(From the Janesville Messenger, 7-5-09)
Dear Shareholder,
Those of you who are long time investors in Santa Claus Industries, Inc. know that I rarely find it necessary to send you a mid-year “Christmas in July” financial statement. However, these are extraordinary times, and due to the current state of the world economy, I feel that it is necessary to update you on unprecedented steps we are taking to remain a viable operation here at the North Pole.
Santa Claus Industries experienced a staggering decrease in revenue due to high unemployment and the eroding of disposable income, creating a budgetary shortfall that needed to be addressed swiftly. Difficult, but necessary, decisions needed to be made.
Early in the year, it was determined that we needed to consolidate toy-making operations and bring all manufacturing back to the main workshop here at the Pole. We were able to relocate about one-third of the affected elf workers to positions at the main workshop; unfortunately, it was necessary to give layoff notices to the rest. The layoffs were painful and unprecedented. The decisions on which elves to keep was based on seniority, which means that the original elves, the ones that built the Santa Claus brand into the solid marketing force that it is today, remain a part of the operation.
The elves that were brought on during our massive expansion of operations in the 20th Century are generally the ones that were affected by the layoffs. Our expectation is that, over time, we can bring these employees back into the operation as the economy recovers. I know that as shareholders, you are concerned that with nothing but manufacturing experience, current job prospects for many of the elves are limited. However, they are uniquely qualified for some specialty positions, and I am personally aware that a few have found employment in circuses and traveling entertainment shows featuring the characters of J.R.R. Tolkien and L. Frank Baum.
Also in the first half of this year, other personnel moves were deemed necessary to prevent financial losses:
· Of the elves still in our employ, each was required to take a one-week unpaid furlough during the second quarter.
· We determined that it was necessary to reduce reindeer headcount by two. This resulted in the delivery of layoff notices to Vixen and Cupid. Although Rudolph has less seniority, his departure would have put us in violation of FAA regulations that require the sleigh to be illuminated during flight.
These changes to our workforce will obviously result in a decrease of our toy output, as well as the speed of toy delivery on Christmas Eve. However, those factors will be balanced out by the fact that there has been a large increase in the number of poor children that will not be receiving Christmas presents this year.
These are indeed sad and unprecedented times for Santa Claus Industries. But the moves we have made were completely necessary to keep SCI in the black and operating in a manner that the public has come to expect. Let me personally assure you that everyone, including myself, has found it necessary to make sacrifices. I personally had to cut my post-Christmas 90-day Caribbean vacation short by three days.
Moving forward, we will be making changes in the distribution of coal on Christmas Eve during our worldwide run. Production of coal is down, and quite frankly, it is needed here at the Pole for warmth. We simply cannot spare coal for delivery to the stockings of those on the naughty list, even for those who greatly deserve it. However, one resource here at the Pole is plentiful and will serve as a “green” alternative to coal - reindeer manure. There is no lack of it to distribute to state and federal politicians and corporate managers.
Sincerely,
K. Kringle
Chairman and Chief Executive Officer
Santa Claus Industries, Inc.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Fairly Unbalanced News
(From the Janesville Messenger, 6-21-09)
On the editorial page of this newspaper last week, the Messenger gave its assessment of Keith Olbermann, ESPN SportsCenter anchor turned MSNBC political commentator. The editorial branded Olbermann as a “hate-monger” and called him “an affront to good journalism.”
I had two problems with the editorial. First of all, you could take every charge thrown at Olbermann and MSNBC and easily level them at someone like Bill O’Reilly on Fox News. In fact, if you changed the words “Olbermann,” “MSNBC” and “liberal” to “O’Reilly,” “Fox” and “conservative,” the editorial would have been just as valid.
But that’s totally subjective, depending on whose political viewpoints you prefer.
My bigger issue is in labeling Olbermann as a journalist. He, O’Reilly, and many of the other talking heads we see on television these days, are anything but.
If you look up “journalism” in the American Heritage Dictionary, you will find this definition: “The style of writing characteristic of material in newspapers and magazines, consisting of the direct presentation of facts or occurrences with little attempt at analysis or interpretation.”
Straight news reporting - the presentation of facts - isn’t dead but it certainly smells funny. I would like to think that the big three TV networks continue in that tradition but it’s been so long since I’ve watched a network newscast that I couldn’t tell you. Besides the articles by the still-respected Associated Press that run in The Janesville Gazette, I get most of my national and international news from CNN. Since both sides of the political aisle criticize CNN, they must be doing something right. However, I’m a little dismayed by the increasing amount of crud they program, like Nancy Grace’s show.
But the fact is that many Americans, and maybe even a majority of them, primarily receive their news in a form that is spun to a certain political viewpoint. It’s not just TV networks like Fox News and MSNBC, but websites, magazines, or the opinionated microphones of people like Rush Limbaugh, Laura Ingraham or Al Franken. Fox may try to label themselves as “Fair and Balanced” and O’Reilly’s show as a “No-Spin Zone,” but frankly, that’s as truthful as putting a “T-Bone Steak” label on a can of dog food.
I guess that’s the beauty of a free country. We now have the freedom to choose how we want our news presented to us. Whatever your political persuasion, you can find a “news” source that appeals to you. The problem is, when your primary source of national and world events is biased, you tend to automatically discount any other presentation of the facts. You are not receiving news from news people; these folks are not journalists. They are commentators. There is a distinct difference.
For example, Helen Thomas, the veteran White House reporter for United Press International who traditionally had a major role in presidential press conferences, left that wire service in 2000 and became a syndicated columnist and author. As a UPI reporter, she was loved and feared by every president from Kennedy to Clinton, who knew she was not afraid to ask the tough questions. Once free of her role as a news reporter, however, she let her opinions fly, most notably revealing her total disdain for President George W. Bush. Whatever you think about her, you have to admit that Helen had old-school journalistic integrity. She waited until she had her own forum – when she had made the transition from reporter to commentator - to make those opinions known in print.
But the line that separates journalist and commentator gets blurrier each day. Even my local weekly paper, The Milton Courier, sometimes colors straight news stories like City Council meetings with the reporter’s own viewpoints.
Perhaps the most frightening development, however, is the number of e-mails that I receive that contain some sort of shocking news that turns out to be complete fabrication. Apparently, besides being a nation that accepts as face value everything we see on television, we are now a nation that believes everything that it reads in the form of an e-mail. I am amazed at the intelligent people I know that pass these e-mails along without checking their validity.
I wish I had a better solution than the way I have learned to deal with things – which is by being cynical about nearly everything I’m presented with. I take it all with a grain of salt.
But please keep in mind – I am a commentator and these are strictly my opinions.
On the editorial page of this newspaper last week, the Messenger gave its assessment of Keith Olbermann, ESPN SportsCenter anchor turned MSNBC political commentator. The editorial branded Olbermann as a “hate-monger” and called him “an affront to good journalism.”
I had two problems with the editorial. First of all, you could take every charge thrown at Olbermann and MSNBC and easily level them at someone like Bill O’Reilly on Fox News. In fact, if you changed the words “Olbermann,” “MSNBC” and “liberal” to “O’Reilly,” “Fox” and “conservative,” the editorial would have been just as valid.
But that’s totally subjective, depending on whose political viewpoints you prefer.
My bigger issue is in labeling Olbermann as a journalist. He, O’Reilly, and many of the other talking heads we see on television these days, are anything but.
If you look up “journalism” in the American Heritage Dictionary, you will find this definition: “The style of writing characteristic of material in newspapers and magazines, consisting of the direct presentation of facts or occurrences with little attempt at analysis or interpretation.”
Straight news reporting - the presentation of facts - isn’t dead but it certainly smells funny. I would like to think that the big three TV networks continue in that tradition but it’s been so long since I’ve watched a network newscast that I couldn’t tell you. Besides the articles by the still-respected Associated Press that run in The Janesville Gazette, I get most of my national and international news from CNN. Since both sides of the political aisle criticize CNN, they must be doing something right. However, I’m a little dismayed by the increasing amount of crud they program, like Nancy Grace’s show.
But the fact is that many Americans, and maybe even a majority of them, primarily receive their news in a form that is spun to a certain political viewpoint. It’s not just TV networks like Fox News and MSNBC, but websites, magazines, or the opinionated microphones of people like Rush Limbaugh, Laura Ingraham or Al Franken. Fox may try to label themselves as “Fair and Balanced” and O’Reilly’s show as a “No-Spin Zone,” but frankly, that’s as truthful as putting a “T-Bone Steak” label on a can of dog food.
I guess that’s the beauty of a free country. We now have the freedom to choose how we want our news presented to us. Whatever your political persuasion, you can find a “news” source that appeals to you. The problem is, when your primary source of national and world events is biased, you tend to automatically discount any other presentation of the facts. You are not receiving news from news people; these folks are not journalists. They are commentators. There is a distinct difference.
For example, Helen Thomas, the veteran White House reporter for United Press International who traditionally had a major role in presidential press conferences, left that wire service in 2000 and became a syndicated columnist and author. As a UPI reporter, she was loved and feared by every president from Kennedy to Clinton, who knew she was not afraid to ask the tough questions. Once free of her role as a news reporter, however, she let her opinions fly, most notably revealing her total disdain for President George W. Bush. Whatever you think about her, you have to admit that Helen had old-school journalistic integrity. She waited until she had her own forum – when she had made the transition from reporter to commentator - to make those opinions known in print.
But the line that separates journalist and commentator gets blurrier each day. Even my local weekly paper, The Milton Courier, sometimes colors straight news stories like City Council meetings with the reporter’s own viewpoints.
Perhaps the most frightening development, however, is the number of e-mails that I receive that contain some sort of shocking news that turns out to be complete fabrication. Apparently, besides being a nation that accepts as face value everything we see on television, we are now a nation that believes everything that it reads in the form of an e-mail. I am amazed at the intelligent people I know that pass these e-mails along without checking their validity.
I wish I had a better solution than the way I have learned to deal with things – which is by being cynical about nearly everything I’m presented with. I take it all with a grain of salt.
But please keep in mind – I am a commentator and these are strictly my opinions.
Holy Rollers With Guts
(From the Janesville Messenger, 6-7-09)
When I worked in downtown Janesville, I could almost set my watch by it.
Sitting in my second floor office in the late afternoon, I would suddenly hear the wheels rolling on the blacktop. I would look out the window and see the skateboarders build up speed through our parking lot and launch themselves into the parking lot next door, which sat a few feet lower than ours.
The constant whirring of their wheels was annoyingly noisy, a great deal louder than you would expect. Between the sound, the expectation of damage to our vehicles, and the potential for lawsuits if one of them got hurt, I generally went out to shoo them away or threaten to call the police. It was the first time in my life that I looked in the mirror and saw the cranky old neighbor who always yells at the kids to stay off his lawn.
So needless to say, I had a pretty negative opinion of skateboarders. But my “book-by-its-cover” thinking was rocked recently when I saw a presentation by a group of young men calling themselves “Skaters Of Christ.”
These five youths, ranging in age from 12 to 16, can do some pretty impressive skateboarding tricks. But they see their skateboarding as a vehicle for something much more important – bringing fellow skaters to Christianity.
15-year-old Nathaniel Muench says the group was inspired to “do something bigger and better for [God’s] glory. So we chose a skateboard ministry since it’s our talent from God.”
Nathaniel and the others – 13-year-olds Zachary Muench and Brandon Stewart, 16-year-old Daniel Belleau and 12-year-old David – go to skate parks in Whitewater, Jefferson, Delafield or “wherever God calls us to go.”
They strike up conversations with other skaters by asking if they know where they are going to go when they die, or by the more direct “Do you know Jesus Christ?”
As you can imagine, these inquiries are not always well received. On one particularly bad day in Whitewater, the group was cursed and threatened. “Even worse, they cursed at God,” said Brandon. “But we stayed strong and close to God.”
The Skaters of Christ are getting results. They are very proud that at a recent outing in Jefferson, some of the people to whom they preached accepted Jesus as their savior.
Word of their ministry is spreading. When the group went to Delafield for the first time, they were surprised to find that people there had already heard of them.
What is most impressive to me about these young men is that they willfully venture where many seasoned adults wouldn’t dare – straight into a lion’s den, knowing that they invite scorn and ridicule. The strength of their convictions – and the courage they display - is an amazing thing to behold. How many of us believe so strongly in something, that we would put ourselves in situations that could result in verbal or possibly, physical abuse, in hopes of making a difference? By comparison, when I was their age, the only thing I believed strongly was that CB radio was cool, and I was way too shy to even ask a girl to a movie.
The Skaters Of Christ have only been preaching for about a year, but they have big plans. They believe that God’s will for the short term is to share the Gospel while touring the United States and other countries, doing demonstrations and skating with people at parks. Their long-term goal: to become pastors.
If you want to find out more about this group, they have started a web site at www.SkatersofChrist.webs.com or they can be emailed at skatersofchrist@gmail.com.
Shakespeare wrote, “Screw your courage to a sticking place, and we’ll not fail.” These young men do it every day, and they are succeeding.
When I worked in downtown Janesville, I could almost set my watch by it.
Sitting in my second floor office in the late afternoon, I would suddenly hear the wheels rolling on the blacktop. I would look out the window and see the skateboarders build up speed through our parking lot and launch themselves into the parking lot next door, which sat a few feet lower than ours.
The constant whirring of their wheels was annoyingly noisy, a great deal louder than you would expect. Between the sound, the expectation of damage to our vehicles, and the potential for lawsuits if one of them got hurt, I generally went out to shoo them away or threaten to call the police. It was the first time in my life that I looked in the mirror and saw the cranky old neighbor who always yells at the kids to stay off his lawn.
