

After all, it's now apparently part of our job as official members of Marquette's soccer “Welcome Wagon”.

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 7/21

I wonder what the 12 year old me would think of me today?

I'm sure the 12 year old me would think of a couple of things, the first being that the me of today is really, really old.  Heck, the me of today thinks I'm really, really old, so that's something the two of us have in common.  But another thing might cause the 12 year old me to be shocked.

When I was a kid—6, 12, whatever--I was a kid who was not an athlete at all.  I couldn't really do anything well.  I had no muscle or no coordination.  I was tall & skinny and a dork.  I would rather read a book or watch “Lost in Space” than try to do something physical.  And, to be a stereotype, I was always the last person picked for a team.  One of the happiest days of my life was when I was in eighth grade and found out that I since I was in a band class I didn't have to take a gym class anymore.

That day was heaven on Earth.

Flash forward a bunch of decades.  Yesterday I spent 45 minutes in the morning lifting weights.  Then Loraine and I went out and played soccer for almost two hours.  And because I'm not enough of a glutton for punishment, I then rode my bike out to my sister's grocery store and back, a total of about 12 miles.

And that was just one day.  

I don't know what's changed over the years.  I think it's a combination of a lot of things, including me growing into my body, the fact that I married an actual athlete (who was actually on sports teams in her youth), and enough passage of time to erase the trauma of being picked last for every single thing.  No matter what the change, I think the 12-year old me would be flabbergasted by the way he's changed over the years.

Now, I'm not in any way an elite athlete.  I can't set records, and I'm sure that if you put me next to an elite athlete I'd probably perform much like I did when I was that 12 year old kid.  But I'm actually okay with that now.  I'm not big into competition with other people.  But I try to compete against myself.  I strive to be a little faster or ride a little farther or lift a little more than the previous time.  I'd like to think I don't suck quite as much as I did way back then.  And unlike all those decades ago, at an age when many of my contemporaries are slowing down, I actually seem to be speeding up, and I'm having fun doing what I do.

That's probably the biggest thing about which the 12 year old me would be astounded.  But I'm guessing he would be astounded in a good way.

A really, really good way.

Tomorrow--the story of the unique friends Loraine and I have made out on the soccer pitch.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Friday, 7/18

Well, I have to keep up my credentials as a dork SOME way, right?

For the umpteenth year in a row I'm about to count license plates. For those of you who haven't been reading this forever, every year during the week leading up to Art on the Rocks I keep track of how many states and Canadian provinces are represented by license plates in Marquette. I don't know how it started or what I hoped to accomplish by doing this; all I know is that I've been doing it forever.

And aside from being a dork, I can't figure out WHY I keep on doing it.

Well, I shouldn't say that. I do it out of curiosity. I do it to see who's visiting Marquette. And I do it as a (very) general gauge of how the country's economy is doing. During years when the economy isn't doing well you can see plates from only 15 or 20 different states. The past couple of years, when the economy seemed be strong, you could see plates from up to 40 or 45 different areas.

Because things are in such economic flux this year, I have no idea what to expect. And that's one of the reasons I seem to keep doing it.

I also do it because I notice things while counting plates. For instance, I can always tell every year when there's either been a newspaper article written about Marquette, or if Travel Marquette has launched an ad campaign in a certain area, if only because plates from those states pop up more than they usually do (like Georgia, for some bizarre reason, last year).

I've also noticed that I've become quite good at knowing which plates are from which states, just by looking. It's easy for many, because they don't change their plates over the years, and after a while you know that New York has orange plates with blue bands, or that Pennsylvania has yellow plates with blue bands. One look, and I know from which states they come. Of course, then you get states like Florida (or even Michigan), which seem to have 22 different plates in 22 different colors, and those are the ones that demand your attention.

Sometimes, it's not easy being a dork. Really, it isn't!

