Tuesday, 6/23

It's going to be one of the five. I just don't know which of the five it'll be.

Seeing as how yesterday was the second day of summer I decided to use my two minutes of TV time to wonder what kind of summer we'll actually have. If you live up here you know that our “summer”'s been all over the map so far, and there's no way to tell what the next two or three months will hold.

So to address the issue I had my “crack team of researchers” (i.e. my demented mind) come up with five possibilities for the season. They're all based in fact; in fact, we've had something resembling them all in the past decade or so. So despite whatever absurd flourishes I may have given them, any (or all) of them could happen in one form or another over the next few months.

I just have no idea which of the five it'll actually end up being.

As I mention in the piece, I'm thinking (at least based on the past few weeks) that a certain one of the five may come out on top. I mean, I'm hoping not, but I'm also realistic enough to know what summer weather is like around here. Hopefully, we'll get a pattern shift in the next few weeks and warm up a little.

Who knows—maybe we can even be like Europe and bake under 90 degree temperatures for weeks on end. I wouldn't mind; I'm guessing, however, that many of you would.

So just what were the five possibilities? See for yourself, and see if you agree with my assessment of the situation--

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 6/22

I think I may have hit a major turning point in my life. For a few brief seconds during this past busy three day weekend, I literally stopped and smelled the roses.

Whoever it was who wrote that song back in the 70s (Mac Davis?) would be so proud.

After the bizarre year that we've been through, and after a couple of days when I literally didn't have a chance to catch my breathe, I started to think. I started to think about priorities, and I started to think about the fleeting nature of time, both short-term and long-term. I mean, here we are, almost the middle of June already. That means there’s what, three months (at the most) of nice weather left before the arrival of the crap we deal with the rest of the year. That means we have three months (at the most) to do things like go to the beach, and to do things like stopping and smelling the roses.

One of my houses between my apartment and downtown has several bushes of roses in their front yard, and over the past few days, they’ve started to bloom. I’ve walked past them many times in those past few days, always catching the lingering scent that rose bushes leave in their immediate area, but until yesterday, I hadn’t actually stop and stuck my nose deep inside one of them.

So I did. And I’m happy to report that I’m glad I did.

Now, roses will never replace lilacs as the greatest smell on the planet. I just don’t think that’s possible. But I do know that like lilacs roses aren’t around for long. They bloom, they smell nice, and then they die. If you don’t sniff them when you have the chance, then that chance is blown. There’s nothing you can do about. You have to sniff them while you can.

And as hokey as it seems, that may also be a perfect metaphor for things like getting out and enjoy the warmth and the sunshine while we can. While it may seem like we have a lot of time to head out and take part in all of our favorite summer activities, that window of time is actually quite brief. I mean, think of how quickly 2026 (an admittedly bizarre weather year) has gone by so far. The year’s almost half over, after all, even though it doesn’t seem like it. Now divide that by quickness by half, because if we have (at most) three months before all traces of summer are gone, that means that we’ve already lived through a span of time this year that’s twice as long as our “summer” has remaining. If the first six months of the year have gone by in the blink of an eye, what will the next three months seem like?

The start of the blink of an eye?

That’s one of the reasons I’m glad I stopped and sniffed the roses yesterday. It’s something I should’ve been doing more of this year, and it’s something that I’ll make sure I do more of as the summer goes on. As far as the going to the beach is concerned; well, let’s just that's one of the things on top of my list to do today.

After all, there’s not a lot of time to waste on that matter!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 6/18

It's nice to know that, in at least one respect, I haven't changed in the past 40 years.

I've always been a night owl; mornings (especially early mornings) are unnatural to me, and in a perfect world the day would actually begin no earlier than, oh, 11am. And I've been lucky in that I've been able to tie my professional life into that time frame, which is why I have never—nor will ever—do mornings on the air.

THAT would not be a pretty sight for anyone involved.

So when I saw that the New York Times' Wellness section had a quiz on your “chronotype”--whether you're a morning person, a night owl, or whatever—I had to take it. You go through a dozen or so questions, and if you're like me, you end up finding out you're a “nighthawk”.

And I think that fits me to a T.

A “nighthawk” differs from an “owl”, which is someone who goes to sleep when the sun rises. And I'll admit I've never been that kind of person. One or two in the morning? Yup; that bedtime fits me perfectly. But even though I spent several years working overnights early in my life I don't think I've ever been what some people might consider a “night owl” (or just “owl” in this survey). After all, I'm not a vampire. I DO like the sun.

I just don't like it at 6 or 7 in the morning.

But like I said—most of my current jobs involve me working afternoons and/or early evenings, and that suits me perfectly. I don't need to wake up before the crack of dawn, and on those rare occasions when I actually have to? I just sit and stare at the wall for minutes on end. But, as the quiz points out, that's one sign of being a “nighthawk”.

I just never knew there was an actual name for it.

Wonder what type you are? Take the quiz yourself by clicking or tapping here.

****

By the way, I have tomorrow (Juneteenth) off, so there won't be a new one of these. I'll be back on Monday, so until then—have a great weekend!

(jim@wmqt.com), nighthawk

Wednesday, 6/17

Don't worry. I'm not turning into a “bro”, or anything.

Heaven forbid.

I did, however, do two things on TV Monday night that I hardly ever do. Or, at least, hardly ever do in public. I wore a jersey and I talked about sports. For those two minutes, I almost felt like a “guy”. But thankfully, when it was over, I went back to normal.

8-)

I joke, of course. Despite the public image I seem to have I DO have an interest in some sports, especially soccer. And now that the World Cup is going strong, I felt it would be a prime opportunity to bust out one of my jerseys and let Upper Michigan in on my little secret. So my TV piece Monday was, basically, “A Yooper's Guide to the World Cup”, describing soccer to people who might not be familiar, and suggested a few countries other than the US for whom they might like to cheer.

