Monday, 1/31

I really should get off my butt and update it. If nothing else, it'll tell people Loraine's actually still alive.

As you may know, I've been (massive understatement here) a little busy recently, which means that I haven't been able to get to all of those little projects that I've been meaning to. One of those projects, a project I wrote about actually trying to work on in here almost (gulp) two years ago, is an update of the “107 Things To Love About Marquette County” list that resides on another part of this website. It's been six and a half years since I last updated it, and in that time several people listed on it have passed away and many businesses I mentioned have gone away, some related to the pandemic and some not.

So it DOES need to get updated. And, apparently, a rather major typo needs to get corrected as well.

Now, the list has been up there for six and a half years. According to the counter, thousands of people have looked at it. And I myself poured over it with a fine-toothed comb before putting it up. Therefore, it was kind of a surprise when I received a call from a listener a few months ago who said she had just read it, and was a little confused by something.

When she told me what that something was, I almost did a spit take with the tea I was drinking.

One of the “107 Things” I mentioned was the Range Bank parking deck across the street from where I work. I love taking pictures from there, and I have a soft spot in my heart for the place anyway, seeing as how Loraine works there. In fact, I even mentioned that in the blog with, sadly, the major typo I mentioned earlier.

The line is supposed to read “Besides, it's where my dear wife works”. Unfortunately, that's not what it actually says. Despite the fact that I thought I proofread it a hundred times, and despite the fact that thousands of people have read it in the past six and a half years, the line actually says this--

“Besides, that's where my dead wife works”.

Just for the record, Loraine is NOT dead. She's not dead now, and she wasn't dead when I wrote it in 2015. Loraine's still working at the building, and is very, VERY much alive.

Unlike, apparently, my brain.

I know how I missed the typo, too. I think I've written in here before about how we are becoming overly dependent upon things like spell-check. If we're writing something and it's not underlined in red, we assume it's correct and we zoom past it. I'm almost positive that's how I missed it. I typed “dead” instead of “dear”, and since I spelled “dead' right my spell-check had no idea I was an idiot and let it slide. I then didn't notice it myself, nor did any of the thousands of people's who've read it over the past few years.

Either that, or they thought I forgotten to tell them about something big.

This all brings to the fore a couple of things—one (and this bears repeating), Loraine is NOT dead. Two, I'm an idiot. And three, I REALLY need to update that list.

Really.

(jim@wmqt.com) 

Friday, 1/28

That seemed to go well.

“Cops & Robbers” is now in the (pardon the pun) history books. We had around 400 people, maybe half the house, join us at Kaufman, not a bad number when you consider it's the 25^th month of 2020. We did end up recording the show; once I know any details I'll pass them along, should you be interested.

Since I did that show last night and now have to go host a TV show in a little bit how about if I cheap a little and leave you with one of the video segment I produced for the show last night...

Because you're curious about the history of Prohibition in Marquette, right?

Have a great weekend!

(jim@wmqt.com)

(ps--as a bonus there's a spelling error in one of the titles on the video.  I watched it 100 times while editing it and didn't even notice (duh).  See if you can spot it!)

Thursday, 1/27

Today's the big day.

Well, technically, tonight's the big night, the evening that my pal Jack & I return to the stage for the live presentation of “Cops & Robbers” for the Marquette Regional History Center. It's been a couple of years since we've done this on this big of a scale (and, in all honesty, we're still not too sure if it might actually still be too soon to do something like this, especially with Omicron still raging), and we're both ready to go. Join us if you can and if you feel comfortable doing so. The History Center is hoping to have a recording of the show available next week if you can't make it or if you don't feel comfortable.

Either way, we hope you enjoy.

I'll give you details on how it went tomorrow. Today, though, we get to put our favorite word—repurposing--into practice, as I'll share the newspaper article I wrote to get people ready for the event. I do have to mention something, though—I turned in this article (about an event from 130-some years ago) not knowing the fate of one of the individuals in it. Lo and behold, Beth Gruber from the History Center went out of her way to look up a few details and share them with me, so that the article has a MUCH better finish now than it did before.

So thanks, Beth. I appreciate it!

(jim@wmqt.com)

*****

At the time, the murder scandalized the city. Now, it's just a forgotten footnote in local history.

Marquette has been home to some rather infamous killings over the years, but one that occurred on a Saturday evening over 130 years ago may have been one of the most gruesome. In fact, at the time the Mining Journal called it “a brutal butchery”. Yet today no one recalls the night that Larry Finn beat his wife to death.

Larry Finn was born in Ireland and came to Marquette during the Civil War. He met a young local woman named Margaret Higgins, and after getting married they settled, along with many Irish immigrants, in South Marquette. Their home, across the street from the then Hampton Street school, had recently been destroyed in a fire, and they were living in a two room shack nearby.

By all accounts it was not a happy marriage; neighbors said they frequently heard fights between the two. So when they heard another argument between the couple on the evening of Saturday, November 28th, 1887, which included Margaret yelling “murder”, they didn’t think to alert the authorities.

One neighbor, Richard Miller, later told the Mining Journal he wished he had.

