Monday, 4/30

I can't say I'm surprised the ice is still here.

Greetings from Marquette on a Monday, a Monday where we finally have ground not covered with snow. It's all melted the past few days, except for those piles where plow trucks stacked it up during our big storm a few weeks ago, and I have a feeling that the almost summer-like temperatures of the next few days will get rid of whatever's left.

There does, however, remain this--

That's Marquette's Lower Harbor, where past the breakwater there's nothing but ice. Notice how inside the breakwater it's open water, and outside it's not? That's because, apparently, the northerly winds we've been getting the past few weeks have pushed all remaining ice onto Lake Superior's south shore, and it seems like every single surviving piece of ice on the lake has made a home in the bay just off of Marquette's Lower Harbor.

It's weird; you can drive along the lake shore and even out to Presque Isle and see open water everywhere. But in the little (and not so little) coves and inlets you see so many chunks of ice that it appears the lake has frozen over. Look at the picture I took of the bay again. Looks like a solid sheet of ice, right? But it's not. It's hundreds of thousands or even millions of little chunks of ice bobbing up & down upon the waves, all pushed to the shore by a steady wind, a wind that thoughtfully leaves us all these little reminders of winter.

Not that we really wanted the reminders, mind you.

Like I mentioned before the next few days will bring almost summer-like temperatures, aided by a wind that should be blowing from the south. Hopefully, those winds will then blow the chunks of ice back out into the lake, where they will either dissipate or be blown along the shore to some other bay or cove or inlet.

After all, I think I speak for everyone in Marquette when I saw they've been visiting us long enough.

****

Before I go, let me introduce you to Loraine's new car!

That's her 2018 Chevy Sonic we picked up Saturday. It drives nicely, it's incredibly quiet, and we both think she made an excellent choice. In fact, I'm looking forward to getting behind the wheels of it when we head downstate at the end of next week. It's also quite the change from her last car, the neon green Mazda. In fact, one of the first places we stopped with it was the grocery store, and when we walked out after shopping we were momentarily perplexed. Instead of looking for a bright green car, we had to look for a black car in a sea of other black vehicles. It took a few seconds of disorientation, but we finally did pick it out. Hopefully, that's just be a one-time thing.

Otherwise, we may have to put a neon green flag atop it so we know which one it is!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Friday, 4/27

Tomorrow we go & pick up the new addition to the Koski family.

Don't worry; it's not a new kid or a new dog or something equally insane. Instead, we are heading up the road and picking up Loraine's new car, a 2018 Chevy Sonic. That's right; after five years the neon green Mazda gets to find a new home (and, speaking of which, if you know of anyone who wants a used car with only 9,000 miles on it, a car that's in immaculate shape, let me know!) and the newcomer, in sharp black, takes its place in the driveway where, in all honesty, it'll spend most of its life.

But it'll be a good life. Loraine treats her cars better than most people treat their kids.

While she was researching what car she wanted she came across several trends that we both consider kinda disturbing. The first was that it's almost impossible to find a car that has a manual transmission any more. We both grew up driving sticks, and have always driven sticks, something that actually comes in handy in Europe, where almost every car has a stick. But not here; nope, in the U.S only five percent of cars still have a manual transmission, which probably accounts for the fact that she had to special order her car from the factory.

At least it allowed her to get a car with a stick.

Secondly, she actually had trouble finding a small car with good gas mileage. Like me, she tries to be environmentally aware and drive a vehicle with as small of a carbon footprint as possible. However, it seems to be getting harder and harder to find cars like that, as Americans increasingly buy these huge chunks of metal that cost as much as a house (and only get slightly better gas mileage than a house). In fact, it wasn't really a surprise that Ford on Wednesday announced they're getting out of the “car” business all together, except for Mustangs and one other model, to concentrate exclusively on pickups and SUVs.

Hopefully, by the time Loraine thinks about buying her next car (sometime in the 2020s) there will still be “cars” around. But I'm not holding out much hope.

So that's what we're doing tomorrow. I'll post a picture on Monday so you can see what the newest edition to the family looks like!

Have a great weekend,

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 4/25

I just realized something. Three Dog Night helped make me the strange person I am today.

Okay; maybe that's oversimplifying it a bit. But let me share two different back-stories to explain why that thought popped into my head. First of all, the group is appearing at the Island Resort next weekend, so I've been hearing a lot of commercials for the show. Now only that, but in getting ready to feature the group next Friday on “Upper Michigan's Favorite Friday” I've been listening to a lot of their music recently. So to no one's surprise I've had Three Dog Night on the brain recently.

That's back-story number one.

Back-story number two is something I've written about in here once or twice. Every so often I get a song stuck in my head so much that I have to listen to it 20 or 30 times in a row. It's just one of those things. I don't know why; I just do. Every couple of months I'm so taken by a piece of new music that it burns itself into my brain and won't let go. A few months ago it was John Mayer's “Emoji of a Wave”. Currently it's Leon Bridges' “Bad Bad News”

That's back-story number two.