So needless to say, I had a pretty negative opinion of skateboarders. But my “book-by-its-cover” thinking was rocked recently when I saw a presentation by a group of young men calling themselves “Skaters Of Christ.”
These five youths, ranging in age from 12 to 16, can do some pretty impressive skateboarding tricks. But they see their skateboarding as a vehicle for something much more important – bringing fellow skaters to Christianity.
15-year-old Nathaniel Muench says the group was inspired to “do something bigger and better for [God’s] glory. So we chose a skateboard ministry since it’s our talent from God.”
Nathaniel and the others – 13-year-olds Zachary Muench and Brandon Stewart, 16-year-old Daniel Belleau and 12-year-old David – go to skate parks in Whitewater, Jefferson, Delafield or “wherever God calls us to go.”
They strike up conversations with other skaters by asking if they know where they are going to go when they die, or by the more direct “Do you know Jesus Christ?”
As you can imagine, these inquiries are not always well received. On one particularly bad day in Whitewater, the group was cursed and threatened. “Even worse, they cursed at God,” said Brandon. “But we stayed strong and close to God.”
The Skaters of Christ are getting results. They are very proud that at a recent outing in Jefferson, some of the people to whom they preached accepted Jesus as their savior.
Word of their ministry is spreading. When the group went to Delafield for the first time, they were surprised to find that people there had already heard of them.
What is most impressive to me about these young men is that they willfully venture where many seasoned adults wouldn’t dare – straight into a lion’s den, knowing that they invite scorn and ridicule. The strength of their convictions – and the courage they display - is an amazing thing to behold. How many of us believe so strongly in something, that we would put ourselves in situations that could result in verbal or possibly, physical abuse, in hopes of making a difference? By comparison, when I was their age, the only thing I believed strongly was that CB radio was cool, and I was way too shy to even ask a girl to a movie.
The Skaters Of Christ have only been preaching for about a year, but they have big plans. They believe that God’s will for the short term is to share the Gospel while touring the United States and other countries, doing demonstrations and skating with people at parks. Their long-term goal: to become pastors.
If you want to find out more about this group, they have started a web site at www.SkatersofChrist.webs.com or they can be emailed at skatersofchrist@gmail.com.
Shakespeare wrote, “Screw your courage to a sticking place, and we’ll not fail.” These young men do it every day, and they are succeeding.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
I Fought The Lawn, And The Lawn Won
(From the Janesville Messenger, 5-17-09)
A few years ago, I was given a book called "How To Mow The Lawn." The cover features a 1950’s-era photo of a trim, shirtless typical dad, pushing his motorized grass cutter over his perfect suburban lawn.
This is one of the things that we as men strive for – the perfect front lawn. We desire a weed-free, well-manicured carpet of green that shows neighbors and passersby that a real man lives there, a man who is cultured and classy, yet not afraid to get dirt on his hands. Or who can pay someone else to get dirt on their hands.
To many, a perfect front lawn is as much a status symbol as an Audi convertible. But when the car is parked in the garage, who’s going to see it? Your grass is front and center all the time, thumbing its nose at the dandelion-riddled lower class.
In my case, if a man is indeed judged by his lawn, then my level of respect ranks somewhere between Michael Vick and Rod Blagojevich. In a world where beautifully manicured lawns are spectacular welcome mats, my front lawn is the ratty bath mat at a cheap motel.
The inability to whip my lawn into shape has frustrated me for the 17 years I have lived at my current address. Oh, it’s not that I haven’t tried. I’ve spread so many granules and chemicals on my lawn over the years, I’m surprised I don’t have seven-legged rabbits hopping around my yard. But the more I try to fight, the stronger my weedy opponents seem to become. I even tried a lawn service one year, but they were as successful with my stubborn lawn as the obedience school was with Marley in “Marley & Me.”
My longest, most unsuccessful battle has been with ground ivy, a.k.a. Creeping Charlie. This stuff is tenacious. Like Arnold Schwarzenegger in “The Terminator,” it just won’t die.
At one point, I thought I had found the solution to Charlie’s sinewy hold on my lawn. I was directed to a product that was described to me as the only weed killer on the market that would really knock Charlie out. It was strong and unpleasant stuff. To apply it to my lawn with a sprayer jar and hose, I outfitted myself with eye protection, a mask, a hat and overalls that immediately went into the washer post-application. I am thankful I do not live on a busy street, because I’m sure photos of me in my Hazmat suit would have shown up on the Internet.
This particular weed killer worked and worked well. I did a victory dance when the Creeping Charlie browned and withered. It was a banner spring for the front lawn at Lyke Manor.
However, after a time it became apparent that I couldn’t stop Charlie; I could only hope to contain him. He reared his ugly head again and again, and over time, subsequent applications of the nasty solution seemed to have less and less effect.
My wife owns a book that lists ways to simplify your life. One idea it recommends is to quit worrying about your lawn. It specifically stated that there are benefits to letting the ground ivy thrive. For example, in a dry summer, Creeping Charlie is heartier than grass and stays green when the rest of your lawn goes brown. That short chapter was the final prompting I needed to raise the white flag and sign the surrender documents.
Not that I needed much prompting, however. With each passing year, I felt less and less comfortable contributing such powerful chemicals to the groundwater. I kept weighing the benefits versus the potential damage and didn’t like the way the scales were balancing.
So this year, I completely turned over a new leaf. No fertilizer, no weed killer. When some non-Charlie weeds showed up that were just too big and ugly to bear, I got on my hands and knees and dug them out. And because I didn’t fertilize, my grass is not overly thick, which means my nice, quiet, non-motorized push reel mower does a fine job on the grass, if you don’t mind pushing it over the same spot more than once.
Because I wish not to be judgmental – and because I have friends that own hardware stores - I don’t want to discourage you from purchasing whatever lawn care additives you wish to make your grass look the way you want; to each his own.
But if you’re tired of fighting the ground war, you’re not alone.
A few years ago, I was given a book called "How To Mow The Lawn." The cover features a 1950’s-era photo of a trim, shirtless typical dad, pushing his motorized grass cutter over his perfect suburban lawn.
This is one of the things that we as men strive for – the perfect front lawn. We desire a weed-free, well-manicured carpet of green that shows neighbors and passersby that a real man lives there, a man who is cultured and classy, yet not afraid to get dirt on his hands. Or who can pay someone else to get dirt on their hands.
To many, a perfect front lawn is as much a status symbol as an Audi convertible. But when the car is parked in the garage, who’s going to see it? Your grass is front and center all the time, thumbing its nose at the dandelion-riddled lower class.
In my case, if a man is indeed judged by his lawn, then my level of respect ranks somewhere between Michael Vick and Rod Blagojevich. In a world where beautifully manicured lawns are spectacular welcome mats, my front lawn is the ratty bath mat at a cheap motel.
The inability to whip my lawn into shape has frustrated me for the 17 years I have lived at my current address. Oh, it’s not that I haven’t tried. I’ve spread so many granules and chemicals on my lawn over the years, I’m surprised I don’t have seven-legged rabbits hopping around my yard. But the more I try to fight, the stronger my weedy opponents seem to become. I even tried a lawn service one year, but they were as successful with my stubborn lawn as the obedience school was with Marley in “Marley & Me.”
My longest, most unsuccessful battle has been with ground ivy, a.k.a. Creeping Charlie. This stuff is tenacious. Like Arnold Schwarzenegger in “The Terminator,” it just won’t die.
At one point, I thought I had found the solution to Charlie’s sinewy hold on my lawn. I was directed to a product that was described to me as the only weed killer on the market that would really knock Charlie out. It was strong and unpleasant stuff. To apply it to my lawn with a sprayer jar and hose, I outfitted myself with eye protection, a mask, a hat and overalls that immediately went into the washer post-application. I am thankful I do not live on a busy street, because I’m sure photos of me in my Hazmat suit would have shown up on the Internet.
This particular weed killer worked and worked well. I did a victory dance when the Creeping Charlie browned and withered. It was a banner spring for the front lawn at Lyke Manor.
However, after a time it became apparent that I couldn’t stop Charlie; I could only hope to contain him. He reared his ugly head again and again, and over time, subsequent applications of the nasty solution seemed to have less and less effect.
My wife owns a book that lists ways to simplify your life. One idea it recommends is to quit worrying about your lawn. It specifically stated that there are benefits to letting the ground ivy thrive. For example, in a dry summer, Creeping Charlie is heartier than grass and stays green when the rest of your lawn goes brown. That short chapter was the final prompting I needed to raise the white flag and sign the surrender documents.
Not that I needed much prompting, however. With each passing year, I felt less and less comfortable contributing such powerful chemicals to the groundwater. I kept weighing the benefits versus the potential damage and didn’t like the way the scales were balancing.
So this year, I completely turned over a new leaf. No fertilizer, no weed killer. When some non-Charlie weeds showed up that were just too big and ugly to bear, I got on my hands and knees and dug them out. And because I didn’t fertilize, my grass is not overly thick, which means my nice, quiet, non-motorized push reel mower does a fine job on the grass, if you don’t mind pushing it over the same spot more than once.
Because I wish not to be judgmental – and because I have friends that own hardware stores - I don’t want to discourage you from purchasing whatever lawn care additives you wish to make your grass look the way you want; to each his own.
But if you’re tired of fighting the ground war, you’re not alone.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
The Write Stuff
(From the Janesville Messenger, 5-3-09)
Two of my nephews are currently majoring in journalism in college. As a wannabe writer, I’m thrilled at the prospect of having real, college-educated writers in the family.
I was briefly a college journalism major myself, but my university years were not exactly devoted to studying or self-improvement. I can truly say that about the only thing I accomplished during that period of great immaturity was somehow stumbling onto a wonderful human being who has now been married to me for 23 years. They are busy etching her likeness in stained glass as we speak; her application for sainthood is approved.
One of my great regrets was that I didn’t spend those years developing my skills as a writer. I have great admiration for those who can turn a phrase, whether it’s the whimsical musings of Garrison Keillor or the gritty crime fiction of Elmore Leonard. I’m amazed by writers that can keep your attention page after page and be effortlessly prolific.
I can appreciate their work because writing is hard. Even trying to punch out 700 words twice a month for the Messenger isn’t an easy proposition. Many are the times I have stared at a blank screen like an empty chair, struggling for inspiration or an idea – any idea – as deadline approached.
Other times, however, it seems like I am constantly scribbling down thoughts that I could use for a later column or some other project. Nothing ebbs and flows quite like the creative juices.
I don’t read nearly enough as I would like to (or should), so when I do, I try to make sure it’s worth my while. One writer who always qualifies is P.J. O’Rourke. A former National Lampoon writer who later wrote about politics for Rolling Stone, he has authored several political books that feature his incredible intelligence and biting wit.
What Jon Stewart is to Comedy Central, P.J. is to conservative commentary. Unlike the Coulters, Limbaughs and Ingrahams of the world, whose approach I find distasteful and whose motives I question, P.J. is smart, factual and funny – very funny. It says something that even when I disagree with his viewpoints, I still appreciate that he is presenting them factually and intelligently, with perfectly inserted bits of humor. He is the type of political writer I love – he’s not blindly allegiant to his party’s platform nor does he write in that smug, I’m-much-smarter-than-you style, even though he is.
But no one inspires me to become a better writer like Wisconsin author Michael Perry.
Mike is an awe-inspiring wordsmith who has produced three autobiographical books about his life in northern Wisconsin – Population: 485, Truck and the newly released Coop. After reading his books, you feel like you know the man inside and out; he has laid his life bare for you. He is a regular guy who fixes his truck, fumbles with women, kills plants, hunts, and sets his hair on fire. Yet he also appreciates modern dance and went to nursing school. And every word is worth reading.
I had the opportunity to interview Mike once when I was sitting in for Stan Milam on WCLO Radio. It was probably the most natural conversation I’ve had on that show. The guy is easy to talk to, humble and engaging. Just when I thought I couldn’t be more impressed, he sent a “thank you” post card to me care of the station, telling me that he enjoyed the interview. The books didn’t lie. To borrow from Dennis Green, he was what I thought he was.
And even though Mike is successful, you get the feeling he’s not doing it to become rich or famous. He’s just doing it because he loves to write. And those are the kind of authors that I want to read.
It’s the dream of many of us to write “The Great American Novel” or something encased in hardcover and sitting on a bestseller list. I took my stab at it several years ago, when I published a book of short stories called Five Trips to the Edge. Although I sold enough to cover my costs, I now look back at it with embarrassment, not only because of its dark, creepy tone, but also by thinking how much better it could or should be. Several times I have resolved to rewrite large chunks of it and try again, but I can’t muster the enthusiasm to make it a priority.
For now, my main writing project is a play that, God willing, will be presented at the Janesville Performing Arts Center in October. Since time is running short to get a final draft complete, whether it actually happens or not remains to be seen. But after a solid month of inactivity and doubt, ideas are starting to surface again. Whether those ideas are any good is something I hope you will eventually have the opportunity to judge.
Two of my nephews are currently majoring in journalism in college. As a wannabe writer, I’m thrilled at the prospect of having real, college-educated writers in the family.
I was briefly a college journalism major myself, but my university years were not exactly devoted to studying or self-improvement. I can truly say that about the only thing I accomplished during that period of great immaturity was somehow stumbling onto a wonderful human being who has now been married to me for 23 years. They are busy etching her likeness in stained glass as we speak; her application for sainthood is approved.
