Monday, 9/30

Okay, it’s time for me to rant about geography again.

Every so often I’m astounded by the geographic ignorance of the people in this country. Now, I realize most people don’t care, and that I probably do because I minored in the subject in college, but I came across two scary statistics while reading news sites this past weekend, and they just blew my mind.

The first statistic? Despite the fact that we’ve been engaged in a wars in these particular country (in one case for 18 years now), 63 percent of young Americans could NOT locate Iraq or Afghanistan on a world map. They had no idea that you go to the Mediterranean Sea, turn right, and go a couple of countries in.

Of course, that would pre-suppose that they knew where the Mediterranean Sea is.

The other statistic might even be scarier...percent of ALL Americans can’t locate New York state on a map. That means HALF of all Americans, despite knowing of the state, couldn’t point to where the Empire State Building sits, or where Long Island juts out into the Atlantic.

Don’t you think it says something about Americans when we don’t know where world hot spots are? I mean, how can we as a country care about things like the past tragedy of mass starvation and mass death in Darfur when most of us don’t even know where it is? I guess it’s just a little disappointing that we as a people don’t seem to be aware that we’re not just Americans. We’re humans sharing a planet with many different people and many different countries, and in that sense, don’t you think we SHOULD have some knowledge of our neighbors?

(Darfur, by the way, is in the Sudan. In Africa. PLEASE tell me you know where Africa is.)

Now like I said, maybe I’m just a little sensitive to this mass ignorance because it’s something about which I’ve always had an interest. That interest, by the way, started from the time I was 4 years old and my mom read to me from Rand McNally’s World Atlas. I, apparently, was disappointed that I couldn’t go to school with the other kids, so she decided to let me learn at home. And it’s an education that’s stayed with me to this day.

So thanks, Mom, for opening my eyes to the fact that there’s an entire world out there, filled with different people, different customs, and different problems. It’s an education that I would hope ALL kids could get some day.

And then we wouldn't have to see statistics like the ones that blew my mind again.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Friday, 9/27

I only have a few minutes, as I have to be at NMU for a tech rehearsal for all the new people working on “High School Bowl” this year (we start shooting next Friday!) but before I go I wanted to say one thing--

Thanks.

It's now been four days since I was the subject of that profile on “Word On The Street”, and I've just been overwhelmed by the response that it's gotten. When I agreed to do it I didn't even give it a second thought. Since Monday, though, the number of e-mails, texts, phone calls, Facebook messages, people stopping me on the street, texts to Loraine's phone from people SHE knows, and even old-fashioned pieces of snail mail has just stunned me I mean, all I did was answer a few questions and tell a few stories about how dorky I was (am, actually).

I had no idea people would actually read it, much less care about it. Wow.

So thank you. Thank you for taking a few minutes out of your life to check it out, and thank you for taking a few more minutes out of your life to let me know what you thought about it. I've spent the rare few minutes of free time I've had this week just contemplating the outpouring of sentiment following the article's posting, and I still can't believe it. I really can't.

But thanks for it. It means more than you might even realize. It's has been a freaky few months in my world, what with all the stuff I've been doing, all the people I've met, and all the...strange, bizarre, and amazing things I've been part of. I don't think I've ever had a period of my life like this; I'm sure when (or if) things ever settle down I'll be stunned by it all. But for now, just let me reuse a phrase I mentioned several times in the profile.

I guess I really DO lead a charmed life.

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 9/26

Okay. I'm hoping this doesn't turn into a big problem.

Those of you who've read this on an on-going basis know how there are three or four “Jims”--Radio Jim, History Jim, TV Jim, and, if we're being thorough, Finish Line Jim (which we're still deciding if it has full “Jim” value). Those of you who've read this on an on-going basis also know that one of the many things I would change about myself is the fact that I have the worst problem trying to remember people; namely, if I've met them before, and in which context I met them.

Seriously. I really wish I could be better at that. But I'm not, and that sucks.

Anyway, I was out showing Loraine's brother Dennis around downtown Marquette yesterday, and when we were near the ore dock a couple said “hi” to me, a couple that I knew I had met before, but couldn't remember how. They then started talking about a program that I have coming up. That's when I do something I hardly do, and I froze for a second. I mean, what kind of program were they talking about? Radio program? Episode of “High School Bowl”? Program for the History Center?

In all honesty, I had no idea.

Thankfully, they mentioned something about the January program Jack & I usually do at Kaufman for the History Center, so I was able to figure out that I had met them when I was “History Jim”. It was touch & go there for a second, but I was able to hold a conversation without sounding like an insensitive, forgetful fool. I mean, you know that I actually a fool, and I know I actually am one, but the whole outside world doesn't need to know, right?