Here's where they come together. Until I started immersing myself in the world of Three Dog Night I had totally forgotten that the first album I ever had was the group's “Naturally”. I was given the cassette of it for Christmas one year when I was, I dunno, seven or eight years old. I was given it as a gift because I really liked one song on the cassette, and it wasn't until I started getting ready for the group's appearance here that I realized that particular gift resulted in my weird habit of listening to a song over and over and over again. Because, you see, when I was given the cassette copy of the album, I would slip it into the little cassette player I had at the time and would listen to the song “Joy to the World” over and over and over again.

See? I did it when I was a little kid, and I'm still doing it as a not so little kid. Old habits die hard, I guess.

Don't worry; I don't hold Three Dog Night personally responsible for my life-long habit. I'm sure there were other extenuating circumstances. I just find it interesting that I've been doing it for so long and yet didn't remember where and when it all started.

But thanks to the group's upcoming appearance in the U.P., I now know for sure. So thanks, Three Dog Night!

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

(ps—the song that I'm currently listening to over and over and over? Well, it's slightly different than
“Joy to the World. Check it out for yourself!)

Tuesday, 4/24

The notes have come from blog readers and Facebook friends alike--

“Stop the bragging and share the brownie recipe already!!”

The notes, of course, are referring to the brownies I made for Loraine for our anniversary this past weekend, as well as a picture I posted of them on social media after they were done. This picture, specifically--

And since people have asked, I'd be happy to share the recipe that I (somehow) came up with when Loraine had some Grand Marnier and a bunch of chocolate lying around.

Here ‘tis, with a warning--the Grand Marnier that’s in the ganache can be kind of expensive if you buy a whole bottle, so head to White's Party Store in Marquette, where you can buy in it a single serving bottle for 3 bucks, as opposed to 30 bucks for a full-sized bottle. Of course, if you like Grand Marnier, go ahead and buy the whole bottle. I’m sure it’ll be gone soon!

Anyway, make the brownies first. Combine 6 ounces of dark chocolate (at least 60%) and a stick of butter. Melt in a double boiler, stirring until smooth. Then add a quarter cup of unsweetened cocoa powder, a cup of sugar, and a pinch of salt, stirring until mixed. You can also throw in a little freshly grated orange zest or a teaspoon or so of orange juice, if you’d like. Add in two eggs and a half cup of flour, mix together, and bake in an 8 x 8 greased pan for a half an hour or so at 350. Let cool completely; you know, like overnight completely.

When the brownies are cool, make the ganache. Take another 6 ounces of at least 60% chocolate and a quarter cup of heavy cream (whipping cream works wonders). Warm up over a double boiler. When it’s smoothly melted, add in a tablespoon and a half of the Grand Marnier and a tablespoon of freshly grated orange zest. Mix well, and then spread over the brownies. Once the ganache hardens, dig in and don’t stop until you’re done (or until you get a stomach ache).

There you go, everyone. Bake, eat, and be merry!

(jim@wmqt.com)

(ps—know I was speaking about finally taking the plunge and getting my DNA tested to find out what makes me “me”? Well, the kit has been ordered. As soon as I spit into it and send it back, we're then on the countdown clock of six to eight weeks until another recipe—the one that makes up “me”--gets shared!)

Monday, 4/23

Yay. I get my hair cut tonight!

Now, I realize that celebrating a hair cut may not be the biggest cause for joy in the world, but because things have been so hectic and because schedules haven't coincided it's been a bit since I've had a haircut. As it turns out, a little longer than normal. And because of that, if you know what you're looking for, you can really tell I need a trim.

You can really, really tell.

I can't speak for anyone else in the world, because as we ALL know I'm not like anyone else in the world. But for a certain window in the hair growing process—say five or six weeks after I get a cut—my hair starts to get really weird. For the next two or three weeks it starts to get curly. Really, really curly. Whatever natural wave my hair has to it gets really exaggerated. For those two or three weeks I can look like I'm a human mop, a human mop that just stuck a finger in an electrical socket. And then, if I keep growing my hair, it starts to look normal again.

But for those two or three weeks—the two or three weeks I'm in right now—I can, on occasion, look like Carrot Top, expect my hair's brown (& gray) instead of red. Yikes!

Normally, I'll get it cut before that happens, but like I said, the last month or so has been kinda hectic. And since I'm done shooting “High School Bowl” for the season, I don't necessarily have to have the best looking hair. So for the past four or five mornings, when I get up for work or to lounge around, I look at the mass of hair sticking here and poking out there and just chuckle. It'd be easier if I wore hats, because I could just throw one on and be done with it. But since I don't (another story in itself) I try to tame it.

The operative word, of course, being “try”. Because when we're in that little hair growth window, like we are now, my hair pretty much has a mind of its own.

I really don't care if my hair is long or if it's short; as long as it hasn't totally fallen out (yet) I'm happy. So I suppose I could try to live through the next few weeks and let it grow out to the point that it looks normal again. But that means I'd have to spend the next few weeks looking at it in its present state and trying to make it presentable. And that, in all honesty, just takes too much of my (rapidly diminishing) brainpower. So by getting it cut tonight, I can now spend the next four or five weeks not even thinking about it.

