Thursday, 12/29

Yes, I have a sick & warped mind. Is that a bad thing?

One of the many things I dealt with over my long holiday weekend was going through lists of things I need to do. One of those things was putting DVDs away, and one of those DVDs that needs to get put away is one of my favorite movies ever, “This is Spinal Tap”. If you've not yet viewed the movie, you really need to do so; it's the story of a clueless early 80s heavy metal group that's falling apart, not even realizing they're doing so. One of the many gags throughout the film is how the group keeps losing drummers; in fact, most of them seem to explode for no apparent reason.

Well, the reason I bring the movie up—and the reason why my mind may be sick & warped—is that I think I've found the real-life inspiration behind the group.

Two nights ago Loraine and I were eating dinner, and as I've written before our conversations can often lead to very weird discoveries. She came across a book written about a 70's music group. The group had three or four hits, and was quickly forgotten. Because I was curious to see if they're actually still around and performing, I looked them up, and was treated to a fine Wikipedia entry that soon devolved into a session of me (and Loraine) laughing harder and harder as we discovered the tragedies that befell members of the group.

(And as an aside, remember that my earliest comedy influences were Looney Tunes cartoons and the TV show “MASH”. It's no wonder I have such a dark sense of humor).

Anyway, the group went through a few drummers like Spinal Tap, minus the explosions. One fell off a drum riser, broke both his legs, and had to be replaced. His replacement played a few years, then had a heart attack on stage and died during a show. The lead singer developed a few mental health issues and tried (unsuccessfully) to commit suicide by cop. And the guitarist, after finding out he developed multiple sclerosis, retired from the band to take care of his wife, who had been given a cancer diagnosis and shortly after took her own life.

I know. I should not have laughed at the tragedy and the personal suffering that those human beings went through. Absolutely no one should ever have to deal with those types of issues, and if they do they should get our full support. But as I kept reading the article, and as the “Spinal Tap”-esque tragedies kept piling up, I couldn't help myself. It just seemed too...bizarre to have actually happened.

But it did. And I'm a horrid human being for having the reaction to it that I did. But I've seen “Spinal Tap” 15 or 20 times. As I read the article on the group, it's like I almost knew what was coming, and when it started paralleling what happened in the movie I just lost it. A normal human being would have just shook their head in sympathy, but not me. Nope; I just thought of what happened in “Spinal Tap” and started laughing at tragedy, just like Bugs Bunny & Hawkeye Pierce would have.

One of these days I really need to start growing up, don't I?

8-)

On that note, I have another long & extended weekend coming up. I'll be back Tuesday, so, if you wouldn't mind, behave yourself and (try to) act like an adult while I'm gone. After all, I don't seem to have the ability to do that myself.

Happy New Year!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 12/28

Please don’t laugh, but I don’t think I got my fill of Christmas music this year.

See, you’re laughing, aren’t you? I don’t blame you, because by the time Christmas actually rolls around most normal people have heard enough Christmas music to last them for the next 11 months. But as we all know, I’m anything but normal, especially this holiday season.

Hence, the Christmas music I could still probably listen to.

Aside from what we played on the air leading up to the holiday, I really didn’t get a chance to listen to a lot of Christmas music this year. I listened to the usual discs when I was making cookies, and I listened to one of my favorites--“Soul Christmas”--a couple of times while wrapping gifts Friday afternoon, but that was about it. With everything else going on I just didn’t have time to listen to anything else. By my reckoning, I only heard “The Christmas Song” twice, “Last Christmas” three times, and in a stunning reversal from normal, I don’t believe I heard “Happy Xmas (War Is Over)” or Vince Gill’s sublime version of “White Christmas” even once this year.

Not once!

Unfortunately, the two “Christmas” songs I heard the most (and you did notice the quotes around “Christmas”, right?) were “Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer” and “Rusty Chevrolet””, if only because those are the two holiday songs for which we received the most Instant Requests. Those don’t really get the spirit of the season across, unless you consider the spirit of the season to be vehicular homicide or the need for a new car. In that case, those songs are fine; in my case, not so much.

I don’t think I’ll bust out any Christmas CDs any time soon; after all, holiday music isn’t the same after the holiday’s actually over. Maybe, though, it means I’ll look forward to it just a little more than usual next Christmas, and get a chance to listen a greater variety of artists than Elmo & Patsy and Da Yoopers.

That’d be okay with me.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 12/22

I wonder if Santa actually reads the letters?

On one of my TV gigs earlier this week I read a “letter” I wrote to Santa. It was, obviously, just a joke, and I've had several people comment that they really did get a chuckle out of it.  

So, for only the, what, fourth time in my life I got a laugh when I meant to.  .

Anyway, I'll share the “letter”. If you didn't get the chance to see it Monday night, who knows—maybe you'll get a chuckle out of it, as well.  And it also contains one of the most subtle gags I every wrote.  I'll be curious to see if anyone actually picked up on it.

8-)

****

Dear Santa:

Hi, it’s Jim from the UP. Hope you and Mrs. Claus are doing well. I know I ask for the same two things every year–world peace & my own spaceship. And I know those are both really hard to get these days. So instead, this year I thought I’d ask for a few things for the people around me, the people of the UP.

That okay with you?

Let’s start by making sure we have enough snow for our big winter events this year. We don’t need 32 feet of the stuff; just enough so we can race all those things we like to race around here–skis, sled dogs, and outhouses.  Then, if you could get together with Mother Nature and maybe make the snow go away by, say, St. Urho’s Day, that would be a nice bonus.

And if not St. Urho’s Day, St. Patrick’s Day?

While you’re speaking with Mother Nature, could you have her do something about the mosquitoes, as well? I mean, I know they're the UP’s national bird & everything, but 87 kajillion of them on an annual basis?

Really?

Next, Santa, if you wouldn’t mind, could you help tourists learn how to properly pronounce things when they visit up here? It would be great if we didn’t have to hear buh-RAH-guh, Mun-sing, or es-CAN-uh-buh ever again.

Sa’nna is actually the capital of Yemen.

And, for the love of all that is Yooper, please remind them that it’s pasty. Pasty. It does NOT start with “pay”. It’s “pasty”.

And you don’t eat them with dill pickles, either.

Finally, Santa, here’s my most important wish. I hope that you’re able to make sure everyone in the UP, all 300,000 of us, have a safe, healthy, and happy holiday season. Because I can’t think of a group of people who deserve it more.

Thanks a bunch, Santa. I’ll leave a glass of milk and some cudighi by the tree.

Merry Christmas, your pal, Jim.

*****

I am now off until, believe it or not, Wednesday of next week. So until then, I hope you have a safe, healthy, and happy holiday weekend. And I hope Santa brings you everything YOU want!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 12/21

You can blame me. It's all my fault.

If you recall, I wrote a few weeks ago wondering if we'd have a brown Christmas or a white Christmas. Well, I guess we now know which--

We're also on the cusp of what could be an “unprecedented” winter storm. I have no idea what the final snow total will be, or if we'll even get much here in Marquette, but I’m guessing (based on the predictions of Ray Miller, Harbinger of Doom) that many of you throughout the U.P. are staring at over a foot of the white stuff. Cheer up, though; after all, it’ll only be around for, oh, the next five or six months.