So I get out of that with my dignity intact. After I left Dennis and started for work I'm heading down Front Street when I hear a guy's voice call out, “Hey Jim, how's it going”? I turn to see a gentleman I know I've met before, but don't remember where. He mentions the profile of me on “Word On The Street” (as a lot of people have been doing, something I'll write about tomorrow), and then says that he'll see me next week, after which he goes on his way. I stand there, with a stupid look on my face (well, even more stupid than usual), wondering where I've met him and why I'll see him next week. There isn't anything out of the ordinary on my schedule for then, so I really don't know. I'm not doing anything for the History Center, so that part of me is clear. I am taping an episode of “High School Bowl”, so maybe it's that. And I have a couple of things going on in my radio life, so maybe I'm doing something with this vaguely familiar gentleman then. Or maybe, just maybe, he goes for a walk every Wednesday and notices me walking across the street from him.

I just have no idea.

This is really dumb. This is really stupid. There is no earthly reason why I shouldn't be able to remember people and in what context I've met them, but for some stupid reason, my brain just won't do it. It's been happening most of my life, but I've always been able to compensate for it. Now, though, there are so many different “me”s doing so many different things that it's starting to be a real problem.

And, like I said, that's not a good thing.

So let me issue a blanket apology in advance. If you come up to me on the street, or at the Post Office, or in a TV studio, or at the History Center, or at the station, and it seems like I'm confused, there's a good chance that I am. I don't wanna be, but I probably will be. Hopefully, I'll figure it out quickly, but if not, just take pity on me. I'll get it eventually, and then I'll apologize in person.

Many, many, many times...

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 9/25

Sometimes technology can get a little scary.

You remember this picture, right? The picture that I posted here on Monday after my parents' 60^th anniversary dinner?

Well, I also put it up on Facebook Sunday night. And even before I has a chance to finish writing the caption on the picture, Facebook's facial recognition software had identified six people in the picture and tagged them in it.

Even before I finished writing the caption.

Now, I know technology is everywhere, and we have no privacy any more. But the fact that a private company has the ability to identify people just...makes me wonder. Should any one group have that much of an ability to identify us? Especially enough power to do identify a person with just this much of their face showing?

That's my nephew Nick, who was one of the people tagged by Facebook, even though you could only see part of his face. I expect governments to have the ability to do something like that. I don't like it, but I expect them to have that ability. Same goes for the military. But for a private company to be able to identify someone just on their eyes and their forehead?

I just don't know.

Like I said, I know tech is everywhere. I know it's (hopefully) keeping us safe and helping us live our lives to the fullest. But is there a line somewhere that we should be drawing in the sand, just so we have a little privacy left? I mean, if they can identify Nick by his eyes, who's to say that some eye wear or insurance company can't use his picture to see whether or not he needs glasses or he's developing glaucoma or something?

It's just a slippery slope, I guess. And I don't know if there's a good answer to all of this. All I know is that it's gonna keep getting slipperier and slipperier as the years wear on. Now, if you don't mind, I'm gonna go jump in the shower and shave. After all, I don't want a camera somewhere to take a picture of me, notice I have stubble, and tell Gillette that I haven't been using those razors of theirs I bought a few weeks ago.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 9/24

I don't know if the article's that big of a deal. I do think the picture's kinda cute, though.

For those of you who haven't seen it yet, I was profiled yesterday  on Brian Cabell's “Word on the Street” blog. If nothing else, the interview proves that Brian has run out of interesting and/or important people with whom to speak because, as we all know, I'm about as interesting as the bottom of the barrel.

Which, apparently, he's scraping with this profile.

8-)

When we did the actual interview a couple of weeks ago he asked that I send him a few pictures that might show the readers the kind of person I am or have become. Since I was actually in the process of digitizing a bunch of my parents' pictures for the website I put together for them I sent him a few, and the one he used was this one--

Which, I think, is a picture that explains so perfectly how I grew up that I'm thinking of making it my new Facebook profile picture. I just don't know if I wanna upset the gargoyle in the one that I'm currently using.

The one thing I really like about the picture would be my stuffed Tigger. Like most kids of that age, I had a stuffed animal that I loved and that I carried everywhere, and that would be the Tigger doll shown in the picture. I'm not quite sure why; as far as I know, I was never a big fan of the Pooh stories, and I think I was just given the doll as a gift. But there sure was something about it, because I know that for several years it and I were inseparable..

Like most kids, I outgrew Tigger and, in all honesty, have no idea whatever happened to the stuffed animal. But whenever I see a little kid who's attached to a toy—whether it was my brother and his stuffed Bugs Bunny or his son with all the empty Talenti jars we give him—I always think back to that stuffed Tigger, and all the joy it seemed to give the six and seven year old version of me.

*****

Some of the pictures NOT used in the profile?

Geeky Jim--

Sleepy teenage Jim--

And adult space nerd Jim--

Sure, I may have gotten older over the years, but I really haven't changed that much, have I?

(jim@wmqt.com), forever a dork.

Monday, 9/23

MONDAY, 9/23:

Did you know that early in the morning the Marquette Branch Prison smells like onions?

Don’t worry; 2019 week hasn’t driven me insane YET. Friday morning, after writing my blog, I braved the fog, hopped on my bike, and went for a quick ride to Harvey and back. I knew it would be weird when my glasses got all foggy, and I had to take them off. It became weirder when I got past South Beach and could smell the man-made wonder of the Marquette Wastewater Treatment Plant. That’s always a wonderful odor, especially that early in the morning. Since I was biking (and trying to bike as hard as I could) I couldn’t hold my breath for any extended period of time, so I was resigned to the fact that I’d be inhaling the odor of whatever it is they’re putting out at the plant for a long period of time.

