Friday, 6/30

Since I shared pictures yesterday, it's only fitting that I wrap up the week by doing the exact same thing today, right?

Right?

I don't think I need to say this yet again, but it's been a horrid year for trying to go out and photograph “summer” in Marquette. Between the clouds & the cold & the clouds & the rain, you really have to pick & choose when you can go out and capture the sights. I haven't had much of a chance to do it this season, and I've really wanted to, if only for this reason--

I want to see what the camera on my new phone can do.

So over the past few days I've tried to sneak out for the few seconds it's been (reasonably) nice and tested out my phone on something that phone cameras can occasionally have a problem with—the bright, vivid colors of summer flowers. After looking at the shots, I think I do have to say that the camera on my new phone is a marked improvement from the camera on my old phone, which did well in bright sunlight but often had problems in cloudy or indoor light. How well did the new phone do, even in hazy sunshine or cloudiness?

Judge for yourself--

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So, all in all, I have to say I'm happy with the way the camera works. Now, if I could just test it out in an extended blast of bright, warm sunshine. That would be perfect and, hopefully, not too much to ask.

We'll see. Hope you have a great weekend. I'm planning on posting something Monday because I'm planning on going to work before the Fourth, but if that changes, you'll be the first to know.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 6/29

Of course the picture with the ore dock in it won. Pictures with the ore dock in them ALWAYS win.

If you haven't had the chance to check it out yet, make sure you get down to my favorite park in Marquette—The Rosewood Walkway—and check out the umbrella art display they've put up for Art Week. It's colorful, it's whimsical, and it's just another one of those cool things we do in this very cool city.

Over the weekend Loraine and I went down there to check it out, and I ended up snapping 40 or so pictures. Because no else had yet done it I stuck a few of them up on the “You Know You're From Marquette If” Facebook group, and as of this morning had over 400 likes and 100 shares of the post. I'm not saying that to brag, I'm saying that to lay the groundwork for the reason why pictures with the ore dock in them always win.

I put five pictures up, and along with the 400 likes for the post itself each individual picture had its share of likes, too. Based on everything I've written so far you can obviously guess which one of these had more of those likes than any other--

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The ore dock one is nice; it's not my favorite (that would be the last one, with the sun shining through the orange umbrella), but it's nice. But there just seems to be something about the ore dock that compels people to click “like” whenever I post a picture that has even just a small section of it in the shot, like the one above. Maybe people feel some kind of mystical connection to it; maybe it's just the fact that it is an iconic symbol of Marquette. I don't know the reason why. I just know that if you wanna get a lot of “likes” on a Facebook picture, make sure it has the ore dock in it.

It works every time.

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

(ps—if you haven't had the chance to catch the Rosewood display yet, it's scheduled to be up until the end of July. It's definitely worth your time!)

Wednesday, 6/28

I have Phil's seal of approval. And some days, that's all I need.

I've written in here many times about Phil Niemisto, Marquette's man-about-town, downtown window washer and gardener, all around interesting individual, and one of the “107 Reasons to Love Marquette County”. If you know Phil, you know he's always well dressed, sporting a shirt and tie even on those 90 degree days when he really doesn't need to sport a shirt or tie.

Phil, in fact, is always nattily attired, unlike some of us who some days just grab whatever's handy in our closet and throw it on.

However, like I mentioned a few weeks ago, there are days when I actually feel like dressing up and throwing on real clothes. In fact, there are even days (usually Mondays) when I'll try to live up to Phil's standards and throw on a jacket & tie. And as you well know, the ties I pick aren't sober, boring work ties; nope, when I wear a tie, I like to wear a tie with color, or a tie that makes a statement. You know—the kind of tie that gets its own fan mail when I host a TV show.

And on the days when I'm wearing a tie and run into Phil, I always get his opinion on it. I don't ask him his opinion; because he sees me in a tie, he just offers his thoughts on it. Almost always—not every time, but most times—he'll look it over, maybe feel the fabric, and then offer the two words that means he approves--

“That's sharp”.

I don't know if he does that with other people, or if he just does it with me because he often sees me dressed like a slob, but it's something that he does. He'll then ask about it—where I got it, or why I chose it, and we'll talk about clothes for a bit. Over the years we've had dozens of conversations about ties; almost as many as we've had about local history or the “drunk kids” who on occasion dig up one of his flower beds. All I can say is that he has a sharp eye for color and for contrast, just like, well, I'd like to think I have. And that's why if I get the Phil seal of approval, I know that I've chosen well.

*****

Speaking of Phil, he's the cover story of the “Marquette Neighbors” magazine that shows up in the mailboxes of some city residents. If you're one of the people who gets it, make sure you check out the article about one of the icons of Marquette!

(jim@wmqt.com)

(PS—In case you didn't catch it yesterday, HERE'S THE LINK to the Mining Journal story on Alvar Liimatainen and how the Most Amazing Woman in the World was involved!)