Despite the fact he had been arrested several times on charges of public intoxication, and despite the fact that bars in Marquette had been told by authorities not to sell liquor to him, Larry Finn was drunk that evening. As far as authorities could tell, he came home as his wife was making dinner and had a kettle of hot water boiling on a wood stove. As the fight broke out, Finn grabbed the kettle, hitting Margaret with it repeatedly until, as a Mining Journal article floridly put it, “Her head was a shapeless mass”.

When police officers finally arrived at the home, they found “traces of a desperate struggle, broken dishes and furniture telling the fury of their fight”. They also found Larry Finn with burns down his right arm, suffered as boiling water ran out of the kettle he used to viciously strike his wife.

Finn was taken to the Marquette County jail, where an inquest jury of six residents–including Sidney Adams–was impaneled. The jury went to the Finn house the next morning to visit the site of the murder, while at the same time two reporters from the Mining Journal went to visit the accused in jail. There, he claimed to remember everything up until he started for home after drinking that Saturday, then forgetting everything else that had happened until he woke up in jail Sunday morning. The Mining Journal reporters thought he was telling them that in an attempt to save himself.

It was also discovered by those reporters that the day before her death Margaret Finn had visited a lawyer’s office to see about the possibility of leaving her husband.

The jury found Finn guilty of the killing of his wife, and he was sent away. According to US Census records Finn was still an inmate at the Jackson State Prison in 1900, after which it appears he moved back to Marquette to live with a brother. No known records exist of his death or burial.

In the 134 years since the incident memories of the killing have been lost to the community, but at the time it occurred the murder of Margaret Finn stood as one of the most scandalous incidents in a city that had been founded less than forty years before.

Wednesday, 1/26

I like the scent. What can I say?

One of my many jobs around our apartment is the washing of dishes. It's something I do every day except one, when Loraine takes over and makes sure that it's actually done right. When she did it this week I was in the other room flipping through the pages of a book. She came into the room with the latest bottle of dishwashing liquid I purchased, held it up, and said, and I quote, “Here's another example of why you are so not a man”.

What? Real men don't use lotus blossom and lavender dishwashing liquid?

First of all, just so you know, a very big running joke between Loraine and me is that I basically do nothing like a “man” would do, and we're both okay with that. So I wasn't shocked by what she said; in fact, it made me laugh. After all, what “real“ man would buy his dishwashing liquid because it smelled like lotus blossom & lavender? What “real“ man” would buy his dishwashing liquid just because it was purple and he liked the color?

Heck—do “real” men even pay attention to things like dishwashing liquid? Do they even know what dishwashing liquid is?

I like washing dishes; I really do. It's a couple of minutes of mindless activity in a day filled with activities where I have to overtax my brain. Sure, often times my brain fails me, but even if it did screw up while washing dishes no one would notice. That's why I like doing things like washing dishes and doing the laundry. And if I'm going to spend a few minutes each day washing the dishes, shouldn't I be using dishwashing liquid that smells good and makes my hands soft all at the same time?

It's like aromatherapy, with the added benefit of giving us clean dishes!

So if you're in the market for a new dishwashing liquid (assuming, of course, you still do dishes by hand), I highly recommend picking up a bottle of Palmolive's Lotus Blossom & Lavender. Not only does it clean your dishes well, but it smells nice, too. And isn't that what everyone looks for in a dishwashing liquid...even a “man”?

Yes, I know I'm hopeless. What's your point?

8-)

Now, something regarding yesterday's about people who still have their Christmas trees up and lit. No more than 10 minutes after I posted it I received a text from a wise old guy (hi, dad!) who mentioned another reason for people leaving their trees up—people who have members serving in the military. He knows several who leave their trees up until their sons or daughters or husbands or wives return home safely from wherever they happened to be stationed and can celebrate with everyone.

I did not know that. So perhaps one or more of those trees I saw while running yesterday were because of that. I guess you really DO learn something new every day.

Thanks, dad!!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 1/25

It's been a month now. Don't you think they should start to come down soon?

While out running early in the morning I happened to pass probably a half dozen homes spread throughout the city of Marquette, homes that proudly had Christmas trees in their front windows. Not only did they have the trees still proudly displayed, but they had them fully lit up, which is why I noticed them in the first place.

Even though Christmas was a month ago today.

Now I'm not here to rain on anyone's Christmas parade. But we're just a couple of weeks away from Valentine's Day, which is itself just a month away from St. Patrick's Day, which is then just a month away from Easter. Shouldn't it be time to look forward to what's coming up instead of still celebrating that which has been?

Or am I looking at this the wrong way? I know there are people who just love the Christmas holidays. There are people who get their decorations out right as the leaves change colors, and there are people who start to listening to Christmas songs while the rest of us are looking forward to “It's The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown”. I get that. I get that feeling of anticipation for your favorite time of the year. I do the same myself when the weather first hints at warmth and I start looking forward to summer. But once October rolls around I know it's time to put away the flips flops and beach gear and haul out the winter stuff. I don't want to, and wish I didn't have to, but I do it.

