“I am the least notable person in this vehicle.”
This line comes from “I Love You, Beth Cooper,” a fairly awful film that deservedly bombed at the box office. I wasted a couple of hours watching it last Saturday, although that gem of a line made my time worthwhile.
To put the line in context, two high school geeks in a tiny car with the beautiful girlfriends of some bullies who chasing them are marveling at the situation they’ve gotten themselves in. One of the geeks, who is not the protagonist in the story, suddenly comes to the brilliantly self-aware observation that of the five people in the car, he’s the least memorable person.
It’s said at a moment that is completely unexpected, which makes it funnier.
Even funnier is the fact none of the other four people in the car comment on his comment. He makes the observation, and true to his statement, nobody even bothered to listen to it.
I wish the rest of the film were that witty, so then it could have become one of those films that gets repeated on Comedy Central or TBS nine times a week, and when it’s on, channel skippers would stop to wait for the classic lines, much like they do when “Office Space” or “Caddyshack” is on.
Unfortunately, that line is the only one worth waiting for, and unless a person’s timing is perfect, it’s likely people will skip to the next channel.
I find this line brilliant because I have often felt like the least notable person in a room or vehicle many times, especially in high school and college.
My family moved frequently when I was younger, so I never established a large network of friends. I never had a problem making a few closer friends, but not enough to win any popularity contests.
I moved to Berlin at the end of my eighth-grade year, after two and a half years at a small rural school in Neshkoro where the seventh and eighth grades shared a room and teacher. It was quite a culture shock as I quickly discovered kids there fooled around with drugs and alcohol, and even more shockingly, sex. The closest in Neshkoro we got to any of these things was when we had too much sugar and then played tag, with the guys hoping to grab a handful of, well, it rhymes with “rest,” in tagging any one of the five girls in our class.
I’m sure every Neshkoro kid wasn’t completely Rose-from-“The Golden Girls” wholesome like I was, but I’m fairly confident most of them spent more time thinking about ways of completing “The Legend of Zelda” than ways of conquering Zelinda, the new girl who – don’t gasp – had two earrings in each of her ears.
Distraught I wasn’t as knowledgeable in non-classroom life as my new classmates in Berlin, I spent the majority of my high school years trying to be the least notable person in the vehicle, or room. I figured if people didn’t realize I was there, then maybe they wouldn’t point out the fact I wasn’t notable.
It worked so well that by the time I got to college, I had a perfect strategy for life: be the least notable person. I had a select group of close friends, and I didn’t branch out to others or do anything that would make me stand out.
It wasn’t until I got into the real world that I discovered this strategy was foolish. The least notable person gets nowhere, and it makes for a fairly boring life.
It’s also not a good strategy when you’re a journalist and talking to others is a big part of the job. While I don’t have to stand out in a room, making people aware of my journalistic presence is a must, both for my ability to do my job and for the fairness of the people who may be subjects of any stories I might write.
Since graduating from college, I’ve found a good balance in which I’m usually not the most notable person, nor am I the least notable one. It works well, and it has allowed me to find a great moment in an otherwise completely unnotable film.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Gazette moves to new home in downtown Stevens Point
The Gazette finally has a new home.
We made the move Thursday, July 8, hours after sending the Friday, July 9, edition to press, and months after finding our new location at 1024 Main St., downtown Stevens Point.
Most of the physical move was completed in hours. Gazette owners and employees were on hand to move computers, files, office supplies, books, old papers and other things from 2800 Church St. to the new location. They worked hard, and because of their efforts and teamwork, it was smooth.
I wish I could say I was there for the bulk of it, but I was in Marshfield, getting braces put on my teeth. I was keeping an appointment I had made two months ago, long before I knew the date of the move.
When I made the appointment, for a Thursday on my day off, I knew we’d be moving on a Thursday sometime during the summer, hopefully, but picking which Thursday was an impossibility. A lot needed to be done prior to the move, and making it happen would require full-work on somebody’s behalf.
Fortunately, former managing editor Gene Kemmeter, one of the founders of The Gazette, retired on June 1. Without the day-to-day responsibility of running the news department, Gene now had the time to devote himself to making sure the move could happen. With help from the other owners, including Norb Tepp, Jim Schuh and Gary Glennon, he worked tirelessly to piece together all the puzzle pieces that needed to be put together to build the road we needed to take to come downtown.
We first became interested in the downtown location in January, after touring the facility, which was once occupied by Pro-Logic. In its history it was the longtime location of the Sports Shop, as well as the distribution center of Point Sporting Goods.
Pro-Logic used a lot of computers, and because it did, the building was networked perfectly for our computer needs. It also had more office space than we had at our old location, something we knew we needed if we were to continue growing.
Regardless of which area has the highest traffic count in Stevens Point – whether it’s downtown, Division Street near the campus, the east side along Highway 10, the south side or the business park next to Crossroads Commons in Plover – downtown Stevens Point is the heart and soul of this community, and it was where The Gazette needed to be.
Settling into our new digs on Friday, and getting back to business, we learned the move hadn’t gone quite as smoothly as we thought it had. Our computer server wasn't hooked up right. The problem took a little time to fix – thank God Computer Magic was able to fix a problem they did not create – and after that was resolved, we learned our e-mail wasn’t fully functional, either.
By Monday, that problem was fixed, and since then the staff has been learning the intricacies of the new place, including a new phone system that has, get this, caller ID and voice mail. Welcome to the 20th century, Gazette.
If you’re reading this when you normally would read this, hopefully on a Friday after you get the paper in the mail, then the move can be considered a success, as we were able to get the paper to press on time, once again, as we have for the past 11 years. If not, blame the weather.
Don’t be afraid to stop in and visit us at our new home. We’re open 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. weekdays. Our phone number is still (715) 343-8045, and if you want to e-mail us, send it to me at pcgazette@g2a.net.
We made the move Thursday, July 8, hours after sending the Friday, July 9, edition to press, and months after finding our new location at 1024 Main St., downtown Stevens Point.
Most of the physical move was completed in hours. Gazette owners and employees were on hand to move computers, files, office supplies, books, old papers and other things from 2800 Church St. to the new location. They worked hard, and because of their efforts and teamwork, it was smooth.
I wish I could say I was there for the bulk of it, but I was in Marshfield, getting braces put on my teeth. I was keeping an appointment I had made two months ago, long before I knew the date of the move.
When I made the appointment, for a Thursday on my day off, I knew we’d be moving on a Thursday sometime during the summer, hopefully, but picking which Thursday was an impossibility. A lot needed to be done prior to the move, and making it happen would require full-work on somebody’s behalf.
Fortunately, former managing editor Gene Kemmeter, one of the founders of The Gazette, retired on June 1. Without the day-to-day responsibility of running the news department, Gene now had the time to devote himself to making sure the move could happen. With help from the other owners, including Norb Tepp, Jim Schuh and Gary Glennon, he worked tirelessly to piece together all the puzzle pieces that needed to be put together to build the road we needed to take to come downtown.
We first became interested in the downtown location in January, after touring the facility, which was once occupied by Pro-Logic. In its history it was the longtime location of the Sports Shop, as well as the distribution center of Point Sporting Goods.
Pro-Logic used a lot of computers, and because it did, the building was networked perfectly for our computer needs. It also had more office space than we had at our old location, something we knew we needed if we were to continue growing.
Regardless of which area has the highest traffic count in Stevens Point – whether it’s downtown, Division Street near the campus, the east side along Highway 10, the south side or the business park next to Crossroads Commons in Plover – downtown Stevens Point is the heart and soul of this community, and it was where The Gazette needed to be.
Settling into our new digs on Friday, and getting back to business, we learned the move hadn’t gone quite as smoothly as we thought it had. Our computer server wasn't hooked up right. The problem took a little time to fix – thank God Computer Magic was able to fix a problem they did not create – and after that was resolved, we learned our e-mail wasn’t fully functional, either.
By Monday, that problem was fixed, and since then the staff has been learning the intricacies of the new place, including a new phone system that has, get this, caller ID and voice mail. Welcome to the 20th century, Gazette.
If you’re reading this when you normally would read this, hopefully on a Friday after you get the paper in the mail, then the move can be considered a success, as we were able to get the paper to press on time, once again, as we have for the past 11 years. If not, blame the weather.
Don’t be afraid to stop in and visit us at our new home. We’re open 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. weekdays. Our phone number is still (715) 343-8045, and if you want to e-mail us, send it to me at pcgazette@g2a.net.
Video stores may be driving themselves out of business
Time to rant.
At the video store last week, a place I don’t visit as often as I used to because I see most of the films I really want to see in the theater upon their release, I noticed all the new releases no longer offered a five nights for $3.50 option.
That option – better known as the purple-sticker option – was previously available on half of the discs for all new releases in the store. The other half was one night only for $2.50, also known as the yellow-sticker option.
I only used the yellow-sticker option when I knew I was going to watch the movie that day and could return it the next day. Otherwise, the purple-sticker option was the better deal for me because I could take my time in watching the movies, especially if I rented three or four of them.
I rarely use Red Box, a vending machine set up in several locations in this area that distributes films that can be rented for $1 per night, and although I’ve used mail video distributor Netflix in the past, I’m not currently a subscriber. Both of these services have caused the closure of many video stores, including one in Stevens Point earlier this year, and they are sure to close others as people choose them for their convenience and cheaper costs.
The video store has always been my preferred choice, because I love walking in, getting greeted by a person and then having the luxury of being able to browse thousands of selections without distractions from the outside world. It’s something I’ve been doing since a young child when my father brought home our first VHS player along with the movie “Romancing the Stone.”
While video stores have changed over the years, especially with the conversion of VHS tapes to DVDs, the basic premise has stayed the same: shelves lined with movie boxes. Those boxes are meant to be read to help a person determine whether or not the movie should be rented or put back on the shelf to collect more dust.
Giving up a video store is something I thought I’d never do. But now that the purple-sticker option is gone, I’m seriously reconsidering this thought, especially when I found out the reason my favorite option was eliminated.
“Why are you no longer offering the purple-sticker option?” I asked.
“We discovered it was causing us to lose too many customers to Red Box,” the clerk told me.
I was baffled. “What? How?”
“Well, people would go to Red Box if a purple-sticker movie was all out.”
I thought about her statement for a second. “So now my only option is renting a film for one night at a price $1.50 higher than Red Box. That makes no sense from a business standpoint for you guys. Now people are going to go to Red Box without even stopping here.”
The clerk was clearly not the person who made the decision, so she didn’t have a response. I added the purple-sticker option was what enticed me to come to the video store over Red Box, and now that I didn’t have this option, I was going to go to Red Box. I told her to let the authorities-that-be their decision was causing one more person to stay away from the video store.
I asked a few of my coworkers whether or not the video store was making a smart business decision. They agreed it wasn’t wise, although they noted they’ll continue to use the video store over Red Box and Netflix because at least the video store employs local people.
My argument is these local people will soon be out of a job if their managers continue to make such stupid decisions, because not everyone will think as nicely as my coworkers.
I didn’t go to Red Box that day, as I didn’t feel like driving from Plover to Stevens Point. I’m glad I didn’t, because that evening the backlight in my LCD high-definition television burned out, leaving me without a television to watch any movies I may have rented. Maybe it was karma for walking out of the video store and questioning its business decision, but I don’t think so.
Not to start another rant, but it’s probably a ploy by television makers to get people to buy new televisions every few years. Apparently, through online research, backlights burning out is a common problem that often occurs shortly after the television’s warranty expires. It’s a simple fix; however, getting the part to do so takes some doing and television repairman charge more than the value of the television to do the repair.
I’m determined to do it myself. In the meantime, though, I’ll probably have to purchase another television to watch those movies I’m not renting from the video store or anywhere else.
At the video store last week, a place I don’t visit as often as I used to because I see most of the films I really want to see in the theater upon their release, I noticed all the new releases no longer offered a five nights for $3.50 option.
That option – better known as the purple-sticker option – was previously available on half of the discs for all new releases in the store. The other half was one night only for $2.50, also known as the yellow-sticker option.
I only used the yellow-sticker option when I knew I was going to watch the movie that day and could return it the next day. Otherwise, the purple-sticker option was the better deal for me because I could take my time in watching the movies, especially if I rented three or four of them.
I rarely use Red Box, a vending machine set up in several locations in this area that distributes films that can be rented for $1 per night, and although I’ve used mail video distributor Netflix in the past, I’m not currently a subscriber. Both of these services have caused the closure of many video stores, including one in Stevens Point earlier this year, and they are sure to close others as people choose them for their convenience and cheaper costs.
The video store has always been my preferred choice, because I love walking in, getting greeted by a person and then having the luxury of being able to browse thousands of selections without distractions from the outside world. It’s something I’ve been doing since a young child when my father brought home our first VHS player along with the movie “Romancing the Stone.”
While video stores have changed over the years, especially with the conversion of VHS tapes to DVDs, the basic premise has stayed the same: shelves lined with movie boxes. Those boxes are meant to be read to help a person determine whether or not the movie should be rented or put back on the shelf to collect more dust.
Giving up a video store is something I thought I’d never do. But now that the purple-sticker option is gone, I’m seriously reconsidering this thought, especially when I found out the reason my favorite option was eliminated.
“Why are you no longer offering the purple-sticker option?” I asked.
“We discovered it was causing us to lose too many customers to Red Box,” the clerk told me.
I was baffled. “What? How?”
“Well, people would go to Red Box if a purple-sticker movie was all out.”
I thought about her statement for a second. “So now my only option is renting a film for one night at a price $1.50 higher than Red Box. That makes no sense from a business standpoint for you guys. Now people are going to go to Red Box without even stopping here.”
The clerk was clearly not the person who made the decision, so she didn’t have a response. I added the purple-sticker option was what enticed me to come to the video store over Red Box, and now that I didn’t have this option, I was going to go to Red Box. I told her to let the authorities-that-be their decision was causing one more person to stay away from the video store.
I asked a few of my coworkers whether or not the video store was making a smart business decision. They agreed it wasn’t wise, although they noted they’ll continue to use the video store over Red Box and Netflix because at least the video store employs local people.
My argument is these local people will soon be out of a job if their managers continue to make such stupid decisions, because not everyone will think as nicely as my coworkers.
I didn’t go to Red Box that day, as I didn’t feel like driving from Plover to Stevens Point. I’m glad I didn’t, because that evening the backlight in my LCD high-definition television burned out, leaving me without a television to watch any movies I may have rented. Maybe it was karma for walking out of the video store and questioning its business decision, but I don’t think so.
Not to start another rant, but it’s probably a ploy by television makers to get people to buy new televisions every few years. Apparently, through online research, backlights burning out is a common problem that often occurs shortly after the television’s warranty expires. It’s a simple fix; however, getting the part to do so takes some doing and television repairman charge more than the value of the television to do the repair.
I’m determined to do it myself. In the meantime, though, I’ll probably have to purchase another television to watch those movies I’m not renting from the video store or anywhere else.
Music magazine covers politics, world affairs better than serious publications
An article in Rolling Stone last week garnered a lot of attention. So much attention in fact it led to the resignation of the general in charge of U.S. military operations in Afghanistan.
Many people were surprised a magazine known more for its music coverage than its world affairs coverage would have the ability to publish an article that could lead to the downfall of such a high-ranking official, let alone one that would cause President Barack Obama to react.
Even more surprising to many was the fact the unabashed liberal-leaning publication would put anything in it criticizing a president it heavily supported in 2008.
I’d be surprised, too, if I was only a casual reader of the magazine. As it is, though, I’ve read every article in it, front cover to back, for the last 10 years, happily devouring every word about every subject it’s addressed, even the subjects I had little to no interest in knowing more about.
That’s because the editors at Rolling Stone have an uncanny knack for helping their writers make every subject interesting, and they’re not afraid to tackle anything, even supposedly taboo subjects like the president’s handling of the war on terror.
It started going after Obama about six months ago. In an editorial the magazine’s editor and founder, Jann Wenner, said the magazine still supports the president and his beliefs, but it’s been disappointed by much of Obama’s White House record.
Since then it has published articles hammering Obama on finance reform, global-warming reform and most recently, before the big one, his handling of the BP oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico.
Nearly every issue of the bi-monthly magazine features an article written by Matt Taibbi, the finest political writer on the planet since Rolling Stone’s last great one, Hunter S. Thompson. Taibbi has the rare ability of making complicated subjects, such as the meltdown of the global economy in 2008, understandable to us common folk who do not have doctorates in economics. He writes with wit, humor and a sharp pen not afraid of anybody or anything.
Taibbi has more talent in his left nostril hairs than nearly all journalists in his field combined, and for years he’s been putting them to shame with his writings.
So when I first heard rumblings Rolling Stone had an article in its latest issue that could have major implications on the war in Afghanistan, I automatically assumed Taibbi wrote it. Well before I received my issue in the mail, I learned it was not written by him, though, and instead was written by first-time Rolling Stone contributor Michael Hastings. Surprising, yes, but not really. The magazine knows how to find the best of the best.
Hastings stumbled on a bit of luck with the assignment. He was suppose to interview his subject, Gen. Stanley McChrystal, over a two-day period, but the volcano in Iceland grounded his flights home, giving him access to McChrystal for a month. During this period Hastings heard the general say many of the things that led to his downfall, especially his mockery of Vice President Joe Biden.
It’s these foolish remarks that ended McChrystal’s military career, but anyone who actually read the article now knows the heart and soul of it lies with what it says about Obama’s failure to commit the necessary military power to succeed in Afghanistan or his failure to begin troop withdrawal as he once promised. By doing neither, the article backs with facts and quotes, the president is guaranteeing failure.
In many ways, it’s a shame the best reporting in the media is being done by Rolling Stone. Instead of being surprised by this fact, though, other media should follow its example. No matter the politics of the publication, all subjects should be treated as though politics don’t exist. And more importantly, as though they aren’t subjects that should be feared, even if it is the president.
Many people were surprised a magazine known more for its music coverage than its world affairs coverage would have the ability to publish an article that could lead to the downfall of such a high-ranking official, let alone one that would cause President Barack Obama to react.
Even more surprising to many was the fact the unabashed liberal-leaning publication would put anything in it criticizing a president it heavily supported in 2008.
I’d be surprised, too, if I was only a casual reader of the magazine. As it is, though, I’ve read every article in it, front cover to back, for the last 10 years, happily devouring every word about every subject it’s addressed, even the subjects I had little to no interest in knowing more about.
That’s because the editors at Rolling Stone have an uncanny knack for helping their writers make every subject interesting, and they’re not afraid to tackle anything, even supposedly taboo subjects like the president’s handling of the war on terror.
It started going after Obama about six months ago. In an editorial the magazine’s editor and founder, Jann Wenner, said the magazine still supports the president and his beliefs, but it’s been disappointed by much of Obama’s White House record.
Since then it has published articles hammering Obama on finance reform, global-warming reform and most recently, before the big one, his handling of the BP oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico.
Nearly every issue of the bi-monthly magazine features an article written by Matt Taibbi, the finest political writer on the planet since Rolling Stone’s last great one, Hunter S. Thompson. Taibbi has the rare ability of making complicated subjects, such as the meltdown of the global economy in 2008, understandable to us common folk who do not have doctorates in economics. He writes with wit, humor and a sharp pen not afraid of anybody or anything.