One of my great regrets was that I didn’t spend those years developing my skills as a writer. I have great admiration for those who can turn a phrase, whether it’s the whimsical musings of Garrison Keillor or the gritty crime fiction of Elmore Leonard. I’m amazed by writers that can keep your attention page after page and be effortlessly prolific.
I can appreciate their work because writing is hard. Even trying to punch out 700 words twice a month for the Messenger isn’t an easy proposition. Many are the times I have stared at a blank screen like an empty chair, struggling for inspiration or an idea – any idea – as deadline approached.
Other times, however, it seems like I am constantly scribbling down thoughts that I could use for a later column or some other project. Nothing ebbs and flows quite like the creative juices.
I don’t read nearly enough as I would like to (or should), so when I do, I try to make sure it’s worth my while. One writer who always qualifies is P.J. O’Rourke. A former National Lampoon writer who later wrote about politics for Rolling Stone, he has authored several political books that feature his incredible intelligence and biting wit.
What Jon Stewart is to Comedy Central, P.J. is to conservative commentary. Unlike the Coulters, Limbaughs and Ingrahams of the world, whose approach I find distasteful and whose motives I question, P.J. is smart, factual and funny – very funny. It says something that even when I disagree with his viewpoints, I still appreciate that he is presenting them factually and intelligently, with perfectly inserted bits of humor. He is the type of political writer I love – he’s not blindly allegiant to his party’s platform nor does he write in that smug, I’m-much-smarter-than-you style, even though he is.
But no one inspires me to become a better writer like Wisconsin author Michael Perry.
Mike is an awe-inspiring wordsmith who has produced three autobiographical books about his life in northern Wisconsin – Population: 485, Truck and the newly released Coop. After reading his books, you feel like you know the man inside and out; he has laid his life bare for you. He is a regular guy who fixes his truck, fumbles with women, kills plants, hunts, and sets his hair on fire. Yet he also appreciates modern dance and went to nursing school. And every word is worth reading.
I had the opportunity to interview Mike once when I was sitting in for Stan Milam on WCLO Radio. It was probably the most natural conversation I’ve had on that show. The guy is easy to talk to, humble and engaging. Just when I thought I couldn’t be more impressed, he sent a “thank you” post card to me care of the station, telling me that he enjoyed the interview. The books didn’t lie. To borrow from Dennis Green, he was what I thought he was.
And even though Mike is successful, you get the feeling he’s not doing it to become rich or famous. He’s just doing it because he loves to write. And those are the kind of authors that I want to read.
It’s the dream of many of us to write “The Great American Novel” or something encased in hardcover and sitting on a bestseller list. I took my stab at it several years ago, when I published a book of short stories called Five Trips to the Edge. Although I sold enough to cover my costs, I now look back at it with embarrassment, not only because of its dark, creepy tone, but also by thinking how much better it could or should be. Several times I have resolved to rewrite large chunks of it and try again, but I can’t muster the enthusiasm to make it a priority.
For now, my main writing project is a play that, God willing, will be presented at the Janesville Performing Arts Center in October. Since time is running short to get a final draft complete, whether it actually happens or not remains to be seen. But after a solid month of inactivity and doubt, ideas are starting to surface again. Whether those ideas are any good is something I hope you will eventually have the opportunity to judge.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Whatever Suits Your Fancy
(From the Janesville Messenger, 4-19-09)
America has gone casual.
Maybe you’ve noticed it over the past decade. Where you used to see business people like bankers and sales representatives dressed to the nines in suits every day, now you’re just as likely to see them in polo shirts bearing the company logo.
In some cases – like my wife’s place of employment, the United Way of North Rock County, which just updated their dress code - blue jeans are even considered acceptable. I don’t know what it says about our society when we go from doing business dressed like Donald Trump to doing business dressed like a bowling team.
A good example of the transition is the group of Goodwill Ambassadors at Forward Janesville. In the 1980’s, the official Ambassador uniform was a maroon blazer and silver slacks. Yes, you read that right, and it looked just as bad as it sounds. It is some kind of federal law that Chamber of Commerce Ambassadors must dress in colors not found in nature.
In the 1990’s, the Ambassadors dropped their drawers – that is, decided to not mandate official slacks - and donned green suit jackets, making them all look like they had won the Masters golf tournament. But now, even that last nod of formality, the green jacket, is being shoved to the back of the closet in favor of green polo shirts.
For me personally, I have been going through this same reverse metamorphosis. Once upon a time, I used to wear a suit and tie every day. Being in sales, it was my professional attire. This started when I bought my first “real” suit after college in 1984, and continued unabated into the 21st Century. (Side note: I call it a “real” suit because I refuse to count the powder-blue leisure suit that pre-dated it. The 1970’s never happened.)
Then, like one of those Darwinian evolution charts, except at a much more rapid pace, the suit disappeared in favor of a shirt and tie with slacks, and then the tie went away, too. And then eventually, on days when I did not expect to see customers, I even wore jeans and work boots to my office. And frankly, I was fine with that. I liked being freed from the suit culture after all those years.
Ironically, it was Forward Janesville that reeled me back in from my relaxed state of garmentry. Since their annual dinner is a somewhat formal affair, I always like to wear a suit. Knowing I would not have time to change clothes between work and the event, I wore my formal attire to my office.
The reaction I received was amazing. It seemed like every one of my co-workers inquired about where I was going that day, what important customer I was seeing, or even whether I secretly had a job interview.
Third degree aside, it felt good being back in a suit again. I felt important. I felt virile. I decided that I was going to go back to wearing suits every day. And why not? They say clothes make the man, and I need all the help I can get.
If I thought I got questioned the first day, the second day was even more fun. I deliberately played coy, simply explaining that I was trying to “class up the joint.” This went on for several days, co-workers casting a suspicious eye at me when I walked in with the latest suit and tie combination.
Eventually, one of my co-workers started to follow suit. As he and I stood conversing the first day he was similarly attired, another co-worker walked in, gave us a puzzled look and asked, “Did I miss the memo?”
Now, after several weeks, co-workers are still trying to figure out exactly what I am up to with my parade of formal apparel. They don’t buy my explanation that I just feel like wearing suits, especially when I answer with a devilish look in my eye that seemingly confirms whatever they suspect.
There is something to be said for life’s simple pleasures.
America has gone casual.
Maybe you’ve noticed it over the past decade. Where you used to see business people like bankers and sales representatives dressed to the nines in suits every day, now you’re just as likely to see them in polo shirts bearing the company logo.
In some cases – like my wife’s place of employment, the United Way of North Rock County, which just updated their dress code - blue jeans are even considered acceptable. I don’t know what it says about our society when we go from doing business dressed like Donald Trump to doing business dressed like a bowling team.
A good example of the transition is the group of Goodwill Ambassadors at Forward Janesville. In the 1980’s, the official Ambassador uniform was a maroon blazer and silver slacks. Yes, you read that right, and it looked just as bad as it sounds. It is some kind of federal law that Chamber of Commerce Ambassadors must dress in colors not found in nature.
In the 1990’s, the Ambassadors dropped their drawers – that is, decided to not mandate official slacks - and donned green suit jackets, making them all look like they had won the Masters golf tournament. But now, even that last nod of formality, the green jacket, is being shoved to the back of the closet in favor of green polo shirts.
For me personally, I have been going through this same reverse metamorphosis. Once upon a time, I used to wear a suit and tie every day. Being in sales, it was my professional attire. This started when I bought my first “real” suit after college in 1984, and continued unabated into the 21st Century. (Side note: I call it a “real” suit because I refuse to count the powder-blue leisure suit that pre-dated it. The 1970’s never happened.)
Then, like one of those Darwinian evolution charts, except at a much more rapid pace, the suit disappeared in favor of a shirt and tie with slacks, and then the tie went away, too. And then eventually, on days when I did not expect to see customers, I even wore jeans and work boots to my office. And frankly, I was fine with that. I liked being freed from the suit culture after all those years.
Ironically, it was Forward Janesville that reeled me back in from my relaxed state of garmentry. Since their annual dinner is a somewhat formal affair, I always like to wear a suit. Knowing I would not have time to change clothes between work and the event, I wore my formal attire to my office.
The reaction I received was amazing. It seemed like every one of my co-workers inquired about where I was going that day, what important customer I was seeing, or even whether I secretly had a job interview.
Third degree aside, it felt good being back in a suit again. I felt important. I felt virile. I decided that I was going to go back to wearing suits every day. And why not? They say clothes make the man, and I need all the help I can get.
If I thought I got questioned the first day, the second day was even more fun. I deliberately played coy, simply explaining that I was trying to “class up the joint.” This went on for several days, co-workers casting a suspicious eye at me when I walked in with the latest suit and tie combination.
Eventually, one of my co-workers started to follow suit. As he and I stood conversing the first day he was similarly attired, another co-worker walked in, gave us a puzzled look and asked, “Did I miss the memo?”
Now, after several weeks, co-workers are still trying to figure out exactly what I am up to with my parade of formal apparel. They don’t buy my explanation that I just feel like wearing suits, especially when I answer with a devilish look in my eye that seemingly confirms whatever they suspect.
There is something to be said for life’s simple pleasures.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Waiting For Justice
(From the Janesville Messenger, 4-5-09)
“In all criminal prosecutions, the accused shall enjoy the right to a speedy and public trial....”
- The Sixth Amendment to the United States Constitution
Unfortunately, the Sixth Amendment does not extend the right to a speedy trial to a crime victim’s family.
Nine months ago, I wrote in this space about my wife’s cousin, a 24-year-old Chicago artist who went by the name of SOLVE. On June 14, SOLVE was senselessly stabbed to death by someone with whom he had exchanged words at a party.
A suspect in the murder, 24-year-old Kirk Tobolski, was apprehended and charged with first-degree homicide the following day.
According to police reports, four witnesses identified Tobolski as the killer, and Tobolski himself made a statement to police that he had “slashed” SOLVE with a knife. Despite this, Tobolski has been free on bail since October 28. Incredibly, since February, Tobolski – who still faces the first-degree murder charges – has been allowed to leave Illinois unwatched to visit his pregnant girlfriend in Michigan. The only requirement is that he must appear back in court for his next hearing.
How would you feel, knowing that your child’s alleged murderer is allowed to roam freely, greatly increasing the chance that he will try to flee? SOLVE’s father says he feels like he’s “been imprisoned in a theater of the absurd, though without any comic relief.”
How did this happen? How did Cook County, Illinois – that bastion of justice and fair government – give someone indicted on two counts of murder such unlimited freedom?
Money, that’s how.
To the surprise of SOLVE’s family, on October 28, somebody came up with the $50,000 cash necessary to spring Tobolski from his jail cell. SOLVE’s father believes that Tobolski’s family sold their home in order to raise the cash.
Wherever the money came from, there is apparently a lot more available. Tobolski is now being represented by defense attorney Richard Beuke, a big shot who has been involved in several high-profile cases in Cook County. Currently, Beuke is also defending Jon Burge, a retired police commander facing federal charges related to police brutality and alleged torture of suspects. The Burge case is big news in Chicago; his court appearances routinely draw scores of demonstrators.
SOLVE’s father, who is an attorney himself, believes that Beuke, as long as he's being paid, will undoubtedly drag the case out as long as he can. He says that “if there is a trial, which is likely, it is unlikely it will start before late 2010, more than two years after [the murder].”
Although Tobolski is allowed to go to Michigan, his release on bail did contain other stipulations, including no contact with SOLVE’s family, with the witnesses or the witnesses’ friends and relatives. At the first status hearing after receiving permission to leave Chicago, Tobolski did appear, buying himself another four weeks of relative freedom. The next status hearing is scheduled for April.
“The way things go in the Cook County Criminal Court in proceedings involving serious crimes,” says SOLVE’s father, “the judge will for up to 3 years invariably grant a request for more time if either side makes such a request at a status hearing. Swift justice in serious crimes is not a hallmark of Cook County's criminal justice system.”
So SOLVE’s family waits, disgusted at what they see as a gross miscarriage of justice and common sense. Until SOLVE’s killer is behind bars, there can be no closure for this terrible, senseless tragedy.
“In all criminal prosecutions, the accused shall enjoy the right to a speedy and public trial....”
- The Sixth Amendment to the United States Constitution
Unfortunately, the Sixth Amendment does not extend the right to a speedy trial to a crime victim’s family.
Nine months ago, I wrote in this space about my wife’s cousin, a 24-year-old Chicago artist who went by the name of SOLVE. On June 14, SOLVE was senselessly stabbed to death by someone with whom he had exchanged words at a party.
A suspect in the murder, 24-year-old Kirk Tobolski, was apprehended and charged with first-degree homicide the following day.
According to police reports, four witnesses identified Tobolski as the killer, and Tobolski himself made a statement to police that he had “slashed” SOLVE with a knife. Despite this, Tobolski has been free on bail since October 28. Incredibly, since February, Tobolski – who still faces the first-degree murder charges – has been allowed to leave Illinois unwatched to visit his pregnant girlfriend in Michigan. The only requirement is that he must appear back in court for his next hearing.
How would you feel, knowing that your child’s alleged murderer is allowed to roam freely, greatly increasing the chance that he will try to flee? SOLVE’s father says he feels like he’s “been imprisoned in a theater of the absurd, though without any comic relief.”
How did this happen? How did Cook County, Illinois – that bastion of justice and fair government – give someone indicted on two counts of murder such unlimited freedom?
Money, that’s how.
To the surprise of SOLVE’s family, on October 28, somebody came up with the $50,000 cash necessary to spring Tobolski from his jail cell. SOLVE’s father believes that Tobolski’s family sold their home in order to raise the cash.