And maybe that's how the people with their Christmas trees up still feel.

I remember a phone call I took on the air a decade or so ago, when somehow the topic of Christmas lights came up. The caller complained about her neighbor, a gentleman in the city of Marquette who still had his outdoor lights up and turned on every evening. Mind you, this was in May, if I recall correctly, and she was wondering if he was ever going to take them down. So I guess I'm not alone in this. There probably SHOULD be a limit to how long you have your Christmas stuff up.

Maybe a month's okay, though. Maybe the people who still have the trees up are basking in the afterglow of the holidays. Maybe they had a really great Christmas season, and don't want it to end. Maybe they had family members who couldn't make it home for the actual holidays and are just getting around to celebrating them now. In that case, we'll cut them some slack, and let things be, at least for now.

However, if I go running a month from today and the trees are still up and lit...well, then, we may have to revisit this discussion. And maybe—just maybe—we won't be quite as understanding.

We'll have to see.

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 1/24

Maybe I should just stop talking. Maybe THAT will help.

As you may recall, it was one of those weekends, a three day span spent shooting TV, doing radio, announcing a thousand or so names at a ski race, and taking care of a bunch of other stuff, I now find myself with a slightly scratchy & sore throat, probably thanks to vocal chords that have been pushed a little too close to their limits of tolerance.

Oh, goody.

Thankfully, I haven't actually lost my voice. At the moment you can just tell that it sounds a little...strange. Not that it's strange in a bad way; you can just tell that it's not normal. That makes me think of two things. The first is what athletic trainers tell you—if a muscle hurts or feels strained when you're working it, you might wanna stop whatever it is you're doing it lest you risk injuring it further. And the second?

I'm not really in the right career field to stop talking for a day or two to let my voice rest.

It's funny; I'm probably in one of the few jobs where it's worse to lose your voice than it would be to lose your mind. I mean, think about it—without a voice in radio, you're nothing. You're dead air. You're like a mime with no one to annoy. But if you lose your mind; well, that's a different matter. You can still speak. What you say may no make much sense, and you might not be on the air very long (especially if your boss is listening), but you could still be on the air.

Unlike, say, someone without a voice.

Like I said, though, I'm lucky in that regard. I can still speak. It's just a little uncomfortable when I do it, especially when I speak with any kind of volume. So if I in any way sound weird on the air today (and I don't think that I will), you now have the reason why.

I just really need to stop talking for a day or two. But with radio and more TV and that History Center show at Kaufman Thursday night?

That won't be happening any time soon.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Friday, 1/21

It'll be interesting to see if I remember what to do.

Tomorrow's the 24^th annual Noquemanon Cross Country Ski Marathon, the first one in two years, and as one of the few people who's volunteered at each & every one of them, I wonder what it'll be like. The same? Different? A smaller field of racers? A bigger one?

We'll find out tomorrow, I guess.

I have no idea how whatever changes there are will affect my job announcing at the finish line. Will there be the usual gaggle of people at the finish line cheering on the participants while ringing cowbells? Will they stay home? I don't know. Part of me hopes there are at least a few. I know skiers are exhausted when they come across the line, and hearing a cheer or a cowbell always helps them cross the line in style. That's especially true during my favorite part of the race—the last hour, when stragglers slowly make their way “home”-- and are looking for any reason to keep going.

However, if wouldn't be surprised—and, if we're being honest, I'd almost be a little more comfortable—if the crowd is thin to non-existent. While that might not be a good thing for the skiers, it might be for public health, and while it's a big pain in the butt that IS something we have to think about these days.

Let's just hope that next year's race—the 25th—just gets back a little closer to “normal”.

On that note, have a great weekend. And if you happen to know or see anyone involved in trying to put this year's race together, let them know they've done a great job under the strangest of circumstances!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 1/20

I got sucked down into another rabbit hole last night. But at least it was an illuminating rabbit hole.

I've mentioned in here before about how Loraine and I will be discussing something while sharing a dinner, and when one of us goes online to check out a fact about the subject we soon find ourselves lost in a never-ending tunnel of useless (albeit interesting) information. Well, that happened last night, as Loraine had found some old notes she had taken in a broadcasting history class back in college and was quizzing me on them.

Since, of course, I'm a dork I knew most of the answers. But I wasn't 100% about if a certain old-time AM radio station was a clear channel station (stations with no other station on their frequency so that, at night, they could be heard across swaths of the country that (at the time) didn't have their own stations). That dip into research then led me to wonder if I could recall most of the old clear channel stations (spoiler alert—I can, sadly), and then, for some reason, started me singing a jingle from perhaps my favorite clear channel station as a kid, WLS in Chicago. I wondered if I could find the jingle online, and you know what?

You can.

Why I remember a radio station jingle from the late 70s is really beyond me, other than the fact that I'm a nerd. (Why there's a website that has every single jingle the station ever used is a topic for another day). But as soon as I heard what I was looking for (a legal ID that all stations have to air near the top of the hour that contains the station's call letters and city of license) it lodged itself into my brain and still, over 12 hours later, hasn't left. Hopefully I won't start singing “WLS Chicago” on the air today, but if I do you now know why.