Taibbi has more talent in his left nostril hairs than nearly all journalists in his field combined, and for years he’s been putting them to shame with his writings.
So when I first heard rumblings Rolling Stone had an article in its latest issue that could have major implications on the war in Afghanistan, I automatically assumed Taibbi wrote it. Well before I received my issue in the mail, I learned it was not written by him, though, and instead was written by first-time Rolling Stone contributor Michael Hastings. Surprising, yes, but not really. The magazine knows how to find the best of the best.
Hastings stumbled on a bit of luck with the assignment. He was suppose to interview his subject, Gen. Stanley McChrystal, over a two-day period, but the volcano in Iceland grounded his flights home, giving him access to McChrystal for a month. During this period Hastings heard the general say many of the things that led to his downfall, especially his mockery of Vice President Joe Biden.
It’s these foolish remarks that ended McChrystal’s military career, but anyone who actually read the article now knows the heart and soul of it lies with what it says about Obama’s failure to commit the necessary military power to succeed in Afghanistan or his failure to begin troop withdrawal as he once promised. By doing neither, the article backs with facts and quotes, the president is guaranteeing failure.
In many ways, it’s a shame the best reporting in the media is being done by Rolling Stone. Instead of being surprised by this fact, though, other media should follow its example. No matter the politics of the publication, all subjects should be treated as though politics don’t exist. And more importantly, as though they aren’t subjects that should be feared, even if it is the president.
Fishing secret won't be revealed with money
I discovered a fishing paradise last week, right in Portage County.
But you couldn’t pay me enough money to reveal its location.
This paradise is full of bass and large panfish, all of which are so hungry nearly every cast lands a fish.
My 5-year-old son, Braden, using his SpongeBob SquarePants rod and reel, caught a 22-inch, three-pound bass, as well as four or five other keepers and a bunch of panfish.
I wasn’t as successful because he kept me busy with his catches, but I still pulled in a few nice bass. I also lost two really big lunkers that thrilled Braden when they jumped out of the water.
All of this took place during just one hour of fishing in my secret fishing paradise location.
I don’t really have a reason to keep this location a secret, as I don’t keep them because my wife and I think they taste too fishy. A few photos are all we take back with us. Revealing this location, though, would violate a tradition I’ve grown up to all my life: never tell others where good fishing holes are located.
It’s OK to tell someone where decent fishing holes are, but giving away a good hole will soon lead to the end of it. It will be fished out, overcrowded and overused, and then will become another worthless spot in the lake, tradition says, if said paradise is revealed.
Until last week, I’ve never known such a good fishing spot. Heck, I’ve barely known decent spots. Now I feel I’m amongst the privileged fishing elite – move over Babe Winkelman – and rising to these ranks has given me to the power to look down at other fishers, much like many of them have done to me in the past while refusing to reveal their paradises.
Go ahead and ask. I’ll happily brag about how good the location is and that the action was so hot I had to leave after an hour because it wore me out. I’ll also rub it in your face that my 5-year-old, who I’ll reiterate was using a SpongeBob pole, probably outfished you in that hour than you in your best full day of fishing ever.
In fact, by his third or fourth bass he was so used to catching monster fish it was beginning to bore him. Yes, his attention span may be short, but it’s still long enough to recognize fishing bliss. Like a really rich chocolate, too much of a good thing can sometimes be tiring.
I once caught a similar-sized bass on Spring Lake in the town of Marion in Waushara County. It was the only fish I caught that day, making the location far from a fishing paradise. I placed the photo of me with the fish in the shopper publication of the newspaper I worked for at the time, at the urging of co-workers and because we needed filler copy for the publication, which specializes in featuring the county’s recreational activities through photos and stories.
Foolishly, I forgot about tradition and revealed where I caught the fish.
Years later, after meeting my wife’s grandfather who lived on the lake, I told him about my catch and that I put a photo of it in the paper.
He was not pleased, scolding me for revealing a location that probably sent the entire fishing public to the lake.
Several years later, his neighbor also scolded me for the same reason upon hearing my story.
Nowadays, I jokingly tell my father-in-law after he catches a large fish I’m going to send his photo to the newspaper there for publication. He knows I won’t, as I’ve mastered the art of not giving away such fishing secrets.
That doesn’t mean I’m not going to let everyone know that I have a great secret. What good is such knowledge if you can’t tease others with it?
But you couldn’t pay me enough money to reveal its location.
This paradise is full of bass and large panfish, all of which are so hungry nearly every cast lands a fish.
My 5-year-old son, Braden, using his SpongeBob SquarePants rod and reel, caught a 22-inch, three-pound bass, as well as four or five other keepers and a bunch of panfish.
I wasn’t as successful because he kept me busy with his catches, but I still pulled in a few nice bass. I also lost two really big lunkers that thrilled Braden when they jumped out of the water.
All of this took place during just one hour of fishing in my secret fishing paradise location.
I don’t really have a reason to keep this location a secret, as I don’t keep them because my wife and I think they taste too fishy. A few photos are all we take back with us. Revealing this location, though, would violate a tradition I’ve grown up to all my life: never tell others where good fishing holes are located.
It’s OK to tell someone where decent fishing holes are, but giving away a good hole will soon lead to the end of it. It will be fished out, overcrowded and overused, and then will become another worthless spot in the lake, tradition says, if said paradise is revealed.
Until last week, I’ve never known such a good fishing spot. Heck, I’ve barely known decent spots. Now I feel I’m amongst the privileged fishing elite – move over Babe Winkelman – and rising to these ranks has given me to the power to look down at other fishers, much like many of them have done to me in the past while refusing to reveal their paradises.
Go ahead and ask. I’ll happily brag about how good the location is and that the action was so hot I had to leave after an hour because it wore me out. I’ll also rub it in your face that my 5-year-old, who I’ll reiterate was using a SpongeBob pole, probably outfished you in that hour than you in your best full day of fishing ever.
In fact, by his third or fourth bass he was so used to catching monster fish it was beginning to bore him. Yes, his attention span may be short, but it’s still long enough to recognize fishing bliss. Like a really rich chocolate, too much of a good thing can sometimes be tiring.
I once caught a similar-sized bass on Spring Lake in the town of Marion in Waushara County. It was the only fish I caught that day, making the location far from a fishing paradise. I placed the photo of me with the fish in the shopper publication of the newspaper I worked for at the time, at the urging of co-workers and because we needed filler copy for the publication, which specializes in featuring the county’s recreational activities through photos and stories.
Foolishly, I forgot about tradition and revealed where I caught the fish.
Years later, after meeting my wife’s grandfather who lived on the lake, I told him about my catch and that I put a photo of it in the paper.
He was not pleased, scolding me for revealing a location that probably sent the entire fishing public to the lake.
Several years later, his neighbor also scolded me for the same reason upon hearing my story.
Nowadays, I jokingly tell my father-in-law after he catches a large fish I’m going to send his photo to the newspaper there for publication. He knows I won’t, as I’ve mastered the art of not giving away such fishing secrets.
That doesn’t mean I’m not going to let everyone know that I have a great secret. What good is such knowledge if you can’t tease others with it?
Television quote sums up 2010 America perfectly
“There are times when the only choices you have left are bad ones.”
This quote comes from a character on the Fox television show “Fringe,” and when my wife, Jenny, and I heard it this past week while catching up on our DVR watching, we both looked at each other and said truer words haven’t been spoken about 2010 America.
The character who spoke those words, Phillip Broyles (played by the great Lance Reddick who is best known for playing Lt. Daniels on “The Wire” – my vote for the greatest television show of all time), was referring to a bad predicament his Homeland Security unit found itself in following a series of unfortunate events.
All the choices unit members had in resolving the situation had serious consequences in which people would be harmed or killed. Still, a decision needed to be made and acted upon, because doing nothing would be even more harmful.
As this country attempts to climb out of a recession that hasn’t been this deep since the Great Depression, it’s clear recovery is going to be slow, if true recovery even takes place at all. While some economic indicators say recovery is taking place slowly, other indicators point out we shouldn’t be so hopeful because it’s not happening.
Based on the things I hear from local officials about budgets in coming years, especially at the state level, people should brace for the worst. The dollars aren’t there, and unless massive changes are made at all levels in the way government operates, the only choices left at budget time are going to be bad ones.
We’re already seeing it at the local level. Stevens Point Area School District residents voted against two spending proposals. Many of those who rejected them did so because they’re worried about their own well being, especially when facing salary reductions, reduced hours and even layoffs, more than they are worried about the setback local education could suffer with budget reductions.
Few people liked having to choose between personal well-being and education, especially knowing education plays a huge role in everybody’s well-being as the young generation becomes our future. But the choice was on the table to get the ball rolling. By rejecting the proposals, school officials knew they had their own difficult choices to make: cutbacks, which meant layoffs, and finding alternate sources of funding.
School officials made those choices, few of which they thought were good. Next year’s school budget has been balanced, although it won’t be official until October or November, and then the process will begin all over again. And since the school funding mode is completely broken, the process of bad choices will begin all over again before anyone can even breathe a sigh of relief.
The county felt a bit of this type of pinch when coming up with the 2010 budget late last year, but for the most part it was relatively unharmed compared to most municipalities. Good planning by our leaders can be credited for this, but even the best planning won’t prevent a bigger pinch from occurring during the next budget cycle.
The state continues to place numerous unfunded mandates on counties and then takes away funding from them. It adds up, and for 2011 the county may find itself scrambling, like local schools, to balance its budget. The choices it will have to make will most likely be bad ones.
I’m sure the state can argue it’s putting counties, schools and other municipalities in these situations because of the pinch it’s receiving at the federal level. And the federal government will most likely have something to blame, too.
Perhaps the only way to get out of this never-ending cycle of bad choices is to start over again. Government at all levels may need to re-examine how it operates, especially in how it obtains funding through taxes and how it distributes those funds.
John Holdridge, chair of the town of Hull, told me he hopes a Property Tax Seminar being co-sponsored by Portage County, the town of Hull and Portage County University of Wisconsin-Extension Wednesday, June 23, at the Lincoln Center, 1519 Water St., Stevens Point, will start such a grassroots movement at the local level to re-examine how government operates.
I hope he’s right. And then maybe government won’t be faced with bad choices, because unlike “Fringe,” which managed to find a good choice so no one would be hurt, life isn’t television. Problems don’t disappear in the final act.
This quote comes from a character on the Fox television show “Fringe,” and when my wife, Jenny, and I heard it this past week while catching up on our DVR watching, we both looked at each other and said truer words haven’t been spoken about 2010 America.
The character who spoke those words, Phillip Broyles (played by the great Lance Reddick who is best known for playing Lt. Daniels on “The Wire” – my vote for the greatest television show of all time), was referring to a bad predicament his Homeland Security unit found itself in following a series of unfortunate events.
All the choices unit members had in resolving the situation had serious consequences in which people would be harmed or killed. Still, a decision needed to be made and acted upon, because doing nothing would be even more harmful.
As this country attempts to climb out of a recession that hasn’t been this deep since the Great Depression, it’s clear recovery is going to be slow, if true recovery even takes place at all. While some economic indicators say recovery is taking place slowly, other indicators point out we shouldn’t be so hopeful because it’s not happening.
Based on the things I hear from local officials about budgets in coming years, especially at the state level, people should brace for the worst. The dollars aren’t there, and unless massive changes are made at all levels in the way government operates, the only choices left at budget time are going to be bad ones.
We’re already seeing it at the local level. Stevens Point Area School District residents voted against two spending proposals. Many of those who rejected them did so because they’re worried about their own well being, especially when facing salary reductions, reduced hours and even layoffs, more than they are worried about the setback local education could suffer with budget reductions.
Few people liked having to choose between personal well-being and education, especially knowing education plays a huge role in everybody’s well-being as the young generation becomes our future. But the choice was on the table to get the ball rolling. By rejecting the proposals, school officials knew they had their own difficult choices to make: cutbacks, which meant layoffs, and finding alternate sources of funding.
School officials made those choices, few of which they thought were good. Next year’s school budget has been balanced, although it won’t be official until October or November, and then the process will begin all over again. And since the school funding mode is completely broken, the process of bad choices will begin all over again before anyone can even breathe a sigh of relief.
The county felt a bit of this type of pinch when coming up with the 2010 budget late last year, but for the most part it was relatively unharmed compared to most municipalities. Good planning by our leaders can be credited for this, but even the best planning won’t prevent a bigger pinch from occurring during the next budget cycle.
The state continues to place numerous unfunded mandates on counties and then takes away funding from them. It adds up, and for 2011 the county may find itself scrambling, like local schools, to balance its budget. The choices it will have to make will most likely be bad ones.
I’m sure the state can argue it’s putting counties, schools and other municipalities in these situations because of the pinch it’s receiving at the federal level. And the federal government will most likely have something to blame, too.
Perhaps the only way to get out of this never-ending cycle of bad choices is to start over again. Government at all levels may need to re-examine how it operates, especially in how it obtains funding through taxes and how it distributes those funds.
John Holdridge, chair of the town of Hull, told me he hopes a Property Tax Seminar being co-sponsored by Portage County, the town of Hull and Portage County University of Wisconsin-Extension Wednesday, June 23, at the Lincoln Center, 1519 Water St., Stevens Point, will start such a grassroots movement at the local level to re-examine how government operates.
I hope he’s right. And then maybe government won’t be faced with bad choices, because unlike “Fringe,” which managed to find a good choice so no one would be hurt, life isn’t television. Problems don’t disappear in the final act.
Broken cassette player serves as reminder radio needs fixin', too
My cassette player in my car died this week, and I’m not happy about it.
While this statement makes me sound primitive, just one step above someone still using an eight-track player, rest be assured I haven’t listened to a cassette since 1992. I use the cassette player, with an adaptor, to connect my iPod Touch to my stereo, allowing me to listen to nearly 2,000 of my favorite songs from my portable library. Call me archaic now.
Without a cassette player, though, I’m now forced to listen to the radio, and it’s driving me mad.
No matter what station I listen to, it seems nearly identical to the one I listened to before it and the one I will listen to next. Radio has become a formula in which a small selection of the same songs are played over and over again, the deejays have little personality and read the same script, and the commercials are played in synch with other stations to give people no reason to change the dial when they come on.
Radio stations playing the same songs repeatedly is nothing new; as a teen a friend and I would listen to pop stations while fishing to hear how many times in one hour it would play a popular song of the time, such as “Can’t Touch This” by M.C. Hammer. Top 40 radio was designed to do this.
Variety was available by listening to non-Top 40 radio stations, but this doesn’t seem to be the case anymore, as even those stations seem to have a limited selection.
Deejays were fun to listen to when I was younger, but now most of them seem like the same person. I wouldn’t be surprised if they are, as technology has probably allowed for the invention of a computer-generated person, like Max Headroom, to deliver bland commentary between songs, flavored with brief news tidbits taken from a wire-feed anyone with a computer already knew about yesterday.
A few of the morning deejays on several radio stations can be entertaining at times, but even they sometimes seem bored following the same script their corporate-owned bosses say they should follow because studies show that’s what the public wants.
I didn’t always have a problem with radio. As a child of the 1980s, I grew up loving it. I can recall spending many Sunday evenings listening to Casey Kasem’s Top 40 Countdown, ready to press record on my boombox when he played a song I wanted for my collection.
I also perfected the art of speed-dialing trying to win radio station contests that required people to be a certain number caller. I won a few contests, although the prizes weren’t anything to brag about.
Before the day of instant information from the Internet, radio was my main source of news about some of my favorite music artists. I fell asleep and woke up listening to the radio in hopes of catching news about the release date of the next album by artists such as Guns N’ Roses, Poison and Bon Jovi.
During college I was a student deejay, taking control of the radio station for three-hour shifts at weird hours. I may have had only three listeners sometimes, but I made sure those three listeners were entertained. I played songs I loved, figuring they were probably listening because they shared my taste in music. I didn’t stick to one genre, going from a Public Enemy song one minute to an Eagles song the next. If people called in to request a song, I played it if I had it.
My friends would also join me in the studio, many of them student deejays themselves, and we made sure listeners would laugh.
This free-for-all format has disappeared from radio, and that’s why I’ve been listening to my iPod for the past two years. I’m kind of sad my broken cassette player has reminded me radio is broken, too. I prefer to remember the good times I once had with radio. Maybe I need to fix my cassette player, so I can fix my mind into remembering when radio was good.
While this statement makes me sound primitive, just one step above someone still using an eight-track player, rest be assured I haven’t listened to a cassette since 1992. I use the cassette player, with an adaptor, to connect my iPod Touch to my stereo, allowing me to listen to nearly 2,000 of my favorite songs from my portable library. Call me archaic now.
Without a cassette player, though, I’m now forced to listen to the radio, and it’s driving me mad.
No matter what station I listen to, it seems nearly identical to the one I listened to before it and the one I will listen to next. Radio has become a formula in which a small selection of the same songs are played over and over again, the deejays have little personality and read the same script, and the commercials are played in synch with other stations to give people no reason to change the dial when they come on.
Radio stations playing the same songs repeatedly is nothing new; as a teen a friend and I would listen to pop stations while fishing to hear how many times in one hour it would play a popular song of the time, such as “Can’t Touch This” by M.C. Hammer. Top 40 radio was designed to do this.
Variety was available by listening to non-Top 40 radio stations, but this doesn’t seem to be the case anymore, as even those stations seem to have a limited selection.
Deejays were fun to listen to when I was younger, but now most of them seem like the same person. I wouldn’t be surprised if they are, as technology has probably allowed for the invention of a computer-generated person, like Max Headroom, to deliver bland commentary between songs, flavored with brief news tidbits taken from a wire-feed anyone with a computer already knew about yesterday.
A few of the morning deejays on several radio stations can be entertaining at times, but even they sometimes seem bored following the same script their corporate-owned bosses say they should follow because studies show that’s what the public wants.
I didn’t always have a problem with radio. As a child of the 1980s, I grew up loving it. I can recall spending many Sunday evenings listening to Casey Kasem’s Top 40 Countdown, ready to press record on my boombox when he played a song I wanted for my collection.
I also perfected the art of speed-dialing trying to win radio station contests that required people to be a certain number caller. I won a few contests, although the prizes weren’t anything to brag about.
Before the day of instant information from the Internet, radio was my main source of news about some of my favorite music artists. I fell asleep and woke up listening to the radio in hopes of catching news about the release date of the next album by artists such as Guns N’ Roses, Poison and Bon Jovi.
During college I was a student deejay, taking control of the radio station for three-hour shifts at weird hours. I may have had only three listeners sometimes, but I made sure those three listeners were entertained. I played songs I loved, figuring they were probably listening because they shared my taste in music. I didn’t stick to one genre, going from a Public Enemy song one minute to an Eagles song the next. If people called in to request a song, I played it if I had it.
My friends would also join me in the studio, many of them student deejays themselves, and we made sure listeners would laugh.
This free-for-all format has disappeared from radio, and that’s why I’ve been listening to my iPod for the past two years. I’m kind of sad my broken cassette player has reminded me radio is broken, too. I prefer to remember the good times I once had with radio. Maybe I need to fix my cassette player, so I can fix my mind into remembering when radio was good.
