First of all, I know what you're
thinking. You're thinking...”Jim, even when you try to be funny
you usually leave the funny out”. And I would, you know, probably
have to (grudgingly) agree with you. But when I'm writing one of my
weekly TV pieces I usually try to have a gag or two in place, even if
those gags either get cut during editing, get usurped by a crack not
yet haven eaten a pasty, or (sadly) fall flat.
But not last night's TV piece. Nope; I
actually went into it thinking that I'd forsake the jokes for a
little poetic license, apt seeing as how the topic was the changing
color of trees throughout the UP. As to whether or not I succeeded
in that poetry might be up to the viewer, but as I was writing it
this past weekend I added not a joke to it...
Until, of course, my inner 11-year old
took over and made the adult me type the word “yellow” in the
script. But for the most part, I'd like to think that I was able to
accomplish what I set out to do.
Check it out for yourself--
I'm sure that next week I'll be back to
cracking gags about Bigfoot, the lack of an “R” in Ishpeming,
and, yes, even about yellow snow. But every so often, it's nice to
change it up, if even just a little bit.
Because, you know, I'm not in the media
enough as it is, prepare to be assaulted by my presence even more.
And this time, Loraine gets to come
along for the ride.
We spent part of our Sunday at the
Marquette Food Co-op being interviewed about and photographed for
their annual "Co-op Owners Month" campaign, where they
spotlight members of the Co-op in ads and in-store displays. I have
no idea why they chose us, although I DO know they were looking for
at least one couple that would be comfortable talking on camera.
They then use the results of the interviews (and photos) through the
month of October, when they try to get people interested in buying a
share of the Co-op and advancing its community standing.
I'll leave it to you as to whether or
not Loraine and I are the best people for that.
I'm hoping the answers we gave suited
them, as we talked about the community of the Co-op and how it's not
owned by a faceless corporation, but instead by your friends and
neighbors. And, for good measure, we threw in lots of good comments
about their selection of chocolates, cheeses, and Indian food
because, if you know us at all, you know those three areas are the
exact areas for which we really like the Marquette Food Co-op.
I'm just saying.
So if you happen to see both of us
flash across your TV screen or popping up on your phone as you're
doomscrolling, that's why. And, if nothing else, it's nice that
Loraine gets a little attention sent her way.
Me? Well, apparently, these are the
days when I can't avoid it, no matter what I do.
I don't think I had mentioned one of my
latest quixotic adventures, but this one came about after Loraine and I
finished watching the two-part (five-plus hour) documentary on Joel
last month on HBO Max. (And, as an aside, if you haven't watched it
yet, do so. If you like his music, it's amazing. And even if you're
not a big fan, the sheer volume of work the filmmakers put into it
really shows up on the screen).
Anyway, once the show, which covered
all phases of his career, was over, I thought it might be an
interesting to listen to all of his albums, starting with "The
Stranger", in order, on the mornings when I lift weights. In the show
he talked about his growth as an artist in the seven albums he did
once he became "Billy Joel", and I was curious to see what
I noticed myself
And I ended up being kind of surprised
at what I DID notice myself.
Now, this is gonna get really deep into
musical nerd-dom, so feel free to tune out now and then come back
Monday when, I promise, there won't be a word at all uttered about
"The Billy Joel Project”. But here are some topline thoughts
on my part--
1. "The Stranger" is an
almost perfect album and, as he said himself, anything else might
pale in comparison to it. After listening to them all, I kinda have
to agree. That doesn't mean that his other works are bad (in fact,
they aren't) but none of them, not even "Innocent Man",
come close to having the sheer breath, depth, and quality of each and
every track as does "the Stranger". In fact (and this
surprised me a little) the one that came the closest was "The
Bridge", and that kind of surprised me. But if I had to pick
one that came in second in the pantheon of Joel, that would be it.
2. I also noticed that on the albums
following "The Stranger" he & producer Phil
Ramone sequenced the works so that the strongest songs, the one that
would end up as singles, always appeared as the first tracks on the
album. Back in the 70s and 80s, you'd usually stick those songs as
the first and last tracks of each "side" of the album, so
that people would want to flip over the record or the cassette and
listen to the other side.
But not them.
3. Finally, I had to laugh at something
both he and his ex-wife (and ex-manager) Elizabeth said happened more
than one time in his career--that when record company executives
listened to a works like "The Stranger" or “An Innocent
Man”, the first thing out of their mouths was "we don't hear a
single"... despite the fact that both albums were pretty much
nothing BUT singles (and number one singles, in some cases).
So that's my report on "The Billy
Joel Project". I realize no one asked for the project nor asked
for the results, but it's interesting what happens when you watch a
TV documentary, listen to a few albums, and then let thoughts run
unfiltered through your head.
*****
Tomorrow's a corporate holiday, which
means I'm off and there won't be a new one of these. Back on Monday,
though, with the story of how Loraine and I are embarking on a
strange new journey, even for us.
Yesterday, I wrote about a choice. A
very bad, bad choice. Today, let's discuss a slightly better one.
First of all, let me thank those of you
who sent notes of sympathy and/or horror after reading about the
skunk/cigarette smoke whammy of yesterday. I'm just glad you guys
didn't have to go through it and, hopefully, it'll never happen again
Can it?
Now, here's the other choice that
popped into my head while thinking about choice. Which month is
better—May or September?
Before you think I've lost my marbles
(yet again), let me explain the rationale behind it. May and
September are the “buffer months” of summer, which for the
purposes of these musings are June, July & August. May gets us
ready for summer, while September eases us out of it. Both months
have good points and bad points, but which is “better”?
