NOT MY MUMMY: A 2-year-old boy was intrigued by a Halloween display at a craft and hobby store in Plover featuring a life-sized mummy.
Approaching the mummy, which softly groans when people get near it, the boy jumped when its groan got louder as he got closer. The boy refused to get any closer to the mummy, preferring to hide behind his father’s leg.
* * *
BUTT KISSING: A teacher at a Stevens Point daycare couldn’t help but laugh when a 2-year-old boy told him to kiss his butt.
The child had fallen onto his backside from a slide and, as he normally does, asked the nearest adult to kiss his oww wee to “make it feel better.”
“Kiss my butt,” he told the teacher.
“He was so serious,” the teacher told the boy’s father. “It was hilarious.”
* * *
FUTURE PUPPY: The 2-year-old son of a Portage County Gazette staff member quickly denied his father’s hopes for him. The father, excited about the new Fox television show “Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles,” asked the boy if he would like to be a Terminator when he grows up.
“No, I want to be a puppy,” said the boy.
Foolish questions get foolish answers.
* * *
STUCK IN THE SNOW: The wife of a Portage County Gazette staffer forgot to look at the end of the driveway before backing out of it in order to go to work Monday morning. Much to her surprise, a snowplow had left a pile too big for her little Plymouth Neon to drive through. She wasn’t able to begin her commute to work until 45 minutes later, after receiving a tow out of the snow pile by a passing Good Samaritan.
* * *
PUZZLING COMMENT: A parent’s ear was blistered when his 3-year-old son uttered a phrase that seemed to contain a profanity. When the son repeated the comment to his mother, both parents became alarmed because they weren’t really sure what the son was saying but it sounded like a profanity to them.
Using the suspected profanity, the parents asked the son if that was what he said, but the son said it wasn’t, repeating it once again.
Now the parents are afraid to press the issue, fearing the son may continue to repeat the phrase in public, which would be embarrassing.
* * *
MOVING TO THE PARK: The 3-year-old son of a Gazette employee was excited when he and his parents moved to Plover after a year of daily commuting from Wautoma. His excitement wasn’t due to the end of 90 minutes worth of daily driving, it was because he mistook his father’s explanation that they were moving to a location near a park as to they were moving to a park. The boy was saddened when he discovered their new living room did not contain playground equipment.
* * *
FAKING IT EARLY: The 3-year-old son of a Gazette staffer asked for a cough drop after seeing his father take one for a cold. His father told him it’s only for people who have a cough. “Cough, cough,” the boy faked in an attempt to get one. Laughing at the ploy, the father gave the boy a cough drop – for preventative measures.
* * *
NO. 2 AT THE DINNER TABLE: The same boy decided to bring the subject of No. 2 up at the dinner table, saying a food smelled like it. His mother told him that he shouldn’t talk about that while eating. The boy continued to talk about it as he kept repeating that you only talk about No. 2 at the potty.
* * *
PLAYING WITH MRS. PIENTKA: When asked about his day at his daycare, the 3-year-old son of a Gazette staffer always says he played with his teacher, Mrs. Pientka. Knowing the teacher wasn’t there one day, his father asked the question again, expecting a different answer. He got one, but it wasn’t much different. “I didn’t play with Mrs. Pientka today,” he responded.
* * *
GIRAFFE BOY: The wife of a Gazette staffer caught their 3-year-old son eating leaves directly from a tree one day. “What are you doing?” she asked the boy. “You shouldn’t be eating leaves.”
“But mommy, I’m a giraffe,” the boy replied.
Seeing it would be difficult to argue his logic, the mother said he should be a boy and have some people food if he was hungry.
* * *
‘OH SUZANNA’: While in the midst of being naughty, the 3-year-old son of a Gazette staffer diverted attention away from his behavior by suddenly breaking out a verse of “Oh Suzanna,” much to his parents’ surprise. “For I come from Alabama with a banjo on my knee,” the boy sang. The parents were unaware he knew such a complicated song, one he must have learned at his daycare.
* * *
HAMBURGER, CHEESEBURGER – TWO DIFFERENT FOODS: The 3-year-old son of a Gazette staffer tried to use a technicality to get out of eating a meal. When told he needed to finish his hamburger before he could have a treat, the boy said he already did. “What’s that then?” his father asked, pointing to the burger.
“It’s a cheeseburger,” he replied. “Can I have my treat now?”
* * *
RACING DADDY: A father was surprised to learn he won a race he didn’t know he was in Tuesday, Dec. 9. Coming home from work with his 3-year-old son in the car, the father was dumbfounded when the boy shouted “Yeah, you won.”
When the father asked him about it, the boy said the father beat the car in the other lane. As far as the father knew, he was just routinely driving past the other car on four-lane Post Road in Plover, but was happy to please his son with the victory.
* * *
CHEAPSKATE GRANDMA: The 3-year-old son of a Gazette staffer took a trip to the store with his grandmother last week. When they arrived the boy told her he’ll “pay the money.”
Thinking the boy was talking about a parking meter, she told him there were none and they didn’t need to pay anything.
The boy persisted, so to quiet him she said she didn’t have any money.
When they got to the entrance at the store, the boy ran to the person manning the Red Kettle there and said they couldn’t pay because his grandmother “didn’t have any money.”
Without missing a beat, the man told the boy that was OK, because a lot of people don’t have any money right now.
The embarrassed grandmother managed to find a couple of quarters in her purse to give to her grandson to put in the Red Kettle.
* * *
NO BOINKING: The 3-year-old son of a Gazette staffer got his first real bed this past weekend, when his parents upgraded his toddler bed to a twin bed.
The first thing he did after it was set up was bounce on it, proclaiming he was “boinking” on his bed. His father immediately told him there would be no “boinking” on this bed.
His grandmother, in the room at the time, said she hopes there isn’t any “boinking” on the bed until he’s married.
* * *
BOYS WILL BE BOYS, AS LONG AS THEY CAN CRAWL IN PUDDLES: The same boy appreciated the warm weather this past week that caused much of the snow to melt and create massive puddles everywhere in the parking lot at his apartment building.
While his father grilled outside, the boy splashed and ran through the puddles, and when the father wasn’t looking, he decided it was exciting to crawl through them. Much to his father’s displeasure, yet amusement.
* * *
PROFOUND THINKING FOR 4-YEAR-OLD: A Gazette staffer was surprised by a profound thought from his 4-year-old son this week. While driving past a cemetery in Plover, the boy pointed to some gravestones and asked what they were.
“They’re gravestones,” the father said.
“Are they like pyramids?” the boy asked.
At first the father laughed at the boy’s notion, but then he realized gravestones serve as markers for a person’s final resting spot, much like pyramids marked the location where ancient Egyptian pharaohs hoped to enter the afterlife.
* * *
A NEW HUNTING SEASON: The Easter Bunny needs to look out. The 4-year-old son of a Gazette staffer told his parents he couldn’t wait to go Easter Bunny hunting.
He meant to say Easter egg hunting.
* * *
NOT SO FAST: The 4-year-old son of a Gazette staffer tried to make an upcoming family vacation even bigger. The family is going to Wisconsin Dells for four days, and excited about the event, he invited his friends at daycare to come along.
“We can all go down the water slide,” he told several boys after giving them an invitation.
The parents of the boy aren’t planning on taking any extra guests.
* * *
WORN IN, NOT OUT: After a long day of swimming and playing in Wisconsin Dells last weekend, the 4-year-old son of a Gazette staffer was asked if he was worn out. “No, I’m worn in,” he replied. Whatever that means?
* * *
LOOK MA, NO GAS: The mother of a Gazette staffer hates growing older. Worried she’ll forget to pay for her gas recently, she went through all of the motions at the gas station and even got reassurance from the attendant the gas used by her pump was paid for.
Driving away, she noticed she had as much gas in her tank as she had before she got to the gas station. Apparently, she forgot to put any gas in her vehicle, and the attendant said the gas was paid for because it belonged to the person who was at the pump before her.
* * *
KIDS LEARN EARLY: At the young age of 4, the son of a Gazette staffer wasn’t happy about not receiving any presents on Mother’s Day. “Where’s my presents?” he asked when he saw his mother opening one.
“It’s Mother’s Day – you don’t get one today,” he was told.
“Why can’t it be Mother’s Kid’s Day?” the boy quickly retorted.
Surprised the boy was asking the age-old question all children eventually learn to ask on the Mother’s Day and Father’s Day holidays, his parents gave him the familiar answer they heard when they were children: “Every day is Kid’s Day.”
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Demanding people, unusual vegetables differ on newsworthiness scale
The job of a newspaper reporter can be interesting at times, especially when people bring items they deem newsworthy to us, regardless of whether or not we, the professionals, believe it to be worthy of putting in the pages of The Gazette.
As long as it’s local with relevance to at least one reader, the staff at The Gazette will make every effort to let others know about it, either through a longer piece a reporter will write or through a brief news item in one of the many capsules we run weekly.
But every once in a while someone will call and make a demand of us that we can’t or won’t honor. I received one of these requests earlier this week when a business owner in a neighboring county wanted me to come and hear her story in order for me to write about it in this paper.
Apparently, another newspaper in that person’s county ran an article or something criticizing her business, causing her to receive harassing phone calls and other communication from people in her community.
The woman’s babble made no sense to me, as I wasn’t familiar with her, her business or the people in her community, nor had I read the original article about her business. The lady may or may not have a story, but I didn’t care because her situation had no local connection whatsoever.
I told her The Gazette is a local paper that covers local news, so we weren’t interested in going out of our way for a story in another county. She didn’t like what I had to say and hung up on me, which, by the way, is not the first time someone has ever hung up on me.
Curiosity had bitten me a little bit, so I e-mailed a friend of mine that worked at the paper she was referring to, asking about the situation. He e-mailed me back and said the lady was upset because the article talked about an occurrence in which she allegedly swore at and threatened a customer, facts he said were backed up by a police report.
It sounded like she was serving up a really big batch of poor customer service, and to counter this bad publicity she thought she could get another newspaper to give her some good press. It’s not the first time The Gazette has been called upon to counter something that may have appeared in another media outlet, but this was a situation that we neither wanted to rectify nor thought we should.
Situations like this are unusual, but another one that occurred later in the week isn’t unusual at all, nor as controversial. The situation is one we like to call “People with Vegetables.”
It’s simple. Someone calls us, or stops at our office, because he or she has an abnormally large, unusually-shaped or extraordinary vegetable, fruit or plant.
Unlike the previous situation, The Gazette is more than happy to accommodate giving a little press to “People with Vegetables,” usually in the form of a photo and caption, even though we’ve seen such a large number of these most unusual items that to us they are no longer unusual.
In my 12-year journalism career, I’ve seen quite a few of these vegetables, fruits and plants: big mushrooms, oddly-shaped cucumbers, tall sunflowers, plants that bloom at the wrong time of the year, super-sized pumpkins and even potatoes shaped like presidents.
Though they may no longer be unusual to me, I know others might find them interesting. So it’s somewhat easy to keep our pride in check and report about them to others.
But doing so isn’t something they teach in college, nor are there lessons in handling people who think we should drop what we are doing and listen to their story, even if it has no relevance to what we do. Someday I’m going to go back to college, not as a student but as a teacher, and present these valuable lessons to journalism students.
These lessons are ones many days I wish I had received.
As long as it’s local with relevance to at least one reader, the staff at The Gazette will make every effort to let others know about it, either through a longer piece a reporter will write or through a brief news item in one of the many capsules we run weekly.
But every once in a while someone will call and make a demand of us that we can’t or won’t honor. I received one of these requests earlier this week when a business owner in a neighboring county wanted me to come and hear her story in order for me to write about it in this paper.
Apparently, another newspaper in that person’s county ran an article or something criticizing her business, causing her to receive harassing phone calls and other communication from people in her community.
The woman’s babble made no sense to me, as I wasn’t familiar with her, her business or the people in her community, nor had I read the original article about her business. The lady may or may not have a story, but I didn’t care because her situation had no local connection whatsoever.
I told her The Gazette is a local paper that covers local news, so we weren’t interested in going out of our way for a story in another county. She didn’t like what I had to say and hung up on me, which, by the way, is not the first time someone has ever hung up on me.
Curiosity had bitten me a little bit, so I e-mailed a friend of mine that worked at the paper she was referring to, asking about the situation. He e-mailed me back and said the lady was upset because the article talked about an occurrence in which she allegedly swore at and threatened a customer, facts he said were backed up by a police report.
It sounded like she was serving up a really big batch of poor customer service, and to counter this bad publicity she thought she could get another newspaper to give her some good press. It’s not the first time The Gazette has been called upon to counter something that may have appeared in another media outlet, but this was a situation that we neither wanted to rectify nor thought we should.
Situations like this are unusual, but another one that occurred later in the week isn’t unusual at all, nor as controversial. The situation is one we like to call “People with Vegetables.”
It’s simple. Someone calls us, or stops at our office, because he or she has an abnormally large, unusually-shaped or extraordinary vegetable, fruit or plant.
Unlike the previous situation, The Gazette is more than happy to accommodate giving a little press to “People with Vegetables,” usually in the form of a photo and caption, even though we’ve seen such a large number of these most unusual items that to us they are no longer unusual.
In my 12-year journalism career, I’ve seen quite a few of these vegetables, fruits and plants: big mushrooms, oddly-shaped cucumbers, tall sunflowers, plants that bloom at the wrong time of the year, super-sized pumpkins and even potatoes shaped like presidents.
Though they may no longer be unusual to me, I know others might find them interesting. So it’s somewhat easy to keep our pride in check and report about them to others.
But doing so isn’t something they teach in college, nor are there lessons in handling people who think we should drop what we are doing and listen to their story, even if it has no relevance to what we do. Someday I’m going to go back to college, not as a student but as a teacher, and present these valuable lessons to journalism students.
These lessons are ones many days I wish I had received.
Favre situation offers plenty of taunting opportunities
Am I a mean person because I occasionally like to taunt people?
When word leaked Tuesday, Aug. 18, that Brett Favre was about to sign with the Minnesota Vikings, I immediately sent an e-mail to former co-workers of mine who are Green Bay Packers fanatics and former obsessed fans of Favre.
The e-mail simply stated: “It’s a lovely day seeing Brett sign with Minnesota. Vikings 42 Packers 17 (first game). Vikings 56 Packers 3 (second game).”
Personally, I hate the Vikings and I do like the Packers; however, I grew up on Brett Favre, and in my humble opinion, he got shafted by the organization last year when he wanted to return after basically being forced to retire by Packers general manager Ted Thompson and his staff.
At my former job, at another newspaper in central Wisconsin, I had to listen to Brett Favre and Packers talk all day. They made him out to be a god, and whenever I pointed out he had some flaws – only one championship, a prescription drug addiction, plenty of interceptions – they scolded me for blasphemy.
When I once suggested that Arnold Schwarzenegger would beat him in a fight, they argued Favre was more street smart and would destroy the Terminator. I couldn’t win when it came to criticizing the quarterback.
That didn’t stop me from trying. At every possible moment I taunted them when he lost a game, threw an interception or did something foolish. It wasn’t because I actually disliked him, but because I enjoyed getting them all fired up in rebutting my arguments.
But when Favre retired, and then wanted to unretire, their entire attitude changed. He was no longer a god, but rather an over-the-hill icon who should step aside and allow someone else to take the reins.
This sudden change in attitude surprised me, as it meant I could no longer taunt them like I continued to do even after changing jobs.
Unless, of course, I took a new approach, and that new approach is to taunt them by being pro-Favre and anti-Packer.
It’s tough being anti-Packer, but it’s quite fun being pro-Favre. It was great last year, until an injury ruined the final part of his season with the New York Jets, because I was able to send my former co-workers plenty of e-mails when the Jets were doing well and the Packers were playing like the team I was expecting them to be without Favre.
I expect more of the same this year, especially when Favre unhinges the Packers season when he blows them away Oct. 5. I’m already contemplating things I can do when this happens.
I could send them a cheesehead with a Minnesota-clad Favre doll staking a hole through it with a Viking spear.
I could write a letter on Favre’s behalf asking for all his memorabilia back, as he’ll be able to sell it for top dollar in Minnesota where the people there truly appreciate him.
I could write an obituary for the Green Bay Packers and say the organization is survived by Favre, a legend that brought life back to the organization after dying in the 1970s and 1980s and who could have kept it alive for at least two more seasons now.
There’s plenty I can do, and all will give me great pleasure. I just better hope Favre lives up to my expectations, or I’ll have to eat my own taunts.
When word leaked Tuesday, Aug. 18, that Brett Favre was about to sign with the Minnesota Vikings, I immediately sent an e-mail to former co-workers of mine who are Green Bay Packers fanatics and former obsessed fans of Favre.
The e-mail simply stated: “It’s a lovely day seeing Brett sign with Minnesota. Vikings 42 Packers 17 (first game). Vikings 56 Packers 3 (second game).”
Personally, I hate the Vikings and I do like the Packers; however, I grew up on Brett Favre, and in my humble opinion, he got shafted by the organization last year when he wanted to return after basically being forced to retire by Packers general manager Ted Thompson and his staff.
At my former job, at another newspaper in central Wisconsin, I had to listen to Brett Favre and Packers talk all day. They made him out to be a god, and whenever I pointed out he had some flaws – only one championship, a prescription drug addiction, plenty of interceptions – they scolded me for blasphemy.
When I once suggested that Arnold Schwarzenegger would beat him in a fight, they argued Favre was more street smart and would destroy the Terminator. I couldn’t win when it came to criticizing the quarterback.
That didn’t stop me from trying. At every possible moment I taunted them when he lost a game, threw an interception or did something foolish. It wasn’t because I actually disliked him, but because I enjoyed getting them all fired up in rebutting my arguments.
But when Favre retired, and then wanted to unretire, their entire attitude changed. He was no longer a god, but rather an over-the-hill icon who should step aside and allow someone else to take the reins.
This sudden change in attitude surprised me, as it meant I could no longer taunt them like I continued to do even after changing jobs.
Unless, of course, I took a new approach, and that new approach is to taunt them by being pro-Favre and anti-Packer.
It’s tough being anti-Packer, but it’s quite fun being pro-Favre. It was great last year, until an injury ruined the final part of his season with the New York Jets, because I was able to send my former co-workers plenty of e-mails when the Jets were doing well and the Packers were playing like the team I was expecting them to be without Favre.
I expect more of the same this year, especially when Favre unhinges the Packers season when he blows them away Oct. 5. I’m already contemplating things I can do when this happens.
I could send them a cheesehead with a Minnesota-clad Favre doll staking a hole through it with a Viking spear.
I could write a letter on Favre’s behalf asking for all his memorabilia back, as he’ll be able to sell it for top dollar in Minnesota where the people there truly appreciate him.
I could write an obituary for the Green Bay Packers and say the organization is survived by Favre, a legend that brought life back to the organization after dying in the 1970s and 1980s and who could have kept it alive for at least two more seasons now.
There’s plenty I can do, and all will give me great pleasure. I just better hope Favre lives up to my expectations, or I’ll have to eat my own taunts.