Times are a-changin' at The Gazette
“Come writers and critics/Who prophesize with your pen/And keep your eyes wide/The chance won't come again.” – From “Times They Are A-Changin’” by Bob Dylan.
No matter the situation, Bob Dylan has probably written a song with a lyric that applies to it.
Beginning June 1 with the retirement of Gene Kemmeter as the managing editor of The Gazette and continuing until early July through a transition period loaded with a number of changes, “Times They Are A-Changin’,” would most apply to the situation here.
Gene’s retirement is a huge change for The Gazette. For the past 11 years, he has been the face of the paper, which he helped found with several other local media legends, including George Rogers, Jim Schuh and Bill Berry. People calling, e-mailing or stopping in at The Gazette most likely encountered Gene, who was always more than happy to meet those people.
He has also been a silent but major presence at events throughout the community. From Cultural Fest to Riverfront Rendezvous and from both of Portage County’s fairs to the Jazz Festival, Gene was there, camera in one hand and notepad in the other, taking photos and documenting the event for The Gazette.
Gene has also been a top-notch reporter in covering news events, meetings, controversies and anything else the newspaper business has thrown at him for the more than 40 years he’s been in the business. He learned from the best, quoting George Rogers to me constantly in the three years I’ve worked with him, and he has always been more than happy to share what he has learned.
I’ve benefited from this knowledge, as has his son, John, The Gazette’s sports editor. Former employees have also benefited, including Chris Randazzo; Gene’s other son, Mike, who is the news director for a radio station in Appleton; and dozens of interns who have worked here throughout the years.
Following in Gene’s footsteps is daunting, and I hope I can live up to his legendary status as one of the finest journalists this community has ever produced.
Fortunately, I’ve got some good help. In addition to Gene, who still plans on writing and taking photographs during his well-deserved retirement, John Kemmeter will now be working for The Gazette on a full-time basis, rather than just part-time. Making him a full-time employee was an easy decision, as John is one of the finest sports writers in central Wisconsin.
Also helping is Matthew Brown, a 1995 Stevens Point Area Senior High School (SPASH) graduate. Matthew, who recently moved back to Stevens Point after living elsewhere throughout the country, will have the city beat Gene covered, as well as other writing and editing duties as The Gazette’s part-time associate editor.
The Gazette also has three interns this summer: Rose Schneider, a 2008 Pacelli High School graduate majoring in international journalism at the University of Wisconsin-Whitewater; Thomasina Johnson, a 2008 SPASH graduate majoring in journalism and French at Miami University of Ohio; and Mandy Glenzer, a 2008 SPASH graduate majoring in photography at Columbia University in Chicago, Ill. The veterans here plan on putting them through The Gazette’s unofficial “School of Journalism” this summer, so when they return to their schools in the fall they’ll be at the top of their classes.
I would be negligent if I didn’t mention The Gazette’s longtime employees: production manager Paula O’Kray, ad salesmen Kevin “Casey” Sullivan and Matt Clucas, circulation manager Ann Leahy, and graphic artist Brett Hiorns. All five have contributed in big ways in making The Gazette one of the best weekly papers in Wisconsin.
Beginning with this issue, on page 4, Brett will draw editorial cartoons for The Gazette. An artist known most for his work with New York Times-bestselling author Patrick Rothfuss of Stevens Point, Brett excels at drawing caricatures, a skill that will serve him well in this endeavor.
One of the biggest changes taking place at The Gazette has nothing to do with personnel, though. On July 1, The Gazette will move from its location at 2800 Church St. to downtown Stevens Point at 1042 Main St., the former ProLogic building.
This new location will better serve our needs, as it’s bigger and better designed. It’s also in a more visible location, right across the street from the library. We’re excited about the move and invite people to stop in and visit us when we’re there.
Also, people may notice the small price increase with this issue of The Gazette. Frankly, it was needed because the single-copy price has been 50 cents since The Gazette started in 1999. Even at 75 cents, we still think you’re getting a good deal.
The times may have changed here at The Gazette, but we are confident we’ll continue to provide a quality product as we have always done.
No matter the situation, Bob Dylan has probably written a song with a lyric that applies to it.
Beginning June 1 with the retirement of Gene Kemmeter as the managing editor of The Gazette and continuing until early July through a transition period loaded with a number of changes, “Times They Are A-Changin’,” would most apply to the situation here.
Gene’s retirement is a huge change for The Gazette. For the past 11 years, he has been the face of the paper, which he helped found with several other local media legends, including George Rogers, Jim Schuh and Bill Berry. People calling, e-mailing or stopping in at The Gazette most likely encountered Gene, who was always more than happy to meet those people.
He has also been a silent but major presence at events throughout the community. From Cultural Fest to Riverfront Rendezvous and from both of Portage County’s fairs to the Jazz Festival, Gene was there, camera in one hand and notepad in the other, taking photos and documenting the event for The Gazette.
Gene has also been a top-notch reporter in covering news events, meetings, controversies and anything else the newspaper business has thrown at him for the more than 40 years he’s been in the business. He learned from the best, quoting George Rogers to me constantly in the three years I’ve worked with him, and he has always been more than happy to share what he has learned.
I’ve benefited from this knowledge, as has his son, John, The Gazette’s sports editor. Former employees have also benefited, including Chris Randazzo; Gene’s other son, Mike, who is the news director for a radio station in Appleton; and dozens of interns who have worked here throughout the years.
Following in Gene’s footsteps is daunting, and I hope I can live up to his legendary status as one of the finest journalists this community has ever produced.
Fortunately, I’ve got some good help. In addition to Gene, who still plans on writing and taking photographs during his well-deserved retirement, John Kemmeter will now be working for The Gazette on a full-time basis, rather than just part-time. Making him a full-time employee was an easy decision, as John is one of the finest sports writers in central Wisconsin.
Also helping is Matthew Brown, a 1995 Stevens Point Area Senior High School (SPASH) graduate. Matthew, who recently moved back to Stevens Point after living elsewhere throughout the country, will have the city beat Gene covered, as well as other writing and editing duties as The Gazette’s part-time associate editor.
The Gazette also has three interns this summer: Rose Schneider, a 2008 Pacelli High School graduate majoring in international journalism at the University of Wisconsin-Whitewater; Thomasina Johnson, a 2008 SPASH graduate majoring in journalism and French at Miami University of Ohio; and Mandy Glenzer, a 2008 SPASH graduate majoring in photography at Columbia University in Chicago, Ill. The veterans here plan on putting them through The Gazette’s unofficial “School of Journalism” this summer, so when they return to their schools in the fall they’ll be at the top of their classes.
I would be negligent if I didn’t mention The Gazette’s longtime employees: production manager Paula O’Kray, ad salesmen Kevin “Casey” Sullivan and Matt Clucas, circulation manager Ann Leahy, and graphic artist Brett Hiorns. All five have contributed in big ways in making The Gazette one of the best weekly papers in Wisconsin.
Beginning with this issue, on page 4, Brett will draw editorial cartoons for The Gazette. An artist known most for his work with New York Times-bestselling author Patrick Rothfuss of Stevens Point, Brett excels at drawing caricatures, a skill that will serve him well in this endeavor.
One of the biggest changes taking place at The Gazette has nothing to do with personnel, though. On July 1, The Gazette will move from its location at 2800 Church St. to downtown Stevens Point at 1042 Main St., the former ProLogic building.
This new location will better serve our needs, as it’s bigger and better designed. It’s also in a more visible location, right across the street from the library. We’re excited about the move and invite people to stop in and visit us when we’re there.
Also, people may notice the small price increase with this issue of The Gazette. Frankly, it was needed because the single-copy price has been 50 cents since The Gazette started in 1999. Even at 75 cents, we still think you’re getting a good deal.
The times may have changed here at The Gazette, but we are confident we’ll continue to provide a quality product as we have always done.
Public Safety Academy shows greatness of local emergency personnel
I recently sort of completed the Stevens Point Citizens Public Safety Academy, which was formerly known as the Citizens Police Academy and which I dubbed, before even setting foot in the classroom, “Police Academy 4 1/2: Citizens Back on Patrol” after the great 1987 film “Police Academy 4: Citizens on Patrol.” Some classics deserve a true sequel (“Police Academy 5” was horrible and doesn’t count), even if it is a real-life version featuring a cast of mostly normal people, none of whom can make cool sound effects like Michael Winslow as Sgt. Larvell Jones.
I only “sort of” completed it because work and family commitments caused me to miss six of the 10 classes, including the coolest ones in which class members got to drive a police car, shoot guns and get tasered. OK, I’m glad I missed that last one, as I’ve touched an electric fence before and have no desire to ever allow electricity to run through my body again.
But the classes I did attend were heavily informative, even if they did go a little too long, and they did leave me knowing a lot more about what police officers and other emergency personnel do, making me appreciate them even more.
Led by Lt. Ron Carlson, a 31-year veteran of the Stevens Point Police Department, the class included lessons about dispatchers, ambulances, Operating While Intoxicated (OWI) enforcement, crime-scene evidence collection, the Fire Department, defense and arrest tactics, field-training officer scenarios and the ones mentioned before.
Aiding Lt. Carlson were Kevin Ruder, Stevens Point police chief, and a host of other emergency personnel, including dispatchers, detectives, other police officers and firefighters. All were well versed in their roles and all would have my trust should I ever be involved in a situation in which I need their help.
Ruder told the 14 people in the class – community leaders chosen because they could communicate what they learned to other people in the community – the purpose of them being there was to inform us about what the lives of police officers, firefighters and other public safety workers are like.
Lt. Carlson said no two days are exactly the same. “It’s an adventure,” he said. “To see how policing is done in your community is a lot different than the version you think you know from television. This is not an edited version of ‘Cops’ you may be used to seeing.”
It’s also not “CSI,” “Criminal Minds,” “21 Jump Street,” “Cop Rock” (we could only hope police officers would break out into song and dance when the mood struck) or, sadly, “Police Academy.” Honestly, I always knew television and film highlighted the excitement and downplayed, and in most cases don’t show, the legwork that goes into a police officer’s job.
Detective Ken Lepak said it best, though. “The public’s perception from CSI is ridiculous,” he said, noting people often expect officers to use the gadgetry featured on the show to collect evidence and put the bad guys behind bars, sometimes within an hour’s time, like they do on the show.
He said he once asked a nurse who had a piece of jewelry stolen and who demanded CSI-like skills in resolving the case some simple questions that caused her to rethink her demand. “Do you watch ‘Grey’s Anatomy’? Do the nurses and doctors at your hospital go around making out with each other all over the place like they do on that show?” Touché, Detective Lepak, I say.
Of the four classes I did attend, the one I found most interesting was the one focusing on dispatchers. Many people probably don’t think about these people much, I know I didn’t, but they usually are the first people one has contact with when phoning in an emergency. As a result, dispatchers have to be calm, collective, direct to the point and capable of helping the person that made the call, all while informing the correct emergency personnel about the scene they need to go to and what has happened there.
Stevens Point has seven dispatchers who work four 10-hour shifts per week, answering 100,000 calls as a unit. Dispatcher Kim Zvara told the class people often complain dispatchers sound short with them when they call, but said it’s just them being blunt, as they are often dealing with multiple calls and other situations that may be deemed more important.
While in the dispatch center at the Police Department, the two dispatchers received a call from a concerned mother about her two children she couldn’t find. The dispatchers immediately made a number of calls, to officers patrolling the area, and within minutes both children were located, much to the relief of the class participants. For the dispatchers, though, it was just another situation they helped to quickly resolve.
Another interesting class I attended was the one about OWI enforcement. Officer Steven Spath told the class 81 motorists have been cited for OWI in Stevens Point this year, 279 were cited in 2009, 230 in 2008 and 186 in 2007.
Those statistics, he said, would be a lot higher if the Police Department had more personnel to bust the drunk drivers, noting he estimates 80 percent of the people driving on Main and Clark streets in Stevens Point late at night on the weekends are probably over the legal limit. I guess I know where I won’t be driving at those times.
Officer Spath showed the class a video of an actual OWI bust that occurred in Stevens Point several weeks earlier. The culprit was clearly not fit to be driving, despite his best efforts to tell the officer he was.
I also appreciated Officer Spath telling the class Wisconsin’s OWI laws are the most lax in the country and they need to be revamped to make our roads safer. He said someone who is arrested for OWI in this state can be bailed out that night and be on the road again, still drunk, noting he has arrested people two times in one night for OWI.
Throughout the 10-week seminar, class members learned quite a bit of this type of information. Had I been there more, I’m sure my brain would be on overload. Then again had I been there to get tased, my brain may have lost all this information and I wouldn’t have had anything to share.
I only “sort of” completed it because work and family commitments caused me to miss six of the 10 classes, including the coolest ones in which class members got to drive a police car, shoot guns and get tasered. OK, I’m glad I missed that last one, as I’ve touched an electric fence before and have no desire to ever allow electricity to run through my body again.
But the classes I did attend were heavily informative, even if they did go a little too long, and they did leave me knowing a lot more about what police officers and other emergency personnel do, making me appreciate them even more.
Led by Lt. Ron Carlson, a 31-year veteran of the Stevens Point Police Department, the class included lessons about dispatchers, ambulances, Operating While Intoxicated (OWI) enforcement, crime-scene evidence collection, the Fire Department, defense and arrest tactics, field-training officer scenarios and the ones mentioned before.
Aiding Lt. Carlson were Kevin Ruder, Stevens Point police chief, and a host of other emergency personnel, including dispatchers, detectives, other police officers and firefighters. All were well versed in their roles and all would have my trust should I ever be involved in a situation in which I need their help.
Ruder told the 14 people in the class – community leaders chosen because they could communicate what they learned to other people in the community – the purpose of them being there was to inform us about what the lives of police officers, firefighters and other public safety workers are like.
Lt. Carlson said no two days are exactly the same. “It’s an adventure,” he said. “To see how policing is done in your community is a lot different than the version you think you know from television. This is not an edited version of ‘Cops’ you may be used to seeing.”
It’s also not “CSI,” “Criminal Minds,” “21 Jump Street,” “Cop Rock” (we could only hope police officers would break out into song and dance when the mood struck) or, sadly, “Police Academy.” Honestly, I always knew television and film highlighted the excitement and downplayed, and in most cases don’t show, the legwork that goes into a police officer’s job.
Detective Ken Lepak said it best, though. “The public’s perception from CSI is ridiculous,” he said, noting people often expect officers to use the gadgetry featured on the show to collect evidence and put the bad guys behind bars, sometimes within an hour’s time, like they do on the show.
He said he once asked a nurse who had a piece of jewelry stolen and who demanded CSI-like skills in resolving the case some simple questions that caused her to rethink her demand. “Do you watch ‘Grey’s Anatomy’? Do the nurses and doctors at your hospital go around making out with each other all over the place like they do on that show?” Touché, Detective Lepak, I say.
Of the four classes I did attend, the one I found most interesting was the one focusing on dispatchers. Many people probably don’t think about these people much, I know I didn’t, but they usually are the first people one has contact with when phoning in an emergency. As a result, dispatchers have to be calm, collective, direct to the point and capable of helping the person that made the call, all while informing the correct emergency personnel about the scene they need to go to and what has happened there.
Stevens Point has seven dispatchers who work four 10-hour shifts per week, answering 100,000 calls as a unit. Dispatcher Kim Zvara told the class people often complain dispatchers sound short with them when they call, but said it’s just them being blunt, as they are often dealing with multiple calls and other situations that may be deemed more important.
While in the dispatch center at the Police Department, the two dispatchers received a call from a concerned mother about her two children she couldn’t find. The dispatchers immediately made a number of calls, to officers patrolling the area, and within minutes both children were located, much to the relief of the class participants. For the dispatchers, though, it was just another situation they helped to quickly resolve.
Another interesting class I attended was the one about OWI enforcement. Officer Steven Spath told the class 81 motorists have been cited for OWI in Stevens Point this year, 279 were cited in 2009, 230 in 2008 and 186 in 2007.
Those statistics, he said, would be a lot higher if the Police Department had more personnel to bust the drunk drivers, noting he estimates 80 percent of the people driving on Main and Clark streets in Stevens Point late at night on the weekends are probably over the legal limit. I guess I know where I won’t be driving at those times.
Officer Spath showed the class a video of an actual OWI bust that occurred in Stevens Point several weeks earlier. The culprit was clearly not fit to be driving, despite his best efforts to tell the officer he was.
I also appreciated Officer Spath telling the class Wisconsin’s OWI laws are the most lax in the country and they need to be revamped to make our roads safer. He said someone who is arrested for OWI in this state can be bailed out that night and be on the road again, still drunk, noting he has arrested people two times in one night for OWI.
Throughout the 10-week seminar, class members learned quite a bit of this type of information. Had I been there more, I’m sure my brain would be on overload. Then again had I been there to get tased, my brain may have lost all this information and I wouldn’t have had anything to share.
Crazy 'Lost' recipe made television exciting
The most exciting television show in the history of television, or at least in the years I’ve been watching it, will come to an end Sunday, May 23.
The series finale of “Lost” is set to air on ABC that evening, capping six crazy seasons no other television show has even come close to duplicating, all while retaining a mass audience it should have lost its second episode when it became obvious this show was more about creating questions than answering them.
“Lost,” for those who don’t know, is one part “Gilligan’s Island,” as it focuses on a group of passengers on an airliner who are stranded on an island after it crashes; one part “Land of the Lost” (and not the crappy film version that came out last year), as time travel is frequently involved; one part “Star Trek,” as the science-fiction element of this show often addresses moral subjects, including religion and free will, that the best “Star Trek” shows and films also tackled; one part “Memento,” a film that is nothing but flashbacks, a narrative device “Lost” took one step further with flash-forwards and flash-sideways; and one part LSD or some other hallucinogenic drug, as show creator J.J. Abrams and producers Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse must have ingested a lot of them when they came up with this recipe.
This recipe shouldn’t work.
But it does. And here’s why:
It makes viewers think, unlike 95 percent of the other television shows out there. While shows like “CSI,” “Desperate Housewives,” “American Idol” and “How I Met Your Mother” can be highly entertaining, none of them are challenging. Other than an occasional cliffhanger, each episode of these shows is contained in itself, and all of them follow a set formula that’s kind of ridiculous if you really think about it. “Lost” requires viewers to see every episode, and it thrives on making sure it has no set formula.
“Lost” is a great “water-cooler” show. People who watch it love to talk about it. At my previous job, the day after “Lost” aired, we spent entire breaks talking about it, with each person giving their own theories as to what’s happening on the island. Most of the staff at The Gazette had not watched the show when I arrived here three years ago, but thanks to high praise from the two of us that did and the availability to catch up with the show through DVDs, a few more became fans.
Now, Wednesdays are spent talking about the Tuesday night episode. We’re already looking for potential substitutes now that it’s ending, but ABC’s attempts to create them with “Flashforward” and “V” have been big disappointments.
