Monday, 2/28

Loraine, as always, had an interesting thought.

I posted the first video in the new series of my history video series “Pieces of the Past” over the weekend, and the two of us we were joking around about how some people call me “the next Fred Rydholm”. It's a title that I'm not entirely comfortable with; after all, when he was alive he probably forgot more about local history that I'll ever know. But I can also see the comparison—I guess I follow in his footsteps as far as a passion about sharing local history, and (in my case, for some bizarre reason) people seem to think of us as a resource for tales of the past.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

****

Speaking of the new season of “Pieces of the Past”, here's the first one!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Friday, 2/25

What should I make for dinner Sunday night?

The past couple of Sundays I've been trying to stretch my wings while making dinner for Loraine. I put together an Indian dish for Super Bowl Sunday, while last week I jumped back into the world of Greek food by trying to make Moussaka for the very first time.

And, if I have to say so myself, I was pretty happy with how it turned out. Even if it did take over two hours to put it all together and bake it.

But it was Greek food. And that's the important thing.

The dishes I've been making are dishes that we can't get in restaurants around here (and, just as an aside, if Marquette DID have a full service Indian or Greek restaurant, I could almost guarantee that Loraine & I would single-handedly keep it in business). I'm thinking that maybe I could delve into a German dish although, truth be told, I have more of an interest in German baked goods than something like schnitzel these days. I could also try, say, a very rich French dish or, if I wanted to show some solidarity, maybe even an Ukrainian dish.

I've also been joking recently that I should try a true Hungarian dish. Loraine's been researching her genealogy for the past couple of years, and a chunk of her family was once exiled by some German king to Hungary. So I suppose I could bake something , smother it in gravy & paprika, and be set. Or we could honor the Swedish part of my family by fermenting some fish and eating it along with jellied goop.

Well, on second thought...

8-)

I'm sure I'll figure something out by Sunday. After all, it's not like there's a whole world of food to try to make out there, right?

Have yourself a great weekend!!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 2/24

It's finally over.

Earlier this week, I had alluded to the fact that it was snowing a LOT up here, and I wasn't kidding. According to the National Weather Service in Negaunee, which is five miles inland and 700 feet higher in elevation than the city of Marquette, we received 37 inches of snow in just over 48 hours, and on Tuesday set an all-time record for a one day snow fall total during the month of February with 21.6 inches.

That's a lot of snow.

In fact, even here in the city we were the recipients of a dump. Don't believe me?

Before this all started the sidewalks outside the station were clear, and all the banks had been cut down. But since then? It looks like some Hollywood set designer had a snow-making machine go haywire.

Except, of course, it happened to us in real life and in real time.

I've spoken with people who've had to snow blow four times in the past two days. I've spoken with people who've had their snow blowers die because of the work they've been put through. And I can't count the number of schools and businesses that are just re-opening today after two or three days of being closed.

I'm kind of getting the idea that this one might have been one for the ages.

But like I said, it's all over now. There's nary a flake of snow in the forecast. Most of what we have should be removed from streets and sidewalks soon. And, on a personal note, I've been gifted with drifts galore over which I can snowshoe the next few days.

So if you want a positive way in which over a yard of snow falling in two days can have an impact, there you go.

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com), looking forward to a day with no new snow falling.

Wednesday, 2/23

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

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

And trust me—we both use pink a LOT.

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

But which color?

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

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

So it's not brown.

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

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

Both Deanna and I thank you very much.

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 2/22

Happy Twos-day!!

Get it? It's Tuesday? And the date is 2-22-22? Twos-day??

Okay. I'll see myself out.

8-)

I'm sorry; it must be the snow or something getting to me. After a winter last year when we received only a third of our usual snowfall Mother Nature is trying to make up for it this year. We're currently in the middle of a 2-day dump up here where, depending upon where you are, you could see anywhere from six to 26 inches of the white stuff. As I write this it's actually been rather bad here in the city, and once you get out of Marquette, especially in the higher elevation areas, it's even worse.

Much, much, much worse.

For me, at least, there has been a silver lining to all this. A couple of years ago I bought a pair of snowshoes. Because of the lack of snow up here I was only been able to use them a couple of times. But since, oh, January I've been out on them at least once a week. I'll walk over to Park Cemetery, strap them on, and spend the next hour and a half strolling through the drifts & the hills of the cemetery and the Fit Strip. Because I'm walking through all this fresh snow, snow that sees me sink four or six or eight inches with every step I take, I'm drenched in sweat by the time I'm done, and I'm pretty sure I've gotten quite the workout.