And, just in case I do, consider this your apology in advance.

Maybe I shouldn't be too surprised, though. As a geeky kid who loved radio I'm not shocked the jingle stuck in my head, especially because it was from a legendary station in a legendary market. But over the years I've actually had people come up to me and sing OUR legal ID (“Q107-WMQT Ishpeming Marquette!”), so maybe it's not just me. Maybe there really IS something about the way radio stations identify themselves that stick in people's heads. I wouldn't have thought so, but I still have one from 40+ years ago stuck in MY head today, so maybe there is something there.

Ah, the internet. Making dinners fascinating (and a big suck of time) since 1995.

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 1/19

I spent the longest time yesterday wondering why I got a greasy wrench in the mail. Then I remembered it wasn't for me.

What? You've never had an old tool get dropped off by the US Postal Service? Really? That's just me? Then you can imagine my surprise when the wrench showed up at work yesterday from an eBay seller. When I opened it all sorts of thoughts went through my head—did I forget a Christmas gift for Loraine? Am I being scammed? Did I order so much stuff during the holidaze that I zoned out and just started clicking on random items?

Then I remembered Carl.

Some of you may remember our young friend Carl from Belgium. Among the many things he does (aside from speaking five languages and being a lawyer and future president of the European Union) is collect World War II equipment. That makes sense; he may very well be the world's greatest living authority on the 106^th Infantry Division, which is how we met him. Every so often he'll come across an old piece that he doesn't have in his collection, and he'll order it from a seller in the US. Very rarely, the seller doesn't ship the pieces to Europe, and that's where we come in.

Because we're just returning the favor.

You see, every so often Loraine and I want to purchase something (usually soccer jerseys) from Germany or France. Often times the teams won't ship to the US, so we have them sent to Carl, who then sends them to us. He's also offered to ship chocolate & cereal should we need it. Thankfully, you can usually get those sent to the US.

But not soccer jerseys. Or, apparently, WW II-era wrenches, screwdrivers, or wire crimpers.

So hopefully, sometime in the next few days when an old screwdriver and something else that looks weird shows up I'll remember they're for Carl and not, you know, the result of a blackout binge on eBay.

Not that you'd think that would happen, but after the past two years you never, never know.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 1/18

Because I'm insane I've already started to work on them.

I think I may have mentioned in here (once or twice or, uhm, several dozen times) that I have an amazingly busy month this month. Aside from continuing to run two radio stations pretty much single-handedly I still have three weeks left to shoot on “High School Bowl”, a weekend (this upcoming weekend) of announcing at the Noquemanon, and a little History Center show at Kaufman Auditorium a week from Thursday. Yet with all that going on, what did I spend a little time working on this past weekend?

How about something that I don't need to do (if I don't want) and something with absolutely no deadline, unlike everything else?

I believe I've mentioned in here that I'm thinking of doing another series of those “Pieces of the Past” history videos that I've done the past two pandemic Springs. I'm under no obligation to do them; they don't help raise funds for anything, nor is anyone waiting for them with bated breath. Yet I spent several hours both Saturday and Sunday pondering which ones to do and in which order to do them.

Yes, I had many other things that needed to get done this past weekend. But what did I spend time on?

I need help. I really do.

8-)

In all honesty, everything else is on the glide path to almost being finished, and I guess felt I deserved a break from all the stuff I've been working on the past month or so. Now, for most people a “break” would be something normal: bingeing a TV show, going out with friends, or playing outside (although, in my defense, I did also go snowshoeing for a bit to take a break from taking a break). But, as we all, know, I'm (sadly) not like most people. I sat down with a pad and starting writing ideas down. Before I knew it, I had a list of ideas that was so long I had to cut some of them out, a list of the order in which I'm thinking of doing them, and even a shot sheet—videos, interviews, and research I need to do—for the first five or six of them.

That's “taking a break”, right?

I started off just writing down a few ideas so I could perhaps organize them at some future date. I had no intention of coming up with what I came up with, but in a way, maybe it was a good thing. My favorite part of the creative process is just letting ideas ferment in my head and then playing with them when they're there. The fact that I was so engaged in it means that I was obviously enjoying it. And since I was playing with this as a “break” from everything else I was doing, I guess it worked.

Whether or not I feel the same way if I get bogged down in trying to produce all 21 (!) of the ideas I came up with remains to be seen. But that's not something about which I have to worry quite yet. After all, I have two radio stations, three TV shows, a cross country ski race, and a Kaufman program to worry about before I do anything else.

But if I get through all those in the next two weeks, at least I have something else to obsess about waiting in the wings.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 1/17

It was the best of jokes, it was the worst of jokes.

I had entirely forgotten about a crack I made on the episode of “High School Bowl” that aired a weekend or two ago. There was a question that neither team was able to answer, so I replied to it this way--

“The answer would be Midas (pause for effect). You know, the patron saint of mufflers”.