The cast is nearly perfect. For six years “Lost” has excelled at casting actors and actresses in both main and secondary roles who are the right match for their characters. And it’s not afraid to kill characters off, despite the fact the actor or actress may be a fan favorite. When the show killed Charlie, played by Hobbit Dominic Monaghan, off in the season three finale, I was upset it took him away from us, but at the same time it was a great moment for the show – one that was recreated for this season’s best moment so far. Character comes before actor/actress on “Lost,” a philosophy I wish other shows followed. Seeing Bree die an unexpected death on “Desperate Housewives” could be refreshing for that show, as opposed to the boring death Edie suffered because the actress playing her, Nicole Sheridan, was fired from it.
“Lost” is a great show to watch with someone else. My wife and I have been watching it together since day one. I like to pause the program to talk about events that take place, and sometimes, god-forbid, talk about them as the show is happening, much to her annoyance. But we both like to look at each other’s reaction when big moments occur, and there are a lot of them, to add to the experience. This doesn’t happen with other shows, unless rolling my eyes at the numerous stupid moments in “Bones” counts.
“Lost” will be missed, but a lot hinges on Sunday’s finale because quite a few questions still need answering. If the finale goes out with a whimper, leaving many of those questions unanswered, then getting over the loss of “Lost” might not be so difficult. But if it goes out with a bang, and I’m hoping it does, television programming will have a big void to fill.
The series finale of “Lost” is set to air on ABC that evening, capping six crazy seasons no other television show has even come close to duplicating, all while retaining a mass audience it should have lost its second episode when it became obvious this show was more about creating questions than answering them.
“Lost,” for those who don’t know, is one part “Gilligan’s Island,” as it focuses on a group of passengers on an airliner who are stranded on an island after it crashes; one part “Land of the Lost” (and not the crappy film version that came out last year), as time travel is frequently involved; one part “Star Trek,” as the science-fiction element of this show often addresses moral subjects, including religion and free will, that the best “Star Trek” shows and films also tackled; one part “Memento,” a film that is nothing but flashbacks, a narrative device “Lost” took one step further with flash-forwards and flash-sideways; and one part LSD or some other hallucinogenic drug, as show creator J.J. Abrams and producers Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse must have ingested a lot of them when they came up with this recipe.
This recipe shouldn’t work.
But it does. And here’s why:
It makes viewers think, unlike 95 percent of the other television shows out there. While shows like “CSI,” “Desperate Housewives,” “American Idol” and “How I Met Your Mother” can be highly entertaining, none of them are challenging. Other than an occasional cliffhanger, each episode of these shows is contained in itself, and all of them follow a set formula that’s kind of ridiculous if you really think about it. “Lost” requires viewers to see every episode, and it thrives on making sure it has no set formula.
“Lost” is a great “water-cooler” show. People who watch it love to talk about it. At my previous job, the day after “Lost” aired, we spent entire breaks talking about it, with each person giving their own theories as to what’s happening on the island. Most of the staff at The Gazette had not watched the show when I arrived here three years ago, but thanks to high praise from the two of us that did and the availability to catch up with the show through DVDs, a few more became fans.
Now, Wednesdays are spent talking about the Tuesday night episode. We’re already looking for potential substitutes now that it’s ending, but ABC’s attempts to create them with “Flashforward” and “V” have been big disappointments.
The cast is nearly perfect. For six years “Lost” has excelled at casting actors and actresses in both main and secondary roles who are the right match for their characters. And it’s not afraid to kill characters off, despite the fact the actor or actress may be a fan favorite. When the show killed Charlie, played by Hobbit Dominic Monaghan, off in the season three finale, I was upset it took him away from us, but at the same time it was a great moment for the show – one that was recreated for this season’s best moment so far. Character comes before actor/actress on “Lost,” a philosophy I wish other shows followed. Seeing Bree die an unexpected death on “Desperate Housewives” could be refreshing for that show, as opposed to the boring death Edie suffered because the actress playing her, Nicole Sheridan, was fired from it.
“Lost” is a great show to watch with someone else. My wife and I have been watching it together since day one. I like to pause the program to talk about events that take place, and sometimes, god-forbid, talk about them as the show is happening, much to her annoyance. But we both like to look at each other’s reaction when big moments occur, and there are a lot of them, to add to the experience. This doesn’t happen with other shows, unless rolling my eyes at the numerous stupid moments in “Bones” counts.
“Lost” will be missed, but a lot hinges on Sunday’s finale because quite a few questions still need answering. If the finale goes out with a whimper, leaving many of those questions unanswered, then getting over the loss of “Lost” might not be so difficult. But if it goes out with a bang, and I’m hoping it does, television programming will have a big void to fill.
'May I take your order?' is usually difficult to answer
“Wel… to Mc… May I… your… der.”
No, I’m not writing gibberish, although many people probably think I often do. I’m transcribing what I usually hear coming from the speaker at a number of restaurant drive-thrus.
My father-in-law says it better than I can, though: “They put a man on the moon, and those astronauts could communicate to NASA better than I can with a person just 40 feet away and with 40 years of advances in technology.”
He and I both hate going through drive-thrus, and while we try to avoid them as often as possible, sometimes it’s more convenient, and more amusing, to use them.
Not understanding the person on the other end agitates me, and my agitation usually leads to an unpleasant exchange mostly on my behalf. An example conversation, with the garbled words interpreted to the best of my ability:
“Welcome to (insert name of not-so-good-for-the-diet restaurant here). Would you like to try our (insert menu item here the restaurant is shamelessly promoting to the annoyance of everyone using the drive-thru here)?” the drive-thru attendant asks.
“What? I didn’t understand anything you said. Can I give you my order now?” I’ll say.
“I said, ‘Would you like to try our (item is shamelessly promoted again)?’”
“No thank you. Can I order?”
“We’re ready whenever you are.”
“I’d like a (insert nonnutritional menu item here). And…”
“Would you like it as a meal?”
“If you would have let me finish, I would have told you to make it a meal.”
“Would you like it super-sized?”
“Good god, won’t a regular size lead me to an early grave as it is? No, I don’t want it super-sized.”
“So that’s a no?”
“Yes.”
“So you want it super-sized?”
“No. Regular size please. And…”
“What type of drink would you like with that?”
“Again, if you had let me finish I would have told you I’d like a Coke with it.”
“We don’t have Coke.”
“Then a Pepsi. I don’t care. They practically taste the same.”
“Do you want a diet one?”
“Did I say diet? Just a regular Pepsi.”
“Would you like your meal with regular fries or curly fries?”
“Regular.”
“Excuse me. Could you please repeat that?”
“REGULAR fries. Not curly.”
“One regular size (insert name of meal you ordered here), with a Pepsi and curly fries.”
“I said REGULAR fries, not curly fries.”
“Your order already includes curly fries. Look at your order on the screen. Your total is $6.53. Is your order correct?”
“It’s not correct and I’m not done. I want regular fries. Plus, I have two other people in the car I need to order for. Do you want their business?”
“Your order is $6.53. Please pull forward.”
It’s at that point I pull forward, right out of the drive-thru. Someone else can eat my incorrect food order.
The funniest thing about that conversation is that it’s not exaggerated. My wife can’t stand going through a drive-thru with me, because she knows the conversation is often like this one. In fact, it’s sometimes worse, as my 5-year-old son will often chirp in from the backseat, letting the drive-thru attendant know he’s a kid and he wants a toy with his meal. I try to pipe him down, but that can be difficult when he’s trying to make sure he gets what he wants.
Even funnier is when we go through a coffee drive-thru and I’m trying to relay my wife’s order to the attendant. Since most people are already aware coffee is not simply coffee at these places, I’ll spare the details how I order a fat-free, sugar-free grande white chocolate caramel latte without any cream.
Drive-thru ordering can be fun when I’m in a humorous mood. I once ordered a large breast milk – no offense to breast-feeding mothers – when I was younger and trying to entertain some friends in my car.
My father-in-law has me beat, though. He once covered his mouth and talked like the speaker sounds to him, completely confusing the attendant. I would have loved to hear that one.
No, I’m not writing gibberish, although many people probably think I often do. I’m transcribing what I usually hear coming from the speaker at a number of restaurant drive-thrus.
My father-in-law says it better than I can, though: “They put a man on the moon, and those astronauts could communicate to NASA better than I can with a person just 40 feet away and with 40 years of advances in technology.”
He and I both hate going through drive-thrus, and while we try to avoid them as often as possible, sometimes it’s more convenient, and more amusing, to use them.
Not understanding the person on the other end agitates me, and my agitation usually leads to an unpleasant exchange mostly on my behalf. An example conversation, with the garbled words interpreted to the best of my ability:
“Welcome to (insert name of not-so-good-for-the-diet restaurant here). Would you like to try our (insert menu item here the restaurant is shamelessly promoting to the annoyance of everyone using the drive-thru here)?” the drive-thru attendant asks.
“What? I didn’t understand anything you said. Can I give you my order now?” I’ll say.
“I said, ‘Would you like to try our (item is shamelessly promoted again)?’”
“No thank you. Can I order?”
“We’re ready whenever you are.”
“I’d like a (insert nonnutritional menu item here). And…”
“Would you like it as a meal?”
“If you would have let me finish, I would have told you to make it a meal.”
“Would you like it super-sized?”
“Good god, won’t a regular size lead me to an early grave as it is? No, I don’t want it super-sized.”
“So that’s a no?”
“Yes.”
“So you want it super-sized?”
“No. Regular size please. And…”
“What type of drink would you like with that?”
“Again, if you had let me finish I would have told you I’d like a Coke with it.”
“We don’t have Coke.”
“Then a Pepsi. I don’t care. They practically taste the same.”
“Do you want a diet one?”
“Did I say diet? Just a regular Pepsi.”
“Would you like your meal with regular fries or curly fries?”
“Regular.”
“Excuse me. Could you please repeat that?”
“REGULAR fries. Not curly.”
“One regular size (insert name of meal you ordered here), with a Pepsi and curly fries.”
“I said REGULAR fries, not curly fries.”
“Your order already includes curly fries. Look at your order on the screen. Your total is $6.53. Is your order correct?”
“It’s not correct and I’m not done. I want regular fries. Plus, I have two other people in the car I need to order for. Do you want their business?”
“Your order is $6.53. Please pull forward.”
It’s at that point I pull forward, right out of the drive-thru. Someone else can eat my incorrect food order.
The funniest thing about that conversation is that it’s not exaggerated. My wife can’t stand going through a drive-thru with me, because she knows the conversation is often like this one. In fact, it’s sometimes worse, as my 5-year-old son will often chirp in from the backseat, letting the drive-thru attendant know he’s a kid and he wants a toy with his meal. I try to pipe him down, but that can be difficult when he’s trying to make sure he gets what he wants.
Even funnier is when we go through a coffee drive-thru and I’m trying to relay my wife’s order to the attendant. Since most people are already aware coffee is not simply coffee at these places, I’ll spare the details how I order a fat-free, sugar-free grande white chocolate caramel latte without any cream.
Drive-thru ordering can be fun when I’m in a humorous mood. I once ordered a large breast milk – no offense to breast-feeding mothers – when I was younger and trying to entertain some friends in my car.
My father-in-law has me beat, though. He once covered his mouth and talked like the speaker sounds to him, completely confusing the attendant. I would have loved to hear that one.
Jumps are beneficial to both readers and advertisers
I hope this column doesn’t jump to another page.
It’s very likely it will, though, as our pages just aren’t big enough to contain all the information we at The Gazette like to tell you.
And judging by some of the comments we receive, you’ve definitely noticed our pages aren’t big enough.
“I love your paper, but my only complaint is you have to jump from page to page to read the entire story.”
“Too many jumps.”
“Why don’t you put everything on one page?”
Those are the comments we sometime receive about what we call “jumps” simply because if we can’t fit a story in a given space on a page, we jump it to another page.
Ideally, an 11-inch by 18-inch page should contain enough room for any story, even if it has a picture or two. But by the time ads are placed on a page, as well as small stories and photos that are equally as important as the large stories, the space we have to work with is greatly reduced.
Now, in a perfect newspaper world – which by the way doesn’t exist – we’d have perfect-fitting holes for perfect-fitting stories and jumps wouldn’t be necessary. Unfortunately, it never works that way. The stories are usually too long, or too short, for a given hole, and as a result long stories jump to another page and short stories create a hole that needs to be filled by a jump from another page.
Our layout guy, Brett Hiorns, can fudge with the leading, photo and headline sizes to sometimes fit a story, but his time is limited and quickness is preferred Wednesday night when we’re readying the paper. The printer gets an itch for PDF files at midnight, so it can have the paper ready in the early morning hours on Thursday in order to get it mailed to people by Friday.
As a result, jumps are the norm with The Gazette. And that’s not a bad thing, despite the anti-jump comments we receive.
Why? Prior to the corporatization of many newspapers, jumps were the norm with most newspapers, and for good reason. Because of jumps, the entire story could be told; they weren’t written, or edited, to fit a space. When I read other newspapers, I often think I’m not getting the whole story and that key details are being left out or it’s been written in such a way I only get the bare-bone basics.
At The Gazette, the writers here write until they run out of information to write about. Personally speaking, if I attend an emotional School Board meeting like the one I went to in April following the defeat of the second referendum, and it lasts more than four hours, I’ll take a lot of notes. While I don’t have the time to write about every word that is spoken at the meeting, I’ll make sure my story grabs at the heart of events that transpired at it in order to keep those who were not there informed.
I believe all of our writers – Gene, John, George (a Ringo or Paul would fit nicely here), Jim, Justin, Nick, Bill and all of our contributors – follow this philosophy. They tell the story as it should be told, albeit with a jump or two.
In addition to helping to keep readers better informed, jumps also benefit our advertisers. Because of them, people often look at one page multiple times. Multiple views mean a better chance people will notice any given ad, and since studies have proven people often need to see something three or more times to remember it, an advertiser on a page with jumps should be grateful for such placement.
I understand why people don’t like jumps, though. They can be annoying, especially since we don’t have three hands to navigate them. But, because they help better inform readers, our brains will get bigger, and then through evolution we may be able to grow that third hand.
It’s very likely it will, though, as our pages just aren’t big enough to contain all the information we at The Gazette like to tell you.
And judging by some of the comments we receive, you’ve definitely noticed our pages aren’t big enough.
“I love your paper, but my only complaint is you have to jump from page to page to read the entire story.”
“Too many jumps.”
“Why don’t you put everything on one page?”
Those are the comments we sometime receive about what we call “jumps” simply because if we can’t fit a story in a given space on a page, we jump it to another page.
Ideally, an 11-inch by 18-inch page should contain enough room for any story, even if it has a picture or two. But by the time ads are placed on a page, as well as small stories and photos that are equally as important as the large stories, the space we have to work with is greatly reduced.
Now, in a perfect newspaper world – which by the way doesn’t exist – we’d have perfect-fitting holes for perfect-fitting stories and jumps wouldn’t be necessary. Unfortunately, it never works that way. The stories are usually too long, or too short, for a given hole, and as a result long stories jump to another page and short stories create a hole that needs to be filled by a jump from another page.
Our layout guy, Brett Hiorns, can fudge with the leading, photo and headline sizes to sometimes fit a story, but his time is limited and quickness is preferred Wednesday night when we’re readying the paper. The printer gets an itch for PDF files at midnight, so it can have the paper ready in the early morning hours on Thursday in order to get it mailed to people by Friday.
As a result, jumps are the norm with The Gazette. And that’s not a bad thing, despite the anti-jump comments we receive.
Why? Prior to the corporatization of many newspapers, jumps were the norm with most newspapers, and for good reason. Because of jumps, the entire story could be told; they weren’t written, or edited, to fit a space. When I read other newspapers, I often think I’m not getting the whole story and that key details are being left out or it’s been written in such a way I only get the bare-bone basics.
At The Gazette, the writers here write until they run out of information to write about. Personally speaking, if I attend an emotional School Board meeting like the one I went to in April following the defeat of the second referendum, and it lasts more than four hours, I’ll take a lot of notes. While I don’t have the time to write about every word that is spoken at the meeting, I’ll make sure my story grabs at the heart of events that transpired at it in order to keep those who were not there informed.
I believe all of our writers – Gene, John, George (a Ringo or Paul would fit nicely here), Jim, Justin, Nick, Bill and all of our contributors – follow this philosophy. They tell the story as it should be told, albeit with a jump or two.
In addition to helping to keep readers better informed, jumps also benefit our advertisers. Because of them, people often look at one page multiple times. Multiple views mean a better chance people will notice any given ad, and since studies have proven people often need to see something three or more times to remember it, an advertiser on a page with jumps should be grateful for such placement.
I understand why people don’t like jumps, though. They can be annoying, especially since we don’t have three hands to navigate them. But, because they help better inform readers, our brains will get bigger, and then through evolution we may be able to grow that third hand.
Besides being perfect drink, Bloody Mary makes in-laws fun to be around
At the risk of sounding like an alcoholic, I have to proclaim I love Bloody Marys, so much so that if it was physically acceptable, I’d drink a Bloody Mary with every meal.
That said, I’m perfectly aware of my body’s limitations and the havoc alcohol can do to it, so I limit myself to one Bloody Mary a week. I have this drink in the evening, usually on a Friday or Saturday night, and never at breakfast as the hangover cure it’s meant to be. Maybe if I had more than one in the evening, I’d need one in the morning, but I’m guessing that could start an ugly cycle that could lead to alcoholism.
My Blood Mary is simple. I put a shot of vodka in a cup of ice and then add Mr. T’s Bold and Spicy Bloody Mary Mix. I top it with a dash of celery salt and add a pickle, which I use to stir the drink.
According to the New York School of Bartending, I could add a few more items to perfect my drink, including black pepper, Tabasco, Worcestershire sauce, horseradish and lime juice, but adding all of those flavors seems like too much work. I’m a lazy drinker, not a picky one.
I am picky, though, when it comes to paying for a Bloody Mary at a restaurant, especially when the drink costs between $4 and $7. When my wife and I eat out, I’ll ask the waiter or waitress if the venue’s Bloody Marys are any good. In most cases, if the restaurant has them, the person I ask will always answer affirmatively.
Whether or not I order one depends completely on how affirmative that person is with his or her response. An enthusiastic and descriptive answer tells me this person has tasted the bartender’s Bloody Mary and he or she truly likes it. A less eager response usually means the waiter or waitress isn’t telling me the truth or that he or she has never tried it.
While I’ve had plenty of decent Bloody Marys out on the town, I’ve had my share of bad ones. Some simply taste like tomato juice and vodka combined, a blah mixture, and others are so spicy my mouth explodes more than that volcano in Iceland. People traveling in and out at the Central Wisconsin Airport in Mosinee better hope their flights don’t get grounded after I drink one of those spicy ones.
A restaurant usually serves a Bloody Mary worth my money when it comes with a multitude of garnishes such as celery, olives, carrots and mushrooms, as well as a beer chaser. I’m usually not a fan of the beer chaser, but when I’m paying more than $5 I want to make sure I get the most for my money.
Surprisingly, I’ve never been to a Sunday morning Bloody Mary bar some venues host. I’d love to try it sometime, but I’m scared I’ll like it too much, so much in fact that such a bar would ruin the Bloody Mary experience I have at home. Why would I drink a Pinto-version when I can have the Cadillac of Bloody Marys?
