Friday, 2/28

We leave for Germany two months from today. We're keeping our fingers crossed they'll actually let us in.

Actually, I'm (fairly) sure they'll let us in, but the outbreak of the Coronavirus has lent a slight air of uncertainty to the whole situation. Airlines are canceling flights to the places most engulfed in the pandemic, like China and Korea, and just yesterday Germany reported its first case of the disease. Admittedly, that case is in Dusseldorf, which is all the way across the country from Leipzig, but the German government is taking precautions to make sure it doesn't spread, much like it has in northern Italy, where they've shut down entire towns and canceled many events, including soccer matches.

And why are we going to Germany two months from today? If you said “a soccer match”, you either read these on a daily basis or you have a very fine sense of foreshadowing. Either way, I salute you.

Thankfully, things have not yet gotten that bad in Germany. Unlike some countries, they have their top scientists leading the fight against the disease spreading, and unlike some countries, they've taken proactive measures to make sure any outbreak doesn't spread. And while I'm confident that Coronavirus will go the way of SARS & Ebola, I'm also scientifically literate enough to know that it might not. While I would hope that it doesn't hit the planet like the Spanish Flu of 1918 or (gulp) the Black Death of medieval times, you never know. Because while science has advanced a lot in the past 100 years, so has Mother Nature.

But still, I'm confident.

Like I said, for now things are proceeding as usual. With the exception of actual tickets to the match, which don't go on sale for a few weeks yet, we have everything we need, and there has been no indication that anything else has changed. Hopefully, the virus will run its course. Hopefully, Germany (& Britain, where we have to change planes) will impose no restrictions whatsoever on travel into or out of the the country. And hopefully, no one else from Dusseldorf gets sick.

Why, you ask? Well, I answer, the match we're going to see has Leipzig playing a team from Dusseldorf. Now you see why we're just a little uncertain??

8-)

Have a great weekend. And enjoy your Leap Day tomorrow!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 2/27

Loraine, as always, had an interesting thought.

I don't remember how we got to discussing this subject, but a couple of days ago we were joking around about how some people call me “the next Fred Rydholm”. It's a title that I'm not entirely comfortable with; after all, when he was alive he probably forgot more about local history that I'll ever know. But I can also see the comparison—I guess I follow in his footsteps as far as a passion about sharing local history, and (in my case, for some bizarre reason) people seem to think of us as a resource for tales of the past.

So while I'm not entirely comfortable being called “the next Fred Rydholm”, I can understand why people say it.

While we were discussing how some people call me what they do, my dear wife then proffered a question that I'd never thought about, but makes perfect sense. If I'm following in Fred's footsteps as an advocate and a “teacher” of local history, then to whom will I pass the baton?

If I'm “the next Fred Rydholm”, then who will be “the next Jim Koski”?

The question kinda freaked me out a little; after all, I'm not planning on going anywhere soon. But I suppose it is a legitimate question. If I'm following in Fred Rydholm's footsteps (albeit with a less meandering style and a lot more stories about hookers) then who, someday, will follow in mine? I mean, I'd be sad to think that there's not at least one dork out there who's interested in what made Marquette Marquette, and I'd be sad to think that there's not at least one dork out there who'd be willing to walk around the city backwards talking into a microphone while pointing out where this fire occurred or where that bootlegger once worked.

I would hope that someone would be willing to do that once I can't.

Of course, following in Fred's footsteps was never anything to which I aspired. I never set out to be “the next Fred Rydholm”. It just kind of happened. So the thought that my footsteps need to be “filled” is somewhat surreal, at least to me. But who knows—maybe there's a kid out there, perhaps not even born yet, who will one day find an interest and a passion and find they have an ability to share that with people.

And maybe one day, hopefully many, MANY years from now, people will come up to that young person and say--

“Hey—did you know you're the next Jim Koski?”

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 2/26

I wonder how many other things I've totally forgotten about?

I've been doing this job forever, and during that epoch-spanning time I've done a lot of things on the air. So I'm not surprised that I would've forgotten one or two or all of them, something that popped to the fore last week when we played Michael Jackson's “Black Or White” during our “Throwback Thursday”.

Namely, it made me wonder—whatever happened to the parody version of the song I did when it first came out?

Why did I do a parody version of it, you ask? Well, I answer, because when we received the CD single of the song there was an instrumental version of it, and because Michael Jackson was, you know, Michael Jackson, I wrote lyrics for a tune called “Me or Mike”, in which Mr. Jackson wasn't sure if he were himself or an evil version of himself called “Mike”.

Sadly, I think we learned the answer to that a few years later.

I remember nothing about the song except the title and the first two lines--

“My best friend Bubbles told me I was a flake

I didn't listen that was my big mistake”

And that's it. I know I put it together and I aired it a bunch when the song was popular, but whatever happened to it after that, I have no idea. If the master tape of it still existed, I'm guessing it was tossed out when we moved the station to Marquette. I know it was done on a four track recorder, so even if the master still existed I would have no way to play it. After all, audio tape recording like that is, what? Two or three generations of recording medium old?

