Thursday, 3/31

Okay. This is just getting to be ridiculous.

As I alluded to yesterday while talking about barf, we're in the middle of another one of those bizarre weather episodes with which we've been graced this year. Following an ice storm and then a rain storm yesterday, we're now in the midst of a snow storm, with anywhere from two inches to a foot falling over this place by tomorrow.

Mother Nature, it's the end of March. Can we please stop this torture some time soon?

8-)

Seriously; this has just been a weird few weeks around here. Yesterday was the second ice storm in as many weeks that canceled schools, and after almost all of our snow melted some areas are getting a LOT of it back. So in order to, perhaps, nudge Mother Nature, to give her a gentle reminder that we do deserve some nice weather, here are some pictures I took from just a few months ago.

Hopefully, I'll be able to take them again soon. But until I can, Mother Nature, remember when you gave us green?

You have us beach weather?

You gave us bike weather?

You gave us things growing from trees?

You gave us opportunities to see things you can't see in the snow?

And you just gave us a color OTHER that white?

You know, if you could do that again, and do it again soon, that would be cool. That would be really, really cool.

Thanks in advance,

Your pal,

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 3/30

Oh, joy. The barf is back.

Living where I live and walking where I walk I will often see the aftermath of what happens each evening at downtown Marquette bars & clubs. You can go up any of the hills leading out of Washington Street, and by the time you get to Ridge Street—two blocks up the hill—you will see where someone tried to walk up the hill but lost the contents of their stomach before they made it.

It's one of the great things that makes Marquette Marquette, I guess.

During the pandemic, when bars & clubs were shut down, the absence of barf on the sidewalk was quite striking. And even in the year or so since they've reopened, it does seem like I've come across not quite as much vomit as I normally did. I don't know if that's because fewer people were at the bars or if the city was cleaning it up better, but I didn't see as many piles of puke as usual.

And then I walked to work yesterday.

At the northwest corner of Front & Ridge—the corner right in front of the Federated Women's Clubhouse—was perhaps the biggest spew I have seen in all the decades of coming across vomit spews. It was at least four feet on every side, and looked as it someone had eaten at least a gallon of honey mustard colored oatmeal, and then lost it.  In fact, it was so impressive I almost took a picture of it to include in here, but decided that it was bad enough I had to see it, so why make you go through the same agony?

That's okay. You can thank me later..

The bad thing about it all is that there may be a sign of the barf on the corner for months to come. Even if the bugs (or a random dog) manage to eat it all, or even if the freezing rain we're being subjected to this morning or snow we're supposed to get tomorrow doesn't wash it away, the stomach acid from spews that big will often etch itself into the sidewalk and remain there for months or years. In fact, you can walk along the sidewalks I tread on a daily basis and see black spots bigger than a Frisbee everywhere, signs that someone else tried to make the walk up the hill in years past and had to eject the contents of their stomach in order to do it.

So, if you're in that area, make sure you avoid that particular corner for a day or two. Or, if you need to be at the corner, just don't look down. While the barf may be gone by the time you get there (although it was still there when I went running this morning, 24 hours after first seeing it) I can almost guarantee there will still be signs of it around for a long time no matter where you look.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 3/29

I'm assuming they thought I was okay.

For whatever reason, I haven't been officially told that they were even considering this, but one of the items on the agenda of the Marquette City Commission last night was to approve several new members of several city boards & advisory committees. One of those (potential) appointments was to the city's Harbor Advisory Committee, and that would be the appointment of, uhm, me.

Assuming, of course,members of the City Commission just didn't laugh so hard when they saw my name on the list that they forgot to actually vote on the matter.

Because, you know, I could actually see that happening.

How did this all come about? Well, as you may recall, at the beginning of the month my pal Jack & I did our “What's Up, Dock” show at the Ore Dock as a fundraiser for the Marquette Maritime Museum. Out of that show came a couple of things, one of which was an inquiry from a couple of community members wondering if I'd be willing to serve on the committee, which advises the City Commission on everything from marina use to lakeshore development. Almost everyone who's ever served on the committee has had a background in either boating or urban planning, and they figured that it might be nice to have someone with an historical perspective join them.

And since, thanks to “What's Up, Dock”, I seem to have this savant-like ability to name off every single dock, where it was, and when it was built, I guess that means I fit that qualification.

I filled out the application to serve, as asked, and heard nothing more about it until I was looking at a copy of the agenda of last night's meeting for a news story I was writing. There, in black & white (or, more precisely, gray & white, because it was a PDF copy) was the agenda item regarding the appointments of several people to different boards. It actually took me a second to realize what was going on, considering that when I filled out the form I had to use my “real” name and had no idea just who the heck the “James Koski” is who was mentioned on the agenda.