Wherever the money came from, there is apparently a lot more available. Tobolski is now being represented by defense attorney Richard Beuke, a big shot who has been involved in several high-profile cases in Cook County. Currently, Beuke is also defending Jon Burge, a retired police commander facing federal charges related to police brutality and alleged torture of suspects. The Burge case is big news in Chicago; his court appearances routinely draw scores of demonstrators.
SOLVE’s father, who is an attorney himself, believes that Beuke, as long as he's being paid, will undoubtedly drag the case out as long as he can. He says that “if there is a trial, which is likely, it is unlikely it will start before late 2010, more than two years after [the murder].”
Although Tobolski is allowed to go to Michigan, his release on bail did contain other stipulations, including no contact with SOLVE’s family, with the witnesses or the witnesses’ friends and relatives. At the first status hearing after receiving permission to leave Chicago, Tobolski did appear, buying himself another four weeks of relative freedom. The next status hearing is scheduled for April.
“The way things go in the Cook County Criminal Court in proceedings involving serious crimes,” says SOLVE’s father, “the judge will for up to 3 years invariably grant a request for more time if either side makes such a request at a status hearing. Swift justice in serious crimes is not a hallmark of Cook County's criminal justice system.”
So SOLVE’s family waits, disgusted at what they see as a gross miscarriage of justice and common sense. Until SOLVE’s killer is behind bars, there can be no closure for this terrible, senseless tragedy.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Could GM Plant a Field of Dreams?
(From the Janesville Messenger, 3-29-09)
Play ball!
That’s what I hope local officials will do with the latest proposal for re-use of the vacant General Motors facility in Janesville.
A plan announced last week would convert the plant into a multi-purpose entertainment facility that includes an indoor stadium for the Beloit Snappers, an indoor hockey rink, and a new home for the Rock County Fairgrounds.
There is much to like about this proposal. The Snappers and the Rock County Fair have both been coveting a more convenient location. And while this isn’t right next to Interstate 90 as either might prefer, it is certainly accessible thanks to the construction of the Reuther Way access road a few years ago.
The proposed name for the stadium and grounds is General Motors Field. Rather than selling naming rights to the facility, it will carry the GM name because the corporation – admittedly eager to stop paying taxes on the property – is donating the entire parcel and all of its buildings to the city of Janesville. And frankly, it just seems right that a ballpark there would be named for GM.
For the Snappers, this could be a dream come true. The proposed General Motors Field would have plenty of parking space, and they would be getting a facility that guarantees baseball rain or shine. The current plan is for a permanent roofed stadium with artificial turf, much like the Metrodome in Minneapolis, home of the Snappers’ parent organization, the Minnesota Twins. In fact, with the Twins preparing to move to a new stadium of their own in 2010, cost savings will be realized by re-using materials salvaged from the Metrodome. General Motors Field could easily re-use the Metrodome’s turf, seats, inflatable dome and even the blue outfield walls. If enough funding could be secured, however, a retractable roof and real grass is not out of the question.
Of course, the move to Janesville would require some tinkering with the team name. One suggestion – the Suburban Snappers – would be a tip of the hat to both GM and the two-city support of the team, while retaining the Snapper name as a tribute to Beloit. It’s a similar concept used by the NBA’s New Orleans Jazz when they kept their team name after moving to Utah.
The indoor facility would also open up many more possibilities for the Rock County 4-H Fair. For one thing, never again would inclement weather spoil the musical entertainment. There would also be a lot more room available to house animals and exhibits.
Of course, you can’t have an entire county fair indoors – in Wisconsin, one must smell the dairy air – so an outdoor midway would be adjacent to the indoor music venue and barns. And of course, the biggest benefit would be finally moving the fair out of a residential neighborhood that relies on street parking.
This facility would also put to rest the debate about what to do with the Janesville Ice Arena. Refrigeration equipment and bleachers still sitting at the GM plant could be recycled and re-used to form a rink that would satisfy the needs of everyone from Junior A League players to figure skaters and curlers.
Though nothing concrete has been determined, the new General Motors Field could potentially be used for many other events – Rock County Gladiators football, Janesville high school graduation ceremonies, and the Forward Janesville Business and Marketing Expo are just a few. Don’t count out political rallies, either. What presidential candidate wouldn’t love the opportunity to make a statement by campaigning at General Motors Field?
General Motors Field will need the support of the government and the public to become a reality. I would highly recommend that you contact state and local officials to voice your opinion on this issue. Give them a call at 1-800-APRIL-FOOL.
Play ball!
That’s what I hope local officials will do with the latest proposal for re-use of the vacant General Motors facility in Janesville.
A plan announced last week would convert the plant into a multi-purpose entertainment facility that includes an indoor stadium for the Beloit Snappers, an indoor hockey rink, and a new home for the Rock County Fairgrounds.
There is much to like about this proposal. The Snappers and the Rock County Fair have both been coveting a more convenient location. And while this isn’t right next to Interstate 90 as either might prefer, it is certainly accessible thanks to the construction of the Reuther Way access road a few years ago.
The proposed name for the stadium and grounds is General Motors Field. Rather than selling naming rights to the facility, it will carry the GM name because the corporation – admittedly eager to stop paying taxes on the property – is donating the entire parcel and all of its buildings to the city of Janesville. And frankly, it just seems right that a ballpark there would be named for GM.
For the Snappers, this could be a dream come true. The proposed General Motors Field would have plenty of parking space, and they would be getting a facility that guarantees baseball rain or shine. The current plan is for a permanent roofed stadium with artificial turf, much like the Metrodome in Minneapolis, home of the Snappers’ parent organization, the Minnesota Twins. In fact, with the Twins preparing to move to a new stadium of their own in 2010, cost savings will be realized by re-using materials salvaged from the Metrodome. General Motors Field could easily re-use the Metrodome’s turf, seats, inflatable dome and even the blue outfield walls. If enough funding could be secured, however, a retractable roof and real grass is not out of the question.
Of course, the move to Janesville would require some tinkering with the team name. One suggestion – the Suburban Snappers – would be a tip of the hat to both GM and the two-city support of the team, while retaining the Snapper name as a tribute to Beloit. It’s a similar concept used by the NBA’s New Orleans Jazz when they kept their team name after moving to Utah.
The indoor facility would also open up many more possibilities for the Rock County 4-H Fair. For one thing, never again would inclement weather spoil the musical entertainment. There would also be a lot more room available to house animals and exhibits.
Of course, you can’t have an entire county fair indoors – in Wisconsin, one must smell the dairy air – so an outdoor midway would be adjacent to the indoor music venue and barns. And of course, the biggest benefit would be finally moving the fair out of a residential neighborhood that relies on street parking.
This facility would also put to rest the debate about what to do with the Janesville Ice Arena. Refrigeration equipment and bleachers still sitting at the GM plant could be recycled and re-used to form a rink that would satisfy the needs of everyone from Junior A League players to figure skaters and curlers.
Though nothing concrete has been determined, the new General Motors Field could potentially be used for many other events – Rock County Gladiators football, Janesville high school graduation ceremonies, and the Forward Janesville Business and Marketing Expo are just a few. Don’t count out political rallies, either. What presidential candidate wouldn’t love the opportunity to make a statement by campaigning at General Motors Field?
General Motors Field will need the support of the government and the public to become a reality. I would highly recommend that you contact state and local officials to voice your opinion on this issue. Give them a call at 1-800-APRIL-FOOL.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
When Mascots Go Bad
(From the Janesville Messenger, 3-15-09)
Later this week, the Wisconsin State Legislature is scheduled to hold a hearing on a bill that would lead to the removal of Indian mascots at public schools. This isn’t the first time that statewide action has been considered.
On a related note, I was recently invited to join an Internet group called “Proud To Be A Milton Redman.” I wanted to write back that I’d rather join the group, “Proud To Have A Life and Have Moved On.”
I am
a 1980 graduate of Milton High School, when our team name was indeed the Redmen. If you lived in the north Rock County area a decade ago, you know the trouble and strife that was stirred up when the school board finally made the decision to retire the name and mascot in favor of “Red Hawks.”
Putting aside the debate about racial offensiveness for a moment, let’s first look at aesthetics. Our Redmen logo was nicknamed “Smokin’ Joe,” and he was quite possibly the most hideous mascot in Wisconsin high school history. Smokin’ Joe was a riled-up savage waving a tomahawk, with one angry eye and a disproportionately large nose the size of a three-car garage. Twenty-nine years removed from high school, that’s not something I want to declare to the world that I’m proud of. Not that I’m part of the politically correct set, but sometimes change just makes sense.
At any rate, with the passage of time I thought this was now a non-issue. It certainly is for the current students. But some parents are still honked about losing Smokin’ Joe and his honker.
For those who think “Red Hawks” is for the birds, at least it’s better than Marquette University’s new moniker, the Golden Eagles. What’s unfortunate about that change is that the school probably could have kept their former name, the Warriors, had they replaced their mascot’s headdress and tomahawk with a Roman helmet and a sword. For example, UW-Whitewater kept “Warhawks” and simply changed their mascot from an Indian to a hawk.
Although other area schools have avoided mascot controversies, that doesn’t mean that their team names shouldn’t come under review. While the Milton Red Hawk mascot is big, muscle-bound and tough - a fierce bird designed to strike fear in the hearts of our opponents - nobody shakes in their boots when they see the Whitewater High
School Whippets and their cartoonish mascot of a meek little dog. If Whitewater wants to convey toughness, they should use the photo of the battle-scarred mutt on those child-scaring “Report Dogfighting” billboards. Or they could go the opposite direction, change the spelling to “Whip-Its” and have the cheerleaders wear Devo hats.
Now that a real live cougar was actually spotted in Rock County, the team names of both the Janesville Craig Cougars and Clinton Cougars seem to have new credibility. However, the term “cougar” is also slang for older women who go to bars to pick up younger men. Since it’s likely there are considerably more than one of those in Rock County, one wonders if the schools will change their mascot to a sleazily dressed 50-year-old woman with too much rouge.
Speaking of rouge, I’ve never quite been able to figure out the Edgerton “Crimson Tide.” I assume a “crimson tide” is supposed to be a big red wave of water. If you look it up, however, you’ll discover that it’s actually either a huge accumulation of harmful algae, or a vodka and juice cocktail. To me, however, the name conjures up a box of red detergent granules. The Crimson Tide – tough on stains, tough on opponents.
Regardless, I’d rather say my school name stood for clean laundry instead of an offensive caricature. It will be interesting to see if the current legislative bill has legs or not. If it actually does get signed into law, it might finally put the Indian mascot issue to rest in this state once and for all. Whether you agree with it or not, one has to think that there are much more important issues to waste time and effort worrying about.
Later this week, the Wisconsin State Legislature is scheduled to hold a hearing on a bill that would lead to the removal of Indian mascots at public schools. This isn’t the first time that statewide action has been considered.
On a related note, I was recently invited to join an Internet group called “Proud To Be A Milton Redman.” I wanted to write back that I’d rather join the group, “Proud To Have A Life and Have Moved On.”
I am
a 1980 graduate of Milton High School, when our team name was indeed the Redmen. If you lived in the north Rock County area a decade ago, you know the trouble and strife that was stirred up when the school board finally made the decision to retire the name and mascot in favor of “Red Hawks.”Putting aside the debate about racial offensiveness for a moment, let’s first look at aesthetics. Our Redmen logo was nicknamed “Smokin’ Joe,” and he was quite possibly the most hideous mascot in Wisconsin high school history. Smokin’ Joe was a riled-up savage waving a tomahawk, with one angry eye and a disproportionately large nose the size of a three-car garage. Twenty-nine years removed from high school, that’s not something I want to declare to the world that I’m proud of. Not that I’m part of the politically correct set, but sometimes change just makes sense.
At any rate, with the passage of time I thought this was now a non-issue. It certainly is for the current students. But some parents are still honked about losing Smokin’ Joe and his honker.
For those who think “Red Hawks” is for the birds, at least it’s better than Marquette University’s new moniker, the Golden Eagles. What’s unfortunate about that change is that the school probably could have kept their former name, the Warriors, had they replaced their mascot’s headdress and tomahawk with a Roman helmet and a sword. For example, UW-Whitewater kept “Warhawks” and simply changed their mascot from an Indian to a hawk.
Although other area schools have avoided mascot controversies, that doesn’t mean that their team names shouldn’t come under review. While the Milton Red Hawk mascot is big, muscle-bound and tough - a fierce bird designed to strike fear in the hearts of our opponents - nobody shakes in their boots when they see the Whitewater High
School Whippets and their cartoonish mascot of a meek little dog. If Whitewater wants to convey toughness, they should use the photo of the battle-scarred mutt on those child-scaring “Report Dogfighting” billboards. Or they could go the opposite direction, change the spelling to “Whip-Its” and have the cheerleaders wear Devo hats.Now that a real live cougar was actually spotted in Rock County, the team names of both the Janesville Craig Cougars and Clinton Cougars seem to have new credibility. However, the term “cougar” is also slang for older women who go to bars to pick up younger men. Since it’s likely there are considerably more than one of those in Rock County, one wonders if the schools will change their mascot to a sleazily dressed 50-year-old woman with too much rouge.
Speaking of rouge, I’ve never quite been able to figure out the Edgerton “Crimson Tide.” I assume a “crimson tide” is supposed to be a big red wave of water. If you look it up, however, you’ll discover that it’s actually either a huge accumulation of harmful algae, or a vodka and juice cocktail. To me, however, the name conjures up a box of red detergent granules. The Crimson Tide – tough on stains, tough on opponents.
