Friday, 11/9

Sunday is a milestone day if you're a history geek, like Europe, or just want to honor people who gave their lives for a just cause.

Sunday is Veterans Day here in the US, but in Europe it's a little more. Sunday morning will mark the 100^th anniversary of the end of World War I, “The Great War” and “The War to End All Wars”, names given by people who obviously didn't realize that history DOES repeat itself, and often in more gruesome forms. I think the end of the war is a bigger deal over there than it is here, but it really shouldn't be. Hundreds of thousands of Americans died in the conflict, and memories of them are now few and far between.

As an example of how those memories can slowly disappear, I’d like to introduce you to a young man from Marquette named Morgan Mowick--

A couple of years ago Loraine and I walked through Park Cemetery and came across Morgan’s grave. It simply says that he died on March 27^th, 1918 while serving with the 174^th Aero Squadron of the U.S. Allied Expeditionary Force during World War I. That’s it. So I decided to see if I could find out anything about him. And that’s when I realized that memories can recede over time.

Thanks to Loraine, I know how to look up things on soldiers who died while in service. I know where to look in newspapers, I know which websites have the best information. It’s just one of the many benefits to being married to a very remarkable woman. But when I looked into those newspapers and searched those websites, I realized that information from a war, even a World War, from 100 years ago is sketchy at best.

All I could find out about Morgan is that he grew up at 421 East Hewitt Avenue in Marquette, was a member of what’s now the First United Methodist Church, and that his father, Mons Mowick,was a Norwegian immigrant who had developed a reputation as one of Marquette's best house painters. Like many men who died during World War I Morgan didn't die in combat; instead, he contracted pneumonia while on the way over to Europe, was left at a hospital when his ship docked, and died soon afterward. His body was then sent back to Marquette for burial, where he still lies next to his parents.

That’s all I could find out. All I found were two newspaper articles from just after he died, one with a letter sent to his father by his commander right after his death, and the other a reprint of a sermon given by his church’s minister for several members of the church who had died in the conflict. Those two articles seem to represent the entire legacy of a young man who left his home to fight for a better world and died while doing it.

I’d like to think that people like Morgan deserve better.

So if you happen to have a veteran in your life, be it a dad or a mom, or a brother or sister, or a grandfather, or an aunt or uncle, or even a favorite neighbor, do two things today. First, thank them for their service. These people have put themselves in harms way over and over again, often in hostile areas, to make sure that you stay safe. And if you have the chance, make sure that their stories are recorded and saved somewhere. Make sure that in a hundred years, if someone wants to know what they did and why they did, that the information is available.

Make sure time treats them better than it treated someone like Morgan Mowick.

On that note, have yourself a great weekend. Stay warm, too.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 11/8

The stupid song's almost 30 years old. I didn't like it when it was first out. So why do I keep listening to it over and over again now?

Sigh...

As some of you may know, I have a weak, weak brain. A song can lodge itself in my head for days at a time, or I can wake up in the middle of the night with a quirky 80s new wave hit running on repeat, and then spend the rest of the night staring at the ceiling while it blasts my brain at full volume. It's not a skill of which I'm proud, but it's one of the few that I do have.

Such is the case now. A couple of weeks ago on a “Throwback Thursday” we played a song from a one album wonder of the 1990s. I had actually kind of forgotten about the song for the past few decades, but when I heard it two thoughts popped into my head. The first? “I didn't like this song that much when it was out”.

The second? “The song doesn't totally suck. Why didn't I like it back then?”.

And then, of course, I made the mistake I often make. I listened to the song once or twice. And then five or six times. Before I knew it, iTunes was telling me I'd listened to it almost 20 times in a two day span. That's when I knew I was in trouble.

The (stupid) song that is now stuck in my brain? This one--

Everybody knows about C&C Music Factory's “Everybody Dance Now”, but they tend to forget about the follow-up to it, “Here We Go”, the song that is currently stuck in my brain. After listening to it almost 20 times over two days I can say that it's a much better song than their big hit. It's a little more rock in nature, and it samples Chic's “Le Freak”, which is never a bad thing. But it's not a great song. It's not a classic piece of work. It's certainly not a song that should lodge itself into my brain.

And yet, it has.

Hopefully, by writing this, I may have exorcised it from my brain. Realistically, by writing this, it's probably lodged itself even deeper into my brain. But in all honesty it was probably gonna stay there for a while, so it's not that big of a deal.