But I'm thinking that was probably me.

Hopefully, someone will actually let me know—officially--what's going on, and I can then start serving on the committee, hopefully providing good advice to the people in charge of Marquette's most valuable community resource—its lake shore.

It's a big step. I've never done anything like this before, and look forward to seeing what goes on and if there's anyway I can help. So here's my promise--I'll try not to screw it up.

Honest.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 3/28

I'm gonna cheat a little today if you don't mind.

You don't mind, do you? Thanks.

Before I head to work this morning I have to go and take care of the annual oil change for Loraine's car in just a little bit. Yes, it's an annual oil change...she's had it for three years and it has less than 7,000 miles on it. But that requires me to actually drive it somewhere and then wait while said oil gets changed. That, of course, means I don't have a lot of time to write one of these, so instead I'll leave you with the latest edition of “Pieces of the Past”.

But it has stories about the stupid things people do while drunk, so already it promises to be more entertaining than 90% of these are in the first place. Hope you enjoy it, and I promise—I'll actually write something with more than a paragraph or two tomorrow. And it's some rather interesting personal news, as well.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Friday, 3/25

I don't know why I'm doing it again. But maybe one of these days I'll figure it out.

I've written in here many times before about this weird habit I have, the habit of fixating on a song. Every so often I hear a song that does something to my brain, and I have to listen to it over and over and over. I don't know where that comes from. I don't know if the problem affects people other than me. And, most importantly, I don't know how to stop it when my “condition” flares up.

You know, like it has this week.

The song this time around is a smooth little piece of pop by Sabrina Carpenter (fun fact—she's apparently the “blonde girl” mentioned in Olivia Rodrigo's “Drivers License”, if you're into following the gossip about ex-Disney Channel stars) called “Fast Times”. It has a great groove, an amazing string (or synthesized string) section, and, like songs ranging from “Superstition” to Monsta X's “You Problem” it has taken up waaaaay too much space in my brain and won't leave.

You know, some days it's really not easy being me.

(And that, by the way, is a joke. I know how lucky I've been in my life, especially when you consider the state of parts of the world these days).

Anyway, I checked my iTunes program, and it shows I've listened to the song 84 times since buying it. Now, you may not think that's a big deal, but I bought the song, uhm, Tuesday. I'm writing this before going to work on Friday. That means since buying it I have listened to the song, on average, 28 times a day. At three minutes and thirty one seconds that means I have used up, uhm, a whole lot of brain time that could have been used doing something else. I mean, sure, I was listening to it while doing other things, but think what I could have accomplished if I devoted that brain time to a worthwhile project.

Heck, I could have probably solved the problem of cold fusion. Or world hunger. Or, at the very least, why I was wondering about Buddy Ebsen's head yesterday.

Oh well; I guess having that particular problem is one of those things that makes me uniquely “me”. I'm not saying it's necessarily a good thing, but it IS a thing. So in the spirit of sharing what makes me me, here. You can get the song stuck in YOUR head, too. Just be aware this particular video is not safe for work, if you know what I mean.

Have a great weekend. I know what I'll be devoting a little of my brain time to.

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 3/24

I saw Buddy Ebsen's head floating over my bedroom dresser last night.

Actually, I didn't see his head floating over my dresser, or anywhere else in my apartment. I haven't thought of the late star of “Beverly Hillbillies” & “Barnaby Jones” for years now, and I personally don't believe that his disembodied head would be paying me a visit. After all, I don't have a cee-ment pond or an unsolved mystery anywhere.

However, I was going through a stack of papers yesterday in my lame attempt at doing a little much-needed ice storm day spring cleaning in my office, and on one piece of note paper was written the line that started this blog. I have no idea why it was on the paper; I certainly have no recollection of actually writing it, but there it was, in my handwriting, describing the floating head of Jed Clampett.

Now I just need to figure out what kind of break of reality led me to writing it.

Seriously; I have no idea why I would've written that line down. If I was prone to drinking a lot or taking mind-altering chemicals...then, it might've made sense. But I do neither. I'm pretty much as straight and narrow as you can get, at least as far as that's concerned. But then, I apparently don't NEED a lot of alcohol or a handful of mind-altering chemicals to enter another mental dimension; no, I just need to write something on a piece of paper, shove it under a stack of other pieces of paper, and then come across it years later, wondering just why in the heck Buddy Ebsen's head is supposed to be floating over my dresser.

Some days, I amaze even myself.

