Wednesday, 10/9

I'm bummed I couldn't give blood yesterday.

Conditions for it were perfect, too. The blood mobile was across the street from the station in the Range Bank parking lot, I had a few extra minute set aside for it, and I was all set to go...at least all set to go until the fact that I'm suffering from my yearly bout of fall hay fever made me realize that I wasn't eligible to donate.

Bummer.

Those of you who've read these forever know that we used to do a lot with the UP Regional Blood Donor Center, especially around this time of the year when they used to hold their annual Halloween blood drive. I'd broadcast from drives all around the central U.P., giving blood live while I was on the air. I'd try to convince as many people as possible to join me, giving me a job title/nickname among the staff that was almost as good as “Jim Koski, Media Wh*re”--

“Pimping for Dracula”.

Unfortunately, we aren't able to do as much together as we used to, and I haven't had many chances to sneak free and make a donation. It takes half an hour or so to donate, plus whatever time it takes to get there and get back. That's why yesterday would've been a perfect chance to get back into the groove. Sadly, the gunk in my throat had other ideas.

I've always tried to donate as much as possible because I'm genetically different than most people. I have a rare blood type, O negative. Only six percent of humans have it, and the thing about O negative is that it's a universal blood type. You can give it to anyone with any blood type, and it works. You can't give someone with, say, O positive blood A Positive blood, but you can give them O Negative. That's why, in an emergency situation, if you don't know someone's blood type, you can always give them O Neg with no concerns at all. But since only six percent of humans have O Negative, there isn't a lot of it around. That's why, at least in the past, I always tried to share what I had.

And that's why I was bummed yesterday.

I know I should be making the time to donate blood more; as I always said during the drives, one pint of blood can help save up to three lives. (It's also a great way to lose a pound in 20 minutes, if that's a concern). And the rarer the blood, the more there's a need for it. But between a jam-packed schedule and not being anywhere near the blood center and the freakish fact that anytime I give blood early in the morning (when I actually have time) I tend to get woozy...

Well, it just kind of fell by the wayside. It shouldn't have, but it did. And that's all on me.

Hopefully, the Blood Center will be doing another drive nearby soon, and hopefully, when they do do it, whatever's bothering my sinuses will have gone into hibernation for another year. If not, I'll just have to find some time—make some time—and allow them to drain a pint of my O Negative blood.

It's a habit I should really get back into.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 10/8

For several generations of Americans, the word “spam” causes them to instinctively look to their e-mail inbox. For another couple generations of Americans, the word “spam” causes them to think fondly of a can of mystery meat surrounded by a gelatinous goo.

But for a small subset of my generation, the word “spam” makes us thing of two words--

Monty. And Python.

I bring that up because it’s the 50^th anniversary of the debut of “Monty Python's Flying Circus" in England, and to celebrate, BBC America is running a bunch of episodes of the show, plus a documentary or two about the long-running impact the group has had on comedic history. They are also issuing a remastered Blu-ray set of the entire series, which makes me think I now know something that may be topping my birthday/Christmas list this year.

We'll see about that.

I first saw “Monty Python’s Flying Circus” like many kids in the 70s, when WNMU-TV ran the show late on Saturday night. I think I was, like, 12 or 13 when I saw my first episode, and what an episode it was, ending with one of their classic skits, “The Upper Middle Class Twit Of The Year” contest, a sight-gag and physical comedy-filled routine that actually had me laughing so hard there were tears coming out of my eyes.

After that, I was hooked.

Even though I didn’t get half the jokes in the show (my knowledge of British society and history woefully lacking back then) I watched the show every week. Since then, I’ve seen the movies, bought the books, and played the computer games. I still find myself walking around and, as the occasion requires, uttering phrases like “nudge nudge wink wink” or “I’m not dead yet”.

Oh, and I now know who people like Neville Chamberlain are. And what a chartered accountant is. And why sheep, given the opportunity, can actually fly.

While I still hold a very soft spot in my heart for “The Upper Middle Class Twit Of The Year” contest, I think my favorite skit from the show may be “The Spanish Inquisition”, in which, well, the Spanish Inquisition bursts unannounced into various situations throughout an entire episode, with the intent of torturing innocent characters. The only problem is that they’re not a very good Spanish Inquisition, torturing those characters with things like baking racks and comfy pillows.

Yes, I know it’s absurd, but it’s my kind of absurdity. It's one reason I seem to have such a finely tuned sense of the absurd, in fact. I'll be the first to admit—the group warped me, and apparently warped me for life. And it's not just me or my generation—on the episode of “High School Bowl” we taped this past Friday I had a discussion with a young man who wanted to live in the world of “Monty Python & the Holy Grail”. We even traded a few lines from the movie back & forth.

That's how big of an impact the group has had.

Anyway, it's not 87 pieces of e-mail, but instead a dingy diner filled with Vikings and a slightly befuddled customer that first comes to my mind whenever I hear the word “spam”. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go stand in a corner, yell “I don’t like Spam” in a very shrill falsetto, and then spend the rest of the morning singing “spam spam spam spam (etc)” to myself and to anyone who wanders near.

