Wednesday, 1/31

I’m not quite sure what to make of this. For the third time in the last few weeks someone has asked me if I’ve been in Florida and/or a tanning booth recently. And to that I can say this--

No, and no.

It started a couple of weeks ago when a lady in a grocery store asked me that question. It continued Friday when a listener who stopped in to get a prize asked it again. And then Saturday at the Noque someone I haven’t seen for a couple of years asked it for a third time.

No, I haven’t been to Florida, and gawd no, I haven’t been in a tanning booth (I like my skin cancer-free, thank you very much). I just have a dark complexion. Always have, and from the sounds of it, always will. When I'm out in the sun a lot in the summer I get a little (but not really) tan, and it seems to stay with me for the next nine months until I'm ready to play outside in the summer sun again. I pretty much look the same in January as I do in July. I don't know why; maybe I'm just a genetic freak that way.

Wouldn't be the first time.

I’ve written in here a lot the past few years about my ethnic heritage, and how there are at least seven different nationalities that make up “me”. Over the past couple of years, I’ve started to think that there must be at least an eighth nationality in there somewhere, because of the ones I know of for sure--Irish, English, Scottish, Swedish, Finnish, German, and French--there aren’t a lot of people with dark complexions in there. I’m guessing that somewhere in my background there must be some Mediterranean in me (hopefully either Greek or Italian, because I love both foods). Either that, or thanks to invasion of Ireland a thousand or so years ago, I have some Moorish blood in me. No matter what, though, I’m thinking there’s at least one part of my background yet unaccounted for. And it’s probably on my dad’s side, as he and I share the same complexion.

Although he actually HAS been in Florida recently.

Anyway, I don’t give my complexion a second thought, but others must. Apparently I must be standing out to other people more than I have in the past. While I’ve had comments like this before, I’ve never had three of them in the span of a few weeks. I don’t know what it is; I don't know if I'm wearing colors that makes my skin tone stand out. I don’t know if people have just started to notice my skin color more. Or maybe, just maybe, I actually AM turning darker. I know a lot of weird things happen as you age. Maybe this is just one of the weirder. I don't know.

I just know it's part of being me!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 1/30

I'm ashamed of my alma mater.

I went running this morning, and as always happens when I'm running on a cold day I was wearing a ratty old Michigan State hoodie that I picked up when I was a student there. After all these years it's frayed, it has holes in it, and it's on its third or fourth drawstring. Basically, it's falling apart.

Much like Michigan State itself.

I don't know if you're aware of what's going on, but between the shocking Larry Nassar trial and an explosive story from ESPN dealing with the systemic cover-up of sexual and domestic abuse by athletes and coaches at the school, Michigan State's reputation is falling apart on a daily basis. The school's president and athletic director have resigned, and officials in state government are looking into whether the school's Board of Trustees—elected by Michigan voters—can be dismissed or recalled.

It's a great day to be a Spartan, isn't it?

In all honesty, I really don't think about my alma mater that much. I went there, I had a good time, I graduated, and I moved on. I haven't been back in a decade or so, and I always toss their letters begging for money in the recycling bin. I'm a State alum, but I'm also a lot of other things. So maybe I'm not the best person to comment on this. But I would think that any human being, alumni or not, would look at what's been going on down in East Lansing and throw up a little in their mouth.

It's that bad.

If you have the interest and you haven't eaten recently, I advise you to read the ESPN "Outside the Lines" story. The systemic cover-up of what's been going on in the athletic department for almost a decade now borders on the nauseating. And I think my disgust about the whole thing was magnified when I read WHY the school covered these incidents up. That reason, and I'm quoting from the story here, is that that “didn't want to tarnish the Spartan brand”.

Uhm, I don't think you have to worry about 'Tarnishing the brand” any more. I'm pretty sure that ship has sailed.

The thing is, the actions of the few who perpetrated the deeds and covered them up outweigh the many people at State who do amazing work. World-class research in a variety of fields is done there. I'm sure countless lives have been saved because of what people did at Michigan State. But now all people will think of when they hear the words “Michigan State” is abuse, degradation, misogyny, and cover-up. It'll take decades for the school's reputation to recover, assuming it ever does. But, you know, at least “the brand" wasn't tarnished.

Idiots.

My only hope now is that the school does right by the hundreds (if not thousands) of women and men who were abused, humiliated, and violated in the past decade. I also hope that the school gets rid of every person still remaining who played a part in the incidents, no matter how famous or beloved they are. Maybe then, and only then, can the school being the decades-long process to repair its “brand”, tattered reputation.

A reputation that's so bad it makes my mangy sweatshirt look good.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 1/29

Maybe I should just stop talking. Maybe THAT will help.

As you may recall, it was one of THOSE weekends, a three day span spent shooting TV, announcing a couple of thousand names at a ski race, and taking care of a bunch of other stuff, I now find myself with a rather sore throat, probably thanks to vocal chords that have been pushed beyond their limits of tolerance.

Oh, goody.

Thankfully, I haven't actually lost my voice. It juts hurts a little when I speak, and that makes me think of two things. The first is what athletic trainers tell you—if something really hurts when you're working it, you might wanna stop doing it lest you risk injuring it further. And the second?

I'm not really in the right career field to stop talking for a day or two to let my voice rest.

It's funny; I'm probably in one of the few jobs where it's worse to lose your voice than it would be to lose your mind. I mean, think about it—without a voice in radio, you're nothing. You're dead air. You're like a mime with no one to annoy. But if you lose your mind; well, that's a different matter. You can still speak. What you say may no make much sense, and you might not be on the air very long (especially if you boss is listening), but you could still be on the air.

Unlike, say, someone without a voice.

Like I said, though, I'm lucky in that regard. I can still speak. It's just a little uncomfortable when I do it, especially when I speak with any kind of volume. So if I in any way sound weird on the air today (and I don't think that I will), you now have the reason why.