Yes, I'm a dinosaur. What's your point?

How many more things like that that I've totally forgotten were tossed aside, either physically or mentally? I have no idea. I know that there must be a lot. But maybe, just maybe, that could be taken as a good thing. If nothing else, maybe that means that I've had such a fun and creatively fulfilling career that I can't even remember all the cool stuff I've done. I know that every so often I see someone who mentioned a remote I did or a contest they won, and I don't recall it at all. But like I said, maybe that's a good thing. If nothing else, it means that I've been a lucky person in my chosen field.

Even if I've forgotten half of what I've done.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 2/25

It’s been HOW many miles??

I'm sure I've written about this before, and if it seems familiar and/or boring, I apologize. But now that the streets & sidewalks of Marquette are rapidly losing their snow earlier that usual, I've started to think that pretty soon I should break out a new pair of running shoes. Why is that a big deal?

Well, around this time of the year, or at least this time of the year when the snow begins to melt, I do that. You’re supposed to change your running shoes every 500 or so miles, and if you figure that I run 10 or 12 or so miles a week (sometimes more, sometimes less) then I need a new pair approximately once every year. And since I don’t want to take brand-new running shoes out in the snow and the muck (you know, like the months of October through (usually) March or April around here), I usually wait until the snow & the gunk is gone and then switch the shoes out. And that's crossed my mind this weekend (after all, I needed something OTHER that dead computers to think about)

But that’s really neither here nor there. Here’s actually what here or there--I started running when I moved back to Marquette in 1988. That’s been 32 (yikes!) years. If I run on average, and we're averaging low here, 10 miles a week, that’s 520 (or so) miles a year. And if I’ve been doing that for over 32 years now, you know what that means?

I have run, in my life, almost 17,000 miles. I have now run almost halfway around the Earth.

My feet hurt just typing that!

16,640 (to be specific) miles in 32 years. Wow. And you know what’s scary? There are SO many people who’ve run further than I in the last three (and counting) decades that it boggles the mind. I mean, I’m just a recreational runner. There are people out there who’ll do 500 miles in a month, and don’t even break a sweat. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do that.

I don’t remember most of the 16,640 miles I’ve run, mostly because my mind is occupied with thoughts other than running while I’m out running, but there are several jaunts that definitely stick in my head, and probably will forever. One would be the three miles I ran by myself, early one Saturday morning, in September, 2004, through the winding and narrow streets of Bayeux, France. Another would be a VERY sticky & sweaty 8 miles in Marquette back in ’08 or ’09, one of my long, meandering Saturday runs when it was 80 degrees at 8 in the morning. I just loved the thought of it being that warm that early. And a third might be a couple of years ago when we were visiting Loraine's parents, I went out running, and found myself getting caught in a massive thunderstorm that almost turned into a tornado.

Trust me--you DON’T forget runs like that, even after racking up almost 17,000 miles.

I supposed I should set a goal of running at least 25,000 miles in my life, so I can say (at least in jest) that I’ve run around the world. So far, it’s taken me 32 years to get two-thirds of the way there. I still plan on running for another 32 years, so I suppose the goal is possible. We’ll just have to see if my feet, my knees, and the new shoes I should start using for the first time hold out.

Wish me luck!!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 2/24

Nothing good ever comes from a Friday night phone call.

Whenever my phone rings on a Friday night and I see it's someone from work, I tense up a little on the inside. It means that something has gone wrong. It means that the sporting event we're carrying on our ESPN station isn't going well, or it means that our antenna has blown up and we'll be at 1 percent power for the next five months. So when my phone rang at 9:24 pm last Friday, I knew it probably wasn't good news.

And it wasn't.

The hard drive on the computer that puts everything on the air died, which means that we had nothing on the air. Thankfully, we have a bit of a backup system in another one of our studios, so after an hour or so of frantic work I was able to get music back on the air, and after most of a weekend of work (aside, of course, from joining Loraine at one of the greatest events to which one can ever attend, yesterday's SAIL Chocolate Festival) you couldn't tell by listening we had a dead hard drive.

At least I hope you couldn't tell.

Because it was part of an old computer system, we had to get someone who knew what they were talking about to get it back up to speed; thankfully, whatever they did seems to be working for now (knock on wood). Until they fixed our machine, we spent the weekend playing music and the like out of a production studio. Since we were trying to keep the radio experience as normal as possible, we were also taking phone calls and doing everything we normally do. But because our production studio isn't set up to do that, we had to do something like this when doing a contest--

Announce we're doing the contest in the production studio.

Run down the hall to the air studio, take the phone call, and record it.

Run back to the production studio, call up the phone call sound file from our network, and play it

Fun, huh? And when I spoke with someone from Weatherology about the weather I had to do the exact same thing, except for the fact that I had a 30 second window in which I had to start a commercial, run down the hall, call them, and start talking. Then while they were wrapping up the forecast at the end, I had to run back down the hall to the other studio and start the next element when they were finished.

Good thing I'm in shape, huh?

