Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m getting old.
But this year’s Grammy Awards Sunday night was a big bore, despite being orchestrated by its producers to be anything but.
It was designed to feature unique collaborations that will never be duplicated again, and each performance was made to be a spectacle for peoples’ eyes.
The show included Green Day performing with the Broadway cast of “American Idiot,” Lady GaGa and Elton John hooking up for a duet, Pink drenching the audience with aerial acrobats, and the Black Eyed Peas getting robotic.
And judging by the ratings, the show was a huge success, because more people watched it than the previous six Grammys, demonstrating people do like the orchestration.
But ratings don’t mean a thing to me when I don’t enjoy the show. This weekend’s Super Bowl could garner the highest ratings ever, but if one team wins 45-0, then to me it won’t be worth the four hours I wasted watching it.
This year’s Grammys were a 45-0 blowout because the collaborations and eye candy completely drowned out the reason for holding the show in the first place – the music.
I haven’t missed a Grammy Show since high school, and I usually eagerly wait for it as it provides an opportunity for me to hear and see great performances from artists I like and also a chance for me to discover other artists I know little to nothing about. That even means Ricky Martin, an artist who, for a moment, became a household name after his career-making Grammy performance in 1999.
Through the years, artists like Michael Jackson, Bruce Springsteen, U2, Stevie Wonder, Eminem, Tina Turner and Madonna have owned the Grammy stage, using it as a podium to demonstrate their greatness. Nearly every time they performed, it was usually about the music. Once in a while they did something special to enhance the song, but whatever they did, it didn’t take precedence over the song.
But a funny thing happened in 1998: “Soy Bomb.” While Bob Dylan was performing, a half-naked man unexpectedly joined him on stage with the words “Soy Bomb” written on his chest. It was crazy, but made even crazier because Dylan kept performing either unaware of the guy’s presence or unfazed by it, as though he’s seen stranger things in his storied career.
The next day “Soy Bomb” was the most talked about aspect of the show, giving show producers for the last 11 years a light-bulb moment they are still using. If an artist is paired with either an unimaginable collaborator, like Eminem and Elton John in 2001, or with interesting visuals, like Pink with a trapeze swing, water and a revealing outfit this year, then people won’t ever want to miss the Grammys.
It worked for a while, but now producers have forgotten the most important element: the music. Pink’s song was okay, but it didn’t blow me away. I was too busy thinking about the poor people below her who probably got quite wet. Green Day has always been enjoyable to watch, but with what seemed like 1,200 other people on stage, I could barely see where the band was. And the Black Eyed Peas. Don’t even get me started.
The one performance that wasn’t about the spectacle, Taylor Swift’s, featured, well, bad music. Once again, maybe I’m too old, but I don’t get her. She can’t sing. Her voice is weak and some of her notes verve into bad “American Idol” audition territory. Stevie Nicks, who joined her in the performance, quickly made people realize how terrible Swift is.
I know it’s horrible for me to say this, but I was hoping Nicks would push her off the stage and continue alone. Or if she would have been too nice to do this, Kanye West could have jumped on stage and done so, proving to the world he was right when he interrupted her acceptance speech at last year’s MTV Video Awards Show in saying others were better than her. Not just others, I’ll say, but pretty much everybody, even the guys who sang “Who Let the Dogs Out?”
Seriously, though, I don’t know why I should even care that the performance portion of the show is no longer relevant. After all, the awards portion stopped being relevant long ago. To prove this, I just need to provide one fact: the great Neil Young – one of the greatest artists of all time – finally received his first Grammy ever this year. Of course, it was for the most minor award possible, Best Boxed or Special Limited Edition Package. The packaging of this year’s Archives Box Set, not his music, was honored.
Good job Grammys. Here’s hoping next year will find you pairing Celine Dion with Smokey Robinson in a 3-D Michael Jackson tribute. Oops. You did that this year. Congratulations.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Friday, January 29, 2010
Cold Florida temperatures make northerners superheroes
Living in one of this nation’s colder states has one clear benefit: it makes us appear virtually indestructible to the feeble people living south of us in warmer states. In some warped way, it makes us superheroes.
I learned of our superhero abilities several weeks ago in Florida, when my family and I went to Disney World for a week-long vacation. During the early part of our trip, Florida was experiencing some of its coldest temperatures in more than 20 years, and natives there were in pain, deep freezing pain you could say.
Just how cold did it get? Zero degrees? Below zero?
Don’t laugh. It went down to the upper 20s during a few overnights, moving up to the lower 30s in the mornings, and only in the 50s in the afternoons.
These temperatures sound heavenly to us, especially as we experience another cold spell that brings us below-zero temperatures and colder, with the dreaded wind chill factored in, but to people accustomed to 50s as a low, they seemed like punishment from the heavens for some sin they may have committed. (If I had to speculate on the sin, one could argue punishment was finally served for the 2000 election. Both sides of the issue could then argue about the punishment being too small or too great; therefore, it would still remain an issue of debate.)
We arrived in Orlando at 10 p.m. to a balmy 30-degree temperature. I say balmy because we left Wisconsin earlier in the day with temperatures in the single digits and this temperature was already a big improvement, although it wasn’t the temperature we had been hoping for.
The next morning wasn’t any better, but it was still warm enough for us to shed the outside liners of our winter jackets, especially knowing temperatures later in the day would be like an early warm spring day in Wisconsin. None of us wore our winter caps.
At Disney’s Hollywood Studios that day, it was easy to spot the natives. They were bundled under what seemed like a closet full of their warmest clothes and still looked like they were freezing a thousand deaths.
They also complained. “It’s so cold. The world is going to end. I’d rather be in hell where I know it’s at least warmer,” natives said to us.
And then they’d see me, in just a hoodie sweatshirt having already gotten rid of the jacket after determining the temperature was too warm for it. “You must be from Minnesota,” those people would say to me.