I just really need to stop talking for a day or two.

****

Speaking of the ski race I announced on Saturday, I had a great time as usual at the Noquemanon. The thing, though, that blows my mind? I have now announced at the race finish line for each of the 20 years it's been around. Twenty years. Two decades. One of those “scores” Abraham Lincoln was talking about. I have done all of them. How the heck did THAT happen?

You discover weird things (and start marveling about them) as you get old(er), I guess...

(jim@wmqt.com)

Friday, 1/26

I wonder if they're still around, and if they are, if they're still skiing.

It’s Noquemanon weekend, which means I get to spend 6 hours announcing skiers’ name as they cross the finish line at the Forestville Log Yard (the new finish line of the race) tomorrow. I've been doing this race since the beginning of it (back last century, in fact), and I still looking forward to it because of things like this--

One of my favorite parts of doing the announcing comes in final hour.  That’s when only a handful of skiers are left to come across the line, and these are the skiers that aren’t taking the race seriously.  They’re just happy to be finishing, and we get to have a little fun with them as they’re wrapping up their 25 or 51 K day.  A decade or so ago, during the final hour of the race, I saw something that amazed me.

Two of the skiers I announced coming over the line that day were a married couple of Marquette, Bill & Veryl Albrecht, who had skied the half-marathon together, and were ending their race together after a morning and afternoon on the trails.  The amazing thing about it?  At the time, Veryl was 79, Bill was 81, and together, they had just skied over 14 miles in just over 3 hours.  79 and 81, and they had just skied a half-marathon.

TOGETHER.

If THAT doesn’t qualify as amazing—and, more importantly, heartwarming—I don’t know what does. I've thought about them a lot in the years past, especially as older skiers make their way across the line. There have been older skiers finishing, but I can tell you with certainty that there's never been a couple quite like them at the finish line. Like I said at the beginning, I don't know if they're still around. And if they are still around, I don't know if they're still skiing. Part of me would like to think so. After all, you don't come across a situation like that very often, and when you do, it sticks with you for quite a long time.

So if you ever needed an incentive to come out and see some of the skiers come across the finish line, you have it now. The first 12 K recreational skiers should start coming across the line around 10:30 tomorrow, while the half and full marathon skiers--the really serious ones--start appearing around 11:30 or so.

Now you know. If you can make it out, cool. If not, just make sure you have a weekend that causes someone to think about it a decade later!

(jim@wmqt.com), hoping to still have a functioning voice by the time I'm done announcing almost 2,000 names Saturday!

(ps—if you haven't heard yet, they've caught the guy who vandalized Phil's statue Saturday.  And the good part? His hat and scarf have been returned!)

Thursday, 1/25

It's been a month now. Don't you think they should start to come down soon?

While out running early in the morning I happened to pass probably a half dozen homes spread throughout the city of Marquette, homes that proudly had Christmas trees in their front windows. Not only did they have the trees still proudly displayed, but they had them fully lit up, which is why I noticed them in the first place.

Even though Christmas was a month ago today.

Now I'm not here to rain on anyone's Christmas parade, especially after what I wrote on Tuesday. But we're now just a couple of weeks away from Valentine's Day, which is itself just a month away from St. Patrick's Day, which is then just two weeks away from Easter. Shouldn't it be time to look forward to what's coming up instead of still celebrating that which has been?

Or am I looking at this the wrong way? I know there are people who just love the Christmas holidays. There are people who get their decorations out right as the leaves change colors, and there are people who start to listen to Christmas songs while the rest of us are looking forward to “It's The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown”. I get that. I get that feeling of anticipation for your favorite time of the year. I do the same myself when the weather first hints at warmth and I start looking forward to summer. But once October rolls around I know it's time to put away the flips flops and beach gear and haul out the winter stuff. I don't want to, and wish I didn't have to, but I do it.

And maybe that's how the people with their Christmas trees up still feel.

I remember a phone call I took on the air a decade or so ago, when somehow the topic of Christmas lights came up. The caller complained about her neighbor, a gentleman in the city of Marquette who still had his outdoor lights up and turned on every evening. Mind you, this was in May, if I recall correctly, and she was wondering if he was ever going to take them down. So I guess I'm not alone in this. There probably SHOULD be a limit to how long you have your Christmas stuff up.

Maybe a month's okay, though. Maybe the people who still have the trees up are basking in the afterglow of the holidays. Maybe they had a really great Christmas season, and don't want it to end. Maybe they had family members who couldn't make it home for the actual holidays and are just getting around to celebrating them now. In that case, we'll cut them some slack, and let things be, at least for now.

However, if I go running a month from today and the tress are still up and lit...well, then, we may have to revisit this discussion. And maybe—just maybe—we won't be quite as understanding.

We'll have to see.

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 1/24

I think that, as plans go, it's a good plan to have.

We now know the two teams in this year's Super Bowl, the Philadelphia Eagles and the team that a vast majority of Americans despise with every fiber of their being (or is that just me?) Normally, like most people, I'll look forward to watching the game and, as has happened way too many times in my life, end up getting my heart ripped out because the team that a vast majority of Americans despise with every fiber of their being manages to pull out yet another miraculous victory.

But not this year.

Being an Indianapolis Colts fan, I've suffered more than my share of heartache thanks to the team that a vast majority of Americans despise with every fiber of their being, and no one knows that better than my dear wife. So when she found out that that particular team was back in the Super Bowl again this year, she came up with a plan, a plan I think will work perfectly.

Instead of sitting down with the game and (most likely) having my heart ripped out again, I'm gonna DVR it. That way, I can go back and watch the commercials and, should a miracle occur, actually see what happens. And while the game is being DVR'd the two of us will eat pizza and watch “Star Wars” movies.

That's MUCH better than having my heart ripped out yet again, isn't it?