Thankfully, this was just a temporary thing. But over the weekend if you heard something weird, it wasn't the fault of your radio.

It was because of a Friday night phone call.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Friday, 2/21

If a rhetorical question was a color, what color would it be?

Believe it or not, that's actually not just a rhetorical question in and of itself. As I've mentioned in here before, my friend Deanna and I, bemoaning the fact that e-mail doesn't always capture the intent of the writer, have decreed that whenever we say something sarcastic we do so in pink. That way, one of us knows exactly what the other wants to get across, and any confusion is there avoided.

And trust me—we both use pink a LOT.

While e-mailing her yesterday I asked a question, and in return she asked if my pink was broken, our code for “you're really being sarcastic but forgot to use pink, right?” The thing is, I wasn't being sarcastic, and while it was a question that could (thanks to e-mail) be considered sarcastic, it wasn't. It was rhetorical. And since (once again) e-mail doesn't convey any of the nuance of the spoken word, we decided that any time either of us writes a rhetorical question it, like sarcasm, must be in a certain color.

But which color?

Now, I realize not a lot of people (okay, ANY people) would spend a small chunk of their day trying to figure out the “color” of a certain aspect of the written word, but as you all know I'm any but normal. And despite her best efforts to appear otherwise, Deanna really isn't, either. But she had a great point, in that a rhetorical question needs to be highlighted just like sarcasm, lest it be misunderstood. We chose pink for sarcasm because, well, pink looks like sarcasm. Yes, I realize that grammatical concepts usually don't look like colors, but as I just mentioned, we're not normal. So play along with us, if you would.

Unlike sarcasm, though, nether of us immediately associated a color with a rhetorical question. The first thing that popped into my head was a brownish hue; I don't know why, but it did. The problem with brown is that when you're reading an e-mail, especially on your phone, brown(ish) looks an awful lot like black, and neither of us has time to stare at an e-mail looking for a certain color to try and figure out if it's an actual question or a rhetorical question

So it's not brown.

At the moment we're stumped. There are a lot of colors that would stand out in an e-mail, but there doesn't seem to be a color that screams “this is a rhetorical question” the same way that pink screams “I'm being sarcastic”. So if you have a few seconds this weekend, close your eyes, let your mind float, and think to yourself--

“If a rhetorical question was a color, what color would it be”?

Both Deanna and I thank you very much.

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 2/20

I was almost a guy yesterday.

Seriously. I did a very guy-like thing yesterday. I know I'm usually not a guy. In fact, I think we were even discussing this a few days ago.  But I did a very guy-like thing, and because of it, you would have thought the world had shifted on its axis or something.

I wore a sports jersey to work. I don't think my co-workers will even be the same.

Because they were playing their first game in the Champions' League knockout round yesterday (where they defeated Tottenham 1-0) I wore an RB Leipzig jersey to work. It's one of, I think, two sports jerseys I've ever owned, and since Loraine had brought her RB Leipzig scarf to her job, I figured I'd share her spirit of support. Obviously, it worked because the guy whose jersey scored the one goal of the game and obviously because of the final score of the match, right?

8-)

Anyway, my co-workers acted if I'd come in wearing a canister of Coronavirus germs, or something. Jen wondered what was wrong, if I was making some kind of cry for help. When I told her why I was wearing it, she then told me all about her pretend boyfriend, David Beckham. My boss had to stop and stare at me for a few too many uncomfortable seconds, as if I'd grown a third arm or an extra head. And then Tanner, our sports director, a guy who wearing sports jerseys ever single day of his life, had to point out that even he was wearing a “normal” shirt for the day, and that for once I was the oddball.

Then it's a good thing I'm comfortable being an oddball, isn't it?

I had no idea that being a “guy” for a day would engender such a reaction. Can you imagine what would have happened had I also come in wearing camo pants or drinking beer or doing whatever else it is guys do? I would have driven them insane. Or, at the very least, caused them to grow a third arm or an extra head. And while that does give me an idea or two for the future, it also just makes me laugh that little laugh that we all do when things get a little strange.

Today, I'm back to not being a guy. I'm wearing a brightly colored shirt and a dark jacket, because I know that I look really good in contrasting colors. I'll have some tea, and then go to a meeting about a charity fashion show with which we're helping out. And not once, not at all, will I say anything about sports, sports jerseys, or the sports fans who wear sports jerseys.

If only because I did enough of that yesterday.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 2/19

To blog, or not to blog. That is the question.

One of the many thing I had hoped to get to this weekend before getting sucked down the “Live From Daryl's House” rabbit hole was to get our trip blog up to date with a few housekeeping matters. As you know, I usually write blogs when we're in Europe, and as you know, we're heading there in just over two months. So I wanted to get a few things ready for that. But the more I thought about it (and me thinking, as we all know, can be a dangerous thing), the more I started to wonder--

Should I do it this time around? Do I need to do it this time around? I'm not quite sure.

