Wednesday, 2/28

Our next adventure starts six months from today.

That's right; August 28^th you (virtually) and I (literally) will embark on our latest European adventure, an adventure that will actually be (by one day) the longest we've ever undertaken. For thirteen days we'll be traipsing around Bavaria in search of items concerning Mad (or just ahead of his time, depending upon how you look at things) King Ludwig.

It should be a lot of fun.

Loraine's really outdone herself with this trip, researching just about every castle, statue, and monument to the dude, so that we can (hopefully) check them all out. We'll be staying in (I think) seven different places, visiting towns left and right, and doing a couple of things we haven't yet had the chance to do—spend an entire day hiking up a mountain to a castle inaccessible by car, and joining hundreds of people filing into a theater to see a German musical about the King.

I've written about that particular aspect of the trip before—that's the one where you have to fold the ticket exactly to their specifications, lest they not let you into the theater. Don't worry, though. We've been practicing.

This might be the first ever trip we've taken that will contain absolutely no research for Loraine in it. Even during the trips we took that we billed as “vacations” (2012 and 2016) we did do some work for her. But this time around? I don't believe so. The entire journey will be in a (fairly) small area of southern Germany, a place where American troops really didn't do much during World War II, and where none of her “guys” had their final moments.

But that hasn't stopped her from from coming up with an amazing itinerary that will involve, aside from hiking & musical theater, taking ferries, driving through mountain roads, and having to be at specific places at specific times because, well, Germans are Germans and sometimes won't let you do something if you don't follow the rules (you know, like how your fold your theater tickets). She also made sure that we have time to eat at some of our favorite places, buy some of our favorite chocolates, and, assuming the weather holds, just be able to play outside. The last time we were in this part of Germany, with our parents in 2015, it was rainy or cold or both, so we figure the area owes us a little nice weather.

Keep your fingers crossed for that.

Like I said, we leave six months from today, As always, we'll make sure we post everything we can on our trip blog, so you get to come with us without having the hassle of flying a quarter of the way around the world, having to stand in a thousand or so lines, and wonder just exactly what that German road sign means in English.

That's the least we can do for you.

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 2/27

I've done a lot of strange, interesting, and unique things in my life. However, I never thought one of those would be standing on a stage, wearing a bee costume and trying to spell a word in front of several hundred people.

Before yesterday's sad news about Phil's death I'd actually been having a rather interesting weekend. Loraine and I had a great time at the SAIL Chocolate Festival Saturday. My parents had to come back from Florida for a few days (for a funeral, sadly), so we got to see them. And as I wrote about a week or so ago, Friday night I was the judge at the Peter White Public Library's “Sip & Spell” drunken spelling bee. I didn't think I'd actually end up as one of the participants, but lo and behold, it happened.

And I didn't even have a choice in the matter.

First of all, the spelling bee was a blast. It was the first time any group had tried something like that in Marquette, and it it seems like everyone had a lot of fun, even with the little glitches that come with doing a first time event. I have no doubt that next year's should be even better. One of the ways you could advance to the finals of the spelling bee, even if you flamed out in an early round, was to spend $100 bucks and put on a bee suit. You then automatically advanced. You could also pay $100 and force someone else to wear the suit. The good news for that person was that they got to go to the final round. The bad news was they had to wear the bee suit.

So when we got to a break halfway through the spelling bee the crowd was informed that someone had made an anonymous $100 donation, and the library would get that money if I put on the suit and joined the finals of the spelling bee. Now, as you may know, I'm usually not one to get dressed up in costumes, but it was for a good cause and, apparently, I had no choice in the matter, which is how I ended up wearing a bee suit on a stage with 25 other people trying to spell multi-syllabic words in front of a big group, all under the glare of a spotlight and with music pounding from the sound system.

It's too bad I flamed out on the first word I was given.

Now, in my defense, I hadn't prepared to spell words in a spelling bee. I hadn't studied a dictionary or a thesaurus. I didn't remember any rules of grammar. And I hadn't surreptitiously downloaded a spell check program into my brain. Nope; I had to stand on a stage in a bee costume and spell a word that I thought I knew but, as it turned out, had no idea how to spell.

So, you know, “yay” for me.

I then went back to my pre-ordained role as judge, although I did keep the bee costume on for effect (and, just as an aside, those suckers get hot after a while). Someone eventually walked away the winner, the Library walked away with a lot of money, and everyone who was there walked away happy. Before I walked away for the night I was given the chance to walk away with my bee costume. I thought about it for a second, but decided against it. I told them to give it to whoever anonymously paid for me to wear it.

So if you see someone walking around in a bee costume any time soon, let me know. I have something I'd like to discuss with them.

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Sunday 2/25 (& Monday, 2/26)

I'm really, really gonna miss Phil.

