1. WE THE PEOPLE
DATELINE: D.C. & DeKalb
DATELINE: D.C.--I heard such a funny news story last week, I had to commit it to memory. Unfortunately, it was my memory, a sieve that couldn't hold the Eastern Seaboard, but I vaguely recall the gist.
It was about our Nation's Capital, and how it was shut down for four days due to the blizzard raging in Washington, D.C. Lawmakers got those days off, which cost the country millions of dollars in lost business--just slightly less than it would have cost if they could have gotten into their offices and conducted business as usual.
But that was not the funny part. The funny part was when the newsman said, "Essential staff are still required to come in." He was not talking about the president, senators, representatives, elephants, donkeys, etc. that make up our fair democracy. He was talking about the janitors.
As a proud American who used to clean the multi-purpose building in Covington, which houses a gym, kitchen, dining area, office and bathrooms, I would like to take this opportunity to announce: No Street Shoes in the Gym!
Thank you. That has been building up inside of me for a long time, ever since our three kids were little enough to come with me and play "Hop the Mop." They'd stand in a row on the gym's center line while I came tearing across the floor at them, pushing a three-foot-wide dust mop aimed right at their feet.
At the very last minute, they'd hop the mop. Sometimes, playing upon their innocence and my superior cunning, I'd do a little hesitation step and knock them all down like bowling pins. I so miss having little ones about. Can't wait for grandkids!
As I was typing, even though outside conditions were not suitable for man nor beast nor lawmakers, essential staff still had to report for duty last week. While the Wheels of Justice spun in the snow, they kept the Capital running like clockwork: shoveling, firing the stoves, and mopping up imaginary strikes starring our Supreme Court justices.
Or did they?
For four stormy days, essential staff ruled. I am not typing that they actually ran our country during that period. I am typing that I would have liked to see them try. As they say in the business, "One hand washes the other, and both hands scrub the Floor."
Essential staff would put up a unified front, because they know if you don't take care of business by the end of the day, people will be tripping over their trash. If essential staffers indulged in partisanship, they might have constituents, but they wouldn't have any customers.
The implications would be staggering: the keys to the free world in the hands of the common man! World peace was surely within our grasp, along with sensible spending and having to kick your shoes off before coming into the House.
Then the storm in Washington passed, and non-essential staff were all called back to work.
DATELINE: DeKALB--The Washington snow scoop was still making newsmen swoon when another big story broke, this one much closer to home. An earthquake caused our very own Midwest to shudder. My brother, Mark, was there. This headline was mine!
It happened last Wednesday, and the quake's epicenter was in Kane County, IL. Depending upon your news source, it registered anywhere from a 3.8 to a 4.3. It rattled the corn cobs right in their husks--a few kernels may have even popped--and was felt as far away as Chicago.
Mark, a retired Army major who lives perilously close to the source in DeKalb, IL, said it was no great shakes.
"Yeah, we used to have earthquakes bigger than that every day in Alaska," Mark said in a live telephone interview, displaying no regard whatsoever for my career aspirations. "It didn't even wake me up."
"Work with me, man," I begged. "Any casualties in the neighborhood? Cracks in the foundation? Pictures hanging crooked in the hallway? DID THE DOG MESS THE RUG?"
"Nope. You talk to Ma lately? How's she doin'?"
What does Mark know about tremors? He drinks more coffee than I do. We register better than a 3.8 before our first cup of the day. An earthquake would just make us think we're sitting still for a change.
The national news reporters didn't seem to fare much better. Maybe they talked to Mark, too, because the Snow Scoop in Washington totally upstaged the Tragedy in the Heartland. That's what I'm calling it, just for practice, because someday my boat is bound to come in.
When it does, I've got just the mop for cleaning up in its aftermath. Watch your feet.
Wonder Woman vs. HB
If you feel empowered by Wonder Woman, cross your wrists in front of you and prepare to deflect bullets, because I am about to take some cheap shots.
