Scientists at the University of St. Andrews in Scotland have discovered a way to make objects levitate. Apparently, in a study published last week, they revealed they were able to reverse a natural force which causes tiny particles to stick to one another.
In other words, they’ve discovered the Force, the mystical power encompassing and binding all living things in George Lucas’ “Star War’s” universe. It’s the power that makes Luke Skywalker bring his lightsaber to his hand when an approaching Wampa is about to make him lunch.
When I was a kid, back in the heyday of “Star Wars,” learning about this discovery would have been so cool. My friends and I, who played “Star Wars” every day on the playground, would have spent hours trying to levitate objects ourselves.
As a 32-year-old husband, father and career man, someone who is supposed to be serious about his life and appreciate the merits of the scientists’ accomplishment, I still find this so cool. I would love to take a day off from any of my responsibilities to take a stab at levitating objects myself, to learn the Force.
Never mind the fact that the science doesn’t work like it does in “Star Wars.” Instead of using your mind to make the objects levitate, it takes complicated science utilizing vacuums and other scientific stuff to make it work.
The scientists want to use their discovery to better life for mankind.
“Tiny mechanical devices which trigger a car airbag to inflate, or which power tiny ‘lab on chip’ devices used for drugs testing or chemical analysis could run smoother and with less or no friction at all, if one can manipulate the force,” said Professor Ulf Leonhardt, one of the scientists who made the discovery. Whatever, I’m just pleased he actually called it the Force.
I’m more selfish for wanting the Force.
My No.-1 reason would be to make me the ultimate couch potato. If I need the remote and it’s on the other side of the room, I’d just have to will it my way. There would be no need for me to get up to fetch it myself.
But that may be why people have kids, as I recently discovered. Comfortable in my chair, I realized the book I was reading was on the coffee table across the room. My 2-year-old was playing in the room, so I told him to get daddy’s book. Not only did he do so, but he did so happily and eagerly, with a sense of accomplishment, delivering a big hug with the book.
My number two reason would be to impress my friends and family. “Hey, do you want to see something cool?” I would ask them. Then, to be really impressive, I would use the Force to zip the butcher knife from our knife rack to my hand. It’s not a lightsaber, but I’m not a Jedi (or would I be if I had the Force?).
I’d love to say I’d use the Force to become a superhero, like Spider-Man or Superman, but reality doesn’t present many life-saving opportunities. I’ve never been in a position where I could have saved someone’s life if I would have had the Force. I’m thankful for that.
I also know many people have been real-life superheroes without the Force, putting their own lives at risk to help others in dangerous situations. I hope to follow their examples if ever necessary.
So truthfully, the Force would be cool to have, but it really wouldn’t do much for me. It would make be lazier and give me a bigger ego. Two things I don’t need. I’ll save the Force for the Luke Skywalkers and Yodas of our imagination.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Ten days of bachelorhood
My wife, Jenny, has left me. But only for 10 days, to help run a youth camp near Minocqua.
That leaves me at home with our 2-year-old son, Braden, living a bachelor lifestyle I abandoned six years ago when I started dating Jenny.
Not that I ever really lived like a bachelor when I was single. I tried, but found myself thwarted by my inability to be sporadic, chaotic, messy and wild. I prefer a controlled lifestyle where everything is planned, everything is neat and clean, and everything is domesticated.
Back then, I didn’t realize I had these inhibitions; I just thought I was a party pooper. I avoided situations I couldn’t control. That meant no spur-of-the-moment road trips to other states, crazy parties at an unknown person’s house or late arrivals at any event just to be cool.
Now, after four years of marriage and two years of parenthood, I have a temporary semi-pass for bachelorhood. I’m not a complete bachelor, since I’m responsible for Braden during these 10 days, but I am now the sole-decision maker, the master of the house and the king of the castle.
That is until Braden started telling me otherwise. Just hours after Jenny left Sunday, he commanded me to take him to the park. “Daddy, park,” he said in an impressive-for-a-2-year-old way.
No, I told him. Not today. He cried, but I didn’t give in – at least not right away. Realizing a crying fit wouldn’t work on me, he resorted to making other demands he knew he wasn’t going to get but would annoy me. Candy, soda, Grandma, Mama, swimming, upstairs, wagon ride, outside, Canaland (his daycare here in Stevens Point). His list piled up.
After dinner, I gave in and took him to the park. By the time we came back home, I was too tired to be a bachelor, so I spent the evening finishing “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.”
Day two of my bachelorhood was a Monday, which meant work. When Braden and I got home that evening, he demanded another trip to the park. I didn’t even fight it, because I knew my resistance was futile, to quote a “Star Trek” catch phrase.
I watched a documentary about artist and musician Daniel Johnston after Braden went to bed. This will probably be the most bachelor thing I do during these 10 days, since I was able to do so in our bedroom during hours normally reserved for mutual movie viewing. I can’t remember the last time I watched something Jenny wouldn’t watch in our bedroom during these hours.
Tuesday was essentially a repeat of days one and two. And looking forward to the remaining seven days of my bachelorhood, I’m sure it will be more of the same, with minor variances. Braden and I will be going to my mom’s house for supper Friday, and we’ll be going to my in-laws’ lake home on one of the weekend days for my father-in-law’s birthday.
Jenny calls several times a day to check on us. At first I thought she was calling to check on me, to make sure I wasn’t living the bachelor life I teased her I would while she was gone. Now I realize she is calling to break up the monotony of my daily routine. She knows an unexpected phone call during the middle of a park session with Braden is the perfect way to do this.
And I am grateful for it. If she would just hurry home, then I wouldn’t have to live this boring bachelor life anymore.
That leaves me at home with our 2-year-old son, Braden, living a bachelor lifestyle I abandoned six years ago when I started dating Jenny.
Not that I ever really lived like a bachelor when I was single. I tried, but found myself thwarted by my inability to be sporadic, chaotic, messy and wild. I prefer a controlled lifestyle where everything is planned, everything is neat and clean, and everything is domesticated.
Back then, I didn’t realize I had these inhibitions; I just thought I was a party pooper. I avoided situations I couldn’t control. That meant no spur-of-the-moment road trips to other states, crazy parties at an unknown person’s house or late arrivals at any event just to be cool.
