Wednesday, 7/29

Is it any wonder I can never relax?

Most people (i.e. normal people), given a free hour on a Tuesday night, might use that time to relax, to get ahead on work, or just to enjoy a fairly nice evening. But do you think I can EVER do anything like a normal person? No. . .that would be waaaaaaaay too easy.

Case in point--instead of spending the free hour I had last night vegging out or doing run-through of my “Happy Hour Pt 2” tour coming up in a few weeks, I instead spent some of that precious time trying to solve a mystery as unsolvable as any an Ellery Queen or Nancy Drew may have solved in their prime--

I spent my precious free hour trying to figure out why I had a pen that said “Escanaba Senior Center” on it.

It’s a very good pen; it’s bright orange, has a nice “feel” to it, and writes quite well. But because maybe I AM closer to zero on the Jim Stir-Crazy Clock than I thought, I started to wonder where I’d actually picked up the pen, instead of just using it and then ignoring it (you know, like a normal person). I haven’t been to Escanaba recently. While I AM getting older, I’m nowhere near Senior status yet. And as far as I can remember, I didn’t even know Escanaba HAD a center like that.

So just where did I get the pen?

This much I know--it was in my back pack as of last week. I know that because I needed a pen to write down a note while walking to work, and I was lucky enough to find it there. But the questions started to pile up. When did it go into my back pack? I have no idea. How did it get into my back pack? Once again, I’m clueless (in case THAT wasn’t painfully obvious). I’m thinking I must’ve picked it up somewhere, but where? Who do I know (or where did I go) that would have a pen from the Escanaba Senior Center? And, most importantly. . .

Why was I spending so much time thinking about this?

It was about that time that I realized I even the few minutes I’d spent pondering the question were a few minutes too many. I realized I should use the time for more worthwhile pursuits, like writing a TV bit or working on the tour or pestering Loraine. Much like the question of who built Stonehenge or why do people like black licorice, I realized that this was one of those mysteries that can never be answered. The pen was in my back pack; it ended up there somehow, and it’s quite possible that that “somehow” was lost to the mists of time. Maybe I was never meant to know how it got there. After all, it’s only a pen. It’s not one of the mysteries of the universe.

Unlike, say, why people like black licorice.

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com), owner of a pen from the Escanaba Senior Center

Tuesday, 7/28

The number was down. And I can't say I'm surprised.

The 25^th annual “Great License Plate” count is over, and I've drawn a couple of inferences from it. As you recall, every week leading up to Art on the Rocks I see how many plates from different states and Canadian provinces I come across. Well, after going through all the chicken scratchings on the note pad I've been carrying around, I can officially report that the total number was lower than usual.

But as I mentioned, I'm not surprised.

I saw a total of 35 different states and provinces this year, down from a long-term average of 43 or so (25 years of doing this allows you a baseline, you see). 35 is in no way a bad number, although it IS one of the lower I've ever recorded. In fact, except for 2020 (Covid) and 2008 (the depths of the Great Recession), it might be the lowest. But when you consider that gas is $22 a gallon and the world is (literally) on fire, maybe we should be glad the number was a high as it is.

Right?

It's funny; while the state count was down, I think the overall count wasn't as bad. And that's because of the states I did see, I saw a LOT of them. In fact, I'm guessing half the population of Wisconsin, a third of Minnesota and Ohio, and (perhaps) a quarter of the people Texas (and I have no idea why) were visiting Marquette last week. So maybe that made up for people not visiting from New England, or the Deep South, or the Plains states. I also didn't see one from Hawai'i, but until they build a big bridge from that state to to the mainland, I think we'll give them a pass.

8-)

That's my report for this year. We'll see if the lower number of states I saw translates into some kind of economic predictor. I mean, I'm hoping not, but you never know.

*****

Speaking of my little count, I also dealt with it on TV last night--

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 7/27

You should know that it has a real name, if only to honor the person who gave it to us.

Loraine and I did a lot this weekend, including (but not limited to) checking out all the outdoor art shows in Marquette. One of them was the Outback Art Fair, and while we were there I overheard two artists discussing how “Picnic Rocks Park” is such a great setting for the show. There's just one problem with that, though--

There is no such thing as “Picnic Rocks Park” in Marquette.