Fattening videogame systems can now help people lose weight
In January I wrote in this column that one of my New Year’s Resolutions was to lose weight, and I’m happy to report that one of the things that helped make me overweight is now one of the things that’s helping me to lose it.
Back in the early 1980s, my grandparents introduced me to my first videogame system when they purchased an Atari system for their home. My sister and I spent many hours there playing “Pac-Man,” “Space Invaders,” “Centipede,” “Lost Luggage” and even “E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial,” a game based on the film of the same name that is considered one of the biggest videogame flops in history because it sold only a fraction of the cartridges made for retail. The rest were buried in some pit in Arizona.
My grandparents were farmers, and the concept of them having something as technologically advanced as a videogame system was mind-blowing at the time. They probably bought it to keep us grandkids occupied when we came over, but my grandpa seemed to play it as much as I did, so he may have bought it for himself.
By the end of the decade, our home had its first videogame system, the Nintendo Entertainment System. My sister and I, along with our father, spent hours playing “Super Mario Brothers,” “The Legend of Zelda,” “Duck Hunt,” “Metroid” and a ton of other classics.
I spent so much time playing them I got fat. Whereas before getting the Nintendo I spent hours outside playing, as we didn’t have cable or air conditioning, after getting it my primary favorite location was on the chair or couch in front of the television playing videogames.
Videogames had some benefits – I learned all the rules to many sports I didn’t care about before, like football, baseball, hockey and even golf, and my hand and eye coordination improved greatly – the negatives greatly outweighed them, as my new videogame-playing body greatly outweighed my old one.
It’s a situation that only got worse as videogame companies came out with new systems and games. I bought them all: the Super Nintendo Entertainment System, the Nintendo 64, the Sony Playstation and Playstation 2. For every dollar I invested in these systems and games, I probably gained an ounce or two of weight.
I lost the extra weight one summer when I put the videogames away and started running, but it came back within five years after I gave running up in favor of more videogames.
Last summer, having become bored with my Playstation 2, I purchased a current generation system, the Nintendo Wii, as well as a game for it, “Wii Fit,” with a goal of using it to help me lose weight, as this system and its games rely on motion activation to play. Players are required to get off their butts and actively move in order to use it, and with “Wii Fit” people can do everything from yoga to skiing.
The problem is most games can still be played by sitting on your butt and wiggling the controller, and “Wii Fit” is great for improving balance but not for actually working out.
It wasn’t until EA came out with “EA Sports Active” in May that I actually started using my videogame system to actually lose weight.
The game, which comes with a leg strap and resistance band, requires people to run, jump, lunge, crunch, lift, curl, shoot baskets, hit tennis balls, play volleyball, pitch baseballs, roller skate and even dance, through a wide variety of exercises.
The Wii controller, as well as its accompanying nunchuck, keeps track of your movements as you follow along to the game to make sure you are doing everything properly, and the resistance band adds an element that makes those movements a little more difficult.
It’s also Oprah Winfrey-approved, as her fitness guru, Bob Greene, puts people through a 30-day challenge in the game. He sets up a variety of exercises that require between 20 and 40 minutes a day to complete, and which burn between 120 and 250 calories a workout.
I completed the 30-day challenge this week, and although I only lost five pounds, I believe that’s because I gained 10 pounds in muscle mass during that time, which limited my actual weight loss. As I continue, I believe I’ll lose a lot more weight.
In addition to some great workouts, the game also has people keep track of their lifestyle habits, such as how much sleep you get, how much water you drink, how many fast food meals you eat, what your stress and energy levels are at, and how many vegetables you eat.
I discovered that by taking this survey every day I made sure I ate more vegetables, I ate a lot less fast food meals, I drank more water and I got more sleep. I felt guilty when I had to take the survey and didn’t meet the game’s expectations.
Now that videogames are helping me get in shape, I’m hoping someone will invent a game that can put hair back on my balding head.
Back in the early 1980s, my grandparents introduced me to my first videogame system when they purchased an Atari system for their home. My sister and I spent many hours there playing “Pac-Man,” “Space Invaders,” “Centipede,” “Lost Luggage” and even “E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial,” a game based on the film of the same name that is considered one of the biggest videogame flops in history because it sold only a fraction of the cartridges made for retail. The rest were buried in some pit in Arizona.
My grandparents were farmers, and the concept of them having something as technologically advanced as a videogame system was mind-blowing at the time. They probably bought it to keep us grandkids occupied when we came over, but my grandpa seemed to play it as much as I did, so he may have bought it for himself.
By the end of the decade, our home had its first videogame system, the Nintendo Entertainment System. My sister and I, along with our father, spent hours playing “Super Mario Brothers,” “The Legend of Zelda,” “Duck Hunt,” “Metroid” and a ton of other classics.
I spent so much time playing them I got fat. Whereas before getting the Nintendo I spent hours outside playing, as we didn’t have cable or air conditioning, after getting it my primary favorite location was on the chair or couch in front of the television playing videogames.
Videogames had some benefits – I learned all the rules to many sports I didn’t care about before, like football, baseball, hockey and even golf, and my hand and eye coordination improved greatly – the negatives greatly outweighed them, as my new videogame-playing body greatly outweighed my old one.
It’s a situation that only got worse as videogame companies came out with new systems and games. I bought them all: the Super Nintendo Entertainment System, the Nintendo 64, the Sony Playstation and Playstation 2. For every dollar I invested in these systems and games, I probably gained an ounce or two of weight.
I lost the extra weight one summer when I put the videogames away and started running, but it came back within five years after I gave running up in favor of more videogames.
Last summer, having become bored with my Playstation 2, I purchased a current generation system, the Nintendo Wii, as well as a game for it, “Wii Fit,” with a goal of using it to help me lose weight, as this system and its games rely on motion activation to play. Players are required to get off their butts and actively move in order to use it, and with “Wii Fit” people can do everything from yoga to skiing.
The problem is most games can still be played by sitting on your butt and wiggling the controller, and “Wii Fit” is great for improving balance but not for actually working out.
It wasn’t until EA came out with “EA Sports Active” in May that I actually started using my videogame system to actually lose weight.
The game, which comes with a leg strap and resistance band, requires people to run, jump, lunge, crunch, lift, curl, shoot baskets, hit tennis balls, play volleyball, pitch baseballs, roller skate and even dance, through a wide variety of exercises.
The Wii controller, as well as its accompanying nunchuck, keeps track of your movements as you follow along to the game to make sure you are doing everything properly, and the resistance band adds an element that makes those movements a little more difficult.
It’s also Oprah Winfrey-approved, as her fitness guru, Bob Greene, puts people through a 30-day challenge in the game. He sets up a variety of exercises that require between 20 and 40 minutes a day to complete, and which burn between 120 and 250 calories a workout.
I completed the 30-day challenge this week, and although I only lost five pounds, I believe that’s because I gained 10 pounds in muscle mass during that time, which limited my actual weight loss. As I continue, I believe I’ll lose a lot more weight.
In addition to some great workouts, the game also has people keep track of their lifestyle habits, such as how much sleep you get, how much water you drink, how many fast food meals you eat, what your stress and energy levels are at, and how many vegetables you eat.
I discovered that by taking this survey every day I made sure I ate more vegetables, I ate a lot less fast food meals, I drank more water and I got more sleep. I felt guilty when I had to take the survey and didn’t meet the game’s expectations.
Now that videogames are helping me get in shape, I’m hoping someone will invent a game that can put hair back on my balding head.
Positive thinking helps when life throws hardballs
It’s difficult writing a humor column when life throws hardballs, as it has over the past two weeks when my father-in-law, Brad, found out he has colon cancer and, following a surgery to remove it, it was revealed the cancer had spread.
But laughter and finding positives in this unfair world can be good medicines that may help him beat this.
He received a good dose of positive when his nephew, Ryan, came through on a promise people only fulfill in movies or television.
Ryan, a senior at the Milwaukee School of Engineering and an all-around great kid, races vehicles at the Slinger Super Speedway on the weekends in his quest to someday join his heroes – people like Dale Earnhardt – as a NASCAR racer. It’s a dream he’s had as long as I’ve known him, and probably long before that, too.
He visited his uncle in the hospital on Saturday and told Brad he was going to win the next day’s race for him.
Ryan has placed second in a couple of races, but he has never captured a checkered flag. Making a statement like that would be bold even for racers that have won dozens of races, but coming from someone who hasn’t completely proved himself on the track yet is beyond bold. It’s audacious.
I’d bet even overly-confident football player Terrell Owens and just-as-cocky NASCAR racer Tony Stewart would never promise to catch a touchdown pass or win a race for someone, knowing the odds are greatly stacked against them doing so.
Only Gary Cooper as Lou Gehrig in the film “The Pride of the Yankees” could make such a promise – to hit two homeruns for a sick boy – and fulfill it. Well, Cosmo Kramer made a similar promise on Yankee Paul O’Neill’s behalf in an episode of “Seinfeld,” but that was only because he was trying to get back an autographed photo he accidentally gave to the boy.
Ryan not only came through on his promise, winning the 18-lap Thunderstock division race Sunday, Aug. 2, but he did so in a determined and convincing fashion, leading from start to finish.
The first thing he did after getting out of his vehicle was to call his uncle in the hospital and let him know he captured the checkered flag.
I get goose bumps every time I think about this feat, and it gives me, and others, hope that even if the odds are stacked against him, Brad will pull a Ryan and beat those odds.
Technically, we don’t even know what the battle will be like, as he hasn’t started chemotherapy yet and his doctor is still trying to determine the next course of action.
No matter what the doctor determines, we are optimistic Brad will be a good fighter. It’s in his genes. His cousin, Bob, was given months to live after being diagnosed with cancer. Bob’s still around, not only beating the odds he was given but smashing them into oblivion.
Bob visited his cousin this week in the hospital, living proof that positive thoughts work.
I know if anyone can beat cancer, it’s Brad. The guy has a stare he gives to people who wrong him or his family that would send even the strongest and mightiest of people whimpering back to their mamas. I’ve only seen this stare when he’s told me stories about others wronging him, and it scares the heck out of me. I bet he’ll stare his cancer down and every last cancer cell will bolt out of his body.
Also working in his favor is his own good, positive attitude. For him, he has said this is just another “bump in the road.” He even took time to show my 4-year-old son and his grandchild, Braden, his big band aid and talk about the special machines he’s hooked up to at the hospital. So if his toughness doesn’t beat it, his positive attitude probably will.
Or maybe just some good old-fashioned laughing will. Braden has become a master at making people laugh, so if we get him to see his grandpa enough that will be the ultimate medicine no doctor can prescribe.
But laughter and finding positives in this unfair world can be good medicines that may help him beat this.
He received a good dose of positive when his nephew, Ryan, came through on a promise people only fulfill in movies or television.
Ryan, a senior at the Milwaukee School of Engineering and an all-around great kid, races vehicles at the Slinger Super Speedway on the weekends in his quest to someday join his heroes – people like Dale Earnhardt – as a NASCAR racer. It’s a dream he’s had as long as I’ve known him, and probably long before that, too.
He visited his uncle in the hospital on Saturday and told Brad he was going to win the next day’s race for him.
Ryan has placed second in a couple of races, but he has never captured a checkered flag. Making a statement like that would be bold even for racers that have won dozens of races, but coming from someone who hasn’t completely proved himself on the track yet is beyond bold. It’s audacious.
I’d bet even overly-confident football player Terrell Owens and just-as-cocky NASCAR racer Tony Stewart would never promise to catch a touchdown pass or win a race for someone, knowing the odds are greatly stacked against them doing so.
Only Gary Cooper as Lou Gehrig in the film “The Pride of the Yankees” could make such a promise – to hit two homeruns for a sick boy – and fulfill it. Well, Cosmo Kramer made a similar promise on Yankee Paul O’Neill’s behalf in an episode of “Seinfeld,” but that was only because he was trying to get back an autographed photo he accidentally gave to the boy.
Ryan not only came through on his promise, winning the 18-lap Thunderstock division race Sunday, Aug. 2, but he did so in a determined and convincing fashion, leading from start to finish.
The first thing he did after getting out of his vehicle was to call his uncle in the hospital and let him know he captured the checkered flag.
I get goose bumps every time I think about this feat, and it gives me, and others, hope that even if the odds are stacked against him, Brad will pull a Ryan and beat those odds.
Technically, we don’t even know what the battle will be like, as he hasn’t started chemotherapy yet and his doctor is still trying to determine the next course of action.
No matter what the doctor determines, we are optimistic Brad will be a good fighter. It’s in his genes. His cousin, Bob, was given months to live after being diagnosed with cancer. Bob’s still around, not only beating the odds he was given but smashing them into oblivion.
Bob visited his cousin this week in the hospital, living proof that positive thoughts work.
I know if anyone can beat cancer, it’s Brad. The guy has a stare he gives to people who wrong him or his family that would send even the strongest and mightiest of people whimpering back to their mamas. I’ve only seen this stare when he’s told me stories about others wronging him, and it scares the heck out of me. I bet he’ll stare his cancer down and every last cancer cell will bolt out of his body.
Also working in his favor is his own good, positive attitude. For him, he has said this is just another “bump in the road.” He even took time to show my 4-year-old son and his grandchild, Braden, his big band aid and talk about the special machines he’s hooked up to at the hospital. So if his toughness doesn’t beat it, his positive attitude probably will.
Or maybe just some good old-fashioned laughing will. Braden has become a master at making people laugh, so if we get him to see his grandpa enough that will be the ultimate medicine no doctor can prescribe.
Positive thinking helps when life throws hardballs
It’s difficult writing a humor column when life throws hardballs, as it has over the past two weeks when my father-in-law, Brad, found out he has colon cancer and, following a surgery to remove it, it was revealed the cancer had spread.
But laughter and finding positives in this unfair world can be good medicines that may help him beat this.
He received a good dose of positive when his nephew, Ryan, came through on a promise people only fulfill in movies or television.
Ryan, a senior at the Milwaukee School of Engineering and an all-around great kid, races vehicles at the Slinger Super Speedway on the weekends in his quest to someday join his heroes – people like Dale Earnhardt – as a NASCAR racer. It’s a dream he’s had as long as I’ve known him, and probably long before that, too.
He visited his uncle in the hospital on Saturday and told Brad he was going to win the next day’s race for him.
Ryan has placed second in a couple of races, but he has never captured a checkered flag. Making a statement like that would be bold even for racers that have won dozens of races, but coming from someone who hasn’t completely proved himself on the track yet is beyond bold. It’s audacious.
I’d bet even overly-confident football player Terrell Owens and just-as-cocky NASCAR racer Tony Stewart would never promise to catch a touchdown pass or win a race for someone, knowing the odds are greatly stacked against them doing so.
Only Gary Cooper as Lou Gehrig in the film “The Pride of the Yankees” could make such a promise – to hit two homeruns for a sick boy – and fulfill it. Well, Cosmo Kramer made a similar promise on Yankee Paul O’Neill’s behalf in an episode of “Seinfeld,” but that was only because he was trying to get back an autographed photo he accidentally gave to the boy.
Ryan not only came through on his promise, winning the 18-lap Thunderstock division race Sunday, Aug. 2, but he did so in a determined and convincing fashion, leading from start to finish.
The first thing he did after getting out of his vehicle was to call his uncle in the hospital and let him know he captured the checkered flag.
I get goose bumps every time I think about this feat, and it gives me, and others, hope that even if the odds are stacked against him, Brad will pull a Ryan and beat those odds.
Technically, we don’t even know what the battle will be like, as he hasn’t started chemotherapy yet and his doctor is still trying to determine the next course of action.
No matter what the doctor determines, we are optimistic Brad will be a good fighter. It’s in his genes. His cousin, Bob, was given months to live after being diagnosed with cancer. Bob’s still around, not only beating the odds he was given but smashing them into oblivion.
Bob visited his cousin this week in the hospital, living proof that positive thoughts work.
I know if anyone can beat cancer, it’s Brad. The guy has a stare he gives to people who wrong him or his family that would send even the strongest and mightiest of people whimpering back to their mamas. I’ve only seen this stare when he’s told me stories about others wronging him, and it scares the heck out of me. I bet he’ll stare his cancer down and every last cancer cell will bolt out of his body.
Also working in his favor is his own good, positive attitude. For him, he has said this is just another “bump in the road.” He even took time to show my 4-year-old son and his grandchild, Braden, his big band aid and talk about the special machines he’s hooked up to at the hospital. So if his toughness doesn’t beat it, his positive attitude probably will.
Or maybe just some good old-fashioned laughing will. Braden has become a master at making people laugh, so if we get him to see his grandpa enough that will be the ultimate medicine no doctor can prescribe.
But laughter and finding positives in this unfair world can be good medicines that may help him beat this.
He received a good dose of positive when his nephew, Ryan, came through on a promise people only fulfill in movies or television.
Ryan, a senior at the Milwaukee School of Engineering and an all-around great kid, races vehicles at the Slinger Super Speedway on the weekends in his quest to someday join his heroes – people like Dale Earnhardt – as a NASCAR racer. It’s a dream he’s had as long as I’ve known him, and probably long before that, too.
He visited his uncle in the hospital on Saturday and told Brad he was going to win the next day’s race for him.
Ryan has placed second in a couple of races, but he has never captured a checkered flag. Making a statement like that would be bold even for racers that have won dozens of races, but coming from someone who hasn’t completely proved himself on the track yet is beyond bold. It’s audacious.
I’d bet even overly-confident football player Terrell Owens and just-as-cocky NASCAR racer Tony Stewart would never promise to catch a touchdown pass or win a race for someone, knowing the odds are greatly stacked against them doing so.
Only Gary Cooper as Lou Gehrig in the film “The Pride of the Yankees” could make such a promise – to hit two homeruns for a sick boy – and fulfill it. Well, Cosmo Kramer made a similar promise on Yankee Paul O’Neill’s behalf in an episode of “Seinfeld,” but that was only because he was trying to get back an autographed photo he accidentally gave to the boy.
Ryan not only came through on his promise, winning the 18-lap Thunderstock division race Sunday, Aug. 2, but he did so in a determined and convincing fashion, leading from start to finish.
The first thing he did after getting out of his vehicle was to call his uncle in the hospital and let him know he captured the checkered flag.
I get goose bumps every time I think about this feat, and it gives me, and others, hope that even if the odds are stacked against him, Brad will pull a Ryan and beat those odds.
Technically, we don’t even know what the battle will be like, as he hasn’t started chemotherapy yet and his doctor is still trying to determine the next course of action.
No matter what the doctor determines, we are optimistic Brad will be a good fighter. It’s in his genes. His cousin, Bob, was given months to live after being diagnosed with cancer. Bob’s still around, not only beating the odds he was given but smashing them into oblivion.
Bob visited his cousin this week in the hospital, living proof that positive thoughts work.
I know if anyone can beat cancer, it’s Brad. The guy has a stare he gives to people who wrong him or his family that would send even the strongest and mightiest of people whimpering back to their mamas. I’ve only seen this stare when he’s told me stories about others wronging him, and it scares the heck out of me. I bet he’ll stare his cancer down and every last cancer cell will bolt out of his body.
