While many fear it, others, like me, wish it upon themselves.
I’m talking about jury duty.
I had my first real opportunity to serve on a jury this week, as I was one of 100 people in Portage County selected to be in the jury pool for a big four-week murder trial taking place all this month.
Knowing there was little chance I would actually be selected to sit on the 15-person jury (which includes three alternates), I figured I’d show up Monday for jury selection and get sent quickly back to my job.
“Do you have any conflict of interest?” I thought I’d be asked.
“Yes, I’ve written about this case for The Gazette,” I’d reply.
“Go back to work then. No jury duty for you.” This, of course, is said in the voice of the infamous “Soup Nazi” from a classic “Seinfeld” episode.
Boy, I couldn’t have been any more wrong in how that conversation, or should I say nonconversation, would take place, and I learned many other things about jury duty on Monday.
The day began at 7:45 a.m., as potential jurors needed to report 15 minutes prior to the 8 a.m. start to get through the new security procedures at the courthouse. Lt. Daniel Kontos and his crew, despite having only several weeks to adjust to the new procedures, did an excellent job in getting people – more than 100 in all – through security quickly and without hassle. One person even noted this is much better than an airport, which I took more as a compliment than as a backhanded criticism.
Once inside the courtroom, which was quite crowded, Clerk of Courts Bernadette Flatoff spoke for approximately half an hour about the jury selection process, as well as a little bit about its history in Wisconsin.
I learned potential jurors are selected from license and identification card data bases now, and not voter registration rolls as I assumed they were still chosen from as in the past. It allows for a bigger pool, said Flatoff, and allows the pool to serve for only one month, rather than six months as they have had to serve in the past.
I also learned not everyone there that day will be selected for questioning. Rather, 29 of the 100 in the pool were selected for questioning, and they were considered the jury members.
When Judge Thomas Flugaur entered the room, he explained a few more rules, and noted he will be the first and only person to ask questions of jury members for the first part of the selection process. Over the course of the next few hours, he asked a series of “Yes” and “No” questions, to which members raised their hands when they had a “Yes” answer. Some of these questions included: “Do you know the district attorney?” “Do you know the defendant?” “Do you know any of the witnesses (and then he read the names of all 66 potential witnesses)?” And so on.
The questions also included: “Do you know anything about the case?” That’s the question I wanted to answer, because I knew it would get me off the jury.
After he asked those questions, each of the 29 potential jurors was questioned individually, in another room, by the judge, and possibly the attorneys, although I’m not sure since I wasn’t in the room. I believe they were asked more in-depth questions based on their previous answers, although, again, I’m not sure since I wasn’t there to hear those questions.
This process took place for several hours before lunch, and then again several hours after lunch (which was catered for us across the street in the Annex Building). And every once in a while, those individual jurors did not return following individual questioning, as they were dismissed for various reasons.
After all 29 members were questioned, 24 remained. Instead of selecting from those 24, five of the remaining 71 jury pool candidates were selected randomly in a drawing to fill those five empty seats. I was not among those five. The new members were then questioned by the judge, and then individually questioned, with some of them eventually getting dismissed.
After a similar third round, 29 members were in place. Since the jury was not officially seated, the remaining jury pool candidates had to stay as those 29 members were questioned by both the district attorney and the defense attorney.
Their questions were not as easy to interpret, as they included questions about fishing licenses, lead sinkers, firearms and other seemingly random things. For those who knew nothing about the case, the questions must have seemed weird. Other questions weren’t questions so much, but more like statements that were said to the jury for the lawyers to gauge reactions, as body language is probably just as important to a lawyer in selecting a juror as actual answers.
Following their questions, each of the two sides were able to eliminate seven members, until the jury of 15 was left remaining. With them in place, the judge dismissed all of us who were not selected, nearly eight hours after the process began.
It was an experience I’m glad I was able to see firsthand, and it’s one I’m glad I brought a book to, as it may have been a lot harder without having anything to do.
If you are ever selected for jury duty, don’t worry, though. This day was an exception, Flatoff noted, as the process is usually much quicker with smaller cases. Maybe I’ll get selected for one of those cases, as I still have the potential in April, and I’ll actually get the opportunity to be seated on a jury for a case I might know nothing about. That would be interesting.
Friday, April 8, 2011
The Potato may make a fool of a few people
Just to warn people: when you get to pages ? and ?, please don’t take the articles on those pages seriously. It is April 1, after all.
We call those pages “The Potato,” a spoof on the greatest spoof paper of all – The Onion. Being Portage County, the state’s leading potato producer, The Potato is the perfect name.
While some people may not be fans of The Potato, which is understandable since humor is a fickle matter subject to the type of individual one is, others look forward to our spoofs every year. In fact, one of the articles was actually submitted by a reader.
The rest were written by Gazette staff members. We each have our own pen name – mine being Kent Clark in tribute to the journalist alter-ego of Superman.
We don’t spend much time writing them, as we’re busy enough with the real news, but it is a nice break to write something that doesn’t require too much thought and allows us to show our humorous sides.
Events taking place in Madison were the big topic staff members wanted to poke fun at this year. We tried our best to make fun of both sides of the matter, with one story focusing on Gov. Scooter Valker selling both Portage County and the Capitol building to a pair of out-of-state brothers, and another concentrating on protests by cat “nonlabor” unions.
I strayed away from politics and wrote about E.T. moving to Junction City. I went with the topic after one staff member suggested we write about aliens in Portage County, and another saying an alien would be named E.T.ski if it lived here. We laughed at the suggestion, which was enough to make me run with it.
We even poke fun at the media, which is usually the job of Comedy Central “The Daily Show.” We agree with Jon Stewart that someone needs to keep the media’s coverage, or lack of fair coverage, in check.
I’m a fan of The Onion, as well as that of other spoof news media, as long as people know it’s a joke. We tried our best to keep that fact clear by changing names of real people, like the governor, and making the stories outrageous enough somebody would have to be a real fool to believe them.
Having said that, it’s inevitable we’ll get a few calls or e-mails from people who fall for the joke and believe them to be true. To those people, we apologize. But we hope you have a good chuckle when you realize you’ve been had.
We call those pages “The Potato,” a spoof on the greatest spoof paper of all – The Onion. Being Portage County, the state’s leading potato producer, The Potato is the perfect name.
While some people may not be fans of The Potato, which is understandable since humor is a fickle matter subject to the type of individual one is, others look forward to our spoofs every year. In fact, one of the articles was actually submitted by a reader.
The rest were written by Gazette staff members. We each have our own pen name – mine being Kent Clark in tribute to the journalist alter-ego of Superman.
We don’t spend much time writing them, as we’re busy enough with the real news, but it is a nice break to write something that doesn’t require too much thought and allows us to show our humorous sides.
Events taking place in Madison were the big topic staff members wanted to poke fun at this year. We tried our best to make fun of both sides of the matter, with one story focusing on Gov. Scooter Valker selling both Portage County and the Capitol building to a pair of out-of-state brothers, and another concentrating on protests by cat “nonlabor” unions.
I strayed away from politics and wrote about E.T. moving to Junction City. I went with the topic after one staff member suggested we write about aliens in Portage County, and another saying an alien would be named E.T.ski if it lived here. We laughed at the suggestion, which was enough to make me run with it.
We even poke fun at the media, which is usually the job of Comedy Central “The Daily Show.” We agree with Jon Stewart that someone needs to keep the media’s coverage, or lack of fair coverage, in check.
I’m a fan of The Onion, as well as that of other spoof news media, as long as people know it’s a joke. We tried our best to keep that fact clear by changing names of real people, like the governor, and making the stories outrageous enough somebody would have to be a real fool to believe them.
Having said that, it’s inevitable we’ll get a few calls or e-mails from people who fall for the joke and believe them to be true. To those people, we apologize. But we hope you have a good chuckle when you realize you’ve been had.
Citizenship test results show how government operates
Gov. Scott Walker may want to think twice about cutting school funds, given the results of a recent Newsweek study.
The magazine gave 1,000 Americans the test immigrants need to pass in order to become a U.S. citizen, and only 62 percent of those taking the test passed.
Even more surprising, large percentages of those taking the test didn’t know the answers to seemingly simple questions, such as the name of the current vice president and what the U.S. was fighting against during the Cold War.
According to Newsweek, 29 percent did not know Joe Biden is the current vice president, while a whopping 73 percent didn’t know the U.S. was fighting communism during the Cold War.
While the vice president’s role isn’t nearly as important as that of the president, it’s still significant enough that people should know who is in the position.
While not knowing that bit of information can be excusable, not knowing the single most important fact about the Cold War is inexcusable. Lasting nearly 50 years, the Cold War was significant to the everyday lives of a large percentage of today’s population.
I remember growing up to the fear of communism, even though the threat in the late 1970s and 1980s was greatly diminished compared to what it was in earlier decades. How many people don’t remember this – or how younger generations may not have learned about it – seems incomprehensible to me.
Other interesting results from the test: 23 percent didn’t know Martin Luther King Jr. fought for civil rights; 33 percent didn’t know the Declaration of Independence was adopted July 4, 1776; and only 37 percent knew there are nine justices on the Supreme Court.
Andrew Romano, a Newsweek senior writer, said he believes it’s not an issue of stupidity, but more of one about ignorance. People don’t know some of the specifics because their brains are too preoccupied just trying to understand the basics of our complicated government system, he said, noting they do have a pretty good grasp on how our government works.
That’s kind of encouraging to hear, because I would have guessed few people could understand how it works, since it often seems more dysfunctional than functional. Most of the time, it appears to operate despite its many flaws.
And one of those flaws – how government handles education funding – may be the exact reason why so many people failed this test. It’s not a secret that education has taken funding hits in recent years, and as a result many schools have changed their curriculum to focus on material featured in standardized tests. It’s hard to blame them since those tests are used to measure schools’ performance.
Those tests usually don’t focus on specifics, like the name of our vice president, and instead concentrate on more general operational issues. Essentially then, the test results are perfectly reflective of what our government has created. But most of us know this already, since we are well versed in how government operates.
The magazine gave 1,000 Americans the test immigrants need to pass in order to become a U.S. citizen, and only 62 percent of those taking the test passed.
Even more surprising, large percentages of those taking the test didn’t know the answers to seemingly simple questions, such as the name of the current vice president and what the U.S. was fighting against during the Cold War.
According to Newsweek, 29 percent did not know Joe Biden is the current vice president, while a whopping 73 percent didn’t know the U.S. was fighting communism during the Cold War.
While the vice president’s role isn’t nearly as important as that of the president, it’s still significant enough that people should know who is in the position.
While not knowing that bit of information can be excusable, not knowing the single most important fact about the Cold War is inexcusable. Lasting nearly 50 years, the Cold War was significant to the everyday lives of a large percentage of today’s population.
I remember growing up to the fear of communism, even though the threat in the late 1970s and 1980s was greatly diminished compared to what it was in earlier decades. How many people don’t remember this – or how younger generations may not have learned about it – seems incomprehensible to me.
Other interesting results from the test: 23 percent didn’t know Martin Luther King Jr. fought for civil rights; 33 percent didn’t know the Declaration of Independence was adopted July 4, 1776; and only 37 percent knew there are nine justices on the Supreme Court.
Andrew Romano, a Newsweek senior writer, said he believes it’s not an issue of stupidity, but more of one about ignorance. People don’t know some of the specifics because their brains are too preoccupied just trying to understand the basics of our complicated government system, he said, noting they do have a pretty good grasp on how our government works.
That’s kind of encouraging to hear, because I would have guessed few people could understand how it works, since it often seems more dysfunctional than functional. Most of the time, it appears to operate despite its many flaws.
And one of those flaws – how government handles education funding – may be the exact reason why so many people failed this test. It’s not a secret that education has taken funding hits in recent years, and as a result many schools have changed their curriculum to focus on material featured in standardized tests. It’s hard to blame them since those tests are used to measure schools’ performance.
Those tests usually don’t focus on specifics, like the name of our vice president, and instead concentrate on more general operational issues. Essentially then, the test results are perfectly reflective of what our government has created. But most of us know this already, since we are well versed in how government operates.
Witness describes Japanese earthquake, aftermath
Waking up Friday, March 11, and seeing a CNN breaking news alert on my iPod Touch about an 8.9 magnitude earthquake (later made a 9.0) hitting Japan, my first thought was for the safety of my best friend, Alex Roberts, a former Oshkosh resident who has been living in Japan since 1997.
Initial reports suggested low death tolls, mainly because most buildings in the country were constructed in such a way to withstand major earthquakes. But as hours passed the death toll, mainly from the tsunami that resulted from the earthquake, grew, including reports of about 9,500 people missing from an entire town.
Worried, I left a message on Friday evening with Alex’s mother, still living in Oshkosh, to call me when she heard from Alex. My worry turned to fear when I hadn’t heard back from her by Sunday.
She didn’t call me back for a good reason, though, as I learned Monday when Alex himself left a message on my phone saying he was alright, and so was his mother, who for the first time in the nearly 14 years he’s lived there, was visiting him in Japan.
Alex and I spoke on Tuesday morning for 20 minutes. He told me about the earthquake itself and the aftermath of its destruction.
He lives in Chiba, which is east of Tokyo, and like Tokyo, it was badly shaken but stood up fairly well, mainly due to some of the best earthquake-proof buildings on the planet.
Alex said he and his mother had just purchased tickets to see a movie when it started.
“When it started, it seemed like a typical quake, which are quite common in Japan,” he said. “But then it kept going, for several minutes. People never panicked, though, and just braced themselves the best they could.”
Following the earthquake, he said he remembers most the sound of car alarms, which were blaring all around him. Again, though, people did not run around panicking, as could be expected in many other places, including probably America.
Now, four days later, life is anything but normal, he said. “The perishables, including bread and meat, are not available in any of the stores, and toilet paper is gone everywhere,” he said. “Rolling blackouts were supposed to begin last night, but they haven’t started yet.”
Alex said the typically busy shopping culture of Japan has completely disappeared, as people are quietly walking around and most stores are closed. Cracked sidewalks and roads have made travel especially difficult.
The biggest worry right now, he said, is from the potential threat of radiation exposure from some of the nuclear reactors that are melting down. “It’s difficult knowing what to do about that,” said Alex. “Other than to friends’ places in Tokyo, I wouldn’t know where to go if my city was evacuated. Chances are they would be evacuated, too.” He said it’s upsetting watching news reports that indicate Japanese government officials have been slow in revealing the true information about the threat.
Alex said the difficulties people in his area are facing because of the earthquake pale in comparison to the devastation the people north of him have experienced because of it and the tsunami. “This country will be forever changed,” he said.
An English teacher in Japan, as well as a professional kickboxer, Alex said he’s tried looking for ways he can help with relief efforts by volunteering to act as a translator, since he speaks both Japanese and English fluently. He wasn’t successful in his first attempt, but plans to keep trying.
People who also wish to help with relief efforts can do so by donating money to the Red Cross online at redcross.org.
Initial reports suggested low death tolls, mainly because most buildings in the country were constructed in such a way to withstand major earthquakes. But as hours passed the death toll, mainly from the tsunami that resulted from the earthquake, grew, including reports of about 9,500 people missing from an entire town.
Worried, I left a message on Friday evening with Alex’s mother, still living in Oshkosh, to call me when she heard from Alex. My worry turned to fear when I hadn’t heard back from her by Sunday.
She didn’t call me back for a good reason, though, as I learned Monday when Alex himself left a message on my phone saying he was alright, and so was his mother, who for the first time in the nearly 14 years he’s lived there, was visiting him in Japan.
Alex and I spoke on Tuesday morning for 20 minutes. He told me about the earthquake itself and the aftermath of its destruction.
He lives in Chiba, which is east of Tokyo, and like Tokyo, it was badly shaken but stood up fairly well, mainly due to some of the best earthquake-proof buildings on the planet.
Alex said he and his mother had just purchased tickets to see a movie when it started.
“When it started, it seemed like a typical quake, which are quite common in Japan,” he said. “But then it kept going, for several minutes. People never panicked, though, and just braced themselves the best they could.”
Following the earthquake, he said he remembers most the sound of car alarms, which were blaring all around him. Again, though, people did not run around panicking, as could be expected in many other places, including probably America.
Now, four days later, life is anything but normal, he said. “The perishables, including bread and meat, are not available in any of the stores, and toilet paper is gone everywhere,” he said. “Rolling blackouts were supposed to begin last night, but they haven’t started yet.”
Alex said the typically busy shopping culture of Japan has completely disappeared, as people are quietly walking around and most stores are closed. Cracked sidewalks and roads have made travel especially difficult.
The biggest worry right now, he said, is from the potential threat of radiation exposure from some of the nuclear reactors that are melting down. “It’s difficult knowing what to do about that,” said Alex. “Other than to friends’ places in Tokyo, I wouldn’t know where to go if my city was evacuated. Chances are they would be evacuated, too.” He said it’s upsetting watching news reports that indicate Japanese government officials have been slow in revealing the true information about the threat.
Alex said the difficulties people in his area are facing because of the earthquake pale in comparison to the devastation the people north of him have experienced because of it and the tsunami. “This country will be forever changed,” he said.
An English teacher in Japan, as well as a professional kickboxer, Alex said he’s tried looking for ways he can help with relief efforts by volunteering to act as a translator, since he speaks both Japanese and English fluently. He wasn’t successful in his first attempt, but plans to keep trying.
People who also wish to help with relief efforts can do so by donating money to the Red Cross online at redcross.org.
Buckles, Russell are legends who deserve some coverage
Two great Americans died recently – Frank Buckles, the last American World War I veteran, on Wednesday, Feb. 27, and Jane Russell, a movie star, on Thursday, Feb. 28. The news may have escaped some people, as many outlets instead focused on another person: the always-in-trouble Charlie Sheen, the recently-fired star of a CBS show that for beyond reasons I understand is massively popular.
Buckles died at his home in Charles Town, W.Va., of natural causes at the age of 110. He enlisted in the U.S. Army during World War I, at the age of 16, in 1917, and served in England and France, driving ambulances and motorcycles for the Army’s 1st Fort Riley Casual Detachment.
His most terrifying war experience came not from that war, though, but during World War II while living in the Philippines. The Japanese captured the island in 1942 and he was imprisoned for three-and-a-half years.
After becoming the lone World War I surviving veteran in 2008, at the tender age of 107, he became the country’s most prominent veteran, serving as honorary chairman for a number of foundations and committees and receiving numerous awards. Shortly before his 110th birthday, he was still giving media interviews and meeting important dignitaries, including presidents. A documentary about his life is currently in production.