I'm pretty sure Loraine came up with the plan not to save me from having my heart ripped out yet again but to save herself from having to listen to me groaning and wailing in despair for four hours. I figured it out; there have probably been almost two dozen times over the past 15 years that she's had to experience me going into a football game full of optimism but having it end by me sitting in a corner muttering to myself. Like I said, I've been a Colts fan for a long time, and if there's one team that year in and year out put the kibosh on the football season it was the team that a vast majority of Americans despise with every fiber of their being. Add to that other assorted miracle wins on their part (capped by last year's Super Bowl), and it's just become ridiculous.

So that's why I'm not watching the Super Bowl live this year. I deserve it, Loraine definitely deserves it, and besides—can you think of a better way to spend a Sunday night than eating pizza and watching “Star Wars” movies?

It sure beats getting my heart ripped out once again.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 1/23

I was gonna be sarcastic today.

I was gonna be REALLY sarcastic today, in fact. I was going to post a picture of one of the “no dogs allowed” signs at the entrance to Marquette’s Fit Strip, and then I was going to post the text of the city ordinance that says all owners must keep their dogs in a leash while out in public. I was then going to share the observation that the one or two percent of dogs owners who don’t follow the law must do so because they have trouble reading, and I was going to propose we consider setting up an “Illiterate Dogs Owners” fund to teach them the joy of reading.

But you know what? Life’s too short, especially for sarcasm like that.

As I mentioned yesterday, Saturday morning caused a bit of disillusion on my part. I mentioned I was walking home from something when I saw the hat had been stolen from Phil's statue in downtown Marquette, but from where was I walking? Well, I was walking from an early morning cross-country ski around the Fit Strip. Because of the weather conditions it wasn't the best ski in the world, but I wanted to get some exercise. So I went. Little did I know that would mean going down a steep hill and having to bite a snow bank because several huge piles of dog crap were sitting in the tracks in front of me.

That was fun.

I know I complain about the very small minority of dog owners who don't follow the rules in here a lot. And maybe I shouldn't; after all, 98 percent of Marquette residents who own dogs are dreams. But the others? Well, the others feel their pets are more important than the human citizens of Marquette. And I was gonna whine about that today. But when you consider that there are people in this world who are starving or who are fighting for their basic human rights, dumb dogs owners are nothing. When you consider there are kids dealing with cancer and parents wondering where their next pay check is coming from or whether they'll be hated by other just because of who they are, dumb dog owners don’t matter one iota.

There are minor inconveniences in the world, and then there are PROBLEMS in the world. On the scale of things, I know where this falls.

I’d like to think that I’m not a very self-involved person. I’d like to think that I’m well aware of the fact that the world does not revolve around me, and that not everything in the world that goes wrong does so just to piss me off. I have a good life. In fact, despite some of the complaining I’ve done in here recently, I have a GREAT life. I have enough food. Because I was lucky enough to be born a straight (off-) white male, I don’t have anyone trying to deny me my rights. I have a job, I have my health, and I have the love of a great woman and a great family.

That is what I should be focusing on. The inconsideration of a very small subset of people, and my response to them, pales in comparison to everything else.

So I’m making this vow--2018 will be the year I devote every iota of energy I have to the good things I have in life and to the possibility of good things for everyone all around the planet. The little inconveniences? They don’t even deserve the energy I’d have to expend to come up with a sarcastic response.

That’s my vow. If I slip a little bit over the next few months, forgive me. And call me out on it, too. After all, as we all know, I’m nowhere near perfect. But hopefully I can at least be a little better, even if others can't (or won't).

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 1/22

Well, that wasn't the way I thought my Saturday morning would go.

Two blog-worthy things occurred before noon this past Saturday, the first of which I'll write about tomorrow. The second of which occurred when I was walking home through downtown Marquette from the first, around 930 or so, and I saw that someone stole Statue Phil's hat!!

Not only did they steal Statue Phil's hat, which, as part of the sculpture of the Marquette icon, they actually had to unscrew and then tear off, but they also stole the pretty purple scarf that someone had whimsically wrapped around his neck when it started to get cold out, as well as the plaque that explained who Phil is and why the statue had been put up. They just went and took everything, the dirty little, uhm...

And I'll leave out the word I was thinking of using. After all, I try to keep this family friendly.

I put the pictures up on Facebook  and, perhaps not surprisingly, had over 200 shares and a whole crapload of comments from incensed community members follow shortly thereafter. I'd like to repeat some of those comments, but in keeping with the family-friendly nature of this I can't. The one thing I CAN say, though--

People are pissed. They're really, really pissed.

For those of you who don't live in Marquette it's kind of hard to explain just how loved the real-life Phil Niemisto is. Here's a dude who pays for and plants flowers and washes windows and helps people out, and who, at the age of 88, didn't want the statue put up because he thinks that statues are only for people who are dead. And even though he moves a lot slower since an accident due to ice last year, he feels he still has a lot left to do.

I don't think any of us can disagree.

In a way, maybe it's not surprising the vandalism occurred. After all, the are five bars on the block where Phil's statue sits. Phil's flowers, which he plants in the same park that's home to his statue, have been torn up countless times, and this was the first weekend that NMU students were back for class. Put all of those together, and maybe it shouldn't be a surprise. Maybe it's a miracle that the statue, put up back in October, hadn't been vandalized yet. But what does it say about us as a city or even us as a society that we should be thankful we had three whole months with the statue before someone did something to it? Those of us who contributed to it and those of us who helped push the construction of it did so because we genuinely care about the person it honors. We didn't do it hoping that we'd get 90 days out of it.

But thanks to someone's idiocy, be it induced by alcohol or just a lack of common decency (or both), that's all that we got.

I ran into Phil yesterday afternoon, and, sadly, he seemed more resigned to the situation than anything. It's just not right that someone should take a symbol of a person who's meant so much to the city and just walk away with a part of it. I hope that the outcry of the community causes the hat to mysteriously reappear. I also hope that the outcry of the community causes whoever took it to realize that there's a line you might not wanna cross next time you're looking for something stupid to do after the bar closes.