Check it out, if you dare. I'm hopeful that your brain is stronger than mine, and that you won't be listening to it 20 times over a two day period. However, if you do, let me apologize in advance.

It would be entirely my fault.

(jim@wmqt.com), weak of mind.

Wednesday, 11/7

They're on their way there. See? It isn't that hard.

I know I've probably railed about the misuse of the different forms of “there” in the past, so forgive me if I'm babbling babbles that I've already babbled. But there was a meme going around on Facebook this morning in which someone posted that people only join an organization because “there to stupid to do anything else”.

Ladies and gentlemen, I believe we have the very latest definition of the word “irony” right there.

I'm starting to wonder if this whole “there/their/they're” problem is the latest version of the “chicken & the egg” quandary. Are people just grammatically stupid overall, and we notice it more these days because they post everything they write on the internet? Or has technology—the internet and spell-check—made people stupider, so much so that they don't actually know which “their” to use here and there?

Some days, I just don't know.

Now, I make a lot of grammatical & spelling errors when I write, as those of you who read this are no doubt aware. I rely too much on spell-check, and each and every one of these could probably use an extra round of proofreading, the time for which is, unfortunately, limited. So I'm not claiming to live in a glass house. I'm not claiming to be a perfect writer myself. But if I were to post something accusing someone else of being stupid?

I'd make sure I wasn't an idiot myself. But then, that's just me.

I'll shut up about this now, if for no other reason than I have to go hang out with people who, I'm guessing, actually DO know which “there” to use, if only because they're a couple of teams of some of the brightest young people on the planet, who will be taking part in another action packed edition of “High School Bowl”. It starts shooting in about an hour, in fact, assuming the weather allows them to make it there.

Just not their. Or they're.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 11/6

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 today, right?

I'm actually writing this really early this morning, much earlier than a normal person would even think about waking up (7 am...and don't give me grief about 7 am being early. It is.). I'm doing so so I can hop a ride with my dear wife down to the YMCA in Marquette, where we're not planning on hanging out with all the boys but are instead planning on standing in whatever line there is and casting our ballot for this election.

However, I would not be surprised, in any way, if the song “YMCA” sticks in my head the rest of the day.

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 batter. 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.

With that, I hafta hop in the car and go do so myself. Make sure that you're like the rest of the cool kids and do so as well!

(jim@wmqt.com)

****

(10:08 am--an update:

Monday, 11/5

Why do I torture myself that way on the weekends?

I know weekends are supposed to be for rest & relaxation. I know that weekends are supposed to be the time to check out for a few days and take a mental vacation. I know that. I also know that those 48 (or whatever) hours are supposed to be sacred, and supposed to be used for brain dead activities.. I know that.

Then why have I been playing with this book the past few weekends?

Yes, that's what it looks like. It's a puzzle book. With puzzles in French. That's what any normal person would do to relax on the weekend, right?

Please say “right”.

I saw the book in one of those discount book catalogs from which Loraine and I have built the piles of books on our kitchen floor. I figured it would be fun, and it might help me keep my rusty French skills a little less rusty. The first few puzzles in it were, well, fun. They were easy, and I was actually impressed by the fact that I was able to finish them. But then I got to what the book describes as the “moderatee” section, and that's when the fun ended. I apparently ran into the limits of my French, and spent the next few hours alternating between thumbing through my massive French dictionary for a little help and uttering little yelps of pain that caused Loraine to look at me with that look I get when I'm doing something a normal person would perceive as stupid.

That's a good way to spend part of a weekend, right?

The thing is that despite the pain I actually did have a little fun torturing myself. Heck, I might even have learned a new French word or two. Whether or not that's what a sane person should (or would) do with a couple of their precious weekend hours is debatable; I just know that's how I spent a few of my precious weekend hours, for better or for worse.

And yes, I know I need help. What's your point?

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Friday, 11/2

And happy birthday to my favorite brother in the world!

Okay, technically, he's my only brother, so that makes him the favorite by default. But that's not the point. Marc, the baby of the family, turns another year older today. And much like other babies of families, he's (in a good way) in a class all his own. As an example, I give you the following blog, written on his birthday nine years ago, right after he did a very Marc-like thing.

So Happy Birthday, Marc. I hope you have a great day, and that Tiffanie & the dudes make it even better!

(jim@wmqt.com), off to shoot another episode of “High School Bowl”, the 41^st season premiere of which is tomorrow (hint hint)!

*****

(as originally posted 11/2/09):

I should’ve known from the gleam in his eyes that something was up.