I'm now almost a little apprehensive about continuing my spring cleaning. Do I really want to know what else I'll come across? Have I written even stranger things in the past, stranger things that I've now forgotten even writing? Will I stumble upon a string of numbers, and then start to wonder what they mean? Is it a phone number? A locker combination? The password to an online bank account worth millions of dollars? The key to the secrets of the universe? I wouldn't be surprised by anything. After all, I wrote a line about Buddy Ebsen for no reason and then entirely forgot about it.

Who know what else is lurking in those stacks of paper.

So if you ever have the chance to stop by the station and wander back to my office, don't be surprised if you see stacks of paper everywhere that I'm afraid to look at. It's not my fault.

It's Buddy Ebsen's.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 3/23

It's taking a little bit to get used to them.

Monday I had new lenses put in my glasses for the first time in three years. My annual eye appointment two years ago was canceled because, you know, the world was canceled, and then I didn't get to it last year. So a few weeks ago I trudged out to get my vision checked out, and found that I needed a slightly different prescription for one of my eyes. Hence, the new lenses.

It usually takes me a day or so to get used to the new lenses, but here we are, almost 48 hours later, and things are still kinda...funky. When I look at some things I get an almost 3-D like effect (which, admittedly, is kinda cool), while I'm looking at things really close to me it's almost better to take my glasses off and look at whatever it is. Things are better than they were the first time I put them on, had that super 3-D effect on everything, and then had to ride my bike back to work, so I'm sure I'll eventually get used to them. But for now?

It's strange. Let's leave it at that.

****

Speaking of riding bikes (and yes, the bike paths in Marquette were clear Monday so I rode my bike instead of driving), the people who work at my optometrist's office still remember my visit from 2013 and still comment upon it every time I pop in. That visit occurred several days after my infamous bike accident—you remember, the one where I lost a tooth, had cuts everywhere on my body, and had four stitches near my right eye—and it apparently left quite the impression on them.

Especially, as it turns out, when I ride my bike to their office, like yesterday, and get new lenses. Their comment each and every time, with a smile--

“Are you SURE you want to do that?”

It's nice to know that some people care about a klutz and his health.

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 3/22

The book almost seems too strange not to read.

Loraine was glancing through one of those weird book catalogs that we get on a seemingly daily basis, and one of the titles popped out at her. It's a book that's over 100 years old, and was described in the catalog as a “cautionary tale for children aged 8 and up with an ironic sense of humor”. I'm certainly a child aged 8 and up, and I certainly have quite the ironic sense of humor, so why shouldn't the book appeal to me? Well, maybe it's the title--

“Jim, Who Ran Away From His Nurse And Was Eaten By A Lion”.

Seriously; that's the title of the book. It was written by Hilaire Belloc in 1907, and was supposed to teach children the importance of listening to their elders. However, Mr. Belloc didn't take his assignment totally seriously, which is why the book is recommended for kids with an ironic sense of humor (you know; kids that grow up to be like me). Apparently, young Jim does NOT follow the advice he's given, wanders into a zoo, and (spoiler alert) does get eaten by a lion, with only his head remaining as evidence.

Yup. They had some really good methods of teaching kids lessons back then, didn't they? And is it just me, or does that book sounds like a movie Tim Burton's been waiting his entire life to direct?

Like I said, I have no idea if I'll buy the book and check it out. It's a mere 22 pages, most of them filled with Edward Gorey-inspired drawings, and I'm sure it would be a fun & quick read. But still...

It's a about a boy named Jim who sometime has trouble with authority and gets eaten by a lion because of it. You don't think THAT would cause nightmares???????

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com), waiting (with bated breath) to see if winter returns to us today and tomorrow after teasing us with a week of Spring-like conditions...)

Monday, 3/21

One of these days when I take a day off I'll take an actual day off. Really, I will.

First of all, I did enjoy my three day weekend. Sure, it was too short, but 1) that always happens and b) I have no one to blame but myself. You see, instead of just sitting around and doing nothing on Friday—my extra day off—I spent almost the entire day walking (and running) around Marquette shooting video and interviews for “Pieces of the Past” with my trusty production assistant, Jaxon.

But in my defense, I did get to sleep, uhm, ten minutes later than I usually do Friday. So that's almost like taking the day off, right?

I know; I know. All I ever do is complain about not having any time to relax, so what do I go out and do on the one day I'm supposed to take time to relax? Yup.

That's a really winning formula I've stumbled upon here, isn't it?

At least I was able to gather material for parts of six (or seven) different video segments, which means that I've gathered most (but not all) of the footage I'll need to put together all the segments I plan on doing this time around. And before you point this out...yes, I know that I didn't need to do another series of “Pieces”. We've already had this discussion. I told you I was an idiot for even considering it in the first place.