Now, after four years of marriage and two years of parenthood, I have a temporary semi-pass for bachelorhood. I’m not a complete bachelor, since I’m responsible for Braden during these 10 days, but I am now the sole-decision maker, the master of the house and the king of the castle.
That is until Braden started telling me otherwise. Just hours after Jenny left Sunday, he commanded me to take him to the park. “Daddy, park,” he said in an impressive-for-a-2-year-old way.
No, I told him. Not today. He cried, but I didn’t give in – at least not right away. Realizing a crying fit wouldn’t work on me, he resorted to making other demands he knew he wasn’t going to get but would annoy me. Candy, soda, Grandma, Mama, swimming, upstairs, wagon ride, outside, Canaland (his daycare here in Stevens Point). His list piled up.
After dinner, I gave in and took him to the park. By the time we came back home, I was too tired to be a bachelor, so I spent the evening finishing “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.”
Day two of my bachelorhood was a Monday, which meant work. When Braden and I got home that evening, he demanded another trip to the park. I didn’t even fight it, because I knew my resistance was futile, to quote a “Star Trek” catch phrase.
I watched a documentary about artist and musician Daniel Johnston after Braden went to bed. This will probably be the most bachelor thing I do during these 10 days, since I was able to do so in our bedroom during hours normally reserved for mutual movie viewing. I can’t remember the last time I watched something Jenny wouldn’t watch in our bedroom during these hours.
Tuesday was essentially a repeat of days one and two. And looking forward to the remaining seven days of my bachelorhood, I’m sure it will be more of the same, with minor variances. Braden and I will be going to my mom’s house for supper Friday, and we’ll be going to my in-laws’ lake home on one of the weekend days for my father-in-law’s birthday.
Jenny calls several times a day to check on us. At first I thought she was calling to check on me, to make sure I wasn’t living the bachelor life I teased her I would while she was gone. Now I realize she is calling to break up the monotony of my daily routine. She knows an unexpected phone call during the middle of a park session with Braden is the perfect way to do this.
And I am grateful for it. If she would just hurry home, then I wouldn’t have to live this boring bachelor life anymore.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Harry Potter and the Spoiler Muggle
I can’t believe Harry dies.
Just kidding. I don’t know whether or not he lives or dies in J.K. Rowling’s final installment of the Harry Potter saga, “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows,” because I haven’t finished the 759-page saga yet. I’m on page 300 and am hoping to finish it this coming weekend so nobody spoils the ending for me.
Somebody may already have, though. A girl walking in front of me at the Farmers Market in Madison last weekend had the fate of one of the main characters printed on the back of her shirt. Reading the shirt was like finding out in third grade from a classmate that the big S (rhymes with manta) doesn’t exist.
The shirt also said she was the “#1 Harry Potter fan.” I don’t think so. A true fan wouldn’t spoil a major plot point for others. A true fan would respect others and their right to discover the joys of Rowling’s magical universal for themselves. A true fan wouldn’t be walking around Madison less than 12 hours after the release of the book; he or she would be at home reading the book.
That’s why I won’t review the book, even if I had finished it. Sure, it’s possible to review a book without giving anything away -- the New York Times did a great job doing so for Harry Potter last week -- but I’d feel really guilty if I accidentally said something in my ramblings that could be construed as a spoiler. I’m not that third grader that ruined a certain holiday for me in 1984.
But, I’m more than happy to talk about my Harry Potter week.
This week began by finishing the sixth book, “Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince,” and ended by starting “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.” In between, I set out on my own Harry Potter-esque adventure to find the four Harry Potter movies to refresh my memory and enlighten my wife, a complete muggle when it comes to the boy wizard and his friends and enemies.
I am by no means a Harry Potter fanatic, or at least I wasn’t. I bought “Half-Blood Prince” when it came out, but then I put it on my bookshelf after only 128 pages, moving on to other things. With all the media hype surrounding Harry Potter with the release of the final book and the fifth movie, “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix,” I knew I had to finish it so I wouldn’t be left out of all the water-cooler talk.
I’m glad I did, because “Half-Blood Prince” was my favorite Harry Potter novel. It was what “The Empire Strikes Back” was to George Lucas’ “Star Wars” movies – the one that pulls you in emotionally. Until this book, Harry Potter was a mere amusement to me, something I was never attached to emotionally. I thank the stars I waited until the week before “Deathly Hallows” to read “Half-Blood Prince,” because I couldn’t have survived a two-year wait to find out how it all ends.
I stood in line, along with more than 70 others, at my local bookstore in Wautoma, Bookworms!, from 11:30 p.m. Friday until the book’s official release at 12:01 a.m. Saturday. I had pre-ordered the book, so I wasn’t afraid of not receiving a copy; I just wanted to start reading it that night. Plus, the store had food, fun, games and prizes – four of my favorite things.
In a perfect world I could have finished the final book over the weekend. But reading late at night always puts me to sleep, and my 2-year-old keeps me busy during the day.
I look forward to the day I can read these books to him, even if they are very dark, especially the later ones. Life can be dark, though, and Rowling does a good job showing the reality of death, which many parents have a tough time explaining to kids.
I’m not worried about explaining Harry Potter to my son; it’s my wife I’m working on now. She finally agreed to watch the Harry Potter movies in exchange for me watching her all-time favorite television series, “The Young Riders.” I’m not crazy about this western from the early nineties, but I have come to appreciate the extraordinary amount of gore-less violence in it. People are getting shot, hanged and stabbed left and right, many times by the show’s heroes, all of whom seem extraordinarily happy despite all the violence.
Finding these movies for her to watch was unusually difficult. The video stores had rented out all their copies because of Harry Potter-mania, and none of the retail stores, including the all-having Wal-Mart, stocked them. I finally found the first two movies at Kohl’s, which is very well known for its one end cap DVD selection.
To my surprise, my wife liked the movies. I have a feeling she doesn’t want to be out of the Harry Potter loop, especially since many of her friends are fanatics.
Maybe she’ll become a fanatic, too. I’m just crossing my fingers she won’t be like that mean third-grader.
Just kidding. I don’t know whether or not he lives or dies in J.K. Rowling’s final installment of the Harry Potter saga, “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows,” because I haven’t finished the 759-page saga yet. I’m on page 300 and am hoping to finish it this coming weekend so nobody spoils the ending for me.