And that's cool.

So as long as we have the snow, I guess I'll keep myself entertained. I'd rather not have the snow; I'd rather be drenched in sweat and get my workout by, say, kicking a soccer ball around for an hour and a half. But as long as the snow has decided to return (for this year, at least) I might as well put it to good use.

Now go out and enjoy your Twos-day!!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 2/21

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

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

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

Explains a lot, doesn't it?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 2/17

I get to sleep late tomorrow!

Actually, I doubt I'll sleep much past the time I normally wake up, but if I wanted to, I could. For the first time in a while I'm actually taking a day off, giving myself a nice long weekend in the process. I originally took it off to take care of some personal business, but because of the way the world is these days now it's just a "regular” day off.

Not that I'm complaining about that in any way, shape, or form.

Of course, when I originally decided the tomorrow was to be the day I took off I, for some bizarre reason, didn't realize it's sled dog weekend here in Marquette. Maybe that's because they didn't hold the UP 200 last year, or maybe it's just because I'm an idiot (after all, I didn't know there's a company called Starship Enterprises in Vulcan, did I?) but things will be hopping around here. I don't think that'll affect whatever plans I come up with, but I guess it's something I do need to keep in mind.

Assuming, of course, my mind is actually working tomorrow.

Anyway, this, I guess, is a roundabout way of way of saying there won't be one of these tomorrow. I will be back Monday, which is a holiday for some people but because I work in radio isn't one for me. So on that note, have yourself a fantastic weekend. If you're here in Marquette enjoy the sled dog races if you so choose, or just stay warm, if you so choose.

See you again on Monday!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 2/15

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

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

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

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

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

Hint, hint.

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

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

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

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 2/15

Given my past (and, if we're being honest, my present) you think I would have known this.

I don't know how this escaped me, and if I hadn't been reading an article in a newspaper (you remember what those are, right?) I still would be in the dark about this. But here it is—there's a town in the U.P. named Vulcan, not after a legendary science fiction planet but instead after a mine that the town was built around. But it doesn't matter where it got the name. What's important to know is that there's a town in the U.P. named Vulcan, and in the town of Vulcan there's a business that calls itself Starship Enterprises.

Greatest. Business. Name. Ever.

First of all, kudos to the Trekker who named the business, which deals with things like wood products, Starship Enterprises. It takes a special person to put the town name and the business name together, and I bow down to shower them with as much praise as humanly possible.

I really do.

But second of all, how did I not know about this? It seems like somehow, sometime, it should have come to my attention. Admittedly, Vulcan's about a hundred miles away from Marquette and, admittedly, it's been a while since I've even been in the neighborhood. But usually, when there's something strange, quirky, or just plain awesome in the UP I do find out about it eventually. So why didn't I know about Starship Enterprises of Vulcan? The nine year old me would have exploded in joy, just as the modern day me exploded with joy when I read about it in the newspaper.

Yet did I know? Nope. I must be slipping in my old age.

So the next time you find yourself in need of something like wood flooring, you really need to beam yourself to Vulcan. Apparently there's a company there that will help you get up to warp speed. And, if you're lucky, by the time you're done you'll be able to live long and prosper.

And with that, I'll show myself out the door.

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 2/14

Those are three words I hope never to hear again.

Saturday morning I was finishing up running. It was a very hard run; there was wet, greasy snow everywhere, which meant the footing was treacherous. And despite that I spent the morning charging up & down the hills of downtown Marquette, skidding every so often but not once falling, proving that I still haven't really learned my lesson when it comes to running in the winter.

But that doesn't really have much to do with the topic at hand.

As I was finishing I walked around the block where we live to cool down, even though the wind chill was a thousand or so below zero. Right near Third Street Bagel I passed a college aged young man, and they greeted me with those words that shocked me to my core.

And just what were those words? “Good morning, sir”.

I was shocked when he said that. I literally stopped in my tracks for a second; my first impulse was to run back down the hill, grab him, and say something along the lines of “Dude, ‘Good morning’ is fine, but ‘Sir’? Are you out of your mind?” However, I didn’t want to spend the next part of my day in jail, so I just stood there for a second in a state of disbelief, and then made my way back home, where my good post-run mood was just a little less good.

Of course, there was no reason for my mood to sag like that other than me being me. The college kid didn’t mean any harm; in fact, his parents should be proud of the fact that he’s polite to people he’s never met. It’s just that, well, I’M NOT A SIR. A “sir” is someone important or someone distinguished. I’m neither. You say “sir” to someone who’s your elder.