My love for the drink developed because of my in-laws’ extended family. At their family gatherings, the preferred drink amongst the group is the Bloody Mary. I had the drink a few times before becoming a part of the family, but it wasn’t a drink that stood out in my mind. After they served the drink to me on several different occasions, I realized I looked forward to the gatherings because of it. If the drink wasn’t available, I often left disappointed.
Since I can honestly say I like getting together with my in-laws’ family, an accomplishment many married people would say is impossible, it is safe to say the Bloody Mary serves a much more important purpose than supposedly serving as a hangover cure. It makes in-laws fun to be around.
Without going overboard, maybe more people should try one when getting together with the in-laws. And then there will be one less problem in the world people need to worry about.
That said, I’m perfectly aware of my body’s limitations and the havoc alcohol can do to it, so I limit myself to one Bloody Mary a week. I have this drink in the evening, usually on a Friday or Saturday night, and never at breakfast as the hangover cure it’s meant to be. Maybe if I had more than one in the evening, I’d need one in the morning, but I’m guessing that could start an ugly cycle that could lead to alcoholism.
My Blood Mary is simple. I put a shot of vodka in a cup of ice and then add Mr. T’s Bold and Spicy Bloody Mary Mix. I top it with a dash of celery salt and add a pickle, which I use to stir the drink.
According to the New York School of Bartending, I could add a few more items to perfect my drink, including black pepper, Tabasco, Worcestershire sauce, horseradish and lime juice, but adding all of those flavors seems like too much work. I’m a lazy drinker, not a picky one.
I am picky, though, when it comes to paying for a Bloody Mary at a restaurant, especially when the drink costs between $4 and $7. When my wife and I eat out, I’ll ask the waiter or waitress if the venue’s Bloody Marys are any good. In most cases, if the restaurant has them, the person I ask will always answer affirmatively.
Whether or not I order one depends completely on how affirmative that person is with his or her response. An enthusiastic and descriptive answer tells me this person has tasted the bartender’s Bloody Mary and he or she truly likes it. A less eager response usually means the waiter or waitress isn’t telling me the truth or that he or she has never tried it.
While I’ve had plenty of decent Bloody Marys out on the town, I’ve had my share of bad ones. Some simply taste like tomato juice and vodka combined, a blah mixture, and others are so spicy my mouth explodes more than that volcano in Iceland. People traveling in and out at the Central Wisconsin Airport in Mosinee better hope their flights don’t get grounded after I drink one of those spicy ones.
A restaurant usually serves a Bloody Mary worth my money when it comes with a multitude of garnishes such as celery, olives, carrots and mushrooms, as well as a beer chaser. I’m usually not a fan of the beer chaser, but when I’m paying more than $5 I want to make sure I get the most for my money.
Surprisingly, I’ve never been to a Sunday morning Bloody Mary bar some venues host. I’d love to try it sometime, but I’m scared I’ll like it too much, so much in fact that such a bar would ruin the Bloody Mary experience I have at home. Why would I drink a Pinto-version when I can have the Cadillac of Bloody Marys?
My love for the drink developed because of my in-laws’ extended family. At their family gatherings, the preferred drink amongst the group is the Bloody Mary. I had the drink a few times before becoming a part of the family, but it wasn’t a drink that stood out in my mind. After they served the drink to me on several different occasions, I realized I looked forward to the gatherings because of it. If the drink wasn’t available, I often left disappointed.
Since I can honestly say I like getting together with my in-laws’ family, an accomplishment many married people would say is impossible, it is safe to say the Bloody Mary serves a much more important purpose than supposedly serving as a hangover cure. It makes in-laws fun to be around.
Without going overboard, maybe more people should try one when getting together with the in-laws. And then there will be one less problem in the world people need to worry about.
Education doesn't have to suffer with referendum's defeat
Few will be able to deny the fact the quality of education the Stevens Point Area School District is able to provide to students will be downgraded due to the failure of the Tuesday, April 6, referendum. Because of the cutbacks the School Board has had to make in order to balance its budget, the district won’t have the staff or the resources to continue providing the same quality it has been giving students.
It’s tough to take, as this community has always taken pride in the excellent education provided by our schools.
But for many in this economy, other things were more important than continuing the high level of education our students receive. People are genuinely worried about their own abilities to provide food and shelter for their families. Education should take a backseat when people are living in fear about their finances between paychecks.
But should education take a backseat when misinformation caused many to vote against it, not worries about finances?
It’s easy to find examples of misinformation out there.
The first can be found in a letter in last week’s Gazette. The letter writer said the district could save money if it didn’t have a Board of Education and a School Board, falsely thinking the two are separate entities.
Board of Education is the formal name, while School Board is a more common name for it. Whatever people want to call it, it’s just one entity that meets as a whole twice a month with a main goal of setting school district policy and establishing a budget. I hope this person didn’t vote no because she thought the Board, or Boards in her case, hadn’t cut all the fat from its budget she thought needed to be cut.
Another example is one School Board President Dwight Stevens mentioned at the Board’s Monday, April 12, meeting. He said during the height of the referendum discussion, he received an e-mail from a lady who said the district should put more students on its buses to save money. She pointed out to him every morning and every afternoon a bus goes past her house with only one or two students on it.
Stevens kindly pointed out to the public that the bus she saw was either at the end or beginning of its route. It had either been full earlier or it was about to fill up with students. Let’s hope she didn’t vote no because she thought the district was wastefully spending money using buses as private chauffeurs for small groups of students.
My final example can be found on another media outlet’s Web site in the comments section of any school-related story. This media outlet’s school stories often generate dozens, and sometimes hundreds, of comments. People are allowed to do so anonymously, and many are quite vocal in their opinions.
Unfortunately, many of these people are also quite wrong about many of their facts. Intentional or not, the misinformation they provide is usually taken as fact by others, people who may have voted a certain way based on this wrong information.
I’ll admit I read those comments because I like to know what the community is saying about certain issues; however, I usually stop after the first few because it pains me to see how misinformed people are about matters.
Even worse are the ugly opinions people have formed about teachers. According to many of these comments, teachers are overpaid, lazy, unintelligent and uncaring about their students.
As someone who visits the schools often, knows and works with many teachers, and sees how students admire these people they may see more than their own parents in any given day, it’s obvious to me teachers are exactly the opposite of what the commentators like to say.
They are probably paid less than their worth – after all, I can’t think of a more important profession to this nation’s future than the people teaching our children. Plus, the amount of education and continuing education they require is staggering. Graduate courses, which they are required to take, are not cheap, and most teachers will admit to owing tens of thousands of dollars in student loans.
Teachers are also hard-working, despite the common misconception that they have easy hours of 8 a.m. to 3 p.m. just 180 days a year with summers off. Most teachers are at school long before classes begin, long after they end and on days schools aren’t in session. They also take work home with them, such as paper grading and lesson writing. If you don’t believe me, ask any spouse of a teacher. He or she will gladly tell you their partner is always working on something school-related.
Calling teachers unintelligent is probably the most ridiculous complaint people have about teachers, as they are some of the smartest people in the community. They have to be in order to keep one step ahead of their students, students who learn more in class than you or I ever did at their age, all because of their teachers.
Any lack of education students have doesn’t take place at school; it happens at home. Parents have the ultimate responsibility to make sure their children do the homework assigned to them. They should also act as teachers by spending as much time as they can educating children about anything and everything. Kids like to learn, and they love learning from their parents while spending time with them.
Although the quality of education the district is able to provide has been downgraded, it doesn’t have to be worse. This community should stop taking sides on the issue, as the referendum is over and cutbacks have been made, and instead it should find ways to ensure our students will continue to learn. Supplement any losses the schools suffered with education at home, take time to thank a teacher rather than criticize them, and make sure others are informed correctly about any and all issues.
It’s tough to take, as this community has always taken pride in the excellent education provided by our schools.
But for many in this economy, other things were more important than continuing the high level of education our students receive. People are genuinely worried about their own abilities to provide food and shelter for their families. Education should take a backseat when people are living in fear about their finances between paychecks.
But should education take a backseat when misinformation caused many to vote against it, not worries about finances?
It’s easy to find examples of misinformation out there.
The first can be found in a letter in last week’s Gazette. The letter writer said the district could save money if it didn’t have a Board of Education and a School Board, falsely thinking the two are separate entities.
Board of Education is the formal name, while School Board is a more common name for it. Whatever people want to call it, it’s just one entity that meets as a whole twice a month with a main goal of setting school district policy and establishing a budget. I hope this person didn’t vote no because she thought the Board, or Boards in her case, hadn’t cut all the fat from its budget she thought needed to be cut.
Another example is one School Board President Dwight Stevens mentioned at the Board’s Monday, April 12, meeting. He said during the height of the referendum discussion, he received an e-mail from a lady who said the district should put more students on its buses to save money. She pointed out to him every morning and every afternoon a bus goes past her house with only one or two students on it.
Stevens kindly pointed out to the public that the bus she saw was either at the end or beginning of its route. It had either been full earlier or it was about to fill up with students. Let’s hope she didn’t vote no because she thought the district was wastefully spending money using buses as private chauffeurs for small groups of students.
My final example can be found on another media outlet’s Web site in the comments section of any school-related story. This media outlet’s school stories often generate dozens, and sometimes hundreds, of comments. People are allowed to do so anonymously, and many are quite vocal in their opinions.
Unfortunately, many of these people are also quite wrong about many of their facts. Intentional or not, the misinformation they provide is usually taken as fact by others, people who may have voted a certain way based on this wrong information.
I’ll admit I read those comments because I like to know what the community is saying about certain issues; however, I usually stop after the first few because it pains me to see how misinformed people are about matters.
Even worse are the ugly opinions people have formed about teachers. According to many of these comments, teachers are overpaid, lazy, unintelligent and uncaring about their students.
As someone who visits the schools often, knows and works with many teachers, and sees how students admire these people they may see more than their own parents in any given day, it’s obvious to me teachers are exactly the opposite of what the commentators like to say.
They are probably paid less than their worth – after all, I can’t think of a more important profession to this nation’s future than the people teaching our children. Plus, the amount of education and continuing education they require is staggering. Graduate courses, which they are required to take, are not cheap, and most teachers will admit to owing tens of thousands of dollars in student loans.
Teachers are also hard-working, despite the common misconception that they have easy hours of 8 a.m. to 3 p.m. just 180 days a year with summers off. Most teachers are at school long before classes begin, long after they end and on days schools aren’t in session. They also take work home with them, such as paper grading and lesson writing. If you don’t believe me, ask any spouse of a teacher. He or she will gladly tell you their partner is always working on something school-related.
Calling teachers unintelligent is probably the most ridiculous complaint people have about teachers, as they are some of the smartest people in the community. They have to be in order to keep one step ahead of their students, students who learn more in class than you or I ever did at their age, all because of their teachers.
Any lack of education students have doesn’t take place at school; it happens at home. Parents have the ultimate responsibility to make sure their children do the homework assigned to them. They should also act as teachers by spending as much time as they can educating children about anything and everything. Kids like to learn, and they love learning from their parents while spending time with them.
Although the quality of education the district is able to provide has been downgraded, it doesn’t have to be worse. This community should stop taking sides on the issue, as the referendum is over and cutbacks have been made, and instead it should find ways to ensure our students will continue to learn. Supplement any losses the schools suffered with education at home, take time to thank a teacher rather than criticize them, and make sure others are informed correctly about any and all issues.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Team Edward or Team Jacob: Some choices are tough
Edward or Jacob?
Jack or Locke?
Packers or Favre?
The thousands of Orcs who were just doing their job or those pesky Hobbits who were literally hell-bent on destroying a nice-looking piece of jewelry?
Once in awhile, life forces people to choose sides, even if making such a decision isn’t easy or clear.
The most obvious example in which people have to choose sides is the whole Team Edward or Team Jacob debate stirred up by the “Twilight” films and books. I’ll proclaim I’m above reading those books, as I can’t imagine devoting any of my schedule to doing so, but when it comes to films I’ll admit that taking two hours out of my schedule for a good laugh isn’t below me
The first two films in the “Twilight” series are great entertainment in that they can suck a person in quickly, just by watching a minute or so. My wife, Jenny, fell victim this way when I noticed the first film was on Showtime and I teased her that she wanted to watch it. When I tried to change the channel, she wouldn’t allow me, forcing me to watch it a second time. (The first time I did so was to review it for The Gazette. For the record, I gave it passing marks, but barely).
Since the second film was available to rent, she tricked me into renting it, simply by asking me if I were for Team Edward or Team Jacob. Jacob only had a minor role in the first film, so I chose Edward. She was all about Jacob, and this clash of opinions, which I’m always a fan of when it occurs, caused me to pick it up at the video store.
It was just as cheesy as the first film, with special effects so bad they made the ones in the 1970s television show “Buck Rogers in the 25th Century” look like “Avatar” by comparison. But the story, much like the shows on Telemundo and some of the dying soap operas on American television, is told in such a way people not only want to see what’s next, they develop a need to see the next development.
The same applies to the other examples I provided at the top of this column. Fans of “Lost,” many who have probably been lost for the last four years while watching this show, are now learning they have to choose between Jack Shepherd, the man of science, and John Locke, the man of faith. The show, in its final season, has made it seem as though Shepherd is the correct choice, but a big part of me believes the writers are going to turn it around at the end to show the man of faith is the right one.
The Packers or Brett Favre debate is one of loyalty vs. fandom. Does one commit to the team he or she has been loyal to since birth, or does one stick with the person he or she has followed fervently since 1992? I went with Favre in the debate, because the Packers will be there the rest of my life while Favre’s football playing years are probably limited (I say probably because, well, you never know with him).
With my “Lord of the Rings” example, people assume the Orcs are evil and don’t even deserve consideration, but they only did what they were created to do, which was to be evil. I guess the Hobbits had a right to fight back, but they probably could have lived the rest of their lives in the corner of their world without much disruption from the Orcs. Then again, the Orcs may have murdered them in their sleep, played football with their carcasses and then eaten them for breakfast.
People who make wrong choices are sometimes unwilling to admit it. No one likes to admit he or she is wrong, and when there is no definite answer, people don’t necessarily have to, even if others make more convincing arguments for an opposing side. That’s why I’ll never like a Hobbit again.
Jack or Locke?
Packers or Favre?
The thousands of Orcs who were just doing their job or those pesky Hobbits who were literally hell-bent on destroying a nice-looking piece of jewelry?
Once in awhile, life forces people to choose sides, even if making such a decision isn’t easy or clear.
The most obvious example in which people have to choose sides is the whole Team Edward or Team Jacob debate stirred up by the “Twilight” films and books. I’ll proclaim I’m above reading those books, as I can’t imagine devoting any of my schedule to doing so, but when it comes to films I’ll admit that taking two hours out of my schedule for a good laugh isn’t below me
The first two films in the “Twilight” series are great entertainment in that they can suck a person in quickly, just by watching a minute or so. My wife, Jenny, fell victim this way when I noticed the first film was on Showtime and I teased her that she wanted to watch it. When I tried to change the channel, she wouldn’t allow me, forcing me to watch it a second time. (The first time I did so was to review it for The Gazette. For the record, I gave it passing marks, but barely).
Since the second film was available to rent, she tricked me into renting it, simply by asking me if I were for Team Edward or Team Jacob. Jacob only had a minor role in the first film, so I chose Edward. She was all about Jacob, and this clash of opinions, which I’m always a fan of when it occurs, caused me to pick it up at the video store.
It was just as cheesy as the first film, with special effects so bad they made the ones in the 1970s television show “Buck Rogers in the 25th Century” look like “Avatar” by comparison. But the story, much like the shows on Telemundo and some of the dying soap operas on American television, is told in such a way people not only want to see what’s next, they develop a need to see the next development.
The same applies to the other examples I provided at the top of this column. Fans of “Lost,” many who have probably been lost for the last four years while watching this show, are now learning they have to choose between Jack Shepherd, the man of science, and John Locke, the man of faith. The show, in its final season, has made it seem as though Shepherd is the correct choice, but a big part of me believes the writers are going to turn it around at the end to show the man of faith is the right one.
The Packers or Brett Favre debate is one of loyalty vs. fandom. Does one commit to the team he or she has been loyal to since birth, or does one stick with the person he or she has followed fervently since 1992? I went with Favre in the debate, because the Packers will be there the rest of my life while Favre’s football playing years are probably limited (I say probably because, well, you never know with him).
With my “Lord of the Rings” example, people assume the Orcs are evil and don’t even deserve consideration, but they only did what they were created to do, which was to be evil. I guess the Hobbits had a right to fight back, but they probably could have lived the rest of their lives in the corner of their world without much disruption from the Orcs. Then again, the Orcs may have murdered them in their sleep, played football with their carcasses and then eaten them for breakfast.
People who make wrong choices are sometimes unwilling to admit it. No one likes to admit he or she is wrong, and when there is no definite answer, people don’t necessarily have to, even if others make more convincing arguments for an opposing side. That’s why I’ll never like a Hobbit again.
Stomach flu bites at family gathering
My wife’s family needs a catchy name for the aftermath of Easter festivities this past weekend.
The family, including my wife Jenny’s grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins – all on her mother’s side – as well as her parents and sisters, gathered in Richland Center, where her grandparents have a barnhouse – it’s called that because it was made to look like a barn. They gathered not just for Easter, but also for Grandpa Farrell’s 80th birthday, and since the entire family was there the opportunity was also used for a family picture.
The gathering was a success, as members of the clan were able to visit with each other, eat a lot of food and pose for many awesome family photos, courtesy of Jenny’s younger sister Raechel, a budding amateur photographer.
The aftermath occurred over the next two days when a large percentage of the people in attendance developed a nasty stomach flu. I don’t need to provide specifics, as anyone who has ever had this bug knows what it entails. At least one person in nearly all of the families at the gathering came down with it, and in some cases almost everyone.
Raechel and her guyfriend (I’m not calling him boyfriend for the very fact neither of them have defined their relationship), as well as Jenny’s father got it, along with two uncles, an aunt and two cousins.
The only family unaffected – and I’m knocking on wood right now – was our family. Jenny, our son Braden and I all came home unscathed.
Although it’s probably impossible to pinpoint how this stomach flu may have spread, our guess lies with some food that was available at the gathering, possibly a large ham or some roast beef. It’s possible someone there may have had it, too, and then spread it to others through the typical contact that occurs when families get together. Whatever the reason doesn’t really matter, because takebacks can’t occur.
The best remedy, besides time, is coming up with a funny name to assign to it, as humor can cure almost anything.
Stomach Bugapalooza is a good one, as younger members of the family used the now common “apalooza” suffix to describe the reunion while it was taking place.
Another suffix, “gate,” could be used to come up with Hamgate, although both suffixes are overused.
A potentially decent name is Farrell Family Flu Fun, mainly for the alliteration. But the ones who got it probably wouldn’t consider it fun.
Maybe the Great Easter Flu Massacre, but that sounds way more lethal than it was. Although I’m sure many toilets may agree with the name.
How about Grandpa’s 80th Birthday Surprise? That puts too much blame on him, though, and he didn’t get infected.
My favorite, which I’ll vote for, is the Barnhouse Plague of 2010. It’s simple, and effectively describes it.
I’m just hoping when I return there it doesn’t attack me for coming up with such stupidity.