“No, Wisconsin,” I’d answer, and they’d say something like “Close enough.” At that point in the conversation I could have gotten into a long diatribe about the many reasons Wisconsin is vastly superior to Minnesota, and why “close enough” doesn’t apply when comparing the two states, but the Favre factor came into play. For this football season, and next year too if Brett Favre doesn’t decide/undecide/decide to retire, all my grudges against the state to our west were on hold. Bashing Minnesota was not going to take place.
So instead, I simply said these temperatures seem warm to us.
It was simple, but it made me seem like a superhero to that person. I’m sure every one of them was thinking the same thing:
“Look. It’s a man without a jacket and two dozen layers of clothes. It’s a man who’s basking in this heatless sun as though he has some special ability to extract even the tiniest fringes of warmth. No, it’s Northern Man, the man whose body produces heat like a furnace and doesn’t need the sun to survive.”
Had I been single and looking, native women looking to get warm could have been mine for the taking. Of course, I would never use superhero powers for less than noble purposes, so I would have had to politely reject these women.
The next few days were similar temperature-wise, and showing off my superhero abilities was just as fun as enjoying days of 70-plus temperatures could have been. On the third day, my 4-year-old son, Braden, and I went swimming in the heated outdoor swimming pool in the morning. We were the only ones in the pool, inspiring others walking by to look at us with awe.
That was until a family from Canada decided to get in the pool with us. Whereas I kept myself in the water, because the air temperature was pretty cold, this family jumped in and out of the pool as though it were 90 degrees outside, making me seem like a superhero imposter to the people who once thought I was indestructible.
Damn Canadians.
I didn’t feel better until watching the news that night, when a segment was devoted to the local school district’s decision to allow parents to keep their kids home from school because of the cold temperatures. I guess kids there must pray for cold days, much like kids here hope for snow days.
By the next day, temperatures were nearly back to normal for Florida standards. And I was starting to feel too warm, proving every superhero has a weakness.
I learned of our superhero abilities several weeks ago in Florida, when my family and I went to Disney World for a week-long vacation. During the early part of our trip, Florida was experiencing some of its coldest temperatures in more than 20 years, and natives there were in pain, deep freezing pain you could say.
Just how cold did it get? Zero degrees? Below zero?
Don’t laugh. It went down to the upper 20s during a few overnights, moving up to the lower 30s in the mornings, and only in the 50s in the afternoons.
These temperatures sound heavenly to us, especially as we experience another cold spell that brings us below-zero temperatures and colder, with the dreaded wind chill factored in, but to people accustomed to 50s as a low, they seemed like punishment from the heavens for some sin they may have committed. (If I had to speculate on the sin, one could argue punishment was finally served for the 2000 election. Both sides of the issue could then argue about the punishment being too small or too great; therefore, it would still remain an issue of debate.)
We arrived in Orlando at 10 p.m. to a balmy 30-degree temperature. I say balmy because we left Wisconsin earlier in the day with temperatures in the single digits and this temperature was already a big improvement, although it wasn’t the temperature we had been hoping for.
The next morning wasn’t any better, but it was still warm enough for us to shed the outside liners of our winter jackets, especially knowing temperatures later in the day would be like an early warm spring day in Wisconsin. None of us wore our winter caps.
At Disney’s Hollywood Studios that day, it was easy to spot the natives. They were bundled under what seemed like a closet full of their warmest clothes and still looked like they were freezing a thousand deaths.
They also complained. “It’s so cold. The world is going to end. I’d rather be in hell where I know it’s at least warmer,” natives said to us.
And then they’d see me, in just a hoodie sweatshirt having already gotten rid of the jacket after determining the temperature was too warm for it. “You must be from Minnesota,” those people would say to me.
“No, Wisconsin,” I’d answer, and they’d say something like “Close enough.” At that point in the conversation I could have gotten into a long diatribe about the many reasons Wisconsin is vastly superior to Minnesota, and why “close enough” doesn’t apply when comparing the two states, but the Favre factor came into play. For this football season, and next year too if Brett Favre doesn’t decide/undecide/decide to retire, all my grudges against the state to our west were on hold. Bashing Minnesota was not going to take place.
So instead, I simply said these temperatures seem warm to us.
It was simple, but it made me seem like a superhero to that person. I’m sure every one of them was thinking the same thing:
“Look. It’s a man without a jacket and two dozen layers of clothes. It’s a man who’s basking in this heatless sun as though he has some special ability to extract even the tiniest fringes of warmth. No, it’s Northern Man, the man whose body produces heat like a furnace and doesn’t need the sun to survive.”
Had I been single and looking, native women looking to get warm could have been mine for the taking. Of course, I would never use superhero powers for less than noble purposes, so I would have had to politely reject these women.
The next few days were similar temperature-wise, and showing off my superhero abilities was just as fun as enjoying days of 70-plus temperatures could have been. On the third day, my 4-year-old son, Braden, and I went swimming in the heated outdoor swimming pool in the morning. We were the only ones in the pool, inspiring others walking by to look at us with awe.
That was until a family from Canada decided to get in the pool with us. Whereas I kept myself in the water, because the air temperature was pretty cold, this family jumped in and out of the pool as though it were 90 degrees outside, making me seem like a superhero imposter to the people who once thought I was indestructible.
Damn Canadians.
I didn’t feel better until watching the news that night, when a segment was devoted to the local school district’s decision to allow parents to keep their kids home from school because of the cold temperatures. I guess kids there must pray for cold days, much like kids here hope for snow days.
By the next day, temperatures were nearly back to normal for Florida standards. And I was starting to feel too warm, proving every superhero has a weakness.
Disney World trip worth every penny
A few weeks ago I wrote about some of the skepticisms I had about a planned family vacation to Disney World in Florida. Well, I’m back and happy to report the trip exceeded all my expectations, to the point that I would highly recommend everybody go there at least once in their lifetime to experience the magic that is Disney.
When I initially wrote about the vacation, I said: “I’m skeptical because I spent most of my life not liking anything Disney-related. I’m skeptical because I hate crowds. I’m skeptical because I’ve never really taken a full week off work to do something purely for enjoyment. I’m skeptical because I believe Disney has perfected the art of taking money from tourists. I’m skeptical because I think Goofy’s supposed ignorance of the reality around him is just a ruse to allow him to somehow take over the world.”