8-)

Five months. And before you think I’m kidding, you know I’m not. After all, we've had many years where we've had snow in the middle of May. And if you add five months to today, you know what you get?

Yup. The middle of May, 2023.

So how am I gonna survive five months of stir-crazy cabin fever? I have no idea; hopefully, I won’t end up standing out in the street naked yelling at the snow gods for making my life miserable (although that WOULD be a neat way for me to finally get into the Mining Journal's Police Log, wouldn’t it?). I guess that over the next five months, I just hafta adjust my lifestyle. I won’t be able to spend as much time outdoors, I won’t be wandering around the area taking as many pictures, and I won’t be wearing shorts very much. Instead, I’ll sit inside and read a little more. I’ll get through some of the unwatched DVD and Blu-Rays that seem to pile up. And I’ll check off events like Christmas, New Year’s, the Noque, and Valentine’s Day, knowing that each event we go through means we’re one little step closer to the return of green (or at least brown) grass, sunshine, and sweat rolling down your back as you go running without 14 pieces of clothing covering up your body.

Yes, I know I’m a walking oxymoron. Yes, I know that for someone who was born in the U.P. I shouldn’t complain about winter, I should instead celebrate it. It’s just that, you know, it’s winter.

And it’s here for the foreseeable future.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 12/20

I'm gonna say they turned out okay.

I've finally finished my holiday baking and decorating. It only (he sighs while saying) took three days, but it's done, it's over, and they're ready for delivery (or consumption). I ended up with five different cookies and one attempt at my Mom's fudge meltaways, which look pretty much like hers always did--

And, as a bonus, they taste the same as hers, so I have that going for me, as well.

I think I talked about the kind of cookies I was going to make this year earlier, and I stuck to those five. However, I did try to ramp up one of the cookies, the lemon-rosemary shortbread things I make. Before sticking them in the oven--

I added a crumble on top consisting of sugar and lemon zest. I think they turned out quite nicely, although I will admit that the crumble on top tends to fall off once you take a bite. So while they're not the cleanest of cookies, they are quite tasty.

And, in all honesty, isn't that what you want in a cookie?

Now, I have a few days off from kitchen work, but just a few, as I still have to make Christmas scones on Christmas Eve and then a bison ragu pasta dish for Christmas Day. Yes, it's different than the Greek food I've been making the past few Christmases, but I'm looking forward to seeing what I come up with.

After all, it's the holidaze, right? Bon Appetit!!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 12/17

For some bizarre reason I’ve been looking at several coffee cups & tea mugs I have lying around, and you know what I've realized?

I may need a personality adjustment.

I mean, I don’t know if the sayings on coffee cups reflect someone’s personality, but if they do, then it appears I whine a lot. And in real life, I don’t whine that much. Honest--I don’t. Despite what I write in here and what I say on the air and the way I talk to my friends and the way I....

Uhm...well, never mind. Maybe coffee cups really DO reflect the person who has them. And maybe by looking at the ones in your possession, you’re able to tell just what people think about you, even if they’d never say it to your face. Maybe they know you and your personality quirks better than you do, and the coffee cups are a way to for you to discover those quirks.

Take three of the mugs I found lying around our apartment. One of them was a gift many years ago from one of my parents, and says “It’s hard for a night person to work days’. Now, aside from being quite true (trust me on that part), I’m sure it stemmed from the way I’d try (and actually still try) to wake up in the morning. My brain’s not working, my body follows and the only thing that comes out of my mouth is a series of mumbles and grumbles that try (but don’t quite succeed) in becoming intelligible sounds.

So chalk one up to truthiness in coffee cups.

Then there’s one Loraine got me as a gag gift (at least I think it was a gag gift), one that says “still perfect after all these years’. This, of course, is a veritable cornucopia of personality quirks, in that I’m far from perfect (witness how many times I say “Oops. . .my fault” during the day), and in that I also have that wonderful Koski family phobia about aging. So you see? You kill two personality traits with one stone in that cup.

Finally, there’s one mug that I still use all the time, and one that I will fully admit reflects my personality. I don’t remember who got it for me, and I don’t remember the circumstances under which I was given it. All I know is that it fit perfectly when I was given it, and it still fits perfectly to this day.

What does that mug say? It says this--“Some days, all I want is a normal life”.

Amen to that. It’s still a motto by which I live.

So if you’ve ever wondered how others see you (for good or for not so good), take a look at the coffee cups they give you. You’ll either be shocked or pleasantly surprised or, perhaps, both.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Friday, 12/16

Who knew the gloves had it in them?

I've been wearing the same pair of winter gloves for, oh, five or six years now, and when I pulled them out for their first use this year I could tell them were starting to get into rough shape. Several of the fingers started to poke through, one of the buckles had fallen off, and well, look for yourself--

You know—typical gloves after being used in the UP for half a decade.

I bought a new pair several weeks ago, figuring that if my old gloves were deteriorated that much that I'd just wear them until they were unwearable and then switch to the new pair. But you know what?

My old gloves aren't going down without a fight.

Since I purchased the new pair the deterioration on the old pair seems to have stopped. I thought by now all of the fingers would have holes in them and the stuffing would be popping out everywhere. But I must have underestimated my old gloves. I don't know if they had some kind of survival instinct kick in, or they were weren't just as bad as I originally thought, but they're not giving up the ghost.

They're bound and determined to make it through a sixth Upper Michigan winter. They're bound and determined to have my new pair of gloves spend the winter in my apartment.

Those old gloves do not want to be put out to pasture.

So I'll keep using them. Maybe they'll last the entire winter. Maybe, like a star about to go nova, they're just shining a little brighter than usual before they explode. I have no idea; I just know that I now have another one of those strange games I play with myself to keep me sane during the six long months of a UP winter.

And don't worry. I'll keep you updated. It's the least I can do.

8-)

Have a great weekend!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 12/15

To quote a great American philosopher, “Oops...I did it again”.

Sigh.

All this year I've been writing about a strange habit I've picked up, the habit of writing newspaper articles for the History Center, turning them in, and then promptly forgetting about them until weeks later when I open the paper and am shocked by what I see.

I'm thinking that maybe I should just stop reading the Mining Journal. That way I won't be shocked by myself.

8-)

So, I will once again re-purpose something I wrote weeks ago and then totally put out of my mind. This time of the year, we can always consider it the gift that keeps on giving.

That's okay. You can thank me later.

(jim@wmqt.com)

*****

“Police Pickings”

By Jim Koski

Marquette Regional History Center.

One of the more popular sections of the Mining Journal these days is, without a doubt, the police log, where actions taken by the Marquette City Police, both mundane and quirky, are shared with the public. This service is actually a long-standing tradition by the newspaper, as even back in 1885 they had a column entitled “Police Pickings”.

Described as “(a)nother interesting collection of items gathered around the streets yesterday”, the entries from “Police Pickings” were a little longer and given a lot more hyperbole than those in the modern day police log. They also reflected both the morals and the prejudices of the day, which can make for some rather interesting (albeit insensitive) reading in modern times.

And that’s readily apparent if you look at the column on just one day, April 18th, 1885.

An entry that read, “The officers have received instructions to keep the streets clear of rowdies, and are obeying orders in a most vigorous manner”, was probably the reason why, in the very next entry, “Police Pickings” said, “Officer Ryan’s right hand is now in bandages, resulting from an attempt to change the mind of some obstinate prisoner”.