Also working in his favor is his own good, positive attitude. For him, he has said this is just another “bump in the road.” He even took time to show my 4-year-old son and his grandchild, Braden, his big band aid and talk about the special machines he’s hooked up to at the hospital. So if his toughness doesn’t beat it, his positive attitude probably will.
Or maybe just some good old-fashioned laughing will. Braden has become a master at making people laugh, so if we get him to see his grandpa enough that will be the ultimate medicine no doctor can prescribe.
Moon landing was amazing accomplishment
Even 40 years later, it’s still amazing to think people have walked on the moon, a celestial object that has fascinated mankind since it first went outside at night.
I don’t remember the first moon landing, as I was still more than five years from being born. My first space-related memory didn’t occur until 1981 when Space Shuttle Columbia made its initial launch to begin the modern-day space era. I remember sitting in the gym in kindergarten and watching the awe-spiring event, wishing I was one of the astronauts.
I’m sure a lot of people had the same wish when Neil Armstrong took his first step on the moon, although the risks and training that went along with the job probably would have been too much for most people.
But now those people can share a little of what he experienced – at least the space travel part – by coming up with $200,000 and booking a flight on WhiteKnightTwo, the first civilian space flight system that made its public debut at the Experimental Aircraft Association’s AirVenture earlier this week in Oshkosh.
That’s a lot to pay for a space flight that will only keep people in space for five minutes, but it’s an amount I would pay, if I had it, and so would many others just to say you were an astronaut, even if it was for a brief amount of time.
In fact, Virgin Galactic, the company that made the plane, which will lift SpaceShipTwo into the atmosphere from a base in New Mexico, has already taken 300 reservations and is holding $40 million in deposits. SpaceShipTwo will take those people to space when WhiteKnightTwo reaches an altitude of 50,000 feet, blasting off from the plane at four times the speed of sound.
I’m sure Neil Armstrong and the other 11 men that have walked on the moon never imagined a day when people could buy their way into space. I could be wrong, though, as they probably thought they were setting the foundation for mankind to eventually build bases on the moon and probably never imagined we’d stop sending people to the moon by 1972.
Maybe it’s better that the private sector is now the one making the bigger advances in the space industry, as it’s probably a lot more efficient than its government-sponsored counterpart, NASA.
NASA keeps talking about sending people to Mars, a goal it hopes to accomplish within the next 20 to 30 years, but talk isn’t action, and until some real plans are proposed don’t expect it anytime soon.
The owners of Virgin Galactic, after they make a boatload – or should I say spaceload – of money from carting people like me (only richer) to space will probably figure out a way to take people back to the moon and then to Mars before NASA even comes up with a tangible proposal. And they’ll probably make a profit on it because there’s a ton of people who’d pay for that opportunity.
I don’t mean to be so hard on NASA, as it has pioneered much of the technology we use today through its endeavors, and it’s not its fault that it has to deal with the bureaucracy that comes with being a government agency. NASA has a lot to be proud of, especially in light of the moon landing anniversary.
After all, that was an amazing accomplishment.
I don’t remember the first moon landing, as I was still more than five years from being born. My first space-related memory didn’t occur until 1981 when Space Shuttle Columbia made its initial launch to begin the modern-day space era. I remember sitting in the gym in kindergarten and watching the awe-spiring event, wishing I was one of the astronauts.
I’m sure a lot of people had the same wish when Neil Armstrong took his first step on the moon, although the risks and training that went along with the job probably would have been too much for most people.
But now those people can share a little of what he experienced – at least the space travel part – by coming up with $200,000 and booking a flight on WhiteKnightTwo, the first civilian space flight system that made its public debut at the Experimental Aircraft Association’s AirVenture earlier this week in Oshkosh.
That’s a lot to pay for a space flight that will only keep people in space for five minutes, but it’s an amount I would pay, if I had it, and so would many others just to say you were an astronaut, even if it was for a brief amount of time.
In fact, Virgin Galactic, the company that made the plane, which will lift SpaceShipTwo into the atmosphere from a base in New Mexico, has already taken 300 reservations and is holding $40 million in deposits. SpaceShipTwo will take those people to space when WhiteKnightTwo reaches an altitude of 50,000 feet, blasting off from the plane at four times the speed of sound.
I’m sure Neil Armstrong and the other 11 men that have walked on the moon never imagined a day when people could buy their way into space. I could be wrong, though, as they probably thought they were setting the foundation for mankind to eventually build bases on the moon and probably never imagined we’d stop sending people to the moon by 1972.
Maybe it’s better that the private sector is now the one making the bigger advances in the space industry, as it’s probably a lot more efficient than its government-sponsored counterpart, NASA.
NASA keeps talking about sending people to Mars, a goal it hopes to accomplish within the next 20 to 30 years, but talk isn’t action, and until some real plans are proposed don’t expect it anytime soon.
The owners of Virgin Galactic, after they make a boatload – or should I say spaceload – of money from carting people like me (only richer) to space will probably figure out a way to take people back to the moon and then to Mars before NASA even comes up with a tangible proposal. And they’ll probably make a profit on it because there’s a ton of people who’d pay for that opportunity.
I don’t mean to be so hard on NASA, as it has pioneered much of the technology we use today through its endeavors, and it’s not its fault that it has to deal with the bureaucracy that comes with being a government agency. NASA has a lot to be proud of, especially in light of the moon landing anniversary.
After all, that was an amazing accomplishment.
Sloth lives on in Steuck household
Sloth lives in my home.
Not the slow-moving jungle animal that lives in trees, but the deformed-because-his-mother-dropped-him-as-a-child, Superman-shirt-wearing, ear-wiggling, Baby Ruth-eating, friend-of-Chunk character in the 1985 cult-classic film “The Goonies.”
Well, the actual Sloth, who was played by John Matuszak, doesn’t really live in my home, but my 4-year-old son, Braden, has taken to saying many of his lines in the film, and he’s saying them so often my wife and I are beginning to think we are Brandon and Andy, two of the more normal characters in the film played by Josh Brolin and Kerri Green, respectively.
Braden transformed into Sloth after we watched it Saturday as part of our family movie night. We tried once before with him, as the film is one of our childhood favorites, but he didn’t take an interest because it wasn’t a cartoon. This time, though, he found it funny as soon as Chunk, a kid character in the film played by Jeff Cohen, spilled his milkshake while watching a car chase at the start of the film.
For the next 90 minutes Braden watched every scene, laughing at the right moments and enjoying the adventure Chunk and a group of other young characters go on to find a hidden pirate treasure, escape from a family of criminals and save their houses from a local developer.
Sloth doesn’t appear in the film until the final 60 minutes, but his impact is legendary, especially for people who were children when they first saw this film.
Kept in chains by his mother and two brothers, members of the previously mentioned family of criminals, Sloth seems scary at first due to his large size, deformed head (due to his mother dropping him a few times as a child) and other monster-like qualities. He also grunts and makes a lot of animal-like noises.
Chunk is frightened at first when the family of criminals captures him and put him next to Sloth, but after he shares his Baby Ruth candy bar with the monster, he learns Sloth is a misunderstood, gentle soul who is a victim of his family’s evil.
After freeing himself, Sloth helps Chunk escape and the two then help Chunk’s friends in their quest to bring home the pirate treasure.
Some of Sloth’s classic lines – “Baby, Baby, Baby Ruth,” “Hey you guys,” “Mama, you been bad,” and “Sloth love Chunk” – are now Steuck household staples, as Braden is like a skipping CD player in putting those lines on repeat.
It is I, of course, who encouraged it at first. While watching the film, I’d say them to him after the scenes in which they occurred, and then told him to say them, laughing hysterically when he did so.
It’s not the first time I’ve made myself laugh with those lines. I’ve yelled “Hey you guys” from the tops of roller coasters and ferris wheels, and any time I eat a Baby Ruth candy bar or see a reference to baseball player Babe Ruth I can’t help but say “Baby, Baby, Baby Ruth.”
Now I have a partner in crime, although I can tell it’s going to come back and bite me as he’s saying some of the lines so often their humor is almost losing luster. Just a little bit, though, as I still laugh every time, and Braden knows I will. My wife may have stopped laughing, but for me it’s like a well-timed fake fart – a guaranteed laugh every time.
He’s also said a few other lines from the film – ones containing phrases and words not appropriate for children to say. Prior to watching the film, my wife and I discussed whether or not we should allow him to watch it, due to a few of these words. We decided he’s eventually going to get exposed to them, and if we can control the environment in which he hears them, then we might be able to put a stop to it before it ever starts.
It started quickly, as he suddenly blurted out “What the hell was that?” shortly after one of the characters said it in the film. We simply told him that phrase wasn’t appropriate, making sure not to laugh. He hasn’t said it again.
Fortunately Sloth doesn’t say any inappropriate words, so everything coming out of Braden’s mouth continues to be decent, albeit a bit annoying to some and hilarious to others.
It could be worse. He could be repeating lines from “Hannah Montana” or “The Jonas Brothers” or some of the other things kids watch these days. I’m sure that day will come soon enough, but for now I’m pleased keeping him entrenched in my childhood.
Not the slow-moving jungle animal that lives in trees, but the deformed-because-his-mother-dropped-him-as-a-child, Superman-shirt-wearing, ear-wiggling, Baby Ruth-eating, friend-of-Chunk character in the 1985 cult-classic film “The Goonies.”
Well, the actual Sloth, who was played by John Matuszak, doesn’t really live in my home, but my 4-year-old son, Braden, has taken to saying many of his lines in the film, and he’s saying them so often my wife and I are beginning to think we are Brandon and Andy, two of the more normal characters in the film played by Josh Brolin and Kerri Green, respectively.
Braden transformed into Sloth after we watched it Saturday as part of our family movie night. We tried once before with him, as the film is one of our childhood favorites, but he didn’t take an interest because it wasn’t a cartoon. This time, though, he found it funny as soon as Chunk, a kid character in the film played by Jeff Cohen, spilled his milkshake while watching a car chase at the start of the film.
For the next 90 minutes Braden watched every scene, laughing at the right moments and enjoying the adventure Chunk and a group of other young characters go on to find a hidden pirate treasure, escape from a family of criminals and save their houses from a local developer.
Sloth doesn’t appear in the film until the final 60 minutes, but his impact is legendary, especially for people who were children when they first saw this film.
Kept in chains by his mother and two brothers, members of the previously mentioned family of criminals, Sloth seems scary at first due to his large size, deformed head (due to his mother dropping him a few times as a child) and other monster-like qualities. He also grunts and makes a lot of animal-like noises.
Chunk is frightened at first when the family of criminals captures him and put him next to Sloth, but after he shares his Baby Ruth candy bar with the monster, he learns Sloth is a misunderstood, gentle soul who is a victim of his family’s evil.
After freeing himself, Sloth helps Chunk escape and the two then help Chunk’s friends in their quest to bring home the pirate treasure.
Some of Sloth’s classic lines – “Baby, Baby, Baby Ruth,” “Hey you guys,” “Mama, you been bad,” and “Sloth love Chunk” – are now Steuck household staples, as Braden is like a skipping CD player in putting those lines on repeat.
It is I, of course, who encouraged it at first. While watching the film, I’d say them to him after the scenes in which they occurred, and then told him to say them, laughing hysterically when he did so.
It’s not the first time I’ve made myself laugh with those lines. I’ve yelled “Hey you guys” from the tops of roller coasters and ferris wheels, and any time I eat a Baby Ruth candy bar or see a reference to baseball player Babe Ruth I can’t help but say “Baby, Baby, Baby Ruth.”
Now I have a partner in crime, although I can tell it’s going to come back and bite me as he’s saying some of the lines so often their humor is almost losing luster. Just a little bit, though, as I still laugh every time, and Braden knows I will. My wife may have stopped laughing, but for me it’s like a well-timed fake fart – a guaranteed laugh every time.
He’s also said a few other lines from the film – ones containing phrases and words not appropriate for children to say. Prior to watching the film, my wife and I discussed whether or not we should allow him to watch it, due to a few of these words. We decided he’s eventually going to get exposed to them, and if we can control the environment in which he hears them, then we might be able to put a stop to it before it ever starts.
It started quickly, as he suddenly blurted out “What the hell was that?” shortly after one of the characters said it in the film. We simply told him that phrase wasn’t appropriate, making sure not to laugh. He hasn’t said it again.
Fortunately Sloth doesn’t say any inappropriate words, so everything coming out of Braden’s mouth continues to be decent, albeit a bit annoying to some and hilarious to others.
It could be worse. He could be repeating lines from “Hannah Montana” or “The Jonas Brothers” or some of the other things kids watch these days. I’m sure that day will come soon enough, but for now I’m pleased keeping him entrenched in my childhood.
Third summer without television provides even more benefits.
For the third summer in my lifetime, I cancelled my cable television subscription.
I did it back in 1999 after the final episode of “Seinfeld” aired, as a semi-protest to the lack of good material available to watch. The protest kind of worked because a whole slew of decent shows like “The Sopranos” began airing that fall.
My wife and I also cancelled our cable in the summer of 2007, mainly because we were hoping to move from Wautoma to Portage County and thought we could make the move easier by getting rid of one of the objects we’d have to take care of anyhow. As luck had it, we didn’t sell our house until the spring of 2008 and our desire to watch many of our favorite shows caused us to reorder cable that September.
We cancelled it this summer for one main reason: to save some money. It’s only about $40 a month, as we still pay for our Internet service through the cable company. But $40 times three months is $120, and in today’s economy cutting $120 in three months time seems significant, especially since we’re using it to pay down some of our other debt.
Thrifty moves like this have allowed us to pay off three credit cards this year, leaving us with just two more to pay off. We didn’t have a significant amount of debt on any of these cards, but enough that we still had a $20 minimum monthly payment on each of them. By eliminating them, we’re able to save more money and increase the amount of available funds in our bank accounts every month.
According to my wife, this strategy of paying down debt to increase savings and available funds is Oprah’s “Debt Diet.”
I don’t know anything else about this “Debt Diet” – I’m just hoping it’s more successful than some of Oprah’s other diets. It seems to be working, as my wife and I have noticed a tremendous difference in our finances despite not receiving any pay increases during this time.
We’re even moving forward with house plans. Originally, we were looking to buy a house in Stevens Point or Plover based on criteria that included good location, a nice walk-in closet for the master bedroom, little to no fixing up as neither of us are handy, and a decent kitchen.
Over the past two years we’ve looked at a lot of houses, and none of them truly matched what we wanted. Building a house wasn’t really an option we considered because it seemed too expensive for us.
With Oprah’s “Debt Diet,” though, not only was that option put on the table, but it’s one we have nearly achieved, as we will close on a lot in the Eagle Point Subdivision in Stevens Point by the end of the month.
We’re not going to build a house on the lot until we pay it off hopefully within the next year, but my wife and I are thrilled we even made it this far, as we never imagined we’d be able to build our own house while we were in our 30s. We both assumed it wasn’t something we’d do until our 50s and our kid(s) was off to college.
We’re still discussing plans with a builder for when we actually begin construction, but we’re learning by our thrifty cable-cancelling ways and making sure the house we end up building is something that is affordable, yet to our liking.
This might mean learning a few things from my handy father-in-law, such as installing flooring in a few rooms, to save a few thousand dollars here and there. I’m fairly sure of myself that I won’t install the flooring upside down with a qualified instructor like him showing me what to do.
It might also mean permanently cancelling our cable subscription and instead relying on antenna television. I haven’t had that type of television since junior high, but in this age of the Internet and a seemingly endless supply of entertainment options, not having more than 100 channels isn’t a big deal.
In fact, it’s actually a relief. We are more active, I’ve read a bunch of the books that have gathered dust by our bed, and we’ve managed to avoid all the hoopla about Jon and Kate and their eight children.
My only regret is missing some of the Michael Jackson coverage. But listening to others complain about it gives me pause to think that I don’t regret that at all.
I did it back in 1999 after the final episode of “Seinfeld” aired, as a semi-protest to the lack of good material available to watch. The protest kind of worked because a whole slew of decent shows like “The Sopranos” began airing that fall.
My wife and I also cancelled our cable in the summer of 2007, mainly because we were hoping to move from Wautoma to Portage County and thought we could make the move easier by getting rid of one of the objects we’d have to take care of anyhow. As luck had it, we didn’t sell our house until the spring of 2008 and our desire to watch many of our favorite shows caused us to reorder cable that September.
We cancelled it this summer for one main reason: to save some money. It’s only about $40 a month, as we still pay for our Internet service through the cable company. But $40 times three months is $120, and in today’s economy cutting $120 in three months time seems significant, especially since we’re using it to pay down some of our other debt.
Thrifty moves like this have allowed us to pay off three credit cards this year, leaving us with just two more to pay off. We didn’t have a significant amount of debt on any of these cards, but enough that we still had a $20 minimum monthly payment on each of them. By eliminating them, we’re able to save more money and increase the amount of available funds in our bank accounts every month.
According to my wife, this strategy of paying down debt to increase savings and available funds is Oprah’s “Debt Diet.”
I don’t know anything else about this “Debt Diet” – I’m just hoping it’s more successful than some of Oprah’s other diets. It seems to be working, as my wife and I have noticed a tremendous difference in our finances despite not receiving any pay increases during this time.
We’re even moving forward with house plans. Originally, we were looking to buy a house in Stevens Point or Plover based on criteria that included good location, a nice walk-in closet for the master bedroom, little to no fixing up as neither of us are handy, and a decent kitchen.
Over the past two years we’ve looked at a lot of houses, and none of them truly matched what we wanted. Building a house wasn’t really an option we considered because it seemed too expensive for us.
With Oprah’s “Debt Diet,” though, not only was that option put on the table, but it’s one we have nearly achieved, as we will close on a lot in the Eagle Point Subdivision in Stevens Point by the end of the month.
We’re not going to build a house on the lot until we pay it off hopefully within the next year, but my wife and I are thrilled we even made it this far, as we never imagined we’d be able to build our own house while we were in our 30s. We both assumed it wasn’t something we’d do until our 50s and our kid(s) was off to college.
We’re still discussing plans with a builder for when we actually begin construction, but we’re learning by our thrifty cable-cancelling ways and making sure the house we end up building is something that is affordable, yet to our liking.
This might mean learning a few things from my handy father-in-law, such as installing flooring in a few rooms, to save a few thousand dollars here and there. I’m fairly sure of myself that I won’t install the flooring upside down with a qualified instructor like him showing me what to do.
It might also mean permanently cancelling our cable subscription and instead relying on antenna television. I haven’t had that type of television since junior high, but in this age of the Internet and a seemingly endless supply of entertainment options, not having more than 100 channels isn’t a big deal.
In fact, it’s actually a relief. We are more active, I’ve read a bunch of the books that have gathered dust by our bed, and we’ve managed to avoid all the hoopla about Jon and Kate and their eight children.
My only regret is missing some of the Michael Jackson coverage. But listening to others complain about it gives me pause to think that I don’t regret that at all.
Career options don't include Iron Man or Papa Smurf
My 4-year-old son, Braden, is at the age where he likes to talk about what he’s going to be when he grows up. This morning he told me he is going to be Ironman. Yesterday it was Papa Smurf.
