I would like to start by confessing that what started out as a weekly blog has become somewhat sporadic. It probably will continue to be somewhat random in its regularity in the coming weeks with another big show starting up at the Opera House (****“Chicago” opens July 29th and runs through August 8th! Call 507-368-4620 for reservations!****). For those of you who actually read this stuff…thanks for your patience.
After several weeks of the last Opera House show and some major photography projects, Kathy and I have been trying to catch up on “our shows” that have been collecting on videotape over the past couple of months. We have five or six hour-long shows we can’t live without each week, as well as another five or six half-hour sitcoms.
As of late last week, we had a backlog of about 32 hours of TV shows awaiting us on VHS tapes. Imagine the surprise (not to mention unbridled admiration) that I felt towards my antsy wife when we slogged through nearly half of that over the weekend. When you consider we also got the lawn mowed, the house cleaned, the groceries bought, a grad party attended and went to the RTR spring play, the accomplishment is that much more remarkable.
It was almost like a bachelor weekend, except the dishes had to be washed regularly.
A couple of times during the weekend I had to talk myself down from a hyper-euphoric state, briefly imagining that after 18-½ years of marriage, she might finally be turning into me. I took the more sensible route—not allowing myself to get prematurely exhilarated and set myself up for an impending letdown. I was encouraged, however, and will be monitoring her behaviors closely.
That being said, here are my Top Ten Signs To Watch For That Could Be A Hint Kathy Might Finally Be Turning Into Me…
10. Hearing the comment “yeah, Mark, I’ve been thinking we should put off replacing the carpet and get a bigger TV.”
9. If I were to notice butter pooling on her toast in the morning.
8. She’s wearing a t-shirt—“Vegetables Suck.”
7. I catch her dialing down the thermostat.
6. The cat starts spending more time with her.
5. If I were to notice butter pooling on the front of her shirt.
4. I walk in the house after work and she shouts, “ROAD TRIP! DVD SALE AT TARGET!”
3. She finally admits my theory is correct…you don’t need to vacuum until you can visibly notice chunks.
2. She starts to like Charlize Theron.
And the number one Sign To Watch For That Could Be A Hint Kathy Might Finally Be Turning Into Me…
1. She starts to laugh as hard at my own witty comments as I do…
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Saturday, May 15, 2010
No thanks, I like where I’m at…
No thanks. I’m still not interested in buying a newspaper. As I tell everyone who is kind enough to ask, my favorite thing I’ve ever done in my life was put out a newspaper every week. It was also the most difficult. The lifestyle seizes all your waking hours, and you don’t realize to what extent until you have been able to step back from it for awhile.
Our current Lincoln County newspaper situation is a bit volatile. I hope for the sake of the area residents that something gets resolved. I’m confident that it will.
One thing about old newspaper columnists, we always like to give our opinion on subjects, whether people want to hear those opinions or not. That being said, here are a few of my thoughts about a small town newspaper…
• One of the most important features of your local newspaper is the public forum. It is supposed to be the voice of the people. Readers should be able to express their opinions—positive and negative—without being censored or ignored. Even if you are criticizing the newspaper or the guy who decides what goes on the opinion page. In my days as a newspaper editor, I never kept a letter that was bashing me or my opinions from my readers. The subscribers were always well aware of my opinions, they deserved to hear the other side and formulate their own judgment on the subject at hand. There are exceptions to the rule when bashing others to keep the paper protected from libel…but nothing was off limits when voicing your displeasure with yours truly. The newspaper business is not for the thin-skinned. If you can’t take criticism don’t take the job.
• I’ve always felt it was a conflict of interest for me to hold public office while covering that same body. Your job as a local publisher and editor, in part, is to be a watchdog for the people. It is too tempting to be less than transparent when you control what the people read.
• Don’t take yourself too seriously. Have a sense of humor and know when it is appropriate to let it show on the pages of your newspaper.
• A newspaper survives on its advertising revenue, and it takes a large amount of that revenue to collect all the news and photographs each week, lay them out in an easy-to-read format, have them printed and deliver them to your doorstep. A very large amount. And if you think for a moment that any of the fine people who do this for you each week are overpaid, you are sadly mistaken.