The family, including my wife Jenny’s grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins – all on her mother’s side – as well as her parents and sisters, gathered in Richland Center, where her grandparents have a barnhouse – it’s called that because it was made to look like a barn. They gathered not just for Easter, but also for Grandpa Farrell’s 80th birthday, and since the entire family was there the opportunity was also used for a family picture.
The gathering was a success, as members of the clan were able to visit with each other, eat a lot of food and pose for many awesome family photos, courtesy of Jenny’s younger sister Raechel, a budding amateur photographer.
The aftermath occurred over the next two days when a large percentage of the people in attendance developed a nasty stomach flu. I don’t need to provide specifics, as anyone who has ever had this bug knows what it entails. At least one person in nearly all of the families at the gathering came down with it, and in some cases almost everyone.
Raechel and her guyfriend (I’m not calling him boyfriend for the very fact neither of them have defined their relationship), as well as Jenny’s father got it, along with two uncles, an aunt and two cousins.
The only family unaffected – and I’m knocking on wood right now – was our family. Jenny, our son Braden and I all came home unscathed.
Although it’s probably impossible to pinpoint how this stomach flu may have spread, our guess lies with some food that was available at the gathering, possibly a large ham or some roast beef. It’s possible someone there may have had it, too, and then spread it to others through the typical contact that occurs when families get together. Whatever the reason doesn’t really matter, because takebacks can’t occur.
The best remedy, besides time, is coming up with a funny name to assign to it, as humor can cure almost anything.
Stomach Bugapalooza is a good one, as younger members of the family used the now common “apalooza” suffix to describe the reunion while it was taking place.
Another suffix, “gate,” could be used to come up with Hamgate, although both suffixes are overused.
A potentially decent name is Farrell Family Flu Fun, mainly for the alliteration. But the ones who got it probably wouldn’t consider it fun.
Maybe the Great Easter Flu Massacre, but that sounds way more lethal than it was. Although I’m sure many toilets may agree with the name.
How about Grandpa’s 80th Birthday Surprise? That puts too much blame on him, though, and he didn’t get infected.
My favorite, which I’ll vote for, is the Barnhouse Plague of 2010. It’s simple, and effectively describes it.
I’m just hoping when I return there it doesn’t attack me for coming up with such stupidity.
New band releases first great album of 2010
This is a love letter to my favorite album of 2010, so far.
That album, Titus Andronicus’ “The Monitor,” may also be the craziest one of the year, as it’s a punk-rock concept album about the Civil War featuring a song called “Theme from ‘Cheers.’” The “Cheers” in that title is indeed the bar from the famous television show.
Titus Andronicus hasn’t made a big name for itself, yet. Its debut album, “The Airing of Grievances,” was released on an independent label in 2009, and other then a small cult following, most music fans probably never heard of it.
The band would have been off my radar, too, except once in awhile record companies will send me free CDs, in hopes I’ll write about them. Most of these CDs are worthless except for the jewel packages they often don’t come in anymore, but every now and then something catches my ear.
“The Airing of Grievances” caught my ear, mainly because I had read a few reviews about the band comparing it to The Replacements, one of my all-time favorite bands. Plus, Titus Andronicus is from New Jersey, home to Bruce Springsteen, who is my favorite rocker.
I liked it a lot because it sounded as though The Replacements and Springsteen had a child, and that child grew up listening to nothing but The Clash, Rage Against the Machine and his parents’ music.
When I heard the band had a new album out, and I realized the record company wasn’t going to send me a free copy, I made a trip to Radio KAOS to purchase it, and fortunately owner Randy Wagner had it in stock, like he usually always does with those obscure titles other stores don’t carry.
From the first listen it was clear “The Monitor” was a bold artistic statement and a huge leap forward for this band, one that in a perfect world would propel them into stardom.
“No, I never wanted to change the world, but I’m looking for a new New Jersey/Because tramps like us, baby, we were born to die,” belts lead singer and guitarist Patrick Stickles in the opening track, “A More Perfect Union.” He quotes and then dismisses Springsteen in one line, and by the end of the track he’s sarcastically calling for people to “rally around the flag.”
Throughout the album the band makes references to the Civil War. It doesn’t make much sense, but truly, what concept album has ever made sense? The plotlines of The Who’s “Tommy” and of Green Day’s “American Idiot” are probably some of the most comprehensible ones, but even those are sometimes non-sensible.
A good concept album, like those examples and like “The Monitor,” will have one or two main themes, with songs built around them, and those themes are often vague enough to apply to other things in life other than what they seem to be about.
So while Titus Andronicus is often referencing the Civil War – it even includes Stickles’ high school history teacher reading excerpts from Abraham Lincoln speeches throughout it – that war could also be the war people often wage internally with their own selves.
For example, in “Theme from ‘Cheers,’” Stickles sings: “But while we’re young, boys, everybody raise your glasses high,/Singing, ‘Here’s to the good times, here’s to the home team./Kiss the good times goodbye, oh yeah,/Kiss the good times goodbye.’”
Throughout the song, which is the standout track on “The Monitor,” the narrator is clearly aware he’s not doing a service to himself by drinking, but as long as he’s young he may as well have fun. By the end of the song he’s begging for someone to give him a whiskey.
The song reeks of booze and cigarettes, but that’s what makes it so fun. Especially for old geezers like myself whose days of hanging out in taverns are long behind us.
By the end of the album, the band returns to New Jersey in a 12-minute epic titled “The Battle of Hampton Roads.” It’s a journey I’m glad I took, and one I highly recommend others to take.
That album, Titus Andronicus’ “The Monitor,” may also be the craziest one of the year, as it’s a punk-rock concept album about the Civil War featuring a song called “Theme from ‘Cheers.’” The “Cheers” in that title is indeed the bar from the famous television show.
Titus Andronicus hasn’t made a big name for itself, yet. Its debut album, “The Airing of Grievances,” was released on an independent label in 2009, and other then a small cult following, most music fans probably never heard of it.
The band would have been off my radar, too, except once in awhile record companies will send me free CDs, in hopes I’ll write about them. Most of these CDs are worthless except for the jewel packages they often don’t come in anymore, but every now and then something catches my ear.
“The Airing of Grievances” caught my ear, mainly because I had read a few reviews about the band comparing it to The Replacements, one of my all-time favorite bands. Plus, Titus Andronicus is from New Jersey, home to Bruce Springsteen, who is my favorite rocker.
I liked it a lot because it sounded as though The Replacements and Springsteen had a child, and that child grew up listening to nothing but The Clash, Rage Against the Machine and his parents’ music.
When I heard the band had a new album out, and I realized the record company wasn’t going to send me a free copy, I made a trip to Radio KAOS to purchase it, and fortunately owner Randy Wagner had it in stock, like he usually always does with those obscure titles other stores don’t carry.
From the first listen it was clear “The Monitor” was a bold artistic statement and a huge leap forward for this band, one that in a perfect world would propel them into stardom.
“No, I never wanted to change the world, but I’m looking for a new New Jersey/Because tramps like us, baby, we were born to die,” belts lead singer and guitarist Patrick Stickles in the opening track, “A More Perfect Union.” He quotes and then dismisses Springsteen in one line, and by the end of the track he’s sarcastically calling for people to “rally around the flag.”
Throughout the album the band makes references to the Civil War. It doesn’t make much sense, but truly, what concept album has ever made sense? The plotlines of The Who’s “Tommy” and of Green Day’s “American Idiot” are probably some of the most comprehensible ones, but even those are sometimes non-sensible.
A good concept album, like those examples and like “The Monitor,” will have one or two main themes, with songs built around them, and those themes are often vague enough to apply to other things in life other than what they seem to be about.
So while Titus Andronicus is often referencing the Civil War – it even includes Stickles’ high school history teacher reading excerpts from Abraham Lincoln speeches throughout it – that war could also be the war people often wage internally with their own selves.
For example, in “Theme from ‘Cheers,’” Stickles sings: “But while we’re young, boys, everybody raise your glasses high,/Singing, ‘Here’s to the good times, here’s to the home team./Kiss the good times goodbye, oh yeah,/Kiss the good times goodbye.’”
Throughout the song, which is the standout track on “The Monitor,” the narrator is clearly aware he’s not doing a service to himself by drinking, but as long as he’s young he may as well have fun. By the end of the song he’s begging for someone to give him a whiskey.
The song reeks of booze and cigarettes, but that’s what makes it so fun. Especially for old geezers like myself whose days of hanging out in taverns are long behind us.
By the end of the album, the band returns to New Jersey in a 12-minute epic titled “The Battle of Hampton Roads.” It’s a journey I’m glad I took, and one I highly recommend others to take.
At what age should kids get more freedom?
At what age should parents start giving more independence to their children?
It’s a serious question I’m posing, as the parent of a 5-year-old, because I don’t have a clue as to what the correct answer is.
My son, Braden, as an only child, has been constantly under the watchful eye of my wife, Jenny, me, both of us, or a grandparent, aunt or babysitter. We have never allowed him to play outside by himself, and we certainly wouldn’t let him wander off alone at places like stores we go to on a regular basis.
The option to play outside is only available when someone is available to watch him while he’s out there. Jenny and I try our best to oblige, because we know he’s a much better behaved boy when he’s worn out from playing; however, sometimes our schedules, household work and energy levels don’t allow us to do so.
He’s also restricted to following us at any stores we go to, and visiting the toy aisle only happens if one of us is in the mood to go there.
Often, I feel bad he’s prohibited from experiencing many of the freedoms I had as a kid.
I remember having free reign outside in our neighborhood. I went with the neighbor kids to the school on our block and played with the playground equipment. I rode my Hot Wheels tricycle around the block, and I came home with plenty of cuts and bruises from playing too hard.
The only true negative experience I can recall occurred when I had to walk home by myself once from preschool. My younger sister was really sick and my mother didn’t want to risk taking her outside to get me. I was told by my teachers I should walk the four blocks back to my home.
I probably wouldn’t have had a problem with it if it hadn’t been for the busy intersection I had to cross. Afraid of it, I stood on the corner and cried for 10 minutes until some kind gentleman stopped and asked what was wrong. When I told him I couldn’t cross the road – I know, it sounds like a bad “Why did the chicken cross the road” joke – he offered to take me home. I kindly took him up on his offer, and fortunately for me, he did take me safely home.
I also remember bolting from my mother’s side the minute we walked into a store for the toy aisle. There, I played with every toy I could get my hands on, even if it meant opening the packaging to get to it. Back then, toy packaging didn’t come with a level of security equal to the security at Fort Knox, so I was able to try nearly every toy before I ever got it. I’m convinced I’m probably the reason parents need a master’s degree in engineering now to get toys out of their packages.
I had freedom to do all of these things as a youngster because it was the late 1970s and early 1980s, a time when people didn’t fear kidnappers, molesters, murderers, gangs and drugs as much as we do now. Sure, all these bad things were definitely around then, probably as much as they are now, but they weren’t on people’s minds as often because the media, including the fictional television programs and films we watch, didn’t talk about them all the time.
It’s good they do, because these are legitimate concerns, but the focus on them has made us a much more cynical nation, and as a result my wife and I worry about allowing Braden to play outside by himself or visiting the toy aisle alone.
In fairness, we live in an apartment in a highly residential area in Plover, with quite a bit of traffic that we also fear, especially with the high amount of bad drivers on the road who might be too distracted talking on their cell phones to see a kid playing on his bike. We purchased land in a much quieter neighborhood where we plan on constructing a house within the next year. We already have plans to give him more freedom when we move there.
In the meantime, though, when can we allow him to look at toys by himself or do things without our presence? People with answers should e-mail me at countyfare@pcgazette.com, or post an answer at my blog site at scottsteucklightofday.blogspot.com. Your answers may be featured in an upcoming column.
It’s a serious question I’m posing, as the parent of a 5-year-old, because I don’t have a clue as to what the correct answer is.
My son, Braden, as an only child, has been constantly under the watchful eye of my wife, Jenny, me, both of us, or a grandparent, aunt or babysitter. We have never allowed him to play outside by himself, and we certainly wouldn’t let him wander off alone at places like stores we go to on a regular basis.
The option to play outside is only available when someone is available to watch him while he’s out there. Jenny and I try our best to oblige, because we know he’s a much better behaved boy when he’s worn out from playing; however, sometimes our schedules, household work and energy levels don’t allow us to do so.
He’s also restricted to following us at any stores we go to, and visiting the toy aisle only happens if one of us is in the mood to go there.
Often, I feel bad he’s prohibited from experiencing many of the freedoms I had as a kid.
I remember having free reign outside in our neighborhood. I went with the neighbor kids to the school on our block and played with the playground equipment. I rode my Hot Wheels tricycle around the block, and I came home with plenty of cuts and bruises from playing too hard.
The only true negative experience I can recall occurred when I had to walk home by myself once from preschool. My younger sister was really sick and my mother didn’t want to risk taking her outside to get me. I was told by my teachers I should walk the four blocks back to my home.
I probably wouldn’t have had a problem with it if it hadn’t been for the busy intersection I had to cross. Afraid of it, I stood on the corner and cried for 10 minutes until some kind gentleman stopped and asked what was wrong. When I told him I couldn’t cross the road – I know, it sounds like a bad “Why did the chicken cross the road” joke – he offered to take me home. I kindly took him up on his offer, and fortunately for me, he did take me safely home.
I also remember bolting from my mother’s side the minute we walked into a store for the toy aisle. There, I played with every toy I could get my hands on, even if it meant opening the packaging to get to it. Back then, toy packaging didn’t come with a level of security equal to the security at Fort Knox, so I was able to try nearly every toy before I ever got it. I’m convinced I’m probably the reason parents need a master’s degree in engineering now to get toys out of their packages.
I had freedom to do all of these things as a youngster because it was the late 1970s and early 1980s, a time when people didn’t fear kidnappers, molesters, murderers, gangs and drugs as much as we do now. Sure, all these bad things were definitely around then, probably as much as they are now, but they weren’t on people’s minds as often because the media, including the fictional television programs and films we watch, didn’t talk about them all the time.
It’s good they do, because these are legitimate concerns, but the focus on them has made us a much more cynical nation, and as a result my wife and I worry about allowing Braden to play outside by himself or visiting the toy aisle alone.
In fairness, we live in an apartment in a highly residential area in Plover, with quite a bit of traffic that we also fear, especially with the high amount of bad drivers on the road who might be too distracted talking on their cell phones to see a kid playing on his bike. We purchased land in a much quieter neighborhood where we plan on constructing a house within the next year. We already have plans to give him more freedom when we move there.
In the meantime, though, when can we allow him to look at toys by himself or do things without our presence? People with answers should e-mail me at countyfare@pcgazette.com, or post an answer at my blog site at scottsteucklightofday.blogspot.com. Your answers may be featured in an upcoming column.
Bowling offers great way to celebrate kid's birthday
My little guy, Braden, turned 5 on St. Patrick’s Day, and to celebrate my wife, Jenny, and I held a party with kids from his 4K class and family members at 5 Star Lanes in Plover Saturday, March 13. Time never flies any faster than it does when bowling with 10 5-year-olds.
Preparation for the party was minimal, especially when compared to other parties we’ve thrown for him. We didn’t have to clean our house, because people weren’t going there, and we didn’t have to do much at the bowling lanes, because 5 Star took care of almost everything.
The majority of our preparation was to take Braden bowling there about a month ago, just to make sure it was something that could work. We knew from his first roll of the bowling ball down the lane it was something that would be fun, because he was celebrating and cheering before the ball even hit the pins.
Braden, Jenny and I posted scores some basketball teams could beat on good days, but we didn’t care because it was a blast and different from the usual things we do as a family.
We booked the party following our bowling excursion, and then spent a little time since then making invites, putting together goodie bags for the kids and purchasing a cake at Trig’s right before the event. On the day of the party we showed up about a half hour before it started, just to make sure we were there before the invitees arrived.
Once they were all there, with both sets of grandparents and some of Braden’s aunts and uncles in tow to help, the names of the 10 bowlers were entered into the computer and all the kids were fitted with shoes. The kids thought it was weird they had to take their perfectly fine shoes off, only to put some less-fine shoes on in their place, but none argued, as they couldn’t wait to throw the balls down the aisle.
Only a few kids had bowled before, but it seemed all were familiar with the sport, either through Nintendo Wii bowling at home or because their fathers spent a lot of time watching “The Big Lebowski,” which is not just the greatest film featuring bowling ever but one of the greatest films of all time, as I have attested to many times in this column before.
For whatever reason the kids were familiar with the sport, we didn’t have to spend much time helping them with it, as all were eager to get the ball to the pin in some sort of way, whether it was a granny bowl between the legs or a throw-the-ball-down-lane throw. And oftentimes the kids tried a different approach every time, copying what some of their friends did, usually to equally bad results.
Because the bumper lanes were up, and thankfully because the bumper lanes were up, the kids all scored between 50 and 100. I’d hate to imagine what those scores would have been without the bumper lanes, even though I’m sure the kids could have cared less about those scores as they haven’t reached an age where things like scores mattered. In fact, as long as the ball hit a pin, each kid thought he or she was a winner. It’s kind of sad that attitude doesn’t always carry over to adulthood.
All the adults at the party had a specific role, and as much as I wanted to bowl, I was no exception. My role was to videotape the proceedings, using a digital camcorder we purchased prior to going to Disney World in Florida in January. I didn’t have much experience prior to using it at Disney World, so the majority of the video I shot was like a roller coaster ride in that I was constantly moving the camera, to jarring and mostly unwatchable results. The end video contained 40 minutes of somewhat passable footage, which was a shame because I shot more than three hours worth of our trip.
This time I tried my best to keep the camera still, and I would like to say I did so, but I haven’t watched it yet. I’ll know when I get a few hours of free time to work on the video project, but I’m keeping my fingers crossed in the meantime.
By the time the kids got to the seventh frame, we realized we needed to get the bowlers who weren’t bowling at the moment started on eating the pizza and cake, as parents were soon due to pick their kids up from the party. The kids were hungry by then, so once again our job was easy.
And getting Braden to open his presents, well, that’s not difficult either, as anyone who has ever seen a kid open presents before will know.
Somehow, and I haven’t figured out how, the kids managed to bowl all 10 frames right before the party ended. The two kids with the highest scores were two of the three girls at the party. One of those girls rolled a strike on her first attempt, and she followed it up with a spare on the next frame. She finished with a 91, one pin ahead of the other girl’s 90. If I were bowling, even with bumper lanes, I would have been happy with a 91.
I wasn’t bowling, but I was still happy because it’s the first party we’ve thrown for him that didn’t seem like it took that much effort. And our bill at the end was less expensive than the bills for those other parties. That made me very happy.
Preparation for the party was minimal, especially when compared to other parties we’ve thrown for him. We didn’t have to clean our house, because people weren’t going there, and we didn’t have to do much at the bowling lanes, because 5 Star took care of almost everything.
The majority of our preparation was to take Braden bowling there about a month ago, just to make sure it was something that could work. We knew from his first roll of the bowling ball down the lane it was something that would be fun, because he was celebrating and cheering before the ball even hit the pins.
Braden, Jenny and I posted scores some basketball teams could beat on good days, but we didn’t care because it was a blast and different from the usual things we do as a family.