Russell’s moment in the spotlight occurred when she was much younger than Buckles, as she was a sex symbol at the height of her film career in the 1940s and 1950s.
A Minnesota native, she made her film debut in 1943’s “The Outlaw,” a film about Billy the Kid. Although Billy the Kid and Pat Garrett are the subjects of the film, Russell was the star playing Rio McDonald, mainly because her skimpy costumes didn’t leave much to many guys’ imaginations.
During her career, she performed with such legends as Bob Hope, Marilyn Monroe, Robert Mitchum, Frank Sinatra, Groucho Marx and Clark Gable. She and Monroe put their imprints in the cement at the world famous Grauman’s Chinese Theater during a joint ceremony in 1953.
I’ll be honest and note I knew very little about Russell, especially compared to Monroe, but I can assure you my grandfathers probably know many things about her. Looking at photos of her, she was a bombshell that easily compares to Monroe.
Why am I writing about her and Buckles then? A gentleman called this week and asked why their deaths weren’t covered in the media. These people were important to him and he thought they deserved more than a brief mention on television news.
I explained The Gazette is a newspaper that concentrates mainly on local news that pertains specifically to Portage County, and we don’t have access to Associated Press material that covers areas outside our county.
I did tell him I’d look for a way to get something in the paper about these two individuals, and after thinking about it for a few days figured this column was the most appropriate place.
My decision was easy after seeing all the coverage of Charlie Sheen’s ongoing disaster. While he made some decent films early in his career, Sheen isn’t worthy of even holding one of Buckles’ many service medals or Russell’s sexy costumes from her heyday. They are legends, and he is not and never will be.
Hopefully, some of the news outlets will realize this and stop covering his every cocaine snort, porn star conquest and warlock reference. Then maybe they can focus on the news that deserves some coverage.
Buckles died at his home in Charles Town, W.Va., of natural causes at the age of 110. He enlisted in the U.S. Army during World War I, at the age of 16, in 1917, and served in England and France, driving ambulances and motorcycles for the Army’s 1st Fort Riley Casual Detachment.
His most terrifying war experience came not from that war, though, but during World War II while living in the Philippines. The Japanese captured the island in 1942 and he was imprisoned for three-and-a-half years.
After becoming the lone World War I surviving veteran in 2008, at the tender age of 107, he became the country’s most prominent veteran, serving as honorary chairman for a number of foundations and committees and receiving numerous awards. Shortly before his 110th birthday, he was still giving media interviews and meeting important dignitaries, including presidents. A documentary about his life is currently in production.
Russell’s moment in the spotlight occurred when she was much younger than Buckles, as she was a sex symbol at the height of her film career in the 1940s and 1950s.
A Minnesota native, she made her film debut in 1943’s “The Outlaw,” a film about Billy the Kid. Although Billy the Kid and Pat Garrett are the subjects of the film, Russell was the star playing Rio McDonald, mainly because her skimpy costumes didn’t leave much to many guys’ imaginations.
During her career, she performed with such legends as Bob Hope, Marilyn Monroe, Robert Mitchum, Frank Sinatra, Groucho Marx and Clark Gable. She and Monroe put their imprints in the cement at the world famous Grauman’s Chinese Theater during a joint ceremony in 1953.
I’ll be honest and note I knew very little about Russell, especially compared to Monroe, but I can assure you my grandfathers probably know many things about her. Looking at photos of her, she was a bombshell that easily compares to Monroe.
Why am I writing about her and Buckles then? A gentleman called this week and asked why their deaths weren’t covered in the media. These people were important to him and he thought they deserved more than a brief mention on television news.
I explained The Gazette is a newspaper that concentrates mainly on local news that pertains specifically to Portage County, and we don’t have access to Associated Press material that covers areas outside our county.
I did tell him I’d look for a way to get something in the paper about these two individuals, and after thinking about it for a few days figured this column was the most appropriate place.
My decision was easy after seeing all the coverage of Charlie Sheen’s ongoing disaster. While he made some decent films early in his career, Sheen isn’t worthy of even holding one of Buckles’ many service medals or Russell’s sexy costumes from her heyday. They are legends, and he is not and never will be.
Hopefully, some of the news outlets will realize this and stop covering his every cocaine snort, porn star conquest and warlock reference. Then maybe they can focus on the news that deserves some coverage.
Three years of apartment life will soon end
My family and I have lived in an apartment for the past three years, which is two years more than we thought we would. That will soon change, as we are currently building a new home on the north side of Stevens Point.
When we sold our home in Wautoma in 2008, we decided to rent an apartment in Plover for a year while we explored our options. Did we want to buy a home, build one or maybe move on to another community? We didn’t know.
We quickly eliminated the option to move elsewhere, as we fell in love with Portage County. Simply said, it offers many of the conveniences of a metropolitan area, but with less of the hassles, such as traffic, crime and traffic. Did I mention traffic?
My wife, Jenny, and I looked at plenty of homes in the area, and never found anything we really liked in our price range. When we bought our home in Wautoma, we knew immediately it was the one. We never had those feelings about the homes we looked at here.
Building a home seemed like the best option, but then the economy collapsed, putting our mission on hold for two more years than we intended. As we waited for the banking industry to collect itself, we purchased a lot in the Eagle Point Subdivision and looked at builders and plans.
Jenny discovered the subdivision during the Golden Sands Home Builders Association’s annual Tour of Homes in 2009 in which one of the featured homes was located there. We loved its proximity to Interstate 39, and the rural setting it offers that we enjoyed growing up in rural Waushara County. We knew it was the perfect place to raise our son, Braden. Plus it has a nice lake where Braden and I caught several big bass last summer.
After looking at a number of builders, we decided we wanted to go with Heartland Homes in Plover, which at the time was a Wausau Homes dealer and is now a Blenker Homes dealer. Jason, Brice and the rest of the staff there were friendly, and word of mouth said they were a good group of people to deal with.
After more than a year’s worth of looking at plans, we finally found one we liked: a modest three-bedroom, two-bathroom ranch-style home.
The basement for the home was dug and the footings were set this week. Heartland will set the home, which is constructed in Blenker’s facility in Amherst, on Tuesday, March 22, and it should be finished on May 22.
We’ll have to wait a few weeks to move in, though, as Heartland wants to feature the home on the 2011 Tour of Homes.
The little details about the house – upgrades, colors and flooring – were fairly easy for Jenny and me. We tend to have the same tastes, so we rarely disagreed about anything. In fact, we picked out flooring, under budget, in less than an hour at Carpets Plus in Plover.
Now, we’re trying to determine what colors we want to paint rooms in the house. Blaze orange will not be allowed, Jenny has told me. Maybe I can still push for camouflage.
Heartland will allow us access to the house in mid-April to paint rooms, prior to flooring installation, making the task much easier.
If Heartland could figure out a way for the move itself to be much easier, then all would be perfect. Then again, we’ll be getting out of our crowded apartment soon, which is more than good enough for us.
When we sold our home in Wautoma in 2008, we decided to rent an apartment in Plover for a year while we explored our options. Did we want to buy a home, build one or maybe move on to another community? We didn’t know.
We quickly eliminated the option to move elsewhere, as we fell in love with Portage County. Simply said, it offers many of the conveniences of a metropolitan area, but with less of the hassles, such as traffic, crime and traffic. Did I mention traffic?
My wife, Jenny, and I looked at plenty of homes in the area, and never found anything we really liked in our price range. When we bought our home in Wautoma, we knew immediately it was the one. We never had those feelings about the homes we looked at here.
Building a home seemed like the best option, but then the economy collapsed, putting our mission on hold for two more years than we intended. As we waited for the banking industry to collect itself, we purchased a lot in the Eagle Point Subdivision and looked at builders and plans.
Jenny discovered the subdivision during the Golden Sands Home Builders Association’s annual Tour of Homes in 2009 in which one of the featured homes was located there. We loved its proximity to Interstate 39, and the rural setting it offers that we enjoyed growing up in rural Waushara County. We knew it was the perfect place to raise our son, Braden. Plus it has a nice lake where Braden and I caught several big bass last summer.
After looking at a number of builders, we decided we wanted to go with Heartland Homes in Plover, which at the time was a Wausau Homes dealer and is now a Blenker Homes dealer. Jason, Brice and the rest of the staff there were friendly, and word of mouth said they were a good group of people to deal with.
After more than a year’s worth of looking at plans, we finally found one we liked: a modest three-bedroom, two-bathroom ranch-style home.
The basement for the home was dug and the footings were set this week. Heartland will set the home, which is constructed in Blenker’s facility in Amherst, on Tuesday, March 22, and it should be finished on May 22.
We’ll have to wait a few weeks to move in, though, as Heartland wants to feature the home on the 2011 Tour of Homes.
The little details about the house – upgrades, colors and flooring – were fairly easy for Jenny and me. We tend to have the same tastes, so we rarely disagreed about anything. In fact, we picked out flooring, under budget, in less than an hour at Carpets Plus in Plover.
Now, we’re trying to determine what colors we want to paint rooms in the house. Blaze orange will not be allowed, Jenny has told me. Maybe I can still push for camouflage.
Heartland will allow us access to the house in mid-April to paint rooms, prior to flooring installation, making the task much easier.
If Heartland could figure out a way for the move itself to be much easier, then all would be perfect. Then again, we’ll be getting out of our crowded apartment soon, which is more than good enough for us.
Letter writers contribute to long-lasting history
I’m keeping this week’s column brief. In case you haven’t noticed, we have a lot of letters – more than 20 at last count – and our space is limited.
For some unexplained reason, The Gazette, as well as many other newspapers, receives more letters than usual around times of the full moon. This month, the full moon fell on Feb. 18, which is the date we received many of these letters for publication. I understand hospitals and police officers also deal with more calls than usual around the time of the full moon, so this phenomenon is not limited to people in the newspaper industry. Maybe the full moon puts something in the air that causes people to become more vocal.
Or, maybe it’s because the times are calling for it. From a historical perspective, the events taking place in Madison are extraordinary, and many of this week’s letter writers are offering opinions about them on both sides of the issue. No matter what opinion people may offer, we’re always happy to give people a venue to express opinions as long as they are in the form of a letter that adheres to our policies (poetry, short-fiction and copyrighted material are not allowed).
These policies include not exceeding 500 words (although we occasionally let this slip if the overage isn’t a lot), limiting writers to one letter every four weeks (some people would write weekly if allowed to do so), and meeting our 5 p.m. Monday deadline (people submitting on Tuesday or after aren’t guaranteed a spot).
The Gazette reserves the right to edit, delete or reject letters or portions of letters. I sometimes edit letters for length (if they are too long, I’ll chop out what I feel are the most unnecessary portions to bring them to 500 words), and I’ll change items I know are wrong. Since the letter is the opinion of the writer, and not The Gazette, we limit this fact checking. Readers just need to be aware many of these opinions probably have a counter-opinion that can be backed up with contrary facts.
Letters are important because of the long-lasting historical record that is created when a newspaper is published. One hundred years from now, people using this paper for research may be able to pull a letter to use as evidence to support theories and conclusions they have about certain events.
So, thank you letter writers for contributing to our history. That’s the beauty of our democracy, even with all of its flaws.
For some unexplained reason, The Gazette, as well as many other newspapers, receives more letters than usual around times of the full moon. This month, the full moon fell on Feb. 18, which is the date we received many of these letters for publication. I understand hospitals and police officers also deal with more calls than usual around the time of the full moon, so this phenomenon is not limited to people in the newspaper industry. Maybe the full moon puts something in the air that causes people to become more vocal.
Or, maybe it’s because the times are calling for it. From a historical perspective, the events taking place in Madison are extraordinary, and many of this week’s letter writers are offering opinions about them on both sides of the issue. No matter what opinion people may offer, we’re always happy to give people a venue to express opinions as long as they are in the form of a letter that adheres to our policies (poetry, short-fiction and copyrighted material are not allowed).
These policies include not exceeding 500 words (although we occasionally let this slip if the overage isn’t a lot), limiting writers to one letter every four weeks (some people would write weekly if allowed to do so), and meeting our 5 p.m. Monday deadline (people submitting on Tuesday or after aren’t guaranteed a spot).
The Gazette reserves the right to edit, delete or reject letters or portions of letters. I sometimes edit letters for length (if they are too long, I’ll chop out what I feel are the most unnecessary portions to bring them to 500 words), and I’ll change items I know are wrong. Since the letter is the opinion of the writer, and not The Gazette, we limit this fact checking. Readers just need to be aware many of these opinions probably have a counter-opinion that can be backed up with contrary facts.
Letters are important because of the long-lasting historical record that is created when a newspaper is published. One hundred years from now, people using this paper for research may be able to pull a letter to use as evidence to support theories and conclusions they have about certain events.
So, thank you letter writers for contributing to our history. That’s the beauty of our democracy, even with all of its flaws.
Bieber fever could be the perfect excuse
It’s often difficult coming up with a good excuse when you don’t have one.
My wife and I usually only need them when trying to get out of going to not-so-close-anymore friends’ homes when invited there for odd reasons. And most of the time the “we already have other plans” excuse works just fine.
Every once in a while, though, a person comes along who doesn’t like to hear no. While most people are fine with excuses, even flimsy ones, this person grills you on the fine details about your excuse.
A conversation with a former friend often included these questions: “What time do you have to be there?” “You can’t get out of it?” “Are you sure you have to do that?” “Why do you prefer to do that?”
Needless to say, I haven’t spoken to this friend in years because I was tired of him second-guessing everything I said. Maybe it wasn’t so friendly on my part to come up with excuses, but simply telling him the truth that I prefer doing other things than hanging out with him and playing video games or having him kick my butt in basketball just didn’t sound nice enough.
Maybe I could have taken a cue from heavy metal band Slayer guitarist Jeff Hanneman in coming up with a better excuse. He recently got out of an upcoming series of shows because he’s currently undergoing treatment for a flesh-eating disease known as necrotizing fasciitis. The rare infection eats away at the skin, fat and bones of the inflicted. Hanneman, who probably caught it from a spider bite, will need surgery on his right arm to treat it.
While this excuse is probably true, it does sound like something a heavy metal rocker could and should make up to get out of a commitment. In fact, this sounds like a scene straight out of “This Is Spinal Tap,” a classic parody film that has had far too many real-life moments in the heavy metal world.
Inspired by such an excuse, maybe I should keep this one in my reserves for when I have a friend who doesn’t want to hear the “we already have other plans” excuse: “I’ve got Bieber fever.”
For those who aren’t familiar with Bieber fever, it’s the mad exhilaration that preteen girls usually get for teenage entertainer Justin Bieber. In the past, Bieber fever came in the form of excitement for sensations like Elvis Presley, The Beatles, Leif Garrett, Michael Jackson, Backstreet Boys and the Jonas Brothers.
Bieber fever is catchy, especially when you hear his song “Baby.” With lyrics like “Baby, baby, baby, ooh,” it’s hard to avoid it.
My wife doesn’t believe I could have it, though, and if I can’t convince her, how would I convince others to try to believe such an excuse. If I had enough hair on my head, I could get a Bieber haircut. Unfortunately, this doesn’t work for people with receding hairlines and large bald spots on top of their heads.
I could dress like him, but my hoodie and chained black leather jacket supplies have run low and I don’t feel like spending money on more.
A Bieber tattoo could work, but I have an aversion to needles.
Maybe I just need an excuse for not being Bieber-like enough to convince others I have Bieber fever. Maybe the guy from Slayer could inspire an excuse for my excuse.
My wife and I usually only need them when trying to get out of going to not-so-close-anymore friends’ homes when invited there for odd reasons. And most of the time the “we already have other plans” excuse works just fine.
Every once in a while, though, a person comes along who doesn’t like to hear no. While most people are fine with excuses, even flimsy ones, this person grills you on the fine details about your excuse.
A conversation with a former friend often included these questions: “What time do you have to be there?” “You can’t get out of it?” “Are you sure you have to do that?” “Why do you prefer to do that?”
Needless to say, I haven’t spoken to this friend in years because I was tired of him second-guessing everything I said. Maybe it wasn’t so friendly on my part to come up with excuses, but simply telling him the truth that I prefer doing other things than hanging out with him and playing video games or having him kick my butt in basketball just didn’t sound nice enough.
Maybe I could have taken a cue from heavy metal band Slayer guitarist Jeff Hanneman in coming up with a better excuse. He recently got out of an upcoming series of shows because he’s currently undergoing treatment for a flesh-eating disease known as necrotizing fasciitis. The rare infection eats away at the skin, fat and bones of the inflicted. Hanneman, who probably caught it from a spider bite, will need surgery on his right arm to treat it.
While this excuse is probably true, it does sound like something a heavy metal rocker could and should make up to get out of a commitment. In fact, this sounds like a scene straight out of “This Is Spinal Tap,” a classic parody film that has had far too many real-life moments in the heavy metal world.
Inspired by such an excuse, maybe I should keep this one in my reserves for when I have a friend who doesn’t want to hear the “we already have other plans” excuse: “I’ve got Bieber fever.”
For those who aren’t familiar with Bieber fever, it’s the mad exhilaration that preteen girls usually get for teenage entertainer Justin Bieber. In the past, Bieber fever came in the form of excitement for sensations like Elvis Presley, The Beatles, Leif Garrett, Michael Jackson, Backstreet Boys and the Jonas Brothers.
Bieber fever is catchy, especially when you hear his song “Baby.” With lyrics like “Baby, baby, baby, ooh,” it’s hard to avoid it.
My wife doesn’t believe I could have it, though, and if I can’t convince her, how would I convince others to try to believe such an excuse. If I had enough hair on my head, I could get a Bieber haircut. Unfortunately, this doesn’t work for people with receding hairlines and large bald spots on top of their heads.
I could dress like him, but my hoodie and chained black leather jacket supplies have run low and I don’t feel like spending money on more.
A Bieber tattoo could work, but I have an aversion to needles.
Maybe I just need an excuse for not being Bieber-like enough to convince others I have Bieber fever. Maybe the guy from Slayer could inspire an excuse for my excuse.
Trip to San Francisco should include stop to Alcatraz
Last week I detailed the first half of my adventure in San Francisco, Calif., Jan. 26-30. This week, to sound like a television announcer marking the end of an epic show like “Lost,” the adventure concludes. Hopefully I won’t leave any questions unanswered.