And for one of the few times in my life, I was right.

8-)

On that note, I'll leave you with one of the segments that I put together before I spent a day of relaxation not relaxing. I like telling stories...what can I say?

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 3/17

I did it once. That should be enough, right?

Happy St. Patrick's Day, the one day when everyone is Irish and doesn't have to depend upon a crazy drunk great-great-great grandfather to actually BE Irish (and, if you haven't read yesterday's blog yet, do so and that line will make much, much more sense). There are several traditional things that one does on a day like today, such as eat corned beef, wear a strange hat, and drink green beer.

I did that once. I don't think I need to do it again.

Of course, I'm not that much of a beer drinker, anyway. But there was one year—and I don't remember when, but I know it was a while ago—I actually went to a bar with a friend to celebrate the holiday and ended up drinking a green beer. Well, more specifically, I ended up drinking a glass of green food coloring with a little beer in it. I'm basing that on how green my tongue turned and how long it took to change back to its normal tongue-colored color. If I remember correctly (and I may have blocked the exact length due to, you know, trauma) my tongue was green for over three days.

Yup. Three days with a green tongue. Because, you know, I don't draw enough attention to myself as it is.

So that's why, even through I'm a little over 12% Irish, I don't celebrate St. Patrick's Day the way a true Irish person would. I guess I just enjoy having a tongue-colored tongue just a little too much.

******

I'm off tomorrow to take a three-day weekend (and do stuff for one of my other gigs), so see you Monday. If you ARE celebrating St. Patrick's Day, stay safe. And if not, make sure you have enough bail money on you.

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 3/16

I guess I can rest a little easier on at least one account.

Last week I wrote about how a very small percentage of my DNA may have come from people who could have been Ukrainian. Or, at the very least, from somewhere near the what is now the border between Poland and Ukraine. Well, after a little checking I can now say that I probably don't have a long-long relative currently running for their life.

It's a tragedy that two and a half million (and counting) other people are, and it's getting a little sad just sitting back and watching it happen, knowing there's not much one can do. But that's a story for another day.

As I had mentioned last week a woman married into the Schwemin family right before they emigrated from Prussia to Marquette Township in the late 1800s. That woman accounts for the very small percentage of Polish/Eastern European DNA I carry around, and if you remember the blue section of this map--

There was a slight chance she came from what may be modern day Ukraine. Well, thanks to Loraine, who has developed into quite the genealogical researcher, I now know that my great-great-great grandmother came from a town in what is now central Poland. She moved north with her family into what is now Stobno, Poland, but which was then part of Germanic Prussia. She met my great-great-great grandfather, they had a bunch of kids, and one of those kids led the exodus to the US.

That doesn't mean that somewhere among the vast mass of refugees I don't have a ninth cousin, but at least there are none that I can find so far.

Loraine's also found out interesting things about a few of my other ancestors, as well. The funniest may be, considering what tomorrow is, the best. Apparently, I had another great-great-great-something in Ireland who had a little problem with the local police. Well, actually, a big problem, in that records from the 1800s show that he had a habit getting arrested, two or three times a week, for public intoxication. After spending waaaaay too much time in jail he was given a choice—stop drinking or leave the country. And, given the fact that I'm here in the US today, you can guess which choice he made.

You know how everyone has a crazy uncle in their family? Well, my crazy uncle (or crazy great great great grandfather or whatever) started a chain of events that ended up with me actually being here these days. So, crazy Irish uncle or grandfather or whoever got kicked out of the old country...

Thanks???

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 3/15

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

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

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

Those gloves just don’t want to leave me!

And I don’t want them to leave me, either. I mean, like I said, they’re good gloves, and they’ve been protecting my hands during this very weird winter. Yet I accept all blame for the torture I’ve put them through; mostly, it’s because I’ll stick them half hanging out of a jacket pocket, which causes them to fall out in a grocery store, backstage at Kaufman, while I’m walking home, or in someone’s office. It’s not the fault of the gloves; as with many things, it’s my own stupidity that causes me to almost lose them.

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

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

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

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 3/14

And happy Pi Day, a perfect day to discuss this particular topic--

Just what's wrong with you people???

And by “you people”, I don't mean the fine, intelligent, and tasteful group that reads this on a daily basis and goes about leading upstanding lives. Nope; I'm instead referring to the people who, in a survey by the American Pie Council, left blueberry pie off the list of the five favorite pie flavors in this fine country of ours.

Once again, what's wrong with you people????