Let me explain the rationale behind this—the trip we're making to Germany in two months is almost the exact same trip that we made last year. We're flying into Berlin, taking the train to Leipzig, going to a soccer match, and then spending the rest of the trip exploring the city. Literally, the only difference this time around is that we're not going to Weissenfels for a day (Weissenfels being the place where Loraine's the most famous American ever to visit).

So will there be anything new for me to write about?

If you read the blogs from last year you may remember that aside from the match against Freiburg and Loraine's press conference in Weissenfels I wrote mainly about Leipzig, its beauty, and its history, especially regarding the fall of Communism and the Berlin Wall. This time around, we're looking forward to exploring more of that beauty and more of that history. Sure, we'll be in different parks and exploring different parts of the city, but will it be different enough so that I can write something original, and not just repeat myself?

That's why I'm not quite sure about writing them this time around.

I've thought about doing something different this time around; maybe something along the lines of shooting a video at a significant place and then posting it in lieu of a blog. But for that to look & sound good we might need some extra equipment, and since we're only going over for nine days we try to travel as light as possible. I've also thought about doing just photo essays and cutting back on the writing, but sometimes you need one to compliment the other. If that were to be the case, then I should just write the blogs, even though I've already written about a lot of the things we'll be seeing & doing.

See my quandary?

I still have two months to figure it out; I'm sure some kind of solution or some kind of compromise will pop into my head by then. Heck, if nothing else, I could always post more “Live From Daryl's House” videos and call it a trip, right?

Don't worry. I won't be doing that. But if you have thought on the matter; if you've enjoyed reading the blogs and want me to continue, or if you have an idea I've not yet thought about, let me know. For the moment, at least, I'm open to any and all suggestions.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 2/18

I really didn't mean to waste three hours of a weekend afternoon. Really, I didn't.

I had a lot I wanted to get done Sunday. There were a lot of little things that had been piling up, and there were several long-term projects into which I'd hoped to take a bite. Unfortunately, before I got to any of that I made a mistake and I clicked on a website. By the time I looked up it was 5 and time to make dinner.

Oops.

My own personal Internet kryptonite these days, the rabbit hole into which I was pulled this past weekend, would be “Live at Daryl's House”. I don't know if you're aware of this site, but Daryl Hall (of Hall & Oates) hosted a web series for around 10 years where he'd welcome musical stars to his home, make dinner for them, and then jam with he & his band. Videos from various performances are all over the web, and if you're anything like me, once you watch the first you keep clicking on the next until you realize the afternoon has disappeared and your wife is wondering if you're still breathing.

Once again, oops.

There are two reasons that I get so into the clips. The first is that the musicianship is impeccable. The people who play on the show, both the regular band and the guests, are at the top of their game. They can play just about any musical genre and play it well. And that ties into the second reason—they seem to have a BLAST doing it. Whether they're doing a Hall & Oates song, a song by the guest, or just some old chestnut, the musicians are all smiling. And when they hit a particular groove or know that they've nailed a piece of work, the joy they share is just palpable.

It's just fun to watch.

I got hooked because I came across a performance from a decade ago from one of my current favorite groups, Chromeo. At the time, they were just unknown funksters from Montreal, but when you hear them join the band to play Boz Scaggs' “Lowdown”, you just know they were talented even then--

Of course, they weren't too bad on a Hall & Oates classic, either--

Actually, if you watch that video through to the end, you can get a sense of just how much fun they were having.

I could recommend just about every video you can find from the show, and thereby find myself getting sucked into another rabbit hole, but there are two more I'd like to put out there. The first, a performance of “Life's Been Good” with Joe Walsh, shows how they can tackle any kind of musical style--

And then pulling a 180, they also show how they can change up a Hall & Oates classic in this performance with Rumer--

That's just a (very) small sample of what you can find floating around the internet from the show. That's not even getting into the stuff they did with the O'Jays, or Meyer Hawthorne, or Train, or Aloe Blacc, or Rob Thomas, or Cheap Trick, or...

Well, you get the idea. And maybe, just maybe, can now understand how I lost three hours of my life Sunday afternoon.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 2/17

I think the statistic says all that needs to be said about the state of this country these days.

A couple of days ago on the air I gave out a “Weird Fact” that, I'm guessing, didn't surprise a lot of people. And since it's Presidents' Day today, I'll share it here, as well. It's not a made up fact; a U.S. university actually did a study, and this is what they found out--

The average American 10-year old can only name four presidents. The same average American 10-year old can name eight brands of beer.

Explains a lot, doesn't it?

Now, maybe I'm just a little sensitive about the subject. After all, I was the dorky kid who once collected Presidential trading cards off the back of Cheerios boxes, and was the dorky kid who once wrote and gave a speech for a Presidential candidate when I was in the second grade...and then had to give it to a couple of third grade classes because I was, you know, such a dork. Obviously, when I was 10 years old, I knew more than just four Presidents.

So you can see why the statistic made my jaw drop.

But I think the statistic does say a lot about what kids learn these days. I don't wanna sound like one of those people who starts every sentence with “back when I was a kid”, but, ahem, back when I was a kid we got to learn about things like Presidents in school. We got to learn about things like Presidents on the back of a cereal box. I don't know what gets taught in history or social studies classes these days, but I'm guessing it's not Presidents.