The morning of our third day was spent at the Marriot Marquis, our hotel, in downtown San Francisco, as Jenny had to give the presentation she was there to give. Without getting too much into specifics, I’ll say I’ve never been more proud of her, as she had the full attention of all 120 people in the room during her presentation.
I was even prouder when at the end during the question-and-answer session a woman spoke up and said it was the best presentation of the conference, to which the room erupted in applause. It was one of those moments I’ve always wished I could have but know I never will since the very thought of public speaking makes me realize I’m definitely one of those people who would rather die than to have to speak in public.
Following Jenny’s presentation, we returned to Fisherman’s Wharf where we had sourdough bread bowls filled with clam chowder and then strolled down a couple of blocks to catch a ferry to Alcatraz. Upon boarding the ferry, the fog blanket covering the city all day started lifting, and by the time the 15-minute journey to the island was over, sun filled the sky.
At Alcatraz, guides give people the rules of the island, and then set them free to explore, something prisoners there were never allowed to do when it operated from 1934 to 1963. While most of the island is in disrepair, the prison area is better kept because it houses the bulk of the island’s attractions. Be warned, though, the audio tour people take does not point out the cell of Alcatraz’ most famous resident, Al Capone, as I expected it to based on material I read prior to our trip. That’s because his exact cell isn’t known, as he spent most of his time there in the ward battling syphilis.
The audio tour does walk people through a 1962 escape attempt that may or may not have been successful, depending on whether or not you believe the two escapees were able to swim across the cold and swirling waters of San Francisco Bay to safety. I believe it, because tour guides told people hundreds of people, including children, swim it annually.
Alcatraz is a must for anyone visiting San Francisco. The history is too rich for it not to be an enjoyable visit.
Walking back to the cable car following our journey to Alcatraz, a homeless man jumped out of some fake bushes he was holding, scaring me more than anything on the island. Because he scared me, he said I needed to pay up. For a moment, I considered doing so, but Jenny and I stuck to our philosophy of not giving any money to panhandlers, as we were warned not to.
Homelessness is a big problem in San Francisco, as it is in many other big cities and even quite a few not so big cities, and it’s difficult seeing so many people literally living on the streets. While some of them, such as the bush scarer, seem to be alright with trying to convince people to give them money, others clearly have mental or substance-abuse problems that truly need more help than a few coins from tourists can provide. I wish I knew the answer to help them.
The next day, our final full day in the city, Jenny and I hopped on a bus to Golden Gate Park where we had lunch in the Japanese Tea Gardens. While the food wasn’t anything special, the squirrels and birds that feed out of peoples’ hands was a spectacle to behold.
Following lunch, we decided to walk to the beach, not realizing it was a four-mile journey through the park and several blocks of streets. Although there was a heavy mist, the trip was worth it once we arrived at the beach where I enjoyed watching surfers take on the waves.
The final part of our day was spent back at the Golden Gate Bridge, Ghirardelli Square and China Town, which was busy preparing for its upcoming new year celebration. The day ended in an alleyway in the downtown area full of eight different restaurants. We chose a neat Italian-Greek restaurant that was the perfect ending to a great trip.
The morning of our third day was spent at the Marriot Marquis, our hotel, in downtown San Francisco, as Jenny had to give the presentation she was there to give. Without getting too much into specifics, I’ll say I’ve never been more proud of her, as she had the full attention of all 120 people in the room during her presentation.
I was even prouder when at the end during the question-and-answer session a woman spoke up and said it was the best presentation of the conference, to which the room erupted in applause. It was one of those moments I’ve always wished I could have but know I never will since the very thought of public speaking makes me realize I’m definitely one of those people who would rather die than to have to speak in public.
Following Jenny’s presentation, we returned to Fisherman’s Wharf where we had sourdough bread bowls filled with clam chowder and then strolled down a couple of blocks to catch a ferry to Alcatraz. Upon boarding the ferry, the fog blanket covering the city all day started lifting, and by the time the 15-minute journey to the island was over, sun filled the sky.
At Alcatraz, guides give people the rules of the island, and then set them free to explore, something prisoners there were never allowed to do when it operated from 1934 to 1963. While most of the island is in disrepair, the prison area is better kept because it houses the bulk of the island’s attractions. Be warned, though, the audio tour people take does not point out the cell of Alcatraz’ most famous resident, Al Capone, as I expected it to based on material I read prior to our trip. That’s because his exact cell isn’t known, as he spent most of his time there in the ward battling syphilis.
The audio tour does walk people through a 1962 escape attempt that may or may not have been successful, depending on whether or not you believe the two escapees were able to swim across the cold and swirling waters of San Francisco Bay to safety. I believe it, because tour guides told people hundreds of people, including children, swim it annually.
Alcatraz is a must for anyone visiting San Francisco. The history is too rich for it not to be an enjoyable visit.
Walking back to the cable car following our journey to Alcatraz, a homeless man jumped out of some fake bushes he was holding, scaring me more than anything on the island. Because he scared me, he said I needed to pay up. For a moment, I considered doing so, but Jenny and I stuck to our philosophy of not giving any money to panhandlers, as we were warned not to.
Homelessness is a big problem in San Francisco, as it is in many other big cities and even quite a few not so big cities, and it’s difficult seeing so many people literally living on the streets. While some of them, such as the bush scarer, seem to be alright with trying to convince people to give them money, others clearly have mental or substance-abuse problems that truly need more help than a few coins from tourists can provide. I wish I knew the answer to help them.
The next day, our final full day in the city, Jenny and I hopped on a bus to Golden Gate Park where we had lunch in the Japanese Tea Gardens. While the food wasn’t anything special, the squirrels and birds that feed out of peoples’ hands was a spectacle to behold.
Following lunch, we decided to walk to the beach, not realizing it was a four-mile journey through the park and several blocks of streets. Although there was a heavy mist, the trip was worth it once we arrived at the beach where I enjoyed watching surfers take on the waves.
San Francisco is easy city to leave your heart
I now know why the song “I Left My Heart in San Francisco” was popular, after leaving my own heart there following a five-day trip to the California city last week.
My wife, Jenny, and I went to the city because she was selected to give a presentation at the 36th Annual Alliance of Continuing Medical Education Conference at the San Francisco Marriot Marquis in the downtown area. While much of the trip was work related for her, it was pure vacation for me, as I didn’t even have the responsibility of being a father during the duration since our son, Braden, stayed in Wisconsin with his grandparents.
We arrived Wednesday, Jan. 26, and weren’t even in the city an hour before experiencing one of the things it is most famous for – the cable cars that transport people on some of the city’s massive hills. We took one from Market Street to Fisherman’s Wharf, marveling at how the transit system worked and how motorists somehow managed to avoid hitting them on the narrow streets.
At Fisherman’s Wharf, we saw a small group of sea lions on Pier 39, laughing at the barking noises they make. Marine biologists haven’t been able to exactly explain why the sea lions showed up at Pier 39 shortly after the 1989 earthquake, and they can’t explain why they occasionally leave only to return a few months later, but even when their numbers are small it’s a fun sight to see, especially knowing they are being seen in a natural setting and not captive in a zoo.
We also browsed through some of the tourist shops at Pier 39, but determined they were no different than the ones in Wisconsin Dells that trap people into spending money.
Jenny spent the next day preparing her presentation, so I hopped on a double-decker bus to see some of the city’s many other sights, including the spectacular-looking City Hall building, Alamo Park where many people gathered in 1906 to watch the city burn to the ground following the Great San Francisco Earthquake and the Haight-Ashbury district where hippies and others congregated in 1967 during the “Summer of Love.” Although I’ve read numerous books on the 1960s and am fascinated by the history, I had no desire to get off the bus to explore the area more, as the bars over every business’ windows and doors told me all I needed to know about the safety of the neighborhood.
I did get off the bus at the Golden Gate Bridge, though. The weather was sunny and near 70 degrees, and the wind wasn’t blowing too hard, so the view was spectacular. Armed with a camera, I set out to get the perfect photo to hopefully enlarge and frame for our house. This meant going under the bridge and walking the bluffs of a coastal trail to Baker Beach more than one mile away. I only passed a few people along the gorgeous walk, thinking to myself everybody in this city must be working to not be on this trail.
At Baker Beach, which is clothing optional (fortunately the few people there opted for clothing), I got some great photos, and I touched the ocean for the first time. Although I’ve been on the East Coast before and traveled by boat on the ocean, I’ve never actually set my foot or put my hand in the water. It was nice, but I was not about to spend much time close to it because of the huge waves crashing down just feet away.
Although my legs were already tired from the coastal trail walk, I made it a priority to walk across the bridge when I got back. As did plenty of others who also walked the bridge that day. I was constantly either passing people or getting passed, and all of us had to watch out for the dozens of bicyclists going past us also. While some people might not like the idea of walking on such a massive bridge, I discovered it seemed like walking on any normal road, since that was the size of the sidewalk. Plus, the bridge did not sway as many might fear it would, and the view was so breathtaking it’s easy to forget about how high up you are.
It took me about an hour to walk across it and back, so I was ready to get on the bus once I returned. From there, the bus traveled to Fisherman’s Wharf, and then back to the downtown area where I returned to the hotel.
At the hotel, I returned a phone call from my best friend in middle school, Byron, a Neshkoro native now living in nearby San Jose. He knew I was in San Francisco and made it a priority to contact me. An hour after returning his call, he met me at the hotel where he took me on a walking tour of the city’s Financial District.
Employed in the city’s digital industry, Byron told me stories about many of the business dealings in some of the skyscrapers.
We also stopped at several taverns which served some of the finest drinks I’ve ever had, before Jenny met us at the House of Nanking, an Asian fusion restaurant. The House of Nanking has an excellent reputation in San Francisco amongst the locals, and after Byron told our waitress we had never been there before, she took our menus away and asked us how hungry we were. Both of us were really hungry, which was great because she brought numerous plates of food containing the best Asian food I’ve ever eaten.
After the meal and returning to the hotel, we said our goodbyes to Byron, who needed to return home to his pregnant wife, who was due at any time.
I’ll cover our final days in San Francisco next week, including our experience with a homeless man who has made a living out of scaring people.
My wife, Jenny, and I went to the city because she was selected to give a presentation at the 36th Annual Alliance of Continuing Medical Education Conference at the San Francisco Marriot Marquis in the downtown area. While much of the trip was work related for her, it was pure vacation for me, as I didn’t even have the responsibility of being a father during the duration since our son, Braden, stayed in Wisconsin with his grandparents.
We arrived Wednesday, Jan. 26, and weren’t even in the city an hour before experiencing one of the things it is most famous for – the cable cars that transport people on some of the city’s massive hills. We took one from Market Street to Fisherman’s Wharf, marveling at how the transit system worked and how motorists somehow managed to avoid hitting them on the narrow streets.
At Fisherman’s Wharf, we saw a small group of sea lions on Pier 39, laughing at the barking noises they make. Marine biologists haven’t been able to exactly explain why the sea lions showed up at Pier 39 shortly after the 1989 earthquake, and they can’t explain why they occasionally leave only to return a few months later, but even when their numbers are small it’s a fun sight to see, especially knowing they are being seen in a natural setting and not captive in a zoo.
We also browsed through some of the tourist shops at Pier 39, but determined they were no different than the ones in Wisconsin Dells that trap people into spending money.
Jenny spent the next day preparing her presentation, so I hopped on a double-decker bus to see some of the city’s many other sights, including the spectacular-looking City Hall building, Alamo Park where many people gathered in 1906 to watch the city burn to the ground following the Great San Francisco Earthquake and the Haight-Ashbury district where hippies and others congregated in 1967 during the “Summer of Love.” Although I’ve read numerous books on the 1960s and am fascinated by the history, I had no desire to get off the bus to explore the area more, as the bars over every business’ windows and doors told me all I needed to know about the safety of the neighborhood.
I did get off the bus at the Golden Gate Bridge, though. The weather was sunny and near 70 degrees, and the wind wasn’t blowing too hard, so the view was spectacular. Armed with a camera, I set out to get the perfect photo to hopefully enlarge and frame for our house. This meant going under the bridge and walking the bluffs of a coastal trail to Baker Beach more than one mile away. I only passed a few people along the gorgeous walk, thinking to myself everybody in this city must be working to not be on this trail.
At Baker Beach, which is clothing optional (fortunately the few people there opted for clothing), I got some great photos, and I touched the ocean for the first time. Although I’ve been on the East Coast before and traveled by boat on the ocean, I’ve never actually set my foot or put my hand in the water. It was nice, but I was not about to spend much time close to it because of the huge waves crashing down just feet away.
Although my legs were already tired from the coastal trail walk, I made it a priority to walk across the bridge when I got back. As did plenty of others who also walked the bridge that day. I was constantly either passing people or getting passed, and all of us had to watch out for the dozens of bicyclists going past us also. While some people might not like the idea of walking on such a massive bridge, I discovered it seemed like walking on any normal road, since that was the size of the sidewalk. Plus, the bridge did not sway as many might fear it would, and the view was so breathtaking it’s easy to forget about how high up you are.
It took me about an hour to walk across it and back, so I was ready to get on the bus once I returned. From there, the bus traveled to Fisherman’s Wharf, and then back to the downtown area where I returned to the hotel.
At the hotel, I returned a phone call from my best friend in middle school, Byron, a Neshkoro native now living in nearby San Jose. He knew I was in San Francisco and made it a priority to contact me. An hour after returning his call, he met me at the hotel where he took me on a walking tour of the city’s Financial District.
Employed in the city’s digital industry, Byron told me stories about many of the business dealings in some of the skyscrapers.
We also stopped at several taverns which served some of the finest drinks I’ve ever had, before Jenny met us at the House of Nanking, an Asian fusion restaurant. The House of Nanking has an excellent reputation in San Francisco amongst the locals, and after Byron told our waitress we had never been there before, she took our menus away and asked us how hungry we were. Both of us were really hungry, which was great because she brought numerous plates of food containing the best Asian food I’ve ever eaten.
After the meal and returning to the hotel, we said our goodbyes to Byron, who needed to return home to his pregnant wife, who was due at any time.
I’ll cover our final days in San Francisco next week, including our experience with a homeless man who has made a living out of scaring people.
Rule attempts to limit Super Bowl advertising
With a 21-14 victory over the Chicago Bears on Sunday, Jan. 23, the Green Bay Packers are heading to the Super Bowl in Dallas, Texas.
Or should I say, they are heading to the “Big Game in North Texas.”
If I was an advertiser, I would be barred from using “Super Bowl” in an ad, without the express permission of the National Football League (NFL).
I’d also be barred from saying any of these words or phrases: “Super Sunday,” “NFL,” “National Football Conference (NFC),” “American Football Conference (AFC),” “Packers,” “Steelers, “Pack” and “Bucs.”
The NFL has trademarked these phrases and words, so federal law gives the NFL the exclusive right to control all marketing associated with the Super Bowl.
Since I’m in the news department, this law doesn’t apply to me. I can say Super Bowl all I want in any news stories. In fact, just to prove a point: Super Bowl, Super Bowl, Super Bowl, Super Bowl, Super Bowl, Super Bowl, Super Bowl, Super Bowl, Super Bowl, Super Bowl, Super Bowl, Super Bowl, Super Bowl, Super Bowl, Super Bowl, Super Bowl, Super Bowl, Super Bowl. And I’ll throw in a Super Sunday for added effect.
But this law affects our advertising salesmen, because many of their advertisers want to tie their business into the game, since that will most likely be the biggest topic on many peoples’ minds for the next few weeks. And for most business owners, it’s a wise move, because if people are talking about it, from a marketing strategy it’s a no-brainer to want to be associated with it.
Restaurants and tavern owners want the business that can be drummed up from peoples’ excitement, and retailers offer many products that can complement the thousands of Super Bowl parties that are likely to occur in Portage County on the night of Sunday, Feb. 5.
Since they are barred from mentioning those words and phrases in any ads, other creative alternatives are needed. Fortunately, the Wisconsin Newspaper Association (WNA) has come up with such a list. Among the WNA’s recommendations are “the Big Game in North Texas” and “the football championship game.”
Advertisers are also urged to use the date of the game, the names of the teams home cities, and generic football pictures and graphics to make their association with. And here’s my suggestion, “the Tremendous Pastime Played with a Pigskin Ball Match Featuring the Two Best Teams in Two Different U.S. Conferences.”
While most people probably won’t notice the lack of true NFL references in the ads, many will have no problem determining their connection to the Super Sunday Super Bowl. Thanks to many of these creative alternatives.
Or should I say, they are heading to the “Big Game in North Texas.”
If I was an advertiser, I would be barred from using “Super Bowl” in an ad, without the express permission of the National Football League (NFL).
I’d also be barred from saying any of these words or phrases: “Super Sunday,” “NFL,” “National Football Conference (NFC),” “American Football Conference (AFC),” “Packers,” “Steelers, “Pack” and “Bucs.”
The NFL has trademarked these phrases and words, so federal law gives the NFL the exclusive right to control all marketing associated with the Super Bowl.
Since I’m in the news department, this law doesn’t apply to me. I can say Super Bowl all I want in any news stories. In fact, just to prove a point: Super Bowl, Super Bowl, Super Bowl, Super Bowl, Super Bowl, Super Bowl, Super Bowl, Super Bowl, Super Bowl, Super Bowl, Super Bowl, Super Bowl, Super Bowl, Super Bowl, Super Bowl, Super Bowl, Super Bowl, Super Bowl. And I’ll throw in a Super Sunday for added effect.
But this law affects our advertising salesmen, because many of their advertisers want to tie their business into the game, since that will most likely be the biggest topic on many peoples’ minds for the next few weeks. And for most business owners, it’s a wise move, because if people are talking about it, from a marketing strategy it’s a no-brainer to want to be associated with it.
Restaurants and tavern owners want the business that can be drummed up from peoples’ excitement, and retailers offer many products that can complement the thousands of Super Bowl parties that are likely to occur in Portage County on the night of Sunday, Feb. 5.
Since they are barred from mentioning those words and phrases in any ads, other creative alternatives are needed. Fortunately, the Wisconsin Newspaper Association (WNA) has come up with such a list. Among the WNA’s recommendations are “the Big Game in North Texas” and “the football championship game.”
Advertisers are also urged to use the date of the game, the names of the teams home cities, and generic football pictures and graphics to make their association with. And here’s my suggestion, “the Tremendous Pastime Played with a Pigskin Ball Match Featuring the Two Best Teams in Two Different U.S. Conferences.”