Somebody may already have, though. A girl walking in front of me at the Farmers Market in Madison last weekend had the fate of one of the main characters printed on the back of her shirt. Reading the shirt was like finding out in third grade from a classmate that the big S (rhymes with manta) doesn’t exist.
The shirt also said she was the “#1 Harry Potter fan.” I don’t think so. A true fan wouldn’t spoil a major plot point for others. A true fan would respect others and their right to discover the joys of Rowling’s magical universal for themselves. A true fan wouldn’t be walking around Madison less than 12 hours after the release of the book; he or she would be at home reading the book.
That’s why I won’t review the book, even if I had finished it. Sure, it’s possible to review a book without giving anything away -- the New York Times did a great job doing so for Harry Potter last week -- but I’d feel really guilty if I accidentally said something in my ramblings that could be construed as a spoiler. I’m not that third grader that ruined a certain holiday for me in 1984.
But, I’m more than happy to talk about my Harry Potter week.
This week began by finishing the sixth book, “Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince,” and ended by starting “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.” In between, I set out on my own Harry Potter-esque adventure to find the four Harry Potter movies to refresh my memory and enlighten my wife, a complete muggle when it comes to the boy wizard and his friends and enemies.
I am by no means a Harry Potter fanatic, or at least I wasn’t. I bought “Half-Blood Prince” when it came out, but then I put it on my bookshelf after only 128 pages, moving on to other things. With all the media hype surrounding Harry Potter with the release of the final book and the fifth movie, “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix,” I knew I had to finish it so I wouldn’t be left out of all the water-cooler talk.
I’m glad I did, because “Half-Blood Prince” was my favorite Harry Potter novel. It was what “The Empire Strikes Back” was to George Lucas’ “Star Wars” movies – the one that pulls you in emotionally. Until this book, Harry Potter was a mere amusement to me, something I was never attached to emotionally. I thank the stars I waited until the week before “Deathly Hallows” to read “Half-Blood Prince,” because I couldn’t have survived a two-year wait to find out how it all ends.
I stood in line, along with more than 70 others, at my local bookstore in Wautoma, Bookworms!, from 11:30 p.m. Friday until the book’s official release at 12:01 a.m. Saturday. I had pre-ordered the book, so I wasn’t afraid of not receiving a copy; I just wanted to start reading it that night. Plus, the store had food, fun, games and prizes – four of my favorite things.
In a perfect world I could have finished the final book over the weekend. But reading late at night always puts me to sleep, and my 2-year-old keeps me busy during the day.
I look forward to the day I can read these books to him, even if they are very dark, especially the later ones. Life can be dark, though, and Rowling does a good job showing the reality of death, which many parents have a tough time explaining to kids.
I’m not worried about explaining Harry Potter to my son; it’s my wife I’m working on now. She finally agreed to watch the Harry Potter movies in exchange for me watching her all-time favorite television series, “The Young Riders.” I’m not crazy about this western from the early nineties, but I have come to appreciate the extraordinary amount of gore-less violence in it. People are getting shot, hanged and stabbed left and right, many times by the show’s heroes, all of whom seem extraordinarily happy despite all the violence.
Finding these movies for her to watch was unusually difficult. The video stores had rented out all their copies because of Harry Potter-mania, and none of the retail stores, including the all-having Wal-Mart, stocked them. I finally found the first two movies at Kohl’s, which is very well known for its one end cap DVD selection.
To my surprise, my wife liked the movies. I have a feeling she doesn’t want to be out of the Harry Potter loop, especially since many of her friends are fanatics.
Maybe she’ll become a fanatic, too. I’m just crossing my fingers she won’t be like that mean third-grader.
Why the world needs Axl Rose
Remember Axl Rose? Probaby not, since he disappeared when Nirvana happened.
He was the volatile lead singer of rock and roll’s greatest band in the world from 1988 to 1991 – Guns N’ Roses. Every guy wanted to be him because every girl wanted to be with him. And every band during that time period tried to imitate the Gunners, even if they were just superb imitators themselves.
Then he disappeared after the vastly underrated punk covers album, “The Spaghetti Incident,” in 1993, only re-emerging briefly to fire the other members of Guns N’ Roses, make an appearance or two at the MTV Video Music Awards, headline a few money-grabbing tours or leak a few songs from the forever-in-progress “Chinese Democracy,” an album that always seems ready to come out but that never does.
As a middle school student in 1988 when Guns N’ Roses released “Sweet Child O’ Mine,” an ode to Axl’s model girlfriend that turned their 1987 album “Appetite for Destruction” into the best-selling debut of the 1980s, I immediately became addicted to Guns N’ Roses. The hard-edge of songs like “It’s So Easy” and “Mr. Brownstone,” contrasted with the power ballads like “Sweet Child” and “Patience,” along with Axl’s seemingly endless personalities he created by singing in five different voices, was candy to my Midwestern ears.
Never before and never since have I experienced so much dynamic emotion, both anger and love, from a single band. Axl’s voice hit a vein that made my arm hairs stand straight.
His tendency to rant about a variety of issues in concert and interviews made the subject matter of GNR’s songs seem real. People credit Kurt Cobain and Nirvana with bringing raw emotion back to music. Those people are wrong, though. Axl was doing it before them; he just wasn’t as subtle. Need examples or proof. Go to YouTube and type in “Axl rant.” You’ll get dozens of them, including several that started riots.
But to understand why the world needs Axl, you need to know about a specific one from 1992 in Chicago. During a concert there, he spent seven minutes ranting about his family and how they messed him up. Some concert-goers booed him, wanting to hear music instead of a therapy session. He responded by telling them that although they may not have had home lives that messed them up later in lives, the person next to them may have had this life. And he wanted those people to know they should not let others bring them down.
And then he disappeared. It was obvious Axl had emotional issues because of a messed up family life, but it seemed he had overcome them. He fronted the biggest band in the world, he married (and divorced) a supermodel, he earned enough money for him and any future children and grandchildren to be set for life, and he could do anything he wanted with his career because no record executive was going to tell him otherwise. Unfortunately for fans, he went away, only teasing us every once in a while that he was going to come back, making it appear that his emotional issues were a problem still challenging him.
A comeback would show the world, and all those fans who listened to him say they shouldn’t let others bring them down, that life is all about overcoming obstacles. Axl’s emotional issues were the result of a bad upbringing. We need to know, from him, that he beat this barrier.