And I'm certainly hoping it's not brands of beer.

Of course, the whole thing is quite ironically funny because if kids wanted to learn about Presidents they have a resource much better than the back of a cereal box—they have the Internet. The name of every single U.S. President is available with the click of a mouse, and yet either the ability to find out who those people were or the interest to find out who those people were is lacking.

Now, I realize that history of how a democracy works probably isn't as important to some people as how many kinds of beer are out there, but you know that old line about getting the government we deserve? If you only know four U.S. Presidents (I'm guessing, if I had to, they'd be Washington, Lincoln, Obama, and the current one) and you aren't aware of the struggles, triumphs, victories, and just plain stupidity of the rest, they do you really have enough knowledge and experience on which to base your vote as an adult?

Think of it this way--10-year old kids are eight years out from voting, and they're 11 years out from (legally) drinking. Yet they're better prepared for one than the other.

The past few years have made me wonder if people really care about a functioning democracy. Seeing a statistic like that makes me wonder even more.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Friday, 2/14

“So..just how big of a crush DO you have on Alicia Keys?”

The caller yesterday was joking when she said that, although I knew what she was talking about. Every time I backsell or frontsell  (radio terms there) the song “Underdog”, I usually stick an adjective in front of Ms. Keys’ name; right before the call came in, in fact, I believe the term was “babe-alicious” (as in “the babe-alicious Alicia Keys”). The caller then jokingly asked how Loraine must feel about my “crush”, and I was able to answer that quite easily--

“Oh, she’s used to it”.

You see, over the last 30 years, there have been all kinds of little “crushes” floating around the Koski household. I mean, you can draw a line from Michelle Pfeiffer to Vanessa Williams to Amy Grant to Tina Fey to Halsey and not blink an eye. Of course, I’m not the only one like that; Loraine and I have often joked that if we could pry a crowbar between Amy Grant and Vince Gill and divide the spoils between us, we could each walk away happy.

Of course, that’s all it is--a joke. No matter what kind of crush I have on Michelle Pfeiffer or Tina Fey or Alicia Keys, it pales in comparison to the crush I still have, after all these years, on Loraine. Sure, like most couples, we may annoy the heck out of each other on occasion, but I can’t think of anyone else with whom I’d rather plot the breaking up of Amy Grant and Vince Gill. I really can’t.

So Happy Valentine’s Day, Loraine. Maybe you and Vince can come visit Amy & me some day!

8-)

Have a great weekend, everyone. There are a TON of things going on around here the next few days; hopefully, the weather will cooperate so can check one or two of them out.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 2/13

I wonder if I would look any younger.

I wrote about a strange conversation I had yesterday. And just a couple of hours after that, I found myself involved in another one. My brother had stopped by and was in the midst of Facetiming daily blog reader Darlene of Melbourne Beach, Florida. Somehow, the conversation turned to gray hair, and my brother was shocked—shocked--when he found out that daily blog reader Darlene was the only person who voted “yes” six years ago when I wondered if I should color my hair before starting to host “High School Bowl”.

Her rationale? “I'm too young to have a son on TV with gray hair”. Given my family's phobia about aging, I understand it. My brother didn't quite understand it, but at the time I did, even if I had to laugh about it.

Anyway, while we were talking about it again yesterday my mom made a new point, in that I have a “young looking” face and that the gray hair detracts from it. Her argument's sound; while I myself am not a big fan of my gray hair I've always thought that the good genes I inherited from daily blog reader Darlene made up for it. But over the past couple of years, as the graying of my head has advanced, I've started to wonder once again.

Should I get rid of the gray?

I try not to be vain. Really, I don't. But sometimes I look at myself on TV (which is not my favorite thing in the world to begin with) and wonder how different I'd look with my hair the color it was 20 years ago. I mean, I know you can't turn back time; trust me, I KNOW that. But would I shave a couple of years off my appearance if my hair was the dark brown it used to be instead of the gray mixed with dark brown it is now? Would the different hair color allow me to pull off wearing certain colors that might not look as good as they would now?

Or would I just look like a vain dork fighting a losing battle in trying to turn back the clock?

As with most decisions in my life, I'm gonna put it off as long as possible. But it is something I suppose I should ponder. And as with most decisions in my life I'll try to gather as much information as possible, including the opinions of as many people as possible. So if you have a thought on the matter, let me know. I'm probably too close to the subject, and a few outside observations are always welcome.

Of course, I already know what daily blog reader Darlene in Melbourne Beach, Florida thinks.

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 2/12

I don’t know how the conversation started, but the gist of it was this--

“You mean you actually still think about work AFTER you leave for the night?”

That feeling was expressed by someone who’ll remain nameless. It stunned her that my mind is always “on” as far as ideas and thoughts go, just as it stunned me that there are people who leave work for the day and don’t give it a second thought.