Tuesday, 6/27

Okay. So just WHY did I have you read the story of Alvar Liimatainen yesterday? This is why--

Yesterday, Alvar's Distinguished Service Cross, Purple Heart, and burial flag were returned to Marquette after decades downstate and given to the Marquette Regional History Center, where they will be displayed in the museum's permanent collection for all to see and, hopefully, for all to find out Oliver's incredible story.

THAT'S why I had you read the 5-year old speech yesterday.

The medals and flag had been in the possession of Alvar's sister, who had lived down near Flint, and when her daughter-in-law Renee Cowen (second from left in the picture above) was going through family mementos, she came across them. Not knowing what to do with them, she contacted a guy named Ernie Roesner (the only guy in the picture), who did a little search on Liimatainen, found out an article Renee Prusi (not pictured) had written for the Mining Journal, who then got in contact with Loraine, who then contacted Jo DeYoung (second from right in the picture) from the History Center to see if they could do something with the medals and the flag.

So, basically, it was just a typical day.

8-)

Renee will write about the story in more detail (and, I'm sure, with much more clarity) in today's edition of The Mining Journal and I don't want to scoop her any more than need be, so I won't write much more about how the whole thing transpired. Let's just say that it's another one of those (numerous) instances where someone tells The Most Amazing Woman in the World (i.e. Loraine) something, and soon find themselves getting a picture or two in a newspaper or two.

It happens in Germany, it happens in France, and it happens a whole lot here in the U.S.

Like I said, you'll be able to see more pictures and find out more details in today's Mining Journal. I'll either add the link to the story HERE when I get it, or I'll throw it in tomorrow's blog. Either way, you'll be able to check it out, and then realize that there WAS a reason I posted that five year old speech yesterday!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 6/26

Five summers ago Loraine put on little memorial service at Park Cemetery honoring what was then the 70^th anniversary off the death of one of the first men from Marquette t0 be killed during World War II, Alvar Liimitainen. I gave a speech during the ceremony, talking about “Oliver” and his life, and I'd like to repost it here today. Why? Well, something is happening this ironing, and when I write about it tomorrow, I'd like you to have a little context.

So read the speech. Then tomorrow, when I write about what happened and share pictures of the event, you'll know why it's kind of a big thing.

(jim@wwmqqt.ccom)

*****

(as delivered at Park Cemetery, August 7^th, 2012):

“As far as I can tell, there haven’t been a lot of noteworthy people who’ve been born on December 4^th. There’s Jay-Z; there’s Dennis Wilson, the late drummer of the Beach Boys; and there’s some British guy who did something with economics back in the 1700s. They may be famous; whether or not they’re noteworthy is another matter altogether.

So let me introduce you to someone born on December 4^th who, while he’s in no way famous, certainly is most noteworthy. Alvar Liimatainen was born in December 4^th, 1919, to Albin and Lempi Liimatainen. He was one of four children growing up in what was then referred to as Marquette’s “Piqua Location”; in fact, you can still see the family house if you’re riding or walking down the bike path near Sherman and Cleveland streets. Oliver, as absolutely everyone knew him, was a typical kid in the 1920s and 30s; he had a paper route, he tried his hand at ski jumping, he sang, and he ran track. He was most atypical when he received an award at his graduation in 1937 honoring him as never having missed a day of school his entire academic career. Not one.

This wouldn’t be the only time in his life Oliver was out of the ordinary.

After graduation he worked as a bellhop at the Hotel Northland before joining the Army Air Corp for what was supposed to be a three-year hitch in 1940. He had hoped to become a pilot; however, he was given training as a radio operator and assigned to a bomber crew that found themselves being sent to places like Brazil and Egypt before ending up on the island of Java the day the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor. The Japanese also attacked other U.S. installations that day, including the base where Oliver was stationed. He found himself in the middle of the airfield when the raid began, and took cover in a foxhole made out of sandbags. He received a mild concussion and was put in the base hospital for a few weeks. He didn’t mind, though; in a letter to his brother, he said in the hospital he was finally getting food that was edible and, quote, “that helps a lot”.

The next couple of months were busy for Oliver and his crew. They flew 22 bombing missions in the South Pacific. They were attacked by enemy fighters 15 times; Oliver himself was credited with shooting down three of those fighters and damaging three others. On August 6^th, 1942, Oliver’s crew—commanded by captain Harl Pease, and co-piloted by an Australian, Fredrick Earp—left their base in Australia for a bombing mission over Lae, New Guinea. On the way there, they had one of the engines on their B-17 fail, and had to return to base. This wasn’t an uncommon occurrence; what happened next was.

When Oliver’s crew returned to base, they knew that they had another mission the next day. They didn’t know what it was; they just had been told it was important. So the entire crew found another B-17 that was barely flight worthy and worked all day and all night to make sure it could get off the ground. On just three hours sleep, Oliver and his crew took off the next morning on a mission they knew was important but didn’t know why. As it turns out, their mission that day was bombing a Japanese fighter base at Rabaul Island. They were to bomb the base so that the fighters could not attack U.S. Marines that would be, at the same time, landing on Guadalcanal. They had no idea why they were flying the mission; they just knew they had to fly it.