(jim@wmqt.com)

(ps—if you DO have any information on the location of Phil's hat contact the Marquette City Police at (906) 228-0400, or leave it on their Facebook page)

Friday, 1/19

You guys are smart. That's all I need to say.

Tuesday I posed a thought experiment—what would Michigan have become had Calumet been named the state capital instead of Lansing? I had a few thoughts on the matter, and I asked if you had ideas. Well, a few of you did, and one of them, in fact, blew my mind. Probably because it would've happened.

First of all, a lot of you kind of stayed along the lines of what I had put forth. Several people who wrote wondered, as I did, if the U.P. would've become industrial part of the state, instead of Detroit. Several of you also thought that wouldn't have happened, due mostly to weather and/or isolation issues. And a couple of you expressed gladness that it didn't happen, fearing that the influx of population and/or industry would've ruined the area.

There wouldn't have been as many trees around. That's for sure.

Daily blog reader Julie of Marquette had a thought that blew my mind. Julie wondered if Calumet had become the state capital and all the money and power had flowed up here, if the people downstate, much like we are now, would have felt neglected and without influence. Julie then wondered if those people, much like we do now, would have made a move for statehood separate from “Michigan”. So you would've had the U.P., with Calumet has its capital, as “Michigan”, and what we call downstate as it's own state. Let's call it “Huron” for the lack of anything else.

Julie, that's a great thought. And I'm gonna take it one step further, if you don't mind. The reason Calumet was considered as state capital was because of the power and wealth of the copper industry. So if what we now know as Michigan had, following Julie's theory, split into two states, “Michigan” and “Huron”, what would've happened to “Michigan” when the copper ran out? Would “Michigan” find itself economically dried up? Would that industrial base we talked about Tuesday in Marquette and along the Lake Michigan shore have allowed “Michigan” to thrive, or would it have led to “Michigan” becoming the first (and perhaps biggest) victim of the post-industrial revolution?

Is it too much to suppose that, had Calumet become the capital of Michigan, we'd be a downtrodden post-industrial wasteland by now? Once again, I'm not saying that's what would've happened, but it's one possible outcome for our little mental exercise. Maybe “Michigan” and “Huron” would've come back together to form Michigan, maybe Wisconsin would've taken us in, or maybe we'd just be a peninsula onto ourselves, with a bunch of old, polluted industrial sites dotting the landscape.

No matter what you think of how we're treated by Lansing these days, you have to admit that it's probably better that that scenario.

Not that it's important. This was just a little mental exercise, after all, and I'd like to thank everyone who send in their thoughts or notes. As always, I appreciate them all. Speculation can be a blast, can't it? On that note, have yourself a great weekend. Enjoy the mild weather before whatever we're supposed to get Monday shows up!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 1/18

Don't worry. I will actually get to it, and get to it soon.

Yesterday I mentioned today's blog would be about your responses to the historical “what if” piece I wrote on Tuesday, the one that supposed Calumet had actually become the capital of Michigan. Well, for two reasons, I'm gonna wait until tomorrow to post it and, unlike last week when I never did get around to writing the blog about why computers are stupid, I WILL get to this one. I promise.

Now, I'm sure the curious among you are wondering why I'm not doing it today, and like I said I actually do have two good reasons. The first is that I'm still getting in a few notes from people who took the time to read Tuesday's blog, and I want to make sure that they have the chance to get their two cents in. As you may know, some people read this on a daily basis, while other binge-read them two or three or a week at a time. I'm just waiting to hear from those people. The other reason?

Hugh Wilson died Tuesday.

Who is (or, more appropriately was)Hugh Wilson? Well, Hugh Wilson was a movie director of some modest success, with films like the original “Police Academy” and “First Wives Club” to his credit. But that's not why I'm interrupting regularly scheduled programming to write about him. Nope; while Hugh Wilson did have a little modest success as a director, he was best known for creating and being the driving force behind one of the best TV shows ever, one of my favorites of all time, “WKRP in Cincinnati”.

That's why I pre-empted your regularly scheduled blog.

Those of you who've read this over the past few years may remember my abject joy when the entire series was finally released (with most of the original music) on DVD back in '14 or '15. I killed a good chunk of the winter that year watching all 88 episodes, and came away with a renewed appreciation for one of the most under-rated TV shows ever. I remember viewing it during its original run as a younger person and thinking it was an amazing show (one of the reasons I work in radio, I guess), but upon this latest viewing I was struck by just how deep and, on occasion, how subversive the show was. It was never given a chance by CBS; I think it had 12 different time periods in the four seasons it was on the air. But if the show was in first-run now, and given the proper chance to grow, I could see some cable network making a killing in terms of both ratings and prestige by airing it. To me, at least the show was that good.

If you ever have the chance, check out an episode or two for yourself. And while everyone would probably choose the most famous episode of the show—the Thanksgiving show where they dropped turkeys out of a helicopter—there are so many others that are simply amazing, like the first season's “A Commercial Break” or “Fish Story”, the second season's “In Concert”, the third season's (the best, in my opinion) “Real Families”, “Venus & the Man”, and “Clean Up Radio Everywhere”, and one of my favorites of all time, the two-part fourth season opener called “An Explosive Affair”. You can't go wrong with none of these. In fact, you probably can't go wrong with any of the show's episodes), but these are among the most outstanding.

Trust me on that.

Okay, I don't want to bore you, so that's all I'm gonna say. Tomorrow, we return to our regularly scheduled topic. I promise.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 1/17

Okay...I get it, I get it. The dreams can stop now!

Twice in the past few days I’ve had the exact same dream—I’m rollerblading down Lincoln Street hill in Marquette, I’m dodging sticks and rocks in the road, doing my best not to fall down and wondering how I’m gonna through the roundabout onto Wright Street when Lincoln Street ends.

