Wednesday, 2/9

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 2/8

Oh, look—I've injured myself again.

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

8-)

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

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

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

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

Sigh.

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

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

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 2/7

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

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

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

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

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

Who knew?

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

To this--

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

Love,

(jim@wmqt.com)

Friday, 2/4

I can't believe we made it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Have a great weekend!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 2/3

I wonder how long it would take.

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

I wonder how long it would take.

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

Go figure.

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

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

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

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

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

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 2/2

Do people even dig snow tunnels any more?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 2/1

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

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

But that's neither here nor there.

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

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

Am I good or what?

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

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

And not in a good way.

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

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

(jim@wmqt.com)