Apparently, the use of force was not uncommon back in 1885, as another entry noted, “”James Clark was gathered in Wednesday. The arrest was made by Officer Deasy, who had to club his man pretty severely before he would come along. He was only fined $2, with $5 costs, with this being his first offense”.

The “Pickings” item never did say exactly what that first offense was.

James Clark was not the only individual running from trouble on that April day. According to the “Pickings”, “Hugh Finigan has been laboring under the delusion for some time back that he was the cutest man in Marquette, and was too sharp to get into trouble, but he has recovered. On Wednesday he attempted to jump town and numerous bills. Deputy Sheriff Dolf was instructed to run him down, and did so in Negaunee. Finigan, rather than return to this city under escort of an officer, turned over to Mr. Dolf all the money he possessed–nearly enough to square all his accounts in this city.”

The writers of “Police Pickings” obviously didn't mind editorializing about certain individuals, as well, as noted in this entry–

“John L. Sullivan will be released from the county jail tomorrow, but undoubtedly you’ll be able to find him there Monday. John came here from Duluth and is only happy in the county jail”.

That editorializing also carried over to whole groups of people who, in those days, were the subject of prejudice–

“To satisfy the curiosity of a reader, a Mining Journal reporter Tuesday morning paid a visit to the county jail for the purpose of securing the nationality of all the prisoners therein confined. His investigation resulted as follows: number of prisoners confined, 30, and of this number 17 are Irishmen, 2 Germans, 1 Englishman, 2 Frenchmen, 2 Norweigians, 1 Canadian, 1 Finlander, 1 Cornishman and 1 Swede.”

As the entry went on to say–

“The result is certainly not a flattering one to our Irish population, and the figures furnished will probably set them to studying why such things should be”.

This is just a guess, but the large Irish population in South Marquette probably didn’t agree.

However, the “Police Pickings” column, like many Mining Journal articles of the era, saved the biggest headlines and most florid prose for whenever the topic of Marquette’s “Ladies of the Night” came up.

In the 1880s, brothels, called “ranches” by city officials, were scattered throughout the Rolling Mill location, where Founder’s Landing and South Beach now sit. Both sailors disembarking from ships in Lower Harbor and, according to police reports, “some of Marquette’s finest gentlemen”, could be seen coming and going from that area of the city all night long. Several mentions of fights and destruction of property at the ranches appeared in “Police Pickings” on that day, along with this story–

“Two sick women who have been running a house of ill repute in the Rolling Mill district were up before Judge O’Keefe Monday, on the complaint of persons in that part of the city whom the orgies of the women and their companions had annoyed for some time previously. The women were a Mrs Emily Bly, an old offender from somewhere up the road, and Miss Anna Whitcomb, a lass who has served an apprenticeship in vice under the old hag’s tutelage.”

Now that’s some fine newspaper writing.

So while the police log in today’s Mining Journal is filled with quirky stories about skunks with jars caught on their heads, people mistaking their neighbor’s singing in the shower for physical assault, and tales of pomeranians trotting down the street wearing sweaters, the changing of times, public sensitivities, and morals mean that there will never be another column like “Police Pickings”.

Especially the “Police Pickings” of April 18th, 1885.

Wednesday, 12/14

I have what seems like a thousand little things lying around I’ve been meaning to mention, but haven’t yet, because in some cases, the thoughts are no more than a sentence, and don’t really constitute a blog. So with that in mind, how ‘bout if we call today’s edition...

“Jim’s Christmas Stocking Full of Useless Stuff”!

(One or two of these I may have mentioned before, but considering the season, they get mentioned again. Just consider it a cyber version of re-gifting!)

***

Stocking item number one--did you know that, according to an online poll, Rudolph is the favorite reindeer of Americans? Vixen is in second place, while Dancer brings up the rear.

My question is this--why?  Not the fact that Rudolph is the favorite reindeer, but the fact that Dancer is the least favorite.  What did Dancer ever do to the people answering the poll--leave too many droppings on their roof one Christmas Eve?  And why is Vixen so special that he (it?) gets three times as many votes as Dancer?  Did Vixen buy more campaign ads, or something?

You have to wonder about these things, you know\.

***

Stocking item number two--18 percent of my friends on Facebook have first names that start with the letter “J”.

That’s right--18 percent. Now, the letter “J’ itself makes up but 4 percent of the alphabet. Yet 18 percent--over 4 times that number--of my Facebook friends have first name starting with “J”, ranging from Jackie to Justine (including 11 “Johns” and 3 “Jons”). Now, having a first name that starts with “J” myself, I do feel a certain pride in that statistic, but still...18 percent?

I’m not a mathematician, nor do I play one on TV, but that seems strange even to me.

18 percent, huh?

***

Stocking item number three--did you know that, in Minnesota, it’s illegal for a woman to dress up as Santa Claus? In fact, the penalty for that is 90 days in jail.

I think the cold has permanently frozen a few of their 10,000 lakes, if you know what I mean.

****

And with that, I think I’ve pulled enough out of my stocking. Have a great Wednesday!!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 12/13

I would love to hear the impressions. And to maybe hire the people behind them so I could take a day off.

Apparently, there are people out there who do impressions of me, and who do them quite well. I can't say I'm surprised; after all, anyone with as many vocal tics and weird radio habits as I have is ripe for impersonations. So when someone at one of my TV jobs last night told me that they live with someone who does a pretty mean impression of me, I was curious about two things--

What does it sound like, and why on Earth would anyone want to impersonate ME?

Because I've been doing this for so long, I don't even give a second thought to how people absorb what I put out. I just do what I do. But there must be something about the way I do it, because I've had some people in the past launch into their impersonation of me, or mention stupid things I do, or remark on the way I do them. I dunno; I guess over all these years I've probably forgotten what a powerful medium radio can be, and how much people can up pick strange stuff just by listening. But it's true.

And it's not just the impersonations that prove it. Remember “Birthday at the Beach” a few years ago? That's another perfect example. So are all the comments I get from the students on “High School Bowl”, who've grown up with those weird habits and vocal tics I was previously mentioning. So I guess if you've around as long as I have—you know, since the age of dinosaurs—the fact that people imitate you, or remember weird things you've said, can be taken only one way. As a compliment. After all, it shows that people pay attention, and one way or another appreciate what you do.

Because I'd sure dislike doing this job for as long as I have and not have made ANY kind of impression on listeners.

So if you're one of those people who thinks you do a good impersonation of me, or who can reproduce some of those weird things I seem to say, let me know. I'd love to hear them. And I'd also like to thank you in person for hanging around long enough to develop the ability to do that impersonation.

That's one of the biggest compliments I could get.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 12/12

Tonight the project begins.

Tonight, I start the weeks-long process of trying to get all my Christmas cookies done. For me (and this is just for me, because as we all know I'm kinda weird) it's a balancing act—getting cookies made close enough to the holidaze so they're still fresh and yet giving myself enough time to get them all made. This year, thanks to the way the calendar sets up, I find myself with a deadline or two, which means that they need to be ready to give to certain people on December 22^nd. And since today's the 12^th of December...let me do a little math here...that means I have...allow me to carry the one...ten days to get them done.

