Wednesday, 11/30

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

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

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

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

Really?

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

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

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

Oh, the humanity.

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

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

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

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

Tuesday, 11/29

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

8-)

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

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

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 11/28

It turned out pretty well, thanks for asking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

8-)

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

I really do.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 11/23

My life is weird.

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

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

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

Goes to show what I know, I guess.

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

Have I ever said my life is weird?

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

8-)

****

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

See you Monday,

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 11/22

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

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

So until then...

(jim@wmqt.com)

******

(as originally posted 11/19/18)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right?

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

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

8-)

Monday, 11/21

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

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

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

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

See? Unusual psyche.

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

I just don’t know what that reason was.

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

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

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

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Friday, 11/18

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

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

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

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

It must’ve been the clothing.

8-)

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

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

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

At least, I hope they wouldn’t.

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

The mind reels at that one.

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

On that note, have yourself a great weekend!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 11/17

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

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

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

Which we did.

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

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

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

I really need to get my game together.

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

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

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 11/16

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

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

Bummer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

At the risk of repeating myself...bummer.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 11/15

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

Either one works for me.

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

Photo courtesy Superior View Studio

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

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

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

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

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

Well, enjoy your Tuesday.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 11/14

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

I'm gonna miss Parade Magazine.

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

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

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

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

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

****

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

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

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 11/10

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

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

People like THIS one--

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

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

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

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

*****

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

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 11/9

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

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

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

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

Sometimes, the mind boggles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 11/8

Assuming you're one of the people who reads these on a daily basis (and not one of the many binge-readers we have each weekend), may I ask you a question--

Have you voted yet? You ARE planning on voting by the end of today, right?

I actually took care of casting my ballot a couple of weeks ago. I took advantage of Michigan's absentee voting laws to vote when I had a few seconds, a much easier task than trying to wedge it into a busy day. But even if I hadn't done that I would have made sure that I trekked down to the polls today, because I honestly feels like one of the most important things you can do—especially in days like these—to is make your voice heard by voting.

I always implore people to make sure they get out and cast their vote. Democracy only works if people get out and make their opinions known, and the more people who vote, the better. It's simple science—if you have a bigger sample size, you get more accurate results. If only one type of person votes, we get a government by and for that one type. To get a country in which we can all live, we need everyone to vote. Young people, don't let old people decide what your future holds. Women, don't let men elect representatives who tell you what you can or can not do. And vice versa.

Get out and make sure that YOUR voice and YOUR views are heard. Like millions of people have said for decades, if you don't vote you can't complain. Don't like the way things are going? Make your voice heard. Think things are on the right track? Make your voice heard.

Remember—you can't spell “apathetic” without the word “pathetic”. So get off your keister today and vote.

After all, it's what all the cool kids are doing these days.

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 11/7

I know on what date we'll “fall back” ten years from now..

Why do I know that esoteric piece of knowledge, you ask? Well, I answer, it has to do with the time change this past weekend. Loraine and I both have these high-tech alarm clocks, ones that use radio signals to keep up to the second and ones that use high tech processors to know when Daylight Savings Time begins and ends. It wouldn't surprise me, in fact, to know our clocks have more power and memory than the computers that were used to send humans to the moon.

But that's neither here nor there.

Sunday morning when we woke up Loraine's clock had changed automatically, but mine hadn't. Mine was living in it's own temporal dimension, thinking it was an hour ahead of we mere mortals. I had no idea why; everything looked like it should have changed automatically, but it didn't. I had to change the time by hand, itself a rather technical feat considering how advanced the clocks are. But after that the time was correct, and I totally forgot about it.

Flash forward to this morning. Loraine's alarm went off as it usually does at 645 am, and I, like I usually do, rolled over to go back to sleep. Only out of the corner of my eye I noticed that my clock said it was 545 am. I was kind of puzzled about that; Loraine didn't say anything about waking up early, and I don't think she'd roll out of bed just for giggles. That's about the time I noticed that the light indicating my clock was on Daylight Savings Time was off.

That's right. Instead of changing Sunday it changed early today, for no particular reason.

Of course, once I noticed that I couldn't get back to sleep, and so having an extra hour (or so) added to my day I decided to figure out what the heck was going on. I checked my clock through and through. It was on the correct date, it was set up to change between Daylight Savings Time and “Why The Heck Is It Dark So Early” time, and everything else appeared to be fine. Yet, it had changed between times a day after it was supposed to, and my little pea brain couldn't figure out why.

That's when Loraine noticed that I was up & around earlier than usual. When I told her the reason, she was as stumped as I. So I just sat around, trying to wake up. A few minutes later, she came into our living room and asked a simple question--

“Do you think the clocks have a year setting”?