I'm serious here. One of my “Weird Facts” on the air last week was how the American Pie Council & Crisco did a survey that found out 92% of Americans enjoy eating pie. That in itself is not cause for any concern, unless you're like me and wonder why 8 percent of the country doesn't like pie (that, though, may be a pondering for another day). The survey then went on to survey the five favorite pies of Americans. To perhaps no one's surprise apple topped the list followed by another solid choice, pumpkin.

It's then that it started to get weird.

Pies number three through five were, in order, pecan, sweet potato, and chocolate. And while I applaud the concept of pie number five, how could any of those rate ahead of blueberry? Blueberry pie is, like, one of the gifts we're given for being human and being able to combine ingredients together so that the sum is waaaaay more than the whole of the parts. It turns a bad day good, and a good day even better. It's nothing short of manna from the heavens.

And yet it didn't even make the top five.

I don't know if this survey was skewed toward people living in the southern US, where pecan and sweet potato pies are popular, or if (once again) I'm just so far out of the norm that when I like is what no one else would like. But to only have one fruit pie—apple--in the top five (and yes, I know pumpkins technically are fruit, but that's not the point here) just doesn't seem right. Even if you don't think blueberry pie should make the list, what about cherry pie, or raspberry pie, or strawberry pie, or key lime pie?

Fruit and pies go together. Don't believe me? Ask a company like Hostess. You don't see them selling sweet potato pies in their collection of hand-held fruit pies, do you? Nope. You see apple, you see blueberry, you see cherry, and, at least according to Google you also see lemon. But sweet potato? Pecan? Nope.

Hostess obviously knows something about pies. So what's wrong with the rest of the country?

(jim@wmqt.com), firm believer in (and lover of) blueberry pie.

Friday, 3/11

I wonder if they've used up all their toilet paper yet?

Happy anniversary, by the way. It was two years ago today that our world started to fall apart, as the first sports leagues cancelled games, schools started to close, the EU shut its borders, the World Health Organization declared it a pandemic, and Tom Hanks—TOM HANKS!--informed the world he had contracted Covid. Within days everything was shut down and our world has yet, in some ways, to recover.

Ah. Good times.

Of course, even though it was two years ago today that things really struck home, we had been dealing with the growing impact of the burgeoning pandemic even before that. I'm thinking, specifically, on perhaps the most surreal aspect of those early days, the fact that people were going out and clearing store shelves of toilet paper.

Two years later still don't get WHY they did it, but that's neither here nor there.

The toilet paper “shortage” (there really wasn't a shortage until some people decided that it might be a good time to go out and buy a thousand rolls) led to lots of bemused stares, countless late night TV jokes, and some creative ideas for people. I recall walking down Front Street in Marquette right before everything was shut down and seeing this sign--

I have no idea if it actually worked as a promotion, but it sure was a heck of a great idea.

Of course, as it turned out the toilet paper “shortage” was the least of our worries as everything fell apart two years ago today.. As I mentioned in here last week or a couple of weeks ago things changed so quickly over so many days that for the first month or so of the pandemic just seems like a blur. Even from gaining a little (just a little) perspective over those two years it's still kind of hard to believe, especially (and probably) because we're still dealing with the fall out from it.

When we get back to “normal”--IF we ever get back to “normal”--it'll seem so very, very strange. Of course, that might not be until 2025 or 2027 or 2030, but I'm hopeful we'll get there one day. And the good thing about that is?

That should be just around the time people who bought a 1,000 roles of toilet paper back in 2020 will need to go out and buy some more.

Have a great weekend!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 3/10

And this makes sense...how?

There's a company that picks up trash for the city of Marquette. They get paid by city water & sewer fees, as well as by the fact that we also need to buy special trash bags for our garbage to get picked up. Yet, it seems to me like the company never wants to pick up the trash or the recycling, often leaving notes & stickers for people telling them that their trash bags aren't tied the right way or that their recycling has, I dunno, two pieces of paper touching each other, which violates their rules and therefore can't be picked up.

It seems to be to be getting really bad and occasionally absurd these days. Some might even say that's a Waste.

Here's the latest example. I walked to work yesterday morning and noticed a bag of trash sitting on the snowbank in front of the station. It was from the office with whom we share the building. They put their trash out every week in a proper city bag and it gets picked up. But not this week. Nope; this week there was a note stuck on the bag saying that since it was sitting on a snowbank the company wouldn't take it. It's not like they couldn't reach the bag; after all, they had no problem reaching it to put the sticker on it.

But because it was sitting on a snowbank they wouldn't pick it up.