• It is impossible to cover, or even know about, everything that happens in your town. If you want your newspaper to know about the tree planting in honor of the 1958 Arco High School Glee Club at 8:00 Sunday morning, call the newspaper office and tell them. Better yet, go to the event yourself, take a picture, and submit it with the event information. They will be happy to print it, but at least give them Sunday mornings off when possible.
• Everyone makes mistakes. With hundreds of bits of information coming into the newspaper office each week, once in awhile your paper is going to miss printing the blurb announcing the semi-annual meeting of the Petunia Club. It does no good to yell into your phone on Wednesday morning. They didn’t leave it out on purpose.
Okay, I admit I certainly SOUND like someone planning on getting back into the newspaper business, but rest assured the answer is still no. I’ll stick to this blogging thing. It doesn’t pay very well, but weekly submission is optional. I’ve been doing this for a year, and although it is always possible, so far nobody has called and yelled in my ear.
And next week I’ll be back to give more of my unsolicited opinions…or not. Why didn’t I think of this blogging thing years ago?
Our current Lincoln County newspaper situation is a bit volatile. I hope for the sake of the area residents that something gets resolved. I’m confident that it will.
One thing about old newspaper columnists, we always like to give our opinion on subjects, whether people want to hear those opinions or not. That being said, here are a few of my thoughts about a small town newspaper…
• One of the most important features of your local newspaper is the public forum. It is supposed to be the voice of the people. Readers should be able to express their opinions—positive and negative—without being censored or ignored. Even if you are criticizing the newspaper or the guy who decides what goes on the opinion page. In my days as a newspaper editor, I never kept a letter that was bashing me or my opinions from my readers. The subscribers were always well aware of my opinions, they deserved to hear the other side and formulate their own judgment on the subject at hand. There are exceptions to the rule when bashing others to keep the paper protected from libel…but nothing was off limits when voicing your displeasure with yours truly. The newspaper business is not for the thin-skinned. If you can’t take criticism don’t take the job.
• I’ve always felt it was a conflict of interest for me to hold public office while covering that same body. Your job as a local publisher and editor, in part, is to be a watchdog for the people. It is too tempting to be less than transparent when you control what the people read.
• Don’t take yourself too seriously. Have a sense of humor and know when it is appropriate to let it show on the pages of your newspaper.
• A newspaper survives on its advertising revenue, and it takes a large amount of that revenue to collect all the news and photographs each week, lay them out in an easy-to-read format, have them printed and deliver them to your doorstep. A very large amount. And if you think for a moment that any of the fine people who do this for you each week are overpaid, you are sadly mistaken.
• It is impossible to cover, or even know about, everything that happens in your town. If you want your newspaper to know about the tree planting in honor of the 1958 Arco High School Glee Club at 8:00 Sunday morning, call the newspaper office and tell them. Better yet, go to the event yourself, take a picture, and submit it with the event information. They will be happy to print it, but at least give them Sunday mornings off when possible.
• Everyone makes mistakes. With hundreds of bits of information coming into the newspaper office each week, once in awhile your paper is going to miss printing the blurb announcing the semi-annual meeting of the Petunia Club. It does no good to yell into your phone on Wednesday morning. They didn’t leave it out on purpose.
Okay, I admit I certainly SOUND like someone planning on getting back into the newspaper business, but rest assured the answer is still no. I’ll stick to this blogging thing. It doesn’t pay very well, but weekly submission is optional. I’ve been doing this for a year, and although it is always possible, so far nobody has called and yelled in my ear.
And next week I’ll be back to give more of my unsolicited opinions…or not. Why didn’t I think of this blogging thing years ago?
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Happy Mother’s Day to me
Happy Mother’s Day to all of you moms this weekend. Myself and a couple of my siblings will be partaking in a Mother’s Day buffet on Sunday with Mom, so actually I too will be the beneficiary in the form of five different meats and all the gravy I can eat. In actuality, I am the incidental recipient of a Mother’s Day gift each year, as Kathy, Lindsay and Kathy’s sisters do a girls weekend that started years ago. That leaves me and my feline friend Joe (pictured) as kings of the castle. I’ve been busting my proverbial hump all week in an attempt to get all my extracurricular work done before the womenfolk leave on Friday afternoon.