You’re more than welcome to join in!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 10/7

I made a great discovery while out on my long, meandering run Saturday—

I found out you can see over 100 discarded beer bottles and cans lying around the streets while spending an hour and a half running through Marquette.

Yes, I know I should’ve saved that for a “Weird Fact”, but I just thought I’d share it now. And I can’t say I’m surprised by the discovery; since I line in and frequent an area of Marquette that has its fair share of, shall we say, people of the partying age, I’ve heard quite a few gatherings where, I’m innocently guessing, beer was consumed. In fact, there’s one house, just down the street from mine, where Saturday I noticed almost two dozen cans just tossed out on the front yard or into the street. And seeing as how it’s also a house from where quite a racket emanated Friday night, I’m gonna guess the two are somehow connected.

Call it a hunch.

That brings to mind two things—the first, which I don’t wanna admit, is that I once again may have started upon the slippery slope toward cranky old man-dom. Pretty soon, I’ll be standing at a window, staring and muttering under my breath, “Those kids and their loud noise. Someone should do something about that”!

In other words, I’ll be like my dad.

(Sorry, Dad. I couldn’t resist!!)

The second is this—when I was in college (back in the 1800’s) the people with whom I lived, when they had a party, returned the empties, so they could buy more beer to have another party. They just didn’t toss the empties out in the street, to let anyone walk away with the fruits of their drinking. I mean, shouldn’t you get more out of a party than a hangover and an ongoing relationship with the police? Sure, it’s only a couple of dozen cans, but that’s still almost two and a half bucks. You can buy part of a pizza or three pages of a textbook with that.

Kids these days, I tell ya.

Anyway, like I said, if you ever need any extra cash, I know where you can (literally) pick it up, if you want. Use that knowledge however you wish

(jim@wmqt.com)

Friday, 10/4

Wow. I can't believe this is the sixth year of doing it already.

I don't have much time to write this morning, as I'm shortly due at Public TV 13 to tape the first shows of the year for “High School Bowl”. It's the 42^nd year for the show, and the sixth with me as host, which is kind of unbelievable seeing as how it seems I just started doing it last month. But as we discover more and more, time doesn't seem to lie, so year six is now in the starting gate.

It's funny, because it seems like we just taped the championship game from last year last week. But nope; that was March 22nd, over half a year ago, and here we are, getting ready to start it all over again. The show we tape today airs November 2nd, although re-runs of last year's playoffs begin tomorrow night. And that, of course, means that I have to remember to do one thing—watch a few seconds of those shows to make sure that the ties I wear in the first few shows aren't ones I wore in the last few shows of last year. Sure, it might seem a little shallow and stupid, but as I've found, people actually pay attention to those things.

No, I'm not quite sure why, but they do. And that's why I keep track of what I wear on TV when, and that's why the list I keep throughout the season seems more and more invaluable, especially after doing this for six years.

So with that in mind, I'm off to make a fool out of myself, as usual. But at least I'll be wearing a tie viewers haven't seen recently. On that note, have yourself a great weekend!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 10/3

As with my parents’ big anniversary two weeks ago (the one that ended in a “0”), today brings another epochal event in the extended Koski family--

My little sister is having a birthday. One that also ends in a “0”.

Now, you already know the rules of the Koski family, right? We don’t like aging or getting old; therefore, we’re never allowed to actually mention, in a public forum, how long we’ve been alive, how long we’ve been married, or how long we’ve been celebrating certain milestones. We can mention it as a family, but that’s as far as it goes.

(I know, but every family has its traditions, right? Some people go caroling every Christmas; we just simply deny we’re getting older.)

Anyway, many of you know Melanie even if you don’t know her. For many years her occupation was that of a water meter reader for the city of Marquette; where it seems she met every single person who lived here. She went back to college and got her degree in hospitality management, and now's she's managing the deli at Great Lakes Fresh Market, so if you're in there to pick up yummy food (which you really should be doing) the person giving you the food will probably be my sister.

In all families, every sibling is a little different. Yet in our family, if any of us have any similarities, I’m thinking it’s probably my sister and me. Oh, the differences are still there; she has a house & kids, I don’t and don’t. She can be much more “responsible” and “adult” than I ever want to be, and she thrives on having 18 different things going at once, whereas I’ll sometimes whine about it. But we’re also the siblings who make sure things are taken care of, the siblings who make fun of family oddities, and the siblings who have tried to carry on family traditions, which should be interesting now that she's thinking of moving to be closer to her daughters.

We’re also similar in that uniquely Koski way. The last time I had a birthday that ended with a “0”, I fought it kicking & screaming all the way. And now that my sister’s celebrating that very same birthday a few years later, she doesn’t want a big deal made out of it, either. I understand that perfectly, the fact that I’m writing about it in a public forum notwithstanding. But why do big brothers exist if not to give their little sisters a little grief, right?

Right?

Anyway, if you happen to see Mel around the next few days, wish her a happy birthday. Don’t mention which birthday it is; just wish her a happy birthday. I know I’ll be doing that myself.

Happy birthday, Mel!!!

Your big (&, sadly, older) brother,

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 10/2

Garbage collector, astronaut, and what I'm doing now. That's pretty much it.

