On Tiger Stadium ...

At 10:30 a.m. today, legendary Detroit Tigers announcer Ernie Harwell - with whom I have had the pleasure of meeting, interviewing, and hanging out with in the press box - will take the microphone once again. And once again, his amazing voice will resonate to a captive audience, and will likely be broadcast on all Detroit-area newscasts.

Only this time, Harwell isn't broadcasting a baseball game. He's speaking before the Detroit City Council in an attempt to delay, for at least a month, the inevitable decision to raze Tiger Stadium.

If you've been following the saga, you know the drill. Maintaining an empty Tiger Stadium - vacant since 2000, when the Tigers moved to Comerica Park (aka/The Copa or, during the team's less-than-stellar period, The Coma), is costing the city a buttload of dead presidents. City Council wants to demolish most of the stadium by the end of the year, to clear the path for stores and homes, even thought no viable proposal on what to do with the site has been approved.

I understant the financial issue - I mean, all those burned-out and dilapidated homes across the city that serve as drug havens may be an eyesore, but they aren't really on the city's dime like Tiger Stadium is - but still ... Harwell's plea is to delay, by at least a month, the City Council decision. We'll know more later today if he is successful.

What I'd like to do is post the blog I wrote September 27, 1999, while listening to the final game played in the grand old ballpark. Time to get into the Way-Back Machine; I hope you enjoy the ride ...

* * * * *

I sit at my computer, 1,300 miles away. It is late afternoon now; no, change that -- early evening. Eleven hours at South Fork High School have me mentally exhausted. Homecoming is less than two weeks away. International Baccalaureate seniors are begging for yet another one-on-one review of their 4,000-word extended essays, with their October 1 deadline looming. The classroom, and its myriad of egos and hormone-charged teenagers who think they own the world and all of its riches, is quiet now, serene after another brainswell-soaked day listening to lectures about Oedipus Rex and Fate and Destiny and Steinbeck and Faulkner and Russian literature.

I am planted in front of the monitor, listening via the magic of Internet RealAudio to Ernie Harwell and Dan Dickerson calling the final innings of Detroit Tigers baseball at "The Corner." It is the seventh inning, only a few moments left in the long and established history of the haven where I spent so many wonderful afternoons and evenings during my youth and venture into adulthood. I can recall every moment that I spent at Tiger Stadium the past 35 years, every game, every score, every fleeting moment. Few are of such phenomenal, monumental impact that anyone other than myself might even remotely care about them, but I care all too much, with a passion and a desire that has not left me, despite my flight from suburban Detroit to southeast Florida's Treasure Coast less than two months ago.

I remember the first game I saw. It was a family affair, a Saturday afternoon. The family -- dad, mom, Miriam, Charles and myself -- drive to the cathedral at Michigan and Trumbull and stationed ourselves in the lower left-field grandstands. Next to us in the row were our next-door neighbors, the Varterians. We ate hot dogs and peanuts and cotton candy, drank Coke and tried to keep track of all the action in the 1973 Detroit Tigers program my dad had bought for me. I don't have the program, or the pencil which came with it, but I still have the memories.

It is 6:58 p.m. Ernie has just announced what might be his final home run call at Tiger Stadium, a grand slam by catcher Robert Fick. Ernie's voice crackled as he yelled out "LOOOOOOOONG GONE" in a way which is rare even for the veteran broadcaster. I had the pleasure -- honor, really -- to meet Ernie several times in my career as both a broadcaster and a journalist. The first time was in 1986, while interning at WBFH through Central Michigan University, I secured interviews with Ernie and long-time partner Paul Carey at their individual homes. It was, perhaps, the most incredible and exhilarating day of my radio life. Ernie knew, he could sense, the magnitude of the moment for me, and despite getting in following a late-night flight from Chicago the evening before, was awake and alert and professional and courteous and generous with his time. To this day, I don't know if he realizes how incredibly special that moment was. Then again, maybe he does. I spent over an hour at each of their respective homes, followed by attending the Tigers game that evening against Cleveland with Cindy Stevens, a long-time friend I met at CMU. I got to sit in the broadcast booth for one inning with Ernie and Paul, thrilled by the proximity to the field, overwhelmed by the majesty of the moment.