And therein lies the problem.

I guess to a college student I could be considered a “sir”. I certainly don’t feel like one and I never believed I looked like one, but to that college student at that moment, I was “sir”. I certainly didn’t enjoy hearing it and I certainly don’t have to like it, but to that young man, that’s what I was. A “sir”. And I suppose it could have been worse. Instead of being a young man it could've been a young woman referring to me as “sir”. If my reaction to a guy calling me “sir” was this bad, just imagine what it would’ve been like if a young woman referred to me that way. I mean, instead of writing this, you’d probably wonder where I was the next few days, because I’d be hiding in my apartment, under as many covers as I could find, crying my eyes out.

Thankfully, though, that didn’t happen. Or at least it hasn’t happened yet. But the next time I disappear unexpectedly, you know where to look.

I think I’ll be okay. After all, the shock was in hearing those words for the first time. Sadly, I have the feeling that I will be hearing them again, if not tomorrow, then sometime in the future. Hopefully, I’ll handle it better than I did Saturday morning. After all, I ain’t getting any younger, and to more and more people, I’ll be someone who they would consider a “sir”.

Sigh...

(jim@wmqt.com), in need of some serious help

Friday, 2/11

Today's a normal day. That will be very, very weird.

I usually have this Friday routine. I wake up, eat breakfast, jump in the shower, put on adult clothes, and go shoot a TV show. I've done it 17 or 18 of the last 20 Fridays, and it's a routine that I actually kind of like.

But not this Friday. In fact, not any Fridays for the next seven or so months.

I am, of course, talking about the routine I have for the Friday shoots of “High School Bowl”, the show we wrapped for the season last week. Because I was away from my usual job and usual responsibilities for those couple of hours, I always felt like I was playing hooky from reality one morning a week. Now, though, Fridays are just like every other day of the work week.

Oh well.

It's not like I don't have stuff to do with those few hours; in one way, you COULD say this is my dream of having a 25^th hour of the day come true. So I'm not worried about filling the time. It's just...well, you know how a lot of people enjoy having an hour or two to themselves just to decompress, and to chill? Well, believe it or not, that's what those Fridays were like for me. Yeah; I know. Hosting a TV show is probably not most people's idea of decompressing or chilling out. But because I enjoy it, and because it's so far out of the norm, it DID allow me to decompress...or at least decompress from the rest of my world.

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

So until late September, I'll have to find a different way to use my Friday mornings to decompress. For instance, next Friday I'm taking the whole day off, so I guess that counts as a “decompress”, right? But for today, I'll be skipping down the path usually untrod, and seeing what it's like to work at just one job and one task for an entire Friday.

Wish me luck.

            ****

Finally, should you want to know about every single radio station in Marquette (and that's a LOT of them) check out this week's "Word on the Street".  Or, if you want just the good part, skip to the end.  They saved the best for last.

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 2/10

Well, what do you know. It actually worked.

If you read this on Tuesday, you may recall how I've been having a problem typing because of the fact that there is a huge crack on the tip of my right index finger, one of the four fingers I actually use while typing. After mentioning it on the air, I got a phone call from listener Jim in Ishpeming, who's a retired nurse. He said in the past that when they've had the same problem they've stuck a little dollop of superglue on the cracked skin, and it's acted as a little cap to allow regular use of the finger.

And you know what? He's right!

I never would have thought of putting superglue on my finger, but it's amazing how it works. I can pound on a computer key and not feel anything, the small amount of glue doesn't seem to make my fingers go where I don't want them to go, and I don't spend hours obsessing whether or not the crack will be getting bigger.

Thanks for the advice, Jim. Now I'm just left to wonder how long the superglue will stick to my finger. It IS superglue, after all, and its one job is to stick to things.   I guess we'll just have to see how THAT turns out!

****

On another note, my co-workers are back. Not actual co-workers, of course, as I'm coming up on almost two years of being the only human in the building. But if you recall, last summer a couple of birds wormed their way into the awning in front the station and set up camp. The owners of the building came by, sealed up the opening they made, and they were on their way.

But now they're back.

A couple of weeks ago one of the pieces of wood the owners used to cover up the hole in the awning blew out and fell on the sidewalk. No more than two days later, the birds were back exploring their old office space, and in the last week or so they've made the move permanent. Every time I'm coming into the station or sitting in the front lobby working I hear at least two birds walking around in the awning and/or coo-ing to their hearts content.