Yum, right? And that’s when I started smelling the onions.

It was strange. Within 30 seconds of biking the smell of onions was overpowering; I mean, it was strong enough to overcome the odor from the Wastewater Treatment Plant, so that must be saying something. You could tell it was coming from the prison, too, because as I drew closer to the Carl Pellonpaa Memorial Toilets the smell started to fade. The onion smell definitely came from the prison.

Now, while I don’t necessarily like the smell of onions (I don’t eat them, either), I was more than happy to substitute the smell of cooking onions for the smell of a wastewater treatment plant. I mean, anyone in their right mind would do that, right? And while I’ve been accused (many times) of not being in my right mind, I think that, at least in this instance, I was.

I’m guessing they were cooking onions at the prison either for breakfast or as prep for lunch; I don’t know how or what they eat there and, in all honesty, I really don’t want to know. All I know is that for a brief portion of my bike ride to Harvey and then for a brief portion on my way back, I discovered that in the morning, the Marquette Branch Prison smells like onions.

And that’s a WHOLE lot better than being reminded that the Marquette Wastewater Treatment Plant smells like, well, wastewater treatment. Trust me on that.

8-)

                                          *****

We didn't get EVERYONE there for my parents' 60th anniversary dinner last night, but almost--here they are with kids, (some of) their kids' kids, a few kids' kids' kid, and assorted spouses.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Friday, 9/20

I haven't thought about it for a while. But now I wonder how I would do in it.

Those of you who've read these forever know that I'm quite physically active. I run, I workout, I bike, I soccer, and during the winter, I cross-country ski. That's one of the reasons, I'm guessing, that my doctor called me “medically boring” earlier this week. But with all that activity there's one I've hardly ever done, and one that I really don't like doing.

And that's taking part in an athletic competition.

I'm sure that stems from when I was a geeky kid and was always near the last in getting picked in gym class. I'm the first to admit it; I was never good at sports, especially team sports. That's just part of who I am. And even now, when I seem to be in fairly decent shape (especially for “someone my age”) it's not anything that interests me at all. In fact, I've gone through my whole life without entering any sort of competition at all.

Well, except for one. The old Superior 10 run.

Those of you who were around Marquette in the 90s and very early 00s may remember the race; it was always held the Saturday of Seafood Fest weekend (back, at least, when there was a Seafood Fest), which means that it was always held this time of the year. For almost a decade I would run the 5K race, prompted by Loraine's entering it one of the first years we were here and together. While she quit doing it I kept up, and although I'm not the best person to judge, I'd like to think I got pretty good at it. At my peak I was finishing in 22 minutes and change, and while I never won a medal or anything, that's fine. I wasn't racing against everyone else who had entered.

I was just racing against myself.

I stopped doing the race when they stopped offering it (after the old sponsor, the First National Bank, was bought out by Wells Fargo), and I haven't done an organized athletic event since. Oh, I think about the race every time I use one of the plastic cups I was given as race swag, and when I run on a crisp fall morning, especially by Lake Superior, I wonder how I would do if I was still running it. But that's okay. I still am racing, after all.

Even if it's only against myself.

On that note, have yourself a great weekend. I plan on running a bit; who knows, maybe even part of the old Superior 10 course, just to see how I would do. No matter what you end up doing I hope you get out and enjoy the warmth and nice weather while it's still here!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 9/19

Today's a big day in the extended Koski family.

Today Chicky-Poo and Dar, the two people responsible for me and my siblings, and therefore, I guess, my siblings’ kids, will be celebrating an anniversary.  And it’s not just ANY anniversary; no, it’s one that ends in a “0”.  Because of my family’s phobia about aging, I’m not allowed to tell you WHICH anniversary (ending with a “0”) they’re celebrating, but seeing as how they were married when Dwight Eisenhower was President, that might give you a pretty good idea.

We’re not making too big a deal about it; just a few friends and family members over to celebrate with a little dinner that we're all throwing together this weekend. However, we did want to make sure that this day preserved for all posterity. I'll get to that in just a bit.

Aside from my parents and their friends, Loraine and I have been lucky (through her research) to meet many couples who’ve celebrated several anniversaries that end with a “0”, and it always blows our collective mind that there have been people who’ve been together since some time in the 1950s, or the 1940s, or even the 1930s.  Maybe it’s a generational thing; I know that just about every single member of the people in our little circle of friends have either been divorced or never married, or have been married just a few years and still aren’t too sure about the whole concept.

But to reach multiple anniversaries that end with a “0”?  I don’t even think we (as in people my age) can comprehend being married 10 or 20 years, much less 40 or 50 or 60.  Yet here are people like my parents and their friends, all of whom are setting a shining example of what it’s like spending a lifetime living through “for better or worse, in sickness and in health, ‘til death do us part”.