As evidence, I present the following picture--

There is a park on the land called Shiras Park. There are rocks in the water called Picnic Rocks. There is, however, nothing at all in the city called Picnic Rocks Park, despite what people think. In fact, when my lovely wife actually had to call the police about something a year or two ago, the officer on the other end of the phone had no idea where Shiras Park was. However, when she said “the park by Picnic Rocks”, he knew exactly of what she was speaking.

Now, I realize people don't pay attention to things. I realize that every single person in Marquette knows about Picnic Rocks, and knows there's a park on land right near those rocks. I also realize people tend to do the easiest thing possible; hence, calling the park by Picnic Rocks “Picnic Rocks Park”. But that does a disservice to an amazing individual who helped make Marquette the place it is today, this guy--

George Shiras the Third, the guy who invented nighttime wildlife photography and hung out with friends like Teddy Roosevelt, did an incredible amount for the city of Marquette, even though he only lived here a few months out of the year. His foundation gave us things like Shiras Planetarium, and he himself donated the land upon which Shiras Park now sits. Back in those days, there was actually a sand bar that allowed people to walk out and bring a picnic lunch out to Picnic Rocks—that's how they got their name—and Mr. Shiras decided that it's be nice if the community had a park near there where people could play and enjoy the lake. So he bought the land and gave it to the city free of charge, where residents have enjoyed it ever since.

That's why the park is called Shiras Park, and not Picnic Rocks Park. I realize it may sound like I'm splitting hairs here, but there wouldn't be a park at Picnic Rocks at all if it wasn't for George Shiras. Maybe it's just the history nerd in me, but I think people should call it by its correct name.

I mean, I'm smart enough to know they won't, but a boy can dream, right?

(jim@wmqt.com), once again tilting at obscure windmills.

Thursday, 7/23

This is my favorite time of the year.

I mean, sure, I love it for the sun, the heat, the days off (more on that tomorrow), and the general sense of well-bring that summer provides. But I also love because I can take my camera out and instead of seeing nothing but white or brown or just plain dull, I get to see colors.

Lots and lots of colors.

Want proof? I went for a little stroll—no more than three blocks—Monday, just to see what I could see, and this is what I saw.

I saw colors like purple--

I saw yellow--

I saw pink--

I saw orange--

I saw magenta--

And I saw a combination of almost all of the colors mentioned above--

And that was just within a three block jaunt from where I live. I can just imagine what kind of pictures I'd get from the rest of Marquette—or you might get in whichever city you live. It truly is (with apologies to lovers of a certain holiday) the most wonderful time of the year!

*****

Because it's a corporate holiday tomorrow I'm off, so there won't be a new one of these. I'll be back Monday with the results of my dorky little license plate count for the year. Have a great weekend!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 7/22

I think I owe the people of a century ago an apology.

I've been taking a lot of pictures recently (you'll see some of them tomorrow), and for some reason, I have a whole batch of the statue of Jacques Marquette in Lakeside Park like this one, from back during lilac season--

Over the years, I've always lamented the fact that the statue is placed (facing north-northwest) so that Father Marquette's face is never lit by the sun. No matter what time of the year, no matter where you stand, you can never get a shot of his face lit by the sun. The photographer side of me has always silently (and jokingly) cursed the people who moved the statue from its original location 115 or so years ago and placed it so that it's never front-lit by the sun. Why did they put it that way? Didn't they know that a century later photographers wouldn't be able to shoot it exactly the way they wanted?

Didn't they think of ME when they put it up?

(That's a joke, by the way).

Then as I was walking up Front Street this past weekend, looking at the statue and once again lamenting the fact that the sun never fully hits the face just so as to be able to take a perfect picture, something dawned on me. It's something so simple and so basic that I'm kinda shocked I hadn't noticed it before, and all of a sudden, the placement of the statue makes perfect sense.

The Father Marquette statue is placed that way because he's overlooking downtown. He's keeping watch over the city that shares his name. And I am an idiot for A). not noticing it and 2) silently (and jokingly) cursing the people who placed it the way they placed it.

To them, I apologize. I'm just sorry I can't break a few laws of physics and send my apology back one century in time.