For those of you who haven't heard yet Phil Niemisto died Sunday morning. Since falling last year he hadn't quite been the same old Phil; he'd been having trouble getting around and doing what he normally did. When I saw him a couple of weeks ago there seemed to be something a little...off with how he was acting. The day after that, he went to the hospital, where they then sent him home with hospice care and the support of a great community to live out his last few days in peace.

And now he's gone.

I'm sure you'll be reading a lot about Phil and his life and how he impacted the community many times over the next few days, so I won't go over that. What I would like to do is share some of the things I'll miss about Phil. Some of these things he did with other members of the community. Some of them (I think) he only did with me & Loraine. But all of them were quintessentially “Phil”.

I'll miss how he'd always say “It must be Saturday” when he ran into me & Loraine, usually on a Saturday. And if he'd run into us on another day, he'd always start off by saying “It's not Saturday”, and then he'd laugh.

I'll miss how we would always compare neckwear. Phil, of course, would never be seen without a tie, and on the days when I'd have one on and we'd run into each other, he would comment on what I was wearing. If I received a “That's sharp”, then I knew I had chosen well.

I'll miss how flirty Phil could be. I can't count the number of times he'd touch Loraine on the arm or give her that little wink of his, which is something he'd do with any woman he knew. That was just Phil, and it's not a surprise that the women with whom he flirted were some of his biggest fans.

I'll miss his colorful metaphors. For those of you who didn't know him that well, Phil could have quite the mouth on him, especially when it came to the drunken college kids and their escapades in his flower beds. Even just a few weeks ago, when I was talking to him after someone stole the hat off of his statue, he had a very expressive vocabulary. I don't know why, but I always found that charming, maybe because he wouldn't speak like that with everyone.

I'll miss being his “agent”. When he was one of the speakers at a History Center event on the old Orphanage and every TV station in Marquette wanted to interview him, he had me set them up for him. And when they unveiled his statue last October and there were people and cameras and mics everywhere, he'd keep looking at me (I was sitting under them all, in his sight-line), would shake his head, and then go back to smiling for the gathered throng.

Most of all, though, I'll just miss having Phil around. He was one of those rare individuals that almost everyone knew, one of those people who could connect a disparate group of business owners and downtown dwellers and friends and fans and random strangers and make us all into a unique little community. Our lives were all a little better, a little richer, a little more colorful, just because we knew Phil.

I doubt there will be another like him, and we're all just a bit the lesser because of it.

We'll miss you, Phil.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Friday, 2/23

Because I have to be at a local auto dealership in a few minutes to get the oil changed in Loraine's car, because I then have to go to work, and because I then have to go judge the Peter White Public Library's “Sip & Spell” drunken spelling bee, I'm gonna take the easy way out and leave you with something that I wrote five years ago, almost to the day.

But it still might make you wonder, at least what's up with some people and what they eat.

Speaking of which, I'll be doing just that tomorrow at the annual SAIL Chocolate Festival here in Marquette. Assuming I survive that and am not in a food coma, details on the Festival, the spelling bee, and whatever else pops up on Monday. Have a great weekend!

(jim@wmqt.com)

*****

(as originally posted 2/21/13):

Okay. . .I’ve heard of ketchup & gravy before, but butter? Or pickles? Or olives? Or steak sauce?

Every Tuesday on the station we do our “Tuesday Topic”, wherein we ask listeners a question that has to do with life in the U.P. Two days ago the question was this: how do you eat a pasty--with ketchup, gravy, or something entirely different? Well, despite the fact that it was a snow day and I’m sure people had better things to do, over one hundred weighed in with their opinion, and after reading those opinions, I came away with two thoughts. The first is that people in the U.P. REALLY love their pasties. The other?

That people in the U.P. put some really strange things on those pasties they love!

Sure, a large chunk of respondents said ketchup, while a smaller chunk said gravy. But it was the answers on the outside that caught my attention. Apparently, there a lot of people who like to eat them with butter. There’s another bunch that likes to eat them with pickles. There’s at least one person who likes to eat them with picked beets. Several said mayonnaise, one said mayonnaise with ketchup, while perhaps my favorite was butter, mayonnaise, and a dash of sugar.

Think the old Cornish miners who brought pasties to the U.S. would approve of that?

Someone asked me how I eat MY pasties. And while I don’t eat pasties that often, I’ll either eat them plain, or throw a little ketchup on them. I don’t know I could stomach them with pickles or olives or butter or mayo or any other combination thereof. But I’m glad that’s how YOU guys eat them, and I’m also glad that you took the time to share that Tuesday!

Wednesday, 2/21

Wow. I didn't think it would actually go down..