The kids looked kind of confused, like they had no idea what I was talking about, while the audience slightly groaned, after which I shot them a look perfectly captured by the director of the show. We moved on and, like I said, I had entirely forgotten about it until watching the show with Loraine earlier this month.

Since it aired I've heard from two people about the joke. One came into the station to pick up a prize a few days later and commented on how she laughed when I said it. She also wondered if it was something I had prepared ahead of time, and I had to tell her that it wasn't. It was just something that came out of my mouth when no one knew the answer to the question. That happens every once in a while; I have no idea what I say until after I've said it. I don't know if that's a blessing or a curse (although I'm guessing the latter), but it happens.

Then late last week I received a friendly e-mail from someone who caught the show online.  She said that although she admired the fact that I came up with the joke, she said she (like the studio audience) audibly groaned when I said it. She went on to say, and I quote, “I'd fire your writer if I were you”. I had to reply this way--

“I would fire my writer, except he's been with me for a long, long time and knows where all the (metaphorical) bodies are buried. Besides, that writer works for me quite cheaply, as is readily apparent by some of the material that leaves my mouth.”

I will be the first to admit that it was not the world's greatest joke. In fact, it probably doesn't even fall within the parameters of the world's one million greatest jokes. And the fact that most of the audience either didn't get it or thought it was slightly on the stupid side proves that point. And it's just basically a ripoff of a joke I told on the radio a long time ago, when I claimed that Mercury was actually the god of flower delivery. So if nothing else...

It proves that I love the obscure reference. That I have a very bizarre sense of humor. And that, as a surprising number of individuals have told me recently, people actually do pay attention to the weird things that come out of my mouth.

So, if I can, I'd just like to issue a blanket apology to all those people (heck, to everyone on the planet) for anything I say in the future. Especially if it involves Greek gods, mufflers, or really, really bad jokes.

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

(ps—Try to go out and make a difference, either in one person's life or in the world at large. That's why we have a holiday today!)

Friday, 1/14

I forgot just how much I've missed the show.

I know watching “The Amazing Race” isn't probably on the top of your to-do list, but for the past 15 or so years it's been one of my favorite shows, perhaps even the only one I go out of my way to watch live when it airs. The competitive part of the show is good, but what does it for me is the travel aspect of it, whether they're in places I've been, places I'd like to go, or places I'll probably never get to.

It's like being able to head around the world without having to deal with the hassle of airports, reservations, and lost luggage..

The season that's currently airing is a strange one. They started shooting it in February of 2020, and then had to suspend production after the third leg in Scotland because, well, it was 2020. That's what they dealt with at the end of this week's episode. They told the racers what was going on, told them they were sending them home, and said they hoped they would see them “soon”. The screen then faded to black for a few seconds, and after a few seconds the words “19 months later” appeared on the screen, and against a sunny Swiss backdrop they teased next week's episode, where they'll pick up where they left off.

I have to admit I got a little emotional watching it, not only because of the dramatic way in which they segued from the Before Times to today, but also just because they were able to actually travel and produce the show again. I have no idea if the show will be the same or if they'll have Covid protocols in place—they'll address that next week—but just to see another country, especially in the bright sunshine, really got to me.

And I really didn't expect that.

Adding 19 months to February of 2020 means they picked up shooting it this past September, when Delta was starting to recede and before Omicron reared its ugly (and fast-spreading) head. That was the brief window of time when Loraine and I were able to start dreaming a little again, and maybe hope that we ourselves might get back to Europe, perhaps even this Spring. Of course, those dreams are shattered now, but just to know that someone—anyone--was able to do what we weren't able to got to me when I watched the last few second of the show Wednesday night.

Sigh.

I look forward to seeing the rest of the show this season, especially how they've adapted it for these screwy days. I also look forward to the day when I don't necessarily have to live vicariously through a TV show, a day when I actually do it myself. I have a feeling that that day is farther rather than closer, but hopefully it will arrive.

And if I got emotional watching a TV show, imagine what I'll be like when I actually get to do it myself.

Have a great weekend!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 1/13

I think I know what my problem is.

Right now, you may be reflexively muttering to yourself “Jim, you have more than one problem”. Heck; I'M reflexively muttering “Jim, you have more than one problem”. But I think I've figured out how I lost and then gained that week about which I was writing yesterday. It wasn't my fault.

It was Blursday's fault.

Blursday is a concept Loraine has come up with in the past two years, and I think Her Majesty is on to something right here. Since all this Covid madness descended upon us everything has become one big giant blur. Because, as I wrote about earlier this week, our routines have been disrupted and the way we live our lives changed (and not always for the better), sometimes we have no idea if we're coming and or we're going. We're not totally aware of what day of the week it is, what week of the month it is, or, sometimes, even what month of the year it is.

Everything goes by in a blur, which means that every day is Blursday.

After thinking it over I believe Loraine's on to something here. Every person has been affected differently by the insanity and the non-stop assault on our senses of the past 22 months (and counting). For some people, that meant spending weeks at home without stepping our their front door or working from their living room. For me (actually, for the three different “me”s), having things being constantly on the go and constantly changing means that I seem to have lost all track of time. I mean, I can't even believe it's been 22 months since this all started. I'm still working through a list of things to take care of that I put together when this all started in March of 2020, and I can't believe it's been sitting around for 22 months (and counting) without getting completed.