The reason I wore a jersey to do it? Well, the jersey itself was one of the gags, if only because the one I wore was pink & purple, and those colors on a jersey are a good reason to cheer for a team, right?

(See? I'm really NOT a guy, am I?)

if you're a fan, I hope you're catching a match here and there. And if you're not, check one out, especially when a country like Norway or Japan is playing. As I said in the bit, you might be surprised by what you see and, maybe, find yourself getting hooked in the process.

You don't even need a pink & purple jersey for that.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 6/16

In some ways it seems like it was forever ago. In other ways, it seems like it was yesterday.

If you haven't completely erased the shock of it from your brain yet, you may remember where you were three months ago. It was three months ago today—March 16th—that our epic three day dumping of snow occurred, an historic storm event that had few equals in history.

You remember, right?

Like you, part of me has tried to block the trauma of the event out of my brain, making it seem like it was something that happened years ago, if indeed it even happened at all. But I've come across a couple of notes on stuff I'm currently working on, stuff I actually started during that epic event because, well, there wasn't anything else you could do for the better part of a week. And that makes me realize that the storm really wasn't that long ago.

Especially when you think that three months really isn't that long of a time span.

We felt the after effects of the storm for weeks; in fact, I have a dude I work with at one of my other jobs who didn't have the last pile of snow in his yard melt until mid May. The cold & the lingering snow caused flowers to bloom later than usual, and some places still have dirt on the streets from the epic amount of it dumped after the storm. Not only that, but I still have the snowshoes sitting in my apartment that I used for two days just to get from my apartment to the station, three blocks away, because that was the only way to get around.

So, yeah. That was fun.

Thankfully, what's passing for summer this year (and, just as a side note, “summer” better get better soon) has erased most immediate memories of that week, consigning it, for most people, to “do you remember?” status. But for people who pay attention to these kind of things?

It all began three months ago today.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 6/15

Does anybody remember when I wrote what follows?

First, let me explain how I came across it. I decided to do something I haven't had the time to do on Friday—cleaning up a few things in my office. Over the 23 years the station's been in Marquette things have, uhm, started to pile up on my office floor, on my desk, and in every nook & cranny you can see (and some you can't). So the past few weeks, for 30 seconds a day, I grab something and see if I need it. If I do, I file it away. If I don't, I toss it. I figure it's a painless way to clean; after all, it doesn't take much time, and at the rate I'm going, my office should be spotless when I'm ready to retire in 20 or 25 years. And it must be working—when a former coworker came over to visit she noticed something was quite strange, and then realized that my office actually has carpeting on the floor, that my floor is not just a collection of cardboard boxes and stacks of paper.

I guess, if nothing else, I'm on the right track.

Anyway, when I was doing my 30 seconds of cleaning Friday I came across a list I once wrote. I have no idea when I wrote the list, nor do I have any idea about the context in which I wrote it, although I'm thinking it might've been during one of those bouts of “Is Jim a Yooper or Isn't He?” that seems to occur every few years. I don't know if I ever used it on the air or in here, although I recognize several pieces of if that have popped up on my TV bits here and there. Like I said, though, I don't know when (or why) I wrote it. All I know is that I did indeed write it, printed it out, and must've promptly stuck it in a wire basket, where it's sat buried under a bunch of other papers (and a thin layer of dust) for an unknown number of years.

So without further ado, here's the list:

SEVEN SIGNS YOU MAY NOT BE A TRUE YOOPER:

7. If you've never—even in a dream—thought about buying a pick-up truck.

6. If, when someone says “hilltop”, you think of a mountain, and not a sweet roll.

5. If you don't salute when you hear the name Vince Lombardi.

4. If you don't own a single piece of clothing in hunter's orange.

3. If you've never gone ice fishing, because you're afraid of cold feet.

2. If you realize the Appleton is NOT the shopping capital of the universe.

And the number one sign you may not be a true Yooper?

1. If you've ever—even once and even by accident—pronounced it PAY-stee

Well, that's the list. Like I said, I'm not quite sure of its date or its origin, so if any of the lame jokes seem familiar; well, maybe you can help me figure it out. I know I'd appreciate it.

See what I get for trying to clean my office?

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Friday, 6/12

The lilacs have started to die.

It's funny, but it only takes a week or two after the most wonderful time of the year starts for the saddest time of the year to begin, the time when the lilac buds start to wilt and fall off their branches.. I know that's the natural life cycle of the plant, but it seems that every year it catches me by surprise. Every year I notice it beginning and silently shout “No, not yet!”.

Still it happens.

This year, it seems a little strange, as well, as right next to plants that are wilting are plants that still haven't yet fully budded. That may add a day or two to the sniffing season, but I'm sure that they will soon go the way of their lilac brethren and start slowly falling off the tree.

Of course, that's what makes lilac season so special. It isn't very long; so you have to enjoy it while you can. It's kind of like the Christmas season; or, at least, the was the Christmas season used to be before radio stations started playing Christmas music in September and that lazy neighbor down the street started leaving their decorations up until July. It's just here for a very short period of time, and you have to cram as much enjoyment into that period as you can.

Because, then, it's gone.

I've heard from a couple of people who've driven past and have noticed me with my nose stuck in a lilac bush. They almost seemed surprised that I like lilacs as much as I say do when I write about them. I don't know why they thought that; I really DO like them as much as I write about them. And since the season for them is so short, odds are you will see me with my nose in them.

After all, you only have a few days in which you can sniff. You have to make the most of them.

And with that, you won't have to put up with me writing about them any more this year. When they start budding next May, I make no promises, but until then?

I think you're safe.

Have a great weekend!

(jim@wmqt.com)