And I'm fine with that.

Now, we just have to make sure that my next hair cut happens on schedule. Otherwise, I'll be right back at the same place, looking at the same curls and the waves that are currently invading my head, and starting the process over again. Either that, or I could just start shaving my head and be done with that.

That, however, would probably open up a whole 'nother can or worms, a can I'd rather not deal with at the moment!

Okay; that's enough about hair for today...

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Friday, 4/20

I have to make brownies tonight, so I may not sleep for the next few days.

Let me explain. I make these really gooey dark chocolate Grand Marnier brownies that Loraine likes so much. It’s actually a two-day process; you have to make the brownies the first day, then let them cool overnight so you can spread the ganache over them the second day. And technically, since the ganache also has to harden a little, it’s actually could be a three-day process to put the brownies together.

But I digress. I'll be making the latest batch of the brownies tonight after I get home from work. It'll be past 7 when I start them, and they're pretty much made up of dark chocolate, butter, sugar, cocoa powder, and dark chocolate chips. So with the preponderance of chocolate in the brownies (and just as an aside, do you think there’s enough chocolate in them?), it'll make our entire apartment smell like, well, a melted chocolate bar. Normally, that’s not a bad thing, but when you’re trying to get to sleep at night and all you can smell is chocolate? Uhm. . .

Maybe not just then.

I don’t know why the smell of chocolate keeps me awake at night, unless the caffeine in the massive amount of the stuff I use in the brownies somehow gets transferred into the air in our apartment, and I don’t THINK that happens. What I (kind of) think what happens is that, somewhere in that strange brain of mine, I know that chocolate has both caffeine and sugar in it, and that I know the combination of the caffeine and sugar can keep me awake. So while there really isn’t any caffeine or sugar in the air of our apartment, just the smell of all that chocolate makes my weak brain think there is.

I know I’ve said this before, and I’m sure I’ll say it again, but be glad you’re not a dork like me. Be really, really glad.

Thankfully, it’s only in baking the brownies that the smell of chocolate permeates our apartment. When I do the ganache tomorrow it won't leave any particular odor, despite the fact that it uses another massive amount of chocolate, along with whipping cream and a copious amount of Grand Marnier liquor. That’s probably because I just melt it all together and pour it over the brownies, instead of baking it for a half an hour and letting the smell go everywhere. One sleepless night because of the smell of chocolate was bad enough; two, I just can’t imagine.

In the end, though, it’s worth it, because (and I know this sounds bad) the brownies are just amazing. And I don’t say that to brag; just about everyone who’s ever tried them has told me how good they are. I just got really lucky when I put the combination together one day, all because Loraine had a hankering for brownies and a small bottle of Grand Marnier lying around. It’s as simple as that.

Now, if I could just figure out a way to stop them from keeping me awake at night!

*****

And, if you're wondering exactly WHY I'm making brownies on a Friday night; well, they're anniversary brownies. That's right, the women who inspired me to come up with the recipes, the woman who actually inspires me to do a lot of things, the woman I constantly refer to (because it;s true) as “the most amazing woman in the world”...well, she and I will be celebrating another year of being hitched tomorrow. I can't believe we've been together as long as we have been, but I sure am glad it's the two of us.

So happy (early) anniversary, Loraine. I can't wait to dig into the brownies with you!!!!

Love,

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 4/19

I think I'm gonna take the plunge.

Over the years I've written in here about someday wanting to definitively find out about what exactly is my ethnic makeup. I've babbled in here about taking one of those DNA tests and getting back the report, finally putting to rest questions like just how much of a mutt am I, and why do I have such a dark complexion?

So I'm gonna spit in a cup and find out.

I have no ideas what answers I'll be finding out, and in a way, that's kind of exciting. I mean, I know I'm part Irish, part Swedish, part Finnish, a big chunk German (Prussian, actually), a slightly smaller chunk English, and, if stories older relatives told me are accurate, a little Scottish and French, as well. Are those stories true? A DNA test would tell me. A DNA test might also narrow down from where in a particular country my ancestors came. Maybe the English chunk of me is Welsh or Cornish. Maybe my German/Prussian ancestors didn't actually come from what we now know as Germany, but from another part of the Prussian empire, like Poland or Lithuania. So one of the things the test might do is confirm, narrow down, or revise what I already know.

And then there's the stuff I don't know. I have an awfully dark complexion for someone whose relatives came in part from Ireland and Scandinavia. In fact, I got my skin tone from my dad and his mother, who came who came from the Irish/Swedish part of the family. So how do people who descend from among the fairest skinned on Earth end up so relatively dark? I have two theories about that. There's either a missing chunk of family heritage no one knows about—could I be part Italian or Greek? Or could I have dark skin because 1,000 years ago, when the Moors took over a big part of Europe, they were trading partners with the people who became the Irish. Maybe, among all that trading, they also traded (ahem) DNA. If that's the case, I could throw Mediterranean/Northern African into my background, as well.