Starting with my skepticisms about Goofy and going backwards, all my preconceived notions about Disney World were disproven.
After meeting Goofy five or six times there, I can say he’s a good guy, dog, guydog or whatever he’s supposed to be, as I still can’t figure out what he is, especially given the fact Pluto, who doesn’t speak, is a dog. In person/dog, Goofy is charming in a way only someone who is completely carefree, without any bad intentions as I suspected him of having, could be. Plus his ride at the Magic Kingdom, The Barnstormer at Goofy’s Wiseacre Farm, is a gentle roller coaster even people who don’t like roller coasters should be able to enjoy.
I still agree that Disney has perfected the art of taking money from tourists, but the company has done it in such a way tourists like me will believe they are getting the best value for every dollar spent.
For example, we purchased a vacation plan that included airfare, hotel stay, park tickets and a basic meal plan that gave one quick-service meal, one sit-down meal and one snack per day to each person. This essentially amounted to an all-inclusive vacation, as other than tips and souvenirs, we didn’t need to pay for anything else.
We had plenty to eat with the meal plan and definitely got value from it. I kept track of the amount we would have paid for the food had we been paying cash, coming up with a figure of $825 for those meals and snacks. The food ranged from popcorn snacks to three-course New York strip steak dinners, and nearly every bite was good. Some of the meals included table visits from various Disney characters, including Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck and Pluto, much to the pleasure of our 4-year-old son, Braden.
As for taking a week off, something I’ve never done since graduating from college nearly 13 years ago, it was a well needed break. I wasn’t sure if I could handle it, but I quickly realized I could tack another week, heck even another month or year, on it without a problem. While there, the only time my attention turned to this job was on Wednesday night, when it occurred to me that normally I’d be at The Gazette helping the staff put the week’s issue to bed, sometimes to 1 or 2 a.m.
It helped that Disney truly makes these trips as hassle-free as they possibly can for vacationers. From the bus transportation the company provides to and from the airport, to the convenient meal plan, to easy-to-use bus transportation to all of the theme parks and Downtown Disney, and to some of the friendliest and most knowledgeable staffers I’ve ever met anywhere who were quickly able to answer any questions we had about nearly anything, Disney made sure people didn’t have to use their minds too much while relaxing.
Even the crowds I feared I was going to hate weren’t a problem at Disney. It helped we went at one of the slowest times of the year there, but even if it had been busier, Disney does an excellent job of making sure even line waits are entertaining by keeping people moving and providing a lot to see no matter where you are. Many of the most popular rides at the parks even feature “FastPass,” which allows people to get tickets that let them jump to the front of the line at a specific time. This was a great timesaver and crowd avoider we used multiple times.
For a non-Disney fan like me, all four theme parks, which include Magical Kingdom, EPCOT, Animal Kingdom and Hollywood Studios, do a wonderful job of converting people. The rides at all four parks are really the best in the world, except “it’s a small world,” which is undoubtedly the worst one in the world, as the song will never leave your head after riding it.
Even better, which I wasn’t expecting at all, were the many different shows available to see. Each park has a 3-D interactive show – especially funny was a Muppets’ one at Hollywood Studios – and each park has shortened versions of popular Disney-themed Broadway musicals, including ones for “The Lion King” and “Beauty and the Beast.” The parks also have multitudes of historic presentations, cultural shows, exhibits that can’t be seen anywhere else in the world, and jaw-dropping parades and spectacles that will make even the most hardened skeptics act like children.
I’ll be honest by saying we selected Disney World as a vacation destination exclusively for Braden, as at 4 it seemed the perfect age to take him there. We couldn’t have been any more correct in our assumption, because to him Disney was truly a magical place. He was old enough to know all about the characters at Disney, yet young enough to believe they were real.
However, he questioned why some could talk, like the performing ones in front of Cinderella’s Castle, and most of the rest couldn’t. I explained it as simply as I could: they needed to save their voices for the performances. That explanation worked for him, although he questioned it when some of the face characters – the ones who weren’t suited in a costume, like Snow White and Jasmine – had no concerns about saving their voices, happily engaging him in interesting conversation.
Braden also became convinced he took an actual Mission to Mars at EPCOT, he went through a real Haunted Mansion at the Magical Kingdom, rode a truck on an African Safari at the Animal Kingdom and survived a Tower of Terror at Hollywood Studios. I’m guessing he’ll be talking about those experiences for years, as I will be, too.
After reading this, some might think Disney is paying me to write what is essentially a 1,200-word ad for them. I’d take any money they’d offer, just because I wouldn’t mind lining my pockets with a little cash to defray the costs we spent for the trip, but the words I write are no less the truth, especially since they are coming from someone who was skeptical about Disney in the first place.
We’re already planning our next Disney-themed vacation two or three years from now – a Disney cruise. I can’t wait.
When I initially wrote about the vacation, I said: “I’m skeptical because I spent most of my life not liking anything Disney-related. I’m skeptical because I hate crowds. I’m skeptical because I’ve never really taken a full week off work to do something purely for enjoyment. I’m skeptical because I believe Disney has perfected the art of taking money from tourists. I’m skeptical because I think Goofy’s supposed ignorance of the reality around him is just a ruse to allow him to somehow take over the world.”
Starting with my skepticisms about Goofy and going backwards, all my preconceived notions about Disney World were disproven.
After meeting Goofy five or six times there, I can say he’s a good guy, dog, guydog or whatever he’s supposed to be, as I still can’t figure out what he is, especially given the fact Pluto, who doesn’t speak, is a dog. In person/dog, Goofy is charming in a way only someone who is completely carefree, without any bad intentions as I suspected him of having, could be. Plus his ride at the Magic Kingdom, The Barnstormer at Goofy’s Wiseacre Farm, is a gentle roller coaster even people who don’t like roller coasters should be able to enjoy.