Over the years, I've also learned that I don't need to look at every single car that passes. For instance, if a pickup truck goes by, odds are that it'll have Michigan plates. Most people, after all, don't take gas guzzlers on vacations. And if a Subaru Outback goes by, odds are it will also have Michigan plates, if only because it's the official car of the city of Marquette. And if you see a vehicle with lots of rust on it or parts trailing off the back of it...well, I can GUARANTEE it'll have Michigan plates on it.

Assuming, of course, the plates haven't fallen off yet.

I'll be curious to see how many I end up with when the week is over, and if I discover any hidden meanings in what I find. After all, I should end up with something OTHER than enhanced credentials as a dork for doing this for so long, right?

Have a great weekend!

(jim@wmqt.com), uber-dork and font of all things license plate related.

Thursday, 7/17

“If elected, I promise to mandate three day weekends for the months of July and August.”

Think that would get me a few votes?

8-)

First of all, don't worry. I'm not running for any sort of office anywhere at any time. But after whining about the fact that as of yesterday summer's half over, I decided to do something constructive about it. Well, constructive is perhaps a relative term in this case, but while I was out running this morning I was mulling over an idea that someone could probably use to get themselves elected to office, by law, everyone gets a three day weekend during the nicest months of the year.

After all, we deserve that, right?

It's probably a better idea on which to run than the other I once espoused, when I said that if I ever ran for something like the Marquette City Commission I'd work to ban dogs pooping in public. I can see why that one wouldn't get someone elected, but a guaranteed three-day weekend during the summer?

I could actually see something like that working.

Now, depending upon where you stand on the economic spectrum I have two arguments to make. If you're a business owner who insists your employees work forty hours a week, that's fine. I would have no problem working four ten hour days to have a three day weekend. But is that really needed? After all, many countries in Europe only have a 32 or 35 hour workweek as it is, and they're among the most productive workers in the world. So for the eight or ten weeks where people would only work four days, businesses could cut out all the meetings that waste time, the gossip shared around the coffee machine, and the busy work that only exists to make a boss feel like they're doing something.

Spend those 32 hours concentrating on work and nothing but work. You might be surprised by the results you get.

Of course, all of this is just a pipe dream. But it's a pipe dream borne out of the fact that we're now in the second half of summer. And what is summer for, after all, if not to enjoy it to its fullest, correct? Now we just need a politician or two to see if that way, right?

(jim@wmqt.com), creator of weird ideas.

Wednesday, 7/16

Hey, you guys—summer is half over.

Let's observe a moment of silence, shall we?

I'm actually kind of serious about this. If you consider summer to be the months of June, July, & August (what weather professionals call “Meteorological Summer”) then noon yesterday, July 15^th, marked the beginning of the second half of the season. 50% of the days of summer are behind us, and 50% still await us.

As of yesterday, summer was half over.  So with that in mind, is it any surprise that temperatures might not even make it out of the 50s in Marquette today?

8-)

It barely seems like summer's begun, at least to me, but it seems like that every year, so I may not be the best person to judge. But the past few years, with everything that's gone on, seem to have exacerbated the situation. Days and weeks blend into each other; you go to bed in early May and then you wake up the next day to find out that it's mid-July.

And you know what that means, right? It means it's gonna snow next week.

Okay; that MAY be a joke. But like I said, the way days and weeks are blending into each other means it's not that long until we wake up one morning to find out that summer isn't merely half over but has somehow made the jump into November. I shudder at the mere thought, but I know it's coming.

So get out and enjoy the second half of summer while it's still here. After all, you don't want to leave anything undone on your summer to-do list, lest you wake up tomorrow and realize it is, indeed, November.

Because you know that IS going to happen.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 7/15

So now, here's your chance to compare and contrast whether something I wrote is a blog or a “Life in the 906”.

Like I said yesterday, the blog I started writing turned into, with my knowing it, a “Life in the 906”. As I mentioned, I thought those were two separate things, but this one, for some reason, wasn't.

Who knew, right?