Or I could be wrong about both. Maybe there's a third option I hadn't even considered. Or, just maybe, it's a random genetic fluke, passed down among generations, of a darker-skinned clan living among a fair-skinned population group.

It wouldn't be the first time I was out of the ordinary, after all.

That's why I've been thinking about taking the test. I've heard stories and have been told tales, but you don't always know if they're true. The one thing about science is that science doesn't lie, so once I have this test done, I'll know for sure if the tales were true. But more to the point, I'll then know which ingredients have been added over the years, over the countries, and over the generations, into the stew that eventually became me.

I can't wait to find out.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 4/18

Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you.

If you've been reading these you know it's been a rough few days thanks to the weather. Among the things I haven't even complained about was a power outage at the station that fried one of our computer networks. I was working on trying to fix it when someone came into the station. Because I was busy I didn't get a chance to speak with that person, but when they left one of my co-workers came into the studio in which I was working and gave me a package, which had been dropped off by that visitor.

Here's what they left for me--

And with that hand-carved spoon was a hand-written note, which read like this--

“Dear Jim—For years you have shared your talents to make the community better. I very much appreciate hearing my name and those of my family and friends as we come across finish lines. I made this spoon as a way to say 'thank you'. It's is spalted birch from a tree that the BLP cut down on the side of the Noque Trail”.

Wow. I was floored when I read the note. I was even more gobsmacked when I looked at the spoon. Here was a gift from someone I don't think I've ever met, someone who skis the Noque and rides the Ore-To-Shore. And that someone thought enough of me babbling out a stream of names to take a part of a tree from the trails on which those races are run, form a work of art out of it, and give it to me in appreciation for, you know, babbling out a stream of names.

I'm not worthy.

I'm often amazed at just how incredible the people who live around Marquette can be, and this is yet just another example. I didn't do anything I thought was out of the ordinary. I just did what I do. But someone thought enough of me doing that to craft a work of art and to give it to me in appreciation. I announce the races because they're fun, and because they're a big part of what makes Marquette Marquette. I don't expect anything for doing them. I'm just doing my little bit, at least as far as my limited skill set goes. So to receive a gift like this just, you know, blows my mind.

I was able to get in touch with the person who left the gift and thank him properly. He said he was just happy to show his thanks, which was in no way required but which is still massively appreciated. So if you've ever wondered where the greatest people on the face of the earth live, I have your first nominee.

And the wooden spoon to prove it.,

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 4/17

I was thinking the very same thing.

After yesterday's entry, I received a note from daily blog reader Jordan of Marquette, who had a thought. Jordan is of the opinion (the same as I) that almost everyone is probably sick of the snow, and that if I posted pictures yesterday of the crud that keeps coming and keeps coming, shouldn't I today post pictures of what's to come? She noted I've been trying to keep an optimistic tilt to the most pessimistic of weather situations, and you know what?

I couldn't agree more. In fact, before I received Jordan's note, I was thinking that maybe I should pull a few shots from a hot summer day and see if could tilt Mother Nature's mojo. Because, as you know, she and I are on speaking terms, and she listens to everything I say.

Not.

So on that note, even if Mother Nature doesn't listen and even if her mojo isn't tilted, enjoy these. The crap we have can't last forever, and soon we'll be enjoying living in weather like this--

And this--

And this---

And this--

Remember—these pictures prove this crap can't last forever!!

Tomorrow, the story of an unexpected gift.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 4/16

For those of you who either aren't in Marquette or who think I'm really whining about the weather this month, despite my vow not to, let me show you this--

And this--

Those were taken as I was out and about yesterday, a day that saw the weather conditions steadily deteriorate. And, of course, that was just here near Lake Superior. I can't even imagine—nay, don't want to imagine--what it was like inland.

But, you know, it's not like it's the second half of April or anything.

Every school in the U.P. (it seems) is closed today, as are half the businesses in Marquette.  I think we're supposed to get a bit of a respite in the next day or two, although I'm not keeping my hopes up. Finally, though, by mid-week the snow is supposed to end, even though temps won't be anywhere near where they're supposed to be this time of the year.

Sigh.

However, like I've been trying to do all month, I'm looking at things optimistically (or, at least, as optimistically as you can in weather like this). I took one other picture on my way to work yesterday--

Despite the snow and despite the cold, my favorite lilac bush in the world is starting to stir. And that, to me, erases all the crud. At least for now.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Friday, 4/13 (!)

You've pondered the questions. Now here are the answers.

Like I mentioned yesterday, I was going to give you the answers to the six questions I wrote for the History Center's “100 Years, 100 Questions” trivia contest Wednesday night. You've had 24 hours (or 24 seconds, if you binge read these on the weekend) to see if you knew what the answers were, so without further ado...

The questions, and the answers!

Which seedy (but legendary) Marquette bar was known by the nicknames “The Broken Jaw” and “The Bucket of Blood”? That would be Snuffy's, the dump that sat out on County Road 550. It acquired the nickname “The Broken Jaw” when a bar fight the very first night it was open caused a lumberjack to walk away with a busted jaw. It kept the latter nickname because of the fights that continued throughout its history.