Since he can’t be a blue cartoon character, and it’s doubtful the technology will exist for him to be Ironman, my wife, Jenny, and I encourage him to think about other careers.
Jenny is pushing for him to be a doctor. She works with all sorts of doctors at Marshfield Clinic, and sees firsthand the need for all types of doctors. As a doctor, she tells him, he would be able to do a lot of good things for a lot of people, and a job is pretty much guaranteed. The pay isn’t bad either.
Since he was 2, she has taught him to say he wants to be a neurologist whenever anybody asks him the question – what are you going to be when you grow up? – but lately she’s been encouraging him to say dermatologist or pediatrician, as those doctors have better hours and their stress levels aren’t quite as high. Plus the pay isn’t bad.
I encourage the whole doctor thing, too, but if he’s anything like me he won’t like anything related to blood, body parts or bones, three things doctors commonly have to deal with in their profession. I once passed out in a hospital when my grandpa showed me his heart x-rays following an operation.
And I got light-headed recently at a hospital when I was with Jenny, who was there to undergo a surgical procedure. It was me the doctors needed to attend to rather than the person there for the surgery.
I would love to encourage Braden in his dreams of becoming a superhero or cartoon character – what boy doesn’t want to be Superman and what man doesn’t still secretly harbor that desire? – but I know that wouldn’t be wise, as he might go through life with a bruised ego when he learns his dream isn’t a possible reality.
I’ve been telling him he should become a mechanical engineer, like his second cousin Ryan who will graduate from the Milwaukee School of Engineering soon. He could apply everything he will learn in school to this profession, which is in desperate need of more engineers, and he could have a lot of fun with it, too. Like playing Lincoln Logs for real and on a much grander scale.
And guess what? The pay isn’t bad at all.
Jenny and I got a scare a couple of weeks ago when we asked him the question and he answered that he wanted to be a hooker.
Not keen on him entering into the world’s oldest profession, I was about to ask him to clarify his answer when he repeated himself a little more thoroughly this time. “I want to be a hooker-upper.” We got him to define this profession a little better and learned it’s the person that hooks up train cars to each other. I’m not sure if the railroad companies employ someone to do this full-time, but I’m guessing they might as someone has to do it.
Braden also gave me a heartwarming moment when he said he wanted to work with me at The Gazette. “What do I do there?” I asked him. “You work on the computer,” he told me. Technically, I spend a lot of time on it, so he’s half right; although I pointed out I write stories for a newspaper. He can’t read yet, so he didn’t bother to listen to the rest of my job description. His newspaper career hasn’t even started yet and it’s already boring him. That’s OK, as newspaper might not exist by the time he’s ready to write for one. Besides, the pay isn’t good at all in this profession.
Whatever profession he chooses I’m sure Jenny and I will support him, as long as he’s happy with it. I know too many people that have jobs they hate, and as a result they are rarely happy.
I almost had one of those jobs after college. With no prospects on the horizon, I accepted an offer from my bosses at Wal-Mart, where I worked throughout high school and college, to go into the company’s managerial training program. I was good at my job at Wal-Mart, and knew I could have been a good manager. I just disliked every minute I was there, and when a job opportunity at a newspaper in Wautoma became available I was quick to leave that job. It’s a decision I’ve never regretted.
Even if the pay at a newspaper wasn’t as good as it would have been with Wal-Mart.
Braden’s got a lot of time to think about what he wants to do. In fact, I hope he doesn’t even think about it until he’s a little bit older. For now his job is to be a kid: it’s the perfect job and one many of us wish we still had. He can be Ironman or Papa Smurf right now if he wants.
Since he can’t be a blue cartoon character, and it’s doubtful the technology will exist for him to be Ironman, my wife, Jenny, and I encourage him to think about other careers.
Jenny is pushing for him to be a doctor. She works with all sorts of doctors at Marshfield Clinic, and sees firsthand the need for all types of doctors. As a doctor, she tells him, he would be able to do a lot of good things for a lot of people, and a job is pretty much guaranteed. The pay isn’t bad either.
Since he was 2, she has taught him to say he wants to be a neurologist whenever anybody asks him the question – what are you going to be when you grow up? – but lately she’s been encouraging him to say dermatologist or pediatrician, as those doctors have better hours and their stress levels aren’t quite as high. Plus the pay isn’t bad.
I encourage the whole doctor thing, too, but if he’s anything like me he won’t like anything related to blood, body parts or bones, three things doctors commonly have to deal with in their profession. I once passed out in a hospital when my grandpa showed me his heart x-rays following an operation.
And I got light-headed recently at a hospital when I was with Jenny, who was there to undergo a surgical procedure. It was me the doctors needed to attend to rather than the person there for the surgery.
I would love to encourage Braden in his dreams of becoming a superhero or cartoon character – what boy doesn’t want to be Superman and what man doesn’t still secretly harbor that desire? – but I know that wouldn’t be wise, as he might go through life with a bruised ego when he learns his dream isn’t a possible reality.
I’ve been telling him he should become a mechanical engineer, like his second cousin Ryan who will graduate from the Milwaukee School of Engineering soon. He could apply everything he will learn in school to this profession, which is in desperate need of more engineers, and he could have a lot of fun with it, too. Like playing Lincoln Logs for real and on a much grander scale.
And guess what? The pay isn’t bad at all.
Jenny and I got a scare a couple of weeks ago when we asked him the question and he answered that he wanted to be a hooker.
Not keen on him entering into the world’s oldest profession, I was about to ask him to clarify his answer when he repeated himself a little more thoroughly this time. “I want to be a hooker-upper.” We got him to define this profession a little better and learned it’s the person that hooks up train cars to each other. I’m not sure if the railroad companies employ someone to do this full-time, but I’m guessing they might as someone has to do it.
Braden also gave me a heartwarming moment when he said he wanted to work with me at The Gazette. “What do I do there?” I asked him. “You work on the computer,” he told me. Technically, I spend a lot of time on it, so he’s half right; although I pointed out I write stories for a newspaper. He can’t read yet, so he didn’t bother to listen to the rest of my job description. His newspaper career hasn’t even started yet and it’s already boring him. That’s OK, as newspaper might not exist by the time he’s ready to write for one. Besides, the pay isn’t good at all in this profession.
Whatever profession he chooses I’m sure Jenny and I will support him, as long as he’s happy with it. I know too many people that have jobs they hate, and as a result they are rarely happy.
I almost had one of those jobs after college. With no prospects on the horizon, I accepted an offer from my bosses at Wal-Mart, where I worked throughout high school and college, to go into the company’s managerial training program. I was good at my job at Wal-Mart, and knew I could have been a good manager. I just disliked every minute I was there, and when a job opportunity at a newspaper in Wautoma became available I was quick to leave that job. It’s a decision I’ve never regretted.
Even if the pay at a newspaper wasn’t as good as it would have been with Wal-Mart.
Braden’s got a lot of time to think about what he wants to do. In fact, I hope he doesn’t even think about it until he’s a little bit older. For now his job is to be a kid: it’s the perfect job and one many of us wish we still had. He can be Ironman or Papa Smurf right now if he wants.
Jackson's music, legacy will endure despite tabloid life
The King is dead.
Actually, the king – the self-proclaimed but justifiably correct “King of Pop,” Michael Jackson, to be more specific – died years ago, drowned in a sea of tabloid headlines, scandals and late-night comedian jokes. Regardless of whether or not any of them were true, Jackson was never the same person he was at the height of his fame in the 1980s and early 1990s.
That’s the time period I’ll remember him; when he was a dazzling artist who electrified the stage and dominated the charts more than any person since Elvis Presley did so in the 1950s and the Beatles in the 1960s. For people in Generation X who weren’t alive to witness Elvis and the Beatles in their heydays, Jackson allowed them to vicariously see, through his success, someone reaching the ultimate pinnacle of success. It’s a height no one has reached since then.
I was only 8 when Jackson’s “Thriller” album catapulted him from stardom to mega stardom, his face gracing every other kid’s lunchbox at school, his music playing from nearly every radio and boom box, and his videos for “Thriller” and “Beat It” dominating not just MTV but also network television on Saturday mornings.
Jackson broke color barriers; MTV refused to play videos by black artists until it decided to put “Billie Jean” on the air, a decision that would soon pay big dividends for the network.
He also defined an entire decade, much like the Beatles had done in the 1960s. To this day, the 1980s can be summed up with his white glove and red leather jacket.
I didn’t own “Thriller” when it came out – I was still four years away from owning my first album, Bon Jovi’s “Slippery When Wet” – but I still knew it fairly well, as all my friends owned it. I bought it later, in college, when I had a job and had a budget for such expenses.
I owned his next album, “Bad,” when it was popular in 1987, making my mother purchase it for me through one of those now-extinct Colombia record club deals. I had it on cassette and remember listening to it over and over on the daily one-hour bus ride I had, as well as during family trips when my parents went to see friends and I was left as a bored 13-year-old with nothing to do at their house but to listen to music on my Walkman.
By the time of his 1991 album “Dangerous,” Jackson was more tabloid fodder than superstar talent. Nonetheless, I still purchased the album. I wasn’t as fond of it at first, but a year later, I found myself listening to it on a regular basis; it got better for me as time went on and I heard other singles from it on the radio that made me appreciate it more. Most albums today don’t have such a slow-burning appeal; if it’s not popular immediately, chances are the record company will give up on it.
Some say the best mark of true genius is when others imitate you. Judging by the millions of people who tried to imitate Jackson’s sleek dance move, the Moonwalk, from 1983 to 1985, as well as the countless pop musicians who are still copying him today, people will have a hard time saying he wasn’t one.
But in the latter half of his career, Jackson made it easy for the people who didn’t like him to target him and reduce him to nothing but a big joke, or even worse, a child molester.
Perhaps we’ll never know the full extent of his eccentricities or whether or not he actually crossed the line in his dealings with children, but that doesn’t matter as he put himself in that position by looking and acting differently than what is generally accepted by the public. If he had taken advice from a sensible person he could have trusted, maybe he could have avoided such a career and personal-life free falling.
The same could have been said for Elvis.
It’s ironic Jackson and Elvis shared so many similarities. Maybe that’s what happens to people when they reach an Everest-like summit few ever reach. Kurt Cobain of Nirvana, who reached a peak at a lower level, shot himself because he couldn’t handle it. Bob Dylan had a motorcycle accident. Brian Wilson got fat and became a recluse. Eminem popped pills and threatened retirement. Britney Spears went crazy.
This list could go on and on.
Although I liked the two albums he released after “Dangerous,” neither of them holds a special place in my heart like the previous three. By then, because he was more tabloid than talent, the king was already dead to me. He was hoping for a comeback with a series of concerts he was scheduled to start this month. He may have staged an even bigger comeback by dying, though.
Long live the King.
Actually, the king – the self-proclaimed but justifiably correct “King of Pop,” Michael Jackson, to be more specific – died years ago, drowned in a sea of tabloid headlines, scandals and late-night comedian jokes. Regardless of whether or not any of them were true, Jackson was never the same person he was at the height of his fame in the 1980s and early 1990s.
That’s the time period I’ll remember him; when he was a dazzling artist who electrified the stage and dominated the charts more than any person since Elvis Presley did so in the 1950s and the Beatles in the 1960s. For people in Generation X who weren’t alive to witness Elvis and the Beatles in their heydays, Jackson allowed them to vicariously see, through his success, someone reaching the ultimate pinnacle of success. It’s a height no one has reached since then.
I was only 8 when Jackson’s “Thriller” album catapulted him from stardom to mega stardom, his face gracing every other kid’s lunchbox at school, his music playing from nearly every radio and boom box, and his videos for “Thriller” and “Beat It” dominating not just MTV but also network television on Saturday mornings.
Jackson broke color barriers; MTV refused to play videos by black artists until it decided to put “Billie Jean” on the air, a decision that would soon pay big dividends for the network.
He also defined an entire decade, much like the Beatles had done in the 1960s. To this day, the 1980s can be summed up with his white glove and red leather jacket.
I didn’t own “Thriller” when it came out – I was still four years away from owning my first album, Bon Jovi’s “Slippery When Wet” – but I still knew it fairly well, as all my friends owned it. I bought it later, in college, when I had a job and had a budget for such expenses.
I owned his next album, “Bad,” when it was popular in 1987, making my mother purchase it for me through one of those now-extinct Colombia record club deals. I had it on cassette and remember listening to it over and over on the daily one-hour bus ride I had, as well as during family trips when my parents went to see friends and I was left as a bored 13-year-old with nothing to do at their house but to listen to music on my Walkman.
By the time of his 1991 album “Dangerous,” Jackson was more tabloid fodder than superstar talent. Nonetheless, I still purchased the album. I wasn’t as fond of it at first, but a year later, I found myself listening to it on a regular basis; it got better for me as time went on and I heard other singles from it on the radio that made me appreciate it more. Most albums today don’t have such a slow-burning appeal; if it’s not popular immediately, chances are the record company will give up on it.
Some say the best mark of true genius is when others imitate you. Judging by the millions of people who tried to imitate Jackson’s sleek dance move, the Moonwalk, from 1983 to 1985, as well as the countless pop musicians who are still copying him today, people will have a hard time saying he wasn’t one.
But in the latter half of his career, Jackson made it easy for the people who didn’t like him to target him and reduce him to nothing but a big joke, or even worse, a child molester.
Perhaps we’ll never know the full extent of his eccentricities or whether or not he actually crossed the line in his dealings with children, but that doesn’t matter as he put himself in that position by looking and acting differently than what is generally accepted by the public. If he had taken advice from a sensible person he could have trusted, maybe he could have avoided such a career and personal-life free falling.
The same could have been said for Elvis.
It’s ironic Jackson and Elvis shared so many similarities. Maybe that’s what happens to people when they reach an Everest-like summit few ever reach. Kurt Cobain of Nirvana, who reached a peak at a lower level, shot himself because he couldn’t handle it. Bob Dylan had a motorcycle accident. Brian Wilson got fat and became a recluse. Eminem popped pills and threatened retirement. Britney Spears went crazy.
This list could go on and on.
Although I liked the two albums he released after “Dangerous,” neither of them holds a special place in my heart like the previous three. By then, because he was more tabloid than talent, the king was already dead to me. He was hoping for a comeback with a series of concerts he was scheduled to start this month. He may have staged an even bigger comeback by dying, though.
Long live the King.
National Man Day comes and goes with little recognition
Most people probably celebrated Father’s Day Sunday, June 21, but I’ll bet few people celebrated another holiday Monday, June 15 – National Man Day.
Technically, it’s not a real holiday, as two brothers in Indiana made it up and promoted it on Facebook prior to the date they selected, garnering more than 260,000 supporters.
Their mission for the holiday: men have to do manly things on the holiday.
Or in their words: “On June 15, men across the nation will unite in one cause and one voice saying, ‘I am man!’ On that day, men across the nation will blow things up, they’ll shoot big guns, they’ll punch each other for no reason, they’ll pump some iron, or they’ll watch every ‘Rambo’ movie from beginning to end. Straight through. And when asked why we do these things, we’ll say ‘Because I’m a MAN!’”
They go on that it’s time for men to stop being “sissies” and time for “men to be men.”
Recalling June 15, I worked all day and then took my 4-year-old to his first T-ball practice. I don’t remember what I did at home after practice, but chances are my wife, son and I took a walk on one of the area’s many beautiful trails.
T-ball and taking a walk probably wouldn’t qualify as “manly.” Then again, most everything I do probably couldn’t be considered “manly,” although I am a fan of “manly” things.
I love “Rambo” movies, as well as “Rocky” movies. I also like the occasional “chick flick,” and have watched the entire “Sex and the City” series.
I’m a fan of guns and shooting things, but I don’t own one and the last time I shot one was on the day I got my hunter’s safety license when I was 12 years old. Shooting aliens on my Nintendo Wii probably doesn’t count.
I’ve always enjoyed boxing and other sports that involve people hitting others, but I’ve never punched anybody in my life. Even when I was a kid and another kid punched me in the nose for no reason. I just went crying to my mother.
Pumping iron? I’d rather pump gas into my vehicle, despite the ridiculous price it costs to do so.
I consider my grilling skills to be exceptional, but I also like cooking on a stove.
I’ve never been a member of a football or basketball team, despite a height that towers over most people and a bulk that could probably crush most players.
I have belonged to quite a few volleyball teams. Wait a minute; pretend I didn’t mention that.
Heck, thinking about it, I’m only capable of fixing basic things at home, although I’m great at keeping things clean and organized. Again, pretend I didn’t mention that.
I’d feel bad about not being “manly” enough, but in comparison to most of my male friends, I’m about the same as them. Some are more “manly” in some aspects, but less so in others. In the end, our manliness is about equal.
Compared to my father, father-in-law, grandpas and the generation of men before us, though, we’re wimps. I’ll admit it.
That’s not necessarily a bad thing, as it’s most likely a generational thing and a product of the times. Our parents raised us in a way they weren’t raised, and as a result we’re probably a little more sensitive and probably a lot less manly.
I’d like to think we’re more well-rounded, and more capable of better communicating with our less “manly” counterparts – women.
In the same regard, I believe those counterparts have been raised to be a little more “manly.” My sisters-in-law hunt, as well as my mother-in-law, and many women I know like the “manly” things only guys are supposed to like. In other words, women have become more fun.
Had I known about National Man Day, I would have found some way to celebrate it, just for the sake of celebrating it. I probably would have grilled out after T-ball practice, borrowed a gun from someone and gone out to the shooting range to bust a few caps in some targets, and then would have rented a few Arnold Schwarzenegger movies I would have watched while drinking a six-pack of Schlitz.
But, June 15 was also “Sneak a Kiss Day.” I probably would have preferred to celebrate that holiday. Does that make me more or less “manly”?
Technically, it’s not a real holiday, as two brothers in Indiana made it up and promoted it on Facebook prior to the date they selected, garnering more than 260,000 supporters.
Their mission for the holiday: men have to do manly things on the holiday.
Or in their words: “On June 15, men across the nation will unite in one cause and one voice saying, ‘I am man!’ On that day, men across the nation will blow things up, they’ll shoot big guns, they’ll punch each other for no reason, they’ll pump some iron, or they’ll watch every ‘Rambo’ movie from beginning to end. Straight through. And when asked why we do these things, we’ll say ‘Because I’m a MAN!’”
They go on that it’s time for men to stop being “sissies” and time for “men to be men.”
Recalling June 15, I worked all day and then took my 4-year-old to his first T-ball practice. I don’t remember what I did at home after practice, but chances are my wife, son and I took a walk on one of the area’s many beautiful trails.
T-ball and taking a walk probably wouldn’t qualify as “manly.” Then again, most everything I do probably couldn’t be considered “manly,” although I am a fan of “manly” things.
I love “Rambo” movies, as well as “Rocky” movies. I also like the occasional “chick flick,” and have watched the entire “Sex and the City” series.
I’m a fan of guns and shooting things, but I don’t own one and the last time I shot one was on the day I got my hunter’s safety license when I was 12 years old. Shooting aliens on my Nintendo Wii probably doesn’t count.