What follows is the blog I started to write as a blog, and then the TV version that ended up on the air last night. While it changed quite a bit from one version to the other, the basic idea is still the same. And, if nothing else, it shows how creative thoughts in one area take on a life of their own in another.

It's weird that way, I tell you.

So, the version I wrote for a blog--

It's like carrying a little bit of home with you, no matter where you go.

In ye olden days, when a young person left the UP to pursue their dreams they left the UP.  Everything they had that connected them to the UP (with the exception of family, usually) was left behind as they started to build a new life in a different city.  Aside from that aforementioned family, everything they had to tie them to "home" was left behind.

But not any more.

I realized that while making several phone calls and texts to individuals who've left the UP the past few days, and it struck me as...unique, I guess.  Because like I just mentioned in ye olden days (like, when I was making my way in the world) you'd have to leave behind most signs of "home" to start your new life.  But not any more.

Because these days you can take your "906" phone number along with you wherever you may end up.

It was an eye-opener when I called two numbers last week to interview people, one in New York and one in Detroit, and both of those were to 906 numbers.  It's the same with my nieces inn South Carolina & Florida, as well.  They've kept their 906 numbers, and even use them for business

These days, you really CAN take a piece of the UP along with you, no matter where you end up.

In a (very) strange way, our phone numbers have almost become, like Social Security numbers, a part of who we are.  Kids get personal phone numbers now when they're 9 or 10, and by the time they're ready to strike out on their own these numbers have been part of their life for so long that they can't bear to part with them, if for no other reason than it would be a MASSIVE chore to inform all of your contacts, the institutions with which you deal, and every other entity you've used or have ever come in contact with about your new number.

It's 100 jillion times easier to just keep your old, original number for, well, life.

But like I said, that's kind of a cool thing.  That means no matter where you go or no matter what you do in life, you'll always carry a subtle reminder of where you're from with you.  And that way, when someone asks for your number and then wonders why your area code starts with "906", you can tell them.

"906" is home.

And then, here's what I did on TV last night--

As to which one is better? Well, that's up for you, I guess, to decide.  But if nothing else, it shows how an idea for one format can easily (perhaps even without you knowing it) morph into an idea for a completely different medium.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 7/14

I hadn't expected that to happen. Now I'm curious to see if it'll work.

I sat down yesterday to write a blog for today, a blog based on something that had happened to me last week. But as I wrote it, especially as I was starting to wrap it up, I had this nagging feeling, a feeling that turned into a reality-based thought,. That thought?

That I wasn't writing a blog. Instead, I was writing a “Life in the 906”.

Just between you and me, I really didn't know that there was a difference between the two. They're both musings on a topic, they're both written in my voice, and the only difference (at least so I thought) between the two is that one's delivered here and the other's delivered on TV.

Or so I thought.

:Like I said, as I was wrapping up the blog there was just something inside me that started to scream “Life in the 906”, especially as I wrote the last line, and (really) especially as I typed the line “I'm Jim Koski, and that's another slice of “Life in the 906'” instead of typing in the e-mail address that ends each and every one of these.

It's almost like my subconscious was trying to tell me something, you know?

So I scrapped (at least for this week) the “Life in the 906” I was finishing up on another tab in my computer, and switched a few things around in the blog to make it a little more TV friendly. I also had to come up with a new set of graphics, and once done with that sent it along to Kevin so I can do it on TV tonight where, I guess, we'll actually see if there IS a difference between one of these and one of my TV pieces.

I never thought there was. But, apparently, something inside of me thinks something entirely different.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Friday, 7/11

As you may know (or have inferred) July has not been very kind to me, what with work computer issues and number of various sundry getting in the way of my enjoying my favorite time of the year. I'm hoping to alleviate that by taking a few hours off this morning to enjoy (what I hope is) the sun (without the fire haze that's in the air this morning). With that being said, I'm hoping YOU don't mind heading back a few years for a “best of” that echoes what I wrote about on Monday, so that I can get a few things done before (what I hope is) a few hours playing in the sun (without the fire haze that's in the air this morning)..