Wow.  So the next time you’re celebrating because you’ve reached your 5th anniversary, or your 10th, or your 20th, take a moment and think about your parents, or your grandparents.  Think about how they’ve celebrated their 40th or their 50th, or their 60th, and about how, with any luck, you’ll reach the same number of anniversaries it took them a lifetime of togetherness to accumulate.

Happy anniversary, Mom & Dad.  Here’s to hoping you celebrate a couple more anniversaries with “0”s in them!

****

Now, how did we mark this big anniversary for posterity? Well, my parents now have their own website. It tells their story, from their birth up to today, and has all kinds of pictures, many of them throughout the years, as well as their kids and grandkids. There may—may--even be one or two dorky pictures of me in there as well.

Maybe.

If you wanna check it out, just click here and find out how this amazing couple has lived their amazing life!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 9/18

Sometimes it's good to be boring.

I had my annual checkup yesterday, and it culminated with my doctor saying what he says every year--”You're medically boring”. It's become kind of a running joke; in fact, each year, he even types it into my file. And as someone who's tried to defy being boring my entire life—in fact, in college, I spent several years with a button that said “Why be normal?”--I think that, at least in this instance, I really don't mind being boring.

Really, I don't.

I'm an incredibly lucky person, and I'll be the first to admit it. I've never had a serious medical issue in my life. Aside from hay fever and the occasional klutzy move on my part, I've never even had to see a doctor outside of these annual check-ups. I don't know if it's genetics, the fact that I exercise and try to eat well, that fact that I don't smoke and I rarely drink, or just blind luck, but my health is something that I only think about on days like today.

And for that, I'm grateful.

Another running joke used to be the fact that I'm in “great shape for someone my age”,but as it turns out, I'm actually in pretty good shape for someone at any age. It's funny; I see people who I know are around the same age as me, and oftentimes I'll see they have problems moving around, or other health issues, or have actually died of some horrid disease. And here I am, jumping around like I did twenty years ago. Heck, I actually think I'm in BETTER shape than I was twenty years ago, if only because I don't have Pop Tarts & Dr. Pepper for breakfast every morning, and I now know how to properly prepare myself for all of that jumping around, thereby not injuring myself quite as often as I used to.

Who knew I'd end up like this? I guess being a skinny, nonathletic geek when young gives you nowhere to go but up!

Like I said, I feel so lucky that I'm “boring”. I'll take it every day of the week, especially when the other choice is being “medically interesting”. I see too many examples of that every day. I'm sure my doctor does, too, which is why he keeps pointing out just how unusual I am. And in typing that sentence, it just occurred to me—by being “boring” I'm actually living up to the credo “Why be normal?” After all, without all those medical issues staring me in the face, I'm (thankfully) not like everyone else. So when you think about it, in one fell swoop I'm making both my doctor happy and I'm living up to one of my goals in life. You can't say that happens every day.

So I'm boring, at least in this one instance. And while I never hoped I would be in any way boring , I think this is one instance that I really don't mind.

(jim@wmqt.com), medically boring.

Tuesday, 9/17

I’m now sure that summer has REALLY ended.

I took advantage of the nice weather yesterday and snuck down to McCarty’s Cove to walk for a few minutes on the beach. When I got there right just before noon I was confronted by a sight I don’t believe I’ve ever seen before.

The beach was totally empty.

I stood one end, looked down over half a mile to the other end, and did not see one single soul. The sun was out, it was nice & warm, and yet I was the only person on that entire beach.

THAT’S when I knew summer was over.

As I was walking down the beach with my toes in the water, I tried to contemplate the enormity of the situation. I mean, every other day I went down there this summer, there were people around. Now  admittedly, I usually like to go down there in the morning, when it’s not quite as crowded as later in the day, but there were ALWAYS other people there, people probably just like me, enjoying the warmth, enjoying the peace, and enjoying the water.

But yesterday? Nope. I was as alone as Tom Hanks in that middle part of “Cast Away”. There was not a single person on the beach. Heck, there weren't even any people illegally letting their dogs run free now that the lifeguards aren't around, as usually happens this time of the year. THAT'S how empty it was.

Admittedly, this was just after the voluminous fog of yesterday morning had cleared. So maybe that was the reason why. And as I walked down the beach in solitude, I started to notice a few things, like how some of the trees along the shore had leaves turning red, or how a flock of birds appeared to be flying in a southerly direction. It seems like it was just a short time ago that those leaves popped out, and those birds were flying north. So maybe it wasn’t just the lack of people on the beach that signaled a change is coming. Mother Nature was trying to pass along the hint, as well.

By the time I finished my walk, a few people had popped up on the beach, ready to enjoy their day. But, as it always seems to this time of the year, that got me to wondering—

Have those people noticed summer is coming to an end, too?

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 9/16

I just realized that only once in my life have I turned up the radio when a song came on.

This thought came about Friday after singer who's been around for a while passed away. Because of what I do for a living I’ve heard (& played) so much different music that I've become kind of immune to it all. I have access to almost every popular song of the past 45 years at my fingertips, I can listen to whatever I want whenever I want.