I’ve always enjoyed boxing and other sports that involve people hitting others, but I’ve never punched anybody in my life. Even when I was a kid and another kid punched me in the nose for no reason. I just went crying to my mother.
Pumping iron? I’d rather pump gas into my vehicle, despite the ridiculous price it costs to do so.
I consider my grilling skills to be exceptional, but I also like cooking on a stove.
I’ve never been a member of a football or basketball team, despite a height that towers over most people and a bulk that could probably crush most players.
I have belonged to quite a few volleyball teams. Wait a minute; pretend I didn’t mention that.
Heck, thinking about it, I’m only capable of fixing basic things at home, although I’m great at keeping things clean and organized. Again, pretend I didn’t mention that.
I’d feel bad about not being “manly” enough, but in comparison to most of my male friends, I’m about the same as them. Some are more “manly” in some aspects, but less so in others. In the end, our manliness is about equal.
Compared to my father, father-in-law, grandpas and the generation of men before us, though, we’re wimps. I’ll admit it.
That’s not necessarily a bad thing, as it’s most likely a generational thing and a product of the times. Our parents raised us in a way they weren’t raised, and as a result we’re probably a little more sensitive and probably a lot less manly.
I’d like to think we’re more well-rounded, and more capable of better communicating with our less “manly” counterparts – women.
In the same regard, I believe those counterparts have been raised to be a little more “manly.” My sisters-in-law hunt, as well as my mother-in-law, and many women I know like the “manly” things only guys are supposed to like. In other words, women have become more fun.
Had I known about National Man Day, I would have found some way to celebrate it, just for the sake of celebrating it. I probably would have grilled out after T-ball practice, borrowed a gun from someone and gone out to the shooting range to bust a few caps in some targets, and then would have rented a few Arnold Schwarzenegger movies I would have watched while drinking a six-pack of Schlitz.
But, June 15 was also “Sneak a Kiss Day.” I probably would have preferred to celebrate that holiday. Does that make me more or less “manly”?
'Don't talk to strangers' is lesson that goes unheeded
My 4-year-old son, Braden, would get high marks for his social skills, if he was to receive a grade for them, but he is a complete failure when it comes to the “don’t talk to strangers” lesson.
Braden loves to talk to anyone that will listen. If you have ears – heck, even if you don’t and even if you’re an animal or something that’s non-human – he’ll talk to you.
To people at the park: “Do you want to play with me?”
To people at the grocery store: “Hey, we’re getting Corn Pops. Do you want to come to my house and have some with me?”
To people on walking trails: “Where are you walking to? Can I pet your dog? I saw a dead fish.”
To the two little girls he encountered last week: “Hi. What’s your name? I’m Braden.”
Everybody except the little girls responded to him. Obviously, they knew better than to talk to a stranger, but judging by their giggles to each other they were probably just playing hard to get. Even at such young ages, girls know the rules of the game.
This habit of talking to strangers is especially annoying when I’m going through a bank or restaurant drive-thru. He always has to tell the bank teller he wants a sucker, even when I tell him he’ll only get one based on how quiet he is, and he always tries to order his own food at restaurant drive-thrus.
When he tried to order chocolate milk, chicken nuggets and French fries from the lady in the drive-thru ticket window at Hartman Creek State Park last weekend, she found it amusing. I chuckled, too, but I didn’t find it as funny when I actually attempted to order fast food at a restaurant and motor mouth behind me spoke as I spoke, confusing the person taking my order. Personally, I have a hard enough time giving an order without his help – my wife says I make ordering food much more complicated than it should be – so I can do without his added commentary.
The strangers whom Braden talks to usually find him adorable, as most people like the charm a 4-year-old presents. I’ll admit it’s cute sometimes, but most of the time it puts me in an uncomfortable position.
Why? Because I’d rather not talk to strangers. I admit it; my social skills aren’t on par with his. I’m perfectly happy not talking to people, but he puts me in a position where I need to talk with them if he talks to them first.
My wife and I are constantly telling him he shouldn’t talk to strangers, which we define as people whose names he doesn’t know. If he needs to ask for a name, we tell him, that person is a stranger.
Granted, some of these people aren’t really strangers – people like bank tellers and restaurant workers – but we figure he’ll learn the difference when we tell him who it is okay to talk to after he stops talking to all strangers.
But getting to this lesson may take awhile as he keeps talking to strangers. “But they are nice strangers,” he’ll tell us after we lecture him for talking to someone he shouldn’t talk to.
“Not all strangers are going to be nice like that,” we’ll tell him, although throughout all of his encounters with strangers he’s never met a bad one.
Braden’s disposition to talk to anybody makes me wonder how the generations before us kept their children to be “seen and not heard.” My child, if he had been born 75 years earlier, probably would have been shunned by his family and others, even at the tender age of 4.
My wife and I aren’t about to shun him (by the way, it sounds pretty cool to say you’re going to shun someone, so I might consider placing this punishment on someone other than a close family member), but maybe we’ll hire someone to play the role of a “bad stranger” to scare some sense into him.
This person could roar like a lion when he attempts to talk to him or her. It might set him right, although I doubt it. He’d probably find it funny and ask the person to do it again, while commenting that the person needs to put a little more “roar” into it to make it even scarier, while telling other strangers around him they should join in, making for a roaring chorus that will provide him with plenty of amusement.
I guess I can only hope his rhetorical skills will serve him well later in life. Probably not, as he’ll use it to become a politician or some other person full of a lot to say with little substance behind it.
Braden loves to talk to anyone that will listen. If you have ears – heck, even if you don’t and even if you’re an animal or something that’s non-human – he’ll talk to you.
To people at the park: “Do you want to play with me?”
To people at the grocery store: “Hey, we’re getting Corn Pops. Do you want to come to my house and have some with me?”
To people on walking trails: “Where are you walking to? Can I pet your dog? I saw a dead fish.”
To the two little girls he encountered last week: “Hi. What’s your name? I’m Braden.”
Everybody except the little girls responded to him. Obviously, they knew better than to talk to a stranger, but judging by their giggles to each other they were probably just playing hard to get. Even at such young ages, girls know the rules of the game.
This habit of talking to strangers is especially annoying when I’m going through a bank or restaurant drive-thru. He always has to tell the bank teller he wants a sucker, even when I tell him he’ll only get one based on how quiet he is, and he always tries to order his own food at restaurant drive-thrus.
When he tried to order chocolate milk, chicken nuggets and French fries from the lady in the drive-thru ticket window at Hartman Creek State Park last weekend, she found it amusing. I chuckled, too, but I didn’t find it as funny when I actually attempted to order fast food at a restaurant and motor mouth behind me spoke as I spoke, confusing the person taking my order. Personally, I have a hard enough time giving an order without his help – my wife says I make ordering food much more complicated than it should be – so I can do without his added commentary.
The strangers whom Braden talks to usually find him adorable, as most people like the charm a 4-year-old presents. I’ll admit it’s cute sometimes, but most of the time it puts me in an uncomfortable position.
Why? Because I’d rather not talk to strangers. I admit it; my social skills aren’t on par with his. I’m perfectly happy not talking to people, but he puts me in a position where I need to talk with them if he talks to them first.
My wife and I are constantly telling him he shouldn’t talk to strangers, which we define as people whose names he doesn’t know. If he needs to ask for a name, we tell him, that person is a stranger.
Granted, some of these people aren’t really strangers – people like bank tellers and restaurant workers – but we figure he’ll learn the difference when we tell him who it is okay to talk to after he stops talking to all strangers.
But getting to this lesson may take awhile as he keeps talking to strangers. “But they are nice strangers,” he’ll tell us after we lecture him for talking to someone he shouldn’t talk to.
“Not all strangers are going to be nice like that,” we’ll tell him, although throughout all of his encounters with strangers he’s never met a bad one.
Braden’s disposition to talk to anybody makes me wonder how the generations before us kept their children to be “seen and not heard.” My child, if he had been born 75 years earlier, probably would have been shunned by his family and others, even at the tender age of 4.
My wife and I aren’t about to shun him (by the way, it sounds pretty cool to say you’re going to shun someone, so I might consider placing this punishment on someone other than a close family member), but maybe we’ll hire someone to play the role of a “bad stranger” to scare some sense into him.
This person could roar like a lion when he attempts to talk to him or her. It might set him right, although I doubt it. He’d probably find it funny and ask the person to do it again, while commenting that the person needs to put a little more “roar” into it to make it even scarier, while telling other strangers around him they should join in, making for a roaring chorus that will provide him with plenty of amusement.
I guess I can only hope his rhetorical skills will serve him well later in life. Probably not, as he’ll use it to become a politician or some other person full of a lot to say with little substance behind it.
'Song of the Summer' is honor many artists should avoid
Summer is nearly here, although judging by the late-spring weather we’ve had it doesn’t seem like it. With summer comes the prerequisite “Song of the Summer,” an annual song that serves as the soundtrack for whatever summer it’s popular.
Last year it was Kid Rock’s “All Summer Long,” a song that mashed Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Sweet Home Alabama” and Warren Zevon’s “Werewolves of London” together in a completely unoriginal but purely enjoyable way.
The summer before the “Song of the Summer” was Rihanna’s “Umbrella,” a song I managed to completely avoid until the following summer but which was a big hit with nearly everyone else.
Other past hits that have become the “Song of the Summer” have included M.C. Hammer’s “U Can’t Touch This” in 1990, DJ Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince’s (Will Smith) “Summertime” in 1991, The Bayside Boys’ “Macarena” in 1996, The Baha Men’s “Who Let the Dogs Out?” in 1998, Sisqo’s “Thong Song” in 2000 and the Black Eyed Peas’ “Where is the Love?” in 2003.
For the most part, though, I avoid the “Song of the Summer” on purpose, for a number of reasons.
Usually, the song, which is almost always determined by radio popularity, is a novelty song that is the artist’s one and only hit. There are exceptions to this rule, such as Kid Rock and the Black Eyed Peas, but for the most part the song becomes popular for an odd reason that resonates with the public.
For example, most people think of Hammer’s baggy pants and the entourage he danced with when they hear “U Can’t Touch This.” His entourage ultimately bankrupted him, even though the song made millions of dollars for him. The song, which freely samples Rick James’ much better “Super Freak,” hasn’t withstood the test of time, except on a nostalgic level.
“Macarena” became popular because of the crazy dance that was associated with it. To this day, it’s still a popular hit at weddings because drunk people like to prove to everybody they are masters at the dance. Good for them.
And “Who Let the Dogs Out?” was a hit mainly for the dog barks that followed the title phrase. Quick, name another song by The Baha Men, and if you say “Macarena” you’d be wrong.
“Thong Song.” A song about women’s underwear – that doesn’t smell of novelty at all.
I also attempt to avoid the “Song of the Summer” because I know that it will be one I’ll hear one thousand times in my lifetime, even by trying to avoid it.
I never want to hear “Who Let the Dogs Out?” again, but I couldn’t avoid it this past weekend while watching “The Hangover” and the song was featured in the soundtrack. I also can’t avoid it at weddings or other occasions where someone feels the need to poison peoples’ minds with it.
I also try to avoid the “Song of the Summer” for fear of actually liking it, and then buying the artist’s album it’s on, only to find out I wasted my money.
I bought the Black Eyed Peas album that featured “Where is the Love?” and then discovered the rest of the album didn’t sound anything like that song. I listened to it a few times, and threw it out years later when trying to make my large CD collection more manageable.
What will the 2009’s “Song of the Summer” be? A quick glance at the Billboard’s Top 100 chart reveals the Black Eyed Peas are No. 1 with a song called “Boom Boom Pow” (nice title), although that’s been popular for awhile now, so it probably came out too early for the summer.
Someone with the ridiculous name of Lady GaGa has a big hit with “Poker Face,” a song I’ve never heard and hope I never do. She’s on the cover of the current issue of Rolling Stone as the “Hot Artist” of the year, which gives her a little credibility but not much.
Personally, I’m a rock fan, so past rock songs that have become the “Song of the Summer” have resonated well with me, such as “All Summer Long” last year, Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar on Me” in 1988, and Jimmy Eat World’s “The Middle” in 2002.
Maybe rock fans will get lucky this year and Kings of Leon’s new single, “Notion,” will become this summer’s anthem. That’s a song I wouldn’t mind hearing a thousand times.
Last year it was Kid Rock’s “All Summer Long,” a song that mashed Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Sweet Home Alabama” and Warren Zevon’s “Werewolves of London” together in a completely unoriginal but purely enjoyable way.
The summer before the “Song of the Summer” was Rihanna’s “Umbrella,” a song I managed to completely avoid until the following summer but which was a big hit with nearly everyone else.
Other past hits that have become the “Song of the Summer” have included M.C. Hammer’s “U Can’t Touch This” in 1990, DJ Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince’s (Will Smith) “Summertime” in 1991, The Bayside Boys’ “Macarena” in 1996, The Baha Men’s “Who Let the Dogs Out?” in 1998, Sisqo’s “Thong Song” in 2000 and the Black Eyed Peas’ “Where is the Love?” in 2003.
For the most part, though, I avoid the “Song of the Summer” on purpose, for a number of reasons.
Usually, the song, which is almost always determined by radio popularity, is a novelty song that is the artist’s one and only hit. There are exceptions to this rule, such as Kid Rock and the Black Eyed Peas, but for the most part the song becomes popular for an odd reason that resonates with the public.
For example, most people think of Hammer’s baggy pants and the entourage he danced with when they hear “U Can’t Touch This.” His entourage ultimately bankrupted him, even though the song made millions of dollars for him. The song, which freely samples Rick James’ much better “Super Freak,” hasn’t withstood the test of time, except on a nostalgic level.
“Macarena” became popular because of the crazy dance that was associated with it. To this day, it’s still a popular hit at weddings because drunk people like to prove to everybody they are masters at the dance. Good for them.
And “Who Let the Dogs Out?” was a hit mainly for the dog barks that followed the title phrase. Quick, name another song by The Baha Men, and if you say “Macarena” you’d be wrong.
“Thong Song.” A song about women’s underwear – that doesn’t smell of novelty at all.
I also attempt to avoid the “Song of the Summer” because I know that it will be one I’ll hear one thousand times in my lifetime, even by trying to avoid it.
I never want to hear “Who Let the Dogs Out?” again, but I couldn’t avoid it this past weekend while watching “The Hangover” and the song was featured in the soundtrack. I also can’t avoid it at weddings or other occasions where someone feels the need to poison peoples’ minds with it.
I also try to avoid the “Song of the Summer” for fear of actually liking it, and then buying the artist’s album it’s on, only to find out I wasted my money.
I bought the Black Eyed Peas album that featured “Where is the Love?” and then discovered the rest of the album didn’t sound anything like that song. I listened to it a few times, and threw it out years later when trying to make my large CD collection more manageable.
What will the 2009’s “Song of the Summer” be? A quick glance at the Billboard’s Top 100 chart reveals the Black Eyed Peas are No. 1 with a song called “Boom Boom Pow” (nice title), although that’s been popular for awhile now, so it probably came out too early for the summer.
Someone with the ridiculous name of Lady GaGa has a big hit with “Poker Face,” a song I’ve never heard and hope I never do. She’s on the cover of the current issue of Rolling Stone as the “Hot Artist” of the year, which gives her a little credibility but not much.
Personally, I’m a rock fan, so past rock songs that have become the “Song of the Summer” have resonated well with me, such as “All Summer Long” last year, Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar on Me” in 1988, and Jimmy Eat World’s “The Middle” in 2002.
Maybe rock fans will get lucky this year and Kings of Leon’s new single, “Notion,” will become this summer’s anthem. That’s a song I wouldn’t mind hearing a thousand times.
Endless questioner is both fun and annoying
The questions never end.
“Why aren’t the dinosaurs alive anymore?” my 4-year-old, Braden, will ask.
“Because they are extinct,” I’ll reply, knowing exactly what his next question will be, as we have this same conversation every day.
“Why are they extinct?”
“Because a giant asteroid probably crashed on Earth and wiped them out.”
“Is an asteroid a meteor?”
“It’s similar, but bigger.”
“How much bigger?”
I could go on, but his questions never end and I’ve only got so much space for this column.
I’m well aware of the fact that my situation is not unique, far from it, as nearly every parent encounters the endless questioner at one time or another. But until you actually meet this person, it’s difficult to imagine what he or she is really like, or how the barrage of questions will sometimes please you or annoy you, depending on your mood.
On days in which I’m not talking with others, and in which I’m completely focused on Braden, I love the questions and can’t get enough of them.
For example, when I take Braden to daycare in the morning, he fires off one question after another from his car seat behind me. “Do you have sharp claws?” “Do superheroes have sharp claws?” “Does Ironman have sharp claws?” “Does Ironman have guns?”
Some of his questions make me laugh, and others are quite insightful coming from a 4-year-old. I try my best to answer every one completely, because when I don’t he’ll repeat the question until he receives a satisfactory answer.
Once in awhile he’ll pop out a question I don’t know how to answer. “How do you make a house?” Describing the physical construction of anything is not my forte, so I told him you hire someone to do it. “How does that person build it?” I was tempted to say that person uses magic, as it’s a complete mystery to me, but I know he would take me seriously, and probably tell his friends that I said construction workers use magic to build houses.
Instead, I gave him the best answer I could, saying it quick enough so he wouldn’t interrupt me with follow-up questions. “First, they dig a basement, and then they put in a foundation, and then they put the sides up, walls and roof on, electrical and plumbing in, and finish with the final details.” “Oh,” he thankfully replied.
When I’m in the mood to listen to his version of “20 Questions,” I find satisfaction in knowing he’s so inquisitive. As a reporter, I’ve got to be ready to ask questions of others in a similar manner, so listening to his questions in some ways reminds me of me.
My mother will point out that he’s exactly like me when I was his age, when I complain about his endless questions. I complain sometimes because the questions often come when I’m trying to have conversations with others, or when I’m concentrating on something else, like a good book or the season finale of “American Idol” (Adam deserved to win, but Kris was pretty good and will ultimately sell more albums).
“What are you reading?” he’ll ask.
“A book.”
“What kind of book?”
“A book for grown ups.”
“Why aren’t there any pictures?”
“Because it’s a book for grown ups. Go play now. I’m trying to read and can’t when you keep interrupting me.”
“When will I be old enough to read that book.”
Not soon enough, I want to tell him, as both my wife and I agreed our endless questions to our parents probably ended at the time we learned how to read, when we could obtain answers to many of life’s endless questions ourselves.
Then again, I recall times when I harassed my mother with questions, just because I wanted the attention and to annoy her.
My mother probably snickers to herself when I complain about Braden’s endless questions. “Payback, 30 years later,” she is probably thinking.
Payback, maybe, but it’s still kind of fun, even when it’s annoying.
“Why aren’t the dinosaurs alive anymore?” my 4-year-old, Braden, will ask.
“Because they are extinct,” I’ll reply, knowing exactly what his next question will be, as we have this same conversation every day.
“Why are they extinct?”
“Because a giant asteroid probably crashed on Earth and wiped them out.”
“Is an asteroid a meteor?”