Hopefully.

Have a great weekend!

(jim@wmqt.com)

*****

(as originally posted 7/13/21)

Have I ever mentioned that I have the greatest dad in the history of dads?

Sure, you may disagree with that statement, preferring to have yours top the list instead of mine, but I'm still standing by the choice. The latest example of how he's the greatest dad in the history of dads lies in cookies I made over the weekend, cookies I would not have made if I didn't have the greatest dad in the history of dads.

And here's how.

One of the things my dad likes to do is to pick berries, which is a good thing for me, seeing as how I like to eat berries. He's been picking strawberries the past few weeks and giving me some of his stash each and every time (because, you know, he IS the greatest dad in the history of dads), and after getting another batch on Friday a thought popped into my head.

I should make cookies with some of them.

So I did. I was playing around in the kitchen when I seemed to have stumbled upon a fairly interesting mix, involving cut up strawberries, chocolate chips, oatmeal (to soak up some of the liquid from the moist strawberries) and whole wheat flour (to soak up even more of the liquid from the moist strawberries). They ended up looking quite nice, having a nice, chewy texture, and, most importantly, tasted quite good. And the dude who picked the strawberries—you know, the greatest dad in the history of dads—seemed to enjoy them, as well.

My only regret is that I didn't make more of them. After all, I was just playing around and didn't want to make a lot, lest they didn't really turn out. And since I (ahem) ate the rest of my stash before realizing how good the cookies were with freshly picked strawberries, well...

That's on me.

Thankfully, I actually wrote down the ingredients I used in the batch, so if I ever want to make them again I can (and, as a side note, you'd be amazed how many times I make things and then can't recreate them exactly because I didn't write down what I originally did). And if I do make them again, I'll know who to thank for giving me the idea in the first place.

And that would be merely the greatest dad in the history of dads.

Thursday, 7/10

The story you are abut to read is true. If there were any names involved, I would not change them to protect the innocent.

Okay. We live in a time that's marked by two things--a lot less personal privacy (especially in the digital area) and a marked increase in targeted data being thrown our way. What happened this past weekend to me is a perfect example. So to set the stage...

Loraine and I are playing soccer, as is our wont during the summer, at the Kaufman Sports Complex in Marquette. I have my phone with me because, well, I just do. As we're wrapping up for the day one of us--and I don't remember who--cracked a joke about a condom, which led to the other one of us mentioning a TV show we just watched that had a condom as a plot point. We then go home and carry on with our weekend.

Later that night, I'm perusing the New York Times on my phone when, all of a sudden, I noticed that a vast majority of the ads popping up between stories are for condoms. I didn't give it any thought at first, but then my mind drifted back to the conversation we had while playing soccer. Curious, I pulled up my subscription to the New York Times on two different laptops. Neither of those had any condom ads on them. But when I went back to my phone, the same website was filled with condom ads.

The only logical conclusion that a logical person could make? My phone was spying on me, heard me discussing condoms, and figured that ads for them should pop up while I was reading the New York Times. The condom ads did not appear on any device OTHER than the phone, which was lying nearby when we were joking about condoms.

I don't know whether or not I should be impressed or scared. Or both.

I guess I'm not surprised by what happened; after all, we seem to live in a digital surveillance state these days. But to think that a device that I carry around with me all day is listening in and making ad suggestions based on jokes? That's scary, especially because I make jokes about all kinds of things, which leads me to wonder if one day soon the FBI will be tearing down my door and leading me away in handcuffs.

And, by the way, if that DOES happen, you now know why.

I checked my phone and, as I thought, had most of the security settings on the greatest levels. Apparently, that's not quite enough to (if this is indeed the case) stop my phone from listening to me. Just to be safe, Loraine and I keep telling each other--within earshot of my phone--that we don't need condoms, just to see if the ads disappear any time soon.