While most people probably won’t notice the lack of true NFL references in the ads, many will have no problem determining their connection to the Super Sunday Super Bowl. Thanks to many of these creative alternatives.
Every person needs a John Williams theme song
I’ve been listening to a lot of John Williams lately and not necessarily by choice.
My 5-year-old son, Braden, has become obsessed with the “Indiana Jones” films, and he loves the theme song, “The Raiders March,” from the first of the four films, “Raiders of the Lost Ark.” While taking him to school in the morning, he requests me to play it, on repeat. The same applies to the return home trip.
That amounts to six times a day for two weeks in a row now. Although I have no musical background whatsoever, I believe if given an instrument, I could probably play a rough version of the song that would pass a test if it were being graded.
It’s too late for me to ever have a music career, but if he keeps listening to the song like he has, then it’s possible he could become the next John Williams, or at least John Morris, composer for “Spaceballs,” the “Star Wars” spoof.
Since my John Williams-type career won’t happen, I could resort to the next best option, one I believe every person should utilize: the playing of a specific John Williams film song as one enters a room with other people in it, sort of a theme song to identify the person.
My song of choice would either be “The Imperial March (Darth Vader’s Theme)” from “The Empire Strikes Back,” the greatest film of all-time, or “Superman Theme” from “Superman,” another top-five film of all-time.
While the two songs are completely opposite of each other – “The Imperial March” uses more bass-producing instruments to convey the evilness that is Darth Vader and “Superman Theme” is all about the majesty that is Superman – I like to think I’m a complicated-enough individual that both themes could apply to me, depending on my mood.
“The Raiders March” applies perfectly to Braden, as he’s young and adventurous. When he’s naughty, I’d make him enter the room to “Main Title (Theme from Jaws).” That way people are warned a little path of destruction is coming their way.
My wife, Jenny, she’s “Escape/Chase/Saying Goodbye,” the “flying theme” in “E.T.: The Extra Terrestrial.” This 15-minute epic captures E.T.’s intelligence and compassion for others, traits Jenny possesses in abundance.
Since every room is not equipped with a sound system that can automatically play a person’s theme, another way to actually do this is needed. In today’s iPod society, it’s possible to do it by just hitting play as you enter a room, although the tiny speakers are limiting and the full effect won’t be felt.
A better solution is to bring back shoulder pads popular in the 1980s. These shoulder pads, however, would actually be small but powerful speakers connected directly to a person’s iPod or other music-playing device. I like this solution because it brings back a style that should never have gone out of style, and it allows for a person’s presence to be known immediately.
Plus, it would be interesting to see what other people select as their theme song. John Williams has plenty of music to choose from, and most of it is excellent. I’m sure most people would choose his most popular songs – like I have for my family and me – but those songs are all classics that can be heard on repeat, just like I’ve been listening to one of them for weeks now.
And after a couple of months of such listening, we’ll all probably be musically inclined enough to become the next John Williams. That literally sounds good to me.
My 5-year-old son, Braden, has become obsessed with the “Indiana Jones” films, and he loves the theme song, “The Raiders March,” from the first of the four films, “Raiders of the Lost Ark.” While taking him to school in the morning, he requests me to play it, on repeat. The same applies to the return home trip.
That amounts to six times a day for two weeks in a row now. Although I have no musical background whatsoever, I believe if given an instrument, I could probably play a rough version of the song that would pass a test if it were being graded.
It’s too late for me to ever have a music career, but if he keeps listening to the song like he has, then it’s possible he could become the next John Williams, or at least John Morris, composer for “Spaceballs,” the “Star Wars” spoof.
Since my John Williams-type career won’t happen, I could resort to the next best option, one I believe every person should utilize: the playing of a specific John Williams film song as one enters a room with other people in it, sort of a theme song to identify the person.
My song of choice would either be “The Imperial March (Darth Vader’s Theme)” from “The Empire Strikes Back,” the greatest film of all-time, or “Superman Theme” from “Superman,” another top-five film of all-time.
While the two songs are completely opposite of each other – “The Imperial March” uses more bass-producing instruments to convey the evilness that is Darth Vader and “Superman Theme” is all about the majesty that is Superman – I like to think I’m a complicated-enough individual that both themes could apply to me, depending on my mood.
“The Raiders March” applies perfectly to Braden, as he’s young and adventurous. When he’s naughty, I’d make him enter the room to “Main Title (Theme from Jaws).” That way people are warned a little path of destruction is coming their way.
My wife, Jenny, she’s “Escape/Chase/Saying Goodbye,” the “flying theme” in “E.T.: The Extra Terrestrial.” This 15-minute epic captures E.T.’s intelligence and compassion for others, traits Jenny possesses in abundance.
Since every room is not equipped with a sound system that can automatically play a person’s theme, another way to actually do this is needed. In today’s iPod society, it’s possible to do it by just hitting play as you enter a room, although the tiny speakers are limiting and the full effect won’t be felt.
A better solution is to bring back shoulder pads popular in the 1980s. These shoulder pads, however, would actually be small but powerful speakers connected directly to a person’s iPod or other music-playing device. I like this solution because it brings back a style that should never have gone out of style, and it allows for a person’s presence to be known immediately.
Plus, it would be interesting to see what other people select as their theme song. John Williams has plenty of music to choose from, and most of it is excellent. I’m sure most people would choose his most popular songs – like I have for my family and me – but those songs are all classics that can be heard on repeat, just like I’ve been listening to one of them for weeks now.
And after a couple of months of such listening, we’ll all probably be musically inclined enough to become the next John Williams. That literally sounds good to me.
Even with loss to Packers, ‘Philadelphia’ will always be ‘Sunny’
I almost rooted for the Philadelphia Eagles to beat the Green Bay Packers this past Sunday.
My near-support wasn’t because I like Michael Vick’s “redemption” story; I actually thought he deserved to lose for further punishment of his heinous crimes.
And it wasn’t because I still have a bit of a grudge against the Packers for the entire Brett Favre debacle that took place the last three seasons. I’m over it now, especially now that Favre appears to be officially retired.
It’s because I’m in love with a television show set in Philadelphia, “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia.”
Unlike some television shows set in specific cities, this one is actually filmed there and is nearly as much a part of it as some of the characters in it. I’ve become a little bit obsessed with Philadelphia while watching six seasons of the show over the past month, much like I became semi-obsessed with New Orleans last year after watching HBO’s “Tremé.”
While the title of the show may suggest it shows the brighter side of the city, in reality it’s about a group of characters who are anything but “Sunny,” as none of them have any redeeming characteristics about them except that they are funny.
The best description I can come up with is to take the main characters of “Seinfeld” and make them a lot meaner, and then put them in South Philadelphia in a “Cheers”-like scenario, as they own and work at Paddy’s Pub, an Irish bar that seemingly doesn’t have any customers and is named by the city’s newspaper as the “Worst Bar in Philadelphia.”
The bar is owned by Frank Reynolds (Danny Devito), his once-son Dennis (Glenn Howerton), and Dennis’ friends Mac (Rob McElhenney) and Charlie Kelly (Charlie Day). Helping them is Dennis’ twin sister, Deandra “Sweet Dee” Reynolds (Kaitlin Olson).
Collectively, they are referred to as “The Gang,” and each half-hour episode focuses on some of their outrageous exploits. Episodes have included ones about holding an intervention to address Frank’s drug and alcohol problem (not because The Gang cares about him, but because they want stuff from him and his problem is prohibiting them from getting it); staging a musical (surprisingly not as bad as it probably should have been); going to a World Series game (when the Phillies beat the Tampa Bay Rays in 2008); and hosting a dance marathon (in which Charlie accidentally offered the bar as the grand-prize).
Although the characters are people nobody would ever claim to know in real life, as they are often vile, crude and disgusting, watching them on this show is always good for some hard laughs. It’s often hard to name which character you like best, because that can sometimes depend on who you laughed at most in the last episode you watched.
Frank Reynolds is literally a troll, especially the way Devito plays him, and Dennis is a “player” who is not nearly as good as he thinks he is. Mac and Sweet Dee have their own hilarious qualities, but it is Charlie who is the star of the show. He’s the “wild card,” much like Cosmo Kramer on “Seinfeld,” and his antics are often baffling. He could be the poster child for why people should learn how to read and write, since he is unable to himself.
Despite my love for the show, I still couldn’t muster up enough support in myself to root for the Eagles. For some reason, I think the characters would understand. Then again, they’d probably be completely indifferent to my feelings and wouldn’t care either way.
My near-support wasn’t because I like Michael Vick’s “redemption” story; I actually thought he deserved to lose for further punishment of his heinous crimes.
And it wasn’t because I still have a bit of a grudge against the Packers for the entire Brett Favre debacle that took place the last three seasons. I’m over it now, especially now that Favre appears to be officially retired.
It’s because I’m in love with a television show set in Philadelphia, “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia.”
Unlike some television shows set in specific cities, this one is actually filmed there and is nearly as much a part of it as some of the characters in it. I’ve become a little bit obsessed with Philadelphia while watching six seasons of the show over the past month, much like I became semi-obsessed with New Orleans last year after watching HBO’s “Tremé.”
While the title of the show may suggest it shows the brighter side of the city, in reality it’s about a group of characters who are anything but “Sunny,” as none of them have any redeeming characteristics about them except that they are funny.
The best description I can come up with is to take the main characters of “Seinfeld” and make them a lot meaner, and then put them in South Philadelphia in a “Cheers”-like scenario, as they own and work at Paddy’s Pub, an Irish bar that seemingly doesn’t have any customers and is named by the city’s newspaper as the “Worst Bar in Philadelphia.”
The bar is owned by Frank Reynolds (Danny Devito), his once-son Dennis (Glenn Howerton), and Dennis’ friends Mac (Rob McElhenney) and Charlie Kelly (Charlie Day). Helping them is Dennis’ twin sister, Deandra “Sweet Dee” Reynolds (Kaitlin Olson).
Collectively, they are referred to as “The Gang,” and each half-hour episode focuses on some of their outrageous exploits. Episodes have included ones about holding an intervention to address Frank’s drug and alcohol problem (not because The Gang cares about him, but because they want stuff from him and his problem is prohibiting them from getting it); staging a musical (surprisingly not as bad as it probably should have been); going to a World Series game (when the Phillies beat the Tampa Bay Rays in 2008); and hosting a dance marathon (in which Charlie accidentally offered the bar as the grand-prize).
Although the characters are people nobody would ever claim to know in real life, as they are often vile, crude and disgusting, watching them on this show is always good for some hard laughs. It’s often hard to name which character you like best, because that can sometimes depend on who you laughed at most in the last episode you watched.
Frank Reynolds is literally a troll, especially the way Devito plays him, and Dennis is a “player” who is not nearly as good as he thinks he is. Mac and Sweet Dee have their own hilarious qualities, but it is Charlie who is the star of the show. He’s the “wild card,” much like Cosmo Kramer on “Seinfeld,” and his antics are often baffling. He could be the poster child for why people should learn how to read and write, since he is unable to himself.
Despite my love for the show, I still couldn’t muster up enough support in myself to root for the Eagles. For some reason, I think the characters would understand. Then again, they’d probably be completely indifferent to my feelings and wouldn’t care either way.
Playstation 3 does everything except serve food, beverages
With birthday funds and savings, I was able to purchase a Playstation 3 several months ago, and it’s the best purchase I’ve made in a long time.
The Playstation 3, for those not already familiar with its wondrous abilities, is the latest generation video game console that also serves as a Blu-Ray player, an MP3 player, Internet browser, photograph viewer and Netflix player. If it popped popcorn and served soda, it would have everything one would need to have the perfect movie night.
I decided to get a Playstation 3 mainly because I wasn’t happy with my Nintendo Wii. I’ve never really liked the motion controls of the Wii, and I discovered the games I played the most on that system were the ones in which I didn’t have to wiggle the controller, such as the classic “Super Mario Bros.” games, or I used a different controller altogether, such as the guitar with “Rock Band 2.”
I’ll admit I’m a full-fledged member of the video game generation. I got my first console, the original Nintendo Entertainment System, in 1988 as a confirmation present (thank you God) and have never been without a console since then. I’ve owned the Super Nintendo, the Nintendo 64, the original Playstation and the Playstation 2.
Of those consoles, the original Nintendo was my favorite, as I played hundreds of games through the remainder of middle school, high school and even college. My friends and I would stay up all night playing “Mega Man” and “Super Tecmo Bowl.” It was like the brother I never had.
The Nintendo also allowed me to forge a bond with my father, who became addicted to “The Legend of Zelda.” He played the game for hours as I told him what to do. It’s a memory I’ll always cherish of him.
This bond is now one I’m sharing with my 5-year-old son, Braden. He not only likes video games but is surprisingly good at them, and he and I have spent hours together this winter playing some of the “Lego” games, including “Lego Batman” and his favorite, “Lego Indiana Jones.” He just informed me he wants to dress as Indiana Jones for Halloween and he wants me to change his name to “Indiana Jones.” I told him no to that request, but that I would call him “Indiana Braden” as a compromise.
When I’m not playing kid-friendly games with Braden, I’m usually playing one game, “Uncharted 2: Among Thieves,” which I declare is the best video game ever created. This game, a third-person shooter adventure similar to the “Tomb Raider” series, boasts amazing graphics, fluid controls and superior gameplay. I’m nearly through the game, but even when I complete it I still have the online component to tackle in which I can take on other players in a number of battles.
Online play is one of the Playstation 3’s main attractions, yet it’s the only one that intimidates me. The few times I’ve ventured online to take on other human opponents I’m usually beaten quickly. That’s probably because so many people out there are extremely talented when it comes to video games, but also because I’ve let the whole notion of them being better get into my head.
I’m better with people I know, rather than strangers; however, I only have one Playstation “Friend.” Any local people interested in befriending me should send a request to “mtk93.” I’ll gladly accept it to have the opportunity to take on Gazette readers.
Although I’m late in getting a Playstation 3 – it has been out since 2005 – I don’t have to worry about a newer generation console replacing it anytime soon. It’ll be at least two years before any of those come out.
The Playstation 3, for those not already familiar with its wondrous abilities, is the latest generation video game console that also serves as a Blu-Ray player, an MP3 player, Internet browser, photograph viewer and Netflix player. If it popped popcorn and served soda, it would have everything one would need to have the perfect movie night.
I decided to get a Playstation 3 mainly because I wasn’t happy with my Nintendo Wii. I’ve never really liked the motion controls of the Wii, and I discovered the games I played the most on that system were the ones in which I didn’t have to wiggle the controller, such as the classic “Super Mario Bros.” games, or I used a different controller altogether, such as the guitar with “Rock Band 2.”
I’ll admit I’m a full-fledged member of the video game generation. I got my first console, the original Nintendo Entertainment System, in 1988 as a confirmation present (thank you God) and have never been without a console since then. I’ve owned the Super Nintendo, the Nintendo 64, the original Playstation and the Playstation 2.
Of those consoles, the original Nintendo was my favorite, as I played hundreds of games through the remainder of middle school, high school and even college. My friends and I would stay up all night playing “Mega Man” and “Super Tecmo Bowl.” It was like the brother I never had.
The Nintendo also allowed me to forge a bond with my father, who became addicted to “The Legend of Zelda.” He played the game for hours as I told him what to do. It’s a memory I’ll always cherish of him.
This bond is now one I’m sharing with my 5-year-old son, Braden. He not only likes video games but is surprisingly good at them, and he and I have spent hours together this winter playing some of the “Lego” games, including “Lego Batman” and his favorite, “Lego Indiana Jones.” He just informed me he wants to dress as Indiana Jones for Halloween and he wants me to change his name to “Indiana Jones.” I told him no to that request, but that I would call him “Indiana Braden” as a compromise.
When I’m not playing kid-friendly games with Braden, I’m usually playing one game, “Uncharted 2: Among Thieves,” which I declare is the best video game ever created. This game, a third-person shooter adventure similar to the “Tomb Raider” series, boasts amazing graphics, fluid controls and superior gameplay. I’m nearly through the game, but even when I complete it I still have the online component to tackle in which I can take on other players in a number of battles.
Online play is one of the Playstation 3’s main attractions, yet it’s the only one that intimidates me. The few times I’ve ventured online to take on other human opponents I’m usually beaten quickly. That’s probably because so many people out there are extremely talented when it comes to video games, but also because I’ve let the whole notion of them being better get into my head.
I’m better with people I know, rather than strangers; however, I only have one Playstation “Friend.” Any local people interested in befriending me should send a request to “mtk93.” I’ll gladly accept it to have the opportunity to take on Gazette readers.
Although I’m late in getting a Playstation 3 – it has been out since 2005 – I don’t have to worry about a newer generation console replacing it anytime soon. It’ll be at least two years before any of those come out.
‘Ugly Sweater’ contest makes Christmas even more fun
Christmas with my wife’s mother’s family is a blast. The Farrell clan, most hailing from the Milwaukee area, are some of the craziest people I’ve ever met, and most will go out of their way to have a good time. This year was no exception, especially when an “Ugly Sweater” contest was thrown in the mix.
The contest was sort of my idea. My mother-in-law, though, had suggested last year it sounded like a fun idea, and several weeks ago I remembered her suggestion. I reminded my wife, Jenny, and we immediately sent out an e-mail to family members telling them the plan.
Several of them had questions, asking what was allowed and what was not allowed. Jenny realized official rules were needed, so she came up with an awesome list, which included:
1) Sweater is to be broadly defined as any item of apparel that includes a holiday theme, and is not limited to articles of clothing.
2) No inappropriate attire will be accepted, such as an adult diaper with a Christmas tree on it.
3) You may multi-layer with a variety of themed apparel.
4) Duplication and coordination is permissible.
5) Grandma will not win by default.
6) Apparel may be cross gendered.
7) Logowear not normally associated with Christmas is open to interpretation but considered a weak attempt as a stand-alone item.
8) Accessories are considered favorable accents.
9) Daisy Dukes are not acceptable.
10) Animal parts will be considered, such as antlers.
11) Animal “parts” does not include animal scents.
12) Holiday-themed “scrubs” are allowed.
As you can see, the “Ugly Sweater” contest became much more than just about finding an ugly sweater, which was a good thing because that type of contest is already overplayed. When shopping for ugly sweaters at Goodwill a couple of weeks ago, four other groups were there shopping for the same thing. Clearly, this type of contest has become popular with other families, too.
By broadening it, we allowed for some crazy outfits. The first-place winner in our contest, Jake Farrell, wore a Christmas vest matched with some horrendous looking Christmas pants.