And yes, I realize “better” is a
highly subjective term, so you'll have to decide on that for
yourself.
But here's how I'm thinking of it
because, seriously, I can't decide. May, while it's cool, has more
sun, a higher sun angle, and the promise of a warm summer yet to
come. September, meanwhile, is warmer than May, and gives us (on
occasion) a few last really hot days out of which to wring every
remaining second of summer-like weather. If you want to look at it
another way, May is a month filled with optimism and hope but will
often left you down. September., on the other hand, is reliable but,
as it wears on, is also increasingly gloomy.
So trying to choose between the two is
difficult, if not downright impossible.
I have no idea why my mind drifts to
questions like these; it's probably my id's way of trying to get me
ready for yet another wonderful UP winter. All I know is that it's a
choice that's interesting to ponder.
Much more interesting than, say, having
to choose between skunk and cigarette smoke.
I don't know which smell is worse. I
don't know which smell is more deserving as the scent that could make
up a theoretical 9th ring of Dante's Hell.
But at least now I have a side by side
comparison.
Loraine and I were jolted out of sleep
around 5 this morning by the smell of a skunk spraying somewhere VERY
close to our apartment. Sadly, it's not an uncommon way in which
we're awoken. As I've written in here before, despite the fact that
we live in one of mostly densely packed sections of the city skunks
seem to love our neighborhood. I have no idea why; they just do.
So, after enjoying that olfactory alarm
clock I went running a few hours later. And I was heading down the
bike path near McCarty's Cove some guy walking along it chose the
moment I passed him to exhale a lung full of cigarette smoke, aiming
it (or so it seems) right at my face.
That was awfully nice of him. And it
was one of those times I wished I carried a camera with me while
running. I would have loved to have gotten a picture of
the...smokehole so I could post it on social media.
For me, at least, those are two of the
most horrid smells on the planet. Granted, I've never come across a
dead body in the middle of decomposition, which I've been told is the
ultimate in mind-blowingly bad smells, but skunks and second-hand
cigarette smoke top my list.
Trying to figure out which is worse is
a hard task. After all, millions of years of evolution have gone into
making a skunk's smell putrid. However, smelling a skunk won't kill
you, which is something second-hand cigarette smoke has been known to
do. So how do you choose? It's like having to pick your favorite
between vomiting and diarrhea.
There is no winner.
Don't worry; I'll keep pondering the
idea. I just hope—really, really hope—that I don't get to do
another side-by-side comparison of the two smells within a two-hour
span any time soon. Because, and you can trust me on this, once is
more than enough.
First of all, hope you had a great
weekend. I had an insanely busy one, as most weekends seem to be
these days. One of the events in which I participated was a 150th
anniversary celebration for St, Paul's Episcopal Church in Marquette,
providing context as to what Marquette was like when their current
building was constructed in 1875, and when the whole thing was over
someone came up to me and said, quoting them here, "You're the
Ryan Seacrest of the UP, aren't you"?
At first, I laughed it off. But then I
started to think that she may have had a point.
I mean, think about it. Ryan Seacrest,
much like his idol Dick Clark, seems to be everywhere im the media.
He has a daily radio show, a whole bunch of television gigs, and is a
prolific producer of reality TV. Substitute "history" for
"reality TV' and narrow down the scope from a national audience
to a regional one, and you know what you end up with?
Uhm...me.
I wonder if, like me (the Ryan Seacrest
of the UP), the real Mr Seacrest often wonders how he got to this
point in his life. I mean, he was working in radio in LA around the
turn the century when he got a phone call, went on an audition, and
ended up hosting a little TV show called "American Idol".
From there it's been, I'm guessing, a non-stop whirlwind of gigs,
offers, opportunity, and riches. And while I can't claim any of the
riches or the nation-wide fame, I certainly do know how one thing
leads to the other until you wake up one morning with a radio job,
two TV gigs, and a reputation as the dorkiest history expert in the
history of, well, history.
Once agan, I'm not in any way comparing
my fame to the fame of Ryan Seacrest. In fact, until one woman
mentioned it to me yesterday I hadn't even considered it. But now
that she's mentioned it, I can see the similarities. Whether that's
a good thing or a bad thing...
Well, I'll leave that for the ages to
decide.
Okay, I have to go get ready for (in
very Seacrest-ian fashion) my radio job and one of my TV gigs, so with
that in mind...
I've spent the entire week talking
about travel. Why stop now?
I caught the travel bug early, and
that's thanks to the two people who are celebrating a big day today.
When I was just a little kid I remember going on road trips to
strange and exotic places like Minnesota and Texas, and when I was a
senior in high school I joined those two on a long and unique trip,
thanks to something you'd never see today—fly as much as you want anywhere you want within a two week span for just one fare. On that one trip we ended up in such varied places as
Los Angeles, Miami, and Washington DC (yes, in one trip and for one
fare).
Needless to say, I haven't stopped
since.
Those two people, obviously, were my
parents, and like all good Gen X-ers I'm “blaming” them for my
urge to travel. I even hope I've paid them back, a little, when
Loraine and I convinced them to join us in Europe twice (among my
favorite travel memories, by the way). Today's a big day in their
lives, as it was on this day a, uhm, few years ago when they got
hitched. Since then, they've raised a family, owned and operated
businesses, retired, and became snowbirds, ensuring that their days
of travel are not yet over.
So two the two people without whom I
would (literally) not be possible, happy anniversary. Thanks for
instilling that love of travel (among other things) into me. And
thanks for being the kind of parents that still allow me to take them
out to lunch every year on this big day.