Which Marquette county town was home to such taverns as Gigs, The Paradise, and The Congress? That would, of course, be Ishpeming. In the 60s, it was apparently quite easy for underage teenage girls to get served at Gigs, at least according to people who were around at the time

Which former Marquette mayor owned a bar in which women were not allowed (in the 1950s!). That would be Joe Fine's bar, which opened at 7 every morning for workers getting off of their overnight shifts and closed promptly at 7 each night, so that the people who worked there could go home to their family. According to what one of Joe's family members told me, he didn't allow women in the bar because his wife was a little...off-kilter, and he wanted a place where he could spend time without her barging in. That's what I was told.

Which Marquette bar was named after a character from “Gone With the Wind?” Scarlet O'Hara's, which was located (if I remember correctly, because I was actually alive for this) where Lagniappe is now located in the basement of a downtown Marquette office block.

Which one-time NMU hangout was famous for Car Crashes (the drinks, not the actually fender benders) and Jell-O Wrestling? As many people at the contest said, “Duh. The Alibi”. And, if I'm not mistaken, it was one of the few questions every single person got right.

And...which Marquette County dance club was founded by a reputed Chicago mobster named Mike Kelly? That would be Kelly's Slide, opened after World War II between Marquette and Negaunee. I don't know if it was ever proven that Mike Kelly was an actual Chicago gangster, but his tenure as owner was short-lived. He reported that someone had broken into the bar one night and stolen $2,000, after which he filed an insurance claim. He never did receive the insurance money, though, as police found the two grand buried under the bar where Mike Kelly himself buried it an an attempt to defraud his insurance company.

He then sold the bar right before he started his jail sentence.

Now you have the answers to the questions. And maybe, just maybe, a little insight into why I find the seedy underbelly of Marquette history so interesting!

*****

Now, before I go for the weekend, I have some flowers for daily blog reader Betsy in downstate Reese--

She's getting out of the hospital today, and both Loraine and I hope she's feeling super. We'll see you soon!!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 4/12

Well, the “100 Years, 100 Questions” trivia contest at the Marquette Regional History Center was a success. The place was packed, the intellectual challenges ran deep, and fun was had by all.

And that's a good thing.

Now, like I mentioned yesterday, six of those questions were written by me, if only because I am apparently the “expert” when it comes to the seamy underbelly of Marquette history. I don't mind that title; after all, that's the part of history that, for some bizarre reason, interests me the most. So the questions I came up with all dealt with that part of history; specifically, the alcohol-infused part of it, the part that those partaking of the stuff last night really seemed to enjoy.

Go figure, right?

Here are the six questions. Read them, ponder them, try to answer them for yourself. If you can, good for you! If you can't, or you're not from around here and aren't familiar enough the history of late night shenanigans in the area, just come back tomorrow. I'll have all the answers, and the stories behind them.

And it's the stories that make the questions worthwhile.

So here we go—do you know:

Which seedy (but legendary) Marquette bar was known by the nicknames “The Broken Jaw” and “The Bucket of Blood”?

Which Marquette county town was home to such taverns as Gigs, The Paradise, and The Congress?

Which former Marquette mayor owned a bar in which women were not allowed (in the 1950s!)

Which Marquette bar was named after a character from “Gone With the Wind?”

Which one-time NMU hangout was famous for Car Crashes (the drinks, not the actually fender benders) and Jell-O Wrestling?

And...which Marquette County dance club was founded by a reputed Chicago mobster named Mike Kelly?

Like I said, come back tomorrow for the answers—and the stories behind the answers!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 4/11

I wonder how many topics I've repeated over the years?

Following yesterday's blog about people still calling KI Sawyer “The Base” I received a note from blog reader Shelley of Marquette, who just wanted to let me know that I'd actually written about the topic before. She said it was six or seven years ago, when she lived out at “The Base” and thought it was funny that some of her neighbors still referred to it that way. I checked, and you know what? She was right. June 9^th, 2012, the topic came up, a fact I wouldn't have remembered at all if it were not for Shelley's note.

Oops.

I wonder how many other subjects I've written about before, totally forgot about, and then wrote about again a few years later? I mean, I know there are topics I revisit, sometimes on a yearly basis (lilacs, dog owners, and cold weather among them), but there are apparently some I revisit without even knowing. I have to admit that I'm not THAT surprised; after all, I've been writing these things since 2001, and on a daily basis since 2004. So you think you'd get a little overlap here and there.

But to not remember stuff I might've written before? You'd think that I'd get a slight case of “deja vu” or something while writing about a topic I'd previously visited. But apparently not.

So consider this a blanket apology in advance. If you ever read these in the future and think to yourself “Hmm, this seems kind of familiar”; well, you may be right. After all, I don't seem to be able to tell myself.

Sigh...