So I have co-workers again.

If nothing else, I have to give the birds credit for the dedication. Even after they were sealed out last summer they would fly up to the awning to see if they could get in, and during the months they couldn't they kept trying day in and day out. I don't know what it is with that awning and those particular birds, but there sure is some kind of magnetic draw between them. So when they could actually make it in a few weeks ago they must have been thrilled beyond belief.

Assuming of course, birds can be thrilled beyond belief.

The owners of the building have been informed of their new tenants; I have no idea if they'll be around soon or not to evict them. But for the time being, I'm not working alone.

And I can hear the daily flapping of wings to prove it.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 2/9

I know dreams don't literally come true. But I sure wish this one could.

As I've gotten older, the dreams I have at night have become less vivid. No longer about falling from the sky or walking down the street with no clothes on, my dreams now tend to be a bit more prosaic,.a bit more down-to-Earth. Because of that, I don't really seem to remember them when I wake up as much as I used to.

And that's why the dream I had two nights ago really stuck with me.

The dream wasn't about anything weird or strange; it didn't involve zombies, dragons, Jennifer Aniston, or me heading down the street wondering where I had left my underwear. It was another in a series of prosaic, boring dreams. No one died, no one was in danger; my subconscious wasn't trying to tell me anything. It was just a dream. But it was an amazing dream, at least for me. It's a dream that has stuck with me the past two days, and a dream that makes me wish dreams really could come true. Some of you may laugh when I tell you about the dream, while others will think it makes perfect sense.

What was the dream that's stuck with me the past few days? Well, I had a dream that I was wandering around downtown Marquette, taking pictures with my 20 megapixel Nikon DSLR camera, which is something that I actually do all the time.

But in my dream, I was doing it in 1935.

That's right—the dream that I had involved me having a piece of modern technology in my hand and using it to document buildings and people that were around decades before I was even born. Instead of looking at the black & white pictures that exist from that era, I was able to capture structures that burned or were torn down in vivid, stunning, high definition color. In my dream, I saw the old Marquette in a way that I'd never actually be able to in real life. In my dream, I was able to walk down Washington & Front Streets and take pictures of the Opera House, of the Union National Bank building, of the Nester Block, of all the bars that existed on the 300 block of South Front, and all the old hotels that existed around the train station.

And all the pictures I was taking of those amazing old buildings were in color.

I know; I'm a dork. You won't get any argument from me. The fact that, in my dream, I was able to walk down the street and know exactly where each old building was is a testament to my dorkiness. But just to have the chance to break multiple rules of physics and to go back in time, even if it was in a dream, was amazing. I've poured over hundreds of historic photographs in a decade-plus of doing programs for the History Center, but those were all black & white. In the back of my mind, I always wondered what those buildings looked like in person, what they looked like to those who passed by them on a daily basis.

And thanks to my dream, I now know. Kind of. I mean, whatever images popped into my brain while I was sleeping weren't true. They weren't real. They were just stylized images, put together with whatever clouding and shading my unconscious mind generated. But still...they were in color. Unlike every other time in my life when I've glanced at those long-gone buildings, they looked like living, vital structures, and not just mono-chromed images from decades past. I realize no one else would probably ever have a dream like that, but I still think that it was an amazing way to spend part of an REM cycle.

It's just too bad a dream like that can never come true.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 2/8

Oh, look—I've injured myself again.

Don't worry; it's nothing serious. But you know how, during winter, your skin can get really, really dry, sometimes to the point of cracking open? Yeah, that's how I injured myself. Lucky me.

8-)

Last night I cracked open the tip of my right index finger while trying to open a can of beans...proving, apparently, that fiber isn't quite as good for you as they say. And that you probably shouldn't use a dull, manual can opener when opening the beans. It's a small crack on a very dry finger, so it doesn't seem to hurt at all. But because of where it's placed—right on the tip of the finger—it has, ever since, been a pain in my...finger.

For instance, I'm trying to type this using my patented four-finger typing method. Unfortunately, my patented four-finger typing method counts the index finger on my right hand as one of the four fingers, perhaps the most important, in fact, which means that every time I try to use said finger I have to use the side of the finger, lest I further damage said crack. That means I've been hitting a WHOLE lots of computer keys I don't intend to hit.

So if you happen to see words like “stup[of” and “finget” in this blog, just know that it's because I'm only at 75% capability as far as typing goes. Yay!