Now maybe there's a reason for their refusal to do the job for which they get paid. Maybe there's a safety issue, or maybe Mercury was in retrograde and they just didn't feel like. But for our neighbors there was no place else to put the bag. As I've written about in here before, there are nothing BUT snowbanks around the city. We've had a lot of snow recently, and the city hasn't been able to cut them all down. So what were our neighbors supposed to do? Wait outside holding the bag until the truck drove by and then throw it in themselves?

And what about every single other Marquette residents who may only have a snowbank in front of their home or business?

Like I said, there may be a reason for all of this. There may even be a logical reason behind all of this. But over the past several years there has been a constantly shifting set of rules as to why or why not they'll pick up the trash put out the way it's supposed to be and a constantly shifting set of rules as to what you can or can't do with your recycling. Just when you think you have it down a policy changes and you have to start figuring out what the h-e-double-hockey sticks is going on. There's no rhyme nor reason (at least that I can figure) as to what they do, just as there's no rhyme nor reason to the fact that we keep having to pay more and more for garbage service that gets more and more absurd.

None of it—absolutely none of it—make any sense. And that's all I'm gonna say about that.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 3/9

If there's one thing I could change about myself, it would be this one thing.

Actually, there are probably many things I'd like to change about myself. But I definitely know the one thing I really do need to change about myself, whether I have the power to or not.

And that would be to remember people's names.

This happens to me quite a bit, and I may have even written about it before.  But between Radio Jim & TV Jim and History Jim I get introduced to a lot of people, people to whom I'll run into again at a later date. And when that happens I'm very embarrassed to mention how many times I either don't know who they are or knew I knew them but couldn't remember their names. Thankfully, whenever I own up to my inadequacies the people in mention were cool about it.

Even if I wasn't.

There are actually two parts to this problem. The first is that because of who I am I meet a lot of people, oftentimes in groups. So if I get introduced to six or seven people at a time I have to remember six or seven names, while the people to whom I'm introduced only have to remember me. Not that that's an excuse; after all, there are many people who are in the exact same situation and can handle it without any difficulty.

But not me.

The other part of the problem just seems to be a structural problem or inefficiency in my brain. I've tried different tricks and different methods for remembering people's names, but none of them seem to work. Sure, I can hear an obscure history fact or pop culture reference and it's lodged in my brain forever, ready for instant recall. But the name of someone I've met or someone to whom I'm related? Not so much.

I'm a quality human being, aren't I?

So if we've ever met once or twice before and I'm supposed to know who you are, let me apologize in advance. There may be a point in the future where we meet again, you greet me like a normal human being, and I just smile back and utter the phrase “And remind me who you are again”? It's not you. It's me.

And it's something I would very much like to change about myself.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 3/8

I wonder if I'm related to any of them?

Like you, I've been watching the horror show unfolding in Ukraine, especially the one million-plus people forced to flee their home country for safety. Even though I know no one there, nor have I ever visited there, I still feel for them, and not just because that's what any human with a heart would do.

Some of them may be my distant relatives.

My mom's dad, the Schwemin side of my family, is descended from a Schwemin family that emigrated from Prussia to Marquette Township in the late 1800s. Specifically, the family came from a small village in Prussia, Stobno, that now sits in Poland about five miles from the German border. And while Ancestry says the DNA from that part of my family is German, there's a little something extra in there.

Specifically, my grandfather's great-grandmother (so my great-great-great grandmother) was either Polish or Ukrainian.

I haven't been able to find out much about her, as most of the records of that part of the family don't go any further back than the generation that came to the US. But the young lady who married into the Schwemin family was living in Stobno when she got married. Her parents were born somewhere to the east, somewhere else in the Prussian empire, and had moved to Stobno. While I don't know exactly where, Ancestry says that small 2% portion of my DNA falls into an area that covers the ever shifting border area between modern day Poland and modern day Ukraine. From somewhere in the blue section of this oval, part of which extends into modern-day western Ukraine--

Came the family of my great-great-great grandmother. Odds are, she came from the western portion of the oval, within the solid white circle sitting in the bigger blue oval.  But she could have come from anywhere in that bigger blue oval, which means, I guess, there's a very slight chance that someone with whom I share a common ancestor is being forced to flee for their lives.

I know that part of the world has always been the sight of conflict. I know that part of the world has always had shifting borders and conquering armies. But that was in the past. That's back when people were supposedly less civilized and a lot less interconnected. For it to be happening in the 21^st century, and for it to be happening because a totalitarian autocrat has (apparently) gone off his rocker, just seems unfathomable to me. Invading another country because...well, just because...is so 18^th or 19^th century. You wouldn't think it's something that would happen in the 21^st century. You'd think we would have moved on from little tantrums like that.