And if they do, we'll have proof positive that my phone, probably like yours, really DOES listen to everything you say.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 7/9

I wonder how many people would recognize the place if they were plopped right in the middle of it?

One of the zillion projects I'm working on this summer is a presentation Friday for the 60^th reunion of the Marquette Senior High School class of 1965, showing just how Marquette has changed in the half-century-plus since they graduated. It's a compare and contrast things, looking at how things have evolved around here (as an example—the Spear Coal Yard to Lower Harbor Park). But while working on it I've started to wonder--

If you took someone who lived in Marquette 100 years ago—1925--and plopped them in the city today, would they even know where they are?

It's actually a serious thought, and one that pops up every once in a while when Loraine and I are strolling through the city. If you took someone from 1925 and put them at the entrance to UP Health Systems, would they even know they're in Marquette? Aside from a few hills, there's nothing they'd recognize—no DSS&A Roundhouse, no Our Own Bakery, not even a visible Whetstone Creek. All they'd see are multi-story buildings, a multi-lane highway, and a bike path where a rail line once ran.

And that's just one place. What would residents of 1925 think of all the coffee places on Third Street? All the dispensaries on the outskirts of downtown? Or even (gasp) all the condos on the lakefront where docks and dirt used to be? Can you just imagine what would be going through their minds?

Assuming, of course, those minds weren't totally blown.

Of course, the fact that things have changed so much over the past century isn't necessarily a bad thing. In many projects I refer to Marquette as a constantly evolving organism. It's always changing, and always growing, which is the sign of a healthy, thriving community. I think that's one thing that people who reflexively oppose any kind of development don't understand.

You can't have the same city you had in 1925, or whenever it was that you were a kid. That world doesn't exist any more. And the city that was built for it wouldn't last (in a healthy way) for very long.

After all, a lot of change takes place in 100 years. It's a statement with which I'm sure any one of those mythical visitors from 1925 would agree.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 7/8

I think it turned out pretty well. At least, I hope it turned out pretty well.

This week's TV piece was both a joy and a challenge to write. It was a joy because it was one of those ideas that came to me in a flash, and as I was writing it the gags and the ideas easily flowed onto the page. It was by the time the flowing was done that the challenge presented itself--

As originally written the piece would be about four minutes long. And since I only have two minutes each and every week, you can see where the challenge came from.

Over the past few months I've actually gotten pretty good (if I must say so myself) when I write these the bits. For some bizarre reason, when I first write (most of) them they're quite close to the two minute mark. Unfortunately, that was not the case this week, as I discovered to my horror the first time I read through it. That meant there was a big editing job ahead of me.

That also meant that a lot of the gags had to go.

I usually don't mind the edits I need to make after I've written the first drafts of the pieces. After all, like I said, when I originally write them I just let the thoughts flow, and quite often a thought that made sense when I was typing it often needs more context or less verbiage to make sense when spoken. In all honesty, whatever quality these pieces have is, in large part, because I edit my original thoughts to make them more coherent.

So I really don't mind doing it.

But when you have to remove almost half of a piece; that's when it could start to get tricky. Sure, you can tighten things up and sure, you can even take a thought or two out. but to get rid of almost half of it, while still retaining both the original thoughts you wanted to convey and the jokes you wanted to use to prove that point...well, that's when it gets a little tricky.

Of course, if I did what I was hoping to do correctly, you would have no idea that I removed almost half the words. So check it out for yourself, and see if I did indeed do it correctly--

Hopefully, the points I wanted to make were still there, even if most of the jokes I wrote to make the points were cut.

(jim@wmqt.com), editing machine.

Monday, 7/7

Hi, my name is Jim, and I'm a strawberry-holic.

This time of the year, my “addiction” becomes readily apparent. During the just completed Fourth of July weekend I've had strawberries for breakfast on some days, for lunch a couple of those days, and during dinner (or for an evening snack) every single day since, I believe, last Thursday. It's that time of the year, I guess, when my dad will either pick the berries himself or, like this year, have someone pick up a quart or eight.