And then I wake up.

It’s not the most fun dream I’ve had recently; in fact, it doesn’t even come close to the one where I was Katy Perry’s besieged road manager (and let me ask you this—what other guy would have a dream about Katy Perry and have it deal with being her road manager? Geesh..). But I think the strangest thing about the dream is that I’ve had it twice. Once, I can see. Once, and I’m guessing my subconscious is telling me I have control issues I haven’t dealt with. But twice, and almost the exact same dream?

I like my brain. Really, I do.

The second time I had the dream was even stranger than the first, in that while I was rocketing down Lincoln Street and dodging the rocks & the sticks, something in the back of my brain was telling me that it was a dream, and that I’d gone through this before. I was actually able to wake myself up before getting to the Wright Street intersection and causing myself, at least in my dreams, great bodily harm. So now I’m thinking that if I have the dream a third time, I’ll just stop it before I even start rocketing down Lincoln Street.

Take that, control issues!!

I notice that as I’ve gotten older, my dreams have turned less freaky. Oh, like you, I still have the occasional bouts of highly symbolic journeys to lands into which even Sigmund Freud would be afraid to venture. But I don’t seem to have those stereotypical running- down-the-street-naked or watching-while-aliens blast-the-world-apart double features any more. My dreams have become, perhaps a bit sadly, a little more literal and a little easier to understand. I don’t know if that’s because I now know myself better or just because (heaven forbid) I’ve become a little more mature, but my dreams have slowly become more sedate.

And that’s probably why the rollerblading dream, occurring twice in the span of four nights, caught my attention. It was a little out of the ordinary, even for me. Of course, it wasn’t as out of the ordinary as dreaming that I was Katy Perry’s besieged road manager, but I have the sad feeling that’s a whole OTHER can of subconscious worms, a can that I may not want to open just yet.

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

(ps—I've been getting some rather interesting thoughts from several of you about yesterday's blog, the “what if” about U.P. history. Keep 'em coming; I'll write about a few of them tomorrow!)

Tuesday, 1/16

It IS an interesting thought experiment. I will admit that.

Loraine and I were having lunch with our friend Deanna Saturday when the strangest of topics came up. Specifically, the topic of Calumet as the capital of Michigan. Deanna, who has to drive to Lansing for work quite a bit, was complaining about the travel, especially during winter, and bemoaned the fact that Calumet was never given a shot at becoming the seat of the state. And that got us to thinking--

Just how different WOULD the U.P.--and Michigan in general—have been if Calumet was the state capital instead of Lansing?

For those of you who don't know, for a (very) brief time in the 1800s Calumet was being considered as a new location for the capital of Michigan. At the time, Calumet had 75,000 residents and was the epicenter of the copper boom. Money and power were pouring into the area, and while the proposed switch from Lansing to Calumet was never made, it does make for a good story for those people interested in the glory days of the Copper Country.

And that's what got us to thinking—just how different WOULD the area in which we live be if all that money and all that power had stayed in the U.P.? Just how different would Calumet and Houghton and the whole Keweenaw Peninsula be if the people who ran things ran things from there? Would the Lansing area have turned into a ghost town, much like Calumet eventually became, centered around farming instead of a dead copper industry? And how would the rest of the state evolved? Because of its proximity to a state capital, a seemingly endless supply of iron, and two natural deep water harbors, would Marquette have become the Motor City instead of Detroit? Would there have been foundries and steel factories lining the shores of Lake Michigan to supply the raw materials? Would places like Detroit and Flint and Saginaw be filled with trees or turned into the breadbasket of the nation instead of becoming the industrial hub of a country?

You never know. I doubt any of that would've happened, because of both the relative isolation and the harsher weather conditions of the U.P., but if this area was the hub of wealth and power in the state, arrangements would've been made. Transportation routes would've been set up. And, who knows...technological advances that were never made may have been made to ensure that the products manufactured here got to where they needed to go.

In a way, it's a shame we'll never know. But that's part of the fun about speculating on “what ifs” or on alternative histories—because we don't know what would've happened, we can let our imaginations run wild. So, if you feel like it, think about it yourself. What do YOU think the U.P. would've been like if Calumet had become the state capital? Then let me know, and I'll post a blog in a few days containing some of the ideas that you guys come up with.

After all, that's what interesting thought experiments are all about!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 1/15

Do you think you make a difference?

On a day like today, on this particular holiday, I always wonder if I’ve made enough of a difference. The individual who we honor today once said, and I quote, “We must work unceasingly to uplift this nation that we love to a higher destiny, to a higher plateau of compassion, to a more noble expression of humanness". I’ve always tried to do my part; I don’t know whether or not I’ve succeeded, but I’ve always tried to do my part.

When I look back at everything I’ve done in the past year, I know that I’ve done a lot of different things, but part of me always wonders if they’re things that make a difference. Sure, I give a lot of tours and do a lot of programs and help with a lot of other things, but is that really making a “difference”? I mean, when I think of people who make a “difference”, I think of the people who’ve moved to other countries to help with victims of natural disasters. I think of people who selflessly take in homeless children. I think of people who protest against the many wrongs that take place in our world. I think of people who put their lives on the line every day so their fellow human beings can live in some semblance of peace.

Those are people who really make a difference, people who work unceasingly to uplift this nation—this planet—to a higher destiny. Sometimes, I feel like I’m just falling a bit short in that respect, you know?

When I was young, I wanted to make a name for myself. But like most people, as I’ve aged I’ve come to understand that it’s just not in my destiny to change the world single-handedly. I’ll probably never be written up in history books, I’ll probably never have a memorial built to me, and my name won’t be mentioned by generations to come. As I’ve grown, I’ve become okay with that.