All that time has just been a blur.

So if things seem to you to be just a bit out of phase or out of sync these days, or if you're wondering where the past two years have gone, don't worry. You're not alone. It's been happening to the best of us.  And it's been happening to me, as well.

Just blame it all on Blursday.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 1/12

I just found myself an extra week.

Well, mayhap I should be a little more clear. I did not lose a week and then find it, nor did I fulfill that long-held dream to actually have extra time added to a year. Nope; this was something that jolted me awake in the middle of the night last night, and immediately made me feel like the idiot we all know I am.

Not that that ever happens.

Here's the deal—when I got home Monday night I had a moment of semi-panic when I realized that I have to write a newspaper article for the upcoming “Cops & Robbers” show Jack & I are doing at Kaufman. I thought I had to get it done right away, because the deadline for it is Friday, the day before I do finish line announcing at the Noquemanon and a couple of days before the show itself next Thursday night. So while I ate dinner I also sat typing out the story of a gruesome murder in South Marquette 130-some years ago, several details of which almost made me lose said dinner.

But I finished it, and it was a weight lifted off my shoulders.

Fast forward to, oh, 2:45 am or so last night, when I woke up in a jolt and (eventually) realized I'm an idiot. Yes, the newspaper article is due the day before the Noquemanon, which is a few days before the Kaufman show. However, the Noquemanon is not this Saturday, it's next Saturday. The Kaufman show isn't a week from Thursday, it's two weeks from Thursday. And the newspaper article I raced through, the one that almost made me lose my dinner, isn't due Friday, it's due a week from Friday.

I don't know why I thought this week was next week, but I did. I are an idiot.

Sometimes I amaze even myself, and usually not in a good way. I don't know how anyone with functioning brain cells could think it's next week and not this week, especially because next week has a holiday to kick it off and I'm pretty sure I would have noticed if the holiday had gone by. Yet I did just that. I have no idea how; I just did

So yes, I am an idiot. But on the plus side, I now have an extra week in my life, and I have a newspaper article written and ready to go. I guess that it's scant consolation for being an idiot.

But it is something.

(jim@wmqt.com), temporally challenged idiot.

Tuesday, 1/11

Okay. This is getting really nasty.

I don't know what it's like where you live, but here in Marquette we're suffering from a VERY frigid cold snap that's affecting the upper Midwest ("Snotsicle" weather, as Laura and I dubbed it on the air while chatting).  Yesterday's high was 109,000 below zero (or maybe 2 above; I forget which was the real one) and while it should be getting closer to normal in a day or two this first plunging of temperatures for the year has everyone bundling up, posting screenshots of their car thermometers, and generally forgetting that we live in an area where it CAN get that cold.

Even if it hasn't the past few winters.

I think my standard for cold snaps still has to be eight years ago. Some of you may remember January of 2014, where it actually didn't get above zero for a span of 10 or so days; a time during which our station antenna system decided to blow itself up and left us broadcasting at a very low power for the next six months. That was also a time when I was running things all by myself here (back then, related to people leaving for new jobs and their replacements not yet arriving), so in a way these past few days have been nothing more than a PTSD-filled flashback to that fateful month.

But we'll get by.

One of the ways in which I deal with horrid winter stretches like this is to flash back to their opposites. After all, what are cold weather snaps in January? They're the same as hot weather snaps in July, just separated by six months and 70 or 80 degrees. So with that in mind, let me show you what I mean.

Don't think of the cold, this of a scene like this--

Don't think of clouds...think of sun--

Don't think of the fact that it's 109,000 below...just think of happier times--

And, above all, don't look out the window and don't go outside. Just keep staring at the pictures and remind yourself--

Only six more months. Only six more months...

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 1/10

And to start off a new week, here’s a question--when is a routine a routine, and when is a routine a rut?

I’ve been wondering about that quite a bit recently. With the holidays just wrapping up and the ever-increasingly insane schedule of the three “Jims”, especially with everything I have coming up in the next few weeks, whatever routine I used to have was thrown out the door. Before all that, I had found myself doing certain things on certain days, and looking forward to doing those certain things on certain days. I knew I had to get specific things done on Mondays, other things on Tuesdays, and even more different things done on all days of the week leading up to the weekend, where I had yet another normal routine--I’d go running on Saturday morning, go grocery shopping later in the day on Saturday, and lounge around Sunday morning while trying to convince myself it’s time to work out. I’d look forward to doing the things I had to do on certain days, and if I didn’t do them on certain days, I felt, well, strange.

So is it a routine, or is it a rut?

I used to think that because of the insane schedule that runs my life that I could never get into a rut. And that might very well be the case; after all, while I do do certain things on certain days, it may be because those are the only days on which I can do those certain things. If I don’t do them then, I wouldn’t be able to do them at all. And maybe I feel strange when I don’t do them because I feel I need a little routine to balance out the insanity.