*****

If you're interested, don't forget that the “100 Years, 100 Trivia Questions” contest hosted by the guy who can't remember what blogs he's written is coming up tonight at 630 at the Marquette Regional History Center. I only wrote six of the questions, but I can tell you that the other 94 may test your knowledge of Marquette County, so check it out, if you wish. And tomorrow?

I'll share those six questions I wrote with you. They're all about bars, sleazy people, and, uhm, bars, so we'll see how well you know your seedy underbelly of local life!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 4/10

It's been almost 25 years. I wonder how much longer it'll take before people stop referring to K.I. Sawyer as “The Base”?

It's funny, but three times in the past few weeks I've had people on the air tell me they're either at “The Base” or at “KI Sawyer Air Force Base” when I've asked them from where they're calling. And that's not unusual. In fact, it probably happens every week or two. Oh sure; many people who call say they're either from “Sawyer” or “K.I. Sawyer”, but almost a quarter century after the base closed, some people still refer to by its old name.

Curious.

I can see why there are some people, especially old-timers, who still call it that. After all, if you've grew up saying “K.I. Sawyer Air Force Base” it's probably ingrained in your brain that way. But at least one of the people who called it “The Base” last week was younger. In fact, they were probably just a kid when “The Base” closed and K.I. Sawyer became just “K.I. Sawyer”, minus “Air Force Base”, so I'm pretty sure they didn't grow up calling it “K.I. Sawyer Air Force Base”. Yet, 25 years after the fact, they're still referring to it that way.

Like I said...curious.

Of course, it's not just K.I. Sawyer that falls into this category. Just a couple of days ago I heard someone talking about “the new school” in Harvey. The school they're talking about is, of course, Cherry Creek School, a building that opened almost 30 years ago. But because it was built AFTER Silver Creek, which is actually no longer a school, it's still referred to as the “new” school.

Now, if we could only get individuals to start doing that to people, and not just buildings or communities. That way, people who know my parents might start referring to me as the “new” Koski. And trust me—that's something about which, at my age, I would not complain!

8-)

Anyway, if you happen to find yourself innocently referring to K.I. Sawyer by using any phrase which includes the word “Base” in it, you're in good company. And, the way it's going, you'll probably be in that good company for another 25 or so years!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 4/9

At least it was a sign of spring. And these days, I’ll take what I can get.

Once again, I wasn't gonna talk about the weather, but those of you who are in the U.P. know that we’ve had, well, quite the weather week. We’ve had snow. We’ve had cold. We’ve had ice pellets. We’ve had wind. We’ve had just about an entire year’s worth of winter weather compressed into one six (so far) day period. And I feel confident in saying that most of us are starting to get sick of it, and are looking for a sign--any sign--that spring may soon be returning.

Well, I think I had one of those signs while cleaning Loraine's windshield after running Saturday morning. And while it may not have been the most traditional sign that spring is inexorably on the way, I’m cool with that. You see, as I wiping Loraine's windshield clean I noticed something on it. It wasn’t on the windshield earlier (at least I don't think), so I knew it had just happened, and I knew it was a sign spring may be lurking about, no matter what the forecast has to say--

There was a big splattering of bird poop on Loraine's windshield.

Now normally one might look at a big splattering of bird poop on a windshield as an inconvenience, because we know we have to clean it off. We may also look at a big splattering of bird poop as a personal affront, especially when said splattering happens to appear, say, right after we’ve finished washing our car. But this particular big splattering of bird poop may have been the most welcome big splattering of bird poop in recorded history, if only because it means that there are actually birds around to leave the big splattering of poop. And since birds only start to return to the U.P. when spring is (supposedly) here...

Well, let them splatter the car as much as they want.

I know that in a couple of weeks or a couple of months I won’t feel the same way about seeing a big splattering of bird poop on Loraine's windshield, but for now I look upon it as a sign. A very good sign, in fact, that despite the snow and cold and wind and ice of the past few weeks there is hope. There’s hope that Spring, with its warmer temperatures and green grass and lilac blooms, will show up, no matter what it looks like outside now. And how do I know that?

I saw the big splattering of bird poop on my windshield. That’s how I know.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Friday, 4/6

I seem to write this post every April. Only this year, I think we really need it.

Spring seems to not want to, well, spring this year. For the third or fourth year in a row we had a (fairly, for us) mild January and February, only to be followed by a brutal March & (so far) April. And if you look at an extended forecast it doesn't appear as if it'll let up any time soon. However, I have hope that one day soon—before the end of the month—we'll be treated to spring or even summer-like temperatures.

Science says so.

I have a secret to share. I know a dork who, for some reason, has been keeping track of April temperatures for 17 years now. I have no idea why, but this dork noticed that the final day of April 2001 was hot, and ever since has been keeping track of temperatures during the month. I'm not sure why; I think maybe   I   the dork I know needs something better to do with his time. But it's because of this dork's habit that I feel quite confident that we'll see at least one day of 70 degrees before the end of the month.

It's a statistical probability.

Now, the dork's list contains high temperatures for the city of Marquette for each April this project has encompassed. And for almost every single year since 2001 (except for the very cold years of 2004 and 2014), we've had at least one day during the month that the temp hit (or drastically exceeded 80). Don't believe me?