I don't know if you know (I do because I'm a dork, but that's a whole different reason), but the Gallup polling organization teams up every year with Sharecare and surveys Americans about how happy they are. It creates a “happiness index' for the U.S., and allows people to see what the general mood of the country is like. They're out with their newest survey, and I have to admit I was shocked when I saw the results. Between 2016 and 2017, for the first time ever, the “happiness index” for the average American actually fell.

In the course of one year, the mental well-being of this country took a nosedive.

As to why, I'm sure there are many reasons. Between 2016 & 2017 we had a change in administrations and Washington found itself wrapped in chaos. Natural disasters seemed to grow more intense and more frequent. And more and more people found themselves struggling just to make ends meet. I guess any one of those factors could lower the cumulative happiness index of the country.

Put all of them together, and maybe it's not surprising we're not as happy as we were just one year ago.

The survey also breaks out results by state, and for the first time ever every single state saw it's happiness index fall. As for Michigan, we actually had one of the smallest drops in happiness for states. And while we did have a drop, the state as a whole moved up in the survey; instead of living in the 39^th happiest state in the country, we now live in the 32^nd. That, if nothing else, shows just how far other states fell in the happiness survey. In fact, I'd be curious to know what happened last year in both Alaska and Maine, states that were among the 10 happiest in the country in 2016 but ended up in the mid 20s in 2017.

Someone take the Prozac out of those state's water supply?

Being an optimist (and a happy person) at heart, I'm hopeful that we'll regain our collective happiness one day. 2017 was a bizarre year in every sense of the word, as we navigated through unprecedented shifts in our group psyche. We had to figure our way through this new landscape, and try to pick the best paths for us as individuals. 2018, with any luck, will be a little more calm, a little more stable, a little easier for us to attain the happiness that we seem to have lost in the last year.

With any luck.

I'm keeping my fingers crossed. Like I said, I'm hopeful that when I read these survey results next year that 2018 will have been a much happier year than 2017. of course, I'm also realistic enough to know that it could be even worse; after all, nothing would surprise me these days.

But I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 2/19

Happy President’s Day!

How many U.S Presidents can you name, aside from the ones in office since you’ve been alive? I’m kinda lucky in that regard, in that I think I can name them all, and it’s thanks to a box of Cheerios. Actually, it’s thanks to many boxes of Cheerios, and the undying curiosity of an 8-year old.

I thin I may have told this story before; if so, forgive me, but it’s kind of appropriate for today. You see, when I was 8, I was fascinated by cereal boxes, what was inside of them, and what was on the outside of them. I would dig through them for the toys, I would save box-tops and send away for items, and I would cut out the games they put on the back of the boxes. When I was (I think) 8, the makers of Cheerios decided to try to improve the civics knowledge of little nerds like me, and started to put Presidential trading cards, 4 at a time, on the back of each box. The idea was that kids would collect them all, thereby improving their knowledge of American history while at the save time improving General Mills’ bottom line by having the parents of said kids rush out and buy box upon box of Cheerios so the trading card collection could become complete.

At least, that’s how I remember it happening in the Koski household. You could collect the cards 4 at a time, but it always wasn’t a different 4 every time; in other words, you might have to collect a double or two to get a card you didn’t have. And since this was back when Tricky Dicky Nixon was President, that means you had 37 cards you had to collect. So at the very minimum, you would’ve had to buy 10 boxes of Cheerios to complete the set, and that’s not even accounting for the fact that you would eventually have to buy more to actually get all 37.

I don’t know why I was so fascinated by the Presidential trading cards, but I was. Before obsessing over the cards, I knew that George Washington was the first President, that Abraham Lincoln was on the penny, and that John Kennedy had been shot, but that was about it. I soon learned that William Henry Harrison caught pneumonia while giving a 4-hour inaugural speech on the cold, and died a few weeks later. I learned that James Buchanan was the only bachelor President. And I learned that Grover Cleveland was the only President who had been elected, lost his re-election bid, but then came back to retake the Presidency in the election after THAT.

Needless to say, despite what I was learning I don’t believe I ever DID get all 37 Presidential trading cards. I’m not sure if it’s because my parents didn’t want to get a second mortgage to buy all those boxes, or because everyone just got sick of eating Cheerios, but I must’ve petered out somewhere in the mid to upper 20s. Still, the knowledge I gained from reading the back of cereal boxes has stuck with me ever since, as I STILL find politics fascinating, and I still know, somewhere in the back of my head, that most of our first half dozen Presidents were Whigs. Not wore wigs, but WERE Whigs.

As in the Whig political party.

So thank you Cheerios. And Happy Presidents’ Day to everyone.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Friday, 2/16

If you say there's nothing to do this weekend you're insane.