I think because of that I 'm no longer be surprised or amazed or delighted when I hear a song I haven’t heard in a long time, because there don’t seem to be any songs I haven’t heard for a long time. Maybe it's an occupational hazard of working in radio. It's one I hadn't considered before, but maybe it is.

That, however, is neither here nor there.

Now, onto the one time I can remember cranking my car radio up in a blast of joyous surprise. It was quite a while ago; the late 90s or early 00’s, if I remember correctly. I was downstate and listening to a rock radio station when all of a sudden a song came on, a song that had somehow escaped my attention over the years of my working in radio and having access to any song I wanted. I recognized the first few notes, realized that I hadn’t heard the song in ages, and cranked it up LOUD. I also dug up the CD that contained the song, and have listened to it many times since. It’s in my iPod, and while I’m no longer surprised and delighted when it comes on, I still recall now it blasted its way back into my brain.

The song? Eddie Money’s “Two Tickets To Paradise”. No, I don’t know how it had escaped my attention over all the years, and no, I don’t know why that particular song made me crank the car radio up. It just did, and it just gave me the chance to be a music listener for once, and not just someone who's exposed to music on a daily basis. So it's weird, in a way, the things that pop into your brain when you hear someone has passed away.

Thanks, Eddie Money. You did something to me that no other musical artist seems to have done.

                            ******

You know how there's the old superstition about celebrities dying in threes?  Now that both Eddie Money and Ric Ocasek have passed away, I'm sure your thoughts are turning to who will be the third, right?  Well, let me give you this thought to chew on--both Eddie Money and The Cars made multiple concert appearances in Marquette.  So, following that logic (if, indeed, you can call that logic), the third person could be someone else who played in Marquette multiple times.

If I were a member of REO Speedwagon or Kiss, I might be a little worried today.

(jim@wmqt.com), who has a sick, sick, a sick, sick mind...

Friday, 9/13 (!)

Since I've been talking about food the past couple of days, I might as well wrap up the week the very same way, right?

Instead, though, of the joyous tale of getting food from Germany, perhaps you'd like to join Loraine and me in a moment of silence, as one of our favorite pre-packaged Thais foods is no more.

RIP, Thai Cashew Curry--

It's a shame. This was a really yummy food. You stuck it in the microwave for 60 seconds, tossed it over some brown rice, and it was pretty much a meal in itself. Sadly, though, the company that produces it must've decided that it needed a market base bigger than Loraine and me, and has discontinued production of it.

Sob.

Once we found out the company was no longer making it and that it wasn't available at the Co-op we went online to see if we could stock up on some. All we found was someone on Amazon selling a 10-pack for almost a hundred bucks, and considering that each bag usually sold for three bucks, we passed. Now, we've eaten our last servings and, sadly, will never experience the joy of ripping open a bag again.

Sob.

It's actually kind of funny how some people get so attached to a certain product, and then have their hearts ripped out when that product is no longer around. I know it's happened to me several times in the past few years (mostly involving foods from the Marquette Food Co-op, which I'm hoping isn't an omen for things like that papaya poppy-seed salad dressing or those single servings of Feta cheese I like so much), and each time I almost find myself mourning the situation. I mean, it's strange—it's only food, and in the case of the cashew curry the company DID introduce a product that's kinda sorta like it. But something still feels...hollow about not being able to enjoy the Thai Cashew Curry from a bag. I'm sure that, if I really wanted to, I actually could try recreating the dish myself, but you know what?

It just wouldn't be the same.

So thanks, Thai Cashew Curry, for several years of joy and stomach-filling yumminess. We will miss you greatly, and hope you have a great life in that Great Recycling Bin in the sky.

8-)

On that note, have yourself a great weekend. And may some yummy Thai (or any kind of) food fall into your life soon!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 9/12

The note from Pam in Marquette was right to the point--

“What is it with you and cereal”?

She was referring, of course, to yesterday’s blog about buying food from Germany. Pam didn't seem to mind all the tea I bought, nor the (lack of) chocolate. Instead, Pam wanted to concentrate on the fact that I buy cereal from another country. But you know what, Pam? Wouldn't you when you gets cereals like this??

I thought not.

8-)

That's right. One has cherries with two kinds of chocolate, while the other is orange & dark chocolate.  So you know what? When you come to think about it, maybe it doesn't really matter that I didn't buy a lot of chocolate bars this time around. I sure made up for it with the cereal, didn't I?

Of course, cereal and I have a long & storied history. I don't know that I could necessarily explain why, although this may—may--explain some of it.

I've probably told this story once or twice, and if so, forgive me. But like I said, it may explain something. When I was three years old, my mom took me grocery shopping. While she was looking through the canned peas or something healthy, I wandered off alone in search of the Holy Grail...the cereal aisle. I don’t know exactly why I did what I did (after all, do any 3-year olds know why they do what they do?), but what I do know is that by the time my mom found me, I had opened 12 boxes of cereals in search of the free prize inside. Yup--I had opened a dozen cereal boxes right there in the store, looking for whatever gadget was in the box. Apparently, we as a family then had to eat nothing but Corn Flakes for the next week as my mom was forced to spend all of the grocery money to buy the boxes I had opened.