Two others tied for second. Ryan Farrell earned his prize by wearing a sweater that was too small (it wasn’t even a Christmas sweater) and Matt Farrell claimed a trophy by wearing a girl’s sweater wrap. He fortunately spared us by wearing a shirt to cover what this wrap didn’t, although he said he thought about going shirtless with the wrap.
Nonwinners included my sister-in-law, Raechel, wearing an outfit to go along with the Christmas song “Dominick the Donkey” and my father-in-law, whom I voted for, wearing a Christmas vest with an owl perched on one shoulder and Michael Jackson gold military straps on the other one.
Seeing the outfits everybody wore was a blast, and even Grandma Farrell, who didn’t quite get the contest at first because to her – the wearer of many Christmas sweaters – all such sweaters are obviously beautiful, got into the contest.
I sported a shag carpet sweater from which we cut off the sleeves and Jenny lined with tinsel. It was actually a comfortable sweater to wear, and I considered reusing it to wear to work.
Next year, the family is going to go with a Christmas hat theme. I better start thinking of some ideas between now and then.
The contest was sort of my idea. My mother-in-law, though, had suggested last year it sounded like a fun idea, and several weeks ago I remembered her suggestion. I reminded my wife, Jenny, and we immediately sent out an e-mail to family members telling them the plan.
Several of them had questions, asking what was allowed and what was not allowed. Jenny realized official rules were needed, so she came up with an awesome list, which included:
1) Sweater is to be broadly defined as any item of apparel that includes a holiday theme, and is not limited to articles of clothing.
2) No inappropriate attire will be accepted, such as an adult diaper with a Christmas tree on it.
3) You may multi-layer with a variety of themed apparel.
4) Duplication and coordination is permissible.
5) Grandma will not win by default.
6) Apparel may be cross gendered.
7) Logowear not normally associated with Christmas is open to interpretation but considered a weak attempt as a stand-alone item.
8) Accessories are considered favorable accents.
9) Daisy Dukes are not acceptable.
10) Animal parts will be considered, such as antlers.
11) Animal “parts” does not include animal scents.
12) Holiday-themed “scrubs” are allowed.
As you can see, the “Ugly Sweater” contest became much more than just about finding an ugly sweater, which was a good thing because that type of contest is already overplayed. When shopping for ugly sweaters at Goodwill a couple of weeks ago, four other groups were there shopping for the same thing. Clearly, this type of contest has become popular with other families, too.
By broadening it, we allowed for some crazy outfits. The first-place winner in our contest, Jake Farrell, wore a Christmas vest matched with some horrendous looking Christmas pants.
Two others tied for second. Ryan Farrell earned his prize by wearing a sweater that was too small (it wasn’t even a Christmas sweater) and Matt Farrell claimed a trophy by wearing a girl’s sweater wrap. He fortunately spared us by wearing a shirt to cover what this wrap didn’t, although he said he thought about going shirtless with the wrap.
Nonwinners included my sister-in-law, Raechel, wearing an outfit to go along with the Christmas song “Dominick the Donkey” and my father-in-law, whom I voted for, wearing a Christmas vest with an owl perched on one shoulder and Michael Jackson gold military straps on the other one.
Seeing the outfits everybody wore was a blast, and even Grandma Farrell, who didn’t quite get the contest at first because to her – the wearer of many Christmas sweaters – all such sweaters are obviously beautiful, got into the contest.
I sported a shag carpet sweater from which we cut off the sleeves and Jenny lined with tinsel. It was actually a comfortable sweater to wear, and I considered reusing it to wear to work.
Next year, the family is going to go with a Christmas hat theme. I better start thinking of some ideas between now and then.
Veterinarians can help keep pets with owners longer
I thought I would be using this space to eulogize my cat, BigE, this week. Thanks to the life-saving work of Dr. Tom Kelble, a veterinarian at Community Animal Hospital in Stevens Point, though, I can use this space to pay tribute to all pets, pet owners and the people who take care of them.
BigE is a female named after Elvis Presley (get it, Big “E”). Our other cat is also a female named Priscilla. I’ve had her for more than 10 years now, two years after meeting my wife, Jenny, but three years before marrying her. She is far and away the pet I’ve owned the longest and also the pet who’s been the most loyal and friendly. Only one of the other dogs, cats, turtles, crabs, snakes and rabbits I’ve owned compare to her, with the other being Priscilla.
Since she was a kitten, BigE has followed me around the house like a puppy. Where I go, she goes. When I’m sitting, she’s on my lap. She does this with other people, including my not-so-calm 5-year-old son, Braden. People visiting our house have commented that they’ve never seen such a friendly cat before.
As any pet owner can testify, the life of most pets, especially cats, is full of routines. They get fed at certain times, they are playful at other times and they sleep quite a bit of the time. Disrupting the routine with a trip to the veterinarian or taking a vacation for a few days can be upsetting to pets.
BigE is no exception. When I took her to the vet last week, I figured this would be the last time her routine would ever be disrupted, because I didn’t think the news would be good. She stopped eating and drinking after several days of vomiting everything she consumed. Consultation with a vet assistant my wife knew and online information indicated she probably had kidney failure and would need to be euthanized.
Dr. Kelble took one look at her and diagnosed a different problem: she had swallowed some thread.
While it sounds like a minor problem, thread to a cat is nearly as deadly as the poison that killed Socrates. Inside a cat, thread acts like a knife, cutting through intestines until the cat becomes as deathly ill as it had become for me.
Dr. Kelble performed emergency surgery on BigE, and afterward said we’ll need to keep our fingers crossed, as the thread sliced through her intestines in seven spots. He noted she is a cat, though, and cats are resilient creatures, able to come back from such injuries. He said he wouldn’t be so optimistic with a dog.
Staying at his office for two days, BigE still refused to eat or drink. She was probably still groggy from the surgery and weary of her temporary home, because she ate and drank shortly after coming back home. Less than a week later, she’s her old self.
In fact, she’s her younger old self, as she’s sleeping on top of me, which she had stopped several years ago, and doesn’t seem to be as timid of feet as she was just several weeks ago. Maybe he gave her some sort of youth injection.
I was prepared for BigE’s final end – even making Braden say a final goodbye to her. Like other pet owners, it’s something we have to face sooner or later, given the life expectancy these animals have. But a good veterinarian can fortunately delay this, as I found out. It’s nice knowing these people are out there to help us keep our pets longer.
BigE is a female named after Elvis Presley (get it, Big “E”). Our other cat is also a female named Priscilla. I’ve had her for more than 10 years now, two years after meeting my wife, Jenny, but three years before marrying her. She is far and away the pet I’ve owned the longest and also the pet who’s been the most loyal and friendly. Only one of the other dogs, cats, turtles, crabs, snakes and rabbits I’ve owned compare to her, with the other being Priscilla.
Since she was a kitten, BigE has followed me around the house like a puppy. Where I go, she goes. When I’m sitting, she’s on my lap. She does this with other people, including my not-so-calm 5-year-old son, Braden. People visiting our house have commented that they’ve never seen such a friendly cat before.
As any pet owner can testify, the life of most pets, especially cats, is full of routines. They get fed at certain times, they are playful at other times and they sleep quite a bit of the time. Disrupting the routine with a trip to the veterinarian or taking a vacation for a few days can be upsetting to pets.
BigE is no exception. When I took her to the vet last week, I figured this would be the last time her routine would ever be disrupted, because I didn’t think the news would be good. She stopped eating and drinking after several days of vomiting everything she consumed. Consultation with a vet assistant my wife knew and online information indicated she probably had kidney failure and would need to be euthanized.
Dr. Kelble took one look at her and diagnosed a different problem: she had swallowed some thread.
While it sounds like a minor problem, thread to a cat is nearly as deadly as the poison that killed Socrates. Inside a cat, thread acts like a knife, cutting through intestines until the cat becomes as deathly ill as it had become for me.
Dr. Kelble performed emergency surgery on BigE, and afterward said we’ll need to keep our fingers crossed, as the thread sliced through her intestines in seven spots. He noted she is a cat, though, and cats are resilient creatures, able to come back from such injuries. He said he wouldn’t be so optimistic with a dog.
Staying at his office for two days, BigE still refused to eat or drink. She was probably still groggy from the surgery and weary of her temporary home, because she ate and drank shortly after coming back home. Less than a week later, she’s her old self.
In fact, she’s her younger old self, as she’s sleeping on top of me, which she had stopped several years ago, and doesn’t seem to be as timid of feet as she was just several weeks ago. Maybe he gave her some sort of youth injection.
I was prepared for BigE’s final end – even making Braden say a final goodbye to her. Like other pet owners, it’s something we have to face sooner or later, given the life expectancy these animals have. But a good veterinarian can fortunately delay this, as I found out. It’s nice knowing these people are out there to help us keep our pets longer.
Plan will make combover popular
I’m bald. I’m not afraid to admit it, as I have done several times before in this column.
I’m also not afraid to offer solutions to remedy baldness, even though I proudly believe it’s something that doesn’t really need to be remedied. I do so because it’s fun.
My latest solution, one of which I told my wife I’m going to do, is to make the combover in vogue.
Men have used the combover for decades to make it look like they have more hair on their heads than they really do. It’s never worked, because it’s clear all who have tried this before are shameful of their baldness and style their hair without the advice of professionals. I could lock myself in the bathroom in front of a mirror for an entire day and would come away looking no better than anyone else with a combover.
But, if I went to a professional hairdresser first and discussed my goal, I think we could come up with a combover together that would be the king of combovers. The professional could advise me on how I should grow the hair I do have, and when it reaches the right length, we would style it in such a way that people with full heads of hair would be jealous of me.
The hair I do have is short right now. I’ve kept it short for years now, because it does make me look less bald. It’s a proven trick many bald and balding men successfully use. And I still have hair that grows on the sides and back of my head. It doesn’t grow on an ever-expanding round patch on the top of my head. When my hair isn’t short, it appears as though I am wearing a white monk’s hat on my head.
All this means I’m the perfect person a brave hairstylist can work with to create the world’s first hip combover.
Upon successful completion of this killer combover, we’ll have to market it to the rest of the world, and the best way to do so would be to recreate it on the head of a popular bald/balding celebrity, because celebrities are (sadly) the types of people others follow, creating trends and eventually popular culture.
I will want recognition for my achievement, so before I allow any celebrity the use of my combover, I’m going to trademark a name – the Steuckover – and will contractually require the celebrity to refer to it as such when discussing it with reporters.
I know the Steuckover will take other forms, much like the Rachel did in the mid 1990s, and I will be honored by all of them. Eventually, they’ll become too popular and the mass public will start hating it, as the public tends to do. Millions of people will take to the Internet to trash the Steuckover, and just as quickly as it became popular, it will be gone.
But give it another 10 years or so. It’ll be back. Maybe in the form of the “ironic” Steuckover, or the “retro” Steuckover. I’ll be happy with whatever form it takes.
Once the Steuckover becomes a thing, I know it’ll only last initially for six months at most. I’m already working on the next trend – the cool toupee.
Author’s note: My wife, Jenny, wishes to comment on this. A loving husband, I’m happy to give her some space, even though she relegates me to a small sliver of space on our bed at night. This is what she has to say:
“To all fellow wives of balding husbands with odd senses of humor... I apologize for and do not condone the idea presented in this column. Be assured that I do own a pair of clippers; however, should the Steuckover take hold, I will be assembling an ‘embarrassed wife’ support group.”
I’m also not afraid to offer solutions to remedy baldness, even though I proudly believe it’s something that doesn’t really need to be remedied. I do so because it’s fun.
My latest solution, one of which I told my wife I’m going to do, is to make the combover in vogue.
Men have used the combover for decades to make it look like they have more hair on their heads than they really do. It’s never worked, because it’s clear all who have tried this before are shameful of their baldness and style their hair without the advice of professionals. I could lock myself in the bathroom in front of a mirror for an entire day and would come away looking no better than anyone else with a combover.
But, if I went to a professional hairdresser first and discussed my goal, I think we could come up with a combover together that would be the king of combovers. The professional could advise me on how I should grow the hair I do have, and when it reaches the right length, we would style it in such a way that people with full heads of hair would be jealous of me.
The hair I do have is short right now. I’ve kept it short for years now, because it does make me look less bald. It’s a proven trick many bald and balding men successfully use. And I still have hair that grows on the sides and back of my head. It doesn’t grow on an ever-expanding round patch on the top of my head. When my hair isn’t short, it appears as though I am wearing a white monk’s hat on my head.
All this means I’m the perfect person a brave hairstylist can work with to create the world’s first hip combover.
Upon successful completion of this killer combover, we’ll have to market it to the rest of the world, and the best way to do so would be to recreate it on the head of a popular bald/balding celebrity, because celebrities are (sadly) the types of people others follow, creating trends and eventually popular culture.
I will want recognition for my achievement, so before I allow any celebrity the use of my combover, I’m going to trademark a name – the Steuckover – and will contractually require the celebrity to refer to it as such when discussing it with reporters.
I know the Steuckover will take other forms, much like the Rachel did in the mid 1990s, and I will be honored by all of them. Eventually, they’ll become too popular and the mass public will start hating it, as the public tends to do. Millions of people will take to the Internet to trash the Steuckover, and just as quickly as it became popular, it will be gone.
But give it another 10 years or so. It’ll be back. Maybe in the form of the “ironic” Steuckover, or the “retro” Steuckover. I’ll be happy with whatever form it takes.
Once the Steuckover becomes a thing, I know it’ll only last initially for six months at most. I’m already working on the next trend – the cool toupee.
Author’s note: My wife, Jenny, wishes to comment on this. A loving husband, I’m happy to give her some space, even though she relegates me to a small sliver of space on our bed at night. This is what she has to say:
“To all fellow wives of balding husbands with odd senses of humor... I apologize for and do not condone the idea presented in this column. Be assured that I do own a pair of clippers; however, should the Steuckover take hold, I will be assembling an ‘embarrassed wife’ support group.”
‘Favorite Things’ doesn’t have to end with Oprah’s talk show retirement
Oprah Winfrey is set to retire her long-running and mega-popular talk show in September, taking with her the annual tradition of “Oprah’s Favorite Things” in which she simply tells people what her favorite things are and then gives one of each those items to every member in the studio audience. Among her favorite things this year was the newly redesigned 2012 Volkswagen Beetle, a car so cool she was only allowed to show the lucky recipients its silhouette until they receive it in late spring.
Since Oprah’s tradition shouldn’t be completely abandoned just because she’s moving onto other endeavors, I’ve decided to pick up the mantle and start “Scott’s Favorite Things.” Unfortunately, I don’t have Oprah’s money nor her influence, so I don’t have the ability to give away these items to my audience. You’ll just get the part where I tell you what my favorite things are.
I’m going to start with the one item I have with me nearly all the time – my fourth generation iPod Touch, the smaller and cheaper version of the iPad that Oprah named as one of her favorite things.
As I type this, I’m listening to music through the stereo attached to my Touch, which houses more than 2,000 of my favorite songs. When I’m at work-related meetings or interviewing someone, I record what I hear with the voice recorder on it, and when I’m out and about and see something I want to photograph, I take a picture with it. I’ve also got nearly 100 cool apps and games on it that I play and do things like read other newspapers. It also checks e-mail, takes video, allows for Skype calling and FaceTime (video conferencing – usually with my wife when I’m at work and she’s at home), and provides weather updates.
Next on my list is “High Violet” by The National, easily the best album of 2010. I wasn’t familiar with this band at all until I heard the song “Bloodbuzz, Ohio” from the album this spring. Based on the song, I picked up the album from Radio KAOS in Stevens Point and found myself infatuated with it. Coming a close second is “Brothers” by the Black Keys, which I’ve also found myself listening to over and over again.
Movie-wise, I’ll recommend “How to Train Your Dragon,” “Kick-Ass” and “Inception” as favorite must-owns for 2010. “Dragon” and “Kick-Ass” are fun films that provide something new with each viewing, while “Inception” is another mind-blowing film from Christopher Nolan, who also brought us “The Dark Knight” and “Memento.”
Another favorite thing my wife and I bought this year is a Panini maker. Whenever we need a quick, good meal, we use it to make delicious sandwiches deli-like in taste. These sandwiches are especially good when we use Asiago cheese bakery bread.
While I can’t be Oprah in giving away all of my favorite things, I can offer plenty of laughs with the last of my favorite things: YouTube videos. Go to YouTube and search for “Double Rainbow Guy,” “Bed Intruder” followed by “Bed Intruder Remix,” “Charlie Bit Me,” “Sneezing Panda” and “Zombie Boy.” Most of these videos should inspire a few chuckles, which is forever priceless compared to many of the items I’ve recommended that will be outdated in a few years.
Since Oprah’s tradition shouldn’t be completely abandoned just because she’s moving onto other endeavors, I’ve decided to pick up the mantle and start “Scott’s Favorite Things.” Unfortunately, I don’t have Oprah’s money nor her influence, so I don’t have the ability to give away these items to my audience. You’ll just get the part where I tell you what my favorite things are.
I’m going to start with the one item I have with me nearly all the time – my fourth generation iPod Touch, the smaller and cheaper version of the iPad that Oprah named as one of her favorite things.
As I type this, I’m listening to music through the stereo attached to my Touch, which houses more than 2,000 of my favorite songs. When I’m at work-related meetings or interviewing someone, I record what I hear with the voice recorder on it, and when I’m out and about and see something I want to photograph, I take a picture with it. I’ve also got nearly 100 cool apps and games on it that I play and do things like read other newspapers. It also checks e-mail, takes video, allows for Skype calling and FaceTime (video conferencing – usually with my wife when I’m at work and she’s at home), and provides weather updates.
Next on my list is “High Violet” by The National, easily the best album of 2010. I wasn’t familiar with this band at all until I heard the song “Bloodbuzz, Ohio” from the album this spring. Based on the song, I picked up the album from Radio KAOS in Stevens Point and found myself infatuated with it. Coming a close second is “Brothers” by the Black Keys, which I’ve also found myself listening to over and over again.
Movie-wise, I’ll recommend “How to Train Your Dragon,” “Kick-Ass” and “Inception” as favorite must-owns for 2010. “Dragon” and “Kick-Ass” are fun films that provide something new with each viewing, while “Inception” is another mind-blowing film from Christopher Nolan, who also brought us “The Dark Knight” and “Memento.”