April 30^th, 2001--84 degrees

April 16^th, 2002--84 degrees

April 14^th, 2003--83 degrees

April 18^th, 2005--83 degrees

April 19^th, 2006--75 degrees

April 22^nd, 2007--86 degrees (!)

April 24^th, 2008--72 degrees

April 17^th, 2009--72 degrees

April 16^th, 2010--76 degrees

April 14, 2012--75 degrees

April 12^th, 2015—73 degrees

April 17^th, 2016—80 degrees

April 8^th, 2017—70 degrees.

And those were temperatures in the city of Marquette, not temps away from Lake Superior, where it may have even been warmer. So the dork's list proves two things—one, that the weather were living through right now will not last forever, and two, that someone has to be a special kind of strange to collect the data to put that list together.

I'll let him know the next time I see him.

So keep your fingers crossed. Despite what it's like outside right now, odds are that we're gonna get real warm, real soon. Science and probability say so. And as you can probably guess, for some of us it won't come a day too soon.

Stick those warm thoughts in the back of your mind. This weekend, you may need them!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 4/5

I think I've inherited a lot from my mom. I'm pretty sure the ability to draw isn't one of them.

First of all, happy birthday to one of the two people without whom I wouldn't have been possible. She's down in Florida right now with Chicky-poo soaking up the sun & the warmth, while the rest of us are still up here suffering through the snow and the cold. So, when you think about it, maybe there are two things I didn't inherit from her—the ability to draw, and common sense.

We'll have to debate and discuss that further one day in the future.,

The reason I bring this up on her birthday is that I just updated her website. I don't know if you're aware of this, but I put together a website for my mom so she could show off her talents as a watercolorist. She came to this hobby after beginning to spend winters in Florida; she took a class, and found out she could paint. And trust me—she can really paint. Don't believe me?

Yes, that last one is of me and a cow in Germany. It was a surprise Christmas present after we all went over there three years ago, and it's currently hanging in the Jim & Loraine Apartment Gallery, along with several other of her originals.

We call it “A Dork and a Cow”. I think you know which one is which.

Those are just a few of her works; you can check out the rest of them, should you wish, at www.darlenekoski.com. Lest you think I'm biased about her talent (and while I am, it's for a good reason) go ahead and see for yourself just how good she is!

Have a happy birthday, mom. Can't wait to see what you bring back home with you this year!!

Love,

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 4/4

Fifty years ago today, huh?

One of the very first things I remember in my life was an April evening at my parents' house on Norway Avenue in Marquette. I don't know why it sticks out so vividly in my memory, but it does. I was in the kitchen, and I think my mom was there. My dad came running up the stairs from the basement, where he was watching TV, and shouted out a line that's stayed with me ever since--

“Martin Luther King has been shot”.

Now, at the time, I didn't know why my dad came running up the stairs with the news. I had no idea who Martin Luther King was; after all, he wasn't an astronaut or a cast member on “Star Trek”, the only non-relatives I was aware of in the world.. But I remember feeling like he must've been someone important for my dad to come running up the stairs like that.

In the years to follow I would come to realize just how important he was.

If you've been reading these at all the past however many years I've been writing them, you know of my admiration for the man who was assassinated fifty years ago today. I've read his works, studied his philosophies in college, gone on pilgrimages to the important places in his journey, and tried to live my life according to the example he set. Like Dr. King himself, I haven't been perfect with that last one, but I do try.

I wonder how different things would've been in the past half century if he hadn't been killed on that early April evening. Near the end of his life he was finding it harder and harder to convince people, both black and white, of the reasons behind the movement he was trying to lead. Would he have been able to break through whatever wall he was hitting, and advance the fight for civil rights and against both income inequality and the Vietnam War, the two issues that were taking up most of his energy? Or would he have found a society growing resistant to the chance for which he advocating?

I don't have the answer to that. I've often thought that had he lived, he either would've retreated to back to the parish life that gave him his start, or he would've gone on to even greater heights. I'm probably not in a great deal of company here, but I've often thought that he was the greatest President the United States never had. If he had lived, maybe he would've been able to fight through the institutional barriers that were in his place, and change the country in ways that we're still debating about today. After all, one of my favorite King quotes (used by him by actually originating with someone else) is “The moral arc of the universe is long, but in the end it bends toward justice”. If he had lived, maybe he would've seen the arc bend in his lifetime.

It's just sad we'll never know.

Churches across the country will be ringing their bells just after 6 tonight, fifty years to the minute after he was assassinated. If you hear those bells ringing, think about how in that moment one man's life—and perhaps the destiny of a country—was forever changed.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 4/3

Apparently I am now a dinosaur.