We booked the party following our bowling excursion, and then spent a little time since then making invites, putting together goodie bags for the kids and purchasing a cake at Trig’s right before the event. On the day of the party we showed up about a half hour before it started, just to make sure we were there before the invitees arrived.
Once they were all there, with both sets of grandparents and some of Braden’s aunts and uncles in tow to help, the names of the 10 bowlers were entered into the computer and all the kids were fitted with shoes. The kids thought it was weird they had to take their perfectly fine shoes off, only to put some less-fine shoes on in their place, but none argued, as they couldn’t wait to throw the balls down the aisle.
Only a few kids had bowled before, but it seemed all were familiar with the sport, either through Nintendo Wii bowling at home or because their fathers spent a lot of time watching “The Big Lebowski,” which is not just the greatest film featuring bowling ever but one of the greatest films of all time, as I have attested to many times in this column before.
For whatever reason the kids were familiar with the sport, we didn’t have to spend much time helping them with it, as all were eager to get the ball to the pin in some sort of way, whether it was a granny bowl between the legs or a throw-the-ball-down-lane throw. And oftentimes the kids tried a different approach every time, copying what some of their friends did, usually to equally bad results.
Because the bumper lanes were up, and thankfully because the bumper lanes were up, the kids all scored between 50 and 100. I’d hate to imagine what those scores would have been without the bumper lanes, even though I’m sure the kids could have cared less about those scores as they haven’t reached an age where things like scores mattered. In fact, as long as the ball hit a pin, each kid thought he or she was a winner. It’s kind of sad that attitude doesn’t always carry over to adulthood.
All the adults at the party had a specific role, and as much as I wanted to bowl, I was no exception. My role was to videotape the proceedings, using a digital camcorder we purchased prior to going to Disney World in Florida in January. I didn’t have much experience prior to using it at Disney World, so the majority of the video I shot was like a roller coaster ride in that I was constantly moving the camera, to jarring and mostly unwatchable results. The end video contained 40 minutes of somewhat passable footage, which was a shame because I shot more than three hours worth of our trip.
This time I tried my best to keep the camera still, and I would like to say I did so, but I haven’t watched it yet. I’ll know when I get a few hours of free time to work on the video project, but I’m keeping my fingers crossed in the meantime.
By the time the kids got to the seventh frame, we realized we needed to get the bowlers who weren’t bowling at the moment started on eating the pizza and cake, as parents were soon due to pick their kids up from the party. The kids were hungry by then, so once again our job was easy.
And getting Braden to open his presents, well, that’s not difficult either, as anyone who has ever seen a kid open presents before will know.
Somehow, and I haven’t figured out how, the kids managed to bowl all 10 frames right before the party ended. The two kids with the highest scores were two of the three girls at the party. One of those girls rolled a strike on her first attempt, and she followed it up with a spare on the next frame. She finished with a 91, one pin ahead of the other girl’s 90. If I were bowling, even with bumper lanes, I would have been happy with a 91.
I wasn’t bowling, but I was still happy because it’s the first party we’ve thrown for him that didn’t seem like it took that much effort. And our bill at the end was less expensive than the bills for those other parties. That made me very happy.
Blinker use down, driver frustration way up
Blinkers: Every vehicle has them, but a lot of drivers don’t seem to use them.
That’s a new catchphrase I’d like to copyright because it’s one I’m sure some people – the ones who do use their blinkers being the some – find to be completely true.
While driving the 20 or so miles I put on a day, from home to work twice a day, I usually encounter about six drivers who do not use their blinkers. Most of the time, these non-blinker-using, too-good-to-tell-others-where-they-are-going drivers, as well as a few other adjectives I’m thinking but can’t put in a family-friendly newspaper, are simply in front of me, at a stop sign, turning either left or right. And most of the time it’s obvious which way he or she is turning, because the vehicle is practically turned enough to make it clear the direction he or she is heading.
It irks me, though, the driver can’t take the millisecond it takes to actually signal the blinker in the correct direction he or she is going, even if it is obvious. It’s called courtesy, and I’m one that gets offended by people who aren’t courteous.
Courtesy applies in many situations – holding the door open for someone who might be using the same door at the same time as you, not talking on a cell phone during a public event or movie, chewing with your mouth closed – and most of the time people are courteous.
But once in awhile you might come across a person who hasn’t learned the most basic rules of our society, and when you meet that person, he or she is memorable for a reason he or she shouldn’t want to be remembered for: being rude.
And the number of rude drivers who don’t know how to use their blinkers seems to be on the increase, according to my completely unscientific method of measuring this phenomenon through just my observations.
Left turn onto Okray Avenue. Who needs a blinker because who cares if the person behind me needs to know which way I am going? Turning right onto Water Street. What good will a blinker be when it’s clear by the way I have brilliantly angled my car that I’m going right? Stopped at the intersection of Maple Drive and Forest Avenue? Why bother letting this sap behind me know if I’m going left or right because those are the only two options?
That’s how I interpret the thoughts of those who do not use blinkers. Here’s what I’m thinking: it’s the easiest move a person does while driving, moving your left hand in either an up or down motion to make sure others know the direction you are heading, helping to prevent any possible accidents that could occur if you don’t know the direction someone is going.
Maybe my thinking is too complicated for those who don’t use blinkers. Here’s a simpler version: using blinkers is easy and it can save lives.
That’s another catchphrase I could copyright. I’m full of them when it comes to this topic.
My catchphrases could be used in a government-sponsored campaign to re-educate people on the use of blinkers. They’ve had plenty of campaigns for seat belt use, drinking and driving, and texting while driving, so why not one for a crime – I say crime because it is against the law not to use blinkers – that far more people are committing than any of those other offenses.
I doubt the government would sponsor such a campaign, so it’ll probably be confined to my imagination, or the words I sometimes shout when someone chooses not to use their blinkers in my presence. The words I use when I’m alone in my car are unprintable, too. When my 4-year-old son is present, I keep them G-rated. “Blinkers! Blinkers! Blinkers! You got them, use them.” My son laughs when I say them, thinking it’s some sort of game.
I wish it were. Then driving may be a lot more fun since everyone seems to be playing it.
That’s a new catchphrase I’d like to copyright because it’s one I’m sure some people – the ones who do use their blinkers being the some – find to be completely true.
While driving the 20 or so miles I put on a day, from home to work twice a day, I usually encounter about six drivers who do not use their blinkers. Most of the time, these non-blinker-using, too-good-to-tell-others-where-they-are-going drivers, as well as a few other adjectives I’m thinking but can’t put in a family-friendly newspaper, are simply in front of me, at a stop sign, turning either left or right. And most of the time it’s obvious which way he or she is turning, because the vehicle is practically turned enough to make it clear the direction he or she is heading.
It irks me, though, the driver can’t take the millisecond it takes to actually signal the blinker in the correct direction he or she is going, even if it is obvious. It’s called courtesy, and I’m one that gets offended by people who aren’t courteous.
Courtesy applies in many situations – holding the door open for someone who might be using the same door at the same time as you, not talking on a cell phone during a public event or movie, chewing with your mouth closed – and most of the time people are courteous.
But once in awhile you might come across a person who hasn’t learned the most basic rules of our society, and when you meet that person, he or she is memorable for a reason he or she shouldn’t want to be remembered for: being rude.
And the number of rude drivers who don’t know how to use their blinkers seems to be on the increase, according to my completely unscientific method of measuring this phenomenon through just my observations.
Left turn onto Okray Avenue. Who needs a blinker because who cares if the person behind me needs to know which way I am going? Turning right onto Water Street. What good will a blinker be when it’s clear by the way I have brilliantly angled my car that I’m going right? Stopped at the intersection of Maple Drive and Forest Avenue? Why bother letting this sap behind me know if I’m going left or right because those are the only two options?
That’s how I interpret the thoughts of those who do not use blinkers. Here’s what I’m thinking: it’s the easiest move a person does while driving, moving your left hand in either an up or down motion to make sure others know the direction you are heading, helping to prevent any possible accidents that could occur if you don’t know the direction someone is going.
Maybe my thinking is too complicated for those who don’t use blinkers. Here’s a simpler version: using blinkers is easy and it can save lives.
That’s another catchphrase I could copyright. I’m full of them when it comes to this topic.
My catchphrases could be used in a government-sponsored campaign to re-educate people on the use of blinkers. They’ve had plenty of campaigns for seat belt use, drinking and driving, and texting while driving, so why not one for a crime – I say crime because it is against the law not to use blinkers – that far more people are committing than any of those other offenses.
I doubt the government would sponsor such a campaign, so it’ll probably be confined to my imagination, or the words I sometimes shout when someone chooses not to use their blinkers in my presence. The words I use when I’m alone in my car are unprintable, too. When my 4-year-old son is present, I keep them G-rated. “Blinkers! Blinkers! Blinkers! You got them, use them.” My son laughs when I say them, thinking it’s some sort of game.
I wish it were. Then driving may be a lot more fun since everyone seems to be playing it.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Mole removal a win-win for marriage
The gigantic, disgusting, protruding mole just above my left eye is gone.
A dermatologist removed it this week, years after my wife, Jenny, started bugging me about seeing one to look at all the moles, growths and weird things growing throughout my body on my skin.
For years, I refused to give in to her wish for me to see a dermatologist. I’m stubborn – it’s in my family’s blood – and I figured it would be a waste of time, as well as money. I’ve always been a moley person, along with both my mother and grandmother – also in our blood. Fortunately, the bad things that sometimes come with moles, skin cancer and melanoma, are not in our blood, so I felt safe in not going to the dermatologist.
Jenny refused to put the issue to rest, telling me I should make an appointment. I was steadfast in my determination not to, mostly to retain my pride in being the most stubborn person in the marriage.
“I really wish you would see someone about those moles,” she would tell me.
“I’ve had them since I was a kid,” I would reply. “When you married me, you married my moles.”
“I guess that makes me Mrs. Mole Steuck.”
I realized late last summer I need to stop being stubborn, and for my wife’s happiness I should have my moles checked out. I had her make an appointment, which was scheduled for November.
Several weeks before the appointment, the dermatologist’s office called and said the doctor needed to reschedule, much to my pleasure. Even better, their next available date was not until March. I happily said yes to the new date.
My happiness turned to sadness when Jenny informed me the dermatologist could remove my giant mole above my eye during the appointment. “Why didn’t you tell me that before?” I asked. “I wouldn’t have argued with you about the appointment.”
“I assumed you knew that,” she said.
I didn’t. My stubbornness got in the way of me seeing some of the benefits to this appointment, and now I was left waiting for something I really wanted that I could have had done years before.
Fortunately, March came quickly. Normally apprehensive about any doctor appointments, I was eager to get to this one, arriving early and hoping they could get me in early. They did, and when the dermatologist saw me, she asked me why I was there.
“To get this thing (pointing to the giant mole above my eye) removed,” I said. “Oh yeah, and to have you look at all my other moles, per my wife’s request.”
And then she said something that almost crushed my spirit. “Well, I can’t just remove a mole because you find it ugly. We need a reason to remove it.”
I was too honest to make up any reason other than my intended reason – it’s ugly – so I immediately assumed my mole would remain. Thankfully, she found a reason. “Do you have an old driver’s license?” she asked.
In my wallet I had my current license, taken in October, as well as my old one, taken many years prior to that one. She had me take them out, and then compared the two photos, noting the mole had grown over the years, giving her a reason to remove it.
After examining my body, she found three other moles she wanted to remove, for precautionary reasons and to have them tested. As long as she was taking out the ugly one, I was fine with whatever she did.
Removing the moles was painless, and now those spots are healing. The dermatologist said she doesn’t think she’ll find anything wrong, but she’ll call in about a week to let me know for sure.
I’m not worried, and now Jenny and I are both happy. She’s no longer “Mrs. Mole Steuck” (technically, she still is, as my moles are still there – but she’s much happier about them), and I’m free of an ugly sight I never thought could be gone.
A dermatologist removed it this week, years after my wife, Jenny, started bugging me about seeing one to look at all the moles, growths and weird things growing throughout my body on my skin.
For years, I refused to give in to her wish for me to see a dermatologist. I’m stubborn – it’s in my family’s blood – and I figured it would be a waste of time, as well as money. I’ve always been a moley person, along with both my mother and grandmother – also in our blood. Fortunately, the bad things that sometimes come with moles, skin cancer and melanoma, are not in our blood, so I felt safe in not going to the dermatologist.
Jenny refused to put the issue to rest, telling me I should make an appointment. I was steadfast in my determination not to, mostly to retain my pride in being the most stubborn person in the marriage.
“I really wish you would see someone about those moles,” she would tell me.
“I’ve had them since I was a kid,” I would reply. “When you married me, you married my moles.”
“I guess that makes me Mrs. Mole Steuck.”
I realized late last summer I need to stop being stubborn, and for my wife’s happiness I should have my moles checked out. I had her make an appointment, which was scheduled for November.
Several weeks before the appointment, the dermatologist’s office called and said the doctor needed to reschedule, much to my pleasure. Even better, their next available date was not until March. I happily said yes to the new date.
My happiness turned to sadness when Jenny informed me the dermatologist could remove my giant mole above my eye during the appointment. “Why didn’t you tell me that before?” I asked. “I wouldn’t have argued with you about the appointment.”
“I assumed you knew that,” she said.
I didn’t. My stubbornness got in the way of me seeing some of the benefits to this appointment, and now I was left waiting for something I really wanted that I could have had done years before.
Fortunately, March came quickly. Normally apprehensive about any doctor appointments, I was eager to get to this one, arriving early and hoping they could get me in early. They did, and when the dermatologist saw me, she asked me why I was there.
“To get this thing (pointing to the giant mole above my eye) removed,” I said. “Oh yeah, and to have you look at all my other moles, per my wife’s request.”
And then she said something that almost crushed my spirit. “Well, I can’t just remove a mole because you find it ugly. We need a reason to remove it.”
I was too honest to make up any reason other than my intended reason – it’s ugly – so I immediately assumed my mole would remain. Thankfully, she found a reason. “Do you have an old driver’s license?” she asked.
In my wallet I had my current license, taken in October, as well as my old one, taken many years prior to that one. She had me take them out, and then compared the two photos, noting the mole had grown over the years, giving her a reason to remove it.
After examining my body, she found three other moles she wanted to remove, for precautionary reasons and to have them tested. As long as she was taking out the ugly one, I was fine with whatever she did.
Removing the moles was painless, and now those spots are healing. The dermatologist said she doesn’t think she’ll find anything wrong, but she’ll call in about a week to let me know for sure.
I’m not worried, and now Jenny and I are both happy. She’s no longer “Mrs. Mole Steuck” (technically, she still is, as my moles are still there – but she’s much happier about them), and I’m free of an ugly sight I never thought could be gone.
Burmese pythons invade Floriday; it's time to move Disney World
Burmese pythons invade Florida; it’s time to move Disney World
By SCOTT STEUCK
of The Gazette
After visiting Disney World in Florida in January, I found myself sort of wanting to move to the state. But after watching an episode of PBS’ “Nature” series, titled “Invasion of the Giant Pythons,” on Sunday, Feb. 21, I quickly changed my mind.
The episode focused on Florida’s growing Burmese python problem. The snake, which is not native to Florida, or anywhere in the western hemisphere for that matter, has become a nuisance in the Everglades and surrounding region, as owners who once had the snakes as pets have released them after they grew too big for their liking. Also, some exotic pet warehouses that once stored them were destroyed by hurricanes, setting many of them free.
Florida’s environment has allowed the snakes to thrive, and now environmentalists there are concerned the invasive species poses a threat to native wildlife. Alligators aren’t even safe, as the pythons, which can reach 20 feet in length and 200 pounds in weight, prey on them, along with any other animals that cross their paths.
I’ve always been a fan of all snakes, and before I watched the episode I thought it was kind of cool the state had pythons slithering around its swamps. I’ve always thought Wisconsin is lacking in the kinds of cool animals it has, and by cool I mean animals that could pose a danger to humans, such as alligators, scorpions, tarantulas, sharks, piranhas, grizzly bears, walruses, bison, bighorn sheep, gorillas, platypuses and killer whales. Wisconsin does have mountain lions now, as well as a few timber rattlers, but both are so rare here I’m pretty sure I’ll never see one in the wild. The state has plenty of black bears, along with a healthy wolf population up north, but neither is as menacing as some of the other animals I’ve mentioned.
In watching “Invasion of the Giant Pythons,” I saw how the snake can latch onto its prey with its mouth full of jagged, piercing teeth; then wrap its bulky body around its victim, squeezing it to death; and finally swallowing it, letting its stomach acids dissolve it for digestive purposes over the course of the next several days. It’s a death I’ll never want to experience and one that could be avoided by not living there.
To combat the problem, Florida Fish and Wildlife will open a special season March 9-April 17 for Burmese pythons, along with one for two other invasive species that are also wreaking havoc, African rock pythons and Nile monitor lizards. Officials warn the meat from these species is probably too toxic to eat, due to high mercury levels, but their skins can be profitable, as cowboy boots made from python skin can be worth as much as $700.
An awful lot of hunters will be needed, because officials estimate the number of wild pythons to be in the tens of thousands. During the PBS show, the film crew visited an abandoned rocket testing site in the Everglades and found quite a few of the snakes crawling around the place. The crew also interviewed one snake hunter who said he’s killed more than 50 of the snakes on just one stretch of road.
I don’t think I could handle encountering just one of those snakes. As a teenager, I once came across a den of grass snakes in our back yard. I had fun catching them, and then freaking others out, including my sister, simply by dangling one in front of them.
A couple of summers ago my young son and I came across a dead grass snake on the road, and both of us wanted to take it back to my mother-in-law, as we knew she’s deathly afraid of snakes. We chose not to, a decision my wife says was wise because it may have brought a ban to our use of the lake house there. I still tease my mother-in-law that we’re going to find a live snake and bring it back to her.
If I ever came across a Burmese python, though, she can be assured I won’t bring it back because I’ll be running in the opposite direction as quickly as I can.
I know it’s highly unlikely that would ever happen in Wisconsin, but it’s possible. About 10 years ago, while working at a newspaper in Wautoma, someone’s pet alligator escaped from his house, and it stayed on the loose for quite a long time. The sheriff at the time, Pat Fox, caught it after getting summoned to its location by someone who spotted it. Like the late Steve Irwin, he had to wrestle the alligator in order to catch it, solidifying a legendary status in his place among the county’s sheriffs.
I’m assuming sheriffs and other officers don’t want to risk their lives and waste time catching these exotic animals, so it surprises me stricter ordinances and laws aren’t in place prohibiting people from owning them. Then again, our rule makers aren’t exactly known for passing laws that actually make sense, so it doesn’t really surprise me Florida is being invaded by pythons.
I’m just hoping they never reach Disney World. I don’t want to have to worry about finding a giant snake by my foot when I get in a Tea Cup.
By SCOTT STEUCK
of The Gazette
After visiting Disney World in Florida in January, I found myself sort of wanting to move to the state. But after watching an episode of PBS’ “Nature” series, titled “Invasion of the Giant Pythons,” on Sunday, Feb. 21, I quickly changed my mind.