I have to admit, I couldn't answer the question. I had never seen one, and the (pitifully lame) book that came with the clocks never mentioned one. But that got me to thinking, which we all know can be a dangerous thing, and I headed back into the bedroom to see if it did. After almost 10 minutes of pushing buttons, and a lot of fumbling around just hoping something would happen, I came across a screen that said “32”. I pulled out my phone, and checked a calendar for 2032. November 7^th, 2032, is the first Sunday of November, the Sunday on which we always fall back.

My alarm clock, in an attempt to live in its own temporal dimension, wasn't just an hour off. It was a decade and an hour off.

I have no idea how it got that way. It's switched the time the weekend it's supposed to for several years now. Why it just started to think it's 2032 instead of 2022 is beyond my pay grade. Maybe a power outage fried its brain. Maybe the little plastic cow I have sitting next to it managed to change it somehow. Maybe the clock, of its own volition, jumped ahead into the future to see if the Lions still suck. I don't the how; I just know that it did.

I reset the “32” to “22” and, with any luck, things will now be working okay. However, if come March and the time changes back to Daylight Savings Time, I'll know where to look. And I'll also probably be able to learn on which March day the time will change in 2033.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Friday, 11/4

My grandfather died thirty five years ago yesterday. And in a very small way, it changed a little something in your life.

I don't think any of you knew my maternal grandfather, Frank Schwemin. He worked at NMU for many years and called square and round dances throughout the area before dying of emphysema on November 3^rd, 1987. It's funny, but in a way he lives on, as his oldest grandson has the same dorkily long limbs and slightly sunken eyes as he did. So every time you see me you see a bit of my grandfather.

But that's not how his death changed your life in a very small way. When my grandfather died I was working in Flint, suffering through a horrid job in TV in a horrid locale. At the same time I came home for his funeral a job at TV-6 opened, a job almost exactly the same as I was doing down in Flint. Up to that point, I had always thought that my future lie somewhere other than Marquette. I don't know why I did; call it the impetuousness of youth, I guess. But coming home for his funeral made me realize that moving back to Marquette might not be the worst thing in the world. So while I was going to funeral and family gatherings I managed to sneak in a job interview before heading back to Flint, where I waited to hear if I got the job.

A few days later I found out it was given to someone else.

That might've been the end of it right there. I might've resigned myself to finding a new job somewhere else and then hoping that the girl I had met in Flint might wanna look for a job there, too. But as it turns out, the person hired for the TV-6 job worked at a Marquette radio station. That meant that his job had to be filled, and while I hadn't really thought about going back into radio, a few months later I found myself moving back to Marquette to fill that position. And while that particular job was almost as bad (if not worse) than the one I had in Flint, it had three things going for it—it was in Marquette, not Flint. The girl I had met in Flint decided to take the leap and move up here, too. And it allowed me to connect with a guy for whom I had worked in high school, and when the afternoon air slot opened up at Joe Blake's WMQT, I took it and haven't looked back since.

That's why my grandfather's death 35 years ago yesterday changed your life just a small, tiny bit. If I hadn't decided after he passed away that I wanted to move back to Marquette you'd be listening to someone else every afternoon, and I'd probably be working at some job somewhere I didn't like, missing out on the chance to live in an amazing city with an amazing woman, an amazing family, and an amazing lifestyle.

Who would have guessed, right?

On that note, have a great weekend!!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 11/3

Why yes, I WAS wearing a Christmas tie yesterday. Thanks for noticing.

Despite the fact that yesterday was a 70 degree day (yes, on November 2^nd), and despite the fact that the holidaze are a month and a half away, I was wearing a Christmas tie yesterday. Why, you ask? Well, I answer, you remember how I mentioned I mentioned in yesterday's entry that I had to go shoot an episode of “High School Bowl”?

Well, it was the episode that'll air right before Christmas. So, you know, I had to be dressed appropriately.

It was especially interesting since after I did the shoot I had an appointment to get a flu shot, and when I walked into the pharmacy I had a couple of people stare at me like I was just a bit off-kilter. Now, I get those looks all the time; usually, I'm not quite sure why. But yesterday was one of the few times when I DID know why.

After all, how many people wear a Looney Tunes Christmas tie at the beginning of November?

(And yes, if I'm going to wear a Christmas tie, you'd better believe it'll be a Looney Tunes tie).

Thankfully, the only reason I was decked out in holiday attire was because of the show. I actually know a couple of people who, as soon as the curtain falls on Halloween, go into full Christmas mode, putting their tree up, cranking up the tunes, and hoping the snow soon begins, even when it IS 70 degrees out. And while I don't begrudge them their love of Christmas, for me it's just a little too soon.

In fact, once I took my Christmas tie off last night, I made a vow not to think about it for the next month or so. But that's just me.