This person and I were discussing what we do on winter weekends, and I was explaining to her how, among the many things I have going on, I might spend a small chunk of a winter evening or a weekend writing a blog or two, or come up with a few things I might want to mention on air, or flesh out the details of something we have coming up in the future. During the summer, not so much because I'm playing outside, but the winter?

Sure.

Now, why do I think about the aforementioned things on the weekends or at night after I'm off the air? Well, there aren’t as many distractions, I’m not worried about being on the air, and I can just let my mind “wander” into some strange (and occasionally interesting) corners. She just couldn’t comprehend that; in fact, she said that if she had to think about work outside the 40 hours per week for which she gets paid, she’d go “crazy”. For me, I think it would be the opposite.

Like most people, I use the weekends to “recharge” myself, but maybe I recharge something different. The person with whom I was having this conversation admitted that she doesn’t like her job; it doesn’t stimulate her, and it’s basically doing the same thing day in and day out. I’ve had jobs like that before. I know that if your job sucks, you need to use the weekend to recharge your mind, to get it ready to face another week of the “same old same old”. I use the weekends to recharge my supply of ideas. I’m VERY fortunate in that I have a job that I like, a job that stimulates me, and a job that’s never the same day in and day out. I always get to branch out in different directions, and I never know quite what to expect when I start a new week. So if a thought or an idea happens to pop into my mind while I’m running, or reading a newspaper, or at the grocery store, or cooking dinner, or watching “Star Trek: Discovery” on Blu-ray, I embrace it. After all, you never know where the next cool concept may come from.

I suppose it’s nice for some people to have “work” time and “me” time, and not have the two overlap. For me, those two “times” are just part of who I am. If something good for work pops up when I’m not at work, I embrace it, the same way I’ll take off from work for a few hours on those days when it’s 80 and sunny and the beach is calling my name. I’m lucky in that I can do that. And I know I’m lucky, too.

Oh, and this particular blog? In the interest of full disclosure, I came up with the idea for it on Sunday afternoon.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 2/11

Wow. The sheer number almost kind of blows my mind.

I spent a little time yesterday taping the wrap-up show for the 42^nd season of “High School Bowl”. In my six years of hosting the show it's the earliest we've ever finished a season. Of course, it might also be the first time in 42 years that the show didn't have a single cancellation because of bad weather, so I'm pretty sure that played a huge role in the timeliness. Unlike, say, last year, when we had to cancel six straight shooting dates because of ice and/or cold, and were within one day of having to do a show live on a Saturday night to stay on schedule.

I'm keeping my fingers crossed THAT never happens again.

Anyway, while I was sitting there waiting to start I began to think. And that, as we all know, can be a dangerous thing. But maybe not in this instance. Having hosted the show for six years now, that means I've done 120 hours of the series. Each hour has two games. If you subtract the six “year in review” shows from the mix, that means I've how hosted 234 games of “High School Bowl”.

234 games. Maybe one of these days I'll even get it right.

8-)

I personally can't believe it's been that many games. The science, though, is 100% correct. And if there's one thing I've learned doing 234 games is that science is always right. Of course, I'm also having a little trouble grasping the concept I've been doing the show for six years now, as it seems like it's been, at most, a year or two. But six?

Once again, the science doesn't lie.

I am, however, still saying the same things about the show that I said after hosting the first few, foremost among them that the kids who take part are smart. I mean, they're really, really smart. I'd like to think I know a little something after all the decades I've accumulated, but if we were being honest I only know the answers to maybe a third of the questions I ask. The rest I just sound like I know what I'm talking about. But some of the young people who've come through the show the answer to every single thing I've asked. And if they don't know it outright, they're able to infer what the answer might be. And they're doing this at the age when (joke coming here) I was still learning to feed myself.

They're that smart.

Now that production of season 42 is in the books we've already started talking about season 43, what we hope to accomplish, and any changes that might need to be made. And I'm sure that twelve or thirteen months from now, I'll be sitting here and wondering to myself how it is that I'll have done 140 hours—273 games—of a TV show that I thought I had just started hosting a few months prior.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 2/10

You know, they’re the gloves charged with getting me through an Upper Michigan winter. I should probably take better care of them.

Because I do a lot of walking in the winter, I always make sure I have a good pair of gloves. I make sure they’re Thinsulated yet not so bulky that they impair my fingers. I trust me gloves to keep me warm yet keep me functional on those cold winter days when I have to trudge to work and back.

So you think I’d take good care of those gloves, right? Oh, c’mon; you know better than that. I’ve had this...habit recently of misplacing the gloves I with which I trust my hands. I have lost them in a grocery store, I have left them backstage at Kaufman, I have misplaced them on a city street, I have left them in an office, and I’ve even left them on the roof of a car. But you know what? I also seem to find them again. Those gloves must be like one of those dogs that’ll travel cross-country to become reunited with their owner.

Those gloves just don’t want to leave me!