Oliver’s crew as one of thirteen bombers that made it successfully to Rabaul and dropped their bombs on the Japanese base. On the way back home to Australia, their jerry-rigged plane started having mechanical problems, and fell behind the rest of the squadron. Thirty enemy fighters had by then appeared in the sky, and since Oliver’s plane had fallen behind the rest of the group, they bore the brunt of the attack. The B-17 was last seen losing altitude over the jungle, with no parachutes observed leaving the aircraft.

With that, Alvar “Oliver” Liimatainen became the city of Marquette’s first service casualty of World War II.

Several months after the incident, each member of the crew was awarded the Distinguished Service Cross for their work the day before and their actions that fateful day. Captain Pease was also awarded the Medal of Honor, and to this day, there is a Pease Air Force Base near his hometown in New Hampshire. But it wasn’t until 1946 that searchers discovered the wreckage of the plane, as well as two bodies. They moved those remains to the National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific in Honolulu, where they spent several years trying to identify the remains. It took until 1950 for them to be able to distinguish that one of the bodies belonged to the Australian co-pilot I had mentioned earlier. In fact, that was thanks to the discovery of a shoulder patch of a member of the Australian Air force. After studying dental and physical records, the other body was identified as Oliver’s. His parents asked that his body be returned to his hometown, and it was on this spot on August 7^th, 1951—nine years to the day after his death—that Oliver was laid to final rest.

A total of 72 men and women from the city of Marquette died in World War II. Some are buried not far from here; some are buried in the countries in which they died, and some were never found. They all have stories like Oliver’s, and that’s one reason why we wanted to hold this ceremony tonight. Whether they were born on April 20^th or July 7^th or December 4^th, they were all among the most extraordinary people ever born on that particular day. They were the men and women who did things that most of us could never imagine doing ourselves, and they were the men and women we honor tonight.

Alvar “Oliver” Liimatainen. Born December 4^th, 1919. Died August 7^th, 1942. Laid to rest here August 7^th, 1951. Thank you for your service. And thank you for being extraordinary.”

Friday, 6/23

I’ve started thinking in French again.

Two months & one week from today we’ll leaving for our latest European trip, which has reminded me that I need to brush up on my French language skills. For the first half of the trip[ we'll be in French speaking countries, and so it's probably time to review my Rosetta Stone program and to go through the “Painless French” book (a book written for middle schoolers, believe it or not) that I've found to be the best in explaining what you say and why you say it. While I’m nowhere near fluent in being able to speak or listen to the language with someone who grew up speaking and listening to it, I’d like to think I'm pretty good at reading it, and I've found that I can hold my own in a two or three sentence conversation with a native French speaker.

As I’ve discovered every time I’ve been in Europe, as long as you make the effort to speak the language in whichever country you’re visiting, people will meet you halfway. After all, students in Europe learn several different languages, and most choose English as one of them. So between my self-taught French and their school-taught English, Loraine and I have managed to got around France & Belgium & Luxembourg with no problem whatsoever. In fact, the only problem is in the few months before we leave, when I realize I’ve forgotten half of what I learned before the previous trip, and need to brush up.

Which is why I’m trying to think in French these days.

And even the phrase “thinking in French” is misleading. After all, it’s not like I’m thinking about what I’m typing in this blog in French; like I said, I’m not fluent enough in the language to do that (some people, of course, would say that I’m not fluent enough in English to write a blog, either, but that’s a conversation for another day). When I say I’m “thinking in French”, I do it in small ways. When someone asks me a question, I’ll answer it verbally in English, but mentally in French. My head will be filled with “ouis” and “nons” and “mercis” and “je nais sais pas”. It seems to work for me, although the checkout lady at the grocery store last weekend gave me a funny look when I answered “papier, s’il vous plait” when asked if I preferred paper or plastic.

Oops. My bad.

So with any luck, by the time August 30^th rolls around I’ll be ready to roll through France & Belgium & Luxembourg with enough French at my disposal to let us do whatever we need to do whenever we want to do it. It’s worked before, and hopefully, it’ll work again.

As always, wish me luck. Oh...and have yourself a great weekend, too!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 6/22

That went well!

That's a (phone) picture of  the first dozen of 50 or so people who showed up for my Marquette Regional History Center bike tour last night. After we did it last year, I wasn't quite sure how many people would want to either do it or do it again this year.

I guess now I know.

When I do this tour I tell a lot of stories and try to share a few pictures, something that isn't really easy when you're trying to herd a gaggle of bike riders around the bike path system. And I had one new picture this year, a picture someone had found at the Michigan State Archives and then posted on Facebook, and that was of one place the bike path goes right by--

The old railroad roundhouse property, now better known as the upcoming home of UP Heath Systems, Marquette. Wanna see it?