Cute kid, huh? Well, two things about the story. The first is that, as I jokingly keep telling her, my mom misses the point of the story--here I was, three years old, and could read enough to know what the word “free” meant. That hasta count for something, right?

Right?

The second point is that, ever since I was that 3-year old, I’ve been fascinated by cereal boxes and the stuff inside them. As a kid, I collected everything from Cap’n Crunch cereal bowls (which I think I used well into teenage-hood) to Presidential trading cards from the back of Cheerios boxes (which is probably, why, to this day, I can name the last 19 US Presidents in order). That interest doesn’t seem to have changed in the decades since.

So should it really come as any surprise that my fascination with cereal has combined with my fascination with Europe to become a fascination with European cereal? Nah, I didn’t think so...especially when those European cereals combine two different kinds of chocolate with cherries or oranges?.

I mean, that’s like nirvana to someone like me, right?

And that, Pam, should answer your question. At least, I hope it does!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 9/11

By looking at the contents of the box, you'd almost—almost--think that I was turning into an adult.

Almost.

Our most recent order from our favorite online German food store arrived over the weekend. Since it's been (gasp) almost four months since we were last in Germany, we were starting to run out of all the important things we usually bring back with us, like chocolate, cereal, and more chocolate. And since we won't be back there until the end of April, 2020, we needed some stuff to tide us over until then.

Or until we place another order in, say, January. You know, to tide us over during that final three months before we go back.

Anyway, the chocolate and the cereal arrived, and our stocks were replenished. However, I noticed something really weird about my portion of the order. I seem to have, for some reason, cut back on the chocolate I had shipped, and instead went overboard on this--

That's right. In our most recent German Shop 24 order, I bought more tea than I did chocolate. What the heck's wrong with me??????!!!!!!??????

I don't know why, but for me Germany's rapidly becoming to tea what France and Belgium are for chocolate. Despite what our friend Anja in Weissenfels says, the country has an amazing selection of the stuff, and most of my favorite teas on the planet come from there. In this photo you see green tea with vanilla, Rooibos (red) tea with vanilla (see a trend here?), green tea with orange and ginger, and a couple of boxes of that strange fennel/anise/caraway seed tea I like so much.

And then there's a tea I've never come across in my travels, and wanted to try out. It's the box at the lower right, and it's a sage/honey/vanilla tea. I love all three of those flavors, although I had no idea how they would all taste together. I tried a cup after getting the package, and just let me say this--

Fennel/anise/caraway seed tea? Sad to say, I think you've met your match.

The sage flavor in the tea seems to coat your mouth, and the honey kicks it up four or five notches. In all honesty, I couldn't really taste the vanilla, but I'm sure it was in there and sure it added to the awesomeness of the drink. All I know is that the flavor stays with you long after you've finished your mug. Even Loraine, who's not the world's biggest tea fan, thought the taste was amazing.

So there you go. I'll admit it. I bought more tea than chocolate from a company in Europe. I hope you don't think any less of me, and I (really) hope that I'm not, you know, becoming an adult or something along those lines for doing so. But if that's the case; well, then it might have been worth it.

The sage/honey/vanilla tea is THAT good.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 9/10

Yesterday was not a fun day.

For those of you who were around Marquette and were trying to listen to this radio station you may have noticed that we weren't on the air. A crew had to climb the tower on which our transmitter array sits and replace a few things for another customer. And because we put out so much power and because the people climbing the tower didn't want to end up like microwaved potatoes, we had to go off the air.

For four and a half long hours.

As frustrated as you guys probably get when we’re off the air, I’m even more so. I mean, not only am I sitting in my office, waiting to go back on the air and wondering if it’ll ever happen, but once we do go back on the air I need to then reschedule each and every commercial that we missed. And if we’ve been off for most of the day, as we were yesterday, that’s a lot of commercials to make good.

The worst part of it is, of course, that the situation’s out of my control. If we go off the air because of a technical problem or, as was the case yesterday, someone else's technical problem, there’s nothing I can do about it except wait. Well, I should say there’s nothing I can do except wait and wonder. Because the people who are busy fixing things are, well, busy fixing things, I can’t call them up every five minutes and ask when they’ll be done. If I did that, they’d never get anything done, except for answering their phone every five minutes. So I just sit, wait, and wonder, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

And for someone who seems to have an infinite amount of patience, this is the one time I really, REALLY need to draw upon it!

So if you would, keep your fingers crossed that everything is actually fixed on the tower and that we don't have to have an encore performance again today. Not only would it be a nice change for you guys, but it’ll help me try and keep a tenuous grip on whatever sanity I have left.

And as we all know, that's not really much to being with.

*****

Tomorrow, the story about how I may actually, just by the smallest degree but actually, may be turning into an adult. Shocking, I know. But what arrived in the mail over the weekend may actually be a sign that it's happening.