Okay, maybe not literally “insane”, but if you say there's nothing to do this weekend you're woefully under-informed. In fact, this is one of those weekends around Marquette where there's almost too much to do. I was putting together the “What's Up” segment I do for Fox UP a couple of days ago and just here in Marquette County there were too many things to fit into a 90 second spot. I mean, you have the U.P. 200 and other sled dog races and all the parties that go along with it. You have Polar Roll fat tire bike race. You have plays and concerts at NMU Friday. You have the “Night at the Museum” at the History Center Saturday. You have the finish of the U.P. 200 Sunday.

I could go on, but I think you get the idea.

It seems like each weekend brings something to do in Marquette. About once a month, though, it seems like too many events get crammed into a single weekend. I might be coincidence or it might be because organizers take advantage of the fact that people are already in the city (as with the sled dog races this weekend) but it can occasionally lead to a quandary--

What to do? How to choose? And is it actually possible to fit 26 hours of events into a 24-hour day without breaking several laws of physics? It's a problem, but it's a good problem to have. I think most people would rather have too many things to choose from than have nothing to choose from. But sometimes, you just have to choose.

Thankfully, there are still a few hours left to work out all the details. And maybe, just maybe, by the time Monday rolls around we'll all be happy with everything we chose—or chose not—to do. So no matter what you're thinking of checking out this weekend, no matter where you are, have a great time!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 2/15

And here, I thought this was gonna be an easy year.

Yup; I thought that this was gonna be an easy year for me. As the year sprung anew, I didn't have a lot of commitments for 2018; I had two History Center walks, but they were ones I'd already given before. Other than that, the TV show I host, and a trip to Germany with my favorite German girl in the world, it was gonna be a fairly easy year.

Boy, did that change quickly.

I'm still doing my two History Center walks, but now I've dug up all kinds of new information that means I probably need to totally re-do them. I've been asked to combine my two stupid skills—babbling about history and hosting game shows—into one when I host the Marquette Regional History Center's 100^th anniversary trivia contest in April. My friend Jack & I and now teaming up once again to put together a show on the history of schools in Marquette, in conjunction with the 90^th anniversary of Graveraet in September. And somehow—I'm not quite sure how—I'll be the judge at the Peter White Library's “Drunken Spelling Bee” next Friday night.

That's right. Someone who doesn't drink much and can barely spell a word more than six letters long is judging a spelling bee with alcohol. I can't see anything going wrong that night, right?

To be honest, in a way, I think all of that (and whatever pops up as the year goes on) should be fun. When I was looking at the dearth of events on my calendar for 2018, I was a little surprised. I hoped people hadn't gotten bored with me. I hoped I hadn't worn out my welcome. But as it turns out that wasn't the case. It just took the people putting all those things together a little longer than usual to get organized, something that I myself am quite familiar with.

And to still be honest, I wasn't quite sure how I was going to handle a year without a lot to do. I mean, I know I complain in here quite a bit when my schedule gets packed and I'm trying to put one thing together while actually doing another. But I don't know that I'd have it any other way. Sure, I keep saying that it would be great to have absolutely nothing to do (and trust me, there are MANY days where I would love for that to happen), but I like to be challenged. I like doing new things and learning new things.

I mean, how many times in your life do you get to mock drunk people as they're trying to spell?

Despite the suddenness with which all this was thrown at me, I'm sure I can handle it. The history stuff—even the school program—is all built upon stuff I've done before, and I should have absolutely no problem hosting a trivia contest or judging a spelling bee. So unlike some past years, I think I still have large chunks of free time still remaining in the year. With any luck, they'll stay that way, and with any luck, I'll be able to enjoy them to the fullest.

We'll see how that goes. Keep your fingers crossed!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 2/14

Happy Valentine's Day. And to quote the sorely missed Craig Ferguson, with a shrug of my shoulders, “That's all I've got”.

Well, at least that's all I've got as far as Valentine's Day goes. But I played a song yesterday and, for some reason, my brain went into overdrive. I don't know why; I don't know how. It just did.,

I had an Instant Request for Bob Seger's “Hollywood Nights” yesterday. If you're not familiar with the song, it's about a Midwestern boy who heads out to California and falls in love with a girl, a girl who dumps him by the end of the tune. The girl, as described by Seger, is one of those stereotypical California girls who, as the lyrics put it, had been born with “a face that would let her get away” with just about anything.

But that's not what sent my brain into overtime. Nope; this is what sent my brain into overtime. The song is 40 years old. The album from which it came, “Stranger in Town”, was released 4 decades ago in 1978. So, for a second, assume that what took place in the song really happened. Assume that the girl born with “a face that would let her get away” was 21 when the song happened. That would mean that the girl born with “a face that would let her get away”, the girl that broke the protagonist's heart, would be 61 years old.