Cindy was with me in the lower bleachers on a cold Saturday morning, October 13, 1984, when Jack Morris pitched a complete game and Alan Trammell smoked a pair of two-run homers to power Detroit past San Diego 4-2 in Game 4 of the 1984 World Series, the nineteenth (!) time I planted myself in Tiger Stadium that season. The next night, I was driving back to CMU and listening to Ernie when Kirk Gibson blasted one of the most famous -- perhaps THE most famous -- home runs in Tiger Stadium history off Goose Gossage to clinch the title.

Trammell occupies a very special part in my Tiger Stadium memoirs. The "greatest shortstop" to ever wear the Olde English D is entrenched in my mind and soul. It isn't just the two autographed posters on my apartment and classroom walls, the autographed program from his final game as a player, the miniature game figures, even the porcelain baseball card. He represented to me, a young Tiger fan growing up cheering the hometown team, everything that was good about Detroit, baseball and athletics in general. He was, and remains to this day, a class act, which seems to be a rarity in this age of escalating salaries and chronic owner-player bitch-session arguments.

I remember several notable home runs Trammell hit. The World Series pair, of course, stand out. But there was his final home run, on Opening Day 1997, against Seattle. And there was the home run off the Yankees' Cecilio Guante in June 1988, a bottom-of-the-ninth, full-count poke into the upper left-field grandstands which carried Detroit to a 7-6 victory -- one of only a handful (around 20) of last-at-bat grand-slams ever to happen in the history of Major League Baseball. Charles and Kevin Loucks and I jumped up and down for what seemed hours after that thrilling victory. Little did we know that Yankees manager Billy Martin would be fired the next day -- for the final time, or that days later, my father would have surgery on what would turn out to be a malignant brain tumor, effectively ending my elongated career as a naive child grasping to hold on to sports as a magical metaphor for perfection via rose-coloured glasses.

But I still have the memories. Fond memories. I was in the bleachers when Jim Walewander hit his first -- perhaps only? -- shot into deep right-center field against those same Yankees. When Sammy Sosa broke Tiger legend Rudy York's record for most homers in a month, I was planted next to Mark Mosesso along the third-base line. I saw Mark Fidrych talk to the ball, John Hiller on the mound after his career was supposedly over because of a massive heart attack, Larry Herndon's solo shot off Toronto's Jimmy Key which was the difference in the finale against the Blue Jays in 1987. Lance Parrish hit a grand salami during a game I attended but never saw. Sheri Stern and I arrived late at the stadium for a 1985 game against Kansas City, just as a monsoon broke out, and after getting soaked in the upper bleachers for well over an hour we decided to leave, assuming it would end up a rain-out. My first true taste of "never assume;" on the Lodge Freeway, we heard Parrish (who was about to bat when the rains came) drill a moonshot with the bases loaded. Sheri laughed at the incredulousness of the situation; I think I looked like death warmed over, my face contorted into nineteen degrees of disgusted muscle spasms. All of these images, etched in my mind.

I spent happy, bliss-filled afternoons in Tiger Stadium. A July 4 double-header against Baltimore with Todd Skelton, his first -- only -- visit to my own version of baseball paradise. Opening Day with Jeff Falcon and Herman DeBarr. Countless dates, countless friends, all with a common bond.

I was there on a Sunday afternoon in July 1997, when Harold "Prince Hal" Newhouser's number was retired by the Detroit Tigers association. Newhouser, my next-door neighbor growing up, who I was blessed to have written my first-ever free-lance story (a feature in Baseball Digest) -- bemoaning his as-of-then non-inclusion in the Baseball Hall of Fame, an oversight which has since been corrected). And there I was, having managed to convince the Tigers brass that I had been approved by their PR department prior to the game for a photo pass (I had, but somehow it got lost in the paperwork), standing with my Nikon camera on the grass between home plate and the pitcher's mound, taking in the magical moment of being firmly planted on the very grass which was my own Field of Dreams, watching Harold Newhouser -- the greatest Tigers southpaw ever -- break into a larger-than-the-universe smile when the banner was finally removed from the upper-right field box area where his Number 16 was unveiled, never to be worn again by a member of the Detroit Tigers Baseball Organization.