Since the last Guns N’ Roses album, I have graduated from high school, from college, begun a 10-year career, got married, bought a house, had a kid and have gone through five different vehicles.
I still cling to the hope Axl will return soon. He will release “Chinese Democracy,” and he will show us, at age 45, that he didn’t let anybody bring him down.
He was the volatile lead singer of rock and roll’s greatest band in the world from 1988 to 1991 – Guns N’ Roses. Every guy wanted to be him because every girl wanted to be with him. And every band during that time period tried to imitate the Gunners, even if they were just superb imitators themselves.
Then he disappeared after the vastly underrated punk covers album, “The Spaghetti Incident,” in 1993, only re-emerging briefly to fire the other members of Guns N’ Roses, make an appearance or two at the MTV Video Music Awards, headline a few money-grabbing tours or leak a few songs from the forever-in-progress “Chinese Democracy,” an album that always seems ready to come out but that never does.
As a middle school student in 1988 when Guns N’ Roses released “Sweet Child O’ Mine,” an ode to Axl’s model girlfriend that turned their 1987 album “Appetite for Destruction” into the best-selling debut of the 1980s, I immediately became addicted to Guns N’ Roses. The hard-edge of songs like “It’s So Easy” and “Mr. Brownstone,” contrasted with the power ballads like “Sweet Child” and “Patience,” along with Axl’s seemingly endless personalities he created by singing in five different voices, was candy to my Midwestern ears.
Never before and never since have I experienced so much dynamic emotion, both anger and love, from a single band. Axl’s voice hit a vein that made my arm hairs stand straight.
His tendency to rant about a variety of issues in concert and interviews made the subject matter of GNR’s songs seem real. People credit Kurt Cobain and Nirvana with bringing raw emotion back to music. Those people are wrong, though. Axl was doing it before them; he just wasn’t as subtle. Need examples or proof. Go to YouTube and type in “Axl rant.” You’ll get dozens of them, including several that started riots.
But to understand why the world needs Axl, you need to know about a specific one from 1992 in Chicago. During a concert there, he spent seven minutes ranting about his family and how they messed him up. Some concert-goers booed him, wanting to hear music instead of a therapy session. He responded by telling them that although they may not have had home lives that messed them up later in lives, the person next to them may have had this life. And he wanted those people to know they should not let others bring them down.
And then he disappeared. It was obvious Axl had emotional issues because of a messed up family life, but it seemed he had overcome them. He fronted the biggest band in the world, he married (and divorced) a supermodel, he earned enough money for him and any future children and grandchildren to be set for life, and he could do anything he wanted with his career because no record executive was going to tell him otherwise. Unfortunately for fans, he went away, only teasing us every once in a while that he was going to come back, making it appear that his emotional issues were a problem still challenging him.
A comeback would show the world, and all those fans who listened to him say they shouldn’t let others bring them down, that life is all about overcoming obstacles. Axl’s emotional issues were the result of a bad upbringing. We need to know, from him, that he beat this barrier.
Since the last Guns N’ Roses album, I have graduated from high school, from college, begun a 10-year career, got married, bought a house, had a kid and have gone through five different vehicles.
I still cling to the hope Axl will return soon. He will release “Chinese Democracy,” and he will show us, at age 45, that he didn’t let anybody bring him down.
'Summer of No Television' leads to creative imagination
Forty years after the “Summer of Love,” which occurred in 1967 seven years before I was born, comes my family’s self-imposed “Summer of No Television.”
Anticipating a move from Wautoma to Stevens Point as soon as our house sells, hopefully sometime this decade, we canceled our cable subscription.
It was not a spur-of-the-moment decision. My wife and I debated and argued about it, until we finally compromised to do so after the last of our shows finished its regular season.
Fittingly, this last show was the final episode of HBO’s “The Sopranos,” a show we’ve both been watching since before we started dating. Initially, we were both disappointed by the ending to this great show, mainly because it didn’t offer a definitive conclusion, but since then we’ve come to realize the many different interpretations of the final fade-to-black scene make it perfect. It leaves the viewer to his or her imagination to guess what happened.
I’ve rediscovered this imagination since pulling the plug on our cable. Books I purchased years ago but never got around to reading, like “Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince,” are suddenly getting dusted off after being removed from our bookshelf for the purpose they were intended – to be read.
I’m a book-reading machine now, something I haven’t been since junior high when I lived in a rural area with only three network channels and two UHF channels. Back then, I would read some books three times before returning them to the library. When we moved to a city with cable, my book-reading volume instantly declined. Who wants Stephen King when you can have your MTV?
This is not the first time I’ve canceled my cable. I did so when I was single in 1998. After “Seinfeld” ended, I voiced my opposition to the lack of good television by getting rid of it. I know my protest was effective because, just a few short months later in January 1999, HBO introduced “The Sopranos.”
I’m still waiting for at least one thank you from any one of the millions of “The Sopranos” fans for my action that resulted in this show, as well as the other good shows like “Lost,” “Heroes” and “The Office” that have followed since my protest. I won’t hold my breath waiting for a thank you, though.
This year’s “Summer of No Television” will end when we move, or when the fall season returns in late August. No matter how bad “Prison Break” got this last season, I still need to know find out what will happen to Lincoln and Michael this coming season.
And don’t get me started on “Lost.” Last season’s finale was television at its best. I’m just mad that I have to wait until January for season three to begin. Flash forward. Wow. Even in my wildest imagination that I’m redeveloping I would never have dreamed of that.
This “Summer of No Television” isn’t entirely television-free. We still watch DVDs. My 2-year-old, Braden, gets a daily fix of a lot of strange but charmingly wonderful characters through some of his cartoon movies. Boog the Bear, Elliot the Deer, Sully the Monster, Lightning McQueen the Race Car, Nemo the Clown Fish, R.J. the Raccoon, Mumbo the Dancing Penguin, Simba the Lion and a multitude of others are familiar faces in our household.
Some of these faces may become a little too familiar after the 20th viewing, but I’m not going to protest because the producers did a great job of making them appealing to adults also. Just listen to the soundtracks. They’re loaded with music by the likes of Paul Westerberg (The Replacements – greatest band ever), Elton John, Ben Folds and other adult-friendly artists.