Right?

That's not actually too bad a time frame; there have been years, after all, when I tried to make six kinds of cookies in a day. And trust me when I say this—that is not something I recommend to ANYONE. Sure, I was young & naïve then, but still—do not try that at home. Just trust me on that.

As always, I'll be making six kinds of cookies to give away to family and friends this year. There are the five kinds I usually make—my Grandma cookies, the cherry-chocolate explosions, the mint-chocolate mindblowers, the Nutella cookies, and the lemon-rosemary wonders. Then I always make one kind that I usually don't make, a wild card cookie. And this year it's a special requests, as Loraine wanted me to give making my mom's fudge meltaways a try.

That should fit into the holiday theme, right?

By the time I'm done, I'll have ended up with somewhere between 25 and 30 dozen cookies. I eat maybe seven of them. Not seven dozen, but seven total. Loraine eats some, and the rest, like I said, go out to friends and family, and get brought over to holiday gatherings and the like. I did the math once, and it's astounding—I'm gonna end up adding almost 25,000 calories into the lives of people I know and love, which (at 3,500 calories to gain a pound) means that I'll be personally responsible for eight pounds being added to the collective weight of people around Marquette.

For that, I apologize in advance. But it's not my fault. Blame it on the holidays.

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Friday, 12/9

Okay. It happened again, and 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 had to go to the Post Office to mail a package for Loraine yesterday. While I was waiting in line, 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 getting an e-mail from 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 the Post Office with my dignity intact. Then as I'm heading back to work and crossing Third Street, 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 then says that he'll see me next week, and 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 two episodes of “High School Bowl” & also doing my other TV gig, 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.

I just have no idea.

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...

Have a great weekend!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 12/8

Well. Who knew people had such strong feelings?

Monday on one of my TV gigs I did an essay about what people put on their pasties—ketchup or gravy (or other). It got a good laugh from everyone in the studio, and it's gotten an even stronger reaction from people who've emailed me about it or people I ran into during the History Center's Open House last night.

Whether it's ketchup or gravy (or other), people have their favorites. And they stick to those favoites.

So what follows is the original bit I did on TV. It's up to you to decide on which team you are.

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

******

Which team are YOU on?

I'm not talking Northern/Tech. I'm not talking Packers/Lions. What I am talking about is, perhaps, the most important choice that you, as a Yooper, can make in your entire life.

Are you team ketchup...or team gravy??

An iconic Marquette pasty place is closing in a few weeks, and ever since it was announced there’s been a lot of discussion about the UP’s national dish on social media.  But left out of that discussion has been what you put on your pasty…ketchup or gravy.

And yes, I’m aware that you can put other things on your pasty.  The radio station where I work once did a survey, and aside from those two choices people also mentioned toppings ranging from horseradish to cole slaw to (ugh) dill pickles.

But ketchup and gravy were, by far, the top choices.

For the record, I’m team ketchup.  However, I will not in any way judge your choice… unless, perhaps, that choice is dill pickles.  After all, a traditionalist will tell you that ketchup didn’t become popular until the end of the 1800s, years after Cornish miners first brought pasties covered with gravy to the UP. But a culinary expert will tell you that the sweetness of ketchup perfectly offsets the savory ingredients in a pasty.

So you can’t go wrong with either.

This may be a strange way to look at it, but the choice of ketchup or gravy in a way reflects life in the UP.  You have your traditionalists, the people who grew up with a certain lifestyle and still live that way.  And you have those who are willing to try something new & different.  It’s the choice offered by those two groups that make the UP such an amazingly unique place.

In a way, echoing the choice offered by ketchup or gravy.

So the next time you pick up a pasty, remember that you really can’t go wrong, no matter what your preferred topping.

Unless, of course, that preferred topping is dill pickles.

I’m Jim Koski, and that’s another slice of “Life in the 906”.

Wednesday, 12/7

Since I have to run out and do that TV thing in a few minutes, and since today's the anniversary of the start of a turning point in the country's history, I'm going to turn today's blog over to my favorite World War Ii researcher.

She's penned an epic blog about the war and the holidays and how it affected families throughout Marquette and Alger County. I think she did an amazing job on it, and who knows—maybe it make you appreciate the upcoming Christmas season just a little bit more.

CLICK HERE to check it out!

Back tomorrow with pasties. Well, more specifically, what to put on your pasties, something I had no idea people were so passionate about.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 12/6

 I wonder which it will be this year--white, or brown?

Here we are, less than three weeks before Christmas, and with just a smattering of flakes on the ground in a few select portions of Marquette we've started to settle into one of our new favorite holiday traditions--will it be a White Christmas, or a Brown Christmas?

Now, in the days before we wrecked the planet, that was never a question.  It would always be a White Christmas.  The only question was just exactly HOW white it would be.  But in the past ten or fifteen years, as climate changed has affected our weather in ways we never could have imagined, the big question has become whether or not we'll actually have snow leading up to the holidays.

Lest you think I'm joking, let me share a couple of pictures I've taken over the past couple of years, including one last December 19th--

One on December 13th, 2016 (and yes, those ARE sailboats out in the harbor)

And one on Christmas Day, 2015--

When you think of Christmas--specifically, when you think of Christmas in Marquette--you think of snow...lots and lots of snow.  But not these days.  These days, you're more likely to have green grass and sailboats on the lake than you are lots and lots of snow.

But that's life in the 21st century.

So like I said, the question is now White or Brown.  While it is cold out as I write this, there isn't much precipitation in the forecast the next few days.  And by the weekend, temperatures are looking to be in the upper 30s to around 40.

So which color will it be this year?  I know that if I had to put money on it that money would be on brown.  Whether or not that would be a misplaced bet...well, we'll find out in just a couple of weeks.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 12/5

It shocked the heck out of me, too.

I mentioned Friday that I'd share the story of how it went at the UP Children's Museum “celebrity” art auction Thursday, and since I always (try) to keep my word, here it is--

As you recall, I went as one of the “all stars” offering an experience as my contribution—I'd make the winning bidder a “Pieces of the Past” video, like those ones I do for the History Center. It could be about their family, their home, their business, or about anything they've ever wanted to know about. I had no idea if anyone would be interested, and when I got to the Museum Thursday I still didn't know.

My “art” was actually the third thing on the block. And I have to admit that I was surprised when a couple of people started bidding on it. The pair kept bidding and kept bidding, and as I was marveling at the fact that people would actually be interested in it, someone from the Children's Museum ran up to me and asked if I would do two of them, so they could get the money from two different people..

Since we all know I have an inability to say “No”, I said yes, and that way the Children's Museum was able to collect two $500+ bids.

That's right. I helped the Children's Museum make $1,100 because I can't say “no”. Nice to know I have a talent for at least one thing, right?

8-)

As of writing this, I still haven't been contacted by the winning bidders, so I'll be curious to see both what they want the video to be about and why they actually thought it was worth over $500 each. But it's nice to know that of the few talents I have, I'm at least able to help raise money for a good cause with them.

Who knew??

(jim@wmqt.com)

Friday, 12/2

Well, the Celebrity Art Auction for the UP Children's Museum actually went well last night. No one died, and people actually seemed interested in bidding for the video I offered to make.