And now it is over, the men in blue and orange victorious. As they should be. Over for the shrine which has been my symbolic baseball home for as long as I can remember. The names of the Tigers alumni are flowing over the airwaves: Bill Freehan, Steve Kemp, Willie Horton, Ron LeFlore, Dick McAuliffe, Mickey Stanley, Al Kaline, Dan Petry, Jason "Rooftop" Thompson, Darrell Evans, Jim Price, Gates Brown, Chet Lemon, Aurelio Rodriguez, George Kell, Cecil Fielder, Lou Whitaker and Trammell (together!); so many names, so many memories.

Photographs and memories. To steal a line from Jim Croce, "all that I have are these to remember Tiger Stadium." As the lights dim and the last fan drives away, I sit in silent contemplation of the moment, pondering it all. "It's just a building," one might argue. I bet the same argument held the same lack of water for those who saw the Chicago White Sox move out of the old Comiskey Park, or those who hold Fenway Park and Wrigley Field as their own versions of Baseball Camelot. Tiger Stadium is, and never will be, "just" a building. It is a cathedral of dreams and hopes, of rough times and championships. I will always have fond memories of Tiger Stadium; the final out, thirteen-hundred miles away, cannot take that away from me.

Don't Expect Water Restrictions To Go Away Anytime Soon

Water, water, everywhere
Nor any drop to drink.
- Samuel Taylor Coleridge, "Rime of the Ancient Mariner"

The drought isn't over. Despite the South Florida Water Management District easing of water restrictions this week in large parts of the county, including the western communities, Florida is still in the middle of one of the worst water shortages in its history. And while recent rainfall has made a dent in the multi-year shortfall affecting the state, it's not enough. Lack of rain the past six months or so led to the recent extreme water restrictions affecting daily life in the western communities and beyond. Currently, Lake Okeechobee, the region's backup water source, is more than four feet below the normal level for this time of year.

The ongoing drought conditions got many water customers, especially commercial interests, understandably hot under the collar. Some people have suggested the SFWMD is utterly clueless and that the district precipitated the current situation by lowering the lake level in anticipation of a busy 2006 hurricane season that never arrived.

Friday, July 6, marked eight months since water flowed from the Kissimmee River into Lake Okeechobee. This was done in accordance with regulation schedules set by the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers for the Kissimmee River and water bodies in the Kissimmee Chain of Lakes region. As a result, the southernmost and northernmost ends of the river remain impassable by boat, and small islands have appeared on miles of banks that normally would be flooded this time of year. Despite recent rains, water levels remain below normal in the Kissimmee watershed that typically helps replenish Lake Okeechobee, and backup water storage in the watershed has been lost because of the severe regional drought.

While many are voicing displeasure with the powers that be, there are also those individuals who believe the SFWMD was justified to maintain its tough Phase 3 watering restrictions limiting lawn watering to once a week, a mandate in effect for three months and still in force in some parts of the county. Among the goals is to help elevate Lake Okeechobee back to its "normal" level.

As a result of the system of canals and levees built following the hurricane of 1928, virtually all discharges into and out of the lake are now artificially controlled. Details on the impact the Herbert Hoover Dike around Lake Okeechobee has had on South Florida since the 1930s are another story. The 140-mile-long, 30-foot-high, 100-foot-wide earthen wall encircling Lake Okeechobee has been successful in part because water managers customarily lower the level of the lake when a particularly powerful storm is coming.

However, the dike severed Lake Okeechobee's natural connection to the Everglades, severely disrupting the natural ecosystem of South Florida and helping promote the runaway growth of recent decades.

Regardless of what you believe, one thing seems pretty clear: in order for Lake Okeechobee to return to normal depth, we need more than an occasional sprinkle from the skies. Unless there are some dramatic changes soon - from the heavens above, through readjustment of Corps criteria, or some combination thereof - we anticipate some form of water restriction will still be in place into 2008, and maybe beyond.