Braden hasn’t really noticed our cable is missing, mainly because he has access to these movies. Once in a while he tells me to turn on “Little Einsteins” or “Mickey Mouse Clubhouse,” but he’s usually content playing with his play-dough or cars. Maybe he’ll develop his imagination with his daddy this summer.
The “Summer of Love” and the “Summer of No Television” may appear to have absolutely nothing in common; the reality is there would be more love if people turned off their televisions and turned on their imaginations. Imagine this world where all you have is love.
Anticipating a move from Wautoma to Stevens Point as soon as our house sells, hopefully sometime this decade, we canceled our cable subscription.
It was not a spur-of-the-moment decision. My wife and I debated and argued about it, until we finally compromised to do so after the last of our shows finished its regular season.
Fittingly, this last show was the final episode of HBO’s “The Sopranos,” a show we’ve both been watching since before we started dating. Initially, we were both disappointed by the ending to this great show, mainly because it didn’t offer a definitive conclusion, but since then we’ve come to realize the many different interpretations of the final fade-to-black scene make it perfect. It leaves the viewer to his or her imagination to guess what happened.
I’ve rediscovered this imagination since pulling the plug on our cable. Books I purchased years ago but never got around to reading, like “Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince,” are suddenly getting dusted off after being removed from our bookshelf for the purpose they were intended – to be read.
I’m a book-reading machine now, something I haven’t been since junior high when I lived in a rural area with only three network channels and two UHF channels. Back then, I would read some books three times before returning them to the library. When we moved to a city with cable, my book-reading volume instantly declined. Who wants Stephen King when you can have your MTV?
This is not the first time I’ve canceled my cable. I did so when I was single in 1998. After “Seinfeld” ended, I voiced my opposition to the lack of good television by getting rid of it. I know my protest was effective because, just a few short months later in January 1999, HBO introduced “The Sopranos.”
I’m still waiting for at least one thank you from any one of the millions of “The Sopranos” fans for my action that resulted in this show, as well as the other good shows like “Lost,” “Heroes” and “The Office” that have followed since my protest. I won’t hold my breath waiting for a thank you, though.
This year’s “Summer of No Television” will end when we move, or when the fall season returns in late August. No matter how bad “Prison Break” got this last season, I still need to know find out what will happen to Lincoln and Michael this coming season.
And don’t get me started on “Lost.” Last season’s finale was television at its best. I’m just mad that I have to wait until January for season three to begin. Flash forward. Wow. Even in my wildest imagination that I’m redeveloping I would never have dreamed of that.
This “Summer of No Television” isn’t entirely television-free. We still watch DVDs. My 2-year-old, Braden, gets a daily fix of a lot of strange but charmingly wonderful characters through some of his cartoon movies. Boog the Bear, Elliot the Deer, Sully the Monster, Lightning McQueen the Race Car, Nemo the Clown Fish, R.J. the Raccoon, Mumbo the Dancing Penguin, Simba the Lion and a multitude of others are familiar faces in our household.
Some of these faces may become a little too familiar after the 20th viewing, but I’m not going to protest because the producers did a great job of making them appealing to adults also. Just listen to the soundtracks. They’re loaded with music by the likes of Paul Westerberg (The Replacements – greatest band ever), Elton John, Ben Folds and other adult-friendly artists.
Braden hasn’t really noticed our cable is missing, mainly because he has access to these movies. Once in a while he tells me to turn on “Little Einsteins” or “Mickey Mouse Clubhouse,” but he’s usually content playing with his play-dough or cars. Maybe he’ll develop his imagination with his daddy this summer.
The “Summer of Love” and the “Summer of No Television” may appear to have absolutely nothing in common; the reality is there would be more love if people turned off their televisions and turned on their imaginations. Imagine this world where all you have is love.
Too much bang for 2-year-old
My little 2-year-old, Braden, did not like the fireworks this Fourth of July season.
Sleeping through them last year, Braden was ready for them this year. So we thought.
All day long, after promising he could stay up later than normal to watch the fireworks, Braden spent the entire day saying “See fireworks. Boom.”
My wife and I warned him they may be a little loud. They make a “boom” noise, we said, which he obviously understood.
Loud noises do not bother the kid. He eats, breathes and lives for fire trucks, ambulances and police cars and their sirens. I am convinced he will become a rescue worker when he grows up, just to have his own siren.
Braden’s also good at making his own loud noises. As much as it makes me chuckle inside, it can be quite embarrassing when he tests out his vocal limitations in a quiet, populated place like a church or library.
For those of you who roll their eyes at loud kids like him, just remember you probably did the same thing when you were his age. You just don’t remember doing it. Ask your parents. They’ll tell you. My mother has pointed out many times that she didn’t attend church for several years because I was louder than the preacher. She was convinced I would eventually become one because of this early start.
Although I am not a preacher today, like my son I continue to be loud. I prefer to think of myself as being vocally boisterous. I’m quick to express any opinion I have, no matter if it is uninformed and clearly wrong. And since I make sure everyone hears it, I oftentimes end up sounding like the crazy guy in the room. Every room has to have one, so it may as well be me.
After this year’s fireworks, we may have scared Braden into becoming the crazy guy.
Shortly before the fireworks started, sitting outside on a blanket, Braden, who was getting tired after a long day of playing, thought he was supposed to go to sleep. “Night, night” he said, lying down on the blanket.
I knew right then he would not enjoy the fireworks. In a déjà vu moment, I flashed back to early memories I had, hating fireworks because they were too loud, especially when tired.
To absolutely no surprise, Braden started crying as soon as the fireworks started. “Home” he cried.
We tried to point out the fireworks were harmless. They looked like big flowers in the sky and they were loud like sirens, we told him.
We thought we had convinced him at one point when it appeared as if he were laughing, but then we realized he was really crying very hard.
Not wanting to subject him to something that frightened him, we packed our blanket, put Braden in the wagon and walked home. He stopped crying, but he refused to look back at the fireworks, even from a distance where they were more pretty than loud.
The next afternoon during his daily nap, Braden had his first nightmare in more than a year. Crying while still sleeping, he kept saying “no fireworks.”
The funny thing is he also talks about them when he’s not sleeping. But then it’s on a more positive note. He tells us he wants to see some fireworks.We tell him sure, when someone invents silent dark fireworks for daytime use. Now that’s a million dollar idea. Or maybe I’m just crazy.