There's even a picture for proof. All the details tomorrow!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 9/9

One of the great things about walking in downtown Marquette every day is that you get to inhale this amazing concoction of smells from 13 or 14 different restaurants preparing menu items for that day. Some mornings, you can pick out the Italian food or the German food or the Cajun food; some mornings, it’s just blended together in one giant bowl of nostril stew.

One of the bad things about walking in downtown Marquette every day is that, every once in a while, one of those restaurants burns whatever it is they’re cooking, and that smell kinda hangs over a 4 or 6-square block area of downtown, crowding out even diesel fumes for the honor of “Most Noxious Odor Ever”.

Saturday was one of those days..

I have no idea which restaurant did the overcooking, nor do I know what they were cooking, but the smell? Well, the closest way I can describe it would be to have you imagine a combination of skunk spray, cigarette smoke, and your 2-year old’s 2-month old diaper, all mixed together and put in an oven to be charred beyond all belief. That kinda gets at what it smelled like while I was out walking. It's not a perfect description, but it's close.

Very, very close.

Luckily, the world’s largest natural air purifier is sitting right on the edge of downtown, and the breeze quickly dissipated the stench. Otherwise, I could just see everyone walking around downtown trying to get two or three blocks while holding his or her breath and trying NOT to inhale the, well, whatever it was. And, hopefully, it didn't make its way down to the Beer Fest, where that noxious odor combined with people who've been drinking beer could've led to a natural disaster of unprecedented proportions.

If you know what I mean.

Thankfully, something like that happens VERY rarely. In fact, I'm guessing that when I walk to work in a few minutes that I'll be back to smelling the fragrant aroma that greets me at least once each morning when I head out the door.

Diesel fumes, here I come!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Friday, 9/6

What were you doing right at noon on September 6^th, 1988? If you were listening to a certain radio station, you heard a slightly nervous young man say “hey” for the first time, and then play Kenny Loggins’ “Nobody’s Fool”.

That slightly nervous young man was me, and today, you and I are celebrating (gulp) 31 years together.

That’s right; it was on this day in 1988 (the Tuesday after Labor Day, actually) that I started working here, a time span that to me seems to only be three or four years, at most. I know it’s not true, though. One of the”joys” in my life is to have one of you, perhaps with a young child in tow, come up to me and say how you listened to me when you were 10, and now your kid's an avid listener. Or when my current doctor came in during my first checkup, with the cheery greeting “I used to listen to you when I was growing up”. That's when I know for sure that I've been here a long time. And I know the day may be coming when someone who listened as a kid introduces their grandchild to me.

Let’s pause here while both you and I shudder in horror at that thought.

Back when I started, I just assumed it would be like the two other jobs I had had since graduating from college...a couple of years, and then on to the next step in my career.

Thankfully, I was wrong.

I’ve never been driven by money in my career (much to the consternation of my parents); instead, I’ve been more concerned about enjoying what I do and how I do it. And, in that respect, I have been the luckiest person on the face of the Earth. All those years ago I slipped into a job I still love (and still find challenging) to this day, I’ve built up relationships with co-workers and with many of you that I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world, and what I've done here has been the starting point for many other adventures in many other areas of my life.  I guess you could say that I was spoiled early and often, and I would in no way disagree. I just wish more people had the chance to be as lucky as I have.

Just let me say this to you--thanks for making it possible. I can’t wait for the next year or decade or however long it ends up being, and I hope that you—if not your kids or even (gulp) your grandkids—come along for the ride.

So if you hear “Nobody’s Fool” at one point today, you’ll know why!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 9/5

Well, that was fun. And interesting. And I actually learned a little something.

Who knew??

I'm referring to, of course, last night's “Beer History” gig at the Marquette Regional History Center. A packed house enjoyed beer, smart people talking about stuff, beer, and me sharing stories of what drunk people do when they're drunk. I went on last, when people had been enjoying their beer for a bit, and I got a lot of laughs, although I don't know if that was me, the beer, or a combination thereof. But everyone had a great time and a lot of money was raised for a good cause, so in the end, that's all that matters.

And Russ Magnhagi told a few stories about bootleggers I hadn't heard before. So even I learned a few new things. THAT doesn't happen every day.

8-)

Now, I promised I'd tell one of the stories I mentioned last night, and since this one doesn't involve public nudity, gross embarrassment, or an arrest (my best bar stories sometimes involve all three) I'll share it. Back in the 60s and the 70s there was a bowling alley and bar in Marquette called The Four Seasons. It was located on the west side of the city, in what is now the office building behind First Bank on Washington Street. Anyway, it was one of those places where people went if they were under-aged (the theme of my talk last night) and one night led two young people to decide they wanted to take something home with them.

Specifically, they wanted to take two bowling balls home with them.

So, in their drunk state, they somehow smuggled two full-sized bowling balls out of the bar, and soon found themselves standing at the corner of Front & Ridge in Marquette. There they were—in front of Peter White library, at the top of a very steep hill, holding two bowling balls.

You can guess what happened next.

As they rolled the balls down the street, they realized they had forgotten one very important concept—that of gravity. As the balls rolled down the (rather steep) hill, they picked up speed and within a few seconds had already traveled three blocks, down past Main Street. It was there the first ball hit a pothole, flew into the air, and into the window of a parked car. The other ball made it a few more feet, until it hit the curb and ended up going through the front window of Getz's.