Regardless, I’d rather say my school name stood for clean laundry instead of an offensive caricature. It will be interesting to see if the current legislative bill has legs or not. If it actually does get signed into law, it might finally put the Indian mascot issue to rest in this state once and for all. Whether you agree with it or not, one has to think that there are much more important issues to waste time and effort worrying about.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Face to Facebook
(From the Janesville Messenger, 3-1-09)
“Jim Lyke is writing his Messenger column.”
- Facebook entry, February 23, 2009, 9:30 pm
Thanks to the latest craze on the Wonderful World Wide Web, anyone who is a member of the web site Facebook now knows exactly what I was doing (or trying to do) at that particular moment in time. And why would I want to inform the world of that? Um...good question.
I became aware of Facebook mainly because my high school-aged daughter spends approximately 27 hours a day on the site. And if you had told me as recently as two months ago that I would be wasting about half of my own waking hours on it, I wouldn’t have believed you.
Facebook is a social-networking website that was launched five years ago by a student at Harvard University. In that relatively short period of time, it has grown into an Internet juggernaut with over 175 million users worldwide.
Initially, the site was only for Harvard students, and then it expanded to include other colleges, and eventually, high schoolers. Now, however, anyone 13 or older with a valid e-mail address can join.
Just recently, I was surprised when several otherwise normal adults started telling me how much they enjoyed Facebook and encouraged me to join. I finally decided to see what all of the fuss was about.
The first order of business on Facebook is to create a profile page, which consists of the usual personal information - where you work, what you like, relationship status, etc. Everyone’s Facebook page has a profile picture, which becomes your personal identifier. Since the only halfway decent photo I have of myself sits at the top of this column – and it’s getting old – I chose a picture of John Belushi smeared with mustard in the “Animal House” toga party scene. It’s a reasonable facsimile of my appearance circa 1980. Beyond your profile, you can post other photos and videos as well.
Once that’s done, the next thing you have to do is find “friends.” You’re nothing on Facebook without friends. You can search for people you know and send them “friend requests.” The site helps you find potential “friends” by suggesting people who were in your high school class, work for your company, or are friends with your friends. Once someone confirms you as a friend, you can write messages to each other, chat online, send them virtual gifts, or just choose to “poke” them. More on that later.
When you log on to Facebook, you are asked, “What are you doing right now?” You fill in the blank, which alerts all of your friends about your status update, and they can then make comments in response. So on February 23, all of my friends knew I was starting to write this column, to which Forward Janesville’s Dan Cunningham responded, “Me, too!” The best status update I have seen so far is the simple but truthful, “Laura is updating her Facebook status.”
This site contains an incredible amount of ways to waste time. Besides messaging your friends, there are games, quizzes, surveys, fan clubs, etc. And whatever you do on the site is posted for all of your friends to see. Personally, I wouldn’t want the world to know that I took an actual Facebook quiz called “How Good Are You In Bed?” Especially since everyone would see the score.
I still haven’t figured out the “poke” thing yet, either. You poke someone. They poke you. The site then tells you that you’ve been poked. You are then offered a virtual cigarette. OK, I made that last part up. But as if that isn’t enough, I’ll sometimes get a message that “Jane Doe Has Been Super Pokin’!” Whatever that means, it just doesn’t sound right.
What’s been most interesting is reconnecting with people I hadn’t seen or heard from in a while. One of my first friend requests was from a high school classmate I hadn’t seen since graduation day. Even so, I honestly thought that I would get bored with Facebook after a week. But it’s strangely addicting.
I think I’ve figured out one reason Facebook is so popular: it’s the ultimate voyeurism. I know what you’re doing every day! I know who all your friends are! I know who’s been poking you! Instead of Facebook, it should be called Openbook, because that’s what your life becomes.
Maybe it’s coincidence, but since I’ve become a Facebook user, it doesn’t seem like my kids are on the site as much as they used to be. Will Facebook be another thing that parents ruin for their kids? That the teens flee from as soon as the adults embrace it?
Hmm...I’ll have to post that thought on my page.
“Jim Lyke is writing his Messenger column.”
- Facebook entry, February 23, 2009, 9:30 pm
Thanks to the latest craze on the Wonderful World Wide Web, anyone who is a member of the web site Facebook now knows exactly what I was doing (or trying to do) at that particular moment in time. And why would I want to inform the world of that? Um...good question.
I became aware of Facebook mainly because my high school-aged daughter spends approximately 27 hours a day on the site. And if you had told me as recently as two months ago that I would be wasting about half of my own waking hours on it, I wouldn’t have believed you.
Facebook is a social-networking website that was launched five years ago by a student at Harvard University. In that relatively short period of time, it has grown into an Internet juggernaut with over 175 million users worldwide.
Initially, the site was only for Harvard students, and then it expanded to include other colleges, and eventually, high schoolers. Now, however, anyone 13 or older with a valid e-mail address can join.
Just recently, I was surprised when several otherwise normal adults started telling me how much they enjoyed Facebook and encouraged me to join. I finally decided to see what all of the fuss was about.
The first order of business on Facebook is to create a profile page, which consists of the usual personal information - where you work, what you like, relationship status, etc. Everyone’s Facebook page has a profile picture, which becomes your personal identifier. Since the only halfway decent photo I have of myself sits at the top of this column – and it’s getting old – I chose a picture of John Belushi smeared with mustard in the “Animal House” toga party scene. It’s a reasonable facsimile of my appearance circa 1980. Beyond your profile, you can post other photos and videos as well.
Once that’s done, the next thing you have to do is find “friends.” You’re nothing on Facebook without friends. You can search for people you know and send them “friend requests.” The site helps you find potential “friends” by suggesting people who were in your high school class, work for your company, or are friends with your friends. Once someone confirms you as a friend, you can write messages to each other, chat online, send them virtual gifts, or just choose to “poke” them. More on that later.
When you log on to Facebook, you are asked, “What are you doing right now?” You fill in the blank, which alerts all of your friends about your status update, and they can then make comments in response. So on February 23, all of my friends knew I was starting to write this column, to which Forward Janesville’s Dan Cunningham responded, “Me, too!” The best status update I have seen so far is the simple but truthful, “Laura is updating her Facebook status.”
This site contains an incredible amount of ways to waste time. Besides messaging your friends, there are games, quizzes, surveys, fan clubs, etc. And whatever you do on the site is posted for all of your friends to see. Personally, I wouldn’t want the world to know that I took an actual Facebook quiz called “How Good Are You In Bed?” Especially since everyone would see the score.
I still haven’t figured out the “poke” thing yet, either. You poke someone. They poke you. The site then tells you that you’ve been poked. You are then offered a virtual cigarette. OK, I made that last part up. But as if that isn’t enough, I’ll sometimes get a message that “Jane Doe Has Been Super Pokin’!” Whatever that means, it just doesn’t sound right.
What’s been most interesting is reconnecting with people I hadn’t seen or heard from in a while. One of my first friend requests was from a high school classmate I hadn’t seen since graduation day. Even so, I honestly thought that I would get bored with Facebook after a week. But it’s strangely addicting.
I think I’ve figured out one reason Facebook is so popular: it’s the ultimate voyeurism. I know what you’re doing every day! I know who all your friends are! I know who’s been poking you! Instead of Facebook, it should be called Openbook, because that’s what your life becomes.
Maybe it’s coincidence, but since I’ve become a Facebook user, it doesn’t seem like my kids are on the site as much as they used to be. Will Facebook be another thing that parents ruin for their kids? That the teens flee from as soon as the adults embrace it?
Hmm...I’ll have to post that thought on my page.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Two For The Show (Choir)
(From the Janesville Messenger, 2-15-09)
January means one thing in the households of many high schoolers.
It’s Show Choir Season.
To the students, it means most Saturdays are spent on the bus to a Midwest high school to perform a show that has been carefully, meticulously choreographed and rehearsed. To the parents, it means most Saturdays are spent driving to said high schools to watch the performance.
I am always amazed when I see the talent the high schoolers demonstrate in these shows. It’s a lot of hard work; I know because I’ve been in musical theater and what these kids do is much more difficult than anything I’ve personally witnessed. The show is about 20 minutes of choral singing, choreographed dance movements, emotive facial expressions and rapid costume changes. I don’t know how these young people do it; when I was that age, I was so dorky and uncoordinated I could barely walk without my oversized feet tripping me up.
Show choir is a relatively recent phenomenon. When I was at Milton High School in the late 1970’s, our first show choir (then called “swing choir”) was formed under the direction of music teacher Bill Schrank. Over 30 years later, Mr. Schrank is still at MHS directing the show choir, and my daughter Corinne now plays trombone in the show choir band.
Every year, I’m amazed at what old hard rock or heavy metal songs make their way into the show choir world. For example, Van Halen’s “Panama” is part of the Janesville Craig Spotlighters show this year. Imagine Eddie Van Halen and David Lee Roth in 1984, laying this track down in a haze-filled studio and thinking to themselves, “I hope someday this is sung by a show choir.” Though if Van Halen songs are ripe for show choirs now, I’m still guessing that “Hot For Teacher” won’t make the cut.
One of the shows I caught recently was at Monona Grove High School. I only watched one performance other than Milton’s, and while the high school from western Wisconsin that I witnessed had extremely talented kids, its program selections left something to be desired. Actually, from an unintentional humor standpoint, I hit the jackpot. In a classic case of “What Were They Thinking???,” this particular high school pulled off the Show Choir Trifecta of Wretchedness.
1) Their opening song was "MacArthur Park.” As you may know, “MacArthur Park” is often cited as the worst song of the last 50 years, particularly in its overdramatic 1968 Richard Harris version. The lyrical metaphor that gets everyone laughing is the immortal, “Someone left the cake out in the rain/And I don’t think that I can take it/’Cause it took so long to bake it/And I’ll never have that recipe agaaaaaaain!” It was amazingly surreal to see these kids dramatically singing this song with serious looks on their faces. Frankly, teaching this song to teenagers should be considered felony child abuse.
2) They did a stripper number. Well, maybe not a stripper number per se, but a routine where all the guys are ogling a female dancer using suggestive moves that were...not unlike those of a stripper. In fact, the audience member next to me said, "All she needs is a pole.” I felt like I was watching the talent show competition from "Little Miss Sunshine," except with a postpubescent girl.
3) The guy's costumes for the final numbers were hip-hop style - complete with baseball caps cocked to the side and flashing those funky hand motions first popularized by Run-DMC and imitated by every rapper since. Keep in mind that this was a predominantly white teenage show choir from western Wisconsin. If you want to get urban teenagers to change their style of dress, show them this routine. They will run screaming from the auditorium and drive to the nearest K-Mart for a makeover, only to emerge from the store looking like Urkel from “Family Matters.”
Fortunately, shows like that are the exception, not the rule. Although I’m hardly unbiased, I have to say that I think both Milton’s and Craig’s programs are exceptionally strong this year. If you enjoy watching talented young people perform, you would enjoy their shows.
Meanwhile, I’ll continue to work on the walking thing.
January means one thing in the households of many high schoolers.
It’s Show Choir Season.
To the students, it means most Saturdays are spent on the bus to a Midwest high school to perform a show that has been carefully, meticulously choreographed and rehearsed. To the parents, it means most Saturdays are spent driving to said high schools to watch the performance.
I am always amazed when I see the talent the high schoolers demonstrate in these shows. It’s a lot of hard work; I know because I’ve been in musical theater and what these kids do is much more difficult than anything I’ve personally witnessed. The show is about 20 minutes of choral singing, choreographed dance movements, emotive facial expressions and rapid costume changes. I don’t know how these young people do it; when I was that age, I was so dorky and uncoordinated I could barely walk without my oversized feet tripping me up.
Show choir is a relatively recent phenomenon. When I was at Milton High School in the late 1970’s, our first show choir (then called “swing choir”) was formed under the direction of music teacher Bill Schrank. Over 30 years later, Mr. Schrank is still at MHS directing the show choir, and my daughter Corinne now plays trombone in the show choir band.
Every year, I’m amazed at what old hard rock or heavy metal songs make their way into the show choir world. For example, Van Halen’s “Panama” is part of the Janesville Craig Spotlighters show this year. Imagine Eddie Van Halen and David Lee Roth in 1984, laying this track down in a haze-filled studio and thinking to themselves, “I hope someday this is sung by a show choir.” Though if Van Halen songs are ripe for show choirs now, I’m still guessing that “Hot For Teacher” won’t make the cut.
One of the shows I caught recently was at Monona Grove High School. I only watched one performance other than Milton’s, and while the high school from western Wisconsin that I witnessed had extremely talented kids, its program selections left something to be desired. Actually, from an unintentional humor standpoint, I hit the jackpot. In a classic case of “What Were They Thinking???,” this particular high school pulled off the Show Choir Trifecta of Wretchedness.
1) Their opening song was "MacArthur Park.” As you may know, “MacArthur Park” is often cited as the worst song of the last 50 years, particularly in its overdramatic 1968 Richard Harris version. The lyrical metaphor that gets everyone laughing is the immortal, “Someone left the cake out in the rain/And I don’t think that I can take it/’Cause it took so long to bake it/And I’ll never have that recipe agaaaaaaain!” It was amazingly surreal to see these kids dramatically singing this song with serious looks on their faces. Frankly, teaching this song to teenagers should be considered felony child abuse.
2) They did a stripper number. Well, maybe not a stripper number per se, but a routine where all the guys are ogling a female dancer using suggestive moves that were...not unlike those of a stripper. In fact, the audience member next to me said, "All she needs is a pole.” I felt like I was watching the talent show competition from "Little Miss Sunshine," except with a postpubescent girl.