Sleeping through them last year, Braden was ready for them this year. So we thought.
All day long, after promising he could stay up later than normal to watch the fireworks, Braden spent the entire day saying “See fireworks. Boom.”
My wife and I warned him they may be a little loud. They make a “boom” noise, we said, which he obviously understood.
Loud noises do not bother the kid. He eats, breathes and lives for fire trucks, ambulances and police cars and their sirens. I am convinced he will become a rescue worker when he grows up, just to have his own siren.
Braden’s also good at making his own loud noises. As much as it makes me chuckle inside, it can be quite embarrassing when he tests out his vocal limitations in a quiet, populated place like a church or library.
For those of you who roll their eyes at loud kids like him, just remember you probably did the same thing when you were his age. You just don’t remember doing it. Ask your parents. They’ll tell you. My mother has pointed out many times that she didn’t attend church for several years because I was louder than the preacher. She was convinced I would eventually become one because of this early start.
Although I am not a preacher today, like my son I continue to be loud. I prefer to think of myself as being vocally boisterous. I’m quick to express any opinion I have, no matter if it is uninformed and clearly wrong. And since I make sure everyone hears it, I oftentimes end up sounding like the crazy guy in the room. Every room has to have one, so it may as well be me.
After this year’s fireworks, we may have scared Braden into becoming the crazy guy.
Shortly before the fireworks started, sitting outside on a blanket, Braden, who was getting tired after a long day of playing, thought he was supposed to go to sleep. “Night, night” he said, lying down on the blanket.
I knew right then he would not enjoy the fireworks. In a déjà vu moment, I flashed back to early memories I had, hating fireworks because they were too loud, especially when tired.
To absolutely no surprise, Braden started crying as soon as the fireworks started. “Home” he cried.
We tried to point out the fireworks were harmless. They looked like big flowers in the sky and they were loud like sirens, we told him.
We thought we had convinced him at one point when it appeared as if he were laughing, but then we realized he was really crying very hard.
Not wanting to subject him to something that frightened him, we packed our blanket, put Braden in the wagon and walked home. He stopped crying, but he refused to look back at the fireworks, even from a distance where they were more pretty than loud.
The next afternoon during his daily nap, Braden had his first nightmare in more than a year. Crying while still sleeping, he kept saying “no fireworks.”
The funny thing is he also talks about them when he’s not sleeping. But then it’s on a more positive note. He tells us he wants to see some fireworks.We tell him sure, when someone invents silent dark fireworks for daytime use. Now that’s a million dollar idea. Or maybe I’m just crazy.
Zoo is perfect place to spend Father's Day
Lions and tigers and bears – oh my. Monkeys and rhinos and penguins – heck yeah. Cobras and vampires and cheetahs – most definitely.
You gotta love the zoo. This past Sunday my family and I spent Father’s Day at the Milwaukee County Zoo, a place I’ve visited over a dozen times, yet one that never seems to get old.
This time was special because it was my 2-year-old Braden’s first time there. Like all little boys, Braden loves animals and insects. As a 1-year-old he was the only kid in his daycare not afraid of a frog in an outside puddle. And capturing bugs for his newly-acquired bug catcher is his new favorite activity, except for maybe eating those bugs when we’re not carefully watching him.
The day started perfectly. Fathers were free, as well as children 2 and under. Only my wife, Jenny, had to pay for admission. She told us it was only appropriate that her two little monkeys were free, which was the first of many “you’re a (name of animal being looked at)” references throughout the day.
I countered by saying that we were in Milwaukee, visiting her relatives. This was true, because we had attended a graduation party for her cousin on Saturday, but I made sure she knew I was not referring to those relatives.
Before she could strike back at monkey island, where a sign explained why some of the monkeys were bald, I quickly nabbed their excuse for my baldness. “It’s because I’m very well-groomed,” I tried to reason.
“More like well-domed,” she answered.
Meanwhile, Braden finally got to see many of the animals he loves from some of his favorite cartoons. The penguins from “Happy Feet.” Check. The clown fish from “Finding Nemo.” Check. The bear from “Open Season.” Check. Sully from “Monsters, Inc.” Nope, but he thought Tommy the Orangutan was an orange cousin, so we didn’t tell him otherwise.
The most exciting thing at the zoo for Braden was the train. In Waushara County where we currently live until we move to Stevens Point, trains do not exist. All train tracks have been replaced by hiking and biking trails. So over the last month, riding into work with me to go to daycare, we’ve encountered plenty of trains. I may find it tedious waiting for them to pass, but he finds it fascinating. So much so his new favorite toy is a train at daycare.
On the zoo train, which was not free, even for fathers, riders were transported in one big circle around the zoo. The only sight to see were trees in the surrounding woods and people walking in the zoo.
If I were the zoo master (I’m sure there is an official title, but I prefer this one.), I’d create exhibits in the surrounding woods exclusive for the train riders. This would include ones placing animals together, as they exist in the wild. The zebras would have to watch their backs from lion attacks, and gorillas and elephants could battle it out to determine the real king of the jungle.Of course, this wild imagination is why I’m not a zoo master. I’ll just have to settle for a free day with my family at the zoo every few years.
You gotta love the zoo. This past Sunday my family and I spent Father’s Day at the Milwaukee County Zoo, a place I’ve visited over a dozen times, yet one that never seems to get old.
This time was special because it was my 2-year-old Braden’s first time there. Like all little boys, Braden loves animals and insects. As a 1-year-old he was the only kid in his daycare not afraid of a frog in an outside puddle. And capturing bugs for his newly-acquired bug catcher is his new favorite activity, except for maybe eating those bugs when we’re not carefully watching him.
The day started perfectly. Fathers were free, as well as children 2 and under. Only my wife, Jenny, had to pay for admission. She told us it was only appropriate that her two little monkeys were free, which was the first of many “you’re a (name of animal being looked at)” references throughout the day.
I countered by saying that we were in Milwaukee, visiting her relatives. This was true, because we had attended a graduation party for her cousin on Saturday, but I made sure she knew I was not referring to those relatives.
Before she could strike back at monkey island, where a sign explained why some of the monkeys were bald, I quickly nabbed their excuse for my baldness. “It’s because I’m very well-groomed,” I tried to reason.
“More like well-domed,” she answered.