And I don’t want them to leave me, either. I mean, like I said, they’re good gloves, and they’ve been protecting my hands during this very weird winter, a winter during which the first two months were 20 degrees below average and a winter where the past month and a half have been 10 degrees above average. No matter, what, though, I accept all blame for the torture I’ve put them through; mostly, it’s because I’ll stick them half hanging out of a jacket pocket, which causes them to fall out in a grocery store, backstage at Kaufman, while I’m walking home, or in someone’s office. It’s not the fault of the gloves; as with many things, it’s my own stupidity that causes me to almost lose them.

Luckily I’ve always realized I’ve misplaced the gloves before it’s been too late to backtrack to try & find them. Sometimes it’s taken time to find them (time I never seem to have) but I always do come to their rescue. You’d think that after a while I’d realize that, just perhaps, my jacket pocket isn’t the best place to keep them. After all, they keep falling out whenever I put them in there. But no. I’m either too lazy or too stupid to actually put them somewhere where they won’t fall out. Heck, maybe I’m self-sabotaging; after all, we all know I don’t like winter. Maybe my twisted psyche figures that if it gets rid of the gloves it’ll get rid of winter. I mean, my conscious mind knows that’s not true, but you never know what you’ll find in my sub-conscious mind.

Most days, in fact, I don’t even wanna go down there!!

So if you see a pair of small Thinsulated black gloves with a Champion logo on the street in the next few weeks, laugh to yourself a little bit. Not only will you know who lost the gloves, but you’ll also know that he’s not yet learned his lesson that he shouldn’t keep them in his jacket pockets!!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Friday, 2/7

It's been two weeks. I suppose I should follow up on my promise, shouldn't I?

Two weeks ago I said that I would have more to write about the “North/South” show Jack & I did at Kaufman. We're both still hearing great things from people about the show, which I know we both appreciate. And we're in discussions to do it again this summer.

I'll let you know if that comes to fruition.

Anyway, today's the perfect day to talk about the story that may have gotten the biggest laugh the entire night. Jack had put together an amazing story about the Palestra; in fact, he was even one of the final people to ever play hockey there. He did it because the only Palestra story I really have to tell occurred right as the building was bring torn down--

My dad's friend Tony DePetro took that picture, and after taking it Tony, who's from North Marquette, decided my dad, who's from South Marquette, needed a souvenir of the building. That's why when we woke up the next morning there was a urinal in our driveway.

Don't believe me?

The way I told the story lead to a big laugh, but it wasn't the biggest laugh of the night. Nope; that occurred almost as an aside, when I reminded people who had been on the South Marquette walking tour last summer about my dad's, well, proclivity for injuring himself. My dad told many of the stories himself, while I just kept cracking about how it was a good thing he lived long enough to had kids.

Anyway, to prove the point, I reminded everyone who was on the tour about my dad's story. And then I pointed out something they may not have noticed about the picture. My dad's in a neck brace--

It took a second, but once everyone put two & two together the place erupted. It was one of those gags I couldn't have planned—after all, I just received the picture the day before the show—but the way it played out was just priceless. And, looking back, I kinda wish my dad could've been there for it, because he probably would've gotten the biggest laugh out of anyone at Kaufman.

Alas, Chicky-poo's in Florida, like he is every winter. And the reason I wanted to tell this particular story today is because it's his birthday. That's right...the guy who broke his arm ski jumping at Chipmunk Bluff, the guy who almost decapitated himself sledding down Genessee Street hill, and the guy who's wearing a neck brace while standing next to a urinal has survived another trip around the sun.

I know I couldn't be happier about that. And I'm guessing the urinal, if it's still buried in the yard next to my parents' old house, feels the same.

So happy birthday, Dad. Have a great day in the sun biking and/or playing pickleball or whatever you end up doing. Just make sure you don't end up in another neck brace because of it!

Love,

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 2/6

Okay, Facebook. What's going on now?

It seems like everyone has a weird story to tell about the world's most popular social media site. I know I've shared my fair share of them. And if you don't mind, I'm gonna do it again, because the algorithm that determines what ads you'll see on the site has surprised even me.

According to Facebook, this is something I should be interested in--

Now, as far as I know, I'm not a woman. I know I joke in here a lot that I'm not a “guy”, but last time I checked I did still have all the equipment and chromosomes that qualify me as “male”, even if I don't act like one. So why Facebook thought I would be interested in a product designed for, marketed to, and used exclusively by women, is kind of beyond me.

And that's not even getting into the fact that of all the problems I have (and we all know there are a LOT of those), incontinence is not one of them.

I actually have a fairly educated guess as to why the ad keeps popping up on my news feed. Facebook's weird advertising algorithm takes into account many variables, including what your “friends” are interested in. Because I'm, you know, not a guy, the majority of my Facebook friends (or at least the ones I follow and interact with) are female. And in the ad, I did notice that it mentions several of my friends as “liking” the product. So maybe Facebook thinks I identify as a woman, despite the fact that my gender is set as “male”.

I know I joke about not being a “guy” all the time. Maybe Facebook's taking those jokes seriously.

If I was in the marketing department for Depends, though, I guess I might be a little upset. After all, they're paying money to have their ads placed on the site. Before finally blocking it, that ad appeared on my news feed at least two dozen times, which means that Depends paid Facebook money for me, a guy, to see the ad at least two dozen times. This is the point at which I'd usually say “I'm not a marketing expert, but I play on on TV', but the truth is I DO have a little bit of knowledge into the marketing business. I know when you're getting a good return on your investment and when you're not.