I’m not saying routines are a bad thing; I’m not even sure that a rut could be considered a bad thing. Like I said, a little routine (or rut) is a good thing when trying to balance out an insane schedule during an insane time in history. It gives you something you know and you’re comfortable with to look forward to, as opposed to all the unknown (or infrequent) activities that pop up here and there. I don’t mind that at all.

And yet, there’s a small part of me that always thinks that you should be pushing yourself forward, attempting things you’ve never done before, trying to find a different way to carry off old activities, or rearranging a schedule to stop it from becoming stale. I don’t know where that part of me comes from; it’s just there, and it seems to pop up whenever I’m trying to convince myself that a routine is a nice thing to have. So maybe, in a way, what's happening to me has been a good thing, if for no other reason than it made me realize that I do, for better or worse, have a “routine”.

See? It really isn’t easy being me, is it? Sometimes these discussions with myself can just be draining. They really can.

8-)

If you have a routine, and it’s a routine with which you feel comfortable, go for it. Enjoy it. Revel in it. After all, everybody needs a certain level of comfort in their life, especially after what we've been through the past two years. But if you feel the need to shake things up a little, go ahead and shake it up. You might find that your new way of doing things work fine . But if it doesn’t, go back to your old routine. Just try not to obsess over whether it’s a routine or a rut.

After all, some of us do that enough for everyone!

(jim@wmqt.com) 

Friday, 1/7

Do you know Loraine's 24^th grandmother has her own Wikipedia page?

One of the interesting things about Loraine and I both getting our DNA tested by Ancestry a couple of years ago is that we've been able to do a little digging into our pasts. She's been into it more than I have, perhaps because she has found more interesting results—especially her 24^th grandmother, Margaret of Hungary.

That's right; Loraine's descended from royalty. It hasn't affected her too much, other than her demand that I refer to her at least once a day as “Your Majesty”. But it has led her down this whole genealogical rabbit-hole. On one side of family she does seem to be descended from Central European Royalty, while on the other side she has forebearers who helped William the Conqueror conquer England.

Those forebearers, by the way, came from right outside the French city of Bayeux, our headquarters whenever we're in Normandy. So if we ever get to go back, she can look over “her” lands and see from where a small part of her past sprung forth.

IF we ever get to back over there.  But that's another story for another day.

Unlike Her Majesty, my background is much more plebeian, at least from what I've found so far. I do have a relative who came over to the US within a year or two of the Mayflower, but otherwise I seem to come from Prussian farming stock and Swedish farming stock. Oh, and the Irish part of my family may—just may—have come from a guy who was given a choice to either leave Ireland or go to jail for almost weekly drunken and disorderly arrests.

I'm still looking into that part of it.

So the next time you see Loraine, a little curtsy might be in order. After all, if things had turned out differently, she might indeed still be royalty. And me? Well, I might still be in Ireland, making sure my 4^th or 5^th great-grandfather has his bail money for the week.

Family trees. What a wacky and wonderful thing. Have a great weekend!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 1/6

I don't know what I'd do without the calendar on my wall.

Yesterday at work I performed one of my annual tasks, which was replacing the big giant calendar on my office wall. Why a big, giant calendar, you ask? Well, I answer. what with there being the three Jims I often joke about (Radio Jim, History Jim, and TV Jim) I find myself doing a lot of different, unrelated things, often at different, unrelated times. I might have to go from a TV shoot to work to a program or a tour, all in the course of a few hours, and what with me not being the most, well, organized person in the world, I have come to rely on the calendar to tell me where I have to be and when I have to be there.

I realize I'm decidedly old school in my approach to this; most people will just shove all the info into their phone and be done with it. But the big calendar on my wall covers all twelve months of the year at a glance. And since many of the things I have to do (or things for which I get “volunteered”) are weeks or months away, it's nice to have the whole year laid out at a glance without having to swipe from screen to screen, so if any conflicts pop up they're noted right away.

Did I ever think my life would get to the point where I'd come to depend upon looking at a calendar to see what I have coming up? Certainly not. And in my naivete I thought that once I started saying “no” to a few things that I'd have more time to do nothing at all. But you know that saying about nature abhorring a vacuum? Well, it's apparently true. I have no idea how it's true, but it is true. I now find myself busier than I've ever been, and trust me—those of you who've been reading this for a long time know I was kind of busy to start with.

I'm not complaining, mind you, I just find it...interesting. Very, very interesting.

For instance, my calendar tells me that for this week I have a haircut, several meetings for the upcoming Kaufman history show, that I need to write a newspaper article for that very same show, some Noquemanon stuff, the fact that I have to get up early (ugh) to record a couple of clients for a commercial, and—oh--a TV show Friday, and you can see why I kind of rely upon it.

(And just as an aside, who schedules a week like that right after the holidaze? I mean, what kind of sane person schedules a week like that right after the holidaze?)

Normally when I stick the calendars up I have a moment of joy when I get to block out a week and a half or two weeks for a little later summer getaway to another country. Unfortunately, for the second year in a row, I didn't get to do that. In fact, right now the month of September is, sadly, totally blank.