That's right; the new hospital is bring built upon this land where the DSS&A had repair facilities and a “roundhouse”--a big metal rotating thingee upon which a train would sit and be turned in any direction. After all, you just can't turn a train around like you can a car. It's kind of hard to U-turn a train. You need a way to do it. And that's what the Roundhouse did. It operated 24 hours a day, and according to people who lived in that neighborhood when it was in operation you could hear it 24 hours a day. But, much like dust in the air from the Lower Harbor coal yard or the stink from the North Marquette Cliffs-Dow plant, that was just something you lived with in old Marquette.

I'm kind of glad it's different now.

I also like the picture because, if you look at the right hand side of it, you can see the old Bishop Baraga School and the pre-1933 fire version of St. Peter's Cathedral. The school doesn't exist any more, while the church was radically rebuilt after the fire (the second, by the way, in its history). But if nothing else, the picture sure shows just how closely people and industry used to exist in “old” Marquette. Can you imagine living in one of those houses right across the street from the Roundhouse?

Yikes!

Hope you enjoyed the picture; if you were on the tour, I'm just sorry you didn't get to look at it a little more closely. But, then, I guess that's one of the great things about the Interweb. Now, you can spend as long as you'd like looking at it.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 6/21

The tour is tonight. It's a good thing my bike is out & ready to go.

Over the past few weeks I've been writing about the delays in getting my bike out of the basement for the year, and how my Marquette Regional History Center-imposed deadline of tonight meant I had to get it out sometime soon, if only to make sure that I had something to ride.

Well, it's out and I am ready to roil.

I took care of it last Friday when I had a few hours off; in fact, I even took it for a spin around the bike paths we'll be visiting tonight, just to make sure my legs were up to it. And while biking uses a lot of different muscles than running, my legs seemed to know what they were doing. In fact, the only problem I ran into was the fact that the bike path was actually closed right behind the hospital construction site.

But yesterday I found out that the path's now open again, so even that problem has gone away!

I have no idea how many people are going to show up tonight. Last year when we did it we had almost 100, and I'm gonna guess that most (if not all) of those people won't ride again tonight. However, the reason we're doing it for a second time is that it got such good reviews and so many people asked the History Center if they'd do another one that we said “yes”. So who knows? Maybe five people will show up. Maybe another 100 people will show up. I don't know.

I just know that I'm going for a bike ride tonight. And I might have some people going along with me. It'll be fun either way.

If you're curious and want to ride, it gets underway at 6 at the History Center, with a $5 suggested donation to help the Center do its fine work.. It's about an 8-mile ride, with a few slight uphill stretches, but we stop almost a dozen times, and no one stretch takes more than five or six minutes. I'm thinking that, even if you haven't ridden at all this year, like me, you should have no problem taking part.

Hope to see you there!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 6/20

Do you remember where you were ten years ago today?

Ten years ago today, June 20^th, 2007, was a date that will live in weather infamy here in Marquette. It was ten years ago today that the great hailstorm of 2007 hit a surprisingly small portion of the city, yet a big enough chunk to cause over $50 million in damage, thereby single-handedly keeping local auto body and roofing concerns in business for the next year or so.

Now you remember where you were ten years ago today, right?

I was actually taking one of my half days that day, as the morning was quite beautiful and warm. Walking to work, though, I could tell something funny was up by the way the sky looked; I had never seen clouds that looked quite like that. And no more than 10 minutes after I walked into the station, our Emergency Alert System started beeping and sputtering and the skies opened up. 10 minutes after that, I took this picture--

That’s hail that had fallen right outside the studio, just a small example of what had hit the city. When I walked home that night, I was amazed by the damage I saw--trees were down, houses had been pelted, and every single car roof I passed looked like Swiss cheese. As I got closer to my home I feared the worse--after all, my car (yes, I had a car back then) was just sitting in the driveway--but once I arrived in my yard I noticed Mother Nature had been looking out for me. You see, my car was in the driveway, but it was parked under a big tree. The leaves and branches of the tree had absorbed the force of the hail, which meant that anything hitting my car wasn’t going fast enough to do any damage.

Mine, in fact, was probably one of the few cars in this part of Marquette to have been outside during the storm and yet escaped damage free. For that, I thank the tree. And Mother Nature.

So that’s what happened ten years ago today, in case you needed your memory jogged!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 6/19

“You owe me restitution”!

That line, from my second favorite Charlie Brown cartoon ever (and bonus points if you know from which cartoon that line comes) has popped into my head recently when thinking about the “summer” we've had, at least here in Marquette, so far this year. We've had many days when the forecast sounded promising then turned out to be nothing like what it was supposed to be, and we've had days when the forecast sounded promising yet a lake breeze decided to play tricks on us. The rain we've had the past three or four (or is it five) Sundays is a perfect example, and yesterday's non-stop drenching marked the first time that I actually said the above-quoted line about restitution out loud.