I can't help myself. I feel empowered, too.
Wonder Woman is the newest marvel to leap straight out of comic books and onto the big screen. She is the daughter of Zeus, king of the gods, and Queen Hippolyta, an Amazon warrior who has superpowers and a wardrobe that is a tad scanty.
Wonder Woman also sports some serious accessories, including bullet-proof cuffs and a magic lasso. And last weekend she used all of the above, but mostly her wardrobe, to "break the glass ceiling" for women directors by breaking box office records.
I know all about glass ceilings. I learned about them from the Sokero brothers of Finland, who were visiting family in the U.P. They also visited Shute's Bar in Calumet, which boasts an historic stained-glass canopy which I intend to toast, for history's sake of course, the very next time we are in town.
But I would never dream of breaking the ceiling at Shute's, because I am not a much-oppressed female director. I am not even an oppressed female reporter. I get to cover both sports and news. And I can even write about Wonder Woman after I get my real work done.
That is because Wonder Woman is making big news these days by empowering women. We finally have an action figure we can look up to, though I personally find Robert Downey Jr. even more fetching as Iron Man. Hear us roar!
According to popular media, wherever there are movie screens, women are taking their daughters to see Wonder Woman. Women are renting theaters for "girls only" screenings. And women are already planning a Wonder Woman sequel, hopefully co-starring Robert Downey Jr. as Iron Man.
I am a bit reluctant to take my daughters to a movie about a woman who doesn't duck bullets and is banned from Schute's Bar for what she's doing to glass ceilings. That is why they will be joining me this week for a limited run at Fish Camp in Mercer, WI.
Nobody is oppressed at Fish Camp, not even the fish. Everyone dresses sensibly, in clothes we seldom bother changing unless we are headed to town. Then we dress better above the watering line, which would be the bar at the Northwoods Bar.
We are all Wonder Women (and men) at Fish Camp! We wonder where the fish are. We wonder how to turn off the fire alarm when we are cooking in the cabin. We wonder why the White Sox are losing and the Cubs aren't, because we all hail from Chicago's South Side.
And my daughters will wonder, too, at my spinners that deflect fish, my magical fishing rod that separates in the middle when I make a long cast, and my aluminum beer koozie of doom engraved with the mysterious letters, "HB." Because some wonders, like my hard-earned Fish Camp nickname, are best kept that way.
A Hit for Everyman
They were coming into town from out of state, out of country and in some cases, totally out of character to help America pick up the pieces of its lost national pastime.
And do you know what the headlines announced when they arrived?
"Welcome, imposters!"
I slapped my car horn in disgust when I heard the report on Minnesota Public Radio, causing an oncoming driver to smile, wave, and watch for hidden police cars over the next few miles. Talk about your misguided, bullheaded ingrates. Foul ball, I say!
Pro baseball players had gone on strike, protesting a proposed salary cap, and some club managers were striking back, calling up second, third and never-even-been-on-the-stringers to try to salvage the major league baseball season.
Players were also being harvested from amateur leagues, foreign teams and some sagging floral couches to which they thought they had successfully retired: "Yer' re-hired! Play ball!"
The season-saving strategy had thrown many fans into a real snit. They enjoy a steady diet of watching the pros play ball. Although it's proving an increasingly too rich diet for the fans, who have to eat but mostly drink in the parking lot before the game, they're not willing to change it.
Speaking from that neutral zone called the U.P., where the nearest major league ballpark is located downstate, which is technically out-of-state, I don't really care. I lost my interest in baseball after I grew too old to play it in Chicago's Marquette Park.
The crowd is riveted by the action as Dad scores a hit for everyman (on his team) in kickball
However, if some adult who hasn't outgrown it suddenly picks up a bat and decides he wants to hit a ball with it, I for one am not going to stand in his way. And if we have to have heroes, then maybe it's high time we had some we can relate to.
Imagine somebody you could...