The girl born with “a face that would let her get away” would now, in all likelihood, be a grandmother. And the guy whose heart she broke? There would probably be kids calling him “grandpa”.

That's what sent my brain into overdrive.

No, I don't know why I thought of that. I mean, I knew in the back of my head that the song was 40 years old. I haven't heard it in a while, which probably led me to listen to the lyrics a little closer than I normally would've. And for some strange reason, stuff just started to add up until I realized that the two characters in the song are now almost eligible for Social Security.

I wonder if Bob Seger ever considered that fact even a remote possibility when he wrote the tune?

Ponder that, I guess, and have yourself a great Valentine's Day while you're at it. Hopefully, weird stuff won't send your brain into overdrive throughout the day

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

(ps—the interview with Ed Roland of Collective Soul I mentioned yesterday went swimmingly. Unlike some rock stars, he didn't take himself or what he does too seriously, and that's always a bonus. You can hear it on the air this (Wednesday) afternoon around 335. I'll also put it up on our Soundcloud page after it airs).

Tuesday, 2/13

I get to interview another rock star today.

I realize not everyone gets to say that in their everyday life. Heck, I realize that the vast majority of people NEVER get to say that. But because of this weird job that I have I have to interview Ed Roland before I go on the air this afternoon. I'll play it back later this week, before the group's shows at the Island Resort.

But I get to interview another rock star today.

I couldn't tell you how many famous people my job has allowed me to speak with over the years. I just know it's a lot, a number so proportionally out of whack with the rest of the population that I often feel like I live my life in some kind of weird alternate universe. I've spoken with famous people in person and on the phone. I've spoken with them while driving them around and having dinner with them. I've spoken with singers and artists and politicians and writers. And heck, I even did a last-minute interview with a comedian while I was walking on the beach at McCarty's Cove and he was on an airplane flying to the U.P.

That was weird, but modern technology means you can do stuff like that.

One of the bad things about speaking with so many celebrities, at least if you're me, is that sometimes, especially after a few years, the interviews blend together. I don't remember what I spoke about with certain celebrities. I mean, I know I spoke with them, but I have no idea what we talked about. And then there are a couple of acts or artists that I THINK I interviewed, but I'm not sure if I really did or not. I know that probably says more about my memory than anything, but heck—if a normal person spoke with a celebrity, even on the phone, you'd think they'd remember that they did it.

But, of course, not me.

The weird thing is, I don't seem to get starstruck when I do these interviews. I know that the people to whom I'm speaking have a schedule they need to keep and certain things about which they wish to speak, so I tend to be professional and stick to whatever they want to get across. But I always try to throw in one question they (hopefully) haven't heard before, a question that will make the famous person chuckle or (even better) say “that's a good question”. Some of the people to whom I speak do dozens of interviews a day and hear the same questions over and over and over again. If I can make the experience even slightly unique for them; well, then I've done my job.

I'm off now to get ready for that interview, plus another with someone who probably doesn't have a roadie to carry his equipment around (unless there's something we don't know about Marquette County Sheriff Greg Zyburt). If anything juicy (with either) happens I'll share tomorrow.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 2/12

Well, I guess I'm below average.

As is my wont, I was doing some laundry over the weekend; specifically, I was washing jeans. And that got me to thinking, which as we all know can be a very dangerous thing. How many pair of jeans does the average American own? So after I stuck the jeans in the machine, I pulled out my phone, went to Google, and received my answer.

Seven, if you're curious.

As I mentioned, I'm below average in that respect, as I had just thrown each pair of jeans I own—all four of them—into the washing machine. But as I scrolled down a little further, I took solace in another fact that had followed the mention of seven. You see, even though the average American owns seven pair of jeans, they only wear four of those pair.

And since I wear each of the four pair that I own, for once, at least in that regard, I'm perfectly average!

That was one thing I learned by Googling the number of jeans that the average American owns. The other thing I learned? That tracking cookies are everywhere.

After checking out that fact on Google, while I was waiting to put the jeans in the dryer, I checked out a few more websites on my phone. And, wouldn't you know, each and every site I visited had an ad on it just for me—an ad about buying jeans. I mean, I wasn't surprised; after all, cookies are on every single computer device we use, and advertisers use those cookies to determine what we're interested in. But to see the ads for jeans just a few minutes after I did a Google search that had (literally) nothing to do with buying jeans.

Well...let's just say I had to chuckle. And had be glad that I hadn't just searched for something a little more, shall we say, adult. Because then I can just imagine what would've popped up as ads on my phone. I probably would've had to buy a new one.

8-)

So the next time you get set to throw jeans into the wash, check and see if you're above or below average. And be thankful that you won't have to look it up yourself, and then be bombarded by ads for jeans each and every time you go online.

That's okay. You can thank me later.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Friday, 2/9

Okay, this cold can go away any time soon.