And now I can't seem to stop.

Yes, I know that complaining about the weather is about as futile as trying to change the weather. There's nothing you can do about it. You get what you get, and you have to take it, no matter how much you may loathe it. You'd think that after living here most of my adult life I'd realize that. But for some bizarre reason I still think that Mother Nature is making this personal, that she's doing this just to make me whine. Yes, I know that I have absolutely no bearing on the weather, and whatever happens is not because of me. I'm self-aware enough to know that.

I just wish Mother Nature knew that, too.

8-)

(And, just an aside, I'm not the only one who has thoughts on the topic. There was a sign outside White's Party Store in Marquette over the weekend that said, and I'm quoting, “Someday the entire weekend will be nice. Until then, there's alcohol”).

I know I shouldn't complain, not when you look around other parts of the planet and see extreme heat or extreme drought or extreme rain (and as an aside, we're currently living through the hottest year, planet-wide, on record, with some areas being either dryer or wetter than they've ever been before. Maybe Mother Nature's just pissed we broke the planet, and is taking it out on us.). In that respect, we're lucky. We have enough water to live normal lives, we're not dying because of flooding or extreme temperatures, and our lives, unlike the lives of many people, aren't torn asunder by weather. Just because it's 10 degrees cooler than it should be, or a little rainier than normal, or because we have a breeze coming off the world's largest freshwater lake, a lake that still has water in it, is no reason to complain.

I know that. I realize that. So yes, I should stop complaining about it. Yet still, for some weirdly bizarre reason, I still think Mother Nature owes us restitution.

And no, I don't know why.

I'll shut up about the weather now. After all, I'm sure you're tired of me complaining about it, the same way you're tired of me waxing rhapsodic about lilacs. Besides, our summer has to show up SOME day, right?

Right?

(jim@wmqt.com)

Friday, 6/16

It's not gonna be the same without William around.

I think I've written in here before about the one TV show we actually watch when we're in France, the morning show “Telematin”. It's been hosted by this old guy named William Leymergie for almost 30 years now, and he's leaving the show later this summer to host another show on another network. And with him goes perhaps the greatest bromance in French TV history.

The first few years we watched the show William was kind of the scolding, older host to a bunch of hip young reporters. Then a couple of years ago the show hired a newsreader named Nathanaël de Rincquesen , and he was the one who finally broke through William's French reserve and turned him into a regular guy. In fact, he's turned him into so much of a regular guy that the two of them regularly end their segments by dissolving into a fit of giggles--

The giggles are usually induced by William's comments about Nate's hair or Nate's comments about William's golf game (the one above is about Nate's hair), but they are a marked difference in William's demeanor over the past few years. Like I mentioned before, it was the only reason we'd spare a few minutes during a very busy trip to turn on the TV, and now we won't even need to do that.

Bummer.

Thankfully, a large collection of William and Nate moments have been preserved on the show's Facebook page and on YouTube. So when we make our two-day stop in France in a few months, turn on the TV, and no longer see William and Nate together on the same screen...

Well, we'll always have Paris. Or, at least, the video clips of a Paris-based TV show that spawned one of the weirdest relationships you'll ever see on TV.

On that note...have yourself a great weekend and, if you have the chance to celebrate, a great Father's Day!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 6/14

I STILL haven't gotten my bike out the basement. And I really need to, if only because I have to use it one week from tonight.

I wrote in here a few weeks ago about how I hadn't gotten my bike out of storage yet. That's rare for me; after all, my bike and I usually have this long, eight-month affair every year. But because of the crappy weather in May and because of a crowded schedule on my part, I haven't had the chance to resume that affair.

But seeing as how I'm giving a bike tour for the History Center one week from tonight, I'm thinking I really DO need to get it out. Either that, or I'm gonna be running nine miles next Wednesday night while everyone else is on two wheels.

Seeing as how I use my bike for most of my transportation during the summer, I'm just as surprised as you that it's still sitting in my basement. I'm usually on it most of the weekend and when I take a half-day off, but seeing as how my weekends have been busy and the weather's only been nice enough for one half day so far this year, I haven't missed it as much as I normally might. But I've been getting this feeling recently, this feeling like I might be missing out on a big part of my summer, so I've made this resolution--

Tonight or tomorrow night, I'm going down in the basement and pulling the sucker out. I'll pump up the tires, oil the chain, and clean the dust off the seat. Then this weekend, if not before, I'm gonna ride it, hope that it remembers me fondly, and hope that it doesn't try to throw me off as payback for neglecting it.

Keep your fingers crossed.

*****

Like I said, I have the bike tour for the History Center next week. If you recall, it's the first of four different thingees I'm doing for them this summer. You probably don't care, but here's an update on the rest—the “Docks of Iron Bay” walking tour for July 19^th is done, and the article on Marquette and alcohol I'm writing for the Center's “Harlow's Wooden Man” newsletter is finished, except for the punching up of a few gags.