Another favorite thing my wife and I bought this year is a Panini maker. Whenever we need a quick, good meal, we use it to make delicious sandwiches deli-like in taste. These sandwiches are especially good when we use Asiago cheese bakery bread.
While I can’t be Oprah in giving away all of my favorite things, I can offer plenty of laughs with the last of my favorite things: YouTube videos. Go to YouTube and search for “Double Rainbow Guy,” “Bed Intruder” followed by “Bed Intruder Remix,” “Charlie Bit Me,” “Sneezing Panda” and “Zombie Boy.” Most of these videos should inspire a few chuckles, which is forever priceless compared to many of the items I’ve recommended that will be outdated in a few years.
Black Friday involves strategy, braveness some husbands don’t have
Most people receiving the paper today (Friday, Nov. 26) who planned on shopping during the busiest shopping day of the year, commonly known as Black Friday, have probably already done so, since some stores open as early as 3 a.m. to take advantage of all the eager shoppers searching for great deals.
I’m not amongst this group, because I have a brave wife, Jenny, who does this for me. While she’s battling crowds, lines, lack of parking spaces and other people who may grab the last item of something on sale, I’m at home, with our 5-year-old son, Braden, who is oblivious to the fact a good number of the items under the tree on Christmas for him were purchased with her blood, sweat and tears this morning.
I told Jenny we’d set up our fake tree, the 15-year-old one that once belonged to my parents that we’ve been threatening to throw away for years but which always seems to survive another holiday season. I hate the tree with a passion, because putting it together takes out nearly all the fun of the holidays before they even begin, but I’d rather be doing that than taking on the shopping crowds.
Before Braden came along, she towed me along with her. Getting up at 3 a.m. to stand outside a store in nearly subzero temperatures in hopes of getting an inexpensive television was, at the time, a painful moment I said I never wanted to relive, although looking back on it I’ve since come to the conclusion it’s one of those “story” moments I’ll fondly remember forever, and one I hope to tell Braden and his children some day.
Braden was the main reason I was allowed to stay home on Black Friday. Another big factor was the emergence of a friend of Jenny’s who took her with her, schooling my wife in the art of Black Friday shopping.
This friend told Jenny she needs to know what specific items she wants from each store, and those items should be retrieved as quickly as possible when the store opens and then checked out just as quickly in order to get to the next store. They start at Kohl’s at 3 a.m., go to Target at 4 a.m., head to Walmart at 5 a.m. and then end the main spree at Menard’s at 6 a.m. They then spend the rest of the morning going back to some of those stores and hitting up other stores such as Best Buy and Michael’s while the big sales are still effective, getting items that were not on their immediate must-have lists.
This strategy has worked fairly well over the years, as Jenny has always come home with the items she’s wanted. And numerous other items.
Having learned from the master, Jenny has ventured out on her own the last several years. This year, she’s aiming to purchase a Nintendo DSlite from Walmart for $89 ($40 off the regular price), an area rug from Target for $20 ($20 off the regular price) and a slew of other items we spent listing based on the ad “leaks” available to view on blackfriday.com.
We spent Sunday night strategizing by making a list of the people we need to purchase gifts for, and then picking items we thought would best suit those people. If all goes well, our Christmas shopping may be 95-percent complete before I even wake up Friday.
I’m even giving Jenny a mission. I’m sending some money and a list with her to purchase some $10 Playstation 3 games, just for me. I don’t expect her to get everything on my list, but even if she gets just one or two it will seem like a good holiday season for me, even after Braden and I tackle the stupid tree.
I’m not amongst this group, because I have a brave wife, Jenny, who does this for me. While she’s battling crowds, lines, lack of parking spaces and other people who may grab the last item of something on sale, I’m at home, with our 5-year-old son, Braden, who is oblivious to the fact a good number of the items under the tree on Christmas for him were purchased with her blood, sweat and tears this morning.
I told Jenny we’d set up our fake tree, the 15-year-old one that once belonged to my parents that we’ve been threatening to throw away for years but which always seems to survive another holiday season. I hate the tree with a passion, because putting it together takes out nearly all the fun of the holidays before they even begin, but I’d rather be doing that than taking on the shopping crowds.
Before Braden came along, she towed me along with her. Getting up at 3 a.m. to stand outside a store in nearly subzero temperatures in hopes of getting an inexpensive television was, at the time, a painful moment I said I never wanted to relive, although looking back on it I’ve since come to the conclusion it’s one of those “story” moments I’ll fondly remember forever, and one I hope to tell Braden and his children some day.
Braden was the main reason I was allowed to stay home on Black Friday. Another big factor was the emergence of a friend of Jenny’s who took her with her, schooling my wife in the art of Black Friday shopping.
This friend told Jenny she needs to know what specific items she wants from each store, and those items should be retrieved as quickly as possible when the store opens and then checked out just as quickly in order to get to the next store. They start at Kohl’s at 3 a.m., go to Target at 4 a.m., head to Walmart at 5 a.m. and then end the main spree at Menard’s at 6 a.m. They then spend the rest of the morning going back to some of those stores and hitting up other stores such as Best Buy and Michael’s while the big sales are still effective, getting items that were not on their immediate must-have lists.
This strategy has worked fairly well over the years, as Jenny has always come home with the items she’s wanted. And numerous other items.
Having learned from the master, Jenny has ventured out on her own the last several years. This year, she’s aiming to purchase a Nintendo DSlite from Walmart for $89 ($40 off the regular price), an area rug from Target for $20 ($20 off the regular price) and a slew of other items we spent listing based on the ad “leaks” available to view on blackfriday.com.
We spent Sunday night strategizing by making a list of the people we need to purchase gifts for, and then picking items we thought would best suit those people. If all goes well, our Christmas shopping may be 95-percent complete before I even wake up Friday.
I’m even giving Jenny a mission. I’m sending some money and a list with her to purchase some $10 Playstation 3 games, just for me. I don’t expect her to get everything on my list, but even if she gets just one or two it will seem like a good holiday season for me, even after Braden and I tackle the stupid tree.
Team Coco gets last laugh with debut of ‘Conan’
I’m with Team Coco, extremely happy that he’s back to television.
Team Coco, for those who don’t know, is Conan O’Brien, late night talk show host.
For 17 years he hosted “Late Night with Conan O’Brien,” the 11:35 p.m. talk show that followed “The Tonight Show with Jay Leno,” and then for seven months he took over “The Tonight Show” until Leno ruthlessly stole it back.
Following a large settlement to essentially kick him off NBC, and a nine-month waiting period, Conan is back on late night, as host of the simply titled “Conan” on basic cable station TBS. The show, which immediately makes Leno’s and David Letterman’s show obsolete, debuted Monday, Nov. 8.
His return was spectacular, beginning with a filmed piece simply titled “Last season on ‘Conan.’” Filmed as a highlight of the “previous” season, it started with Conan telling NBC officials by phone that he was not going to move his show half-an-hour later, as they had requested to put Leno back to 10:35. “What can they do to me?” he joked after hanging up the phone.
“Godfather”-style, they gun him down, like Sonny Corleone. He doesn’t die, though, and after driving his wife nuts at home, he’s forced to get a job. Unfortunately, he finds he’s not suited for work as a fast-food waiter or a clown. But then someone suggests basic cable. Before he knows it, he’s back on television.
Thank god. Late night just isn’t the same without Team Coco.
I started watching him when he debuted in 1993. He was an awkward redhead nobody had ever heard of before, despite successful writing gigs on “Saturday Night Live” and “The Simpsons,” and his first few months were painful to watch because he looked uncomfortable in front of the camera.
But then he got confident, found his groove and redefined late night with characters and skits like Triumph the Insult Comic Dog, the Masturbating Bear and “In the Year 2000…” In college, my friends and I ignored Leno and Letterman, but gladly watched Conan. He spoke to us with his self-mocking humor.
When NBC announced five years ago that he was going to become the new “Tonight Show” host, I thought somebody at the network was really smart. That person must have left when NBC made the stupid decision to get rid of him.
In the end, though, it worked out for the better. On basic cable, Conan is free to be more edgy and do things the older “Tonight Show” audience didn’t appreciate.
And when he draws the younger audience away from “The Tonight Show,” the audience advertisers care about, he’ll have the last laugh, along with plenty of other laughs he’ll provide to his loyal following.
UPDATE: Since this column was published in November of 2010, I've become addicted to Jimmy Fallon's show. I still like Conan, but Jimmy is the funniest late-night guy on television. Check out his Bob Dylan, Neil Young and Charlie Sheen impressions.
Team Coco, for those who don’t know, is Conan O’Brien, late night talk show host.
For 17 years he hosted “Late Night with Conan O’Brien,” the 11:35 p.m. talk show that followed “The Tonight Show with Jay Leno,” and then for seven months he took over “The Tonight Show” until Leno ruthlessly stole it back.
Following a large settlement to essentially kick him off NBC, and a nine-month waiting period, Conan is back on late night, as host of the simply titled “Conan” on basic cable station TBS. The show, which immediately makes Leno’s and David Letterman’s show obsolete, debuted Monday, Nov. 8.
His return was spectacular, beginning with a filmed piece simply titled “Last season on ‘Conan.’” Filmed as a highlight of the “previous” season, it started with Conan telling NBC officials by phone that he was not going to move his show half-an-hour later, as they had requested to put Leno back to 10:35. “What can they do to me?” he joked after hanging up the phone.
“Godfather”-style, they gun him down, like Sonny Corleone. He doesn’t die, though, and after driving his wife nuts at home, he’s forced to get a job. Unfortunately, he finds he’s not suited for work as a fast-food waiter or a clown. But then someone suggests basic cable. Before he knows it, he’s back on television.
Thank god. Late night just isn’t the same without Team Coco.
I started watching him when he debuted in 1993. He was an awkward redhead nobody had ever heard of before, despite successful writing gigs on “Saturday Night Live” and “The Simpsons,” and his first few months were painful to watch because he looked uncomfortable in front of the camera.
But then he got confident, found his groove and redefined late night with characters and skits like Triumph the Insult Comic Dog, the Masturbating Bear and “In the Year 2000…” In college, my friends and I ignored Leno and Letterman, but gladly watched Conan. He spoke to us with his self-mocking humor.
When NBC announced five years ago that he was going to become the new “Tonight Show” host, I thought somebody at the network was really smart. That person must have left when NBC made the stupid decision to get rid of him.
In the end, though, it worked out for the better. On basic cable, Conan is free to be more edgy and do things the older “Tonight Show” audience didn’t appreciate.
And when he draws the younger audience away from “The Tonight Show,” the audience advertisers care about, he’ll have the last laugh, along with plenty of other laughs he’ll provide to his loyal following.
UPDATE: Since this column was published in November of 2010, I've become addicted to Jimmy Fallon's show. I still like Conan, but Jimmy is the funniest late-night guy on television. Check out his Bob Dylan, Neil Young and Charlie Sheen impressions.
Halloween should be all about peanut butter kisses
To a household of people trying to lose weight, and with a little boy who doesn’t need to be “sugared up,” Halloween is a bit of a holiday from hell. While some may say the holiday – if it can be called that – is then successfully living up to its reputation and intended purpose, I’ll disagree, mainly because I belong to this family.
Don’t get me wrong. I love Halloween; in fact, I believe it’s the third best one, right behind Thanksgiving and Christmas. I love the decorations associated with Halloween, and the costumes people come up with for the occasion can be pants-splitting hilarious.
And the entire tradition of going from house to house dressed in a costume and asking people for candy is mind-boggling in a “can we really do that?” sort of way.
When my wife, Jenny, our 5-year-old son, Braden, and I hit the streets of Plover on Sunday for trick-or-treating, I assumed the candy haul would be about the same as when I was a kid – about half an ice cream pail full of assorted candy, half of which would be the peanut butter kisses in the black or orange wrappers. I often ate all the candy I collected the same night.
Trick-or-treating has evolved since I was a kid, because Braden didn’t collect one peanut butter kiss. Either they don’t make them anymore, the government declared them unfit for consumption (which wouldn’t be surprising, given their tendency to become harder than a rock if exposed to temperatures less than 50 degrees for more than half an hour), or my hometown of Wautoma is strangely unique in the fact peanut butter kisses are only the norm there, and not elsewhere.
In addition, the amount of candy Braden collected was literally 12 times the amount I collected. He filled up an entire canvas shopping bag in a little more than two hours, which may not seem like all that much until you discover exactly how much those bags can hold. At home, we emptied the candy contents of the bag into two giant salad bowls and came to the realization we have enough candy to last the entire family until well past Christmas.
And it’s all good stuff, like miniature candy bars, a few full-size candy bars, individually packaged licorice sticks and rice crispy treats, granola bars, packages of Milk Duds and M&Ms, and even some small bags of chips.
It was all so good that only the truly unusual items stood out to Braden – a package of silly bands, a green stick of licorice, a spider ring, a tube of play dough, and a skeleton decoration. Those were all the items he wanted first.
He wants the candy, too, but Jenny and I limit the amount of sugar we give him, as we’re not big fans of “Hyper Boy.” This means we do not give him any in the morning, and he gets a few items when he gets home in the evening, but only if he’s been a good boy. At this rate, we figure he could get through all the candy by next Halloween.
That’s only if Jenny and I weren’t helping him eat it. We generally keep this type of food out of the house, because if you don’t have it, you won’t eat it. But since we have it, both of us have dipped our paws in the bowls more than a few times. Somebody’s got to eat it, I guess.
I know a solution. More peanut butter kisses. All our problems will be resolved.
Don’t get me wrong. I love Halloween; in fact, I believe it’s the third best one, right behind Thanksgiving and Christmas. I love the decorations associated with Halloween, and the costumes people come up with for the occasion can be pants-splitting hilarious.
And the entire tradition of going from house to house dressed in a costume and asking people for candy is mind-boggling in a “can we really do that?” sort of way.
When my wife, Jenny, our 5-year-old son, Braden, and I hit the streets of Plover on Sunday for trick-or-treating, I assumed the candy haul would be about the same as when I was a kid – about half an ice cream pail full of assorted candy, half of which would be the peanut butter kisses in the black or orange wrappers. I often ate all the candy I collected the same night.
Trick-or-treating has evolved since I was a kid, because Braden didn’t collect one peanut butter kiss. Either they don’t make them anymore, the government declared them unfit for consumption (which wouldn’t be surprising, given their tendency to become harder than a rock if exposed to temperatures less than 50 degrees for more than half an hour), or my hometown of Wautoma is strangely unique in the fact peanut butter kisses are only the norm there, and not elsewhere.
In addition, the amount of candy Braden collected was literally 12 times the amount I collected. He filled up an entire canvas shopping bag in a little more than two hours, which may not seem like all that much until you discover exactly how much those bags can hold. At home, we emptied the candy contents of the bag into two giant salad bowls and came to the realization we have enough candy to last the entire family until well past Christmas.
And it’s all good stuff, like miniature candy bars, a few full-size candy bars, individually packaged licorice sticks and rice crispy treats, granola bars, packages of Milk Duds and M&Ms, and even some small bags of chips.
It was all so good that only the truly unusual items stood out to Braden – a package of silly bands, a green stick of licorice, a spider ring, a tube of play dough, and a skeleton decoration. Those were all the items he wanted first.
He wants the candy, too, but Jenny and I limit the amount of sugar we give him, as we’re not big fans of “Hyper Boy.” This means we do not give him any in the morning, and he gets a few items when he gets home in the evening, but only if he’s been a good boy. At this rate, we figure he could get through all the candy by next Halloween.
That’s only if Jenny and I weren’t helping him eat it. We generally keep this type of food out of the house, because if you don’t have it, you won’t eat it. But since we have it, both of us have dipped our paws in the bowls more than a few times. Somebody’s got to eat it, I guess.
I know a solution. More peanut butter kisses. All our problems will be resolved.
Titling letters is big responsibility for editors
As the managing editor of The Gazette, I have quite a few responsibilities. Many are probably obvious to most people: write and edit news, assign stories to reporters, and determine where and how this news should be placed in the paper.
But many aren’t nearly as obvious: sift through hundreds of e-mails each day, communicate with people who want to know how to submit news items such as anniversaries and obituaries, and attending local events to take photographs.
One responsibility I didn’t think much about before, writing headlines for letters to the editor, was brought to my attention earlier this week when a Stevens Point resident sent a letter about this subject. This is the bulk of what this peson had to say:
“When is it justifiable for a person, groups of people, and the media, to take a person’s comment/viewpoint and twist it into something other than the person’s original intent? This seems to happen a lot as of late, especially in the media. For instance, I recently wrote a letter to the editor and sent it to two of the local papers in the area. Both papers put a different title to the letter received. Now we all know that the title of anything written has an impact on the message or story which is being conveyed.
“One newspaper’s editor read the letter, acknowledged several points written, including a woman’s right to choose. The other put their own personal spin on what was written and in fact titled it with something never actually stated in the letter; thereby, controlling my actual message and bending my viewpoint (freedom of speech) to fit in with their take on things.
“I don’t care for someone else titling my writings and question the local papers as to why they need to ‘control’ what a person is communicating by putting their own title to the letters received. Do teachers/professors title a student’s report, review, thesis, article, etc.? Does a publisher title an author’s book? Of course not! That is wrong and is also wrong when it comes to Freedom of Speech. Real Freedom of Speech, not the made up, kind, Freedom of Speech which we are led to believe we have.”
The writer then challenged the editors to respond, which I did. This is what I said:
“To be perfectly honest, if people send a title and it works, I use it. I’d rather not have to title them myself, out of fear my title may not jive with the original intent of the letter. Especially with some of the letters we receive in which the person’s message makes no sense at all. I’m sure the editors at the other newspaper probably feel the same way.
I then explained why I titled the original letter the way I had, and then offered a suggestion:
“In the future, send YOUR title with the letter and a simple note asking us to contact you should that title not work. I receive those requests all the time and happily oblige.
“For the record, book publishers do change the titles of books all the time, and teachers/professors often do, too. I’ve had it happen to me in school. Freedom of speech entitles you to say the stuff you wrote. It does not entitle publication, though. As the editor, I have the right to edit, delete or reject letters or portions of letters, as stated in our letter policy. So please do not confuse freedom of speech with the paper’s rights.”
The writer responded and said my points were taken and that she does not confuse freedom of speech with my right as an editor. She also said she hoped I would run her letter and my response. Since I don’t typically respond to letters on the letters pages, I decided I would use this column to show our discussion.