But in my own way, I still want to make a difference. I want to do whatever I can to make the place in which I live a better place in which to live, to help my people who may not be as fortunate or as free from persecution as am I, and to leave whatever little mark I can in the time I have on this planet. I may not be able to change the planet, but I DO want to make a difference, at least as much of a difference as possible. And that’s why, on a day like today, I wonder if I’m doing just that, living up to the challenge of one particular man who DID make a difference.

And on that note, happy King Day. If you feel like watching this, watch this. It just might be the single greatest piece of oratory this planet has ever known. And you wouldn't think it would be as timely today as it was 55 years ago, but, sadly, it is.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Friday, 1/12

You know...I don't see the point of it any more.

All week I've been promising to write a blog about one particular way in which computers are stupid, but all week something else popped up. Well, we're now at the end of the week, and you know what? It just doesn't seem like it's a big deal any more. Maybe my feelings toward the spell-check on my machine have dissipated; maybe they were never just that strong to begin with. So you know what? I'll spare you the rant.

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

So, then, what do I have to write about today? Well, just that my “string” is continuing. What “string”, you ask? Well, I answer, you may recall that last month I wrote about how I was able to run in shorts every single month of 2017. I always run in shorts when it's above freezing, and since there was at least one day each month in 2017 that warm I ran in shorts every single month of the year. Yesterday morning, at least before the rain (and then snow) started and the temperatures plummeted, it was 35 degrees.

You can then guess what I did, right?

Don't worry; I'm not gonna go on and on about it this year like I did last year. Next month the entire 28 days may be frigid, and the streak (which is actually now at 23 months) will then be broken. Or we may have a repeat of last February and it'll hit 64 again one day, causing the entire city to play outside in shorts, and I'll then have to wait until the end of this year or the beginning of 2019 for it to end. Doesn't matter; much like my rant about spell-check it's not really important in the scheme of things. So I'll spare you any more details about it.

Unless, of course, it becomes a long-term thing. So check back in 2020 or 2021 and we may have something to talk about then.

On that note, have yourself a great weekend. If you're around Marquette, try to stay warm and/or dry. I have a feeling that's something a lot of us may be struggling with. And if you're one of those lucky people who actually have a three day weekend, well...

The rest of us are jealous. Enjoy it.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 1/11

Okay. I WILL write about how computers are stupid, and I'll write about it soon. Really, I will. But I want to address two things about clothing today, if that's okay.

This is prompted by the episode of “High School Bowl” I taped yesterday, the first game in our “Cerebral 16” round. Right before the holidaze I dragged Loraine to Kohl's so I could pick out a couple of new ties. You know me & ties—usually, the more colorful, the better. While there, I found a really great pink & gray tie in a geometric pattern. Loraine, scouting through other parts of the men's department for me, found a pink shirt with blue lines that matched the tie, at least color-wise, perfectly. She remembered something Carson Cressley once said on “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy” about mixing your patterns, suggested I wear them together, and voila. You get this--

As an aside, ever notice how weird my neck is? Anyway, that's the ensemble, something I really like. I usually wear solid shirts with a colorful, contrasting tie, but in this case I'll make an exception. So thanks for noticing the shirt, Loraine!

After I got done taping the show Loraine wondered how the outfit looked, so I wandered across the street to show her. Her co-workers liked it, too, especially how the all colors went together, although one of them (and I don't remember who) also noticed, and I quote--

“Not only do the colors go with each other, but they go with your gray hair, too”.

Uhm...thanks?? I mean, they weren't wrong. The gray in my hair kind of matches the gray in my jacket, so I guess that means the shirt & tie combo would match it, too. But, you know...

You know?

The other thing Loraine's co-workers commented on was something I thought was an open secret. While, in the picture, you don't see me below the waist, I'm wearing jeans. That's what I always do when on TV. Loraine's co-workers apparently don't realize that when you host a TV show and you're behind a podium viewers only see you from the waist up. I could be wearing shorts—heck, I could be wearing nothing at all—and you wouldn't be able to tell.

Maybe I should try that someday; the shorts, that is, not the “nothing at all”. I can just imagine the looks I'd get THEN from people who wanna check out my ensemble for the week.

That's something to think about for the future. As is the blog I keep promising about why computers are stupid. Heck; maybe we'll even get to it tomorrow.

We'll see...

(jim@wmqt.com)

(ps—the show we shot airs February 10^th if you wanna check it out for yourself)

Wednesday, 1/10

I was gonna write today about how computers are stupid. I'll do that tomorrow.. Instead, I'm gonna write about how fingers are stupid.

Especially when you cut one of them.

Don't worry; it's not like there was blood spurting everywhere when it happened. But yesterday afternoon I cut the tip of my right middle finger while opening a can of beans...proving, apparently, that fiber isn't quite as good for you as they say. And that you probably shouldn't use a dull, manual can opener when opening the beans. It's a small puncture, kind of like what you get when they test your iron levels before you give blood. But because of where it's placed—right on the tip of the finger—I wanted to put a Band-Aid on it so it would stay clean, and so whatever blood was there wouldn't leak on whatever I touched.

Ever since then, it has been a pain in my...finger.

For instance, I'm trying to type this using my patented four-finger typing method. Unfortunately, my patented four-finger typing method counts the middle finger on my right hand as one of the four fingers, which means that every time I try to use said finger the Band-Aid gets in the way and hits the key next to the one I intended to hit.

So if you happen to see words like “stup[of” and “finget” in this blog, just know that it's because I'm only at 75% capability as far as typing goes. And because computers are stupid. But that's a story for tomorrow.

The other problem I'm having is because I'm weird. Like you, I use a lot of touchscreens, especially at work, and for some reason I never really use my right index finger to touch the screen. Most people use the index finger of their dominant hand on touchscreens, but because I'm not most people I use a different finger. And you know what finger I usually use?

