Wednesday, 3/4

Who knew a sign of its legacy would still be around, and still sitting in my bedroom, all these years later?

I've been reading a book about the history, development, and sales of candy in the U.S., and one of the things discussed in the book was Wacky Packages. Admittedly, Wacky Packages weren't a candy, but since they stuck sticks of bubble gum in the package, I guess that allowed it to qualify for inclusion in the book. For those of you who don't know Wacky Packs, a thousand or so years ago they were stickers satirizing products of the day (for instance, Crest Toothpaste was turned into Crust Toothpaste), something that appealed to those of us who were nine years old back then (as opposed to those of us who occasionally act like nine year olds now).

Anyway, I had quite the collection of the stickers, so reading through the section of the book about Wacky Packages made me chuckle. I was reading in our bedroom, while Loraine was somewhere else in our apartment. I left the bedroom to show her the page, and in doing so walked past one of the dressers we use. I've had this particular dresser since I was a kid, and on the side of the dresser I passed while leaving the room there are several areas where the stain had been peeled off a long time ago. It wasn't until I walked passed the dresser carrying that book on candy that I realized WHY the stain was peeled off.

The stain on the dresser was peeled off because of the fact that when I was a kid, I once had a bunch of Wacky Packages stickers stuck onto it, stickers that were at one time removed, causing the areas where the stain had been peeled off.

It's funny, because I hadn't looked at the side of the dresser for decades. And I have no idea why I looked at it at the moment I was also carrying the book with the section on Wacky Packages. I just know that I, for some reason, looked at the dresser at that exact second and made the connection. It's funny, too, because if you look close enough you can see the stain that's peeled off is actually peeled off in the shape of stickers. I suppose if I had pictures of each and every Wacky Package sticker from my youth I could tell you which sticker on the dresser was planted where, but that would probably be bordering on the obsessive.

Just a little.

It's weird how parts of our youth keep popping up as we get older & older (and older). Sometimes all it takes is a book—and an old dresser—to remind us of that.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 3/3

I, personally, think the description is apt.

My TV piece last night dealt with what Marquette residents went through last week; namely, the ultimately unsuccessful search for missing NMU student Trenton Massey, and how the community pitched in in an attempt to find him. At the end of the piece I talked about the old Mr Rogers quote on “looking for the helpers”, saying that maybe the one good thing to take away from this whole tragedy is that the residents of Marquette ARE, indeed, the helpers.

I'm often wrong about things, but this is one time I know I'm not.

I guess i would hope that residents of EVERY community could find it in themselves to be called “helpers”, but something I saw after getting home from TV last night reminded me that might be one of things about which I might be wrong.

A Facebook friend of mine had expressed sympathy for a group of marginalized people, and shared the reaction someone from his hometown (another community in Upper Michigan) had stuck on the post. I'm not going to quote it exactly, because it was not nice, but in essence it said “the people of Marquette are corrupting you”. Now, I know that we live in an extremely polarized world these days, and that for some individuals empathy for others and hate of “the other” has been weaponized. The comment left on the post is proof positive of that. But to say that the people of Marquette, one of the kindest groups of people you'll ever meet, a group that turned out en masse to help find someone who was missing, are a “corrupting influence” on someone?

Really?????

Like I said, I know we live in a polarized world these days, and that the very things that make the residents of Marquette “helpers” are looked down upon by a certain segment of society. But you know what? I'll take love over hate, inclusion over division, and helpers over takers, any single day of the week. I would do that even if I wasn't one of the “corrupted residents” of Marquette. Why?

Because that's what being a good human being IS.

Here's the TV piece from last night--

(jim@wmqt.com), corrupted resident of Marquette.

Monday, 3/2

Going to the grocery store really does get weirder & weirder.

I wrote last week about how I saw both an “old” person and someone who wanted to compliment my TV work at the store last week. Well, as always happened, when Loraine and I went shopping this weekend I had people come up to me, one of whom asked a question that proves that, perhaps, my reputation precedes me.

That question?

“Are you ready for the beach yet”?