3) The guy's costumes for the final numbers were hip-hop style - complete with baseball caps cocked to the side and flashing those funky hand motions first popularized by Run-DMC and imitated by every rapper since. Keep in mind that this was a predominantly white teenage show choir from western Wisconsin. If you want to get urban teenagers to change their style of dress, show them this routine. They will run screaming from the auditorium and drive to the nearest K-Mart for a makeover, only to emerge from the store looking like Urkel from “Family Matters.”
Fortunately, shows like that are the exception, not the rule. Although I’m hardly unbiased, I have to say that I think both Milton’s and Craig’s programs are exceptionally strong this year. If you enjoy watching talented young people perform, you would enjoy their shows.
Meanwhile, I’ll continue to work on the walking thing.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
How To Pick A Super Bowl Favorite
(From the Janesville Messenger, 2-1-09)
Super Bowl weekend is upon us. And among all the hype about the parties, this year’s commercials or the halftime Bruce Springsteen show, yes, there is a football game stuck in there, too.
Naturally, you want to pick a team to cheer for in the big game, but neither the AFC champion Pittsburgh Steelers nor the NFC champion Arizona Cardinals really evoke any feelings one way or the other. So how to choose?
To help in this life-or-death decision, I’ve identified several factors and given each equal weight in determining the verdict. My final conclusion will be based on my personal analysis; your mileage may vary.
HISTORY FACTOR: The Steelers have had a great deal of success over the last 35 years, winning five Super Bowls, including a victory three years ago over the Seattle Seahawks.
The oldest NFL team, the nomadic Cardinals (Chicago to St. Louis to Phoenix) have been simply awful for most of their history. Their sole championship was in 1947. To put that in perspective, that was 11 presidents ago (Harry Truman), when the NFL championship wasn’t even televised yet. Advantage: Cardinals.
OWNERSHIP FACTOR: Both teams have had family ownership since the 1930’s, the Rooneys in Pittsburgh and the Bidwills with the Cardinals.
In 1988, Bill Bidwill gave St. Louis the old “give me a new stadium or I’ll leave” routine and he left. I can’t stand that. Advantage: Steelers.
UNIFORM FACTOR: Except for the rounded numbers they adopted about a decade ago, the Steelers’ uniforms are the same tough-looking black-and-gold they have worn for years, right down to the Steel logo that has always resided on only one side of their helmets.
Meanwhile, the Cardinals are trying to make the bird on their helmet look fierce. Advantage: Steelers.
MASCOT FACTOR: The Cardinals’ mascot is Big Red, and he is indeed a big red cardinal. The Steelers’ mascot is Steely McBeam, an unshaven steel worker complete with construction helmet, checked work shirt, and bib overalls. In a 2007 Steelers fan poll, Steely’s approval rating was a paltry 10%. Yes, his own fans hate him. Advantage: Cardinals.
HAIR FACTOR: You see a lot of hair flying out the back of the helmets belonging to Arizona’s Larry Fitzgerald and Pittsburgh’s Troy Polamalu. When the helmets are off, though, Polamalu’s mop could conquer the world. Or at least smother it. Advantage: Steelers.
FACIAL FRACTURE FACTOR: Both teams have a star player that suffered major multiple facial fractures. Pittsburgh quarterback Ben Roethlisberger’s came as the result of a motorcycle accident in 2006. Arizona’s Anquan Boldin got his from a vicious helmet-to-helmet hit during a game in September. Despite needing 7 plates and over 40 screws to fix the fractures, Boldin only missed two games and continued to play at a high level. That’s guts. Advantage: Cardinals.
NO ‘I’ IN TEAM FACTOR: As the rest of his team was celebrating their NFC championship two weeks ago, Boldin was arguing with his coach over playing time and skipping the post-game revelry. Advantage: Steelers.
RODNEY DANGERFIELD FACTOR: It’s hard to find an NFL superstar who has gotten less respect over the years than Kurt Warner. After being cut by the Packers as a rookie, no other NFL team came calling. So Warner stocked groceries and played in the Arena League for a few years before finally getting an opportunity with the St. Louis Rams. All he did was lead the team to two Super Bowls while picking up two Most Valuable Player awards. However, his play declined and the Rams gave up on him a mere two years after the second Super Bowl. The New York Giants dumped him after one season. He then joined the Cardinals, where he was destined to be the backup. But a funny thing happened on the way to the scrap heap. Warner found his zone and played himself back into a starting job. Warner has been spectacular this year, and he’s a nice guy to boot. Advantage: Cardinals.
SWEET REVENGE FACTOR: Cardinals head coach Ken Whisenhunt was a Pittsburgh assistant until 2006. He departed for Arizona after the Steelers passed him over for their head coaching job. Advantage: Cardinals.
CONFERENCE FACTOR: Let’s face it – this is NFC country. Wisconsin is right in the middle of the Black-and-Blue Division, the NFC North. It feels right to back the Packers’ conference in the Super Bowl – except when the Bears, Vikings or Cowboys are involved. Or Terrell Owens. Advantage: Cardinals.
FANTASY FOOTBALL FACTOR: Only one player from either team was on my fantasy league team - Arizona’s Larry Fitzgerald, and he carried me to my first-ever league championship. Advantage: Cardinals.
UNDERDOG FACTOR: As of this writing, the Steelers are a 7-point favorite. Who doesn’t love an underdog? Advantage: Cardinals.
So there it is – I’m a Cardinals fan for a day. If only it were this easy to decide who to vote for on Election Day.
Super Bowl weekend is upon us. And among all the hype about the parties, this year’s commercials or the halftime Bruce Springsteen show, yes, there is a football game stuck in there, too.
Naturally, you want to pick a team to cheer for in the big game, but neither the AFC champion Pittsburgh Steelers nor the NFC champion Arizona Cardinals really evoke any feelings one way or the other. So how to choose?
To help in this life-or-death decision, I’ve identified several factors and given each equal weight in determining the verdict. My final conclusion will be based on my personal analysis; your mileage may vary.
HISTORY FACTOR: The Steelers have had a great deal of success over the last 35 years, winning five Super Bowls, including a victory three years ago over the Seattle Seahawks.
The oldest NFL team, the nomadic Cardinals (Chicago to St. Louis to Phoenix) have been simply awful for most of their history. Their sole championship was in 1947. To put that in perspective, that was 11 presidents ago (Harry Truman), when the NFL championship wasn’t even televised yet. Advantage: Cardinals.
OWNERSHIP FACTOR: Both teams have had family ownership since the 1930’s, the Rooneys in Pittsburgh and the Bidwills with the Cardinals.
In 1988, Bill Bidwill gave St. Louis the old “give me a new stadium or I’ll leave” routine and he left. I can’t stand that. Advantage: Steelers.
UNIFORM FACTOR: Except for the rounded numbers they adopted about a decade ago, the Steelers’ uniforms are the same tough-looking black-and-gold they have worn for years, right down to the Steel logo that has always resided on only one side of their helmets.
Meanwhile, the Cardinals are trying to make the bird on their helmet look fierce. Advantage: Steelers.
MASCOT FACTOR: The Cardinals’ mascot is Big Red, and he is indeed a big red cardinal. The Steelers’ mascot is Steely McBeam, an unshaven steel worker complete with construction helmet, checked work shirt, and bib overalls. In a 2007 Steelers fan poll, Steely’s approval rating was a paltry 10%. Yes, his own fans hate him. Advantage: Cardinals.
HAIR FACTOR: You see a lot of hair flying out the back of the helmets belonging to Arizona’s Larry Fitzgerald and Pittsburgh’s Troy Polamalu. When the helmets are off, though, Polamalu’s mop could conquer the world. Or at least smother it. Advantage: Steelers.
FACIAL FRACTURE FACTOR: Both teams have a star player that suffered major multiple facial fractures. Pittsburgh quarterback Ben Roethlisberger’s came as the result of a motorcycle accident in 2006. Arizona’s Anquan Boldin got his from a vicious helmet-to-helmet hit during a game in September. Despite needing 7 plates and over 40 screws to fix the fractures, Boldin only missed two games and continued to play at a high level. That’s guts. Advantage: Cardinals.
NO ‘I’ IN TEAM FACTOR: As the rest of his team was celebrating their NFC championship two weeks ago, Boldin was arguing with his coach over playing time and skipping the post-game revelry. Advantage: Steelers.
RODNEY DANGERFIELD FACTOR: It’s hard to find an NFL superstar who has gotten less respect over the years than Kurt Warner. After being cut by the Packers as a rookie, no other NFL team came calling. So Warner stocked groceries and played in the Arena League for a few years before finally getting an opportunity with the St. Louis Rams. All he did was lead the team to two Super Bowls while picking up two Most Valuable Player awards. However, his play declined and the Rams gave up on him a mere two years after the second Super Bowl. The New York Giants dumped him after one season. He then joined the Cardinals, where he was destined to be the backup. But a funny thing happened on the way to the scrap heap. Warner found his zone and played himself back into a starting job. Warner has been spectacular this year, and he’s a nice guy to boot. Advantage: Cardinals.
SWEET REVENGE FACTOR: Cardinals head coach Ken Whisenhunt was a Pittsburgh assistant until 2006. He departed for Arizona after the Steelers passed him over for their head coaching job. Advantage: Cardinals.
CONFERENCE FACTOR: Let’s face it – this is NFC country. Wisconsin is right in the middle of the Black-and-Blue Division, the NFC North. It feels right to back the Packers’ conference in the Super Bowl – except when the Bears, Vikings or Cowboys are involved. Or Terrell Owens. Advantage: Cardinals.
FANTASY FOOTBALL FACTOR: Only one player from either team was on my fantasy league team - Arizona’s Larry Fitzgerald, and he carried me to my first-ever league championship. Advantage: Cardinals.
UNDERDOG FACTOR: As of this writing, the Steelers are a 7-point favorite. Who doesn’t love an underdog? Advantage: Cardinals.
So there it is – I’m a Cardinals fan for a day. If only it were this easy to decide who to vote for on Election Day.
Shoveling The Sidewalk to Nowhere
(From the Milton Courier, 1-29-09)
Editor, the Courier:
As many Milton residents know, I am the proud owner of the infamous “Sidewalk to Nowhere,” a patch of concrete that exists only in front of my house on Columbus Street.
The sidewalk earned its name because it has no connection on either end, not even a clear path on which to continue your stroll. If you continue northward and fight your way through the lilac bush, you’ll find a sloped lawn where navigation on foot is impossible. To the south, you’ll run straight into a fence and a row of hedges.
Its 40 feet of uselessness was magnified several years ago when the city installed a more complete sidewalk on the opposite side of our street along College Green Park.
Because of my sidewalk’s lack of purpose, and mindful of the city’s policy not to enforce the shoveling ordinance except in the case of a complaint, I haven’t bothered to shovel it over the 17 winters I have spent here. Well, except once, several years ago, when someone complained.
But now, I will have to do it a second time, because again, the city received a complaint.
Why would someone do this, especially in a year when the snow has been plentiful? I can only think of three reasons:
1) I have an enemy.
2) I have a friend that is capable of playing a cruel practical joke.
3) I am the victim of someone who doesn’t like shoveling his or her sidewalk and/or is a firm believer in a black-and-white “what’s fair for one is fair for another” policy, even in cases where common sense trumps a one-size-fits-all city ordinance.
I can’t blame the city for enforcing this, because making exceptions to an ordinance is bad precedent. And I suppose I set myself up for this by drawing attention to the sidewalk in a letter to the editor a few years ago.
But a funny thing happened after that letter to the editor appeared. I was absolutely amazed by how many people drove by the sidewalk just to look at it. Some even came over and walked on it just to say that they had. The Sidewalk to Nowhere became a tourist attraction.
And maybe that is the point of the person who called the city to complain. By keeping the sidewalk covered with snow all winter, I am depriving my community of the opportunity to view a valuable asset, a landmark of interest to visitors and residents alike. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I am certain that was the intent of the complainant.
So thank you, fellow citizen. Thank you for opening my eyes to the horrible disservice I was doing to Milton. I have learned my lesson and vow to do a better job of making my tourist attraction accessible to all, at least until December 2009.
Editor, the Courier:
As many Milton residents know, I am the proud owner of the infamous “Sidewalk to Nowhere,” a patch of concrete that exists only in front of my house on Columbus Street.
The sidewalk earned its name because it has no connection on either end, not even a clear path on which to continue your stroll. If you continue northward and fight your way through the lilac bush, you’ll find a sloped lawn where navigation on foot is impossible. To the south, you’ll run straight into a fence and a row of hedges.
Its 40 feet of uselessness was magnified several years ago when the city installed a more complete sidewalk on the opposite side of our street along College Green Park.
Because of my sidewalk’s lack of purpose, and mindful of the city’s policy not to enforce the shoveling ordinance except in the case of a complaint, I haven’t bothered to shovel it over the 17 winters I have spent here. Well, except once, several years ago, when someone complained.
But now, I will have to do it a second time, because again, the city received a complaint.
Why would someone do this, especially in a year when the snow has been plentiful? I can only think of three reasons:
1) I have an enemy.
2) I have a friend that is capable of playing a cruel practical joke.
3) I am the victim of someone who doesn’t like shoveling his or her sidewalk and/or is a firm believer in a black-and-white “what’s fair for one is fair for another” policy, even in cases where common sense trumps a one-size-fits-all city ordinance.
I can’t blame the city for enforcing this, because making exceptions to an ordinance is bad precedent. And I suppose I set myself up for this by drawing attention to the sidewalk in a letter to the editor a few years ago.