In fact, TWO people were so interested that I'm now making two videos, so I guess that's good, right?  The story on that Monday.

But since this non-stop thrill ride of a life I seem to have rolls on and I have to go shoot a TV in a couple of minutes, I'm going to leave you with something I wrote three years ago. Hope you don't mind.

And even if you do...well, there's not much either one of us can do with it.

8-)

Have a great weekend!

(jim@wmqt.com)

*****

(as originally posted 12/20/19)

I don't wear a hat because my head is too small.

There. You happy?

The past few days, with their bitterly cold temperatures, have led to several people ask me why I wasn't wearing a hat while walking to work or walking someplace else. One of them even went so far as to mention that they don't ever recall seeing me in a hat, which could very well be true, at least when I'm not running. I don't wear hats, and I don't wear them for one reason—because I have a very small head.

No, seriously, I do have a small head. In proportion to the rest of my body, my head is smaller than an average person. When discussing it with my dad over the weekend (he being one of those people asking why I wasn't wearing a hat) he noted that I get the small head from him. And it's true. I do get my small head from him. Yet that doesn't stop my dad from wearing a hat wherever he goes.

Probably because he's a normal person.

Maybe it's just me. Okay, it's definitely just me. But I think I look weird in a hat, especially a winter hat. It crushes the only thing that seems to make my head a normal size—what's left of my hair—and it makes my head look like a tan grapefruit sitting on top of a scarecrow's body. And I think I look strange enough as it is. So because I think it makes me look weird, I would much rather freeze my ears off than wear a hat.

Obviously, my dad's much more mature than I, right?

Like I said, I do wear hats when I'm running or skiing, because I really don't care what I look like, and during winter, if I'm gonna be outside for an hour sweating in bitterly cold temperatures, I do actually wanna stay warm. To quote a fake country song title I once came up with, “I May Look Stupid, But I'm Not That Dumb”. But if it's just a five minute walk to work, or a quick dash from one building to another; well, maybe I am that dumb. All because then I DO care what I look like wearing a hat.

I know. A shrink would have a field day, wouldn't they?

Anyway, that's the really bizarre reason why I don't wear a hat. So if you ever see me out in the cold, with ears red and steam rising from my neck, realize that I do know better.

It's just that my small head can't process it.

Thursday, 12/1

I think the definition of “All-Star” needs to be changed just a little.

The UP Children's Museum is having their annual “Celebrity Art Auction” tonight, and for this—the 19^th edition—they've decided to ask some of their favorite people—their All-Stars--back and, for some reason, I was one of them. I have no idea why; maybe it was because I actually said “yes”.

Who knows, right?

Despite my claims that some day I'll learn now to say “no”, I said “yes” this time around because the auction is honoring Nheena Weyer-Ittner, who's stepping down as the executive director of the museum. Nheena's helped build the organization from the ground up, so this is, I guess, my way of saying “thanks” for an organization that my nieces enjoyed when they were young and my nephews are enjoying now.

So that's why I didn't say “no”.

I still have to laugh at the phrase “All-Stars”, though. When you think of all-stars, you think of people who've reached the pinnacle of their professions or who have contributed to the world in some positive way. Or, at the very least, people who are actually good at art. Me? Well, in order, I'd have to say nope, nope, and nope to those three qualifications. Well, technically, I've TRIED to make a positive contribution to the world, but it's not for me to say whether or not I have.

But an “All-Star”? Me? It is to laugh.

As for my artistic contribution? Well, I am offering someone the chance to have their own personalized “Pieces of the Past” video I've been making for the History Center.. Whether it's about their family history, business history, or just a topic they've always wanted to know about, I'll make the 3-5 minute video for them. Whether or not anyone's interested, I don't know, but according to the people at the Children's Museum they expect a lot of bids on it.

So we'll see tonight. We'll also get an answer to the question of “what exactly constitutes an All-Star?”. And I'm guessing that won't be me.

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 11/30

And here, I thought the internet was supposed to make us smarter.

A couple of days ago Loraine and I were listening to a couple of songs by The Carpenters (don't ask). As is our wont, we became curious as to who was playing on the tracks, and because the internet DOES have a lot of useless information on it, we were able to look up and see whether or not legendary drummer Hal Blaine was playing on both “Ticket To Ride” and “It's Gonna Take Some Time”. (Spoiler alert—he does on both. Not that anyone other than us cares). Anyway, when I went to Google to type in “Carpenters 'Ticket To Ride'”, you know what the first suggestion was that Google offered, meaning Google had been asked this question more than any other about the song?

“Who wrote The Carpenters 'Ticket To Ride'”?

We were both kind of flabbergasted for a second. Who wrote “Ticket To Ride”? Isn't that kind of having to ask “Who wrote 'Romeo & Juliet'?” I mean, I know that many (or most) people aren't as conversant about pop songs as the two of us are, and I know that some people may have questions about things, but who wrote “Ticket To Ride”?

Really?

I mean, I can understand asking who wrote “Rainy Days & Mondays”. I can understand asking who wrote “Close to You”. I can really understand asking who wrote “It's Gonna Take Some Time” (Carole King, if you're curious). But to ask who wrote “Ticket To Ride”? And have it be the first thing that pops up on Google when seeking information on the song?

Some days, I really worry about the future of humanity.

I mean, I shouldn't be a snob about this; really, I shouldn't. But the original “Ticket To Ride” was a Beatles' classic—a number one song, in fact—and I would've thought that a great chunk of humanity would at least know who originally did it. And that's backed up by observation—this year on “High School Bowl” I've had chats with three different students who are fans of the Beatles. And if even teenagers these days know about the group and their music, then why, oh why, was that question the first thing Google popped up about the Carpenters' version of the song?

Oh, the humanity.

I know; I'm getting worked up over nothing. Like I said, not everyone knows all the useless crap that resides in my brain. Not everyone, apparently, knows everything there is to know about The Beatles. And, to look at it another way, at least people ARE interested in who wrote the song, which if nothing else may show the enduring power of it and the the writers behind it. But to have it be the first suggestion that pops up when you Google it?

We live in a weird world, I guess. I'm just on one end, the rest of humanity is (apparently) on the other.

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

(Here. To cleanse my brain and yours...

Tuesday, 11/29

It's been 20 years (and a day). I wonder if I'll miss it when I no longer have to do it?

This means absolutely nothing to anyone but me, but it was 20 years (and a day) ago that we started broadcasting from our downtown Marquette studios. No longer did I have to drive to Ishpeming at least once a day, and no longer did I have to put up with computers that broke down because they were stuck in a dusty warehouse-like environment. Instead I got an extra hour (at least) in my day from no longer having to drive, I saved a ton of money by not actually having a car, and I didn't have to worry about computers breaking down every week because, finally, they were in an environment in which they could thrive.

And thrive they have for those two decades (and a day).

As I've mentioned before, we're in the midst of getting rid of those computers, even though they've been running (almost) non-stop since 2002. And when the switch-over finally does occur, something I've been doing since November 28^th, 2002, will no longer have to be done.

I'll no longer have to type “default' once a day.