I don't know if you've stumbled across a story once again making the rounds about how a particular rule of writing is rapidly changing, but it's made me realize that I'm on one side of the fence on this subject, and it's probably, in the long run, the wrong side. Because of the way in which texting has insinuated itself into American society, there's now a way that writing experts can separate “old” people from “young” people, and that's by this--

If, while typing, you leave two spaces after ending a sentence, you're “old”. If you leave one (or none), you're “young”. If you leave two spaces after ending a sentence, you learned how to write in the 20^th century. If you leave one (or none), you learned how to write in the age of 160-character text messages or 280-character Tweets; i.e. this century. Now go back to the lines I just wrote, and count how many spaces I left after finishing a sentence.

Yup. I AM apparently a dinosaur.

I knew this day would come. I knew that, at a certain point in my life, I'd be faced with something that told me time was moving on and leaving me behind. I had no idea what that “something” would be. I figured it would be something like having my leg break while trying to stand up or wondering who the heck Cardi B. is and just exactly what E.D.M stands for. But nope; I'm fine as far as stuff like that goes.

I'm a dinosaur because of the way I type.

And when you think about it, it's funny. I never took a typing class. I never learned how to type “correctly”, a fact that drives my properly-educated-in-typing wife mad. I just learned how to type by doing. I started with one finger, added another, and have sailed through life slowly adding fingers to my typing repertoire. Over the years, my right thumb became quite adept at hitting the space bar twice when finishing a sentence.

Now, as I find out, that skill is becoming about as relevant as getting up off the couch, walking over to TV, and using a dial to change the channel.

You DO remember what a TV dial is, right?

One of the reasons “the kids” only use one space after a sentence is that when you send a text you only have 160 characters to use, and a space counts as a character. So when it comes to texting, I can understand why you would only want to leave one space after a sentence. But when you're typing a note or a letter or an e-mail or (even) a blog, you're not constrained by the amount of spaces you leave after a sentence. Heck, if you wanted to, you could even leave THIS many spaces after a sentence. . . . . . . . Of course, your paragraph structure would all weird if you did it that way, but unlike a text message, there's nothing to stop you from doing it.

I guess I just find it funny that one particular form of writing is making all other kinds of writing conform to its particular quirks. I”m not surprised; after all, I've studied the English language enough to know that it's a very elastic, living type of creature. It's constantly evolving (much, I'm sure, to the detriment of William Shakespeare and those who've study him the past 400 years). But to change just because of a 160-character limit imposed by technology, and then to claim that anyone who doesn't use the change is out of date?

Well...I guess I now know how those Tyrannosaurus Rexs felt, just before the meteor hit 65 million years ago and sent them all into oblivion.

(jim@wmqt.com), typing dinosaur.

Monday, 4/2

How was your Easter? Mine was fine; I even got to spend part of the day thinking about drunks.

Don't worry; nothing untoward happened. I took advantage of the crap Mother Nature dumped on us Saturday and went skiing on the Fit Strip Sunday morning. I wasn't the only person thinking that way; before I got there (and I got there early) someone had, from the looks of it, strapped on their skis in a back yard on Magnetic Street, cut through the woods, and skied a lap around the strip. So I didn't even have to break a trail. Then I headed back to our place where Loraine and I hosted my niece Mallory and her boyfriend for brunch, where a grand time was had by all.

It wasn't until after they were long gone that I started thinking about drunks.

Now, there is a reason for it. As you may recall, I'm hosting the History Center's “100 Questions” trivia contest a week from Wednesday, and I received a note from the person putting it together asking a simple question—seeing as how I seem to be the “expert” on the seedy side of Marquette, could I come up with a few (specifically, six) questions about bars and other forms of nightlife?

Of course I can. Does a cow moo? Does a fish swim? Does a bar-goer occasionally wake up and wonder where their underwear has gone?

So I sat in our (quiet) living room for a moment, and pondered some of the stories I've been told over the years. Within 2 minutes I had the six questions jotted down, and in another two minutes had an extra ten, just in case. It was after I convinced myself to finally stop writing down all these questions flowing out of me that I was struck by a funny thought—

For someone who never went to any bars up here, I sure do know a lot about them.

As you may know, the same goes with hookers and bootleggers and killers. I've never been involved with any of them (at least as far as I know), yet I can sprout off story after story about them. But because I know what questions to ask and of whom to ask them, I've collected all these great tales about Marquette nightlife over the years. I can tell you which bar was the easiest for 60s teenagers to get served in, and I can tell you which bar would occasionally have a motorcyclist ride through. I can tell you which bar used to have bowling bars flying through it, and which 70s bar had the greatest amount of nudity in it during any given night. I never saw any of this for myself—in some instances, the stories occurred before I was born—but because I have a curious nature and a VERY warped sense of the absurd, I wanted to find out.

And so I did.

Therefore, I was able to come up with the questions for the trivia contest in that span of just a few minutes. I will share those questions with you guys next week—Thursday, the 11^th, the day AFTER the trivia contest, to be specific—and see if you know any of the answers. If you were around Marquette during a certain era, or if you've attended certain History Center programs I've done over the years, you might be able to say “I know”. If not, maybe you'll learn something. Maybe it'll be something you never thought you'd know, or would even want to know, but maybe you'll learn something.

A something gleaned from me spending a few moments on Easter Sunday thinking about drunks.

(jim@wmqt.com)