I probably shouldn’t get this excited over being home semi-alone, but I can’t help myself. About 3-4 weekends per year I am left to explore those white trash instincts I work so hard to repress the rest of the year. With more than a little effort, Joe and I usually snap out of our haze soon enough so we aren’t discovered on Sunday night dozing next to a pile of pizza boxes and Little Friskies cans.
I really don’t understand the mesmerizing appeal that overtakes me when I’m left to fend for myself. I mean, it’s not like I can’t kick back and watch a movie or two when Kathy is home. I just can’t seem to stifle years of pent up Lutheran guilt that comes with lifting my feet when she is vacuuming. It doesn’t matter if I’ve worked for 36 consecutive hours preceding…if she is working I feel I have to be working. Unfortunately, Kathy is clueless when it comes to kicking back and being irresponsible. She has a lot she could learn from me in that area.
In the end, I figure as long as the house looks no worse when she returns as it did when she left. I’m covered.
About 10 minutes after she pulls out of the driveway on Friday, Joe will start bugging me to take a nap. My eyelids will indeed start to droop, and I’ll drag myself to the bedroom. Joe knows the routine (even though a nap rarely presents itself), and two or three minutes later, I’ll feel a paw poking me in the back, notifying me that I need to lift up the fuzzy blanket behind me so he can crawl under.
Once we are settled, I gradually slip into a semi-conscious state, and towards snoozeville I drift—ever so slowly…slowly…slowly, until at last…Wells Fargo calls to see if I would like extra insurance on my debit card purchases.
This type of thing doesn’t seem to affect Joe’s nap, but it generally ruins any chance of me getting to sleep. So I tiptoe (yeah, right) out of the bedroom and slip in a movie. The nap finally arrives about 45 minutes in…pushing “pause” during the last moments of consciousness.
This routine will be repeated several times throughout the weekend.
Late on Sunday I’ll sit by the window and watch for them, and when I finally see the Grand Am rounding the corner, I’ll bound out the front door and down the drive…um…okay I’ll shake off the sleep and pretend I’m fixing the vacuum cleaner.
I cherish my alone time, but it is always good to have the rest of the family return eventually.
We all know that a Lutheran can only stand so much happiness...
I probably shouldn’t get this excited over being home semi-alone, but I can’t help myself. About 3-4 weekends per year I am left to explore those white trash instincts I work so hard to repress the rest of the year. With more than a little effort, Joe and I usually snap out of our haze soon enough so we aren’t discovered on Sunday night dozing next to a pile of pizza boxes and Little Friskies cans.
I really don’t understand the mesmerizing appeal that overtakes me when I’m left to fend for myself. I mean, it’s not like I can’t kick back and watch a movie or two when Kathy is home. I just can’t seem to stifle years of pent up Lutheran guilt that comes with lifting my feet when she is vacuuming. It doesn’t matter if I’ve worked for 36 consecutive hours preceding…if she is working I feel I have to be working. Unfortunately, Kathy is clueless when it comes to kicking back and being irresponsible. She has a lot she could learn from me in that area.
In the end, I figure as long as the house looks no worse when she returns as it did when she left. I’m covered.
About 10 minutes after she pulls out of the driveway on Friday, Joe will start bugging me to take a nap. My eyelids will indeed start to droop, and I’ll drag myself to the bedroom. Joe knows the routine (even though a nap rarely presents itself), and two or three minutes later, I’ll feel a paw poking me in the back, notifying me that I need to lift up the fuzzy blanket behind me so he can crawl under.
Once we are settled, I gradually slip into a semi-conscious state, and towards snoozeville I drift—ever so slowly…slowly…slowly, until at last…Wells Fargo calls to see if I would like extra insurance on my debit card purchases.
This type of thing doesn’t seem to affect Joe’s nap, but it generally ruins any chance of me getting to sleep. So I tiptoe (yeah, right) out of the bedroom and slip in a movie. The nap finally arrives about 45 minutes in…pushing “pause” during the last moments of consciousness.
This routine will be repeated several times throughout the weekend.
Late on Sunday I’ll sit by the window and watch for them, and when I finally see the Grand Am rounding the corner, I’ll bound out the front door and down the drive…um…okay I’ll shake off the sleep and pretend I’m fixing the vacuum cleaner.
I cherish my alone time, but it is always good to have the rest of the family return eventually.
We all know that a Lutheran can only stand so much happiness...
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