Why do I have to type “default” once a day, you ask? Well, I answer, all computers have quirks. And while the ones we've been using for twenty years (and a day) have been spectacular, their one quirk is that they need to have a file stuck in them, a file to use should someone forget to load the log that tells it what to play (and trust me, forgot them we have). What I have to do on a daily basis is take the log for that day, copy it, rename it 'default”, and stick in the machine along with the file that I've (hopefully) remembered to load. It's just one of those strange things that came with the system, and I've done it every day without (ahem) default.

That means in the past 20 years (and a day) that I've copied a file and renamed it 43,806 times. I wonder if that's a world record. You think Guinness would be interested?

8-)

It's one of those things I've done without even thinking, so it doesn't seem like it's been 43,806 times. Of course, it HAS been spread out over 20 years (and a day), so it perhaps that's not a surprise. But still, 43,806 times is a LOT. And that's why, when I don't have to do it beginning sometime in the next week or two, I wonder if I'll miss it.

I doubt it, but I have been doing it for 20 years (and a day) now, so you never know. I guess we'll see.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 11/28

It turned out pretty well, thanks for asking.

First of all, hope you had a great Turkey Day weekend, in whatever form it took this year. Loraine and I did, especially what with the World Cup going on and some surprisingly warm weather over the weekend, which allowed us to actually go out, ride bikes, and play soccer on Saturday,

 There was also our annual turkey thingee on Turkey Day itself. It takes two days to stick together, but we're both quite happy with the end result--

It all started Wednesday night, when I roasted a turkey breast with rosemary butter and made home made cranberry sauce. Then Thursday I put those two ingredients together with cornbread stuffing and baby spinach, and topped the whole things with chopped pistachios.

20 minutes later at 350, and we had ourselves a feast. And, without tooting my own horn (too much), a pretty good feast at that.

I can't claim full credit for the dish; a couple of years ago Loraine found a recipe that called for some of the ingredients, and I just took it from there. It called for turkey cubes (whatever those are), but I went the roasted rosemary butter route. I also chose the cornbread stuffing instead of boring old white bread stuffing. The recipe called for dried cranberries; it was Loraine who suggested I make fresh sauce. And, for some strange reason (probably because this is America) the recipe called for the whole thing to be covered by half a pound of cheddar cheese.

Thankfully, Loraine thought of topping it with the chopped pistachios instead. Have I ever mentioned we make a pretty good team?

8-)

So that's how our Thanksgiving dinner turned out. Since Covid threw a wrench into our traditional Thanksgiving Day plans, we've had to adapt and to make new traditions. But you know what? With soccer and with a dish like the turkey casserole, I think it turned out okay.

I really do.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 11/23

My life is weird.

I know I say that a lot, but it really is. Every so often something happens that hasn't happened before, and I just have to shake my head at the wonder of it all.

For instance? If you get passed by a certain Marq-Tran bus these days you see this--

That's right. I'm now on the side of a bus. Of all the things I thought would happen in my life—and there have been a lot of things that I thought could happen—being on the side of a bus was not one of them.

Goes to show what I know, I guess.

The first time I saw it Loraine and I were walking through downtown Marquette and, well, saw me staring back at us while the bus was at a stoplight. We both had to laugh; after all, why one of my TV employers would want to stick me on the side of a bus is beyond me. But there I was—geeky smile and all.

Have I ever said my life is weird?

I have no idea how long I'll be on the side of a bus. After all, I actually had no idea that I'd EVER be on the side of a bus. But there I am, staring out at anyone who happens to be driving by. I just hope that people aren't so repulsed that they end up driving into a snowbank because of it.

8-)

****

Have a great Thanksgiving. If it's even at all possible, try not to eat too much. Like most of you, I have a four day weekend from this job, which means I'll be doing stuff for all my other gigs. At least with a weird life, I never get bored.

See you Monday,

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 11/22

Because we're in the middle of a computer transition at work and because it's just a three-day week and I have to do five days worth of work in those three days, I'm going to cheat and leave you with something I wrote four years ago. Please forgive me, as I don't mean to do it, but, as I said, it's a three day week with five days worth of work.

Tomorrow, however, I WILL have the story of something I saw on the street this past weekend that made me laugh. And it made me laugh because I was part of it.

So until then...

(jim@wmqt.com)

******

(as originally posted 11/19/18)

I may have found the second greatest opening paragraph in news writing history.

Nothing catches my eye like a good opening line or a great opening paragraph, especially in a news story. Fiction, essay, and feature writers get to do it all the time, but in the world of news writing, which tends to be dry and factual, you don't get to see it often. It's only when a bizarre set of circumstances come together that you get to string together words like this, something I saw 13 years ago, and something I still consider to be the greatest opening line in a news story ever--

“A jazz musician was injured Friday after jumping from a burning motor home driven by a one-time roller skating stripper’.

I mean, it has everything you need—it's factual, it tells a story, and it's so absurd that it can't have happened. Yet, it did. In the 13 years since I've seen it I've thought of it often, especially when trying to come up with opening lines for these things. I never thought I'd come across another quite as bizarre, until I saw this NPR headline over the weekend--

“Three Indiana judges have been suspended after a failed attempt to visit a strip club led to a drunken brawl outside an Indianapolis White Castle that ended with two of the judges being shot.”

I mean, I know Indiana can be a strange place, but THAT strange? Why did the judges—in this case, two male and one female—want to go to a strip club? Was there a reason they couldn't get it? Why did they end up drunk at a White Castle? And why did two of them get shot there?

I mean, that one line is filled with sooooo many questions that you HAVE to read the story, right?

Right?

I can just imagine the reaction of the reporter assigned to the story, thinking it was just another hum-drum piece that said reporter could probably do in their sleep. Luckily for them, it wasn’t. And luckily for us, that person had the wisdom, the foresight, and the, well, uncommon mind to put all the details of the story together in such a way that makes the rest of us riveted with just 33 words.

I hope—nay , I aspire—to write something that good some day. I know I'll probably never get the chance, but a boy can dream, can't he?

8-)

Monday, 11/21

I wonder what a shrink would make of the (recurring) dream?

Occasionally, I write in here about bizarre dreams I’ve had. I’m sure these things open a window into my (very unusual) psyche and give you an idea of what it’s like being me. Well, I’ve had pretty much the same dream a couple of times over the past few months, and I have no idea what it means.

Aside, perhaps, from the fact that I have a very unusual psyche.

Here’s the dream in a nutshell. I have, for some reason, gone back to college, usually in a city different than Marquette. I’m not really sure why I’ve gone back to college, but I have, and in doing so I’ve taken a full load of classes. The only problem is that I, in my dream, only end up going to one or two of the classes. The other classes I just blow off, even though I know (in my dream) that I’m paying good money for them and that I’ve moved away for the chance to take them. I also know (in my dream) that I’ve had a dream like this before and that my usual standard operating procedure is to blow off a class or two. So basically I’m dreaming about a dream that I know I’ve dreamt, a dream that didn’t make sense the first time I had it and still doesn’t make sense in any subsequent versions of it.

See? Unusual psyche.

I think there are two things at play in this dream, the first being the premise that I would move away to go to college and yet attend only half of my classes. That doesn’t make sense to me; after all, it’s certainly nothing I would ever do in real life. If I ever was gonna go back to college (and especially move away to do it) I’m sure I’d wanna get it done as quickly as possible and as well as possible. I mean, if you’re gonna go back to college, go back to college. Yet there must be something in my brain that made me dream this dream the first time. I have no idea if it’s standard performance anxiety material or if there’s some kind of deeper meaning to it, but I must’ve had the dream (the first time) for some particular reason.