Lest you think I'll be whining about the weather yet again...we'll, you're right. Kinda. The cold of the past week, while getting us all down (and forcing me to take Loraine's car for a ride every morning), will be going away soon. As I mentioned yesterday, the fact that the days are getting longer and the sun peeks out from the clouds a little more means that one day, hopefully, soon, we'll return to a world of colors--

A world of friendly sunflowers--

A world of nature's creatures doing what nature's creatures do--

A world of our favorite places--

A world of seeing where we live from new angles--

And a world of whimsy, inspired by the sun and the warmth--

That world is, hopefully, not too far away. Keep your fingers crossed that we get to live in it again, and live it in soon.

And that's all I'm gonna say about that.

Have yourself a great weekend. If you're terminally bored (or, if you're like me, you need to take your car out for a ride to make sure the battery survives) I'll be doing a live broadcast tomorrow afternoon at Marquette's newest Burger King, the one on US-41 in front of Lowe's. Stop by and say “hey”!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 2/8

Those are three words I hope never to hear again.

Based on what I wrote about my dad's birthday and how our family has a problem with the whole concept of “aging”, what happened to me on the way home from work last night should probably be no surprise. I left work, made sure the doors to the station were locked, pulled up my collar to keep the cold out, and started walking up the hill. It was nice, because I noticed that it wasn't pitch black when I leave work any more. There are still a few slivers of the setting sun left in the sky, which means that Spring is on the way soon. So walking up the hill I was feeling pretty good. By the time I was in front of Peter White Public Library I passed a couple of college-aged students, one of whom uttered those three words I hope never to hear again.

And just what were those words? “Good evening, sir”.

I was shocked when he said that. I literally stopped in my tracks for a second; my first impulse was to run back down the hill, grab him, and say something along the lines of “Dude, ‘Good evening’ is fine, but ‘Sir’? Are you out of your mind?” However, I didn’t want to spend the night in jail, so I just stood there for a second in a state of disbelief, and then made my way home, where my good mood was just a little less good.

Of course, there was no reason for it to sag like that other than me being me. The college kid didn’t mean any harm; in fact, his parents should be proud of the fact that he’s polite to people he’s never met. It’s just that, well, I’M NOT A SIR. A “sir” is someone important or someone distinguished. I’m neither. You say “sir” to someone who’s your elder.

And therein lies the problem.

I guess to a college student I could be considered a “sir”. I certainly don’t feel like one and I never believed I looked like one, but to that college student at that moment, I was “sir”. I certainly didn’t enjoy hearing it and I certainly don’t have to like it, but to that young man, that’s what I was. A “sir”. And I suppose it could have been worse. Instead of being a young man it could've been a young woman referring to me as “sir”. If my reaction to a guy calling me “sir” was this bad, just imagine what it would’ve been like if a young woman referred to me that way. I mean, instead of writing this, you’d probably wonder where I was the next few days, because I’d be hiding in my apartment, under as many covers as I could find, crying my eyes out.

Thankfully, though, that didn’t happen. Or at least it hasn’t happened yet. But the next time I disappear unexpectedly, you know where to look.

I think I’ll be okay. After all, the shock was in hearing those words for the first time. Sadly, I have the feeling that I will be hearing them again, if not tomorrow, then sometime in the future. Hopefully, I’ll handle it better than I did last night. After all, I ain’t getting any younger, and to more and more people, I’ll be someone who they would consider a “sir”.

(jim@wmqt.com), in need of some serious help

Wednesday, 2/7

Chicky-Poo turns another year older today. And it's one of THOSE birthdays.

That's right; my dad's celebrating one of those “milestone “ birthdays today, one that ends in an “0”. Those of you who read this regularly know that those of us born with Koski genes have this thing about aging, which probably explains why my dad, when pondering the whole situation a couple of months ago, was wandering around saying “I can't believe I'm this old” to anyone who would listen.

Well, think of it this way, dad—at least your age is still in the double digits!

(And yes, I know I'm the greatest son ever. That crack proves it, right? 8-) )

Despite what he thinks, my dad is not old. Oh sure, he may have a few extra miles on his chassis today, but if you were to look at him or at how he acts you would not believe he's hit a certain “milestone” birthday. Nope; you'd think you were looking at a guy in the prime of his senior life. You'd see a guy who bikes and organizes pickleball leagues and runs condo boards and drives my mom insane. You'd see a guy who loves to tell stories and watch cartoons and help out his neighbors. You'd see a guy who's had a blast working hard all of his life and shows no signs of letting up.

You'd just see my dad, living his life the only way he knows how.