The other problem I'm having is because I'm weird. Like you, I use a lot of touchscreens, especially at work, and so I'm now having to trigger the touchscreen with my right middle finger instead of my right index finger. Now, while your middle finger DOES have its uses (he says snarkily) I can't quite get into the groove of using it to trigger the next song or the next commercial. It just doesn't seem natural (at least to me) and every so often I find myself hitting something I don't mean to.

Sigh.

I've been putting lotion on the tip of my finger in hopes that the skin softens up and heals. That SHOULD work, unless, of course, I try to open another can of beans with a dull manual can opener. Then all bets are off. But what help more than anything would be for winter to leave soon so we don't have to worry about our skin drying out and cracking our fingers to begin with.

So if I could get any help in that regard, I'd appreciate it.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 2/7

He's been a running gag for three shows now.

I didn't mean for it to turn out that way, but in the last three big shows that Jack Deo and I have put together for the History Center there's been a running thread. In “North vs. South Marquette” we talked about someone who grew up in south Marquette, and who as a kid had a tendency to injure himself (even showing a picture of him injured as an adult). In “Skiing, Skating, & Slapshots”, we told the story of how he broke his arm ski jumping at the old Chipmunk Bluff. Then a couple of weeks ago during “Cops & Robbers” we told the story of what happened to him while in the hospital for that broken arm and how he was turned into an 8-year old wing-man for a drunken sailor who wanted to pick up women.

My dad had an interesting childhood, didn't he?

We often joke that with a childhood like that it's amazing that my dad lived long enough to have kids of his own, but I think my siblings and I would agree that it's cool he did. I mean, not only for the fact that it means we're here, but also for the fact that we got to grow up with a fun-loving (and just plain loving), hard-working role model. He set a great example for us growing up, and even now he's doing so.

I mean, think of this—my dad technically qualifies as “old”. (Sorry, dad, but sometimes the truth hurts). But that doesn't stop him from going non-stop as he winters in Florida, working on projects, going on bike rides, and imparting his knowledge and techniques in a particular sport as he teaches a class to what my mom jokingly refers to as his “pickleball harem”. And, at least this year, he really hasn't injured himself too much, so maybe—just maybe—you actually CAN teach an old dog new tricks.

Who knew?

So happy birthday, dad, and just think of it. You've gone from this--

To this--

Without losing a limb, an eye, or most of your sanity. Keep it up, and that way all we have to do is figure out how to get you worked into the NEXT big show that Jack & I do!

Love,

(jim@wmqt.com)

Friday, 2/4

I can't believe we made it.

I have to keep this somewhat short, because I'm on my way to tape three episodes of “High School Bowl”; in fact, they will be the three final episodes of the year—the semi-finals and the finals.

That's right—we made it through the whole season. And these days, that's actually saying something.

After missing an entire year I don't think any of us thought we'd make it through season 43 of the show unscathed, and if I'm being honest we haven't. Two teams did drop out as the season progressed, and a large chunk of the teams we did have join us were missing a player or two because of positive Covid tests. But we adjusted on the fly, and now we about to have everything in the can, so even if there was some sort of strange thing that shuts everything down we'll have the entire season ready to go.

And once again, if I'm being honest, that's actually a comforting thought.

The shows we're taping today won't actually air until mid April; I think the 11^th of our scheduled 20-week run pops up on screens tomorrow night, so we still have a lot left for everyone to see. All I will say is that anyone who watches has a lot to look forward to, including some amazingly close games, some very bad jokes, and a surprise or two.

As to who ultimately walks away with the title this season? I, once again in total honesty, have no idea. That's one of the ways in which this season has been so unique. Normally, as the season wears on, you get a pretty good idea of who might ultimately win. But this year? Well, I'm just as curious as everyone else to see who walks away with it all in a couple of hours.

But more than anything, I'm just happy that we got to this point. As with everything the past 23 months, we've been doing it in strange circumstances and by the seat of our pants. That's why it's so nice to know that, somehow, through the hard work of everyone at WNMU-TV, we pulled it off.

Have a great weekend!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 2/3

I wonder how long it would take.

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

I wonder how long it would take.

Don't worry. I'm not quitting my job. I'm not withdrawing from the world to go hide in a cave somewhere, no matter how much we've all been tempted to do so in the past two years. But I literally woke up in the middle of the night last night with that particular thought in my head. If I didn't have anyone to hang out with or anyplace that I had to be at certain, specific times, how long would it take for me to get bored by the whole situation? And what kept me awake was the thought that it might actually take me a while to get bored.