Believe it or not I'm STILL getting people commenting on that “Word On the Street” profile of me from last week. In the interview I come out of the closet as a lifelong space nerd, something that's no surprise to those of you who read these yet an apparent shock to some people. And because of that I had someone ask me a few days ago if I ever wanted to become an astronaut. After I got done laughing and saying “duh” to myself 28 and a half times, I started to to think. And as we all know, that can be a dangerous thing.

Did you know I only wanted to be three things in my life? It's true, which means I'm either the luckiest person on the face of the Earth or I really need to work on getting a little ambition into my life. I'll let you decide which it is.

According to my parents, when I was a real little kid I wanted to be a garbage collector. I was apparently transfixed by both the trucks that they used and the noise those trucks made. My mom, especially, says I would wait and look out the window in the morning when the garbage truck was scheduled to come, and then be all happy when they stopped and collected the trash. For the first five or six years of my life that's all I ever wanted to be.

Then I discovered space.

I probably spent, oh, the next decade or so wondering if I could become an astronaut which, if I have to admit, is probably still a dream of mine. I know it probably won't happen, but if anyone has an extra quarter million bucks lying around and wants to buy me a ticket for one of Virgin Galactic's suborbital flights, I wouldn't complain.

Really, I wouldn't.

What made me realize that I probably would never become an astronaut? Well, to be totally honest, it's math. Even today, when mission specialists and non-pilot astronauts abound, you still need to be smart. You need to be good at certain things like physics or biology or (ugh) math. You need to have a skill set that makes it worthwhile to send you up into orbit. And I don't have that sort of skill set.

Unless, you know, they need someone to be really sarcastic on the International Space Station for a few weeks. Then I might be at the head of the line.

So that brings us to the final of three things I wanted to be when I was growing up. I loved the media. As I mentioned in the profile, when I was a kid I would take a radio at night and listen to clear channel AM stations throughout the country. I would be fascinated by TV shows, and how they're put together. And when I realized that my one true skill set in life—not math, not athletics, not being able to put a car together while blindfolded—was being able to get up in front of a microphone or a camera and perform, I was set.

And all these later, I haven't had to pick out a fourth career choice.

Everything I'm doing now—radio, TV, history—all comes from that one skill set. It comes from me talking and me performing. And considering that I was a really shy kid, it's kind of astounding, when you come to think of it. I would've put good money on a bet that the 9-year old me would not have grown up to do what the adult me does. And there's not one point at which I can pinpoint the change from shy kid to “Jim Koski, Media Wh*re”; it just kind of happened over a couple of years, and before I knew it I could talk without thinking and work a crowd (perhaps my one REAL skill) like a pro.

Who knew?

So there you go. Yes, I DID want to become an astronaut. I just wasn't smart enough, just like I probably wasn't mechanically inclined enough to become a master garbage collector, either. It's a good thing that performing requires neither brains or muscle. That way, I'll (hopefully) never have to make that fourth career choice!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 10/1

Okay. This really DOES have to stop soon.

You may recall a couple of days ago when I wrote about how...surreal my life seems to have been the past few months. About how I just had to find a few minutes to sit by myself and ponder everything. About how it just seems like all the stuff happening to me wasn't really happening, like it was the final episode of a long-running TV show where they just wanted to throw in every last idea they hadn't used in all the previous episodes.

And that was before the envelope arrived in the mail.

What was in the envelope, you ask? Well, I answer, it was a very nice letter informing me that during a luncheon next week I'm being given the Marquette Beautification and Restoration Committee's Barb Kelly Historic Preservation Award for, and I quote here, my “personal vision, contributions, and commitment for going the extra mile and adding a special dynamic that enhances our vibrant city”.

Yup. I apparently have a personal vision.

8-)

First of all, just let me say “thanks” to the committee for the honor. I appreciate it. It's always nice to be honored. But...are you sure you're giving the award to the right person? You sure you didn't get my name mixed up with someone, you know, important and actually deserving of it?

You sure?

All I do is walk around and babble about old buildings and railroads and hookers. I lead so many people around neighborhoods that traffic stops. I tell jokes about bars and the stupid things people did in them. Are you really sure that I should be getting that award? Really, really sure?

I don't wanna say that it's getting to this point, but it's almost getting to the point where I'm afraid to answer the phone or check the mailbox or head online, because who knows what I'll find when I do it. Someone will be saying something nice about me, or I'll be the subject of a profile, or I'll be given an award. Like I said, I appreciate it as much as the next person, but doesn't the next person deserve some of the exposure I've been given the past few months?

I'm really, really good at sharing. I'm more than willing to let someone else—anyone else—grab some of this spotlight. Honest. I am.

Oh well...it's just one of those times when things reach a critical mass and start to pile up on each other. I've had many instances of that in my life, and I'm sure there will be many more. Hopefully one day soon I'll be able to sit back for more than two minutes at a time and reflect upon and absorb all the incredible things that seem to be happening.

I'm just guessing it won't be any day soon.

(jim@wmqt.com) who, despite my whining, is very one every thankful and lucky person.