Your timing may vary.

8-)

Tomorrow, the story of how something that happened 35 years ago today led to you and I spending all these afternoons together for the past few decades.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 11/2

Because I have to go off and play TV dork in a few minutes, I'm going to leave you with something I wrote seven (gasp!) years ago. The funny thing is? Someone basically said the same thing to me last week.

Who knew?

And before I do go, I also have to wish my favorite brother in the world a happy birthday! Sure, he's my only brother, so he kind of wins that title by default, but it is Marc's big day today, so if you see him around wish him a  happy birthday. Or throw something at him. I'll leave that choice up to you.

Happy (big) birthday, Marc!

(jim@wmqt.com)

*****

(as originally published 11/10/15)

Jim Koski, Fashion Icon? Excuse me while I go off in the corner and laugh.

We've been shooting “High School Bowl” a lot recently; four episodes in the last 11 days, in fact. And twice in those last 11 days I've had great conversations with young men, players both, who were wearing a dark shirt, a colorful tie and jeans. Curious as to why, I asked one of them, and he replied “I'm just emulating the Jim Koski look”.

The Jim Koski “look”? Excuse me once again. I have to go off in the corner and laugh a little more.

Okay; I'm back. There are two things to discuss here, the first being that there being that someone actually thinks there's a “Jim Koski Look”. I wear dark shirts and colorful ties (for the most part) on TV because that's what looks good on me. My skin tone is a little darker than usual, and dark clothing looks better on me that light clothing. And the colorful ties? Well, I'm a big fan of contrast, and you can't contrast a dark shirt much better than with a colorful tie. And as for the jeans? Well...

That's what I wear. I just guess I never thought of it as a “look”. Now I know better.

The other thing? That people would actually WANT to “emulate” the Jim Koski “look”. I mean, c'mon...aren't there people out there who are much more deserving and much more capable of being a fashion “icon” than me? Six days a week I'm dressed in a T-shirt and shorts (or jeans if it's below freezing). Just because I get semi-dressed up one day a week, just to be on TV, doesn't mean that I'm worth “emulating”.

People should be aiming a LOT higher than me!

8-)

Yet, at least two different young men from two different schools think enough of the way I dress to want to “emulate” my “style”. And I have to admit that, despite all my wonderment over the situation, I suppose I'm partly flattered, as well. Not that these young men think I'm worth emulating; no, I'm more flattered that I've been able to reach through all the clutter of modern life and make a connection with some of the young people I deal with on the show. When I took the gig, I had no idea how the students would react to a new host, especially one who was younger and (much) dorkier than the previous host. But like I mentioned on the “Year in Review” show last season, I think a lot of the students see me for who I am—someone exactly like them, just 30 years older.

Because that's kind of what I am, for better or for worse.

So maybe it's not so surprising a few people would consider me a fashion “icon”. After all, I'm apparently just a kid at heart, albeit one who knows how to pick out clothes. Who knew, right?

And with that, I'm off again to go spend a few minutes laughing in the corner!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 11/1

And even though you just survived Halloween, here's your scary thought for the day—you still have another seven days to sit through what seems to be non-stop commercial breaks filled with nothing but political ads.

Sorry. Didn't mean to send THAT much terror through you.

Doesn't matter if you're watching TV or listening to your favorite radio station (and you DO have a favorite radio station, right?). You'll either see or hear upwards of 20 political ads during an average one hour period. In fact, while it's not quite as bad on the station where I work, I have seen an hour of TV on a local station where they had nothing BUT political ads. It's almost enough to make you long for the days of non-stop drug commercials listing their side effects, you know?

Well, okay. Maybe not THAT bad, but I think you know what I mean.

It's probably not much a surprise, either, that in our highly polarized political climate most of the ads you see or hear aren't positive ads. For the most part, they don't tell you what the candidate wants to accomplish or what the candidate stands for. Nope; we're so lucky in the fact that most of the commercials we see and hear are negative ads, either telling you that one candidate is a horrid human being, or trying to twist facts so much that you start to believe if you vote one way or another you'll end up with brain cancer.

And that helps the democratic process how?

I don't know that their system is any better, but I've written before about how German elections are relatively peaceful affairs. There are no non-stop orgies of negative ads, no dark money political action committees, campaigns are limited to a span of just a few weeks, and they hold elections on Sundays so that everyone can vote. In the end, they have a higher percentage of their citizens voting, and, if I had to guess, a lot less stress caused during their election season.

But, for better or worse, that's not how we do things here. And that's why for the next seven days any kind of media you consume will constantly remind you of that. So if you're looking for a scary post-Halloween fact, there you go. But at least one week from today, it'll all be over. Or at least it'll be over until, say January, when the 2024 Presidential campaign gets underway.

Boo!

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)