Sadly, you'd be wrong. And because of that, some of my potential distant relatives are paying the price. I hope—I really hope—that this ends soon, and that peace prevails. I'm getting the impression that it might not, but I certainly hope that it does.

After all, if not for the fact that one family moved west from that area and then married into another family that eventually came to the US, one of those people fleeing their home because of the invasion could potentially have been me.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 3/7

Who knew the Whetstone has such a big fan club?

For those of you not in Marquette, the Whetstone Creek (or Brook, depending upon to whom you speak) is a little, three-mile long waterway that meanders throughout the city and empties into Lake Superior. Despite the fact that it's actually quite small, it's had an outsized impact upon the history of Marquette. That was the point that I made in the latest “Pieces of the Past” video. I just didn't think anyone else would care.

Boy, was I wrong.

I've now done close to 80 of these videos, and “Down the Whetstone” ranks among the top two or three in both likes and comments on social media. When I put it on the list of topics for this year, I had no idea it would get the response it did; I just wanted to tell a couple of stories. Well, for the generation older than me it seems to have brought back a TON of memories of their youth. For my generation (& younger) there seems to be a fair amount of astonishment that the US-41 bypass was actually built on top of something.

But then, that's why I do these videos. For some people, it's a trip down memory lane. For others, it's a chance to learn something. And for me, at least on occasion, it's a real eye opener when I discover what people react to.

Wanna check it out for yourself?

*****

Before I leave, I have to let you know that yesterday my favorite two-year old in the world became my favorite three year old in the world! It was my nephew Calum's birthday, and while I didn't get to spend any time with him on his big day we get to hang out later today at the UP Children's Museum.

So happy birthday Calum!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Friday, 3/4

I have to deal with technical issues.

Between power outages and internet outages and sanity outages, the past day and a half have been one of those days (and a half). I have to get to work early to deal with the overflow, so if you don't mind I'm going to leave you with something I came across while going through these blogs from March of 2020, right before the world came screeching to a half.

Back with something new (and hopefully, with my sanity still intact) Monday!

(jim@wmqt.com)

******

I wonder which show really did have a greater effect on me?

After yesterday's blog about staying at least six feet apart from someone by replacing handshakes with the Vulcan hand salute I had a couple of people jokingly ask just what kind of kid I was. Well, as the whole world knows I was a dorky nerd growing up, which means that (among other things) I really haven't changed much since I was young.

So I have that going for me.

Obviously, since I spent part of my childhood practicing the Vulcan hand salute, I was highly influenced by “Star Trek”. I actually think that's a good thing. It made me believe that there's hope for the future, that (one day) humanity will get along, and that all people (human or otherwise) are equal. . It gave me a healthy trust in science. And it also affected the way I look at things. As it turns out, I'm much more logical than emotional. Some people might fly off the handle when something stupid happens to them. I just kind of look at whatever it is quizzically and wonder to myself why the stupid thing happened.

That's how “Star Trek” had an effect on me.

However, there's another show that had just as strong of an effect, if not more. Aside from growing up on “Star Trek” I also grew up on “MASH”, which has allowed to, among other things, make a living at being sarcastic. It also instilled in me a wary eye at authority, a healthy distrust of war and the violence that comes with it, and a surprisingly dark sense of humor that can rear its head at the most inopportune time.

“Star Trek” was logical, “MASH” was emotional.

I wonder which one really did have the biggest effect on me? If you were to ask me at different times on different days I'd have to give you different answers. Heck, I might give you different answers if you were only to ask me once. First of all, I'd wonder why the question was being asked, and then I'd give some kind of smart-alecked answer to it. I guess I'm the best (or, depending upon how you look at it, the worst) of each. Just like I'm a mix of my mother and my father, two very different people, I also seem to be a mix of “Star Trek” and “MASH”, two very different TV shows.

As to which had the greater effect, I'll leave that up to you.

Thursday, 3/3

I'm wondering if we should do it or not.

I've been pondering the idea recently about doing something on the air about the upcoming second anniversary of the start of the Covid pandemic; specifically, about the initial panic and shutdown that followed. We're only a week or so away from the anniversary of that date, so it would either be now or wait for another year (or five). 

I'm thinking of opting for the latter.

To me, at least, it almost seems like it's too soon. We're still living through what the virus has wrought, and does anyone actually want to relive the first days of the pandemic?

I'd guess not.