The episode focused on Florida’s growing Burmese python problem. The snake, which is not native to Florida, or anywhere in the western hemisphere for that matter, has become a nuisance in the Everglades and surrounding region, as owners who once had the snakes as pets have released them after they grew too big for their liking. Also, some exotic pet warehouses that once stored them were destroyed by hurricanes, setting many of them free.
Florida’s environment has allowed the snakes to thrive, and now environmentalists there are concerned the invasive species poses a threat to native wildlife. Alligators aren’t even safe, as the pythons, which can reach 20 feet in length and 200 pounds in weight, prey on them, along with any other animals that cross their paths.
I’ve always been a fan of all snakes, and before I watched the episode I thought it was kind of cool the state had pythons slithering around its swamps. I’ve always thought Wisconsin is lacking in the kinds of cool animals it has, and by cool I mean animals that could pose a danger to humans, such as alligators, scorpions, tarantulas, sharks, piranhas, grizzly bears, walruses, bison, bighorn sheep, gorillas, platypuses and killer whales. Wisconsin does have mountain lions now, as well as a few timber rattlers, but both are so rare here I’m pretty sure I’ll never see one in the wild. The state has plenty of black bears, along with a healthy wolf population up north, but neither is as menacing as some of the other animals I’ve mentioned.
In watching “Invasion of the Giant Pythons,” I saw how the snake can latch onto its prey with its mouth full of jagged, piercing teeth; then wrap its bulky body around its victim, squeezing it to death; and finally swallowing it, letting its stomach acids dissolve it for digestive purposes over the course of the next several days. It’s a death I’ll never want to experience and one that could be avoided by not living there.
To combat the problem, Florida Fish and Wildlife will open a special season March 9-April 17 for Burmese pythons, along with one for two other invasive species that are also wreaking havoc, African rock pythons and Nile monitor lizards. Officials warn the meat from these species is probably too toxic to eat, due to high mercury levels, but their skins can be profitable, as cowboy boots made from python skin can be worth as much as $700.
An awful lot of hunters will be needed, because officials estimate the number of wild pythons to be in the tens of thousands. During the PBS show, the film crew visited an abandoned rocket testing site in the Everglades and found quite a few of the snakes crawling around the place. The crew also interviewed one snake hunter who said he’s killed more than 50 of the snakes on just one stretch of road.
I don’t think I could handle encountering just one of those snakes. As a teenager, I once came across a den of grass snakes in our back yard. I had fun catching them, and then freaking others out, including my sister, simply by dangling one in front of them.
A couple of summers ago my young son and I came across a dead grass snake on the road, and both of us wanted to take it back to my mother-in-law, as we knew she’s deathly afraid of snakes. We chose not to, a decision my wife says was wise because it may have brought a ban to our use of the lake house there. I still tease my mother-in-law that we’re going to find a live snake and bring it back to her.
If I ever came across a Burmese python, though, she can be assured I won’t bring it back because I’ll be running in the opposite direction as quickly as I can.
I know it’s highly unlikely that would ever happen in Wisconsin, but it’s possible. About 10 years ago, while working at a newspaper in Wautoma, someone’s pet alligator escaped from his house, and it stayed on the loose for quite a long time. The sheriff at the time, Pat Fox, caught it after getting summoned to its location by someone who spotted it. Like the late Steve Irwin, he had to wrestle the alligator in order to catch it, solidifying a legendary status in his place among the county’s sheriffs.
I’m assuming sheriffs and other officers don’t want to risk their lives and waste time catching these exotic animals, so it surprises me stricter ordinances and laws aren’t in place prohibiting people from owning them. Then again, our rule makers aren’t exactly known for passing laws that actually make sense, so it doesn’t really surprise me Florida is being invaded by pythons.
I’m just hoping they never reach Disney World. I don’t want to have to worry about finding a giant snake by my foot when I get in a Tea Cup.
Favre vs. Schwarzenegger debate comes to self-ending conclusion
If Brett Favre, the quarterback the vast majority of this country thinks is the greatest of all time except for the people in Wisconsin, and Arnold Schwarzenegger were to get in a fight, who would win?
I’ll admit, it’s a stupid question that probably shouldn’t take up valuable space in a newspaper with limited space that could be used for better things, but I ask because it’s become a 13-year-long argument I’ve had with former co-workers at another newspaper, and I want it settled.
It began innocently enough in 1997, when the Green Bay Packers, under Favre’s leadership, were in the midst of a failed campaign to defend the Super Bowl title they had won earlier in the year. One of those co-workers, Bonnie, kept talking about Favre as though he was mankind’s salvation for all of its problems. This, of course, was before Bono from U2 unofficially took on that role.
I politely listened to her rhetoric, nodding approval to the things she said mainly because, as the new guy there, I didn’t want to get on her bad side, nor the bad side of our boss, Mary, who wholeheartedly agreed with everything she said. In fact, Mary often added points Bonnie may have missed to make the argument about Favre’s greatness stronger.
One day, in a bad mood about something I can’t recall, I finally spoke up when I couldn’t take their spiel anymore. “Brett Favre is not a god,” I said. “Practically anybody could beat him in a fight.”
“Name one?” they asked.
My brain immediately conjured up someone with some of the biggest muscles of all time: Arnold Schwarzenegger. At the time, he was already past his prime, and his films hadn’t been doing well at the box office. People suspected he had political aspirations, but he was still more than six years away from becoming governor of California. Thinking back, I should have chosen a better opponent for Favre, one they couldn’t have questioned, but it was still a solid choice any right-minded person wouldn’t question.
But they weren’t right-minded when it came to Favre, and they attacked my response. “He can barely speak English,” Bonnie said.
“He’s foreign and English isn’t his native tongue. How many languages can you speak?” I retorted.
“He doesn’t have any brains,” Mary argued.
“Have you seen ‘Pumping Iron,’ the documentary in which he uses his sharp wit to torment Lou Ferigno, the Incredible Hulk, into losing the Mr. Universe contest? The guy is one of the sharpest minds in Hollywood,” I answered.
“He’s slow,” Bonnie said.
“Favre’s not much faster,” I said, not realizing 13 years later if he would have had any speed he could have ran a few yards, avoided an interception, and most likely returned to the Super Bowl for the third time.
“Favre is street smart,” said Bonnie.
I’m not sure what made her believe he was street smart, as he grew up in rural Mississippi, far away from any streets where he may have needed any such smarts. Most likely, he had a hunting rifle with him at all times, so the ability to defend himself did not rest with physical strength, but rather with the ability to fire a rifle accurately at a target. And judging by the lack of stories out there about Favre ever doing this, I’m sure he never even got in situations he needed to defend himself.
I decided I needed to end the argument.
“He was ‘Conan the Barbarian.’ He knocked out a camel with one punch.”
The argument should have ended with that statement, but Bonnie had to point out “Conan” was just a film.
“Yes, but people seeing it believed it could be real because Arnold had the muscles and looked like a person who could knock out a camel with one punch.”
Again, argument ended.
But, no. They kept insisting Favre’s “street smarts” and “speed” would take down Schwarzenegger’s muscles quickly.
It was clear neither of us was going to back down on our positions.
Relying on others hasn’t helped us settle the argument. Although the majority of people I’ve talked to about this argument agree with me, a few have taken their side.
I’m confident this argument could have ended several times, had they used a few opportunities in which they’ve had conversations with Favre himself to poise the question to him. I’m sure he would have agreed with me.
To this day, when I see my former co-workers, the argument continues to come up. Although they now feel betrayed and hurt by Favre, they still refuse to acknowledge I am the winner in the argument, just like I’ll refuse to ever concede victory to them.
I was supposed to go to the Wisconsin Newspaper Association Annual Convention last week with Mary, but she backed out at the last minute. I’m pretty sure she knew I may have been able to get her to accept my win in the debate. I’m not letting her off that easy, though. This column is my final say in the matter, as I use it to declare victory.
I’ll admit, it’s a stupid question that probably shouldn’t take up valuable space in a newspaper with limited space that could be used for better things, but I ask because it’s become a 13-year-long argument I’ve had with former co-workers at another newspaper, and I want it settled.
It began innocently enough in 1997, when the Green Bay Packers, under Favre’s leadership, were in the midst of a failed campaign to defend the Super Bowl title they had won earlier in the year. One of those co-workers, Bonnie, kept talking about Favre as though he was mankind’s salvation for all of its problems. This, of course, was before Bono from U2 unofficially took on that role.
I politely listened to her rhetoric, nodding approval to the things she said mainly because, as the new guy there, I didn’t want to get on her bad side, nor the bad side of our boss, Mary, who wholeheartedly agreed with everything she said. In fact, Mary often added points Bonnie may have missed to make the argument about Favre’s greatness stronger.
One day, in a bad mood about something I can’t recall, I finally spoke up when I couldn’t take their spiel anymore. “Brett Favre is not a god,” I said. “Practically anybody could beat him in a fight.”
“Name one?” they asked.
My brain immediately conjured up someone with some of the biggest muscles of all time: Arnold Schwarzenegger. At the time, he was already past his prime, and his films hadn’t been doing well at the box office. People suspected he had political aspirations, but he was still more than six years away from becoming governor of California. Thinking back, I should have chosen a better opponent for Favre, one they couldn’t have questioned, but it was still a solid choice any right-minded person wouldn’t question.
But they weren’t right-minded when it came to Favre, and they attacked my response. “He can barely speak English,” Bonnie said.
“He’s foreign and English isn’t his native tongue. How many languages can you speak?” I retorted.
“He doesn’t have any brains,” Mary argued.
“Have you seen ‘Pumping Iron,’ the documentary in which he uses his sharp wit to torment Lou Ferigno, the Incredible Hulk, into losing the Mr. Universe contest? The guy is one of the sharpest minds in Hollywood,” I answered.
“He’s slow,” Bonnie said.
“Favre’s not much faster,” I said, not realizing 13 years later if he would have had any speed he could have ran a few yards, avoided an interception, and most likely returned to the Super Bowl for the third time.
“Favre is street smart,” said Bonnie.
I’m not sure what made her believe he was street smart, as he grew up in rural Mississippi, far away from any streets where he may have needed any such smarts. Most likely, he had a hunting rifle with him at all times, so the ability to defend himself did not rest with physical strength, but rather with the ability to fire a rifle accurately at a target. And judging by the lack of stories out there about Favre ever doing this, I’m sure he never even got in situations he needed to defend himself.
I decided I needed to end the argument.
“He was ‘Conan the Barbarian.’ He knocked out a camel with one punch.”
The argument should have ended with that statement, but Bonnie had to point out “Conan” was just a film.
“Yes, but people seeing it believed it could be real because Arnold had the muscles and looked like a person who could knock out a camel with one punch.”
Again, argument ended.
But, no. They kept insisting Favre’s “street smarts” and “speed” would take down Schwarzenegger’s muscles quickly.
It was clear neither of us was going to back down on our positions.
Relying on others hasn’t helped us settle the argument. Although the majority of people I’ve talked to about this argument agree with me, a few have taken their side.
I’m confident this argument could have ended several times, had they used a few opportunities in which they’ve had conversations with Favre himself to poise the question to him. I’m sure he would have agreed with me.
To this day, when I see my former co-workers, the argument continues to come up. Although they now feel betrayed and hurt by Favre, they still refuse to acknowledge I am the winner in the argument, just like I’ll refuse to ever concede victory to them.
I was supposed to go to the Wisconsin Newspaper Association Annual Convention last week with Mary, but she backed out at the last minute. I’m pretty sure she knew I may have been able to get her to accept my win in the debate. I’m not letting her off that easy, though. This column is my final say in the matter, as I use it to declare victory.
Dishonesty by child breaks parents' hearts
For nearly five years my son, Braden, has been a source of nothing but pure pleasure for my wife, Jenny, and me. Ever since he was born on St. Patrick’s Day during a snowstorm in 2005, we’ve taken joy with everything he has done, both good and naughty, as the innocence only a child could display through his actions has always made us smile or laugh, or it has allowed us to add one more story to our files we could taunt him with when he’s older.
But he did something last week that was not so innocent and made me realize he’s growing up faster than I want him to grow up. He blatantly lied to me.
The lie occurred when I picked him up from his daycare. Like I usually do, I asked both his teacher and him what type of day he had. The daycare uses a color system – green for good, yellow for not-so good and red for bad – to assign a behavior rating for each child every day. Braden is usually yellow, while occasionally green and sometimes red, and we’ve been working with him to become green all the time.
When I arrived, he immediately told me he had a green day, much to my happiness. His teacher, who only had him for an hour or so, did not dispute him.
But when I was putting him in my car, I simply asked if he was on green at both schools – one school being the daycare and the other being the 4K classroom he goes to in the afternoon. He hesitated before saying yes.
His hesitation caused me to dig a little further. “So, if I called Miss Lindsey,” I asked, “she would tell me you were on green at 4K?”
This is the point where his lie fell apart. He started crying and insisted I shouldn’t call her, mainly because I didn’t have her number. Of course, I lied and said I did, and that I was indeed going to call her.
I assumed he would come clean then, with my empty threat exposing his lie. He kept crying, insisting I shouldn’t call and that he wasn’t on green.
This continued for 20 minutes until we got home. I explained the situation to Jenny. She agreed his actions seemed suspicious, and we asked him numerous times whether or not he was lying about his color, explaining we couldn’t understand why he was so opposed to us calling his teacher.
We finally agreed that he may be telling the truth, and that the issue would be resolved the next morning when I could ask his teacher about his day. Braden agreed to the measure, which made us think he wasn’t lying and that we were being too hard on him.
The next day, when I asked his teacher, I learned he was indeed lying, as he was on yellow. She said he wasn’t listening to her when the kids were sitting on the carpet during story time, a minor offense had he been honest about would have merited just a stern “don’t do it again” from us.
Instead, knowing he had been dishonest with us and that he tried until the last second to get away with it, I felt my heart being pulled apart in 12 different directions. One part was upset with the lie, the second part mad he couldn’t come clean with us when given the opportunity, the third part angry he was old enough to lie, the fourth part sad he wasn’t young enough to not lie, the fifth part disturbed he was naughty in the first place, the sixth part concerned we may have forced him to tell the fib, the seventh part irritated he wasn’t smart enough to lie in a way we could have remained oblivious to it, and the eighth part annoyed I’ve had to come up with so many synonyms to “upset” in describing my feelings without repeating myself.
Braden knew I was disappointed with him, so he became quiet, refusing to look me in the eye, give me a hug or say goodbye when I left.
In my car, on the way to work, I realized he was human, like the rest of us, and that I couldn’t expect perfection from him. I also realized we needed to address the situation, as we didn’t want him to think it was acceptable behavior.
After talking about it with Jenny, we decided we weren’t going to make him feel bad for his behavior by lecturing him about it. Instead, we decided, we were going to set up a consistent award-and-punishment system that would make our expectations clear to him.
On green days he would receive a quarter for his piggy bank, and on red days we’d take a quarter away. His piggy bank, which he can spend however he wishes when he has enough money, would neither increase nor decrease on yellow days.
He could only watch television in the evening if he had a green day, making it a reward for good behavior.
He crabbed at the rules at first, as we did not allow him to watch television that evening for his behavior the day before. He quickly realized, though, he was getting off easy for the crime, so he accepted it and had a good night playing with his toys.
After a week with these new rules, he seems to understand them. He’s avoided red days, but he’s only had a couple of green days. I’m hopeful that as we grow and learn as parents we’ll help him produce more of them. And I’m hopeful he won’t try pulling a fast one on us again until he’s at least a little older. I don’t want him perfecting his technique now, because then he may get away with bigger and scarier lies as a teen. I want to be able to stop them then, too.
But he did something last week that was not so innocent and made me realize he’s growing up faster than I want him to grow up. He blatantly lied to me.
The lie occurred when I picked him up from his daycare. Like I usually do, I asked both his teacher and him what type of day he had. The daycare uses a color system – green for good, yellow for not-so good and red for bad – to assign a behavior rating for each child every day. Braden is usually yellow, while occasionally green and sometimes red, and we’ve been working with him to become green all the time.
When I arrived, he immediately told me he had a green day, much to my happiness. His teacher, who only had him for an hour or so, did not dispute him.
But when I was putting him in my car, I simply asked if he was on green at both schools – one school being the daycare and the other being the 4K classroom he goes to in the afternoon. He hesitated before saying yes.
His hesitation caused me to dig a little further. “So, if I called Miss Lindsey,” I asked, “she would tell me you were on green at 4K?”
This is the point where his lie fell apart. He started crying and insisted I shouldn’t call her, mainly because I didn’t have her number. Of course, I lied and said I did, and that I was indeed going to call her.
I assumed he would come clean then, with my empty threat exposing his lie. He kept crying, insisting I shouldn’t call and that he wasn’t on green.
This continued for 20 minutes until we got home. I explained the situation to Jenny. She agreed his actions seemed suspicious, and we asked him numerous times whether or not he was lying about his color, explaining we couldn’t understand why he was so opposed to us calling his teacher.
We finally agreed that he may be telling the truth, and that the issue would be resolved the next morning when I could ask his teacher about his day. Braden agreed to the measure, which made us think he wasn’t lying and that we were being too hard on him.
The next day, when I asked his teacher, I learned he was indeed lying, as he was on yellow. She said he wasn’t listening to her when the kids were sitting on the carpet during story time, a minor offense had he been honest about would have merited just a stern “don’t do it again” from us.
Instead, knowing he had been dishonest with us and that he tried until the last second to get away with it, I felt my heart being pulled apart in 12 different directions. One part was upset with the lie, the second part mad he couldn’t come clean with us when given the opportunity, the third part angry he was old enough to lie, the fourth part sad he wasn’t young enough to not lie, the fifth part disturbed he was naughty in the first place, the sixth part concerned we may have forced him to tell the fib, the seventh part irritated he wasn’t smart enough to lie in a way we could have remained oblivious to it, and the eighth part annoyed I’ve had to come up with so many synonyms to “upset” in describing my feelings without repeating myself.
Braden knew I was disappointed with him, so he became quiet, refusing to look me in the eye, give me a hug or say goodbye when I left.
In my car, on the way to work, I realized he was human, like the rest of us, and that I couldn’t expect perfection from him. I also realized we needed to address the situation, as we didn’t want him to think it was acceptable behavior.
After talking about it with Jenny, we decided we weren’t going to make him feel bad for his behavior by lecturing him about it. Instead, we decided, we were going to set up a consistent award-and-punishment system that would make our expectations clear to him.
On green days he would receive a quarter for his piggy bank, and on red days we’d take a quarter away. His piggy bank, which he can spend however he wishes when he has enough money, would neither increase nor decrease on yellow days.
He could only watch television in the evening if he had a green day, making it a reward for good behavior.
He crabbed at the rules at first, as we did not allow him to watch television that evening for his behavior the day before. He quickly realized, though, he was getting off easy for the crime, so he accepted it and had a good night playing with his toys.
After a week with these new rules, he seems to understand them. He’s avoided red days, but he’s only had a couple of green days. I’m hopeful that as we grow and learn as parents we’ll help him produce more of them. And I’m hopeful he won’t try pulling a fast one on us again until he’s at least a little older. I don’t want him perfecting his technique now, because then he may get away with bigger and scarier lies as a teen. I want to be able to stop them then, too.
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