Oh, you know me all too well. Of COURSE I use my right middle finger, the finger that currently has a Band-Aid on it. Well, it IS the one that pokes out the farthest, you know. And did you know that touch screens won't work if you touch them with a Band Aid instead of a finger?

Well, now you do.

Assuming the cut is healed I'm taking the Band-Aid off this morning, so hopefully the problem disappears as quickly as our snow is scheduled to today. Unless, of course, I try to open another can of beans with a dull manual can opener. Then all bets are off.

Tomorrow, the story of why computers can be dumb. Even dumber than me trying to open a can of beans with a really dull manual can opener.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 1/8

I have, on occasion, talked about things I see or details I notice when I'm out walking here and there. Well, today I wanna talk about one of those things I see. Specifically, I wanna talk about one thing I see all the time--

Acceleratorists.

Pardon the made-up word “acceleratorist”, but I couldn't think of anything else to describe the people I see several times a day except “acceleratorist”. These are the drivers I see speeding up to a stop sign or a stop light, hammering their brakes before coming to a complete stop, then flooring it when they start again, continuing the cycle at the next stop light or stop sign.

“Acceleratorists”. It's what you get when you have a fetish for accelerator pedal. And that's how I came up with the word.

Now, I know I'm not a normal person, especially when it comes to driving, but I don't get what acceleratorists are doing. Why would I want to speed up to a stop sign, come to a complete stop, then speed up as fast as possible from a dead stop, only to come to a complete stop again in a few blocks when coming to another stop? I'm kind of sure it's not good on your car, I KNOW for sure it causes you to burn through gas a lot quicker than a smooth, steady acceleration, and I'm guessing that you save very few, if any, seconds in your day by doing it.

I just don't get it.

Ever since I've noticed people doing this, I've tried to see if there's a certain “type” that becomes an acceleratorist. But much to my surprise, I haven't been able to. It seems like every demographic subset is represented. I've seen men do it, I've seen women do it, I've seen people in small cars do it, and I've seen people in pickup trucks do it. I've seen people do it in the morning, during the day, and at night. There doesn't seem to be any defining characteristic to an acceleratorist.

They just seem to be everywhere.

Like I said before, I'm in no position to judge acceleratorists. I don't drive (much), and I have no idea why they're doing what they're doing. After all, they may have a good reason for it. All I know is that, on those rare occasions when I do drive, I don't drive like that. Of course, that's just me.

You know—the me who see things, and finds things, while I'm walking everywhere instead of driving.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Friday, 1/5

It’s nice to know that some traditions never die.

All the snow we received this week has allowed people to get into the swing of the many winter sports available around here. I know people who’s gone skiing, I’ve talked to people who’ve gone snow shoeing, and I see a place where people can go sledding.

In fact, I people still sled down the very hill I used to sled down when I was a kid.

Back when I was just a kid (you know, back in the 1860s) I used to live on Norway Avenue in Marquette, three blocks away from Whitman School. I went that school the first six years of my academic life, and like many kids, I also used to haul my sled there and swoosh down the hill behind the school. At the time, it seemed like one of the biggest hills in Marquette; you could tell because you had a thrilling ride down it and a looooong walk up it.

Anyway, Whitman’s no longer a school but a part of NMU. And the baseball field at the bottom of the hill where your sled would end up is now a parking lot. So imagine my surprise when, while running up Fair Street past the hill this morning, I saw a sign that NMU had posted, a sign that (basically) says you can't sled down it during business hours. Other than that, you're free to fly down it.

Wow. After 140 years, they still use the hill for sledding. I have to admit, while I was a little surprised, I was also glad to see it. I know I had a lot of fun going up & down that hill (well, mostly going down) and it’s nice to see that the tradition continues. And I actually think that kids may have a slightly better sledding experience these days. After all, there’s not a fence stopping you at the bottom of the hill, a fence that used to be around the old baseball field. Now you can just slide into the parking lot, at least as far as the snow will allow you.

Just for kicks, I stopped for a second and stood at the top of the hill, and as with many things we remember from our childhood, the hill itself was no longer daunting. It’s not quite as high or as steep as I remember, but that’s okay. I’m sure that, to the kids sledding down it, it’s just as high and as steep as they can handle.

Hopefully, the tradition carries on. Hopefully, one of the kids sledding down the hill this past weekend will be running past it in, oh, 2045, notice a whole new generation of kids going down the hill on their hover-sleds, and realize that while the times and the technologies change, the fun, the hill--and the tradition--never will.

On that note, have yourself a great weekend. If you have the chance and the intestinal fortitude, get out there and sled down a hill a few times just for fun!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 1/4

Because I have to be at the station at 8am (gulp) to warp the minds of impart knowledge of how local media works to the latest class of the Lake Superior Community Partnership Leadership Academy, I'm gonna leave with a question someone asked four years ago around this time.

Oh, and the answer's in there, too.

Back tomorrow with something new. In the meantime, keep your fingers crossed that I stay awake during my presentation!

(jim@wmqt.com)

*****

(as originally posted January 10^th, 2014)

It’s not as much as you think it is. Trust me on that one.

I guess I write about chocolate in here on occasion, right? I mean, sure, when I say “occasion” I actually mean “writing about it so much that it borderlines on pathological obsession”, but I do write about chocolate in here, and I mention it quite often on the air, as well. So when someone asked me yesterday just how much chocolate I eat in a week and I gave them my answer, they actually refused to believe me.

Trust me, though--I wasn’t lying.

I know some people seem to think that I eat nothing but chocolate, including the person who asked me the question, but it’s not true. If you look at my chocolate consumption on a weekly basis, you’d probably be stunned. This doesn’t happen every week--some weeks I eat more, many more weeks I eat less--but on average, I’ll enjoy a three ounce (100 gram) bar from Europe on the weekend, and then parcel out another 3-ounce bar of dark chocolate the rest of the week, eating one (or two) pieces a day at work. So on average, I eat two chocolate bars a week.