And that's one month that I really wouldn't mind being filled up...especially the first week or two. But sadly, that's not gonna happen any time soon.

Now, if I could only figure out how to move some stuff from this week and next to those open weeks in September we'd be all set.

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 1/5

Five days. If anyone ever wonders, it's five days.

As I mentioned yesterday, one of the things I did over the extended holiday period (aside from (sigh) working) was to conduct an experiment on myself. Don't worry; I treated myself ethically and humanely during the test. And the end result surprised me a little, so I guess it was worth it.

Because it was cold, because I didn't have to do any TV, and because (in all honesty) I was really lazy, I did something between Christmas and New Years I hadn't planned on doing (well, aside from working and everything else I've been writing about in here since then), something I've only done a few times in my life. After doing so on Christmas morning, I stopped shaving for a few days. Normally, I try to avoid having hair on my face. At least to me, it doesn't seem to do me any favors, and since I think I actually look younger clean-shaven (especially on TV) I usually don't go more than two days without shaving.

But for the reasons listed above, and because I was curious to see how long it would take me before I was driven insane either by the itchiness of the whole thing or by how I looked (or both) I stopped shaving for a few days. The first day was okay. The second I started to scratch my face a little. The third day I noticed my beard seems to have more gray hair in it than brown hair. On day four the itchiness ramped up by several degrees, the stubble made me look more like a homeless person than, say, George Michael, and Loraine, in that way that only a wife can, said something along the lines of “Looks like it's been a few days since you've shaved”.

So on day five I shaved.

There are some people who look good with facial hair. My brother has grown a beard the past few months, and it looks really good on him. And since he & I do resemble each other, you'd think I'd look okay with a beard, too. But trust me...I don't think I'm one of those people, especially after seeing five days of growth on my chin. It seems to age me, which, as we all know, is something I don't handle very well. And there's just something not... “me” about it. Maybe, if I let a full beard grow and kept it for a couple of years, it'd be okay. I could look in a mirror without wondering who the strange person was looking back at me. But after just five days of growth for the first time ever?

Nope.

And then there's the itchiness. Maybe, if I tried not shaving in the summer, it would be better. But doing it in the winter, especially during a cool spell when the heat was constantly running and making your skin itchy anyway, was the final straw. Maybe I could've powered through the way that I look for a few more days. Maybe I could've colored in the gray to make me look a little more like a rock star and a little less like Santa Claus. But the itchiness was the final straw. I don't know how guys who grow full beads or even cultivate stubble year-round do it. After five days it was just so bad that it had to come off. And I'll be the first to admit—it was heaven. I look younger, all the gray (perhaps too much of it) is on the sides of my head, and since I got rid of the stubble I don't think I scratched my face once.

So now I know. Trust me—if I ever skip shaving again, it won't be for more than a day or two. After this little “experiment”, I have all the reasons I need.

(jim@wmqt.com), stubble free

Tuesday, 1/4

Now I actually realize how much work went into all those holiday celebrations.

First of all, happy 2022!  Hope your New Years weekend went well.  Mine did; aside from spending too much time working on “Cops & Robbers” and conducting an experiment on myself (the results of which I’ll talk about tomorrow) I spent a LOT of time cooking and baking.

And that’s how I came to appreciate everything my mom & grandmother did over all those years of family celebrations.

Between Christmas and Sunday I spent hours making everything from Greek food to desserts to herb-crusted pork roasts to scones to Gnocchi to homemade cranberry sauce to Kaiserschmarnn and an old family tradition called Broken Glass.  Some of that was just for Loraine and me, while some of it was shared with siblings and nieces and nephews.  But by Sunday morning, after I had whipped up the last of the dishes (the  Kaiserschmarrn) I sat back and realized just how much work I had put in the past few days.

And thought of how much work my mom & grandmother (and, I’m sure, yours, too) had put in during those years of big family celebrations.

I mean, if I spent hours working on a dish for just the two of us, how much work did they have to put in feeding an entire extended family?  As a kid, you don’t think of things like that. As an adult, you come to appreciate just how hard they worked to make everything festive and just right for everyone.

So while it may be too late to tell my grandmother, it’s not too late to tell my mom “thank you”.  It may have taken me a few decades to figure it out, but thanks for putting in all that work during all those holidays.  I really appreciate it.

Maybe one of these years I’ll even figure out how you did it all!

            *****

Speaking of some of the food, here’s just a sample (with apologies for taking them with a phone camera).

The Kaiserschmarrn with the homemade cranberry sauce (and Nutella, because how you can not have it with Nutella?)--

And the Broken Glass, which is a New Year’s Eve tradition that’s been in the family for decades (and one that my siblings await all year).  It’s a two day project that starts with making three kinds of Jell-O and ends up with pineapple juice, Dream Whip, and enough butter to clog the arteries of everyone in Marquette.

But it's really, really good–

            ****

Back to reality now, and tomorrow, as I promised, the story of how I experimented on myself over the course of almost a week.

(jim@wmqt.com)