“It’s similar, but bigger.”
“How much bigger?”
I could go on, but his questions never end and I’ve only got so much space for this column.
I’m well aware of the fact that my situation is not unique, far from it, as nearly every parent encounters the endless questioner at one time or another. But until you actually meet this person, it’s difficult to imagine what he or she is really like, or how the barrage of questions will sometimes please you or annoy you, depending on your mood.
On days in which I’m not talking with others, and in which I’m completely focused on Braden, I love the questions and can’t get enough of them.
For example, when I take Braden to daycare in the morning, he fires off one question after another from his car seat behind me. “Do you have sharp claws?” “Do superheroes have sharp claws?” “Does Ironman have sharp claws?” “Does Ironman have guns?”
Some of his questions make me laugh, and others are quite insightful coming from a 4-year-old. I try my best to answer every one completely, because when I don’t he’ll repeat the question until he receives a satisfactory answer.
Once in awhile he’ll pop out a question I don’t know how to answer. “How do you make a house?” Describing the physical construction of anything is not my forte, so I told him you hire someone to do it. “How does that person build it?” I was tempted to say that person uses magic, as it’s a complete mystery to me, but I know he would take me seriously, and probably tell his friends that I said construction workers use magic to build houses.
Instead, I gave him the best answer I could, saying it quick enough so he wouldn’t interrupt me with follow-up questions. “First, they dig a basement, and then they put in a foundation, and then they put the sides up, walls and roof on, electrical and plumbing in, and finish with the final details.” “Oh,” he thankfully replied.
When I’m in the mood to listen to his version of “20 Questions,” I find satisfaction in knowing he’s so inquisitive. As a reporter, I’ve got to be ready to ask questions of others in a similar manner, so listening to his questions in some ways reminds me of me.
My mother will point out that he’s exactly like me when I was his age, when I complain about his endless questions. I complain sometimes because the questions often come when I’m trying to have conversations with others, or when I’m concentrating on something else, like a good book or the season finale of “American Idol” (Adam deserved to win, but Kris was pretty good and will ultimately sell more albums).
“What are you reading?” he’ll ask.
“A book.”
“What kind of book?”
“A book for grown ups.”
“Why aren’t there any pictures?”
“Because it’s a book for grown ups. Go play now. I’m trying to read and can’t when you keep interrupting me.”
“When will I be old enough to read that book.”
Not soon enough, I want to tell him, as both my wife and I agreed our endless questions to our parents probably ended at the time we learned how to read, when we could obtain answers to many of life’s endless questions ourselves.
Then again, I recall times when I harassed my mother with questions, just because I wanted the attention and to annoy her.
My mother probably snickers to herself when I complain about Braden’s endless questions. “Payback, 30 years later,” she is probably thinking.
Payback, maybe, but it’s still kind of fun, even when it’s annoying.
World not ready yet for some bald people
I shaved my head, using a Bic razor, two weeks ago, an experiment I repeated one week ago but one I will probably not repeat again for a long time.
My reasoning for doing it in the first place: to eliminate the giant bald spot on top of my head, one that makes me look like a monk from a distance because it looks like a monk’s hat. By getting rid of all my hair, I figured the hat would disappear and I would look like a white Michael Jordan, or at least Charles Barkley. I’d reference a modern-day basketball player here, but I stopped watching when they retired and the only players I know all have hair.
Shaving my head wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be. First I used an electric clipper to make my hair really short, and then I got out the Bic. After lathering my head in shaving cream, I attempted to cleanly shave lines of neat rows from my forehead to my neck.
I say “attempted” because the Bic stopped shaving after just a few inches, but it continued to pick up the shaving cream. I was left with a bald forehead, a bald head top and short hair in the back of my head. In other words, I looked like my grandpa.
I gave up trying to be neat about it and then shaved my head in small strokes wherever hair remained. Fifteen minutes later, satisfied I got it all, I took a shower and emerged as a completely bald person. I wasn’t the white Michael Jordan, or Charles Barkley; instead, I looked more like Richard Moll, the guy who played Bull on that great 1980s sitcom “Night Court.”
The first person to see me was my 4-year-old son, Braden. “Where did all your hair go?” he asked. “You look silly.”
Gee, thanks. But this is the same boy who says everything looks silly, except his grandmother. “She is beautiful,” he will tell anyone willing to listen.
Braden and I went to the bank later in the morning, and the tellers said nothing about my hairless haircut. Maybe they thought they didn’t know me well enough to comment, but their silence was identical to the silence I received from nearly everyone, including Braden’s beautiful grandmother who picked him up later in the morning to take him for the day.
When my wife, Jenny, came home, she looked at it and shook her head. “No, it doesn’t work,” she said.
I didn’t want to believe her, but judging by non-remarks I had been receiving all day, and some the next day including those by my co-workers, I knew she was being truthful.
I didn’t hear a single positive remark about my baldness until I saw my best friend that Sunday. He’s shaved his head before, so he thought it was tough.
On Monday, a co-worker who has been shaving his head bald for years said he liked it, too, leading me to conclude only bald people or formerly-bald people could appreciate it.
The only negative remark I heard about it, other than those from my honest wife, was from a neighbor of my in-laws who joked that I looked like a skinhead. That’s the type of negative remark that should have inspired me to grow what hair I do have back, but instead I shaved it all off a week later.
I thought maybe I just needed to get people used to it before they could finally say they liked it. After seeing I had done it again, my wife was even more honest. I had too many bumps on my head, plus the shape of my head wasn’t fitting for complete baldness, she said.
When Braden told me over the weekend I needed to grow my hair back, I knew he was right. The world wasn’t ready for bald Scott. It’ll have to wait until all my hair goes away naturally. That’s coming in a few years, so the world had better get used to it.
My reasoning for doing it in the first place: to eliminate the giant bald spot on top of my head, one that makes me look like a monk from a distance because it looks like a monk’s hat. By getting rid of all my hair, I figured the hat would disappear and I would look like a white Michael Jordan, or at least Charles Barkley. I’d reference a modern-day basketball player here, but I stopped watching when they retired and the only players I know all have hair.
Shaving my head wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be. First I used an electric clipper to make my hair really short, and then I got out the Bic. After lathering my head in shaving cream, I attempted to cleanly shave lines of neat rows from my forehead to my neck.
I say “attempted” because the Bic stopped shaving after just a few inches, but it continued to pick up the shaving cream. I was left with a bald forehead, a bald head top and short hair in the back of my head. In other words, I looked like my grandpa.
I gave up trying to be neat about it and then shaved my head in small strokes wherever hair remained. Fifteen minutes later, satisfied I got it all, I took a shower and emerged as a completely bald person. I wasn’t the white Michael Jordan, or Charles Barkley; instead, I looked more like Richard Moll, the guy who played Bull on that great 1980s sitcom “Night Court.”
The first person to see me was my 4-year-old son, Braden. “Where did all your hair go?” he asked. “You look silly.”
Gee, thanks. But this is the same boy who says everything looks silly, except his grandmother. “She is beautiful,” he will tell anyone willing to listen.
Braden and I went to the bank later in the morning, and the tellers said nothing about my hairless haircut. Maybe they thought they didn’t know me well enough to comment, but their silence was identical to the silence I received from nearly everyone, including Braden’s beautiful grandmother who picked him up later in the morning to take him for the day.
When my wife, Jenny, came home, she looked at it and shook her head. “No, it doesn’t work,” she said.
I didn’t want to believe her, but judging by non-remarks I had been receiving all day, and some the next day including those by my co-workers, I knew she was being truthful.
I didn’t hear a single positive remark about my baldness until I saw my best friend that Sunday. He’s shaved his head before, so he thought it was tough.
On Monday, a co-worker who has been shaving his head bald for years said he liked it, too, leading me to conclude only bald people or formerly-bald people could appreciate it.
The only negative remark I heard about it, other than those from my honest wife, was from a neighbor of my in-laws who joked that I looked like a skinhead. That’s the type of negative remark that should have inspired me to grow what hair I do have back, but instead I shaved it all off a week later.
I thought maybe I just needed to get people used to it before they could finally say they liked it. After seeing I had done it again, my wife was even more honest. I had too many bumps on my head, plus the shape of my head wasn’t fitting for complete baldness, she said.
When Braden told me over the weekend I needed to grow my hair back, I knew he was right. The world wasn’t ready for bald Scott. It’ll have to wait until all my hair goes away naturally. That’s coming in a few years, so the world had better get used to it.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Fishing on 'redneck yacht' requires spirit of Zeus
Last week in his “Outdoor Woods and Water” column, George Rogers wrote that when “a hunter or a fisherman comes home empty-handed, he likes to say how great it was to be outdoors, enjoying the singing birds, the scenery, the fresh air, and on and on and on.” I agree with this statement, especially after spending a wonderful day fishing on Spring Lake in Waushara County Sunday, May 17.
Spring Lake, with a marl base, isn’t well known, as it’s hidden between Wautoma and Neshkoro. It has a public boat landing – two of them in fact – but finding them is difficult because both are off little-used roads.
I’m familiar with the lake, as a friend and I would go fishing there during high school, and because my in-laws have a weekend home on it. On paper, it might appear as though I married my wife for this connection, but I can honestly say I wasn’t aware she and her family were familiar with the lake until after we started dating.
With this connection, I’ve got access to the lake with a pontoon boat – or as we call it, the “redneck yacht” – which is good because I don’t own my own boat.
Since no-wake rules apply to the lake, cruising around on it is a slow journey. It’s a half-mile long, but getting to the other side from the weekend home is a 15-minute trip. That’s fine, because the sights on the lake, which is only half developed, are a treat to watch.
On most days, people can spot a pair of osprey dive bombing the lake for fish, a heron prowling the shorelines for food, monster snapping turtles just beneath the surface of the water, beavers making dams on the east shore, ducks and geese nesting on fishing piers, and a multitude of fish swimming in the clear lake.
My objective – to catch these fish – is often futile, as my skills as a fisherman aren’t well developed. It’s not for a lack of trying, as I’ve been fishing since I’ve been a little boy. It’s more because my attitude towards fishing is so casual I’ve used the same rod and reel since I was 14, which was 20 years ago. The supplies in my tackle box are nearly as old, and my devotion to observing better fishermen is usually outweighed by my desire to have other conversations with these people on subjects other than fishing.
On Sunday, my friend Alex, a college roommate of mine who has been living in Japan for the last decade as a professional kickboxer, set out on hopes of catching a trophy bass, although our commitment couldn’t have been that great as we didn’t arrive at the lake until 9:30 a.m., long past the best fishing times in the morning.
We also weren’t prepared as well as we should have been. Neither of us had any nightcrawlers, and an attempt to dig for them was fruitless. We decided to try our luck with artificial bait.
I was skunked in the morning, while Alex got a couple of small rock bass on a spinner. However, we managed to have plenty of humorous discussions about our days in college and the people we met there.
It may not have been a large northern, but reliving memories about Zeus were hilarious. Zeus was a guy who was a seventh-year senior when we were freshmen who took on the name of a Greek god because he believed nobody on campus possessed as much wisdom as he did, including the professors. I had a creative writing class with him my junior year, and his story about “war machines being pulled by teams of giant elephants” still makes me laugh every time I think about it. Zeus ended up graduating with my class, and to this day I wonder what he’s using all the knowledge he gained in 11 years of college for.
After a delicious lunch provided by my mother-in-law, we went back out on the lake, hoping to have better luck. Alex caught a couple of bigger panfish, and I, yet again, caught nothing. We even had some nightcrawlers this time, as my father-in-law helped us find some good places to dig for them.
After docking the yacht, we fished from shore for a little bit. Joking that my 4-year-old son has outfished me this year – he caught a rock bass from shore the previous weekend – I truly thought I’d have to talk about the nice day it was for fishing, rather than on the fishing itself.
However, the fishing gods, or maybe the spirit of Zeus, descended upon my pole and me, allowing a 13-inch bass to hit my artificial worm as I reeled it in. I didn’t miss the opportunity, and landed it. As Alex put it, I may not have gotten nearly as many as him, but I did get the best fish of the day.
I had to throw it back, as it wasn’t big enough to keep, but in my mind it made for a wonderful day of fishing. Not just a wonderful day in general.
Spring Lake, with a marl base, isn’t well known, as it’s hidden between Wautoma and Neshkoro. It has a public boat landing – two of them in fact – but finding them is difficult because both are off little-used roads.
I’m familiar with the lake, as a friend and I would go fishing there during high school, and because my in-laws have a weekend home on it. On paper, it might appear as though I married my wife for this connection, but I can honestly say I wasn’t aware she and her family were familiar with the lake until after we started dating.
With this connection, I’ve got access to the lake with a pontoon boat – or as we call it, the “redneck yacht” – which is good because I don’t own my own boat.
Since no-wake rules apply to the lake, cruising around on it is a slow journey. It’s a half-mile long, but getting to the other side from the weekend home is a 15-minute trip. That’s fine, because the sights on the lake, which is only half developed, are a treat to watch.
On most days, people can spot a pair of osprey dive bombing the lake for fish, a heron prowling the shorelines for food, monster snapping turtles just beneath the surface of the water, beavers making dams on the east shore, ducks and geese nesting on fishing piers, and a multitude of fish swimming in the clear lake.
My objective – to catch these fish – is often futile, as my skills as a fisherman aren’t well developed. It’s not for a lack of trying, as I’ve been fishing since I’ve been a little boy. It’s more because my attitude towards fishing is so casual I’ve used the same rod and reel since I was 14, which was 20 years ago. The supplies in my tackle box are nearly as old, and my devotion to observing better fishermen is usually outweighed by my desire to have other conversations with these people on subjects other than fishing.
On Sunday, my friend Alex, a college roommate of mine who has been living in Japan for the last decade as a professional kickboxer, set out on hopes of catching a trophy bass, although our commitment couldn’t have been that great as we didn’t arrive at the lake until 9:30 a.m., long past the best fishing times in the morning.
We also weren’t prepared as well as we should have been. Neither of us had any nightcrawlers, and an attempt to dig for them was fruitless. We decided to try our luck with artificial bait.
I was skunked in the morning, while Alex got a couple of small rock bass on a spinner. However, we managed to have plenty of humorous discussions about our days in college and the people we met there.
It may not have been a large northern, but reliving memories about Zeus were hilarious. Zeus was a guy who was a seventh-year senior when we were freshmen who took on the name of a Greek god because he believed nobody on campus possessed as much wisdom as he did, including the professors. I had a creative writing class with him my junior year, and his story about “war machines being pulled by teams of giant elephants” still makes me laugh every time I think about it. Zeus ended up graduating with my class, and to this day I wonder what he’s using all the knowledge he gained in 11 years of college for.
After a delicious lunch provided by my mother-in-law, we went back out on the lake, hoping to have better luck. Alex caught a couple of bigger panfish, and I, yet again, caught nothing. We even had some nightcrawlers this time, as my father-in-law helped us find some good places to dig for them.
After docking the yacht, we fished from shore for a little bit. Joking that my 4-year-old son has outfished me this year – he caught a rock bass from shore the previous weekend – I truly thought I’d have to talk about the nice day it was for fishing, rather than on the fishing itself.
However, the fishing gods, or maybe the spirit of Zeus, descended upon my pole and me, allowing a 13-inch bass to hit my artificial worm as I reeled it in. I didn’t miss the opportunity, and landed it. As Alex put it, I may not have gotten nearly as many as him, but I did get the best fish of the day.
I had to throw it back, as it wasn’t big enough to keep, but in my mind it made for a wonderful day of fishing. Not just a wonderful day in general.
Two years and 101 columns: Time flies when having fun
This is my 101st “Light of Day” column for The Gazette, an accomplishment, if I’m allowed to call it that, I would have celebrated last week had I known I reached such a milestone.
The only reason I realized I reached 100 was because it occurred to me, during a random thought, I’m coming up on two years of working here, and with 52 columns a year I thought I must be close to the big 100. I quick search of files on The Gazette’s network revealed I was at 101.
That’s 101 weeks of either poisoning the public with my mindless dribble, to some, or 101 weeks of hopefully making people laugh with my personal perspective on growing up, raising a family, relationships with a spouse and child, as well as the rest of the world, and my thoughts on pop culture.
I’ve raved about the fun things Portage County has to offer, and I’ve ranted about bad customer service. I’ve praised people and places I find interesting, and I’ve bemoaned bad behavior from people at movie theaters and my own son, who happens to be the No.-1 topic I usually write about, mainly because I know most people can relate to the topic of children.
Some weeks I struggle, finding a topic to write about at the last minute and hoping I can say enough interesting and humorous things about it to reach at least 600 words. Other weeks I whip them out in less than an hour, writing well over 1,000 words.
By nature I like to mock – my friends and I practically majored in the subject in college – but I try my best to be nice in this column, as I don’t want to upset anybody just because I have the desire to make others laugh at that person’s expense. But some weeks I can’t help myself, and sometimes my wife needs to tell me to “be nice,” causing me to edit myself. Sometimes the editor at The Gazette, Gene Kemmeter, will do that for me, although he will always consult me before making any changes.
I have no idea what I have planned for the next 100 columns. If I had to guess, there will probably be plenty more about my son as he starts school, my relationship with my wife as that’s always a fun topic, and my adventures through life – and maybe I’ll take a real vacation somewhere that will be much more interesting than Wisconsin Dells.
I’m sure I’ll also write about pop culture, as movies, music, books and television are my favorite subjects outside of family and friends. Expect my thoughts on “what if” situations involving robots sent from the future to change the future, and on my reasoning as to why Sonic Youth and The Replacements are two of the best bands of all-time most people have probably never heard.
Although I don’t hear from many people, good or bad, regarding my columns, the few times I have received feedback it has almost always been positive. Only once did someone complain – from a gentleman who took a column I wrote about global warming way too seriously, when in fact it was meant to be entirely tongue-in-cheek.
Although this is my 101st “Light of Day” column for The Gazette, I wrote quite a few for The Waushara Argus where I worked for 10 years previously to coming here. I did not write those columns on a consistent basis, though, as I was often censored there so not to offend advertisers.
For example, I once wrote about my love for online auctions, and because a real auctioneer was offended by a statement in the column I made about not liking real auctions, I was reprimanded by my editor. Frustrated because my editor did not understand the concept of “freedom of press,” and for the paper’s lack of ability to separate news from advertising, I only wrote my columns when I was inspired.
People I knew in Waushara County sometimes asked why I didn’t write the columns more often, because they enjoyed them. I never gave them the real answer, for fear of losing my job. I’m not afraid to tell the people of Portage County, though, because I’m comfortable enough pretty much saying anything, regardless of how it makes my family or me look.
And believe me, my wife is always telling me she can’t believe I wrote something about us in a column. She’s always asking if she can ever give her perspective on some of my ramblings. I probably will, sometime within the next 101 columns.
The only reason I realized I reached 100 was because it occurred to me, during a random thought, I’m coming up on two years of working here, and with 52 columns a year I thought I must be close to the big 100. I quick search of files on The Gazette’s network revealed I was at 101.