If the Mining Journal had a police log back in those days, I can just imagine what the entry would've read, but alas, it didn't. The two young people never were caught, although the person who shared the story says they still feel guilty about it. I don't know their names, so their secret is save with me, but it's just one of the many stupid things people have done when they're young & drunk. And in possession of two bowling balls.

Ah, you gotta love history, don't you?

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 9/4

Out of all the stories I'll be telling tonight, I'm probably the least likely person to be telling any of them.

Yet, I'll be doing it anyway.

Tonight is the “Beer History” fundraiser at the Marquette Regional History Center, and aside from the 11 different kinds of beers available to try there will also be three speakers during the evening. Those three speakers include two very important local intellectuals, who will be speaking on the socio-economic and manufacturing aspects of alcohol, and, well, me, telling stories about the stupid things people do after they've had one or two or twelve too many.

I kinda think I'm maybe, just maybe, the comic relief of the evening. Maybe.

I am probably one of the least likely people to tell these types of stories, in that I don't go to bars and I really don't drink. Yet there I'll be, sharing stories of hilarity, stupidity, and depravity (sometimes all at once) that I've picked up over the past few years. I guess when you decide to explore the offbeat and/or seedy aspects of local history, as have I, you're bound to become an expert on the topic, whether you want to be or not.

But I don't mind at all.

I'm going on last, after everyone's had a chance to sample the beers, so I'm assuming it'll be a fun crowd that's ready to laugh. And that's a good thing; after all, even though I only have 20 minutes, here are a few of the stories I'll be sharing--

The Bowling Ball story.

The Streaker story.

The “Why Is There an Axe In The Wall?” story.

The “How To Make a Fortune The Next Morning” story

The “Why Does It Smell like Jell-O In Here?” story

The “You Shouldn't Really Get Into a Bar Fight with a Wrecker Driver” story.

And the Great Andy's Urinal Experiment story

Now, I experienced none of the stories first-hand. In fact, most of them occurred before I was of legal drinking age and some even before I was born. Yet because of my field of interest people have shared them with me over the years, and I've now become somewhat of an expert on the subject even though I never did anything along those lines.

Kind of like how I'm Marquette's “greatest living authority on prostitutes” without ever, you know, actually knowing one.

It should be a fun evening, though. I believe a few tickets are still available, so if you wanna check it out, just go to the History Center's website for all the details. Otherwise, I'll let you know how it turned out tomorrow. I might even share one or two of the stories, as well.

Assuming, that is, I can clean them up enough for general consumption.

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 9/3

It's now September. My life is over.

Okay, I'll shut up now. I'm being a drama queen, and I know it. But as I wrote a couple of weeks ago this is the one and only thing that gets me even slightly depressed, and that's the end of “summer”. And this year, I think, it might be even worse, because I really don't know that we had much of a “summer”, at least here in Marquette. June was a little wetter and cooler than usual, July was a little warmer and dryer than average, and August was just, well, weird.

How weird? How about the fact that it only hit 80 four days during the entire month. And, according to the National Weather Service, it's been almost 10 degrees BELOW average for the past two weeks. That's just not right.

In a strange way, I have to laugh about the weather and how it's treating us. As I've mentioned recently, this is the time that we're usually in Europe, and for six of the past seven years that's meant this is when it's rainy and cold in Europe. However, because we're not there this year, it's been in the 80s and 90s with sun the past five days. So instead of, say, last year, when the first five days of our trip were rainy and in the 50s, it's been glorious over there.

Here? Not so much. It's been cool and except for a few days this past weekend, rainy. Think Mother Nature's trying to fool with us?

8-)

Admittedly, what I call glorious my European friends may call horrid, as they're suffering through their third hottest summer in history, thanks to climate change. But (and this is just me being me) I'd much rather go through the third hottest summer in history than the cloudy and cool blahs we've been given. That's just me; I'm sure your opinion may vary. I'm just hoping that this cloudy & cool “summer” weather doesn't become our new normal. After all, Mother Nature's trying to compensate for all the damage we're doing to her, which is why weather (including our wet & cool summers) is becoming so extreme everywhere on the planet.

But you know what? I'm sure none of that matters to you the way it matter to me. I'm sure you're able to handle whatever comes your way with less than 1 percent of the complaining I do about it. I'm sure you don't obsessively wonder why summer hasn't lived up to your dreams. And I'm absolutely sure that you don't look at the weather a quarter of the way around the world and wonder why a planetary atmospheric system has it in for you and only you.

I'm sure you don't. Just as I'm sure that you don't think September is the end of the world as you know it. So with that in mind, I pledge not to mention the weather the rest of the month, even if just keeps going downhill, even if it turns out to be glorious, or even (gasp) if we see snowflakes in the air.

Well, maybe I reserve the right to complain just a little if we see snowflakes in September. Because, I'm thinking, that might be a little more than even you guys could handle, right?

(jim@wmqt.com)