While considering it, I went back and re-read the blogs I wrote during the first days of the pandemic, to try & get a sense of exactly what we were going through. I was using these as a personal diary of that weird time, and I have to admit—things changed quite rapidly, no one knew what was going on, and no one had any idea of what was coming from day to day. It was a strange time in which to live through, so would anyone actually want to live through it again?

I don't think I'd want to, and I'm pretty sure a lot of people would agree.

One of the things that struck me while going through the blog entries I wrote then was the (in hindsight) charming naivete that things would clear up before Loraine and I were scheduled to go to Germany at the beginning of May of that year. When the shutdown and border closings first occurred they were only supposed to be two or three weeks long, which meant that things should be reopened by the time we were scheduled to go. Well, it quickly became clear (to us) that it wouldn't happen, even if we had to wait almost a month before everything was officially not going to happen.

And, I wrote yesterday, it still hasn't happened.

So I highly doubt we'll be doing anything to mark the upcoming anniversary. Maybe next year, maybe the year after...maybe once we get some perspective on these astounding bizarre times in which we live.

I mean, I may actually have finished my (hopefully) long & fruitful life be dead by then, but at least we can plan on doing it some year in the future.

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 3/2

For the time being, I'm not allowed to leave the country.

Now, I will admit, part of me wants to stop writing right now. Part of me just wants to leave that statement hanging. Part of me just wants you to wonder just why the heck I'm unable to leave the country.

Thankfully, though, that's just a small part of me. After all, I'm not that cruel.

Why am I not allowed to leave the country for the time being, you ask? Well, I answer, I can't leave the country because I don't have a passport at the moment.

Kind of anti-climactic when you consider most of the reasons for which I'd be forbidden to leave the country, right?

8-)

My passport expires near the end of next year (2023), and since I've had absolutely no use for it the past two years I figured now is as good of a time as any to renew it. After all, you're not supposed to travel on it within six months of its expiration date, and since six months before the date would be next spring, when there's a slight (very slight) possibility it might actually get used, I figured I might as well do it now.

Of course, that means I can't leave the country for the next three to six months, while I'm waiting for the new one, but the way the world is today, I'm not sure I'd WANT to leave the country for the next three to six months.

Both Loraine and I get people asking when we'll be resuming our travels, and we both have to say we have no idea. There are so many things at play, everything from having to take Covid tests to get into other countries (or back into the US) and then having to deal with a possible negative result, to whether or not there will be a peaceful Europe to visit, that we're just hanging back for the time being. We actually do know what our first trip back will be—probably to Leipzig for a soccer match, a trip to a place we know, a place where we wouldn't be visiting multiple areas or have to rent a car—but the “ when” is sometime in the future. At the moment, the Bundesliga isn't even allowed to have full stadiums, so even if everything else were a go, that isn't.

So we'll be going back. We know that much. We just have no idea when, other than the fact that it won't be in the next three to six months.

Because, you know, in that time I'm not allowed to leave the US.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 3/1

Three in three days? How about all three of them in one day?

I’ve written in here before about a blitz of stuff that I usually have in late January, where I do TV, radio, and a history show in front of a big audience in a two or three day span. Each of those are things that would make a normal person go “whoa”, and yet I seem to go from one to the other without even having the time to realize that each of those things, individually, is a big thing.

It all kind of just blurs into one big, strange, two or three-day span.

Well, apparently March 1st, 2022 has decided to say “hold my beer”. Once I get done writing this I go over to WNMU-TV to shoot pledge breaks for this week’s “High School Bowl”. Then I go do my daily five hours of radio. While there, I will shoot my weekly bit for Thursday’s Fox UP newscast. Then I head over to the Ore Dock Brewery where my pal Jack & I will reprise our “What’s Up, Dock” show as a benefit for the Marquette Maritime Museum.

“Whoa”???

I’ve had many, many days where TV Jim, Radio Jim, and History Jim have collided, but I’m pretty sure I’ve never had a day when I’ve done all three. Like I said, at least once a year it gets spread over two or even three days, but as far as doing them all in one day?

Nope.

I live a weird life. I know it, and you know it. But a day like today really brings it to the fore. Most people get up, eat breakfast, go to work, come home, eat dinner, and relax. I will do at the most three of those. I mean, what kind of person gets up, writes a blog, goes to shoot TV segments, heads to a radio studio to do both radio and TV, and then has a public speaking charity gig?

Okay…what kind of NORMAL person does that?

I’m not complaining. I would never complain about what I do, because 1). I love what I do and b). I know I’m incredibly lucky in that I actually get to do it. But there are just certain days in my life, like today, that remind me that I couldn’t life a normal life, even if I wanted.

And I’m okay with that.

(jim@wmqt.com)