Meanwhile, Braden finally got to see many of the animals he loves from some of his favorite cartoons. The penguins from “Happy Feet.” Check. The clown fish from “Finding Nemo.” Check. The bear from “Open Season.” Check. Sully from “Monsters, Inc.” Nope, but he thought Tommy the Orangutan was an orange cousin, so we didn’t tell him otherwise.
The most exciting thing at the zoo for Braden was the train. In Waushara County where we currently live until we move to Stevens Point, trains do not exist. All train tracks have been replaced by hiking and biking trails. So over the last month, riding into work with me to go to daycare, we’ve encountered plenty of trains. I may find it tedious waiting for them to pass, but he finds it fascinating. So much so his new favorite toy is a train at daycare.
On the zoo train, which was not free, even for fathers, riders were transported in one big circle around the zoo. The only sight to see were trees in the surrounding woods and people walking in the zoo.
If I were the zoo master (I’m sure there is an official title, but I prefer this one.), I’d create exhibits in the surrounding woods exclusive for the train riders. This would include ones placing animals together, as they exist in the wild. The zebras would have to watch their backs from lion attacks, and gorillas and elephants could battle it out to determine the real king of the jungle.Of course, this wild imagination is why I’m not a zoo master. I’ll just have to settle for a free day with my family at the zoo every few years.
Rummage sale clears clutter
Rummage sales are one of the greatest joys of summer. Bargain hunters are guaranteed to find good deals, and rummage sellers can make some extra cash on items they no longer need.
Last weekend my family fell in the rummage seller category. Getting ready for our move from Wautoma to Stevens Point, we wanted to rid ourselves of all items we no longer wanted or didn’t have room for in what feels like a shrinking house. My wife, Jenny, says our house isn’t actually shrinking, it’s just the clutter we have slowly accumulated over the years has gotten larger.
The clutter has come from two sources – my mother and our 2-year-old son, Braden.
Braden’s clutter can’t be helped; little boys need toys. My job as a father, especially one who enjoys playing with them even more than him, is to make sure his toy box overflows and our floors are littered with the latest Spider-Man figures and Matchbox cars.
My mother’s clutter cannot be controlled, even though we’ve tried many times. She likes to buy presents, and we are often the recipients of them.
Some of these gifts are nice. The leather jackets she got for us will be worn for many years to come. The digital camera will take pictures of Braden until he is a teenager, at which time he will not allow us to photograph him. And seasons one and two of “Lost” will keep us entertained while we ponder whether or not we liked “The Sopranos” series conclusion.
We accumulate “mother clutter,” as Jenny and I call it, when she gives us gifts to decorate our house. Never comfortable in her own home until every square-inch of wall space has some sort of knickknack or art piece covering it, my mother finds our semi-barren walls way too boring for her taste.
This results in her purchasing decorative items for us based on what she thinks is our style. Jenny likes birdhouses. My mom buys her every birdhouse knickknack and painting she comes across. I tell a younger cousin playing with a Scooby Doo toy that I also liked the cartoon dog as a kid. Guess what I get -- a Scooby clock, Scooby remote control holder and a Scooby pillow. The list goes on and on like that.
To be nice, and appreciative of the gifts, we try to keep them out for awhile. That makes my mother happy, which is all she wants.
Our biennial rummage sale allowed us to get rid of some of this clutter. In addition to making $300, we probably eliminated a truckload of stuff we will no longer have to move. A clutter-free house, money and an easier move – you can’t ask for anything more.
Except, perhaps, the opportunity for other people to sell items at your rummage sale. Both my in-laws and a friend of my wife got in on the action, making a small sale into a mega-extravaganza.
For one day only, our house was the Wal-Mart of Wautoma. It was a place to find everything from VHS tapes to Sega Genesis games, from wagons to utility carts and from old tools to antique lawnmowers. The aisles were crowded and the customers battled each other for those last-on-the-shelf items.
Fortunately for us, our Wal-Mart wasn’t open for 24 hours. It closed after just eight, and it won’t open for another two years. Until then we’ll continue to accumulate more clutter to fill a new home.
Last weekend my family fell in the rummage seller category. Getting ready for our move from Wautoma to Stevens Point, we wanted to rid ourselves of all items we no longer wanted or didn’t have room for in what feels like a shrinking house. My wife, Jenny, says our house isn’t actually shrinking, it’s just the clutter we have slowly accumulated over the years has gotten larger.
The clutter has come from two sources – my mother and our 2-year-old son, Braden.
Braden’s clutter can’t be helped; little boys need toys. My job as a father, especially one who enjoys playing with them even more than him, is to make sure his toy box overflows and our floors are littered with the latest Spider-Man figures and Matchbox cars.
My mother’s clutter cannot be controlled, even though we’ve tried many times. She likes to buy presents, and we are often the recipients of them.
Some of these gifts are nice. The leather jackets she got for us will be worn for many years to come. The digital camera will take pictures of Braden until he is a teenager, at which time he will not allow us to photograph him. And seasons one and two of “Lost” will keep us entertained while we ponder whether or not we liked “The Sopranos” series conclusion.
We accumulate “mother clutter,” as Jenny and I call it, when she gives us gifts to decorate our house. Never comfortable in her own home until every square-inch of wall space has some sort of knickknack or art piece covering it, my mother finds our semi-barren walls way too boring for her taste.
This results in her purchasing decorative items for us based on what she thinks is our style. Jenny likes birdhouses. My mom buys her every birdhouse knickknack and painting she comes across. I tell a younger cousin playing with a Scooby Doo toy that I also liked the cartoon dog as a kid. Guess what I get -- a Scooby clock, Scooby remote control holder and a Scooby pillow. The list goes on and on like that.
To be nice, and appreciative of the gifts, we try to keep them out for awhile. That makes my mother happy, which is all she wants.
Our biennial rummage sale allowed us to get rid of some of this clutter. In addition to making $300, we probably eliminated a truckload of stuff we will no longer have to move. A clutter-free house, money and an easier move – you can’t ask for anything more.
Except, perhaps, the opportunity for other people to sell items at your rummage sale. Both my in-laws and a friend of my wife got in on the action, making a small sale into a mega-extravaganza.
For one day only, our house was the Wal-Mart of Wautoma. It was a place to find everything from VHS tapes to Sega Genesis games, from wagons to utility carts and from old tools to antique lawnmowers. The aisles were crowded and the customers battled each other for those last-on-the-shelf items.