Like most adults, as I grow older and gain the needed perspective I recognize a big chunk of my dad in myself. I recognize the part that laughs easily and smiles whenever humanly possible. I recognize the part that wants to help out whenever it's needed. Sadly, I also recognize the part that can come home with scrapes from a bike accident or a bruised toe from dropping a can on it. But most importantly, I recognize the part that, in a way, refuses to grow up and still looks at the world with a bit of child-like wonder.

I personally think that's the best part.

Even though I have absolutely no aptitude for fixing cars nor not much ability to spend hours cutting down trees (two things at which my dad excels), I'd like to think that I picked up quite a few of the better parts of my personality from him. If you ever wondered why I turned out the way I turned out; well, apparently, he's a big part of it.

Now you know who to blame.

8-)

So happy birthday, dad. Hope you have a great day down in (what I hope is) the sun & heat. Have a great day doing whatever it is you want to do, and thanks.

Thanks for doing your part in making me “me”.

Love,

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 2/6

Okay. I have to admit it's a lot more fun to watch a football game when you know Tom Brady's not gonna win.

I scanned through the Super Bowl last night, the same Super Bowl I DVR'd in favor of a “Star Wars” marathon Sunday night. Part of me wishes I watched it live; after all, the joy on my face seeing the disappointment on the faces of the New England Patriots at the end of the game would've almost been worth it. But that would've been preceded by three hours of sheer terror as I would've wondered if my heart would've been ripped out by the most evil quarterback ever to play football.

So I'm kinda happy with the way I did things. Besides, that way I got to watch two “Star Wars” movies AND see a commercial for the new “Solo” solo “Star Wars” flick. I consider that a win-win all around.

Someone dropped me a note yesterday wondering what Tom Brady did to me to make me loathe him so, and since it's been a while since I fully explained, let me do so now. I've been an Indianapolis Colts fan for a long time, and for good deal of the 00s and the beginning of the teens (mostly when Peyton Manning quarterbacked the team) the Colts and the Patriots were the two heavyweight teams of the NFL. They'd usually play once a year in the regular season and then again in the playoffs, and for some reason—I don't even think the players or the teams knew why—New England would always beat Indianapolis. The Colts could run roughshod on every other team in the league, often doing so with artistry and panache. But whenever they faced Tom Brady?

They stunk up the joint. They laid an egg. The vast majority of the time evil quarterback just got the best of the Colts, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. You'd always hope for something different, and the Colts DID win a few, most memorably the 2006 NFL Championship game that sent them to the Super Bowl and still ranks as maybe the best time I've ever had watching a football game. But for the most part watching the two teams play was excruciatingly painful, an experience that would make me pace our living room groaning in agony and driving Loraine crazy.

And it wasn't just the Colts the evil one had some kind of weird power over. It seemed like every year the Patriots would advance far into the playoffs and there was nothing the league could do about it. It just got to be boring; if the “perfect” Patriots played, you knew that more than likely they'd win. And it reached the pinnacle of absurdity during last year's Super Bowl, when they came back from a 28-3 deficit to win the game in overtime. It was my reaction to that contest that led to Loraine's her idea for the “Star Wars” marathon once she heard they'd be back in the Super Bowl again this year. She knows what the evil Tom Brady does to my heart, and she decided to take matters into her own hands.

She's a cool chick. Have I ever mentioned that?

So it's nice to know that the unvanquished can be vanquished. It was fun to watch it. And, if I must admit, it was even more fun to watch it knowing that the evil one would be vanquished in the end. If the team ever makes it to the big game again, I think I know what I'll do.

I'll watch a few more “Star Wars” movies. And then see the Patriots get beat the next day.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 2/5

As I write this, I have no idea who won.

I know; weird, isn't it? The Super Bowl finished 10 or so hours ago, and I have no idea who won. I've been studiously avoiding social media before writing this, just so I could write something about how, for the first time in my life, I didn't watch the game and couldn't tell either how Tom Brady once again ripped my heart out or (less likely) how Philadelphia broke both of his legs while America stood up to cheer.

I'm guessing it'll be the former, but a boy can dream, right?

Instead of watching the game Loraine and I followed the fool-proof plan she came up with once she learned New England was in the game yet again. We made ourselves a pizza and ate while watching a couple of “Star Wars” movies (“Return of the Jedi” and 'The Force Awakens”, if you're keeping score at home). There was no heartache involved, no gnashing of teeth nor rendering of garments. In fact, the only emotional low point occurred when (spoiler) was killed during “Force”.

I've watched it six times now, and I still can't get over what happened.

I did DVR the game, though, and I'll check it out tonight. That way, if Tom Brady ripped my heart out I can scan through that part and watch the commercials and Justin Timberlake. And if Philadelphia broke both of his legs while America stood up & cheered?

Well, my DVR has a slow-motion function on it. I can watch it happen over and over and over again. And I can watch the commercials and Justin Timberlake. That would be a GREAT way to spend a Monday night.