In further e-mail conversations with the writer, I answered a question she had about the guidelines we use to title letters and why we may change a title if one is sent with it. This is what I said:
“Titles are often changed by us when they don’t conform to our guidelines as to what a title should be. You suggested titling your current letter ‘What is Freedom of Speech?’ That wouldn’t work for us, because it’s a question first off, and it tells us little of what’s actually in the letter. A better title would be ‘Woman questions how newspapers title letters.’
“Be assured we’re not trying to insert our own political beliefs. I’ve gotten to the point with letters it’s best to be simple with the titles and to make changes to content only when absolutely necessary. Let people say what they want to say, no matter what you think, is my philosophy.”
The writer questioned my use of the world “woman” with my suggested title, saying it was arrogant to use instead of “writer.” I’ll disagree, because had she been a man, I probably would have suggested “man” instead. I also use “writer” on occasion because it’s good to mix things up.
In the end, I’m not sure I got through to her, as she returned to her original point questioning the amount of freedom of speech she actually has because editors have some control over how her message is printed.
Again, I’ll argue editors have that right, whether or not anybody thinks we should. I’ve never used it to purposefully change the intent of a person’s letter. I’m glad she brought the issue to my attention, though, as I will think twice when titling letters, just to be sure.
But many aren’t nearly as obvious: sift through hundreds of e-mails each day, communicate with people who want to know how to submit news items such as anniversaries and obituaries, and attending local events to take photographs.
One responsibility I didn’t think much about before, writing headlines for letters to the editor, was brought to my attention earlier this week when a Stevens Point resident sent a letter about this subject. This is the bulk of what this peson had to say:
“When is it justifiable for a person, groups of people, and the media, to take a person’s comment/viewpoint and twist it into something other than the person’s original intent? This seems to happen a lot as of late, especially in the media. For instance, I recently wrote a letter to the editor and sent it to two of the local papers in the area. Both papers put a different title to the letter received. Now we all know that the title of anything written has an impact on the message or story which is being conveyed.
“One newspaper’s editor read the letter, acknowledged several points written, including a woman’s right to choose. The other put their own personal spin on what was written and in fact titled it with something never actually stated in the letter; thereby, controlling my actual message and bending my viewpoint (freedom of speech) to fit in with their take on things.
“I don’t care for someone else titling my writings and question the local papers as to why they need to ‘control’ what a person is communicating by putting their own title to the letters received. Do teachers/professors title a student’s report, review, thesis, article, etc.? Does a publisher title an author’s book? Of course not! That is wrong and is also wrong when it comes to Freedom of Speech. Real Freedom of Speech, not the made up, kind, Freedom of Speech which we are led to believe we have.”
The writer then challenged the editors to respond, which I did. This is what I said:
“To be perfectly honest, if people send a title and it works, I use it. I’d rather not have to title them myself, out of fear my title may not jive with the original intent of the letter. Especially with some of the letters we receive in which the person’s message makes no sense at all. I’m sure the editors at the other newspaper probably feel the same way.
I then explained why I titled the original letter the way I had, and then offered a suggestion:
“In the future, send YOUR title with the letter and a simple note asking us to contact you should that title not work. I receive those requests all the time and happily oblige.
“For the record, book publishers do change the titles of books all the time, and teachers/professors often do, too. I’ve had it happen to me in school. Freedom of speech entitles you to say the stuff you wrote. It does not entitle publication, though. As the editor, I have the right to edit, delete or reject letters or portions of letters, as stated in our letter policy. So please do not confuse freedom of speech with the paper’s rights.”
The writer responded and said my points were taken and that she does not confuse freedom of speech with my right as an editor. She also said she hoped I would run her letter and my response. Since I don’t typically respond to letters on the letters pages, I decided I would use this column to show our discussion.
In further e-mail conversations with the writer, I answered a question she had about the guidelines we use to title letters and why we may change a title if one is sent with it. This is what I said:
“Titles are often changed by us when they don’t conform to our guidelines as to what a title should be. You suggested titling your current letter ‘What is Freedom of Speech?’ That wouldn’t work for us, because it’s a question first off, and it tells us little of what’s actually in the letter. A better title would be ‘Woman questions how newspapers title letters.’
“Be assured we’re not trying to insert our own political beliefs. I’ve gotten to the point with letters it’s best to be simple with the titles and to make changes to content only when absolutely necessary. Let people say what they want to say, no matter what you think, is my philosophy.”
The writer questioned my use of the world “woman” with my suggested title, saying it was arrogant to use instead of “writer.” I’ll disagree, because had she been a man, I probably would have suggested “man” instead. I also use “writer” on occasion because it’s good to mix things up.
In the end, I’m not sure I got through to her, as she returned to her original point questioning the amount of freedom of speech she actually has because editors have some control over how her message is printed.
Again, I’ll argue editors have that right, whether or not anybody thinks we should. I’ve never used it to purposefully change the intent of a person’s letter. I’m glad she brought the issue to my attention, though, as I will think twice when titling letters, just to be sure.
Advice needed on how to raise an only child
I need advice from people who grew up as an only child.
I seek advice because my son, Braden, appears as though he will be an only child, and since my wife, Jenny, and I come from multi-children families, we don’t know how to deal with him being the lone child.
Even if someday Jenny and I were to have another child, Braden would be well older, as he is already 5-1/2. He’s spoiled with our attention, but we can tell it serves as a poor substitute for someone near his own age to play with on a regular basis.
Growing up, I often wished I was an only child, and not just because my younger sister, Kelly, was annoying, but also because I wanted to be spoiled by my parents like some of the only-childs I knew.
Kelly and I fought all the time. We pushed and hit each other, and when things got bad her claws came out, literally. I still have scars from places she scratched me. We spent so much time fighting we often forgot about the boredom that often comes when your life is dictated by those older than you.
When we did manage to play nicely together, it was usually because one of us had a friend over whom the other one wanted to play with also.
Whether or not we were fighting or playing together, my parents didn’t have to spend nearly as much time amusing us as Jenny and I spend trying to keep Braden entertained. From the minute we pick him up from school to the minute he goes to bed, he’s always asking one of us to play with him.
We try to oblige, since we both know the importance of having a good playmate. But when you’re trying to put away a week’s worth of laundry and clean two days worth of dirty dishes, taking 15 minutes to play Transformers with him often seems like the most tiring of the three options because you know when you’re done playing, those other things will still be there.
And unfortunately for him, we’re also trying to make sure he doesn’t become a “spoiled” only child. He’s got a fair amount of toys, but this amount pales in comparison to a lot of other kids we know. We’ve held numerous rummage sales over the years, and given other toys away, to keep his toy box from overfilling, and he knows not to ask us for a new toy when we go to the store.
It’s clear he doesn’t care about toys as much as I did when I was a kid, and the things he most likes are someone to play with on a regular basis and the attention of those around him.
This fact came out when he started kindergarten this fall. His teacher, Mrs. Z, told Jenny she can tell he’s an only child because when he wants her attention, he’s not shy about getting it as he’ll often go in front of other kids to ask her something. “I tell him I love him just as much as the other children, but you have to wait your turn,” Mrs. Z said.
So now Jenny and I have really been working with him to act like a boy with siblings, despite the fact he doesn’t have any. It’s tough, and that’s why I’m seeking a little advice from only-childs. I want to know what their parents did, or should have done, to make them feel more like they had siblings, without spoiling them with their own attention and with toys and other items. Play dates with other kids? Acting like a kid yourself (Jenny may say I often do this without trying) and playing with him? Go ahead and just spoil him anyway? I don’t know the answer.
E-mail your advice to me at pcgazette@g2a.net. I’d love to share it with others in a future column.
I seek advice because my son, Braden, appears as though he will be an only child, and since my wife, Jenny, and I come from multi-children families, we don’t know how to deal with him being the lone child.
Even if someday Jenny and I were to have another child, Braden would be well older, as he is already 5-1/2. He’s spoiled with our attention, but we can tell it serves as a poor substitute for someone near his own age to play with on a regular basis.
Growing up, I often wished I was an only child, and not just because my younger sister, Kelly, was annoying, but also because I wanted to be spoiled by my parents like some of the only-childs I knew.
Kelly and I fought all the time. We pushed and hit each other, and when things got bad her claws came out, literally. I still have scars from places she scratched me. We spent so much time fighting we often forgot about the boredom that often comes when your life is dictated by those older than you.
When we did manage to play nicely together, it was usually because one of us had a friend over whom the other one wanted to play with also.
Whether or not we were fighting or playing together, my parents didn’t have to spend nearly as much time amusing us as Jenny and I spend trying to keep Braden entertained. From the minute we pick him up from school to the minute he goes to bed, he’s always asking one of us to play with him.
We try to oblige, since we both know the importance of having a good playmate. But when you’re trying to put away a week’s worth of laundry and clean two days worth of dirty dishes, taking 15 minutes to play Transformers with him often seems like the most tiring of the three options because you know when you’re done playing, those other things will still be there.
And unfortunately for him, we’re also trying to make sure he doesn’t become a “spoiled” only child. He’s got a fair amount of toys, but this amount pales in comparison to a lot of other kids we know. We’ve held numerous rummage sales over the years, and given other toys away, to keep his toy box from overfilling, and he knows not to ask us for a new toy when we go to the store.
It’s clear he doesn’t care about toys as much as I did when I was a kid, and the things he most likes are someone to play with on a regular basis and the attention of those around him.
This fact came out when he started kindergarten this fall. His teacher, Mrs. Z, told Jenny she can tell he’s an only child because when he wants her attention, he’s not shy about getting it as he’ll often go in front of other kids to ask her something. “I tell him I love him just as much as the other children, but you have to wait your turn,” Mrs. Z said.
So now Jenny and I have really been working with him to act like a boy with siblings, despite the fact he doesn’t have any. It’s tough, and that’s why I’m seeking a little advice from only-childs. I want to know what their parents did, or should have done, to make them feel more like they had siblings, without spoiling them with their own attention and with toys and other items. Play dates with other kids? Acting like a kid yourself (Jenny may say I often do this without trying) and playing with him? Go ahead and just spoil him anyway? I don’t know the answer.
E-mail your advice to me at pcgazette@g2a.net. I’d love to share it with others in a future column.
‘Like a Hurricane’ takes new meaning when sharing name with storm
The Gazette staff is small, but some of us are, to quote Neil Young, “Like a hurricane,” literally.
That’s because a tropical storm and now a hurricane have had the names of three staff members here. We have two Matthews, the namesake of Tropical Storm Matthew, which caused trouble to the countries south of the U.S., and a Paula, who now shares a name with Hurricane Paula, which as of Tuesday, Oct. 12, was heading to Mexico.
When our Paula learned a hurricane has her name, she expressed dismay. She didn’t want to be associated with something that could cause destruction.
I’m not so kind. I immediately went to the Internet to see what future storms this year will be named, knowing a storm starting with “S” will come up soon. My hope was a Hurricane Scott was a possibility.
Hurricanes and tropical storms are named alphabetically from a rotating list in chronological order. As a result, the first storm of the season has a name that begins with “A” and the second is given the name that begins with “B.” The six lists contain names that begin from “A” to “W,” but exclude names that begin with a “Q” or “U.” Apparently not enough names begin with those letters.
The lists only change when there is a hurricane so devastating that the name is retired and another hurricane name replaces it. The 2010 hurricane name list is the same as the 2004 hurricane name list, although four hurricane names were retired after the 2004 hurricane season. This basically means names will be continually added to the lists, ensuring the possibility most people could someday share a hurricane’s name, unless you are unfortunately, or fortunately, named Quinn or Queen Latifah.
Hoping to share a hurricane name is demented – a feeling that’s easier to have living so far away from the destructive forces of these storms – but our meteorological friends sort of invite this hope by even naming hurricanes and tropical storms like this. Why not make them animal names few people would have? Why not names of locations?
They chose names of people, thus making compassionate people, like The Gazette’s Paula, feel dismay when one has their name and making less compassionate people, like me, feel hope they could become a hurricane.
Although many people won’t admit to it like me, a lot of them probably like the thought of sharing their name with a hurricane. It might be a power thing, as one can think of few things as powerful as a hurricane. Or it might be the temporary attention the name brings to you. It’s a combo of those two things, as I don’t have much power in real life – that belongs to my wife – and I like attention once in awhile, which is probably why I write a weekly column that can bring me accolades from some and dislike from others. Attention can be fun, even if it is negative.
Whatever the reason for possibly liking the thought of sharing a name with a hurricane, I’m sure most people who actually do share one, and kind of like it, hope their hurricane doesn’t cause too much damage. People named Katrina probably wish every day their hurricane would have been named something else, as any time they have to tell their name to strangers, the person probably responds “like the hurricane.”
Neil Young best describes these contradictory feelings in his song. “I want to love you but I’m getting blown away,” he sings. Simple, but accurate.
That’s because a tropical storm and now a hurricane have had the names of three staff members here. We have two Matthews, the namesake of Tropical Storm Matthew, which caused trouble to the countries south of the U.S., and a Paula, who now shares a name with Hurricane Paula, which as of Tuesday, Oct. 12, was heading to Mexico.
When our Paula learned a hurricane has her name, she expressed dismay. She didn’t want to be associated with something that could cause destruction.
I’m not so kind. I immediately went to the Internet to see what future storms this year will be named, knowing a storm starting with “S” will come up soon. My hope was a Hurricane Scott was a possibility.
Hurricanes and tropical storms are named alphabetically from a rotating list in chronological order. As a result, the first storm of the season has a name that begins with “A” and the second is given the name that begins with “B.” The six lists contain names that begin from “A” to “W,” but exclude names that begin with a “Q” or “U.” Apparently not enough names begin with those letters.
The lists only change when there is a hurricane so devastating that the name is retired and another hurricane name replaces it. The 2010 hurricane name list is the same as the 2004 hurricane name list, although four hurricane names were retired after the 2004 hurricane season. This basically means names will be continually added to the lists, ensuring the possibility most people could someday share a hurricane’s name, unless you are unfortunately, or fortunately, named Quinn or Queen Latifah.
Hoping to share a hurricane name is demented – a feeling that’s easier to have living so far away from the destructive forces of these storms – but our meteorological friends sort of invite this hope by even naming hurricanes and tropical storms like this. Why not make them animal names few people would have? Why not names of locations?
They chose names of people, thus making compassionate people, like The Gazette’s Paula, feel dismay when one has their name and making less compassionate people, like me, feel hope they could become a hurricane.
Although many people won’t admit to it like me, a lot of them probably like the thought of sharing their name with a hurricane. It might be a power thing, as one can think of few things as powerful as a hurricane. Or it might be the temporary attention the name brings to you. It’s a combo of those two things, as I don’t have much power in real life – that belongs to my wife – and I like attention once in awhile, which is probably why I write a weekly column that can bring me accolades from some and dislike from others. Attention can be fun, even if it is negative.
Whatever the reason for possibly liking the thought of sharing a name with a hurricane, I’m sure most people who actually do share one, and kind of like it, hope their hurricane doesn’t cause too much damage. People named Katrina probably wish every day their hurricane would have been named something else, as any time they have to tell their name to strangers, the person probably responds “like the hurricane.”
Neil Young best describes these contradictory feelings in his song. “I want to love you but I’m getting blown away,” he sings. Simple, but accurate.
Family’s nail worse than Packers’ ‘dagger’
I’m not sure who had a worse day on Sunday: the Green Bay Packers in barely beating the winless Detroit Lions or my family who had to substitute a trip on the Ducks in Wisconsin Dells with more than five hours of dealing with a hapless chain store.
Our troubles started more than two hours before the hyped Packers began their listless game against the Lions. On our way out of the Dells, after spending four days there for a mini-vacation (not so much so for my wife, Jenny, who was there more for work reasons), we decided to stop at one of the many places offering Ducks tours. Our son, Braden, and I had never been on one before, and because the autumn weather was beautiful, we thought it was the perfect opportunity to take a maiden Ducks voyage.
Exiting our vehicle and walking to the ticket entrance, Jenny noticed the front driver’s side tire was going flat. I looked and noticed a nail in the tire, much to all of our dismay.
Being Sunday, we decided the situation needed to be addressed immediately. I got out our spare tire and fairly quickly replaced the flattening tire with it. A bit of an expert at changing tires, as it really is the only mechanical thing I can do with a vehicle (even changing a windshield wiper is too much of an endeavor for me), I figured this problem was going to be quickly resolved.
Since most car mechanics are closed on Sundays, and also being in the Dells, which doesn’t seem to have many service garages available next to any of its dozen water parks, we took our vehicle to a chain store that features an auto center where we figured the mechanics there could fix the tire and put it back on the car, allowing us to drive back to Plover on a real tire and not a spare.
The lady who helped us was rude, but we didn’t really care. As long as they could fix the tire in the back of our vehicle and put it back on, life would be good.
Forty minutes later, when the problem was allegedly fixed, we got in our vehicle for the trip home. Jenny noticed they hadn’t charged us to fix the tire, so I got out to examine it to make sure a nail wasn’t still embedded in it.
The tire looked a little different, but I figured that was because they had washed it. The mechanic, seeing me examining the tire, came out and said the tire needed some air, but other than that it was fine. I asked about the nail, and when he looked dumbfounded, I had a momentary dumbspell. “Maybe there wasn’t a nail and it was just a small pebble wedged in the tire treads,” I said.
He agreed, noting the cold air the previous night can sometimes cause tires to lose a little air and look flat.
Jenny and I laughed about this, thinking our own foolishness actually saved us $50 since we were no longer going to take a Ducks tour, much to the unhappiness of Braden.
When we arrived in Plover and I attempted to fill up our gas tank – I couldn’t because the gas station ran out of gas, which is perfectly fitting to how things had gone – Braden asked Jenny about our “old tire” I had taken off. “They put it back on,” Jenny said, realizing maybe that wasn’t the case.
She got out of the vehicle and asked if the tire on our vehicle was still the spare. I looked at it, and said I don’t think so. “Look at the tire in the back,” she said.
As soon as I looked back there I saw the nail that originally started our troubles. “&*@#” and a few other choice words slipped out of me at that point.
We went to the Plover location of the same chain store, determined to fix the problem so Jenny wouldn’t have to drive to Marshfield on a spare the next day.
They were much nicer there, but unfortunately they were equally as inept. After hearing about our problem, the people there said they’ll fix it. Come back in 40 minutes, they said.
Forty minutes later, we returned to our car parked in the same location, untouched. “We have a problem,” they said. “The nail is located in an area we can’t patch up for liability reasons.”