Now, as those of you who read this regularly know, I kinda like the beach. I spend a good deal of my summer (at least a good deal of a warm summer) just walking up & down beaches, basking in the warmth of the sun and the zen-like sound of the waves crashing on shore. Those of you who read this on a regular basis also know that my dream job would be “beach bum”, only I've yet to figure out a way to get someone to pay me to do it. That's why I was surprised when the question was asked and it turns out the person doing the asking doesn't read these.

Apparently, I've been doing what I do long enough that everyone in Marquette knows everything about me.

8-)

I guess, in a way, the question made sense, especially because on Friday—the day before the grocery store encounter—the sun was out and the temperatures were, for one of the only times this calendar year, actually above normal. You could even if you felt, joke that on Friday we DID have “perfect beach weather” outside. And while the sunshine DID add a beach-like glow to the day, the fact that it was glaring off of seven-foot snowbanks kind of took away the whole allure of going to the beach, at least then.

So I guess I'm now known not just as the geek on the radio who walks everywhere; or the geek on TV, or the geek who leads big crowds around downtown Marquette while babbling about history. To one person, at least, I'm also known as “the geek who wants to go to the beach”. I guess, though, there are worse reputations to be had, right?

(jim@wmqt.com), who wonders who I'll speak with the NEXT time I'm at the grocery store.

Friday, 2/27

It has been a long week here in Marquette, what with snow storms, school cancellations, the unsuccessful search for a missing NMU student, and the collapse of the roof of the Westwood Mall (and that's just as of this morning), that I figured I'd just leave you with two things, the first of which is this--.

Is WNMU-TV REALLY sure they want to use my ugly mug as an incentive to get people to tune into an entire night of programming? I know that if I saw that picture I'd run screaming to the hills, but maybe that's just me.

Oh—and have I ever mentioned my life is weird? That's just another example.

8-)

As I alluded to a few paragraphs ago, one of the things that's consumed Marquette the past few days was the search for NMU student Trenton Massey, a search that's now been called off. Yesterday I had Marquette City Police Chief Ryan Grim come in and walk us through what went on, as well as the incredible community response to the whole affair.

If you have a little over 6 minutes and an interest in what he had to say, check it out--

On that note, keep your fingers crossed that we actually have a peaceful weekend here in the UP. After what's been going on the past few days, I think we deserve it.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 2/26

If I have to be a failure at something, at least I'm in good company.

Loraine and I were joking around the other night. She had been reading several articles about soccer players we follow, all of whom used to play in Germany, didn't have much success there, moved on, and became stars. However, the German press still invariably calls them “Bundesliga Transfer Flop (in this case, Atletico Madrid star Alexander Sorloth)", because no matter how successful they are now, they flopped when they played in Germany.

And, apparently, that's all that matters. They could be the greatest player in the world outside of the country and STILL be known in Germany as “Bundesliga Transfer Flop”...

Oh, those wacky, wacky Germans.

Anyway, the two of us got to talking about that German practice, and I started to think. That, as we all know, can be a dangerous thing, and I was soon wondering how the German press would describe me, in the extremely unlikely event that they would have to make snide fun of me. I mean, I know I would never be “Bundesliga Transfer Flop”, but what WOULD be my biggest failure in life, the one that they could tag me with?

How about “High School Math Flop Jim Koski”?

I hope this doesn't sound bad, but after Loraine and I were joking around I started to run the concept of “failure” through my brain. What endeavors have I attempted and totally flopped at in my life? Well, I couldn't come up with any. I mean, there have been things I've tried and didn't totally succeed at, but was there anything at which that I totally failed?

Thankfully, there's always high school math.

I often joke that I'm in broadcasting because I suck at math, a joke that's actually common among people in this particular field. In all honesty, I don't suck at all math; addition, multiplication, and fractions don't bother me at all. But when you get past algebra, into geometry and trigonometry and calculus?

Well, then, I really AM a “flop”.