Not the two or three bars a day the person who asked the question assumed!

Actually, I don’t know if anyone could eat that much chocolate in a day; not only would your health probably suffer quite a bit, but if you ate that much chocolate it seems like you’d get sick of it fairly quickly. At least I know I’D get sick of it fairly quickly if I ate that much on a daily basis. Nope; I’m quite happy with the amount that I eat each week. And I’m even happier with the quality of that amount!

Take this week, for example. On Saturday and Sunday I consumed a German dark chocolate bar that was a Christmas gift from my in-laws, who seem to know me only all too well. It was heavenly; in fact, I have another one waiting for me that I bought when we were in Europe together last summer. Then during the week I’ll be nibbling on a Ghirardelli Intense Dark bar, made of 72% dark chocolate goodness (the perfect percentage for all those good antioxidants dark chocolate provides). I’ll finish that Friday, and that’ll be my chocolate consumption for this seven day period.

Surprised? I hope I haven’t misled you guys all these years. I mean, sure, I write about chocolate a lot because I have a bit of a passion for it. But maybe--just maybe--I may have, well, misinterpreted the depth of my passion for it. I don’t consume mass quantities. For one thing, if I ate as much chocolate as I sometimes infer, I’d probably weigh twice what I weigh now. And like I said, if I ate as much chocolate as I infer, I’d be sick of it by now. I mean, I love chocolate as much as the next person, but I also like fruits and vegetables and whole grains and everything else that’s included in a balanced diet.

I’m almost being blasphemous when I say this, but there IS more to life than chocolate, despite what & how I may write in here on occasion. So now you know the truth--two bars a week, max. Just try not to hold it against me the next time I go off on a great new bar I’ve tried, okay?

8-)

Wednesday, 1/3

If a picture is indeed worth a thousand words, here’s something voluminous to (hopefully) warm you up--

I would give just about anything to have a day like the one pictured in the picture; of course, I’m realistic enough to know that it’s not gonna happen any time soon. And that leads me to this question--

Have you guys, not only here in Marquette but around most of the entire U.S., been coping with the cold okay?

I myself have been dealing with the never-ending onslaught of Canadian cold air the same way I usually deal with frigid air blasts, by bundling up and trying to stay warm by whining about the cold. Everyone has their own way of dealing with crappy weather; that’s how I handle it. I’ve also been dealing with it the last few nights in a unique way.

I’ve been watching the Tour de France.

Now, I’m sure you realize that the bike race takes place in July, and that no one’s actually showing it at the moment. That’s true. However, last summer when I was DVR-ing it on a daily basis, I decided to save one segment to watch again. I saved that particular segment for a couple of reasons--because it was through a section of France we’ve visited before, and because on that particular day it was 88 degrees in France. The sun was shining, the leaves were green, and it was so hot you could just feel the people sweat.

Especially watching it in HD. And by watching it in HD you can see ‘em sweat, too.

I’ve been watching the race in segments; I should finish the whole leg by the weekend, just in time for the weather to moderate somewhat. And, of course, you can take “moderation” with a grain of salt. After all, it might actually hit the double digits this weekend. The double digits!! I’d like to think my viewing of a warm-weather segment of the Tour de France had something to do with that, but once against, I’m realistic enough to know that I had nothing to do with it.

That’s how I’ve been handling the never-ending onslaught of Canadian cold air, and by looking at pictures like the one I posted above. Hope it’s been going well for you, too!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 1/2

Five days. If anyone ever wonders, it's five days.

First of all, happy New Year. Hope you had a great weekend and that your hangover has finally disappeared by the time your read this. I'm also joining you in the wish that 2018 exceeds 2017 (not that the bar was set very high there). So Happy New Year. Now the story of what I did between Christmas and New Years, and how I discovered my limits.

Because it was cold, because I didn't have to do any TV, and because (in all honesty) I was really lazy, I did something between Christmas and New Years I hadn't planned on doing, but did for the first time in my life. After doing so on Christmas morning, I stopped shaving for a few days. Normally, I try to avoid having hair on my face. At least to me, it doesn't seem to do me any favors, and since I think I actually look younger clean-shaven (especially on TV) I usually don't go more than two days without shaving.

But for the reasons listed above, and because I was curious to see how long it would take me before I was driven insane either by the itchiness of the whole thing or by how I looked (or both) I stopped shaving for a few days. Tuesday was okay. Wednesday, I started to scratch my face a little. Thursday, I noticed my beard seems to have more gray hair in it than brown hair. Friday, the itchiness ramped up by several degrees, the stubble made me look more like a homeless person than, say, George Michael, and Loraine, in that way that only a wife can, said something along the lines of “Looks like it's been a few days since you've shaved”.

Saturday, I shaved.

There are some people who look good with facial hair. I don't think I'm one of them, especially after seeing five days of growth on my chin. It seems to age me, which, as we all know, is something I don't handle very well. And there's just something not... “me” about it. Maybe, if I let a full beard grow and kept it for a couple of years, it'd be okay. I could look in a mirror without wondering who the strange person was looking back at me. But after just five days of growth for the first time ever?

Nope.

And then there's the itchiness. Maybe, if I tried not shaving in the summer, it would be better. But doing it in the winter, especially during a cold spell when the heat was constantly running and making your skin itchy anyway, was the final straw. Maybe I could've powered through the way that I look for a few more days. Maybe I could've colored in the gray to make me look a little more like a rock star and a little less like Santa Claus. But the itchiness was the final straw. I don't know how guys who grow full beads or even cultivate stubble year-round do it. After five days it was just so bad that it had to come off. And I'll be the first to admit—it was heaven. I look younger, the only gray is around my ears, and since Saturday morning I don't think I scratched my face once.

So now I know. Trust me—if I ever skip shaving again, it won't be for more than a day or two. After this little “experiment”, I now know a lot better.

(jim@wmqt.com), stubble free