Because the nail was located on the curve of the tire, policy dictates the mechanics there aren’t allowed to fix it. I understand this and realize I’m not going to convince them to change their policy. But, what I couldn’t understand was how they couldn’t page us or call us – they had our phone number – to let us know immediately about the issue, so we didn’t have to waste another 40 minutes looking at items on store shelves we had no intention of buying.
Fuming, I had Jenny handle the situation, which required another 40-minute wait as they replaced the spare with a brand new tire. I sat on a bench during this time, refusing to look at any items for the fear of purchasing anything from a store angering me.
This part of the escapade occurred during the second half of the Packers-Lions game, and when we finally got back in the car I heard the Packers announcer shout something about a first down being “the dagger” to give the Packers the victory. It sounded exciting, and at least it wasn’t a nail like the one we had to deal with. Only later did I learn the Packers barely escaped with a win, putting up a pathetic effort in the half and barely deserving the victory.
At least they came away with a win. We came away without a Ducks tour, a new tire to replace a tire we just purchased a few months ago, and a wasted morning and afternoon spent dealing with a stupid nail and a chain store that made the problem worse. I’ll take the Packers’ afternoon any day.
Our troubles started more than two hours before the hyped Packers began their listless game against the Lions. On our way out of the Dells, after spending four days there for a mini-vacation (not so much so for my wife, Jenny, who was there more for work reasons), we decided to stop at one of the many places offering Ducks tours. Our son, Braden, and I had never been on one before, and because the autumn weather was beautiful, we thought it was the perfect opportunity to take a maiden Ducks voyage.
Exiting our vehicle and walking to the ticket entrance, Jenny noticed the front driver’s side tire was going flat. I looked and noticed a nail in the tire, much to all of our dismay.
Being Sunday, we decided the situation needed to be addressed immediately. I got out our spare tire and fairly quickly replaced the flattening tire with it. A bit of an expert at changing tires, as it really is the only mechanical thing I can do with a vehicle (even changing a windshield wiper is too much of an endeavor for me), I figured this problem was going to be quickly resolved.
Since most car mechanics are closed on Sundays, and also being in the Dells, which doesn’t seem to have many service garages available next to any of its dozen water parks, we took our vehicle to a chain store that features an auto center where we figured the mechanics there could fix the tire and put it back on the car, allowing us to drive back to Plover on a real tire and not a spare.
The lady who helped us was rude, but we didn’t really care. As long as they could fix the tire in the back of our vehicle and put it back on, life would be good.
Forty minutes later, when the problem was allegedly fixed, we got in our vehicle for the trip home. Jenny noticed they hadn’t charged us to fix the tire, so I got out to examine it to make sure a nail wasn’t still embedded in it.
The tire looked a little different, but I figured that was because they had washed it. The mechanic, seeing me examining the tire, came out and said the tire needed some air, but other than that it was fine. I asked about the nail, and when he looked dumbfounded, I had a momentary dumbspell. “Maybe there wasn’t a nail and it was just a small pebble wedged in the tire treads,” I said.
He agreed, noting the cold air the previous night can sometimes cause tires to lose a little air and look flat.
Jenny and I laughed about this, thinking our own foolishness actually saved us $50 since we were no longer going to take a Ducks tour, much to the unhappiness of Braden.
When we arrived in Plover and I attempted to fill up our gas tank – I couldn’t because the gas station ran out of gas, which is perfectly fitting to how things had gone – Braden asked Jenny about our “old tire” I had taken off. “They put it back on,” Jenny said, realizing maybe that wasn’t the case.
She got out of the vehicle and asked if the tire on our vehicle was still the spare. I looked at it, and said I don’t think so. “Look at the tire in the back,” she said.
As soon as I looked back there I saw the nail that originally started our troubles. “&*@#” and a few other choice words slipped out of me at that point.
We went to the Plover location of the same chain store, determined to fix the problem so Jenny wouldn’t have to drive to Marshfield on a spare the next day.
They were much nicer there, but unfortunately they were equally as inept. After hearing about our problem, the people there said they’ll fix it. Come back in 40 minutes, they said.
Forty minutes later, we returned to our car parked in the same location, untouched. “We have a problem,” they said. “The nail is located in an area we can’t patch up for liability reasons.”
Because the nail was located on the curve of the tire, policy dictates the mechanics there aren’t allowed to fix it. I understand this and realize I’m not going to convince them to change their policy. But, what I couldn’t understand was how they couldn’t page us or call us – they had our phone number – to let us know immediately about the issue, so we didn’t have to waste another 40 minutes looking at items on store shelves we had no intention of buying.
Fuming, I had Jenny handle the situation, which required another 40-minute wait as they replaced the spare with a brand new tire. I sat on a bench during this time, refusing to look at any items for the fear of purchasing anything from a store angering me.
This part of the escapade occurred during the second half of the Packers-Lions game, and when we finally got back in the car I heard the Packers announcer shout something about a first down being “the dagger” to give the Packers the victory. It sounded exciting, and at least it wasn’t a nail like the one we had to deal with. Only later did I learn the Packers barely escaped with a win, putting up a pathetic effort in the half and barely deserving the victory.
At least they came away with a win. We came away without a Ducks tour, a new tire to replace a tire we just purchased a few months ago, and a wasted morning and afternoon spent dealing with a stupid nail and a chain store that made the problem worse. I’ll take the Packers’ afternoon any day.
Flood shows Mother Nature isn’t always nice
Last week’s flood serves as an important reminder that Mother Nature isn’t always nurturing.
While most people are well aware of that fact – television and other media do a pretty good job of letting us know the damage hurricanes, earthquakes, tornadoes, tsunamis, heat waves and ice storms cause – people in Portage County have had the luxury of avoiding nature’s fury a lot more often that most people elsewhere.
Tornadoes seem to breeze around the county, finding their way to Fond du Lac County instead; other weather phenomena seemingly don’t like Portage County either. My observations are just that – observations – but I can’t imagine many people will argue with me. This area somehow (knock on wood) repulses the truly bad things.
Just to the south and east of us, in Waushara County, where I worked for a decade at the Waushara Argus, once or twice a year part of my job required me to cover some sort of devastating weather event.
This included straight-line winds that took out entire forests and caused millions of dollars in property damage throughout a large chunk of the central portion of the county; a hail storm that destroyed hundreds of house roofs and automobiles in the Wautoma area; a fire that destroyed hundreds of acres in the town of Dakota; an ice storm that literally kept most people in their homes for several days, but not me (unfortunately) from going to work; and two different floods that closed Wautoma’s Main Street for days.
Not mentioned is the 1992 tornado that killed two people and leveled a large portion of Wautoma. I was still in high school at the time, and living in Berlin, but I witnessed the damage several days later when groups from my school went there to volunteer with the cleanup.
The two Wautoma floods occurred in consecutive years when torrential rains – one of them pouring more than nine inches on the city overnight – caused the normally gentle White River and one of its millponds to spill over their banks and into the town. Flood experts labeled them as 1,000-year floods, although getting them in back-to-back years made them seem more like yearly floods.
I’m going to knock on wood again, because I’ve rather enjoyed the fact Portage County has a good rapport with Mother Nature. While floods and other natural disasters can sell papers, it’s never fun having to see the devastation they can cause. I don’t want to see any of my Portage County brothers and sisters suffer because their home or property was located in an unfortunate spot hurt where nature unleashed its rage.
Judging by the good nature of many of the people I’ve talked to about the flood, including one family stranded from their home for several days because of road closings, people here have a lot of respect for nature. They know it’s not personal, and that it could have been a lot worse.
Making the situation better was the excellent response by local officials about the flood. Stevens Point Mayor Andrew Halverson, Portage County Executive Patty Dreier, Emergency Management Director Sandra Curtis and many others kept everybody well informed, took decisive actions to close roads when necessary and provided plenty of warnings, cautioning people to stay away from the raging waters of the flooded Wisconsin River.
On Thursday morning, well before the full impacts of the overnight rains were realized, reports came in about roads being washed out. I took a drive out to County Trunk C to get a photo of one of these washed-out roads. When I arrived on the scene, road closed signs were already installed, and for added safety, a pair of county workers in a truck were there to make sure nobody went around the sign, as some people may be inclined to do. Someone unknowingly may have had a lucky day because those guys were there to prevent them from doing something stupid, because anyone driving over the road would have most likely found themselves with a wrecked car.
Those two guys deserve a thank you, and since potential victims won’t realize they owe them one, I’m going to give one on their behalf. Thank you.
And thank you to all those who lessened the negative impact of the flood. While it’s impossible to stop Mother Nature when she wants to show her true power, it’s nice to know many people helped mute her a little bit.
While most people are well aware of that fact – television and other media do a pretty good job of letting us know the damage hurricanes, earthquakes, tornadoes, tsunamis, heat waves and ice storms cause – people in Portage County have had the luxury of avoiding nature’s fury a lot more often that most people elsewhere.
Tornadoes seem to breeze around the county, finding their way to Fond du Lac County instead; other weather phenomena seemingly don’t like Portage County either. My observations are just that – observations – but I can’t imagine many people will argue with me. This area somehow (knock on wood) repulses the truly bad things.
Just to the south and east of us, in Waushara County, where I worked for a decade at the Waushara Argus, once or twice a year part of my job required me to cover some sort of devastating weather event.
This included straight-line winds that took out entire forests and caused millions of dollars in property damage throughout a large chunk of the central portion of the county; a hail storm that destroyed hundreds of house roofs and automobiles in the Wautoma area; a fire that destroyed hundreds of acres in the town of Dakota; an ice storm that literally kept most people in their homes for several days, but not me (unfortunately) from going to work; and two different floods that closed Wautoma’s Main Street for days.
Not mentioned is the 1992 tornado that killed two people and leveled a large portion of Wautoma. I was still in high school at the time, and living in Berlin, but I witnessed the damage several days later when groups from my school went there to volunteer with the cleanup.
The two Wautoma floods occurred in consecutive years when torrential rains – one of them pouring more than nine inches on the city overnight – caused the normally gentle White River and one of its millponds to spill over their banks and into the town. Flood experts labeled them as 1,000-year floods, although getting them in back-to-back years made them seem more like yearly floods.
I’m going to knock on wood again, because I’ve rather enjoyed the fact Portage County has a good rapport with Mother Nature. While floods and other natural disasters can sell papers, it’s never fun having to see the devastation they can cause. I don’t want to see any of my Portage County brothers and sisters suffer because their home or property was located in an unfortunate spot hurt where nature unleashed its rage.
Judging by the good nature of many of the people I’ve talked to about the flood, including one family stranded from their home for several days because of road closings, people here have a lot of respect for nature. They know it’s not personal, and that it could have been a lot worse.
Making the situation better was the excellent response by local officials about the flood. Stevens Point Mayor Andrew Halverson, Portage County Executive Patty Dreier, Emergency Management Director Sandra Curtis and many others kept everybody well informed, took decisive actions to close roads when necessary and provided plenty of warnings, cautioning people to stay away from the raging waters of the flooded Wisconsin River.
On Thursday morning, well before the full impacts of the overnight rains were realized, reports came in about roads being washed out. I took a drive out to County Trunk C to get a photo of one of these washed-out roads. When I arrived on the scene, road closed signs were already installed, and for added safety, a pair of county workers in a truck were there to make sure nobody went around the sign, as some people may be inclined to do. Someone unknowingly may have had a lucky day because those guys were there to prevent them from doing something stupid, because anyone driving over the road would have most likely found themselves with a wrecked car.
Those two guys deserve a thank you, and since potential victims won’t realize they owe them one, I’m going to give one on their behalf. Thank you.
And thank you to all those who lessened the negative impact of the flood. While it’s impossible to stop Mother Nature when she wants to show her true power, it’s nice to know many people helped mute her a little bit.
Drinking on job now only socially acceptable in ‘Mad Men’
My favorite show on television right now is “Mad Men,” a series in its fourth year on AMC. Although it appears to be a show about advertising executives in New York City during the 1960s, it’s actually more about drinking on the job, something rightfully no longer socially acceptable.
I didn’t start watching the show until the beginning of its third season, at which time I caught up through marathon viewings of the first two seasons on DVD. Rave critic reviews, as well as multiple Emmy nominations and wins, convinced me I needed to see what everyone else seemed to be watching.
I’m glad I did, because “Mad Men” is intoxicating, in more than one sense of the word. Featuring the commanding lead of Jon Hamm as Don Draper, an advertising genius with a mysterious past, the show puts viewers in the time period and dares them to want to leave. Most people will stay, if just to count the number of drinks characters pour for themselves on the show.
I was born a decade after it takes place, and in a rural area far away from the hustle and bustle of New York City, so this show shouldn’t appeal to me. But the fact it’s so distant from my life makes it more appealing, because through it I can experience an era no other book, film or television show has so vividly portrayed before.
The show’s creator, Matthew Weiner, struggled as a writer in Hollywood for many years until landing a job as a writer for “The Sopranos.” When that show ended, he tried to sell his “Mad Men” creation to HBO, but they rejected it. Feeling spurned by his former employer, he shopped the show around, receiving rejections from everyone. When niche cable channel AMC bought it, Weiner’s agent dumped him, figuring if that’s the best he could do, he wasn’t worth the time.
The agent should have stuck with his client, though, because “Mad Men,” through its critical acclaim, water-cooler buzz and the buzz characters are probably feeling from the gallons of alchohol they are drinking, has transformed the station into a small powerhouse that is now producing other high quality television shows, including “Breaking Bad,” “Rubicon” and the upcoming “The Walking Dead.”
It’s also made some of its stars household names: Hamm, Elizabeth Moss, January Jones and Christina Hendricks. All four were featured on the cover of the last issue of Rolling Stone magazine. I think some song talks about the importance of that.
Don Draper is the show’s central character. The son of a prostitute and an abusive farmer, he left for the Korean War and literally returned a different man, abandoning his entire family for the potential riches of the big city, as well as its drinks.
Landing a job with the Sterling Cooper advertising agency, he rises to the top based on his innovative ideas and brilliant advertising campaigns. As a big shot, he believes he’s earned the right to cheat on his wife, ignore his kids, talk down to all the other Sterling Cooper employees around him, especially his secretaries whom he sometimes sleeps with, and drink a copious amount of alcohol.
Draper isn’t the only one in the office who drinks. According to the show, back then it was not only not frowned upon, but was sort of encouraged. Offices are well stocked with bottles of rum, gin, vodka, brandy and any other alcohol available at the liquor store. Parties are held often, and usually get out of control. Lawnmowers combined with Christmas party fun don’t mix well, as one character will attest.
While drinking on the job may sound like fun, it doesn’t seem like it would be healthy. The only time I’ve ever drank on the job has been two Wednesday production nights, as we were about to send the paper to bed, I broke open bottles of Stevens Point Brewery specialty beers Julie from the Brewery brought over for us to taste. Those two beers may have been the greatest ones I have ever had.
In its latest season, “Mad Men” is showing how unhealthy their drinking habits have become for some of the characters, especially Draper who is now divorced from his wife and leading a miserable and lonely life as a bachelor.
It’s misery and loneliness that provides great entertainment. Since we’ve become a society that doesn’t tolerate on-the-job drinking, and rightfully so, a television show like “Mad Men” allows us to live vicariously through it to see what that type of life might be like.
I didn’t start watching the show until the beginning of its third season, at which time I caught up through marathon viewings of the first two seasons on DVD. Rave critic reviews, as well as multiple Emmy nominations and wins, convinced me I needed to see what everyone else seemed to be watching.
I’m glad I did, because “Mad Men” is intoxicating, in more than one sense of the word. Featuring the commanding lead of Jon Hamm as Don Draper, an advertising genius with a mysterious past, the show puts viewers in the time period and dares them to want to leave. Most people will stay, if just to count the number of drinks characters pour for themselves on the show.
I was born a decade after it takes place, and in a rural area far away from the hustle and bustle of New York City, so this show shouldn’t appeal to me. But the fact it’s so distant from my life makes it more appealing, because through it I can experience an era no other book, film or television show has so vividly portrayed before.
The show’s creator, Matthew Weiner, struggled as a writer in Hollywood for many years until landing a job as a writer for “The Sopranos.” When that show ended, he tried to sell his “Mad Men” creation to HBO, but they rejected it. Feeling spurned by his former employer, he shopped the show around, receiving rejections from everyone. When niche cable channel AMC bought it, Weiner’s agent dumped him, figuring if that’s the best he could do, he wasn’t worth the time.
The agent should have stuck with his client, though, because “Mad Men,” through its critical acclaim, water-cooler buzz and the buzz characters are probably feeling from the gallons of alchohol they are drinking, has transformed the station into a small powerhouse that is now producing other high quality television shows, including “Breaking Bad,” “Rubicon” and the upcoming “The Walking Dead.”
It’s also made some of its stars household names: Hamm, Elizabeth Moss, January Jones and Christina Hendricks. All four were featured on the cover of the last issue of Rolling Stone magazine. I think some song talks about the importance of that.
Don Draper is the show’s central character. The son of a prostitute and an abusive farmer, he left for the Korean War and literally returned a different man, abandoning his entire family for the potential riches of the big city, as well as its drinks.
Landing a job with the Sterling Cooper advertising agency, he rises to the top based on his innovative ideas and brilliant advertising campaigns. As a big shot, he believes he’s earned the right to cheat on his wife, ignore his kids, talk down to all the other Sterling Cooper employees around him, especially his secretaries whom he sometimes sleeps with, and drink a copious amount of alcohol.
Draper isn’t the only one in the office who drinks. According to the show, back then it was not only not frowned upon, but was sort of encouraged. Offices are well stocked with bottles of rum, gin, vodka, brandy and any other alcohol available at the liquor store. Parties are held often, and usually get out of control. Lawnmowers combined with Christmas party fun don’t mix well, as one character will attest.
While drinking on the job may sound like fun, it doesn’t seem like it would be healthy. The only time I’ve ever drank on the job has been two Wednesday production nights, as we were about to send the paper to bed, I broke open bottles of Stevens Point Brewery specialty beers Julie from the Brewery brought over for us to taste. Those two beers may have been the greatest ones I have ever had.
In its latest season, “Mad Men” is showing how unhealthy their drinking habits have become for some of the characters, especially Draper who is now divorced from his wife and leading a miserable and lonely life as a bachelor.
It’s misery and loneliness that provides great entertainment. Since we’ve become a society that doesn’t tolerate on-the-job drinking, and rightfully so, a television show like “Mad Men” allows us to live vicariously through it to see what that type of life might be like.
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