****

So I'm now off to find out who won. But before I do that I do have to note that ny favorite 18-year old in the world is now my favorite 19-year old in the world! It's my niece Sydney's big day today, the first birthday she's had away from everyone. Syd's a freshman at Florida Atlantic University, and proving that she's the smartest person the extended Koski family has ever produced, she's living in a place where she can go to the beach on her birthday without having to worry that any part of her body will fall off thanks to frostbite.

Enjoy the sun, Syd, and have a great birthday!

(jim@wmqt.com)

(ps—the weekend helped with my voice, if you're curious. My vocal cords no longer feel like they're swollen, and I can almost speak at a normal volume. So, you know, yay!)

UPDATE--9:48am--I checked the score.  No broken legs, but WOO HOO!!!!!!

Friday, 2/2

Hmm. Maybe I should've followed my own advice.

Remember Monday how I was saying I shouldn't talk for a few days? How announcing the Noque and a few other things left me with a weakened voice? Well, perhaps I should've laid low, at least vocally, as after a week of being on the radio, having to tape a TV show Wednesday and having to tape another in a few minutes, the rapid ping-ponging of temperatures from 5 to 35 and back again the past few days, and the ill-timed inhalation of a bunch of air freshener yesterday (don't ask) I find myself with a weak voice and what feels like slightly swollen vocal cords.

But, you know, it's not like I need to speak for a living, or anything.

Fortunately, I don't think too many people have noticed, at least not yet. I'm trying not to speak at all unless I have to, so that when I do I sound somewhat normal. Of course, when I do speak I sound like someone who's just woken up, at least until I warm up my potentially swollen vocal cords, but I sound like I just woke up most of the time anyway.

So I have that going for me.

I think I should be able to make it through the TV taping this morning. During the show I have to speak a lot and I have to speak loudly, but I think I can get through the 2-hour block at full vocal strength. I'm pretty confident in that. Then I have a little while to rest my throat until I go on the air; hopefully, that will be enough. If not...well, let's just say I may be whispering a lot today when trying to figure out Upper Michigan's favorite Justin Timberlake song ever. But at least that's followed by the upcoming weekend when I won't have to speak much (if at all) and hopefully by Monday I'll be just fine and back to normal.

Or whatever passes for normal in this neck of the woods.

Keep your fingers crossed for me, if you would. Since I have to head over to Public TV 13 soon, I'll just wish you a happy weekend; hopefully, you won't have any trouble speaking. And remember—no Super Bowl for me Sunday (thank you, the evil Tom Brady). It'll be a “Star Wars” marathon instead.

Details on that Monday!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 2/1

I wonder how long it would take.

I wonder how long it would take me to get bored if I didn't have any day-to-day responsibilities like a job or the commitments I have in the community.

I wonder how long it would take.

Don't worry. I'm not quitting my job. I'm not withdrawing from the world to go hide in a cave somewhere. I literally woke up in the middle of the night last night with that thought in my head. If I didn't have anyone to hang out with or anyplace that I had to be at certain, specific times, how long would it take for me to get bored by the whole situation? And what kept me awake was the thought that it might actually take me a while to get bored.

Go figure.

I don't think the thought popped into my head because of a dream or anything. I'm pretty sure the whole thing was a result of this being one of those times when I have an insanely packed schedule and not much of a chance to do anything mindless or inconsequential. It was also probably prompted by the fact that I see social media updates from people who comment that they're just sitting around their house with nothing to do. Part of me has to chuckle; when I get to stretches like this I would kill to be able to sit around the house like that with nothing to do.

Well, not literally kill, but you get the idea.

I also think my potential level of boredom might be driven by the weather. If I suddenly found myself with no responsibilities and hours of time on my hands during the summer, I would take it and enjoy every single second of it. If it were cold and/or wet & miserable outside, though, I could see my threshold for boredom growing just a little But even then I honestly think that it would take me a while. There are many days when the thought of just sitting around and doing nothing sounds really, really appealing.

I'm guessing, though, that it might be one those “grass is greener” situations. Sure, there are days when having absolutely nothing to do sounds amazing. I could sit around, read, take a nap, play outside, take another nap, play outside again, and chill my heart out. But just sitting around and chilling wouldn't allow me to do those amazing things that I get to do with my life. I wouldn't meet cool people and do cool things that not many people get to do. I wouldn't be hosting a TV show. I wouldn't be learning all the stuff about history that I learn. And I certainly wouldn't have the chance to spout off writing these things.

So all in all, I'd much rather be doing what I do now instead of sitting around with absolutely nothing to do. But I do have to admit...the thought of having the chance to test my threshold for boredom does sound, on occasion, like a test I would like to take.

(jim@wmqt.com)