But a funny thing happened after that letter to the editor appeared. I was absolutely amazed by how many people drove by the sidewalk just to look at it. Some even came over and walked on it just to say that they had. The Sidewalk to Nowhere became a tourist attraction.
And maybe that is the point of the person who called the city to complain. By keeping the sidewalk covered with snow all winter, I am depriving my community of the opportunity to view a valuable asset, a landmark of interest to visitors and residents alike. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I am certain that was the intent of the complainant.
So thank you, fellow citizen. Thank you for opening my eyes to the horrible disservice I was doing to Milton. I have learned my lesson and vow to do a better job of making my tourist attraction accessible to all, at least until December 2009.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Through The Fire and the Flames, We Carry On
(From the Janesville Messenger, 1-18-09)
As music stores go, Rockhaus Guitars and Drums in Milwaukee was never the biggest or the fanciest.
But for a musician or a music lover, it was the most fascinating and certainly, the most real.
I use the term “was” because in the early morning hours of Sunday, January 11, Rockhaus was transformed from Milwaukee’s coolest music store into a cordoned-off disaster area. An electrical fire turned Rockhaus into a near-total loss. Between fire, smoke and water damage, over $100,000 of merchandise and equipment were destroyed.
As tragic as this news would be to any Milwaukee-area music lover, it’s 100 times worse for our family because the store owner is my brother-in-law, Rusty Olson.
Besides owning Rockhaus, Rusty plays drums for several Milwaukee bands, including the Peder Hedman Quartet. But his most notable drum seat is with Couch Flambeau, a legendary local trio that has lost none of its edge, wit, energy or musicianship after 27 years of performing. If you went to college in Madison or Milwaukee during the 1980’s, it’s likely that at some point, you heard their music.
But even if I didn’t know Rusty from Adam, I would have loved his store. When you walked into Rockhaus, there were no glitzy displays, just stuff - lots of stuff. Stacks of amplifiers. Truckloads of drums. CDs from area bands. Guitars of every size, shape, color and variety hanging on the wall, even one made of aluminum. Odd, vintage and collectible instruments like a theremin, the electronic gadget most famous for its appearance in old science fiction movies and the Beach Boys’ classic “Good Vibrations.” You could spend hours just looking over the various pop culture items Rusty had on the walls or behind the counter.
Despite being literally a corner shop, musicians of local, national and even international renown have walked through Rockhaus’ doors.
Times have been tough lately for small businesses, and Rockhaus was no exception. Repairs and Internet sales were instrumental in helping the store weather the struggles of the current economy.
But all that changed in the middle of the night last week, when a falling ceiling tile tripped the burglar alarm at the store, and Rusty arrived minutes later to find the store in flames.
For three days, Rusty has been able to look at, but not touch, what’s left of his business. He sees a $2,000 guitar sitting in a puddle of water, but cannot rescue it from further damage. Rusty is not allowed to move anything until inspectors from his and his landlord's insurance companies examine the wall where the fire started.
He refers to the three days following the fire as a “strange parade of new faces and business cards.” Even though the waiting is maddening, he says that “it has given me the opportunity to look things over and begin to get a game plan together, so it has been helpful.”
The game plan is to rebuild.
Anyone in Rusty’s shoes would have every right to be angry or depressed. And I’m sure he has already experienced both of those feelings. But he remains optimistic.
“There are some contractors ready to go, dumpsters set for delivery and things are falling into place day by day,” he said. “The landlord and (I) are both wanting very much to get things back to normal life as soon as we can. Everybody is playing nice and being productive. What more can you ask for, really?”
And that reinforces a lesson I learned when an inattentive driver totaled the coolest car I ever owned last year. Things can be replaced, but people can’t. No one was hurt in the Rockhaus blaze, and for that, we can be thankful. Rockhaus may be gone, but like a phoenix, it will rise from the ashes.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
When Norm Was The Norm
(From the Janesville Messenger, 1-4-09)
My daughter Corinne is going to Boston next spring with her high school band. When she received her itinerary, one of the items listed was “Dinner at Cheers.”
“What is ‘Cheers’?” she asked.
Oh, my.
I looked it up and discovered that the final episode of “Cheers” aired almost 16 years ago (16 years ago!) when my daughter was a year old. No wonder she knew nothing of Sam, Diane, Woody, Norm and Cliff. Finding out that Frasier was on a show before “Frasier” was like finding out that John Lennon was in a band before he wrote “Imagine.”
Besides making me feel old, it reminded me of how television used to be the Great Uniter. At the time “Cheers” was on the air, practically everyone I knew watched it. And that’s how it was with a lot of shows.
If you needed a topic to start a conversation, all you had to do was ask, “Did you see ‘Saturday Night Live’ last weekend?” From “M*A*S*H” to “Happy Days” to “The Cosby Show,” there were dozens of shows that provided a common bond for discussion at school or at the office – “watercooler shows,” to borrow a phrase from “Seinfeld.”
Of course, those were the days when you only had three network programs to choose from. With the advent of cable television and its explosion of networks, viewership has greatly fragmented. Then came home video, followed by the Internet and video games, and now it’s hard to find two televisions on the same street tuned to the same thing (except on Packer Sundays).
My personal television viewing habits have changed radically over the last decade or so. Where I once watched as much TV as anyone, now I rarely view a program that doesn’t include a football. The only two current shows that seem to have any kind of “watercooler” status are “American Idol” and “Dancing With the Stars” – and I have never watched an episode of either. That’s not an exaggeration; I mean never, as in “not once.”
Other popular shows I have never seen: “The Sopranos,” any incarnation of “CSI,” “E.R.,” “Grey’s Anatomy,” “Desperate Housewives,” “Sex and the City.” The list would fill a few pages.
Only once did I watch a “Seinfeld” episode in first run. I saw “Friends” once. I saw part of one episode of the first “Survivor” series but after watching the contestants eat a rat, I never returned.
That doesn’t mean I am now some sort of snobby TV hater or Luddite. There are, in fact, a few series I really like, including “The Office,” “Lost,” “Psych” and “Monk.” However, I watch 99% of their episodes not in their scheduled network slot, but on DVDs checked out from the public library or on the TV networks’ web sites.
On the rare occasion where I do watch a show on network TV, the commercial interruptions drive me nuts. We caught one of my daughter’s favorite movies, “Miracle,” on ABC recently, and sitting through the long breaks was torturous, particularly when you’re no longer used to doing that.
About the only universally shared TV experience left is the Super Bowl, a show where, ironically, the commercials are part of the entertainment. I’ve always imagined that the only people not watching the Super Bowl are 80-year-old ladies sitting quietly at home tuned to Lawrence Welk or American Movie Classics (sorry, Mom). But amazingly enough, each of the past two years, I have had to miss the big game. It completely pained me that last year, while one of the greatest games in the history of the Super Bowl was playing out, I was driving back from central Iowa in a snowstorm, forced to search the AM radio dial for the game. And to make matters worse, when my wife took the wheel for the last part of the trip, I actually fell asleep and missed the Giants’ winning touchdown drive. You know you’re getting old when the formula “Passenger Seat + Darkness = ZZZ” automatically applies to you.
This year, however, I should be able to watch the Super Bowl again, and as long as the Minnesota Vikings aren’t playing, it will be a good thing. Maybe I’ll even go to a Super Bowl party.
Because sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name.
And they're always glad you came...
My daughter Corinne is going to Boston next spring with her high school band. When she received her itinerary, one of the items listed was “Dinner at Cheers.”
“What is ‘Cheers’?” she asked.
Oh, my.
I looked it up and discovered that the final episode of “Cheers” aired almost 16 years ago (16 years ago!) when my daughter was a year old. No wonder she knew nothing of Sam, Diane, Woody, Norm and Cliff. Finding out that Frasier was on a show before “Frasier” was like finding out that John Lennon was in a band before he wrote “Imagine.”
Besides making me feel old, it reminded me of how television used to be the Great Uniter. At the time “Cheers” was on the air, practically everyone I knew watched it. And that’s how it was with a lot of shows.
If you needed a topic to start a conversation, all you had to do was ask, “Did you see ‘Saturday Night Live’ last weekend?” From “M*A*S*H” to “Happy Days” to “The Cosby Show,” there were dozens of shows that provided a common bond for discussion at school or at the office – “watercooler shows,” to borrow a phrase from “Seinfeld.”
Of course, those were the days when you only had three network programs to choose from. With the advent of cable television and its explosion of networks, viewership has greatly fragmented. Then came home video, followed by the Internet and video games, and now it’s hard to find two televisions on the same street tuned to the same thing (except on Packer Sundays).
My personal television viewing habits have changed radically over the last decade or so. Where I once watched as much TV as anyone, now I rarely view a program that doesn’t include a football. The only two current shows that seem to have any kind of “watercooler” status are “American Idol” and “Dancing With the Stars” – and I have never watched an episode of either. That’s not an exaggeration; I mean never, as in “not once.”
Other popular shows I have never seen: “The Sopranos,” any incarnation of “CSI,” “E.R.,” “Grey’s Anatomy,” “Desperate Housewives,” “Sex and the City.” The list would fill a few pages.
Only once did I watch a “Seinfeld” episode in first run. I saw “Friends” once. I saw part of one episode of the first “Survivor” series but after watching the contestants eat a rat, I never returned.
That doesn’t mean I am now some sort of snobby TV hater or Luddite. There are, in fact, a few series I really like, including “The Office,” “Lost,” “Psych” and “Monk.” However, I watch 99% of their episodes not in their scheduled network slot, but on DVDs checked out from the public library or on the TV networks’ web sites.
On the rare occasion where I do watch a show on network TV, the commercial interruptions drive me nuts. We caught one of my daughter’s favorite movies, “Miracle,” on ABC recently, and sitting through the long breaks was torturous, particularly when you’re no longer used to doing that.
About the only universally shared TV experience left is the Super Bowl, a show where, ironically, the commercials are part of the entertainment. I’ve always imagined that the only people not watching the Super Bowl are 80-year-old ladies sitting quietly at home tuned to Lawrence Welk or American Movie Classics (sorry, Mom). But amazingly enough, each of the past two years, I have had to miss the big game. It completely pained me that last year, while one of the greatest games in the history of the Super Bowl was playing out, I was driving back from central Iowa in a snowstorm, forced to search the AM radio dial for the game. And to make matters worse, when my wife took the wheel for the last part of the trip, I actually fell asleep and missed the Giants’ winning touchdown drive. You know you’re getting old when the formula “Passenger Seat + Darkness = ZZZ” automatically applies to you.
This year, however, I should be able to watch the Super Bowl again, and as long as the Minnesota Vikings aren’t playing, it will be a good thing. Maybe I’ll even go to a Super Bowl party.
Because sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name.
And they're always glad you came...
A Wonderful "Wonderful Life"
(From the Janesville Messenger, 12-21-08)
Another year, another Christmas radio play.
What started as a random idea – thanks to an infamous brainstorming session with former JPAC director Laurel Canan - is now close to becoming classified as a local tradition.
In 2007, about 300 people braved 4 inches of snow to witness Charles Dickens’ classic story “A Christmas Carol” come to life on the stage of the Janesville Performing Arts Center, and hundreds more heard it broadcast live on WCLO. This year, after another nasty winter storm forced a postponement, about 350 showed up on December 10 to watch our group – now known as “The JPAC Radio Players” – perform “It’s A Wonderful Life.”
When WCLO agreed to broadcast the play last year and this whole idea began taking shape, I had no idea how things would evolve. I viewed it as a small, fun event that wouldn’t take a lot of time. I didn’t know how wrong I would be.
Since I know a lot of people in the local acting community, I had some good ideas about who would be right for certain roles. I knew, for example, the incredibly gifted Michael Chase would make a perfect Scrooge. Once I started asking people to be a part of the show, however, word spread, and before I knew it, I was being bombarded with phone calls by people wanting to take part.
By the time Mike Casey, a veteran of the local stage and “Christmas Carol” junkie, called to ask about a role, I had filled all the speaking parts. When I offered the sole responsibility I had left - creating the sound effects - Mike dove into it. What originally seemed like a consolation job led to Mike becoming the star of the stage show. Armed with books describing how certain sounds were produced during the days of radio drama, Mike was determined to do the sound effects the right way, live and unaided by taped noises. The audience was captivated.
I was also fortunate to enlist the help of Sarah Lima, a teacher and accomplished musician, to be our accompanist. She came up with the musical ideas, making my job easy and proving once again that it pays to surround yourself with talented people.
Celebrating in the lobby after last year’s show was complete, the common question was, “What are we going to do next year?” I already had the answer. I had researched “It’s A Wonderful Life” and knew that radio scripts existed.
The original radio script I read aired in 1947 with Jimmy Stewart, Donna Reed and other original actors from the popular movie version. While I liked the idea of doing that particular script, it was only 55 minutes long and greatly abridged from the movie version, which runs over 2 hours. I felt that much of our audience would be very familiar with the film and would be disappointed that certain scenes were left out. So I searched out another version and found one that was supposed to run about 90 minutes and was much more faithful to the movie.
After last year’s play, I had scores of people come to me and ask how they could be a part of the next performance. I decided that this year, I was going to need to do auditions.
I did, however, pre-cast two of the lead roles. I’ve debated whether that was the right thing to do, but as I read the script, every time I came to one of George Bailey’s lines, I could hear the voice of Dave Bitter, who had played Bob Cratchit in “Christmas Carol.” I decided to offer him the part and get it on his schedule before one of his many other acting opportunities came calling. Ditto for Michael Chase, who not only handled the villainous Mr. Potter, but ended up taking on George’s brother Harry and the Italian restauranteur Mr. Martini. In the final scene, in fact, Harry and Martini talk to each other, which had to be amusing for the audience to watch.