I still agree that Disney has perfected the art of taking money from tourists, but the company has done it in such a way tourists like me will believe they are getting the best value for every dollar spent.
For example, we purchased a vacation plan that included airfare, hotel stay, park tickets and a basic meal plan that gave one quick-service meal, one sit-down meal and one snack per day to each person. This essentially amounted to an all-inclusive vacation, as other than tips and souvenirs, we didn’t need to pay for anything else.
We had plenty to eat with the meal plan and definitely got value from it. I kept track of the amount we would have paid for the food had we been paying cash, coming up with a figure of $825 for those meals and snacks. The food ranged from popcorn snacks to three-course New York strip steak dinners, and nearly every bite was good. Some of the meals included table visits from various Disney characters, including Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck and Pluto, much to the pleasure of our 4-year-old son, Braden.
As for taking a week off, something I’ve never done since graduating from college nearly 13 years ago, it was a well needed break. I wasn’t sure if I could handle it, but I quickly realized I could tack another week, heck even another month or year, on it without a problem. While there, the only time my attention turned to this job was on Wednesday night, when it occurred to me that normally I’d be at The Gazette helping the staff put the week’s issue to bed, sometimes to 1 or 2 a.m.
It helped that Disney truly makes these trips as hassle-free as they possibly can for vacationers. From the bus transportation the company provides to and from the airport, to the convenient meal plan, to easy-to-use bus transportation to all of the theme parks and Downtown Disney, and to some of the friendliest and most knowledgeable staffers I’ve ever met anywhere who were quickly able to answer any questions we had about nearly anything, Disney made sure people didn’t have to use their minds too much while relaxing.
Even the crowds I feared I was going to hate weren’t a problem at Disney. It helped we went at one of the slowest times of the year there, but even if it had been busier, Disney does an excellent job of making sure even line waits are entertaining by keeping people moving and providing a lot to see no matter where you are. Many of the most popular rides at the parks even feature “FastPass,” which allows people to get tickets that let them jump to the front of the line at a specific time. This was a great timesaver and crowd avoider we used multiple times.
For a non-Disney fan like me, all four theme parks, which include Magical Kingdom, EPCOT, Animal Kingdom and Hollywood Studios, do a wonderful job of converting people. The rides at all four parks are really the best in the world, except “it’s a small world,” which is undoubtedly the worst one in the world, as the song will never leave your head after riding it.
Even better, which I wasn’t expecting at all, were the many different shows available to see. Each park has a 3-D interactive show – especially funny was a Muppets’ one at Hollywood Studios – and each park has shortened versions of popular Disney-themed Broadway musicals, including ones for “The Lion King” and “Beauty and the Beast.” The parks also have multitudes of historic presentations, cultural shows, exhibits that can’t be seen anywhere else in the world, and jaw-dropping parades and spectacles that will make even the most hardened skeptics act like children.
I’ll be honest by saying we selected Disney World as a vacation destination exclusively for Braden, as at 4 it seemed the perfect age to take him there. We couldn’t have been any more correct in our assumption, because to him Disney was truly a magical place. He was old enough to know all about the characters at Disney, yet young enough to believe they were real.
However, he questioned why some could talk, like the performing ones in front of Cinderella’s Castle, and most of the rest couldn’t. I explained it as simply as I could: they needed to save their voices for the performances. That explanation worked for him, although he questioned it when some of the face characters – the ones who weren’t suited in a costume, like Snow White and Jasmine – had no concerns about saving their voices, happily engaging him in interesting conversation.
Braden also became convinced he took an actual Mission to Mars at EPCOT, he went through a real Haunted Mansion at the Magical Kingdom, rode a truck on an African Safari at the Animal Kingdom and survived a Tower of Terror at Hollywood Studios. I’m guessing he’ll be talking about those experiences for years, as I will be, too.
After reading this, some might think Disney is paying me to write what is essentially a 1,200-word ad for them. I’d take any money they’d offer, just because I wouldn’t mind lining my pockets with a little cash to defray the costs we spent for the trip, but the words I write are no less the truth, especially since they are coming from someone who was skeptical about Disney in the first place.
We’re already planning our next Disney-themed vacation two or three years from now – a Disney cruise. I can’t wait.
Not all fish stories are 'fish stories'
Most people listen to fish stories with a great deal of skepticism, and they rightfully should, as that’s the one time the storyteller is usually expected to exaggerate details.
While in reality I’ve never caught a record-breaker, many of my catches may have seemed that way when I told others about them. The 24-inch bass I caught in 1999 may have immediately gained three or four inches, or so, from its actual length, which I will never reveal; a fish I caught on the Fox River near Eureka was so big I couldn’t land it (technically, it was a sturgeon and landing it would have been illegal – it’s a detail I leave out when explaining the fight it put up); and the first northern I ever caught ice fishing was too big to get through the hole.
The too-big-for-the-hole northern story was one my wife’s cousin, Ryan, tried to use this last weekend when he tried to explain his reasoning for not landing the fish his sister had told us he caught. We more experienced fishermen have already used this excuse before, so hearing it from him just made us laugh. Welcome to Fish Stories 101 we told him.
Being put in your place by other fishermen is something I’ve experienced many times, including once when my fish story wasn’t even exaggerated.
In 1989, when I was 15 years old and living on the Fox River in Berlin, I learned the art of fishing for catfish. It’s simple: put a large weight on your line, leave about a foot and half of line between the hook and weight, put a stink bait on the hook, and cast downriver about 25 feet. During the early evening hours, the catfish patrolling the bottom of the river can’t resist your bait, and anyone with half an ability to hook a fish should be able to land a dozen fish within an hour.
One day, the fishing gods smiled at me and I filled nearly an entire garbage can with catfish. When my dad came home from work, I proudly showed him my haul, expecting him to clean the fish for me, as I wasn’t going to eat them.
Nope, he wanted me to clean them, and after a quick lesson, I did so. I also helped eat them, as I did not want my hard work to go to waste.
When I told my friends about my luck, nobody believed me. “A garbage can? Yeah, right?” my friend Tim told me. My own father, sensing an opportunity to embarrass me, denied my story, saying it was just a small bucket.