Go figure.

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

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

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

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

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

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 2/2

Do people even dig snow tunnels any more?

While I was out running yesterday (and, thankfully, not getting any more frostbite on my left earlobe) I noticed that the city of Marquette hasn't been cutting down the snowbanks between the sidewalks and streets like they usually do. I can't say I blame them, especially with the way everyone seemingly just shovels it all back into the street after the plows deposit it into their driveways. So the banks have started to build up, which normally wouldn't be that big of a deal. But the size of the banks stood out because, for the first time in a long time, they seem to be big enough to tunnel into.

Now, when I was a kid (back in the 1800s) it seems like we had more snow, and back then the city never cut down snowbanks. So when enough snow had built up, we'd dig a tunnel into them, sometimes making a tunnel long enough to go from driveway to driveway. We'd then scamper in and out, defend it from snowball attacks, and invariably lose at least one mitten in the tunnel, where it remained until its soggy carcass was found after the spring melt.

I know; it's amazing we weren't killed in a cave-ins or by an errant snow plow. But that's what kids did back then—we did things we'd consider to be too dangerous or stupid for our own children (if we had any) to do. But we did those things, and and we survived.

And that's what got me to wondering if people still dig snow tunnels. I mean, not only are the opportunities limited by the lack of snow the past few years and by the city cutting usually down the snowbanks (and as someone who walks a lot during the winter, I'm glad they do, because it makes it easier for me to see cars and vice versa), but also by the fact that times have changed. Kids don't do what kids used to do.

Don't get me wrong; that's not necessarily a bad thing. I mean, kids used to leave school at age 10 to go work in factories, so I'm glad things like that have changed. I'm not one of those people who keeps saying “back in my day” or complains that things don't stay the same decade after decade. I realize that times change and the way people live change. That's just a fact of life, and to rail against that particular machine is just a waste of time and breath.

But still, every so often I wonder if a kid of today would get a kick out of the (in hindsight) stupid things I did (and enjoyed) when I was young. I mean, I turned out somewhat okay even having done those things. Would kids today have the same blast crawling through a snow tunnel, or would they just look at me for suggesting it like I'm a dinosaur and go back to scrolling You Tube?

Sadly, I have the feeling I know the answer to that.

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 2/1

Even for someone with years of experience in injuring myself, this was a new one.

First of all, I'm fine. I'm not hurt at all. It wasn't like Christmas Day when I went out running, tried to kick what I thought was a loose ice chunk only to find out it was frozen solid to the ground, and ended up sprawled out on the very same ground. Nope, I'm fine. Although I still DO have a rather nasty scar from that Christmas day incident on my right elbow.

But that's neither here nor there.

So...just how did I injure myself this time, you ask? Well, I answer, it has to do with the very bitter cold we've had the past week. Sure, today it could hit 40 here in Marquette, but for most of the past week it's just been in the single digits with strong breezes, giving us wind chills of 20 or more below. That doesn't stop me from doing things like going out and running, although it does cause me to put 22 different pieces of clothing on (and chore in and of itself). Anyway, a couple of days ago, a day after running in those conditions, I noticed my left earlobe was a little sore. By the next day it was a little puffy. And by yesterday, when I put my fingers on it, I noticed a bunch of dead skin on the earlobe, much like one has with a peeling sunburn.

And since there hasn't been any sun around here I'm guessing that, for the first time ever, I've suffered either frostbite or windburn, but only on my left earlobe.

Am I good or what?

A couple of thoughts are running through my head, first and foremost that, apparently, 22 pieces of clothing while running last week may not have been enough. But secondly, and perhaps most importantly, how the heck does one get windburn or frostbite on one earlobe and not the other. The hat I wear while running covers both earlobes equally, so why the left one but not the right? The nearest I can figure is that, for some reason, the hat hiked up over my left ear a little bit, exposing the earlobe to those bitterly cold winds, but if that were the case, don't you think I'd notice it?

I mean, if it were cold enough to give me either windburn or frostbite, you'd think that even my little pea-brain would have noticed it. But apparently not. I know I say this enough for it to have become a running joke, but sometimes I amaze even myself.

And not in a good way.

Thankfully, the skin on my left earlobe has finished peeling off, leaving it slightly pink but otherwise in good shape, much like what happens after you get a sunburn. And, just as thankfully, there's nothing like the bitter cold we had last week in the immediate weather forecast.

After all, my right earlobe might be a little jealous, and want to get in on the action itself.

(jim@wmqt.com)