I'm guessing that's a problem almost everyone else who's ever written for it hasn't had to say.

That leaves the “21 Pictures” outdoor show I'm doing the evening of August 18^th. I have most of the pictures, and I kinda know what I wanna talk about, but I'm having trouble deciding what tone it should be. I mean, it's an outdoor show late on a Friday night, which makes me, at least, think of it comedy-oriented affair, but the pictures I've picked out are, by and large, “history” pictures designed to make you go “wow” more than laugh.

Oh well. I have two months to figure it out. And if I can wait this long to get my bike out, I can also wait a little while longer before figuring that out.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 6/13

The two songs were recorded 43 years apart, yet for some reason I can't get either one out of my head.

I think it was just last week or so that I wrote about how my pea brain, once it gets a song stuck in it, won't let go. Well, over the weekend it happened with two different songs, both of which seem to be running on repeat in my head.

The first is Loraine's fault. When we went grocery shopping Saturday, the one time of the week we're actually in her car, we popped in a Gordon Lightfoot CD. One of the songs that played was one of his two U.S. number one songs, “Sundown”. I haven't heard it in forever, and it's a song I've kinda liked since I was a kid, so I started humming along with it.

Big mistake, because I've now been humming along with the song for four straight days.

Because I've known about the song since it came out, it's not a surprise that once I was reintroduced to it it lodged itself in my brain. After all, we had some catching up to do. The other song that's been on repeat in my head is a song that's nothing like “Sundown”, yet I am also not surprised that it's lodged in my brain.

Why? Because it is nothing but one giant musical hook. World, let me introduce you to Computer Games' “Every Single Night”.

Computer Games is actually “Glee” actor Darren Criss and his brother _______, who've released a 3-song EP with 80's influenced tunes. I saw the video for this on MTVu, bought the single, and listened to it (at last count) 23 times in a row. At first listen I thought it was the greatest Haircut 100 song Haircut 100 (an obscure English group from the early 80s) never recorded. Then, after listening to it those 23 times in a row, I realized it was much more than that. It was like if Chicago and Miami Sound Machine had a musical love child, and then had that musical love child by one or all of the Hanson brothers (the musical brothers who gave us “Hmm Bop”, not the hockey brothers who gave us “Let's put on the foil”. That probably would've produced an entirely different kind of song).

Why that song started to mash-up in my mind with “Sundown” I'm not quite sure, seeing as how they are nothing alike. One's a 70's folk-pop song with interesting lyrical content, the other is a new throwback that (ear)worms its way into your brain. Yet for some reason they're both there, and both fighting with everything else in my head for whatever limited brain power I have. So if you see me walking down the street the next few days and I happen to be humming (or even outright singing) a song, you'll know it's one of two.

One you may know, and one you don't know yet. Although, now that I think about it, I'll start playing it on the air. Maybe it'll get stuck in YOUR brain, too!

No, that's okay. You can thank me later...

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 6/12

Ladies, gentlemen, or whatever other option you may choose—I think we have a winner.

Loraine and I took advantage of the 90-degree day Saturday to go on a big long walk and sniff lilacs, which are now at their full peak here in Marquette. If I had to guess, we probably stuck our noses in close to 100 bushes, including my favorite down the street from where we live, but in the end I think we both agree that this one was the winner--

This tree, on the bike path near the firefighter's memorial in Lower Harbor Park, is one of the weirdest lilac trees we came across. As long-time readers of this know, I'm not very knowledgeable about anything related to horticulture, but it seems to me like this lilac tree might've been a hybrid. It looks like it has white blooms, but then when you get close you notice that there are pink parts to the flowers, too, almost like it's a mix between a regular bush and a white bush-

I don't know exactly why it looks like that, nor do I care. All I know is that the flowers smell heavenly. They smell like regular lilacs, but with an extra little “zip” that ups their lilac-iness (trademark coming on that made up word, by the way) by about 70%. In fact, they smell so good that there are two huge regular lilac trees right next to this one, and after sniffing this hybrid you sniff the regular blossoms and it's like...”Oh, that smells nice”.

Because it smells nothing like the hybrid tree.

So if you're in the neighborhood in the next few days, seek out and sniff the hybrid tree before the blooms die off. You won't be sorry!

*****

Before we leave the subject of lilacs for (probably) the year, here are a couple of more shots from this weekend--

Tomorrow, two songs and why they're stuck in my head.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Friday, 6/9

It may be the strangest Christmas gift I've ever received.

First of all, let me explain why I'm talking about Christmas presents in the middle of June. When Loraine's parents came up for the Memorial Day weekend they brought gifts from Loraine's niece and nephews that were a little too big or too fragile to ship. So we got to open them at the end of last month, and I've spent the last two weeks looking at what may be the most bizarre (in a very good way) gift I've ever been given.

Specifically, this--

What it is, you ask? Well, I answer, it is a display case containing a package of Apollo-Soyuz commemorative cigarettes.