That’s 101 weeks of either poisoning the public with my mindless dribble, to some, or 101 weeks of hopefully making people laugh with my personal perspective on growing up, raising a family, relationships with a spouse and child, as well as the rest of the world, and my thoughts on pop culture.
I’ve raved about the fun things Portage County has to offer, and I’ve ranted about bad customer service. I’ve praised people and places I find interesting, and I’ve bemoaned bad behavior from people at movie theaters and my own son, who happens to be the No.-1 topic I usually write about, mainly because I know most people can relate to the topic of children.
Some weeks I struggle, finding a topic to write about at the last minute and hoping I can say enough interesting and humorous things about it to reach at least 600 words. Other weeks I whip them out in less than an hour, writing well over 1,000 words.
By nature I like to mock – my friends and I practically majored in the subject in college – but I try my best to be nice in this column, as I don’t want to upset anybody just because I have the desire to make others laugh at that person’s expense. But some weeks I can’t help myself, and sometimes my wife needs to tell me to “be nice,” causing me to edit myself. Sometimes the editor at The Gazette, Gene Kemmeter, will do that for me, although he will always consult me before making any changes.
I have no idea what I have planned for the next 100 columns. If I had to guess, there will probably be plenty more about my son as he starts school, my relationship with my wife as that’s always a fun topic, and my adventures through life – and maybe I’ll take a real vacation somewhere that will be much more interesting than Wisconsin Dells.
I’m sure I’ll also write about pop culture, as movies, music, books and television are my favorite subjects outside of family and friends. Expect my thoughts on “what if” situations involving robots sent from the future to change the future, and on my reasoning as to why Sonic Youth and The Replacements are two of the best bands of all-time most people have probably never heard.
Although I don’t hear from many people, good or bad, regarding my columns, the few times I have received feedback it has almost always been positive. Only once did someone complain – from a gentleman who took a column I wrote about global warming way too seriously, when in fact it was meant to be entirely tongue-in-cheek.
Although this is my 101st “Light of Day” column for The Gazette, I wrote quite a few for The Waushara Argus where I worked for 10 years previously to coming here. I did not write those columns on a consistent basis, though, as I was often censored there so not to offend advertisers.
For example, I once wrote about my love for online auctions, and because a real auctioneer was offended by a statement in the column I made about not liking real auctions, I was reprimanded by my editor. Frustrated because my editor did not understand the concept of “freedom of press,” and for the paper’s lack of ability to separate news from advertising, I only wrote my columns when I was inspired.
People I knew in Waushara County sometimes asked why I didn’t write the columns more often, because they enjoyed them. I never gave them the real answer, for fear of losing my job. I’m not afraid to tell the people of Portage County, though, because I’m comfortable enough pretty much saying anything, regardless of how it makes my family or me look.
And believe me, my wife is always telling me she can’t believe I wrote something about us in a column. She’s always asking if she can ever give her perspective on some of my ramblings. I probably will, sometime within the next 101 columns.
Wisconsin Dells is great when hotel room is free
Inspired by Jim Schuh’s wonderful columns about his many trips, vacations and adventures he takes around the country, I’ve decided people might like to read about my mini-vacation last week to a place less exotic than the places he usually visits – like Alabama and Arizona – but still thrilling, and a lot more familiar, Wisconsin Dells.
It’s a vacation my family and I take at least once a year, as my wife’s job necessitates her going there for annual conferences. This year, as well as last year, we stayed at Glacier Canyon Lodge at The Wilderness, a resort so large some small cities could fit inside it. Although it doesn’t have a large city in it, The Wilderness does have three indoor water parks, two arcades, a play castle, three or four restaurants (I didn’t keep an exact count on them), countless stores and shops, and a large conference center.
The only thing it’s missing, and preventing it from being its own municipality, is a church. But like a lot of villages and towns without a church it makes up for its shortcoming with multiple taverns, although the ones at The Wilderness are a little classier.
My wife, Jenny, our son, Braden, and I arrived in Wisconsin Dells at noon Thursday, April 30, just in time for lunch. We made it a goal of spending as little money on food as possible, but we failed immediately, as we stopped at the Riverwalk Pub, just off Wisconsin Dells’ main street and along the Wisconsin River. Jenny’s parents are big fans of the place, so we thought we’d give it a try.
Jenny and I both had a ribeye steak sandwich and fries, as well as some beer cheese soup. Braden was daring; he had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Our waitress was friendly, and her recommendation to try the steak sandwich was a good one. Jenny and I both thought it was excellent. Even better was the soup. Unfortunately, the waitress wouldn’t give us the recipe, so I didn’t give her a tip. Just kidding. With tip, we paid $43 for the meal.
After a brief excursion to buy some groceries for our hotel room, which actually was a suite the size of a small apartment, we settled in at 2 p.m. and Braden and I explored the suite as we waited for Jenny to return from a short meeting. It had three televisions, a fully-loaded kitchen, two bedrooms, an additional bed in the living room wall that could come down if needed, a dining room and two bathrooms.
Normal rates for this room would be five to seven hundred dollars per night during the on season, but it was only $160 a night during the off season, a tab we didn’t even have to pick up as Jenny’s employer did so. It was worth every cent it paid.
After a quick dinner in the suite – pizza and macaroni and cheese – we made our way to the Wild Canyon water park, which was literally a walk half-a-mile long. This water park had a children’s area, a wave pool and several water slides. We took Braden down a big water slide in which we rode on in a large raft. The entire slide was enclosed, so if riding in the dark doesn’t sound enjoyable, you may want to avoid it. I’m a fan of sight, so the slide wasn’t my favorite activity there.
We made the long trek back to our room after several hours of fun, concluding a fairly fun but quick first day.
Most of the second day was spent at the play castle next to one of the two arcades while Jenny was in meetings. The castle is wonderful for parents of younger children, as they can relax while their children explore all three levels. I checked on Braden occasionally, but stayed outside it most of the time because my large body was too big for the small spaces throughout much of it.
That night, before going to the Wild West water park, we ate at the Wild West Diner. All three of us had the buffet, as it looked exceptionally good and Braden’s was free with a paid adult. The food was exceptionally good, I especially liked the roast beef and Jenny liked a chicken dish. Braden liked the smiley fries.
Neither Jenny nor I liked the price, though. Even with Braden’s free meal, the total tab came to nearly $60, which is way too much for a buffet and $60 more than we wanted to spend eating out the entire trip. Oh well, the room was free.
The water park was nearly identical to the other one, although the wave pool was closed for some reason. Swine flu maybe? Who knows?
The third day at The Wilderness was much like the first two, except some Stevens Point friends, Brian and Johanna and their two children, came to spend the day with us. They treated us to Buffalo Phil’s just down the highway from The Wilderness, and that buffet was equally as good as the one at the Wild West, especially its pizza, and I’m sure the price was more reasonable, as it was $10 per adult.
Back at The Wilderness we went to two water parks and then visited back at the suite for a couple of hours as the children slept after a long day of play. Our friends left at 7 p.m. and we went back to the crowded play castle during our final evening there. Jenny and I enjoyed some adult beverages while Braden played well past his bedtime. We also went mini-golfing in a 3-D aquarium-themed course there. It wasn’t worth the $20 we spent on it, mainly because Braden had no interest in golfing. Oh well, the room was still free.
We were hungry when we got back, but instead of making some spaghetti, like we had planned, we ordered pizza from Sarento’s, a restaurant adjacent to The Wilderness. We ordered a specialty one, half “Greek” and the other half “Philly Cheese Steak.” The $20 price was well worth it, as it was unique and flavorful. Plus, the room was still free.
We returned the next morning, but not before stopping at the outlet mall where Jenny bought a new Coach purse. She used the age-old argument women have been using for decades to convince men to make the purchase – it’s on sale. I didn’t mind. The room was free.
I’ll write more about this adventure for the next eight weeks. Nevermind. I talked about everything I needed to talk about this week, so I apologize to people expecting a multi-week testimonial along the lines of Schuh. You’ll have to wait for his next trip for such an adventure.
It’s a vacation my family and I take at least once a year, as my wife’s job necessitates her going there for annual conferences. This year, as well as last year, we stayed at Glacier Canyon Lodge at The Wilderness, a resort so large some small cities could fit inside it. Although it doesn’t have a large city in it, The Wilderness does have three indoor water parks, two arcades, a play castle, three or four restaurants (I didn’t keep an exact count on them), countless stores and shops, and a large conference center.
The only thing it’s missing, and preventing it from being its own municipality, is a church. But like a lot of villages and towns without a church it makes up for its shortcoming with multiple taverns, although the ones at The Wilderness are a little classier.
My wife, Jenny, our son, Braden, and I arrived in Wisconsin Dells at noon Thursday, April 30, just in time for lunch. We made it a goal of spending as little money on food as possible, but we failed immediately, as we stopped at the Riverwalk Pub, just off Wisconsin Dells’ main street and along the Wisconsin River. Jenny’s parents are big fans of the place, so we thought we’d give it a try.
Jenny and I both had a ribeye steak sandwich and fries, as well as some beer cheese soup. Braden was daring; he had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Our waitress was friendly, and her recommendation to try the steak sandwich was a good one. Jenny and I both thought it was excellent. Even better was the soup. Unfortunately, the waitress wouldn’t give us the recipe, so I didn’t give her a tip. Just kidding. With tip, we paid $43 for the meal.
After a brief excursion to buy some groceries for our hotel room, which actually was a suite the size of a small apartment, we settled in at 2 p.m. and Braden and I explored the suite as we waited for Jenny to return from a short meeting. It had three televisions, a fully-loaded kitchen, two bedrooms, an additional bed in the living room wall that could come down if needed, a dining room and two bathrooms.
Normal rates for this room would be five to seven hundred dollars per night during the on season, but it was only $160 a night during the off season, a tab we didn’t even have to pick up as Jenny’s employer did so. It was worth every cent it paid.
After a quick dinner in the suite – pizza and macaroni and cheese – we made our way to the Wild Canyon water park, which was literally a walk half-a-mile long. This water park had a children’s area, a wave pool and several water slides. We took Braden down a big water slide in which we rode on in a large raft. The entire slide was enclosed, so if riding in the dark doesn’t sound enjoyable, you may want to avoid it. I’m a fan of sight, so the slide wasn’t my favorite activity there.
We made the long trek back to our room after several hours of fun, concluding a fairly fun but quick first day.
Most of the second day was spent at the play castle next to one of the two arcades while Jenny was in meetings. The castle is wonderful for parents of younger children, as they can relax while their children explore all three levels. I checked on Braden occasionally, but stayed outside it most of the time because my large body was too big for the small spaces throughout much of it.
That night, before going to the Wild West water park, we ate at the Wild West Diner. All three of us had the buffet, as it looked exceptionally good and Braden’s was free with a paid adult. The food was exceptionally good, I especially liked the roast beef and Jenny liked a chicken dish. Braden liked the smiley fries.
Neither Jenny nor I liked the price, though. Even with Braden’s free meal, the total tab came to nearly $60, which is way too much for a buffet and $60 more than we wanted to spend eating out the entire trip. Oh well, the room was free.
The water park was nearly identical to the other one, although the wave pool was closed for some reason. Swine flu maybe? Who knows?
The third day at The Wilderness was much like the first two, except some Stevens Point friends, Brian and Johanna and their two children, came to spend the day with us. They treated us to Buffalo Phil’s just down the highway from The Wilderness, and that buffet was equally as good as the one at the Wild West, especially its pizza, and I’m sure the price was more reasonable, as it was $10 per adult.
Back at The Wilderness we went to two water parks and then visited back at the suite for a couple of hours as the children slept after a long day of play. Our friends left at 7 p.m. and we went back to the crowded play castle during our final evening there. Jenny and I enjoyed some adult beverages while Braden played well past his bedtime. We also went mini-golfing in a 3-D aquarium-themed course there. It wasn’t worth the $20 we spent on it, mainly because Braden had no interest in golfing. Oh well, the room was still free.
We were hungry when we got back, but instead of making some spaghetti, like we had planned, we ordered pizza from Sarento’s, a restaurant adjacent to The Wilderness. We ordered a specialty one, half “Greek” and the other half “Philly Cheese Steak.” The $20 price was well worth it, as it was unique and flavorful. Plus, the room was still free.
We returned the next morning, but not before stopping at the outlet mall where Jenny bought a new Coach purse. She used the age-old argument women have been using for decades to convince men to make the purchase – it’s on sale. I didn’t mind. The room was free.
I’ll write more about this adventure for the next eight weeks. Nevermind. I talked about everything I needed to talk about this week, so I apologize to people expecting a multi-week testimonial along the lines of Schuh. You’ll have to wait for his next trip for such an adventure.
Good customer service can be hard to find
Providing good customer service is easy, but for some it seems like it’s the most difficult and excruciating thing they’ll ever have to do.
As someone who worked in a large chain store through high school and college, I quickly learned the value of providing good service to customers. Although they may rarely compliment you for providing it, they are quick to complain if it’s not. And boss people, the ones who are responsible for any raises you may receive, remember those complaints when it’s time to up your salary.
Plus people who think you are being nice are more likely to be nice in return, which can make a sometimes meaningless-appearing job seem more tolerable. And though there are exceptions to this rule, as some people can be cranky and even hostile no matter how good you treat them, in general it works.
I no longer work in retail, but because of my experience I’m usually more critical, and complimentary, of bad, and good, customer service. Several recent experiences have left me both angered and hopeful at the current status of customer service.
At the former retail store I once worked at, which earned its reputation by making the customer No. 1, that standard no longer seems to apply. Where once employees were required to find items customers were looking for, and then help them with any questions they had about the item, people are now lucky if the employee even tells them the correct spot to find an item if asked.
Looking for sun screen at the store recently for my son, two employees, who were difficult to locate, pointed me to a section of the store that was not correct, even as I pointed out I looked through those aisles to no avail. I finally found it, mysteriously in domestics and not health & beauty aid, but without their help.
I understand those employees are probably not paid enough, to their thinking, but if someone has a job, and that job is to provide good customer service, the person should do the job to the best of his or her abilities no matter how much it pays. As the employee shows others good skills, better opportunities will become available.
Another experience was even more disheartening. My wife and I had our taxes done by an organization that guarantees 100-percent satisfaction. Our experience there was anything but satisfying, as it took the tax preparer nearly two hours for a job his boss said should have only taken 30 minutes.
In addition, other employees there were goofing around and occasionally used cuss words, something both of us, and probably our 4-year-old son, heard. The tax preparer also did not include some information we requested he needed to incorporate, less than 30 minutes after finishing, forcing us to file an amendment to our return.
I called his boss when we noticed he never included this information like we asked, and also told her about our other experiences there.
She immediately apologized and offered us a refund of the amount we paid for the service. I wasn’t looking for a refund, but I accepted the gesture as a token of her genuine interest in making us not upset with her company.
Unfortunately, she never gave us the refund, noting the amended tax return would give us an amount equal to the refund, even though that money was ours to begin with and we didn’t originally receive it because of a mistake her company made.
She also said in talking with her employees she didn’t believe our claims they were swearing. I heard it, my wife heard it and now she was siding with people would were probably lying because they didn’t want to get in trouble. I had no reason to tell her something untruthful, as I wasn’t looking for a refund and was only trying to point out something she might like to be aware of, but now being called a liar, for better or worse, was just plain upsetting. Needless to say, we’ll never use them again, and we’ll make sure we let everyone we know to avoid the place.
Not all of my recent customer service experiences have been a nightmare. At a fast-food restaurant last week, an employee there was super nice, and even asked my son if he’d like an extra toy they give away. I was impressed, because they didn’t have to do it, and my son loved it, well, because it was another toy.
The gesture earned my respect and future returns to the restaurant. And in this economy, this proves that good customer service may be the key factor in allowing some businesses to succeed when others will fail.
As someone who worked in a large chain store through high school and college, I quickly learned the value of providing good service to customers. Although they may rarely compliment you for providing it, they are quick to complain if it’s not. And boss people, the ones who are responsible for any raises you may receive, remember those complaints when it’s time to up your salary.
Plus people who think you are being nice are more likely to be nice in return, which can make a sometimes meaningless-appearing job seem more tolerable. And though there are exceptions to this rule, as some people can be cranky and even hostile no matter how good you treat them, in general it works.
I no longer work in retail, but because of my experience I’m usually more critical, and complimentary, of bad, and good, customer service. Several recent experiences have left me both angered and hopeful at the current status of customer service.
At the former retail store I once worked at, which earned its reputation by making the customer No. 1, that standard no longer seems to apply. Where once employees were required to find items customers were looking for, and then help them with any questions they had about the item, people are now lucky if the employee even tells them the correct spot to find an item if asked.
Looking for sun screen at the store recently for my son, two employees, who were difficult to locate, pointed me to a section of the store that was not correct, even as I pointed out I looked through those aisles to no avail. I finally found it, mysteriously in domestics and not health & beauty aid, but without their help.
I understand those employees are probably not paid enough, to their thinking, but if someone has a job, and that job is to provide good customer service, the person should do the job to the best of his or her abilities no matter how much it pays. As the employee shows others good skills, better opportunities will become available.
Another experience was even more disheartening. My wife and I had our taxes done by an organization that guarantees 100-percent satisfaction. Our experience there was anything but satisfying, as it took the tax preparer nearly two hours for a job his boss said should have only taken 30 minutes.
In addition, other employees there were goofing around and occasionally used cuss words, something both of us, and probably our 4-year-old son, heard. The tax preparer also did not include some information we requested he needed to incorporate, less than 30 minutes after finishing, forcing us to file an amendment to our return.
I called his boss when we noticed he never included this information like we asked, and also told her about our other experiences there.
She immediately apologized and offered us a refund of the amount we paid for the service. I wasn’t looking for a refund, but I accepted the gesture as a token of her genuine interest in making us not upset with her company.
Unfortunately, she never gave us the refund, noting the amended tax return would give us an amount equal to the refund, even though that money was ours to begin with and we didn’t originally receive it because of a mistake her company made.
She also said in talking with her employees she didn’t believe our claims they were swearing. I heard it, my wife heard it and now she was siding with people would were probably lying because they didn’t want to get in trouble. I had no reason to tell her something untruthful, as I wasn’t looking for a refund and was only trying to point out something she might like to be aware of, but now being called a liar, for better or worse, was just plain upsetting. Needless to say, we’ll never use them again, and we’ll make sure we let everyone we know to avoid the place.
Not all of my recent customer service experiences have been a nightmare. At a fast-food restaurant last week, an employee there was super nice, and even asked my son if he’d like an extra toy they give away. I was impressed, because they didn’t have to do it, and my son loved it, well, because it was another toy.
The gesture earned my respect and future returns to the restaurant. And in this economy, this proves that good customer service may be the key factor in allowing some businesses to succeed when others will fail.
Relationship thrives on mix-tape history
While driving to Richland Center last weekend with my wife, Jenny, Bob Seger’s “You’ll Accompany Me” came on the radio. Most people would agree it’s a great song, but for me it’s even more special as it was on a mix-tape I made for my wife before we even officially dated – several years before in fact.
But Jenny doesn’t share the same connection to the song, as she didn’t bother to listen to the mix-tape, a fact that amuses her to this day as I always manage to point this out anytime we hear a song I had put on that mix-tape.