Friday, when I was walking up & down Third Street in Marquette for Halloweekend (a smashing success, by the way) I saw a familiar truck parked in front of me while I was doing one of my cut-ins. In the truck sat my brother, with one of those grins (you know, the human waste-eating kind) on his face.

“Just remember that I’m your little brother’, said he. “Just remember that you love me”. And with that, he drove off.

Believe it or not, I was pretty sure what he was referring to when he said that, and my suspicions were confirmed when I walked home and saw this—

That’s right; that’s my car, wrapped up in two rolls of plastic wrap, a gift from not only my brother, but my sister and two of my nieces as well.

A Koski family Halloween tradition had been reborn.

Back when he was just a punk and I was in college, I would always come home for Halloween weekend. I would then dress up as a ghoul and scare kids who came by for trick or treating (something I actually continued doing until my parents moved into their condo a few years ago), often assisted by my brother. And for several years during that span, I would then awake the next morning to find my car “mysteriously” covered in toilet paper.

You’d never guess who did that.

Anyway, when we were at my niece Mallory’s birthday lunch a couple of weeks ago, my brother brought up the fact that it’s been awhile since my car was “mysteriously” covered in anything for Halloween. So when I saw that gleam in his eye Friday, I had a vague idea of what caused that gleam; this time around, though, he was aided and abetted by three other people.

I guess he’s getting old and can’t do it himself any more!

Speaking of which, I KNOW he’s getting old, because today’s birthday. So Happy Birthday, Marc. Glad you guys had a good time plotting the wrapping of Jim’s car, 2009. And you know what you’re getting for your birthday?

A roll of plastic wrap. Because I have a sneaking suspicion you may be out of whatever rolls you had before. . .

Thursday, 11/1

I can't believe it's that time of the year again. I can't believe November has rolled around. I can't believe the weeks are zooming by. And because of that, I can't believe I have to start thinking about Christmas cookies.

It seems to me like I was just passing out all of the cookies I made last holiday season. Of course, it also seems to me like I was just graduating from college, but seeing as how that was last century (whimper), it gives you a pretty good idea of how I handle the passing of time. And since I've been so busy recently, and have had so many things I'm trying to keep up with, I figure I should probably get my butt in gear regarding this year's batch of cookies.

After all, I don't want to be passing them out next February or next March. I have a feeling they wouldn't be appreciated quite the same as they would be in December.

As you may recall, Christmas cookies are the big holiday tradition in the small Koski apartment. I always make five or six kinds, which we then pass out to family, friends, co-workers, and, in a tradition that's been going for over a decade now, to several old neighbors. Seeing as how I end up making four or five hundred cookies in total, and seeing as how I know there's no way Loraine and I want to eat them all ourselves, they get handed out for the holidays.

We might as well spread the caloric catastrophe out amongst as many people as possible, right?

There are several major steps to the whole production, the first of which is deciding what the “new” cookie will be. Like most things that have to do with the holidays, tradition abounds in my making of Christmas cookies. There are several kinds I have to make year in and year out—the Grandma cookie, the cherry one with the dark chocolate stuck on top, & the Nutella cookie (which this year may be amped up with a Nutella filling inside because, of course, you can never have too much Nutella in a cookie). Now, I know those aren't the actual names of the cookies; that's just how they're referred to on the assembly line.

Along with those cookies, I always make a cookie I've not made before. Last year, it was a lemon-rosemary shortbread cookie that quickly became one of my favorites of all time, and may have made the jump up to “make this every year” status. So picking the “new” cookie is always a serious task, and one that demands some thought. After all, not only does it have to be something I've never made before, but it also has to balance out the rest of the cookies. Am I making too many with chocolate? Then maybe the “new” cookie should be something that's a little spicy. Do I have too many cookies that are green and/or red? Then maybe I should make a white cookie, or a yellow cookie, or even, I dunno, a black cookie. These are all things that a normal person, when deciding which cookies to make for the holidays, wouldn't even think about. But me?

Well, who ever said I was normal, right?

So I guess I should make that first step and decide—quite soon—what this year's “new” cookie should be. Then I can make up a shopping list, and hope I find some time to throw them all together in time for delivery BY Christmas. Otherwise, we'll have to call them New Year's Cookies. Or Valentine's Day Cookies. Or St. Patrick’s Day Cookies. Or even Arbor Day Cookies.

Wish me luck!

(jim@wmqt.com)