What? You've never been given 42-year old space-themed cigarettes in a display case for Christmas?

8-)

You all know I'm a space geek, with quite the collection of space memorabilia. But even I have never heard of ANYTHING like this pack of Apollo-Soyuz commemorative cigarettes. In fact, never even in my wildest imagination could I even have considered something like a pack of Apollo-Soyuz commemorative cigarettes. Yet I now own them.

Is this an amazing world or what?

Loraine's nephew Nathan found them in an antique store in Bay City, and immediately thought I would go bonkers over them, which I did. It's nice that when he thinks of me he thinks of space. But what he may not know is that the Apollo-Soyuz mission, flown in 1975 as a sign of detente between the US and the (then) Soviet Union, was the first ever space launch I saw in person. So the flight has always had a spot in my heart, and now to be given this gift is actually kind of sweet.

Plus, consider this, as well—as an avid non-smoker, these are the only cigarettes I'll ever own (and yes, the package DOES contain the original 42-year old product).

Somewhere in the boxes of crap I have spread around I have a few souvenirs that I picked up during the flight. I have no ideas where they are, nor do I have any idea if they're even still in good shape. But if I ever get a few minutes (or hours), I should dig them up, clean them off, and put together a whole little Apollo-Soyuz monument.

With, of course, the commemorative cigarettes as the centerpiece.

On that wildly absurd note, that's it for this week. Have a great weekend; get out and enjoy some of the warmth!!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 6/8

Does anybody remember when I wrote what follows?

First, let me explain how I came across it. I'm in the middle of a long-term project—cleaning out my office. Over the 14 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 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. All I know is that I wrote 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)

Wednesday, 6/7

I have a coworker who has never known a world without Sir Mix a Lot's “Baby Got Back”. I'm not quite sure how I feel about that.

I was working on a computer log at work yesterday when I saw the song's title pop up. Now, as we all know, I have no mental control; once I see the title of an embarrassing song, I tend to have that song stuck in my head for a length anywhere between five minutes and four and a half months. So it probably comes as no surprise that I was walking down the hall singing the epic opening line of the song (which, if you don't know what it is, I won't surprise it by typing it out here. Go ahead and Google “opening line of “Baby Got Back”. Go ahead. I dare you.). As I was walking down the hall singing the opening line, my young ESPN U.P. coworker Blake pipes up “I love that song”.

And, doing a little math in my head, that's how my mind was blown.

No, it wasn't blown by the math (something that HAS happened once or twice before). It was blown by this—the song came out in 1992. Blake was born in 1995 (I know because I asked). I now work with something who's YOUNGER than Sir Mix a Lot's “Baby Got Back”.

How the heck did THAT happen?

That means that Blake is three years older than “Baby Got Back”. It's been part of his musical vocabulary since he's been old enough to have a musical vocabulary. To him, it's just an “old” song, like Nirvana's “Smells Like Teen Spirit” or anything popular recorded by Madonna. To him, songs that I might consider part of the soundtrack of my life, songs by groups like REM or The Clash, are thought of the same way I might think of songs by Elvis or the Four Seasons.

You know---as oldies. Songs like my parents might like. I'm apparently old enough to have become an “oldie”, at least in the eyes of one of my coworkers.

I don't think I like that.

I consider myself fairly hip, fairly conversant in today's music. It's partly a benefit of working where I do, and partly because, as we all know, I refuse to act my age. But a song I clearly remember from its original release has proven, at least to a whole generation of people, that despite my best efforts, despite the way I act, that despite the fact that I'm fighting it with every fiber of my being, that time is passing me by.

I've become an oldie. And I have Sir Mix a Lot to thank for that realization.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 6/6

It was 73 years ago today when thousands of American, British, and Canadian troops hit four beaches on the northern coast of France to begin the liberation of Europe and the defeat of Nazi Germany. On one of those beaches--Omaha Beach, the setting for the opening 25 minutes of “Saving Private Ryan”--over 2,000 men died in just a few hours.

One of them was from Marquette County.

William Richards was born in Virginia, Minnesota, graduated from the Michigan College of Technology and Mining, and, in 1940, was working for Cleveland Cliffs at the same time he was a lieutenant in the 107^th National Guard Combat Engineering Battalion in Ishpeming. He had been married to a Negaunee girl--Mary Archibald--for two months, when the battalion was called up for a year of active duty. World War II then started, and that one year became “for the duration”.

The 107^th was shuttled around various camps in the U.S., and headed overseas in 1942, where Richards eventually attained the rank of Major. The invasion of Europe was on the horizon, and Richards’ battalion would be given one of the most dangerous of assignments--to clear the invasion beaches of mines, obstacles, and booby traps laid by the Nazis.

The 107^th was going in with the first wave of troops.