Seeing my father was the only witness to my monumental achievement and he wasn’t going to let me brag about it, I’ve pretty much kept it to myself since then. Even as I write this, I expect most readers won’t believe me. After all, it is a “fish story.”
But, when a person talks about someone else’s catch, especially someone they don’t really know, then the fish story can gain credibility and can transcend being just a “fish story.”
During the Christmas weekend, at my father-in-law’s lake (which he doesn’t really own but by making it his lake, somehow the story I’m about to tell kind of becomes my story, and I love talking about me, as regular readers of this column surely know), a group of fishermen from Neshkoro were ice fishing across the lake. When one of their tip-ups popped up, we watched with binoculars to see what they had caught.
Binoculars weren’t needed, though, as the 41-inch northern they pulled through the ice was large enough to see without enhanced vision. We watched in awe as the men gawked at the monster.
Later, my father-in-law, my 4-year-old son, Braden, and I walked across the lake to get a better view. It was 11 a.m., but the guys already had a warm buzz from both the giant fish and the beer they were drinking. Without a doubt, when I looked at it, it was the biggest northern I had ever seen that was still alive and not at a zoo. My father-in-law and I both let them know several times it was a big fish.
We even took pictures of one of the guys holding the fish with Braden, at 46 inches in height, standing next to it.
When we returned to the house, the women there asked if it was as big as it looked from there. “It was a big fish,” we told them.
Braden, repeating what we had said when we were admiring the fish on site, innocently corrected us. “No, it was a damn big fish,” he said.
All of us stopped and looked at him. Even at 4, he knew the correct way of telling a fish story.
I’m sure the “damn big fish” will get a lot bigger when the successful fishers tell others about it, making it a “fish story.” But for now, from our mouths, it’s just a fish story.
While in reality I’ve never caught a record-breaker, many of my catches may have seemed that way when I told others about them. The 24-inch bass I caught in 1999 may have immediately gained three or four inches, or so, from its actual length, which I will never reveal; a fish I caught on the Fox River near Eureka was so big I couldn’t land it (technically, it was a sturgeon and landing it would have been illegal – it’s a detail I leave out when explaining the fight it put up); and the first northern I ever caught ice fishing was too big to get through the hole.
The too-big-for-the-hole northern story was one my wife’s cousin, Ryan, tried to use this last weekend when he tried to explain his reasoning for not landing the fish his sister had told us he caught. We more experienced fishermen have already used this excuse before, so hearing it from him just made us laugh. Welcome to Fish Stories 101 we told him.
Being put in your place by other fishermen is something I’ve experienced many times, including once when my fish story wasn’t even exaggerated.
In 1989, when I was 15 years old and living on the Fox River in Berlin, I learned the art of fishing for catfish. It’s simple: put a large weight on your line, leave about a foot and half of line between the hook and weight, put a stink bait on the hook, and cast downriver about 25 feet. During the early evening hours, the catfish patrolling the bottom of the river can’t resist your bait, and anyone with half an ability to hook a fish should be able to land a dozen fish within an hour.
One day, the fishing gods smiled at me and I filled nearly an entire garbage can with catfish. When my dad came home from work, I proudly showed him my haul, expecting him to clean the fish for me, as I wasn’t going to eat them.
Nope, he wanted me to clean them, and after a quick lesson, I did so. I also helped eat them, as I did not want my hard work to go to waste.
When I told my friends about my luck, nobody believed me. “A garbage can? Yeah, right?” my friend Tim told me. My own father, sensing an opportunity to embarrass me, denied my story, saying it was just a small bucket.
Seeing my father was the only witness to my monumental achievement and he wasn’t going to let me brag about it, I’ve pretty much kept it to myself since then. Even as I write this, I expect most readers won’t believe me. After all, it is a “fish story.”
But, when a person talks about someone else’s catch, especially someone they don’t really know, then the fish story can gain credibility and can transcend being just a “fish story.”
During the Christmas weekend, at my father-in-law’s lake (which he doesn’t really own but by making it his lake, somehow the story I’m about to tell kind of becomes my story, and I love talking about me, as regular readers of this column surely know), a group of fishermen from Neshkoro were ice fishing across the lake. When one of their tip-ups popped up, we watched with binoculars to see what they had caught.
Binoculars weren’t needed, though, as the 41-inch northern they pulled through the ice was large enough to see without enhanced vision. We watched in awe as the men gawked at the monster.
Later, my father-in-law, my 4-year-old son, Braden, and I walked across the lake to get a better view. It was 11 a.m., but the guys already had a warm buzz from both the giant fish and the beer they were drinking. Without a doubt, when I looked at it, it was the biggest northern I had ever seen that was still alive and not at a zoo. My father-in-law and I both let them know several times it was a big fish.
We even took pictures of one of the guys holding the fish with Braden, at 46 inches in height, standing next to it.
When we returned to the house, the women there asked if it was as big as it looked from there. “It was a big fish,” we told them.
Braden, repeating what we had said when we were admiring the fish on site, innocently corrected us. “No, it was a damn big fish,” he said.
All of us stopped and looked at him. Even at 4, he knew the correct way of telling a fish story.
I’m sure the “damn big fish” will get a lot bigger when the successful fishers tell others about it, making it a “fish story.” But for now, from our mouths, it’s just a fish story.
Disney trip will hopefully eliminate skepticisms about traveling
My family and I leave for Florida for an entire week this weekend. It’s a long overdue vacation that will be spent mainly at Disney World, a must-go destination (I hope) for all families with small children.
My 4-year-old son, Braden, and I have never been there, but my wife, Jenny, has. She claims we’ll both love it, as Braden is actually a small child and, according to her, I can act like one at times.
I believe her claim, although I’m skeptical.
I’m skeptical because I spent most of my life not liking anything Disney-related. I’m skeptical because I hate crowds. I’m skeptical because I’ve never really taken a full week off work to do something purely for enjoyment. I’m skeptical because I believe Disney has perfected the art of taking money from tourists. I’m skeptical because I think Goofy’s supposed ignorance of the reality around him is just a ruse to allow him to somehow take over the world.