I took all those classes back in high school, managing to limp through them with grades no higher than, uhm, a C-. And aside from a little basic algebra used when trying to upscale or downscale the size of recipes, I've never used geometry or trigonometry or calculus in the thousand years since I took the classes. That, I guess, proves two things—that unless you're an engineer of some sort you probably won't use any math in your every day life, and that, if you're like me and took the classes anyway, you'll have two lasting effects thanks of it--

You'll probably go into a career field that has nothing to DO with math and, in the event that the German press needs something with which to label you as a flop, you're good to go.

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com), high school math flop.

Wednesday, 2/25

I should probably really start reviewing my French again.

It's been nine (!) years since I've actually had to use it, and that was only for a few days while we were in Belgium and Luxembourg for our Black Forest trip back in 2017. But seeing as how we're planning on spending our next trip on the German/French border, with a drive into both France and Luxembourg (to buy chocolate, of course) I should probably brush up on.

At least if my ability to read newspaper articles is any indication.

Those of you who've been reading these forever know I know just enough French to get around and to order things in bakeries (the two most important reasons to know another language), but that's about it. I could probably carry on a conversation with a four year old, but if their parent were to come over I'd just throw my hands up and hope they spoke English better than I spoke French.

Sadly, I'm one of those people who seems to lose their ability with a foreign language if I don't use it. I suppose it's just like any other muscle in your body; if you don't exercise it, it just wastes away. And since there are very few French speakers in Marquette (or, at least, very few that I know), the only chance I get to “exercise” is to read newspaper articles.

And that's where I've noticed my problem.

I follow a bunch of French news outlets on Facebook, and whenever they post a story I try to read the headline and the story in French, just to work on my skills and to see if I can figure out what's going on. But I've found myself more and more recently just hitting the “translate” button the story because I don't understand a reference or I've forgotten a word (or six).

I don't like that.

That means that I now have a little over two months to brush up on the language before we leave. That means that I get to haul out my old laptop, which contains my old version of Rosetta Stone. That means I haul out my “French Isn't Scary” book, a language guide designed for eighth graders but one I've found works perfectly for me. And that means I get to walk around Marquette and, if I see something outside or in a store, I get to call it its name in French, strange looks from people nearby notwithstanding.

So, if you happen to be near me in a store or in a park or on the street and you hear me referring to a black cat as “le chat de noir”, don't worry. I haven't lost my mind (or what's left of my mind). I'm just trying to get ready for a side excursion or two into a country where French is the key to the world's greatest baked goods.

8-).

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 2/24

Oh, look. School's not cancelled for once today. It's a 21^st century miracle.

8-)

Okay; now that the sarcasm's out of the way, I promised you the continuation of a story. As you recall, I ran into someone with whom I was is Kindergarten while grocery shopping Saturday. No more than 30 seconds after that encounter ended, another began, as someone came up to me, and told me how much they enjoy my weekly things on TV-19. As I always do, I thanked them for the kind words and for watching. And then they told me about the one that's stuck with them for a couple of years now.

As always, the segment that is still with them took me by surprise. Especially because I totally forgot about doing it in the first place.

Let me digress for a second. I've written in here before about how ephemeral the “906”s are to me. I write one, I do it, I put it online, and them I'm on to the next. Very rarely do I think back on what I've done; in fact, perhaps the only time I do is to look back and make sure I'm not writing about something I've already talked about in years past (an increasingly common occurrence, by the way).

However, if you're just a viewer of the pieces, your reaction is, I'm guessing, far from mine. Apparently, for some people, my idle babblings stick with them for a bit. And that was the case of the gentleman at the grocery store Saturday, who wanted to let me know just how much he appreciated the bit I did a year or so ago about how people these days, when they leave the UP, can take a part of it along wherever they go thanks to their 906 area code.

Like I said, I had totally forgotten about that one, although once he mentioned it every little bit of it came back to me. It touched him because he's not from the UP, and still has a 231 area code on his phone. However, his daughter, who left for college this past fall, took HER 906 number down to Illinois with her, and when he saw the piece it apparently very close to home.

And I can understand why.

Like I said, after I'm done with the bits I'm done with the bits, if only because I have the next bit to deal with. But it's nice to know that some of them, at least, linger a little longer with the people who watch them.

It's one of the best compliments I could ever get.

(jim@wmqt.com)