Now, if you’ve seen “Saving Private Ryan”, you get a pretty good idea of what the first wave had to face. That did not seem to daunt Richards and his engineers, especially when you read what was written about his actions in a Distinguished Service Cross citation he posthumously received--

“Major Richards landed with the initial assault waves under heavy enemy artillery, machine gun and rifle fire. He immediately effected the removal of barbed wire by directing the operations of a tank dozer, preceding it on foot under heavy small arms fire. After removing this obstacle, he personally reconnoitered inland to find the exact position of an enemy gun which was harassing troops and equipment at the entrance of one of the beach exits. After locating this gun, he made his way back to the beach and reported its location. He then proceeded to organize the units of his battalion for aggressive action against the enemy on the cliffs. Though wounded, Major Richards again proceeded to a beach exit to direct the efforts of the mine clearing and obstacle removing parties. While organizing these parties, he was killed by enemy fire. The courage and devotion to duty exhibited by Major Richards reflects great credit upon himself and is in keeping with the highest traditions of the armed forces.”

This is Major Richards’ final resting place, at the Normandy American Cemetery, on a bluff overlooking Omaha Beach, in St. Laurent sur Mer, France--

Aside from his wife in Ishpeming, Richards left a 2-year old daughter.

(As always, many thanks to Loraine for uncovering this amazing story and supplying the biographical data).

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 6/5

MONDAY, 6/5:

Okay...you remember how I took the lazy way out Friday and gave you a bunch of pictures? Well, I'm gonna do it again.

But at least this time I have an excuse.

During the 90 minutes it was actually semi-sunny & not raining Saturday I took a camera out and starting shooting all the flowers & blossoms that have popped out over the past few days. As it turned out, I was shooting a lot of them with famous (or semi-famous) Marquette landmarks out of focus (or just barely visible) in the background, and so that inspired this blog--

Maybe we can call it “What's Behind The Flowers?”

For instance, behind this flower you can see both the Range Bank building and the city power plant--

Behind these blooms lies the Marquette County Courthouse--

Old City Hall--

And even the Janzen House, if you take my word for it--

You can also catch glimpses of Peter White Public Library--

And the Landmark Inn--

Of course, I think you all know what the Holy Grail of my little picture expedition was, right? So here they are with the lake in the background--

As well as the Lower Harbor Ore Dock--

Finally, here's one that's fully in focus, if for no other reason than it looks to me, at least, like Jacques Marquette is standing there, commanding the lilacs to bloom--

Okay, maybe that's just me.

Tomorrow, I promise, a real blog with real words and stuff. Honest.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Friday, 6/2

Would it be considered lazy blogging if I showed you this picture?

Or this one?

In between the raindrops yesterday I snuck down to Lakeside Park (or, as most of you know it, the park where the Father Marquette statue sits) to see just how far the lilacs had bloomed. And while they aren't fully out, they're out enough so that a dork can just stand there and sniff.

And sniff...

And sniff...

In fact, I bet even Jacques Marquette is enjoying the fragrance!

Hopefully, they'll be fully bloomed during this weekend, so that I can drag my long-suffering wife out for a round of lilac sniffing. Not even chilly weather or rain will stop me. After all, we're in use-it-or-lose-it time here, people!

8-)

And on that note, I hope that YOUR weekend is as filled with as many nirvanic possibilities as it seems is mine.

(jim@wmqt.com)

(PS--Just so you know, I won't be spending my ENTIRE weekend sniffing lilacs, because I have a high school graduation to attend.  My youngest niece Sydney is leaving the hallowed halls of Marquette Senior High School (with honors!) Sunday, and we all couldn't happier.  Way to go Syd!!!!)

Thursday, 6/1

Okay...by the narrowest skin of your teeth, you won't have to listen to me talk about the five best colors for Frisbees today--

(Although, just for the record (and in order), those colors would be black, neon yellow, bright blue, hot pink, and classic red. I didn't want you to be left wondering...)

The lilacs are FINALLY starting to pop out, although it's been a slow & painful process, much like the wait for the arrival of summer this year. However, being the eternal optimist that I am, I'm taking to heart words my father-in-law uttered over the weekend. He's a guy who grew up around farms and seems to know a lot about things that grow, so when he mentioned that he's noticed over the years that the longer it takes the lilacs to come out, the longer they live, I was happy.

Because if that's the case, these lilacs should be out for the rest of summer (or whatever passes for summer this year).

Someone asked me why I have this things for lilacs, and I couldn't explain why. I've just always loved the smell. Maybe, like many things in life, it goes back to childhood and the lilacs trees my grandparents had in their front yard. Maybe I just have an overabundance of whatever brain cells or nasal receptors lock into the scent. Maybe I'm just weird.

It wouldn't be the first time, you know.

So I'll give you the warning I give out every year around this time. If you see me on the street with my head planted into a lilac tree, I'm not being held hostage. My head's not stuck in the branches, nor is a squirrel trying to mug me. I'm just sniffing and inhaling as deeply as I can before I pass out.

Yes, I know I have a problem. My name is Jim, and I'm a lilac-holic.

(jim@wmqt.com)