You guys are obviously much smarter than me, and you may have figured out long ago why the statue is placed the way it is. Or you guys are just much smarter than me in that you know it's only a statue, and it really doesn't matter if it was placed without an optimal photography angle in mind. Either way, I'm sure you never devoted the amount of thought to the subject that I did, and I'm sure your lives are much better for it, especially when you consider that I was born here and have lived a large chunk of my life here and never once in that life realized that the statue of Father Marquette was placed the way it was placed for a reason.

I think History Jim is the most embarrassed. After all, think of the time I've devoted to researching that part of the city (the south part of Downtown, perhaps my favorite) and the countless hours I've spent rummaging around the park, the statue, and (especially) the lilac trees. Yet do you think that even once I might have considered the placement of the statue, and noticed why it is the way it is? Nope; all I did was whine because the sun could never light up Jacques Marquette's face.

Sometimes, I amaze even myself. And usually not in a good way. So this may be 115 years late, and it may go to show the depths of my stupidity, but to the people who moved the statue to Lakeside Park a century ago, just let me say one thing--

You nailed it. Good job. And I'll stop my whining now.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 7/20

 Yup. I'm doing it again.

For the (gasp) 25^th year in a row, I have embarked on a project. That project? Finding out how many different state and provincial license plates I see during “Art on the Rocks” week here in Marquette. It's one of the dorkiest things I do, and I can now say I've done it for a quarter century.

One of these days, I really need to become an adult

You know, I now have no idea how this started; I'm guessing I was just curious as to how many visitors Marquette hosted during one of the busiest weeks of the summer. Since then, it's evolved into this “thing” that I use to measure everything from Marquette's popularity to the state of the national economy. I suppose that one of these years I could actually NOT do it, but I have the feeling that if I were to do that I'd miss something bizarre and/or the world would stop spinning on its axis.

And these days, we should really not tempt fate.

Nothing ever really comes out of the count, other than a piece of paper on which I write the states, a blog, and this year, maybe a TV bit. All I know is that I've been doing it for a quarter century now, and I see no reason to stop. So if you happen to see me walking down the street, craning my neck in an attempt to see if a car's from Michigan or not, just remember it's only me being a dork.

As I have for a quarter-century now.

*****

Speaking of TV bits, here's last night's. Hopefully you're not too freaked out by the sight of bugs, like some of us are.

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 7/20

Hopefully--HOPEFULLY--this is a little more normal of a week than last week.

Fingers crossed, at least.

There are a couple of things I'm looking forward to this week, including my annual dorky license plate count (more on that tomorrow).  First, though, I'm focusing on a mystery.  Let's just call it “The Case of the Mysteriously Appearing Beer Can”.

Three times now in the past two weeks, three times since the 4^th of July, I have noticed something very strange, something quite out of the ordinary. Three times in the past two weeks I've been walking down a Marquette street, and I have come upon an unopened can of Busch Light beer just sitting somewhere. On the 4^th it was sitting on top of a trash container on Third Street.  A week or so later it was on my walk to work. And yesterday it was in the street-side garden of my next to next door neighbor.

Every single time, it's been an unopened can of Busch Light. When I first saw a can I laughed, figuring that some underage person was soon to become a very happy underage person. But when I started seeing the cans over and over again; well, that's when I started to wonder what the heck is going on.

Lest you think I'm just seeing things, I'm not. Loraine was with me on the 4^th when I first saw it, and she was with me again yesterday when I took the picture above. And neither of us understands what's going on. Is it just a drunk person losing cans as they're making their way to and from the store? Is it a performance artist trying to make a statement? Is the Easter Bunny getting tired of eggs and leaving cans of Busch Light instead?

I don't know. But I'd be curious to find out.

I highly doubt this will happen, but if you happen to see an unopened can of Busch Light beer on your journeys in and around Marquette, please let me know. Part of me, after all, just thinks it's one strange and bizarre coincidence. But then another part of me, the part that knows the talented, creative, and/or just plain weird kind of people who live in Marquette, wonders if there's something a little more to the whole situation.

Either that, or Busch Light has developed the strangest marketing campaign in history. These days, nothing would surprise me.

So while I'm investigating this whole thing, just call me Encyclopedia Koski. And just call this whole thing “The Case of the Mysteriously Appearing Beer Can”.

(jim@wmqt.com)