I just don’t know what that reason was.

The second thing in play is the fact that I’ve had the dreams multiple times, and that in those repeat airings I know I’m dreaming, I know I’ve had this dream before, and I know my actions won’t have any real world consequences because, well, it’s just a dream. And I don’t get it. I know that as you get older your dreams become more literal, they become more grounded in reality and your everyday life, but I had no idea that you also become more self-aware about whether you’re dreaming or not. I don’t know if this is something everyone experiences or if I’m starting to mutate into something just a little different than the norm, but it seems weird to dream about having dreams, and to know that you’re dreaming.

I’m sure if I had a shrink she could tell me what all this means, and I am curious, but I don’t know if I’m curious enough to pay $200 an hour to find out the answer. All I know is that if I dream about going back to college and then not going to any of my classes again, there’s a part of my brain that will tell me my dream is just a dream. And that, in the end, it really doesn’t matter if I go to that class my dream wants me to skip.

Some days (or nights, technically), it's not easy being me. It really isn't.

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Friday, 11/18

Sometimes it's hard to tell if it's a compliment or an insult.

I was at work yesterday when someone came in to pick up a prize, saw me standing in the front entrance to the station, and said (quoting directly), “You look too skinny”. Now, admittedly, I was wearing an athletic fit shirt (one that’s not baggy on a person), but I really don’t think I looked too skinny. I just think I looked....normal.

I wrote in here a couple of months ago about how I’m having to buy size small men’s clothing these days. I used to wear a lot of mediums and even a few larges, but while my body shape & size hasn’t changed over the years, the way clothes are put together (& labeled) sure has. And now, I guess, I look “too skinny”, a comment that both Loraine and I hear a lot

First of all, yes, I am small boned. I inherited that from my grandfather, and even almost three decades of lifting weights hasn’t added much to my skeleton. That’s just the way I am. But at 5 feet 10 and a half inches and 160 pounds, I am within two pounds of being at the ideal weight for someone with my frame. I’m not “too skinny”.

It must’ve been the clothing.

8-)

In case you couldn’t tell, I guess I’m a little sensitive about my body shape and my size. I don’t know why; I was born this way, and you’d think I’d be used to it by now. But believe it or not, there are just a few days when I feel. . .strange because I’m not carrying around a lot of extra muscle or a lot of extra weight.

I guess being “normal” isn’t everything it’s cracked up to be, right?

It’s funny; you look at movies from the 40s or the 50s, and everyone had the body shape that I have these days. Back then, it was normal. But these days, standards have changed so much that when you see someone shaped like me, it apparently causes people to blurt out things like “you look too skinny”. I mean, in some ways, I know it’s a compliment, and because I exercise a lot to make sure I stay at my ideal weight, I take it as such. But on the other hand, most people wouldn’t go up to someone they see and say “you look too fat”, would they?

At least, I hope they wouldn’t.

And that may point out a bigger problem, especially in the U.S. these days. What does it say about us as a nation that “skinny” is a rarity to be remarked upon, and someone who’s not “skinny” is just the common, everyday norm? I read something a few weeks ago that said by 2030 over half of all Americans will be clinically obese, which means they’re somewhere north of 40 pounds over the ideal weight for their body frame. If I’m “too skinny” now, what will I be like then?

The mind reels at that one.

Now that I’ve gotten all this off of my chest, I feel better, and I guess I’ll take the remark from yesterday as a compliment, which is the way I’m sure it was meant. It’s just one of those things that makes you wonder, you know?

On that note, have yourself a great weekend!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 11/17

I wonder how many old projects out there still have our fingerprints on them?

Over the decades we, as a radio station, have been involved in numerous community projects, all of which were important at the time but now have been lost to the mist of the passing decades. A case in point?

This is from the old fence at the Kid's Cove Playground at Marquette's Lower Harbor Park. We helped them raise some money for it when it was originally built in the late 90s, and since they're revamping the playground a bit (a project which includes a new fence), they gave people who helped out 25 years ago the chance to reclaim “their” fence post.

Which we did.

The odd thing, though, is that until we picked up the fence post I had totally forgotten about our involvement in the project. That's not a surprise; after all, for whatever reason, I seem to have forgotten most of the 1990s. But even though the playground has been in the news for the better part of the past year, thanks to fundraising campaigns and state grant matches, I had still totally forgotten about our part in the original project. And that makes me wonder--

Just how many OTHER things that we've been a part of do I not remember?

This isn't the first time something like this has happened. A decade or so ago I was in a bank when the teller was telling me how he had been part of a group I took to lunch once as part of a contest. It actually took me a minute to remember the what and when of the whole promotion, so while he was talking about it I was standing there like a dork, trying to mentally remember what the promotion was or if I had spilled food all over me. It made a good impression on him, so I'm guessing I didn't spill any food on myself, but still...

I really need to get my game together.

The one thing about which I am grateful is that all of these things in which we were involved, even if I don't remember them, obviously made a difference, whether to the people who took part in them or the community as a whole. In all honesty, we don't do what we do for the glory, we do them to help out. And as long as we do that, then it doesn't matter whether or not I personally remember being a part of the whole thing.

After all, that's what fence posts and bank tellers are for, right?

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 11/16

It's looking more and more like Loraine & I won't be able to play soccer again for a while.

The snow that landed last weekend made us wonder about whether or not we'd have a clear pitch that we could dribble a ball upon, and the fact that it's not getting above freezing for (apparently) forever means the snow won't melt any time soon. So that means that our weekly habit of going out to Kaufman and kicking our collection of orphan balls around ended with a little practice session we had last Friday when we both had the day off.

Bummer.

It's funny that we picked up this habit at this stage in our lives, but it's a blast. While I'm not anywhere near the natural athlete that Loraine is, I've seemed to taken to it quite quickly. And unlike most sports, I actualy seem to have one skill that translates well to soccer—I'm ambi, uhm, footerous. I can kick equally well with my right and left legs, which apparently is a prized skill in the sport. Aside from that, playing soccer really burns off the calories, and that's allowed us to indulge in a few (okay, a lot of) ooey-gooey goodies that perhaps would not indulge in otherwise.

And that's sad. I mean, we won't stop eating the goodies, but now we'll have to find another way to burn off the calories.

I will, though, miss the fun we have playing.

As an example of that, a couple of years ago Loraine and I were at Lower Harbor Park playing keep-away. One of us would get the ball, and the other would try not to let the other have it. Loraine's a lot better at it than am I, and by the end of this session we just kind of dissolved into giggles over the whole thing.

Flash forward to the next day, when I get a call at work from a lady who saw us giggling in the middle of Lower Harbor Park. She just wanted to let me know that it was, and I quote, “one of the sweetest things I've seen in quite a long while”. She thought it was neat that we still “play” together and have so much fun when we do it. It almost, she joked, restored her faith in humanity.

I don't know if our weekly soccer sessions QUITE meet that threshold, but we do have a lot of fun when we play. And now, it appears as if it might be a few months until we get to do it again.

At the risk of repeating myself...bummer.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 11/15

Happy opening day! Or, if you're agnostic in that regard, happy Tuesday.