I saw and enjoyed Disney films as a young child, but after the age of 6, I pretty much could have cared less for the brand. My interests were dinosaurs, monsters, robots, telescopes, “Star Wars,” Bigfoot and cool things that involved explosions and laser guns.
Disney then was a gentle world that excluded little boys interested in these things. That’s not necessarily the case now, as indicated by some of its recent films: “Monsters, Inc.” (monsters and Bigfoot), “The Incredibles” (explosions), “Wall-E” (robots), “Bolt” (laser guns), and its recent purchase of the Marvel Universe (Spider-Man, Ironman, X-Men – only some of the coolest characters on the planet).
Had I gone to Disney World or Disneyland as a child, my opinion may have changed; it usually can with first-hand experience. But Disney seemed as far from me as some of the far away worlds their movies sometimes took people to, especially for a boy who traveled out of state just three times (that doesn’t count several trips right across the border to Great America in Illinois) growing up.
My lack of traveling experience as a youngster is one of the main reasons I haven’t traveled much as an adult. Though I personally want to see and experience many of the places I’ve read about and seen in movies and television, I’ll admit I’d rather not have to go through the hassle, or expense, of actually going to these places. I’m perfectly content staying in Wisconsin, or occasionally crossing the border to Minnesota, the current home of the great Brett Favre, or to Illinois, perhaps his home next season during his late-career tour of playing for all National Football League teams.
One of the other reasons I haven’t traveled much as an adult is because of my job. It’s difficult taking extended breaks from work for many journalists, especially for those working for weekly newspapers. My vacations for the last 12 years have consisted almost entirely of taking an extended weekend off, always returning on Monday to my job to once again begin the task of putting out a newspaper before the end of the week.
In fact, the only Monday I’ve ever missed, not counting holidays when the work week begins on Tuesday instead, was during a work-related trip to New York City in 2002 to cover the Wautoma High School band marching in a Veterans Day parade there. I was sorry when I returned, because the work had piled up on my desk while I was gone.
And poor Jenny, who has extensive traveling experience, has had to suffer for my lack of desire to travel. Our honeymoon in 2005 consisted just of several nights staying at local hotels, as we both needed to return to the daily grind on the Monday following our wedding – she to school and me to work.
She’s been understanding, though, and when we made the decision a few months ago to go to Disney World it was made with Braden in mind. We want to make sure he doesn’t grow up without any traveling experience, but we also want it to be fun for him at his young age. Unless Bill Gates can use his billions of dollars to construct an amusement park that trumps Disney World within the next few days, our destination couldn’t be any more fun than the one we selected.
Although I believe most of my skepticism will disappear following this trip, I’m not sure my doubts about Goofy will; however, I’m going to keep a watchful eye on him while I’m there. He won’t fool me.
My 4-year-old son, Braden, and I have never been there, but my wife, Jenny, has. She claims we’ll both love it, as Braden is actually a small child and, according to her, I can act like one at times.
I believe her claim, although I’m skeptical.
I’m skeptical because I spent most of my life not liking anything Disney-related. I’m skeptical because I hate crowds. I’m skeptical because I’ve never really taken a full week off work to do something purely for enjoyment. I’m skeptical because I believe Disney has perfected the art of taking money from tourists. I’m skeptical because I think Goofy’s supposed ignorance of the reality around him is just a ruse to allow him to somehow take over the world.
I saw and enjoyed Disney films as a young child, but after the age of 6, I pretty much could have cared less for the brand. My interests were dinosaurs, monsters, robots, telescopes, “Star Wars,” Bigfoot and cool things that involved explosions and laser guns.
Disney then was a gentle world that excluded little boys interested in these things. That’s not necessarily the case now, as indicated by some of its recent films: “Monsters, Inc.” (monsters and Bigfoot), “The Incredibles” (explosions), “Wall-E” (robots), “Bolt” (laser guns), and its recent purchase of the Marvel Universe (Spider-Man, Ironman, X-Men – only some of the coolest characters on the planet).
Had I gone to Disney World or Disneyland as a child, my opinion may have changed; it usually can with first-hand experience. But Disney seemed as far from me as some of the far away worlds their movies sometimes took people to, especially for a boy who traveled out of state just three times (that doesn’t count several trips right across the border to Great America in Illinois) growing up.
My lack of traveling experience as a youngster is one of the main reasons I haven’t traveled much as an adult. Though I personally want to see and experience many of the places I’ve read about and seen in movies and television, I’ll admit I’d rather not have to go through the hassle, or expense, of actually going to these places. I’m perfectly content staying in Wisconsin, or occasionally crossing the border to Minnesota, the current home of the great Brett Favre, or to Illinois, perhaps his home next season during his late-career tour of playing for all National Football League teams.
One of the other reasons I haven’t traveled much as an adult is because of my job. It’s difficult taking extended breaks from work for many journalists, especially for those working for weekly newspapers. My vacations for the last 12 years have consisted almost entirely of taking an extended weekend off, always returning on Monday to my job to once again begin the task of putting out a newspaper before the end of the week.
In fact, the only Monday I’ve ever missed, not counting holidays when the work week begins on Tuesday instead, was during a work-related trip to New York City in 2002 to cover the Wautoma High School band marching in a Veterans Day parade there. I was sorry when I returned, because the work had piled up on my desk while I was gone.
And poor Jenny, who has extensive traveling experience, has had to suffer for my lack of desire to travel. Our honeymoon in 2005 consisted just of several nights staying at local hotels, as we both needed to return to the daily grind on the Monday following our wedding – she to school and me to work.
She’s been understanding, though, and when we made the decision a few months ago to go to Disney World it was made with Braden in mind. We want to make sure he doesn’t grow up without any traveling experience, but we also want it to be fun for him at his young age. Unless Bill Gates can use his billions of dollars to construct an amusement park that trumps Disney World within the next few days, our destination couldn’t be any more fun than the one we selected.