So maybe I'm not the ONLY strawberry-holic in the family.

I can't explain my addiction to strawberries, other than to say I've had it for as long as I can remember. Unlike my dad, who loves picking any kind of berries, I've only been out gathering strawberries once, and that's when I was a young kid and my parents took me out to pick. I don't believe I did a very good job; in fact, if I remember correctly, I ate more than I actually put in the containers.

Of course, the best part of that story is the fact that after I spent the entire morning eating strawberries instead of picking them, we went out to lunch where the only thing I ordered, if I remember correctly, was a strawberry shake.

What can I say? Even as a kid, I guess I was kind of, uhm, special.

I think the reason I go so gaga for strawberries this time of the year is that they're fresh. They taste like strawberries. You know they've just been ripped from the ground, and they taste that way, unlike some of the packaged strawberries you can get during the winter. I mean, sure, I'll eat those, because they're the only strawberries available, but I know that they're not as good as the strawberries you get in June (or, this year, July). I look forward to them every year, and often find myself binging on them, as I'm doing this year. After all, strawberries have one of the shortest shelf lives of any fruit or vegetable, so it's either use 'em or lose 'em, right?

And I know which side of the eating equation I'd rather be on!

So if you happen to see me in the next week or so and my lips are redder than usual or I have seeds stuck in my teeth, just remember I'm feeding my addiction to strawberries. After all, I need something to fixate on now that the lilacs are gone, right?

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 7/2

Is there anything worse than waiting (and waiting, and waiting) for a call from Tech Support?

I actually have a legit reason for asking, as I spent three plus hours yesterday waiting for a call back from the company that does tech support for our automation system at the station. Over the past week and a half we've been trying to make the system air a national show every evening, but all we've been able to do is (basically) have five hours of dead air on any given night.

And no one really wants to listen to radio with no sound. It's just not...right.

Because we're heading into the holiday weekend I decided to scrap any attempts to keep trying, and redid every single log that I had put together for the weekend, minus the programming to tell it to try & air the national show. Only...

The computer didn't like that. It had everything I programmed into it PLUS the satellite stuff. And when I tried deleting the satellite information the automation system responded by deleting an hour's worth of music instead of an hour's worth of satellite stuff.

It's almost like it was mad at me or something.

So yesterday when I got into work I put in a call to tech support, seeing if there was a way to just delete the old programming and start fresh with new stuff. Seems simple, right? But guess what wasn't? They didn't get back to me until almost 2, but at least they were able to figure out what the problem was—with just deleting a log, and not why the evening show would work—and for the weekend, at least, I can now not spend every single hour of every single day making sure there's something on the air.

Because, believe it or not, that doesn't sound like the best way to spend a holiday weekend, does it?

We'll see how it turns out, so keep your fingers crossed, if you would.

*****

On that note, I now (hopefully) have the next four days off because of the holiday. Have yourself a great extended weekend, and stay when when it comes to fireworks. After all, no on likes to pick up the unfortunately nickname of "Stumpy", right?

8-)

Back Monday!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 7/1

It was a chance to share a weird fact AND make a point. How could I turn that down?

With the Fourth of July coming up, I figured I would use my TV piece last night to share an ongoing concern of the Marquette City Police; namely, how too many people bring their own fireworks down to Lower Harbor Park and set them off before the real fireworks show.

It's been a problem the past couple of years, and there have been people getting hurt because of it. I did not, however, want to sound like I was delivering a lecture on the subject (not only is that boring, but people tend to get a little irritated while being lectured to), so I came up with a fun fact to make my way into the topic.

And aside from being fun, it's true, and it blew my mind. You can't ask for much more than that from a fun fact.

So just what was the fun fact, and how did it tie into the message of not bringing (and shooting off) fireworks when heading down to Lower Harbor Park Thursday night? You can find out my watching THIS--

Let me know if I got the point across, and if you think the fun fact was fun enough to blow your mind. After all, it did mine.

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)