Either one works for me.

My “Life in the 906” on 19 News last night was about the opening day of firearm deer season here in Michigan, and about how not all deer hunters conform to the stereotypical notion we have of them, a notion much like this--

Photo courtesy Superior View Studio

You know the stereotype—people who head out to deer camp and for whom beer is more important than deer. I had gathered a bunch of facts for the piece, and one that got left out was one that I found interesting. Now, because I don't hunt, I would never have guessed this, but did you now that, at least in Michigan, you're statistically more likely to get a deer if you're a bow hunter as opposed to a rifle hunter?

I'm thinking that might be my “Weird Fact of the Day” for today.

Another of the facts I gathered didn't surprised me; specifically, that the number of people who get licenses to hunt has dropped in Michigan by about a third in the past decade. When I was a kid (and, admittedly, that was 150 years ago) it seemed like deer season was a big thing, and I know it still is for some people, but these days it seems like today—November 15th—really is more important to most as a Tuesday than it is as Opening Day. In fact, I'd be curious to see what Mackinaw Bridge traffic was like yesterday as opposed to a November 14th from, say the 1980s or the 90s.

I'm guessing the amount of hunters coming up from downstate would be smaller in 2022. That's just a guess, but I'm thinking that how it would be.

So if you are hunting, have a great day and, most importantly, be safe. And if you're not a hunter?

Well, enjoy your Tuesday.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 11/14

I'm probably gong to sound like an old fart saying this, but you know what?

I'm gonna miss Parade Magazine.

You may know of Parade as that supplement you received in your Sunday newspapers, at least back when there were Sunday newspapers and back when you actually subscribed to them. Or you may know of Parade as the magazine that's the butt of jokes on several long-running TV sitcoms. No matter which way you know it, you may (or may not) be saddened to know that after this past weekend it is no more.

Like everything else in the publishing world, diminishing ad revenue has caused it to go bye-bye. I guess there just wasn't a big enough market for the people who use walkers or coin collections, the two main advertisers in the magazine for the past several years. And I do realize that the magazine itself did skew old. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if I was the youngest person who actually read it n a weekly basis.

And that's bad because, as you know, I ain't that young myself.

I don't know why I actually enjoyed reading it. I don't know if it was the fact that you could pick up a trivia nugget or a book recommendation on occasion, or if it was just because I've been reading it since I was a (admittedly atypical) kid. I've stuck with it all these decades, and that's why the news that this past weekend's edition will be the final one in print was a bummer. The magazine will live from now on online, but it won't be the same.

That's life these days, though. I can't say I'm surprised, even though I'm a little disappointed. So RIP Parade Magazine. Thanks for years of enjoyment. And although I'm sure they won't say it, thanks on behalf of all of the TV writers who probably secretly enjoyed you, as well.

****

Before I go I have to note that my favorite five year old in the world becomes my favorite six year old in the world. It's my nephew Abel's birthday today, and I'm sure he's having a great day.  He's a very curious young man, and every time we're together the two of us sneak out on a little adventure while the adults are doing, you know, adult things. Sometimes we even make it back in one piece.

So Happy Birthday, Abel. I can't wait to see what kind of trouble fun we get into next!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 11/10

I may have told this particular story before, but seeing as how tomorrow's a day during which we honor those who have served this country I figured it was fitting.

Most people only think about Veteran's Day when they realize there won’t be any mail delivery, but in living with a World War II researcher I’ve come into a whole new appreciation of the day, especially when I hear the stories of people for whom the day honors, both those still with us and those never came home from their service.

People like THIS one--

Lawrence Ryan was born in Ishpeming on November 9^th, 1921. He was the oldest of three children; their parents died when they were all young, and the Ryan siblings were split up. Lawrence and his sister Helen were placed in the Holy Name Orphanage in Marquette, while their brother Bob stayed with an aunt in Ishpeming. The siblings remained close, especially after Lawrence and his sister moved back to Ishpeming to live with other relatives. He was a very talented musician and had an aptitude for science, graduating from Ishpeming High School in 1939 and, thanks to an uncle, enrolling in Michigan State for two years. Like many men of his generation, though, when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, he joined the military, becoming a fighter pilot cadet.

After two years of aviation training, Ryan made a short trip home to see his brother and sister, and then went overseas with his unit, the 509th Fighter Squadron, 405th Fighter Group, 84th Fighter Wing, U.S. 9th Air Force. Stationed in England, Ryan’s squadron escorted bombers as they attacked military installations, factories, and other important targets in Germany. Like all pilots in the war, Ryan just had to fly 50 missions, and then he could go home and finish out the war with non-hazardous duties. But because he was single, with no wife or children, he decided to stay on with his unit after his 50^th mission, allowing someone in his squadron who WAS married to head home in his place.

15 missions later--on his 65^th flight--Ryan was shot down over Uelversheim, Germany. He was 23 years old when he was killed. After the war, he was brought back home, and buried next to his parents in the Ishpeming Cemetery. Before they passed away Loraine and I had the chance to speak with his brother and sister, who spoke about their big brother in fond and slightly melancholy terms. His name is on the Veterans’ Memorial next to the Ishpeming Post Office, and is also listed on a plaque on the Michigan State University campus, honoring the 300-plus students and alumni who died during the conflict.

So tomorrow, when you realize you’re not getting any mail, and you then realize that it's Veterans Day, think about all the people who’ve served their country, and, in cases like that of Lt. Ryan, made the ultimate sacrifice, as well.

*****

By the way, because of Veteran's Day I have tomorrow off . Hope you have a great weekend. Back with more Monday!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 11/9

That really can't be the answer, can it?

I was having a discussion with students last week while waiting for the cameras to roll on “High School Bowl”. I don't know how we got on the subject, but one of them asked me what my favorite food is, and even I was shocked when I, without thinking, blurted out “chocolate”.

Hmm. That can't be right, can it? Or is my psyche trying to tell me something I really don't want to admit?

Now, I like chocolate. As you're well aware, I REALLY like chocolate. But is chocolate my favorite food? Should chocolate even be anyone's favorite food? What made me blurt out that answer before even considering any other food?

Sometimes, the mind boggles.

Now, for the record, I like lots of other foods. In fact, there are very few foods (bananas, peppers, onions, and Brussels sprouts, I'm looking at you) that I don't like. So why would I reflexively say “chocolate” instead of anything from chicken to broccoli to blueberries? Why would say I “chocolate” instead of something that's, you know, actually good for you?

Is that a hole into which I really don't want to climb?

I know dark chocolate, especially in moderate amounts, is good for you. But to have it be my favorite food? The more I think about it, though, the more I wonder if my psyche was on to something. I spent a few seconds thinking about the food I eat, and I was...well, not shocked, but a bit surprised that the only thing I eat on a daily basis is, indeed chocolate. I don't eat copious amounts of it every day, but I do indeed have some of that particular food each and every day.

So maybe my psyche wasn't quite as far off as I thought.

Aside from being surprised, I'm not quite sure what I'll be doing with that information. I think I may need a little while to process it, and decide whether or not I should be embarrassed, proud, or worried by the statement I made in front of those students. You know the old saying about how kids say the darnedest things?

Maybe they should switch out “kids” for “adults”, especially when asked about your favorite foods.

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)