Although I believe most of my skepticism will disappear following this trip, I’m not sure my doubts about Goofy will; however, I’m going to keep a watchful eye on him while I’m there. He won’t fool me.
2009 resolutions lead to new ones for 2010
One year ago, in this column, I put forth my resolutions for 2009, making them public as a means to motivate me to actually follow through with them.
My list included four resolutions: to actually write down my resolutions, to lose weight, to write something other than the journalistic items I write for The Gazette, and to read a stack of books by my bed that had been gathering dust.
I’m proud to say I fully accomplished two of those resolutions and partially accomplished the other two.
Obviously, I fully accomplished the resolution to write down my resolutions, as that was done with the publication of my column last year. Putting it on paper, and then making it available to people who read the paper, including all of my relatives and friends, was instrumental in getting me to accomplish them.
Although I know most people don’t have the ability to put their resolutions in a newspaper like I can, other options are available. Start a blog and make it available to others online. Numerous Web sites, like www.blogger.com, are available free of charge for people to do this. For those who may not be computer savvy or for those who don’t want to share your resolutions with others, put them in a journal. Just don’t let it gather dust.
Speaking of dust, those books by my bed that had gathered it are now gathering dust in my bookcase, since that’s where they are now located after I read them during the first half of 2009, allowing me to fully accomplish that resolution. I read them, enjoyed them and then read many other books during the year.
I purchased two books in November I still need to read, but they haven’t gathered any dust, yet. My family and I are going to Florida for a week in January, so I’m guessing they’ll get read then.
As for my other two resolutions, I did lose 30 pounds, which is a great feat and technically accomplishes what I set out to do; however, my goal was 50 pounds. I didn’t quite reach that goal, but I’m off to a strong start and am healthier than I have been in eight years.
I hope to lose those 20 pounds I didn’t lose in 2009 in 2010. That’s one of two resolutions I’m putting forth, and I’m pretty sure it’s one I will surpass.
My final 2009 resolution that I only partially accomplished – to write something other than the journalistic items I write for The Gazette – is my other resolution for 2010, as I started the process in 2009 and want to finish it this year.
I started it late in 2009 when I enrolled in an online screenwriting course through the University of Wisconsin-Madison. While researching possible online programs to get a master’s degree, a resolution I hope to make in 2011 or 2012, I discovered the course, which is not bound by time limits or deadlines, and realized it could be instrumental in helping me write material I’ll need for a graduate-program portfolio when I do move forward with getting a master’s degree.
I enrolled in the course in October and read all of the valuable online material I need to get started with writing an actual screenplay. I took a similar course in college nearly 13 years ago and wrote the first act of a screenplay, but after graduating I never finished it.
Rereading that screenplay, a comedy about a guy searching for Elvis Presley whom he believes didn’t really die in 1977, I came to the realization that it seems dated now, although I could update it by changing Elvis to Michael Jackson, which could give me a wealth of material to work with.
I told my wife I’d rather start over, though, and coming up with an idea that I’d spend a good chunk of the year working on has been difficult. I have come up with several ideas, and now I just need to hunker down and work on them in 2010. I know other writers can sympathize with this, as writing isn’t nearly as easy as non-writers might think. My making this my most important resolution – even more important than losing 20 more pounds – I believe I can accomplish it.
Readers will know a year from now when I give another update and set my 2011 resolutions.
My list included four resolutions: to actually write down my resolutions, to lose weight, to write something other than the journalistic items I write for The Gazette, and to read a stack of books by my bed that had been gathering dust.
I’m proud to say I fully accomplished two of those resolutions and partially accomplished the other two.
Obviously, I fully accomplished the resolution to write down my resolutions, as that was done with the publication of my column last year. Putting it on paper, and then making it available to people who read the paper, including all of my relatives and friends, was instrumental in getting me to accomplish them.
Although I know most people don’t have the ability to put their resolutions in a newspaper like I can, other options are available. Start a blog and make it available to others online. Numerous Web sites, like www.blogger.com, are available free of charge for people to do this. For those who may not be computer savvy or for those who don’t want to share your resolutions with others, put them in a journal. Just don’t let it gather dust.
Speaking of dust, those books by my bed that had gathered it are now gathering dust in my bookcase, since that’s where they are now located after I read them during the first half of 2009, allowing me to fully accomplish that resolution. I read them, enjoyed them and then read many other books during the year.
I purchased two books in November I still need to read, but they haven’t gathered any dust, yet. My family and I are going to Florida for a week in January, so I’m guessing they’ll get read then.
As for my other two resolutions, I did lose 30 pounds, which is a great feat and technically accomplishes what I set out to do; however, my goal was 50 pounds. I didn’t quite reach that goal, but I’m off to a strong start and am healthier than I have been in eight years.
I hope to lose those 20 pounds I didn’t lose in 2009 in 2010. That’s one of two resolutions I’m putting forth, and I’m pretty sure it’s one I will surpass.
My final 2009 resolution that I only partially accomplished – to write something other than the journalistic items I write for The Gazette – is my other resolution for 2010, as I started the process in 2009 and want to finish it this year.
I started it late in 2009 when I enrolled in an online screenwriting course through the University of Wisconsin-Madison. While researching possible online programs to get a master’s degree, a resolution I hope to make in 2011 or 2012, I discovered the course, which is not bound by time limits or deadlines, and realized it could be instrumental in helping me write material I’ll need for a graduate-program portfolio when I do move forward with getting a master’s degree.
I enrolled in the course in October and read all of the valuable online material I need to get started with writing an actual screenplay. I took a similar course in college nearly 13 years ago and wrote the first act of a screenplay, but after graduating I never finished it.
Rereading that screenplay, a comedy about a guy searching for Elvis Presley whom he believes didn’t really die in 1977, I came to the realization that it seems dated now, although I could update it by changing Elvis to Michael Jackson, which could give me a wealth of material to work with.