Mix-tapes, in my opinion, are the ultimate expression of one’s feelings for another. People obsessed with music like I am may spend hours deciding the songs they want to put on a mix-tape they are making for someone, and then nearly the same amount of time deciding the order those songs should go on it. And once finished, the tape may get thrown out and the process is started over again in order to perfect it even more.
I’ve obviously made a few mix-tapes in my life, all done so with 100-percent commitment on my part. I’ve made mix-tapes for friends who enjoy music as much as I do, and for girls I’ve either dated or wanted to date.
Jenny fell in the wanted-to-date category. We had met at a wedding and formed an instant connection. I found out later she was dating some dude, but their relationship was rocky as he was a complete loser. Make that a complete and utter loser who somehow managed to find a girl that would date him who was miles better than he could ever hope to be.
Smelling the potential break-up, I asked Jenny out. She agreed to go to a movie, noting to me that we were doing so just as friends as she had a boyfriend.
That didn’t stop me from making a mix-tape. My thought being if I put together an impressive song list, one that could show my good taste and my intelligence, she would dump him immediately and go out with me.
I started by writing a list of potential songs to put on the mix-tape, including a good selection of songs by some of my favorite artists like Bruce Springsteen and Bob Dylan. I then eliminated songs that were: a.) not that good or b.) not relevant to the situation, with the situation being that I wanted her to dump the loser dude and give me a shot.
I did this several times to get enough songs to fill a 90-minute cassette (it was 1998 and cassettes were still the way to go in making mixed-tapes, as many people, like myself, did not have CD burners at the time).
The final tape had songs like The Ramones’ “I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend,” Seger’s “You’ll Accompany Me,” Dylan’s “Shelter from the Storm” and Springsteen’s “Thunder Road.” Subtlety was not my virtue.
We went to the movie together, and towards the end of the non-date I handed her the tape, letting her know it was just something I threw together and hoped she would enjoy.
We did more things together in the coming months as friends, although she didn’t drop the zero nor mention the mix-tape. I even met him at another wedding, although I’m guessing neither of us really wanted to meet each other as my friendship with Jenny was the subject of several arguments between the two.
Eventually the pair broke up, much to my pleasure, but she and I weren’t meant to be yet, as she knew I was at a point in my life where I wanted to settle down and she was still in college, not yet ready to do so. I even ended the friendship for awhile, as I wanted to move on and knew I couldn’t do so if all I thought about was her.
This worked out for both of us because when I did resume the friendship, we acted more like friends to each other rather than people who were confused by their feelings for the other, and eventually she reached the point where she wanted to settle down and knew I was the one she wanted to be with.
When we did become an official couple, I asked her about the mix-tape, hoping she still had it. At first she tried to say it got lost in her move from college to her own apartment in Madison, and that it would eventually turn up.
But I didn’t let the subject go, forcing her to admit she never listened to it and it ended up in the garbage. She had a pretty good reason, though, citing she was scared because of some of the song titles and their subjects. Like I said, subtlety was not my virtue.
Mix-tapes, this time in the form of a CD, ended up playing a relevant role in our continuing relationship. At one point she gave me two mix-CDs, which I listened to so much that they are no longer listenable. I still have them, as a keepsake. And at our wedding we made mix-CDs for all the guests. It even included some of the songs I had put on the original mix-tape.
But Jenny doesn’t share the same connection to the song, as she didn’t bother to listen to the mix-tape, a fact that amuses her to this day as I always manage to point this out anytime we hear a song I had put on that mix-tape.
Mix-tapes, in my opinion, are the ultimate expression of one’s feelings for another. People obsessed with music like I am may spend hours deciding the songs they want to put on a mix-tape they are making for someone, and then nearly the same amount of time deciding the order those songs should go on it. And once finished, the tape may get thrown out and the process is started over again in order to perfect it even more.
I’ve obviously made a few mix-tapes in my life, all done so with 100-percent commitment on my part. I’ve made mix-tapes for friends who enjoy music as much as I do, and for girls I’ve either dated or wanted to date.
Jenny fell in the wanted-to-date category. We had met at a wedding and formed an instant connection. I found out later she was dating some dude, but their relationship was rocky as he was a complete loser. Make that a complete and utter loser who somehow managed to find a girl that would date him who was miles better than he could ever hope to be.
Smelling the potential break-up, I asked Jenny out. She agreed to go to a movie, noting to me that we were doing so just as friends as she had a boyfriend.
That didn’t stop me from making a mix-tape. My thought being if I put together an impressive song list, one that could show my good taste and my intelligence, she would dump him immediately and go out with me.
I started by writing a list of potential songs to put on the mix-tape, including a good selection of songs by some of my favorite artists like Bruce Springsteen and Bob Dylan. I then eliminated songs that were: a.) not that good or b.) not relevant to the situation, with the situation being that I wanted her to dump the loser dude and give me a shot.
I did this several times to get enough songs to fill a 90-minute cassette (it was 1998 and cassettes were still the way to go in making mixed-tapes, as many people, like myself, did not have CD burners at the time).
The final tape had songs like The Ramones’ “I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend,” Seger’s “You’ll Accompany Me,” Dylan’s “Shelter from the Storm” and Springsteen’s “Thunder Road.” Subtlety was not my virtue.
We went to the movie together, and towards the end of the non-date I handed her the tape, letting her know it was just something I threw together and hoped she would enjoy.
We did more things together in the coming months as friends, although she didn’t drop the zero nor mention the mix-tape. I even met him at another wedding, although I’m guessing neither of us really wanted to meet each other as my friendship with Jenny was the subject of several arguments between the two.
Eventually the pair broke up, much to my pleasure, but she and I weren’t meant to be yet, as she knew I was at a point in my life where I wanted to settle down and she was still in college, not yet ready to do so. I even ended the friendship for awhile, as I wanted to move on and knew I couldn’t do so if all I thought about was her.
This worked out for both of us because when I did resume the friendship, we acted more like friends to each other rather than people who were confused by their feelings for the other, and eventually she reached the point where she wanted to settle down and knew I was the one she wanted to be with.
When we did become an official couple, I asked her about the mix-tape, hoping she still had it. At first she tried to say it got lost in her move from college to her own apartment in Madison, and that it would eventually turn up.
But I didn’t let the subject go, forcing her to admit she never listened to it and it ended up in the garbage. She had a pretty good reason, though, citing she was scared because of some of the song titles and their subjects. Like I said, subtlety was not my virtue.
Mix-tapes, this time in the form of a CD, ended up playing a relevant role in our continuing relationship. At one point she gave me two mix-CDs, which I listened to so much that they are no longer listenable. I still have them, as a keepsake. And at our wedding we made mix-CDs for all the guests. It even included some of the songs I had put on the original mix-tape.
Hay elevators can keep Easter baskets hidden
“The Easter Bunny” (TEB) had his first chance at really hiding a basket for my 4-year-old son, Braden, this past weekend, but he blew it, as the boy found it within minutes.
TEB has had opportunities before, but he always chose to be easy on the boy, in order to not make it too difficult on the youngster.
But at 4, Braden is now more than capable of searching hard and long for his Easter basket, and TEB really wanted to make sure he did.
When TEB visited our house, Braden was asleep but both my wife and I were still up. My wife suggested several hiding spots to TEB, such as a hallway closet, but I told him they weren’t good enough. The basket needed to go somewhere it was going to take a lot of time and effort for him to find.
My main reasoning for this was because I remember many times as a kid putting a lot of effort into finding Easter baskets. I almost had as much fun finding them as I did eating the candy that was in them. Almost, because it’s hard to diminish the power of candy that much.
At my grandparents’ house one year, I remember spending what seemed like hours finding a basket they hid outside for me. They lived on a farm, so they had plenty of spots to choose from, including multiple animal buildings. Ultimately, I found it on top of a hay elevator going to the second story of the chicken barn, a location that wasn’t easy to reach.
I also found baskets in the washer, well hidden in closets and in nooks in the house I never knew existed until I found a basket in them.
TEB, my wife and I really wanted Braden to have the same memories. After rejecting my wife’s suggestions, I recommended one everyone thought would work – between the two shower curtains on the bathtub sill. We figured he would look in the bathtub, and not between the two curtains, and then move on to other locations when he didn’t see it.
I was so convinced he would miss the basket on his initial look in the bathtub that I came up with clues and ways I could help him with the search when he became frustrated. I was ready to have some fun with this.
When Braden got up, it didn’t even dawn on him he had to search for his basket. He wanted some cereal and milk, and the opportunity to watch a great movie I had rented for him, “The Iron Giant.” I didn’t remind him, as I wanted to see how long it took him to remember on his own. An hour and a half later, as “The Iron Giant” was ending, it suddenly occurred to him he had an Easter basket he needed to find.
My wife and I told him he needed to find the eggs of candy hidden throughout the house before searching for the basket. The eight eggs were hidden in fairly easy locations, but he had a blast finding each one of them.
After finding them, we told him to find the basket. Figuring the first 10 minutes would be fruitless, or should I say candyless, I sat down at the computer, thinking I could do a little work. As I waited for the computer to boot up, I suddenly heard from the bathroom “Oh, I got toys in my basket.” So much for making it difficult, and so much for witnessing the moment of discovery.
Braden was thrilled, even if it wasn’t as fun for me as I hoped it would be. I guess that’s all that matters, but given that I no longer get to search for baskets – at 34 I’m probably too old – it was up to him to provide me with a little fun.
I felt better when one of my co-workers at The Gazette told me he once took a shower in a bathtub containing an Easter basket. Needless to say, the basket got a little wet and the kid hoping to find the basket was mighty disappointed. That kid’s disappointment was at a level mine from this Easter couldn’t even laughably approach.
Plus, there is still hope Braden might get stumped, yet. We have to go to my mother’s house for Easter soon, so maybe his grandparents will find a hay elevator to keep him busy. I can only hope.
TEB has had opportunities before, but he always chose to be easy on the boy, in order to not make it too difficult on the youngster.
But at 4, Braden is now more than capable of searching hard and long for his Easter basket, and TEB really wanted to make sure he did.
When TEB visited our house, Braden was asleep but both my wife and I were still up. My wife suggested several hiding spots to TEB, such as a hallway closet, but I told him they weren’t good enough. The basket needed to go somewhere it was going to take a lot of time and effort for him to find.
My main reasoning for this was because I remember many times as a kid putting a lot of effort into finding Easter baskets. I almost had as much fun finding them as I did eating the candy that was in them. Almost, because it’s hard to diminish the power of candy that much.
At my grandparents’ house one year, I remember spending what seemed like hours finding a basket they hid outside for me. They lived on a farm, so they had plenty of spots to choose from, including multiple animal buildings. Ultimately, I found it on top of a hay elevator going to the second story of the chicken barn, a location that wasn’t easy to reach.
I also found baskets in the washer, well hidden in closets and in nooks in the house I never knew existed until I found a basket in them.
TEB, my wife and I really wanted Braden to have the same memories. After rejecting my wife’s suggestions, I recommended one everyone thought would work – between the two shower curtains on the bathtub sill. We figured he would look in the bathtub, and not between the two curtains, and then move on to other locations when he didn’t see it.
I was so convinced he would miss the basket on his initial look in the bathtub that I came up with clues and ways I could help him with the search when he became frustrated. I was ready to have some fun with this.
When Braden got up, it didn’t even dawn on him he had to search for his basket. He wanted some cereal and milk, and the opportunity to watch a great movie I had rented for him, “The Iron Giant.” I didn’t remind him, as I wanted to see how long it took him to remember on his own. An hour and a half later, as “The Iron Giant” was ending, it suddenly occurred to him he had an Easter basket he needed to find.
My wife and I told him he needed to find the eggs of candy hidden throughout the house before searching for the basket. The eight eggs were hidden in fairly easy locations, but he had a blast finding each one of them.
After finding them, we told him to find the basket. Figuring the first 10 minutes would be fruitless, or should I say candyless, I sat down at the computer, thinking I could do a little work. As I waited for the computer to boot up, I suddenly heard from the bathroom “Oh, I got toys in my basket.” So much for making it difficult, and so much for witnessing the moment of discovery.
Braden was thrilled, even if it wasn’t as fun for me as I hoped it would be. I guess that’s all that matters, but given that I no longer get to search for baskets – at 34 I’m probably too old – it was up to him to provide me with a little fun.
I felt better when one of my co-workers at The Gazette told me he once took a shower in a bathtub containing an Easter basket. Needless to say, the basket got a little wet and the kid hoping to find the basket was mighty disappointed. That kid’s disappointment was at a level mine from this Easter couldn’t even laughably approach.
Plus, there is still hope Braden might get stumped, yet. We have to go to my mother’s house for Easter soon, so maybe his grandparents will find a hay elevator to keep him busy. I can only hope.
Gold teeth may be solution to recession
Has the recession made you depressed?
If so, I’ve got a secret that could potentially help you earn your way out of it.
Actually, it’s a secret an overeager entrepreneur sent to The Gazette several weeks ago, and one I’m going to share in hopes people will get rich from it, and to make everyone else laugh, as it has had my colleagues and me laughing since we received it.
For $2,400, reduced from the original $4,800 price, you can potentially earn “millions and millions of dollars,” according to its Web site, by learning how to make gold teeth.
That’s right – gold teeth. That’s what every person wants and what every person needs.
I’m not sure what’s funnier: the concept of making millions making gold teeth, or the fact Jacob’s Jewelers of Savannah, Ga., sent postcards advertising this concept to a central Wisconsin location, where gold teeth are in hot demand (I am, of course, being sarcastic here).
“Gold teeth has (sic) absolutely exploded in popularity over the past several years and you’re about to be offered an opportunity to cash in on this craze,” the Web site states.
It then points out that “gold grillz” are becoming the No. 1 most-requested piece of jewelry, pointing out celebrities like Flavor Flav and Nelly sport them.
Flavor Flav, a sidekick rapper turned B-list reality-television star, and Nelly, a rapper who hasn’t had a hit in more than five years, are the celebrities touted as the reasons people should learn how to make gold teeth. Even they stopped wearing them several years ago.
For those who don’t know exactly what gold teeth are, they are caps, made of gold, which can be placed on your teeth for decorative purposes. Most of them sport other decorative jewelry, including diamonds and other jewels, and each set of grillz can be custom made to be completely unique.
I’m sorry. I’ve probably said too much, and now everyone reading this will probably try to find out how they can learn to make these gold teeth, so they too can get rich.
People who do sign up for the course, and God bless the suckers that fall for this, will spend two days in Savannah, Ga., learning exactly how to make gold teeth.
According to the Web site, this information is a closely-guarded secret that has taken other jewelers years to learn. I sort of believe this, as I’ve never been to a local jewelry store that offers gold teeth. Those jewelers have either been unable to master the secret, or they haven’t even bothered trying. I’d vote for the latter.
More importantly, people who sign up will go home with their own set of six gold teeth. The $2,400 price tag would be worth it just for this, as wearing them while enjoying a night out would certainly bring a person a lot of attention – albeit the type of attention people might not necessarily like.
Imagine the conversations you could have with friends:
“What is that in your mouth?” someone would ask.
“Why, it’s my new gold grillz. Pretty cool, huh?” you could respond. “In fact, if you’d like, for $4,000 (give or take a few thousand dollars) I could make you a set so you can be cool like me and rappers like Flavor Flav and Nelly.”
Don’t be surprised if you receive a few blank stares following these statements.
I have to give some credit to Jacob’s Jewelers for at least trying to make a few bucks, although I don’t think it has any chances of succeeding, or at least luring people from central Wisconsin to its classes. I’m sure, somewhere out there, people who want to be like faded rap stars are jumping at the chance to take such classes, and I hope the company finds those people. And maybe by extending an offer to as many people as possible will help find that audience.
Of course, I could be downplaying the business’ chance of success, as I might already be signed up for the class so I too can make millions. Scott Steuck’s Gold Grillz opening soon – the area’s only gold teeth maker.
If so, I’ve got a secret that could potentially help you earn your way out of it.
Actually, it’s a secret an overeager entrepreneur sent to The Gazette several weeks ago, and one I’m going to share in hopes people will get rich from it, and to make everyone else laugh, as it has had my colleagues and me laughing since we received it.
For $2,400, reduced from the original $4,800 price, you can potentially earn “millions and millions of dollars,” according to its Web site, by learning how to make gold teeth.
That’s right – gold teeth. That’s what every person wants and what every person needs.
I’m not sure what’s funnier: the concept of making millions making gold teeth, or the fact Jacob’s Jewelers of Savannah, Ga., sent postcards advertising this concept to a central Wisconsin location, where gold teeth are in hot demand (I am, of course, being sarcastic here).
“Gold teeth has (sic) absolutely exploded in popularity over the past several years and you’re about to be offered an opportunity to cash in on this craze,” the Web site states.
It then points out that “gold grillz” are becoming the No. 1 most-requested piece of jewelry, pointing out celebrities like Flavor Flav and Nelly sport them.
Flavor Flav, a sidekick rapper turned B-list reality-television star, and Nelly, a rapper who hasn’t had a hit in more than five years, are the celebrities touted as the reasons people should learn how to make gold teeth. Even they stopped wearing them several years ago.
For those who don’t know exactly what gold teeth are, they are caps, made of gold, which can be placed on your teeth for decorative purposes. Most of them sport other decorative jewelry, including diamonds and other jewels, and each set of grillz can be custom made to be completely unique.
I’m sorry. I’ve probably said too much, and now everyone reading this will probably try to find out how they can learn to make these gold teeth, so they too can get rich.
People who do sign up for the course, and God bless the suckers that fall for this, will spend two days in Savannah, Ga., learning exactly how to make gold teeth.
According to the Web site, this information is a closely-guarded secret that has taken other jewelers years to learn. I sort of believe this, as I’ve never been to a local jewelry store that offers gold teeth. Those jewelers have either been unable to master the secret, or they haven’t even bothered trying. I’d vote for the latter.
More importantly, people who sign up will go home with their own set of six gold teeth. The $2,400 price tag would be worth it just for this, as wearing them while enjoying a night out would certainly bring a person a lot of attention – albeit the type of attention people might not necessarily like.
Imagine the conversations you could have with friends:
“What is that in your mouth?” someone would ask.
“Why, it’s my new gold grillz. Pretty cool, huh?” you could respond. “In fact, if you’d like, for $4,000 (give or take a few thousand dollars) I could make you a set so you can be cool like me and rappers like Flavor Flav and Nelly.”
Don’t be surprised if you receive a few blank stares following these statements.
I have to give some credit to Jacob’s Jewelers for at least trying to make a few bucks, although I don’t think it has any chances of succeeding, or at least luring people from central Wisconsin to its classes. I’m sure, somewhere out there, people who want to be like faded rap stars are jumping at the chance to take such classes, and I hope the company finds those people. And maybe by extending an offer to as many people as possible will help find that audience.
Of course, I could be downplaying the business’ chance of success, as I might already be signed up for the class so I too can make millions. Scott Steuck’s Gold Grillz opening soon – the area’s only gold teeth maker.
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