In a marathon evening at JPAC, Laurel Canan and I auditioned nearly 60 people for the 12 roles I had left. The decision-making process was gut-wrenching. There were a number of people that could have done a fine job but I simply couldn’t fit them in. In several cases, there were two or three people that read the same role really well, and it became a matter of how to break the tie. As it was, I ended up casting three more people than I intended.
Thankfully, not all of the choices were difficult. J. Peter Shaw of Evansville had barely uttered a full sentence when I knew he was the perfect choice to play Clarence, the angel that earns his wings by helping George. I glanced over at Laurel and the look on her face confirmed that she was thinking the same thing. WCLO radio personality Rose Stricker, who wasn’t even on our radar prior to auditions, came in and turned out to be an ideal choice as George’s wife Mary.
Mike Casey and Sarah Lima returned in their respective roles, guaranteeing that sound effects and music would again be top-notch. In fact, the sound effects evolved to the point that we needed three people dedicated to performing them – including Laurel herself, who also had a one-line cameo.
Once we got deeper into rehearsals, I realized that the show was running long. I had to cut about 15 minutes out of the script to get us to my goal of 90 minutes.
Until the night of the broadcast, we never performed the complete show start to finish. We intended to have one final rehearsal where we ran it straight through but thanks to poor winter road conditions, it never happened. So we were, in fact, winging it the night of the show.
If you weren’t there in person or heard the performance live on WCLO, you still have the opportunity. The show will be rebroadcast on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day – check wclo.com for air times. A recording of the show is also posted on the WCLO web site; you can find it by typing “wclo.com/podcasts/wclo-special-broadcasts/”.
When “It’s A Wonderful Life” was chosen a year ago, no one had a clue that bank failures and mass job losses would be a reality in America 2008. While the appeal of this story is timeless, it takes on special meaning this year because of the circumstances this country currently faces.
I hope that this holiday season, whatever your situation may be, that like George Bailey we take time to reflect on the positive effect our lives have had – or can have - on others.
Another year, another Christmas radio play.
What started as a random idea – thanks to an infamous brainstorming session with former JPAC director Laurel Canan - is now close to becoming classified as a local tradition.
In 2007, about 300 people braved 4 inches of snow to witness Charles Dickens’ classic story “A Christmas Carol” come to life on the stage of the Janesville Performing Arts Center, and hundreds more heard it broadcast live on WCLO. This year, after another nasty winter storm forced a postponement, about 350 showed up on December 10 to watch our group – now known as “The JPAC Radio Players” – perform “It’s A Wonderful Life.”
When WCLO agreed to broadcast the play last year and this whole idea began taking shape, I had no idea how things would evolve. I viewed it as a small, fun event that wouldn’t take a lot of time. I didn’t know how wrong I would be.
Since I know a lot of people in the local acting community, I had some good ideas about who would be right for certain roles. I knew, for example, the incredibly gifted Michael Chase would make a perfect Scrooge. Once I started asking people to be a part of the show, however, word spread, and before I knew it, I was being bombarded with phone calls by people wanting to take part.
By the time Mike Casey, a veteran of the local stage and “Christmas Carol” junkie, called to ask about a role, I had filled all the speaking parts. When I offered the sole responsibility I had left - creating the sound effects - Mike dove into it. What originally seemed like a consolation job led to Mike becoming the star of the stage show. Armed with books describing how certain sounds were produced during the days of radio drama, Mike was determined to do the sound effects the right way, live and unaided by taped noises. The audience was captivated.
I was also fortunate to enlist the help of Sarah Lima, a teacher and accomplished musician, to be our accompanist. She came up with the musical ideas, making my job easy and proving once again that it pays to surround yourself with talented people.
Celebrating in the lobby after last year’s show was complete, the common question was, “What are we going to do next year?” I already had the answer. I had researched “It’s A Wonderful Life” and knew that radio scripts existed.
The original radio script I read aired in 1947 with Jimmy Stewart, Donna Reed and other original actors from the popular movie version. While I liked the idea of doing that particular script, it was only 55 minutes long and greatly abridged from the movie version, which runs over 2 hours. I felt that much of our audience would be very familiar with the film and would be disappointed that certain scenes were left out. So I searched out another version and found one that was supposed to run about 90 minutes and was much more faithful to the movie.
After last year’s play, I had scores of people come to me and ask how they could be a part of the next performance. I decided that this year, I was going to need to do auditions.
I did, however, pre-cast two of the lead roles. I’ve debated whether that was the right thing to do, but as I read the script, every time I came to one of George Bailey’s lines, I could hear the voice of Dave Bitter, who had played Bob Cratchit in “Christmas Carol.” I decided to offer him the part and get it on his schedule before one of his many other acting opportunities came calling. Ditto for Michael Chase, who not only handled the villainous Mr. Potter, but ended up taking on George’s brother Harry and the Italian restauranteur Mr. Martini. In the final scene, in fact, Harry and Martini talk to each other, which had to be amusing for the audience to watch.
In a marathon evening at JPAC, Laurel Canan and I auditioned nearly 60 people for the 12 roles I had left. The decision-making process was gut-wrenching. There were a number of people that could have done a fine job but I simply couldn’t fit them in. In several cases, there were two or three people that read the same role really well, and it became a matter of how to break the tie. As it was, I ended up casting three more people than I intended.
Thankfully, not all of the choices were difficult. J. Peter Shaw of Evansville had barely uttered a full sentence when I knew he was the perfect choice to play Clarence, the angel that earns his wings by helping George. I glanced over at Laurel and the look on her face confirmed that she was thinking the same thing. WCLO radio personality Rose Stricker, who wasn’t even on our radar prior to auditions, came in and turned out to be an ideal choice as George’s wife Mary.
Mike Casey and Sarah Lima returned in their respective roles, guaranteeing that sound effects and music would again be top-notch. In fact, the sound effects evolved to the point that we needed three people dedicated to performing them – including Laurel herself, who also had a one-line cameo.
Once we got deeper into rehearsals, I realized that the show was running long. I had to cut about 15 minutes out of the script to get us to my goal of 90 minutes.
Until the night of the broadcast, we never performed the complete show start to finish. We intended to have one final rehearsal where we ran it straight through but thanks to poor winter road conditions, it never happened. So we were, in fact, winging it the night of the show.
If you weren’t there in person or heard the performance live on WCLO, you still have the opportunity. The show will be rebroadcast on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day – check wclo.com for air times. A recording of the show is also posted on the WCLO web site; you can find it by typing “wclo.com/podcasts/wclo-special-broadcasts/”.
When “It’s A Wonderful Life” was chosen a year ago, no one had a clue that bank failures and mass job losses would be a reality in America 2008. While the appeal of this story is timeless, it takes on special meaning this year because of the circumstances this country currently faces.
I hope that this holiday season, whatever your situation may be, that like George Bailey we take time to reflect on the positive effect our lives have had – or can have - on others.
25 Years After "The Day After"
(From the Janesville Messenger, 12-7-08)
No marigolds in the promised land
There's a hole in the ground
Where they used to grow
Any man left on the Rio Grande
Is the king of the world
As far as I know
- Steely Dan, “King of The World”
I had never really listened to the lyrics to that song before, but after hearing it again recently, I realized that it was about being alive after a nuclear holocaust.
Immediately, I began thinking about the controversial TV movie “The Day After,” which contained the first graphic depiction of a nuclear strike on the USA that had ever aired on American television. I hadn’t thought about that film, or the threat of nuclear war, in years.
In a case of bizarre karma, later that evening a friend of mine sent me an e-mail entitled, “This aired 25 years ago today.” It contained links to video clips of “The Day After.”
It was hard to believe that it was only 25 years ago that the specter of nuclear war hung over us. These days, it almost seems like a dream.
US-Soviet relations were perhaps at an all-time low in 1983. President Reagan referred to the Soviets as “The Evil Empire.” The Soviets walked out of arms talks in Geneva, Switzerland over NATO plans to deploy Pershing II missiles in Europe. President Reagan announced his “Star Wars” defense initiative, which the Soviets believed to be offensive, not defensive. The Soviets shot down a Korean passenger jet that accidentally flew over their airspace, killing all 269 people aboard. The US invaded Grenada to overthrow a fledgling Communist government. And then, “The Day After” spooked the 100 million of us who watched.
If those events made us jittery, imagine if we had known that during that same general time frame, the fall of 1983, World War III nearly began – twice. First, in September, a Soviet early warning satellite incorrectly reported that five nuclear missiles had been launched toward the USSR. The Soviet strategy in such a case was an immediate nuclear counterattack. But the commander on duty, Stanislav Petrov, correctly guessed that it was a false alarm, based on his training that a US attack would likely involve hundreds of missiles. His hunch and deviation from Soviet doctrine, unknown to the outside world until 1998, saved the planet.
Then in November, a NATO military exercise in Europe called Operation Able Archer had the increasingly paranoid Soviets convinced that it was a front for a surprise nuclear attack. The Soviets were so sure this was the case that they had their military on full alert. Only when the exercise was over did the Soviets calm down, and did the US and NATO discover – thanks to a spy - how close to war they had come.
But even if we didn’t know now about those two near-catastrophes, just thinking back to what we did know gives me a shudder. The possibility of Armageddon was always looming in the background. Even watching MTV, which I was doing a lot in 1983, one could see mushroom clouds in videos ranging from David Bowie’s “Let’s Dance” to Nena’s “99 Luftballons.”
“The Day After” wasn’t even the scariest movie about nuclear war that came out of that era. In 1984, a British film called “Threads” was released, which was very similar in plot to “The Day After,” but about an attack on Sheffield, England rather than Lawrence, Kansas. “Threads” was twice as frightening, probably because it was much more graphic than “The Day After,” and depicted a considerably bleaker post-nuclear future. Frankly, I don’t remember nearly as much about “The Day After” as I do about “Threads.” To this day, recalling the scenes of the latter film creeps me out.
The world has changed. My kids can’t even begin to imagine growing up in a world where you feared that nuclear war could become a reality. The terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001 were terrifying to them, but the threat of having your entire world vaporized in a minute can’t begin to compare. It’s impossible for them to relate to.
But for those of us that remember, it makes the current state of the economy seem like a trifle.
No marigolds in the promised land
There's a hole in the ground
Where they used to grow
Any man left on the Rio Grande
Is the king of the world
As far as I know
- Steely Dan, “King of The World”
I had never really listened to the lyrics to that song before, but after hearing it again recently, I realized that it was about being alive after a nuclear holocaust.
Immediately, I began thinking about the controversial TV movie “The Day After,” which contained the first graphic depiction of a nuclear strike on the USA that had ever aired on American television. I hadn’t thought about that film, or the threat of nuclear war, in years.
In a case of bizarre karma, later that evening a friend of mine sent me an e-mail entitled, “This aired 25 years ago today.” It contained links to video clips of “The Day After.”
It was hard to believe that it was only 25 years ago that the specter of nuclear war hung over us. These days, it almost seems like a dream.
US-Soviet relations were perhaps at an all-time low in 1983. President Reagan referred to the Soviets as “The Evil Empire.” The Soviets walked out of arms talks in Geneva, Switzerland over NATO plans to deploy Pershing II missiles in Europe. President Reagan announced his “Star Wars” defense initiative, which the Soviets believed to be offensive, not defensive. The Soviets shot down a Korean passenger jet that accidentally flew over their airspace, killing all 269 people aboard. The US invaded Grenada to overthrow a fledgling Communist government. And then, “The Day After” spooked the 100 million of us who watched.
If those events made us jittery, imagine if we had known that during that same general time frame, the fall of 1983, World War III nearly began – twice. First, in September, a Soviet early warning satellite incorrectly reported that five nuclear missiles had been launched toward the USSR. The Soviet strategy in such a case was an immediate nuclear counterattack. But the commander on duty, Stanislav Petrov, correctly guessed that it was a false alarm, based on his training that a US attack would likely involve hundreds of missiles. His hunch and deviation from Soviet doctrine, unknown to the outside world until 1998, saved the planet.
Then in November, a NATO military exercise in Europe called Operation Able Archer had the increasingly paranoid Soviets convinced that it was a front for a surprise nuclear attack. The Soviets were so sure this was the case that they had their military on full alert. Only when the exercise was over did the Soviets calm down, and did the US and NATO discover – thanks to a spy - how close to war they had come.
But even if we didn’t know now about those two near-catastrophes, just thinking back to what we did know gives me a shudder. The possibility of Armageddon was always looming in the background. Even watching MTV, which I was doing a lot in 1983, one could see mushroom clouds in videos ranging from David Bowie’s “Let’s Dance” to Nena’s “99 Luftballons.”
“The Day After” wasn’t even the scariest movie about nuclear war that came out of that era. In 1984, a British film called “Threads” was released, which was very similar in plot to “The Day After,” but about an attack on Sheffield, England rather than Lawrence, Kansas. “Threads” was twice as frightening, probably because it was much more graphic than “The Day After,” and depicted a considerably bleaker post-nuclear future. Frankly, I don’t remember nearly as much about “The Day After” as I do about “Threads.” To this day, recalling the scenes of the latter film creeps me out.
The world has changed. My kids can’t even begin to imagine growing up in a world where you feared that nuclear war could become a reality. The terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001 were terrifying to them, but the threat of having your entire world vaporized in a minute can’t begin to compare. It’s impossible for them to relate to.
But for those of us that remember, it makes the current state of the economy seem like a trifle.
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