Fortunately for us, our Wal-Mart wasn’t open for 24 hours. It closed after just eight, and it won’t open for another two years. Until then we’ll continue to accumulate more clutter to fill a new home.
Stevens Point acts like a magnet
The Stevens Point area is one large magnet. Attracted by many of the wonderful new shopping opportunities, especially in Plover, my family and I were slowly enticed to switch our weekend excursions from Appleton or Oshkosh to Stevens Point.
Instead of driving between 45 and 60 miles one way to the Fox Valley, we could find everything we wanted here driving just 35 miles on quick-moving I-39.
Like a piece of metal stuck on a magnet, we found it difficult to pull ourselves away to go home when we were here. Not satisfied spending just one day in Stevens Point, many times we returned the next, even as gas prices rocketed and kept many would-be travelers home.
In addition to enjoying the shopping sites, we loved the restaurants, cleanliness and the relaxed vibe of this area. Nothing makes me happier than lunch at Noodles and Company. Well, maybe nothing except the flavored fish fry at the Final Score.
Last December, my wife, Jenny, was asked to interview for a job at the Marshfield Clinic. As the news editor at the Waushara Argus in Wautoma, a position I’ve had for the past 10 years, my initial response was to tell her no. I had a good job and we loved our house, family and friends in Wautoma.
But the more I thought about it, the more the Stevens Point magnet pulled me in. By centrally locating to Stevens Point, we’d still be close to family and friends and we could move to a booming area that we both loved.
Within two days, I told Jenny she should interview for the job, which she then promptly landed. We put our house on the market and I started my search for a job in Stevens Point.
The job search took a little longer than I anticipated. The last time I had gone looking for a job, the Internet did not play a major factor in the search. I had found my job at the Argus the old-fashioned way – by reading the classifieds.
I spent a month sending resumés and cover letters through several online services only to discover I wasn’t saving my files correctly and the potential employers were receiving blank applications. I was lost in cyberspace without even realizing it.
Eventually, my job search ended when I found a new one in another old-fashioned way – word-of-mouth. Someone I knew at CAP Services knew the Portage County Gazette was in need of a new writer. He put me in contact with Gene Kemmeter, whose knowledge of the newspaper business put any nerves I had about a job switch to rest before they could even emerge from my sometimes worrisome mind.
In the last few months, we have spent many weekends driving around Stevens Point to look at a number of houses for sale. Although we haven’t made the physical move to this area because we’re still trying to sell our house in Wautoma, we are looking forward to the day when we are here permanently.
Our 2-year-old son Braden started this week at a local daycare and we know he will get a good education in the future at the local schools. Even 35 miles away, SPASH has always had a reputation for being synonymous with high quality, along with the other public and private schools.
The magnetic pull became even stronger on June 1 during my first day at the Gazette when Gene drove me around the area and introduced me to many of the people I will be working and dealing with as the associate editor.
I hadn’t been to any of the parks prior to this date, so I did not know the true lure of this area’s beauty. Our decision to move here was deemed the perfect choice after seeing the great hockey rinks, soccer fields, toboggan runs, swimming pools, hiking and biking trails, and countless other park attractions and knowing my little 2-year-old will soon be old enough to do all of these things.
This column will become a weekly fixture in the paper. It originated as a humor column in the Argus as my forum for entertaining people with anecdotes about my life.
My goal is to provide a little “Light of Day” while making you laugh.
Instead of driving between 45 and 60 miles one way to the Fox Valley, we could find everything we wanted here driving just 35 miles on quick-moving I-39.
Like a piece of metal stuck on a magnet, we found it difficult to pull ourselves away to go home when we were here. Not satisfied spending just one day in Stevens Point, many times we returned the next, even as gas prices rocketed and kept many would-be travelers home.
In addition to enjoying the shopping sites, we loved the restaurants, cleanliness and the relaxed vibe of this area. Nothing makes me happier than lunch at Noodles and Company. Well, maybe nothing except the flavored fish fry at the Final Score.
Last December, my wife, Jenny, was asked to interview for a job at the Marshfield Clinic. As the news editor at the Waushara Argus in Wautoma, a position I’ve had for the past 10 years, my initial response was to tell her no. I had a good job and we loved our house, family and friends in Wautoma.
But the more I thought about it, the more the Stevens Point magnet pulled me in. By centrally locating to Stevens Point, we’d still be close to family and friends and we could move to a booming area that we both loved.
Within two days, I told Jenny she should interview for the job, which she then promptly landed. We put our house on the market and I started my search for a job in Stevens Point.
The job search took a little longer than I anticipated. The last time I had gone looking for a job, the Internet did not play a major factor in the search. I had found my job at the Argus the old-fashioned way – by reading the classifieds.
I spent a month sending resumés and cover letters through several online services only to discover I wasn’t saving my files correctly and the potential employers were receiving blank applications. I was lost in cyberspace without even realizing it.
Eventually, my job search ended when I found a new one in another old-fashioned way – word-of-mouth. Someone I knew at CAP Services knew the Portage County Gazette was in need of a new writer. He put me in contact with Gene Kemmeter, whose knowledge of the newspaper business put any nerves I had about a job switch to rest before they could even emerge from my sometimes worrisome mind.
In the last few months, we have spent many weekends driving around Stevens Point to look at a number of houses for sale. Although we haven’t made the physical move to this area because we’re still trying to sell our house in Wautoma, we are looking forward to the day when we are here permanently.
Our 2-year-old son Braden started this week at a local daycare and we know he will get a good education in the future at the local schools. Even 35 miles away, SPASH has always had a reputation for being synonymous with high quality, along with the other public and private schools.
The magnetic pull became even stronger on June 1 during my first day at the Gazette when Gene drove me around the area and introduced me to many of the people I will be working and dealing with as the associate editor.
I hadn’t been to any of the parks prior to this date, so I did not know the true lure of this area’s beauty. Our decision to move here was deemed the perfect choice after seeing the great hockey rinks, soccer fields, toboggan runs, swimming pools, hiking and biking trails, and countless other park attractions and knowing my little 2-year-old will soon be old enough to do all of these things.
This column will become a weekly fixture in the paper. It originated as a humor column in the Argus as my forum for entertaining people with anecdotes about my life.
My goal is to provide a little “Light of Day” while making you laugh.
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