And trust me—Depends is NOT getting a good return on this particular investment. In fact, they're not getting ANY return on this particular investment, unless you count the number of times I've mentioned their product in this blog. And if that's the case, they should be paying me, and not Facebook, right?

Right.

Like I said, I've blocked the ad, so I'll no longer see it. However, I do await the next strange ad to start popping up in my news feed. My money's on nail polish remover. Or a sundress. Or an IUD. After all, those make as much sense as Depends for Women, right?

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 2/5

I should probably really start reviewing my French again.

It's been three years since I've actually had to use it, and that was only for a few days while we were in Belgium and Luxembourg for our Black Forest trip. But seeing as how we're planning on spending a whole trip—10 days—in France later this year, I should probably brush up on.

At least if my ability to read newspaper articles is any indication.

Those of you who've been reading these forever know I know just enough French to get around and to order things in bakeries (the two most important reasons to know another language), but that's about it. I could probably carry on a conversation with a four year old, but if their parent were to come over I'd just throw my hands up and hope they spoke English better than I spoke French.

Sadly, I'm one of those people who seems to lose their ability with a foreign language if I don't use it. I suppose it's just like any other muscle in your body; if you don't exercise it, it just wastes away. And since there are very few French speakers in Marquette (or, at least, very few that I know), the only chance I get to “exercise” is to read newspaper articles.

And that's where I've noticed my problem.

I follow a bunch of French news outlets on Facebook, and whenever they post a story I try to read the headline and the story in French, just to work on my skills and to see if I can figure out what's going on. But I've found myself more and more recently just hitting the “translate” button the story because I don't understand a reference or I've forgotten a word (or six).

I don't like that.

That means that I now have seven months left to brush up on the language before we leave. That means that I get to haul out my old laptop, which contains my old version of Rosetta Stone. That means I my “French Isn't Scary” book, a language guide designed for eighth graders but one I've found works perfectly for me. And that means I get to walk around Marquette and, if I see something outside or in a store, I get to call it its name in French, strange looks from people nearby notwithstanding.

So, if you happen to be near me in a store or in a park or on the street and you hear me referring to a black cat as “le chat de noir”, don't worry. I haven't lost my mind (or what's left of my mind). I'm just trying to get ready for a trip in seven months.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 2/4

I guess they'd be in my top three. After all, they're the only three in my iPod.

Here's the deal—when I went running yesterday something weird happened to the music I was listening to on shuffle. Out of 1,400 songs on my iPod, three—a whole three—are orchestral works, what some people might call “classical” music. And in defiance of all laws of probability, two of those three songs played back-to-back. I was kind of hoping the third would play after the second, but alas—the laws of probability were obviously enforced after that first little act of defiance.

But that got me to thinking—if I only have three pieces of orchestral music on my iPod, those would have to be my three favorite, right? After all, I went out of my way to put them in there so I could listen to them, so they'd have to be the top three right? And as far as I can tell, they're the only symphonic works I've gone out of my way to hear performed live (thank you, Marquette Symphony Orchestra). So here they are—Jim's top three pieces of orchestral music of all time--

(And note, I'm not calling them “classical” because they're not that old. Two of them, in fact, are from the 20^th century and the third is from the late 19^th, so that's not really “classical”, it is?

Number 3—Tchaikovsky “1812 Overture”. I have a recording from the Montreal Symphony I listen to, only because it contains the two things that make this a great orchestral work—church bells and cannons. I've often thought it would be so cool to have the Marquette Symphony perform the piece live in front of, say, St Peter's Cathedral. It'd be even cooler if they'd let me fire the cannons.

Hint, hint.

Number 2—George Gershwin's “Rhapsody in Blue”. My recording is from the LA Philharmonic from 1999, although I loved hearing it performed by the Marquette Symphony a few years ago on a piano George Gershwin actually picked out for Kaufman Auditorium. I like the story behind the piece, too—Gershwin had promised Paul Whiteman that he'd have a work that mixed jazz & symphonic music written for a big show in the early 1920s, didn't get it quite finished, and improvised most of the piano parts during the initial performance. Those improvised parts, by the way, now make up a large chunk of the symphony. But what I love about it is how one of those improvised piano parts kind of abruptly ends 10 minutes and 30 seconds into the work, and leads into one of the most beautiful pieces of music ever written (even if it has been co-opted by airline TV commercials over the years). Call me strange or an old softy or whatever you'd like, but that one passage of music gets to me every time.

Number 1—Like there was ever any doubt as to my favorite piece of symphonic music ever written?

So, not that you care, there they are—my top three orchestral pieces of music. See what kind of weird things pop into my mind when the laws of probability are cast aside for a second?

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 2/3

I wonder how long it would take.

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

I wonder how long it would take.

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

Go figure.

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

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

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

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

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

(jim@wmqt.com)