I told my wife I’d rather start over, though, and coming up with an idea that I’d spend a good chunk of the year working on has been difficult. I have come up with several ideas, and now I just need to hunker down and work on them in 2010. I know other writers can sympathize with this, as writing isn’t nearly as easy as non-writers might think. My making this my most important resolution – even more important than losing 20 more pounds – I believe I can accomplish it.
Readers will know a year from now when I give another update and set my 2011 resolutions.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Youngster's Santa letter is work of genius
The other day my 4-year-old son, Braden, was watching some Christmas television show in which one of the characters wrote a letter to Santa Claus. Not previously knowing that was something he could do, Braden asked me for some paper and a pencil, as he too wanted to write a letter to the big guy in the North Pole.
I’m not going to be one of those parents who brags his 4-year-old can already read and write, because I’d be lying. My kid knows his letters most of the time, he can spell his name some of the time, and once in awhile he can even write it, but that’s it.
I’d love it if he could read and write, but he’s already light years ahead of where I was at his age. Not only didn’t I know the alphabet at 4, but I didn’t know it when I was 5 and in kindergarten, a grade I claim I flunked but my mother correctly says I was held back in to grasp the basics.
Intrigued by Braden’s sudden decision to use writing skills I didn’t know he had, I watched in amusement as he put his pencil to paper and wrote to Santa. When he was done, his letter was literally filled with a mess of letters. I asked him what those letters said.
“It says ‘I want Optimus Prime,’” he replied to complete predictability, as the Transformer toy is something he’s wanted for a long time.
“What else does it say?” I asked.
“It also says, ‘I want everything that I want,’” he said.
It was brilliant, I thought. What more could he have written to make his point any clearer? Absolutely nothing.
“I want everything that I want.” He knows what he wants, and he knows Santa knows what he wants. Why bother listing everything if Santa has the ability to read kids’ minds, as he correctly believes?
His short, simple statement also made me jealous. As a person who writes for a living, I’ve learned many times the best writers are the ones that can say the most with as few words as possible. It’s a goal I strive for, but often believe I sometimes miss. Thankfully I’ve got an editor and multiple proofers who trim my work whenever they deem it should be done.
Jealous is probably an understatement, because I’m not sure I’ve ever written anything that says as much as he did with those six words. Granted, he didn’t technically write those words, but his translation of his jumbled letters is enough for me.
My long windedness might stem from those years in elementary school after flunking kindergarten in which I went from being the stupid kid in class to the teacher’s pet. When school and learning clicked for me, sometime in first grade, learning became something I greatly enjoyed.
This enjoyment inspired me to go above and beyond the scope of given assignments. When a teacher assigned us to write a story using all of our spelling words, I wrote 20-page novellas. These Magnum opuses were always humorous, as in addition to being the teacher’s pet I was usually the class clown, and many were epic, as I would continue them the next week with the next set of spelling words.
I don’t have any copies of these stories for specific examples, but I’m pretty sure I was long winded. The poor teachers, already overworked and underpaid, probably hated sludging through my dribble. I probably got top marks, not for quality material, but just for my effort. What teacher wouldn’t give a kid who spent three hours on a story the best grade possible, even if said story could be condensed to two paragraphs in a more readable form?
It wasn’t until Mrs. Voeltner taught me in my high school journalism class that less is usually better.
That’s a lesson I still struggle with, but one Braden has apparently learned at a very young age. I don’t want to brag, but maybe he is a genius.
I’m not going to be one of those parents who brags his 4-year-old can already read and write, because I’d be lying. My kid knows his letters most of the time, he can spell his name some of the time, and once in awhile he can even write it, but that’s it.
I’d love it if he could read and write, but he’s already light years ahead of where I was at his age. Not only didn’t I know the alphabet at 4, but I didn’t know it when I was 5 and in kindergarten, a grade I claim I flunked but my mother correctly says I was held back in to grasp the basics.
Intrigued by Braden’s sudden decision to use writing skills I didn’t know he had, I watched in amusement as he put his pencil to paper and wrote to Santa. When he was done, his letter was literally filled with a mess of letters. I asked him what those letters said.
“It says ‘I want Optimus Prime,’” he replied to complete predictability, as the Transformer toy is something he’s wanted for a long time.
“What else does it say?” I asked.
“It also says, ‘I want everything that I want,’” he said.
It was brilliant, I thought. What more could he have written to make his point any clearer? Absolutely nothing.
“I want everything that I want.” He knows what he wants, and he knows Santa knows what he wants. Why bother listing everything if Santa has the ability to read kids’ minds, as he correctly believes?
His short, simple statement also made me jealous. As a person who writes for a living, I’ve learned many times the best writers are the ones that can say the most with as few words as possible. It’s a goal I strive for, but often believe I sometimes miss. Thankfully I’ve got an editor and multiple proofers who trim my work whenever they deem it should be done.
Jealous is probably an understatement, because I’m not sure I’ve ever written anything that says as much as he did with those six words. Granted, he didn’t technically write those words, but his translation of his jumbled letters is enough for me.
My long windedness might stem from those years in elementary school after flunking kindergarten in which I went from being the stupid kid in class to the teacher’s pet. When school and learning clicked for me, sometime in first grade, learning became something I greatly enjoyed.
This enjoyment inspired me to go above and beyond the scope of given assignments. When a teacher assigned us to write a story using all of our spelling words, I wrote 20-page novellas. These Magnum opuses were always humorous, as in addition to being the teacher’s pet I was usually the class clown, and many were epic, as I would continue them the next week with the next set of spelling words.
I don’t have any copies of these stories for specific examples, but I’m pretty sure I was long winded. The poor teachers, already overworked and underpaid, probably hated sludging through my dribble. I probably got top marks, not for quality material, but just for my effort. What teacher wouldn’t give a kid who spent three hours on a story the best grade possible, even if said story could be condensed to two paragraphs in a more readable form?
It wasn’t until Mrs. Voeltner taught me in my high school journalism class that less is usually better.
That’s a lesson I still struggle with, but one Braden has apparently learned at a very young age. I don’t want to brag, but maybe he is a genius.
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