It is time for South Floridians to realize that water restrictions are likely to be a fact of life in our tropical paradise. While we will not always be under Phase 3 restrictions, it is possible that three-times-a-week Phase 1 restrictions may become permanent. Wellington, for example, is considering an ordinance to mandate as such. Smart growth, smart planning and a little bit of sacrifice can help us ensure that South Florida does not dry out.

This article originally appeared in The Town-Crier.

The FCAT: A Flawed Format For Grading Public Schools

Singer/songwriter Tom Chapin may not be as well known as contemporaries such as Fergie, Justin Timberlake or the White Stripes. But when he appeared on National Public Radio's Morning Edition last New Year's Day, he struck a chord that has resonated long, proud and strong among teachers who have been shackled by what many educators have dubbed "the dirtiest four-letter word around" - FCAT.
Never mind that FCAT is an acronym, not a word. That's beside the point, which is that the Florida Comprehensive Assessment Test continues to be the anvil that weighs down the competitive education experience.
Chapin's ditty "Not on the Test" is a social commentary on the enormous stress placed on students, teachers and the education community to "teach the test" at the expense of anything that is vacant from state-mandated standardized assessments. And while this might be a slight generalization - many area teachers and administrators will proclaim that their respective educational communities continue to incorporate a variety of learning styles and methods into all areas of the curriculum - there is a symbolic truth to Chapin's stance, because so much in today's educational world rides on FCAT results.
Legislators and the Florida Department of Education staunchly insist that the process, which began under then-Gov. Jeb Bush nearly ten years ago, is a method by which educators can be held accountable. But there are many sharks swimming around Bush's A+ educational legacy.
One of the numerous problems is that the FCAT is, and has been and - until further notice - will be a glaringly unsound means by which to rate schools. When Bush devised the FCAT in 1998, it was to measure a child's progress in school.
Not any more. Or, at least, that doesn't seem to be the focus anymore. The FCAT helps decide whether third-graders get promoted and high school seniors graduate. It provides a letter grade for almost every school, which determines whether it is penalized or rewarded with extra money.
A second issue is that the FCAT is neither a criterion-referenced nor a diagnostic test, despite the premise presented by the Department of Education. Educators, parents and students are not allowed to review student responses after taking the test, and there are no legal opportunities for anyone directly involved in the child's educational process to review copies of it. Thus, it cannot be used to help educators identify specific student strengths or weaknesses, or plan child-appropriate lessons.
As far as school grades go, Wellington High School plans to appeal its "B" grade; despite earning more than 50 points above the minimum for an "A," the school was penalized because only 49 percent of its lowest readers showed growth. But there are questions about how, exactly, the state determines the crucial "lowest 25 percent" of students in reading and math. In previous cases, some student scores were counted more than once, while others were skipped, skewing a school's overall score.
And given a third problem with the FCAT - the Department of Education fiasco in May, when state education officials announced they botched one of last year's FCAT reading tests - there are question marks on everything from school grades and student retention to the status of Florida schools under the federal No Child Left Behind Act. This also may have administrators at WHS - and many other "borderline" schools across Florida - questioning the viability and legitimacy of any grade in any category when the state plays a role in determining the grade.
And that, we seriously doubt, was something anyone studied for when preparing to take the test.
This commentary originally appeared in the Town-Crier.

Introspection, Part II (the Sequel)

Think of all the anniversaries taking place right now - some more notable than others. It was June 8, 1972 (35 years ago) when Huỳnh Công Út took one of the most famous photographs in recent history, of the naked 9-year-old Vietnamese girl fleeing from her napalm-bombed home. It was 40 years ago (June 1, 1967) when The Beatles released Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, considered by many the greatest album in music history. And just to really make things interesting, it was 400 years ago (1607) when Jamestown, VA was "founded," making it America's 400th Anniversary.

Then there's June 6, 1982. Twenty-five years ago, when I crossed the stage at the MeadowBrook Auditorium on the campus of Oakland University in suburban Detroit, one of several hundred Bloomfield Hills Lahser seniors accepting diploma covers that would hold the paperwork proclaiming our passage from the seemingly sheltered life of high school into the unknown universe of college.

Damn! Has it really been 25 years? A rhetorical question; "Of course it has - you already stated it!" So much has changed, yet so much has stayed the same.

At the time, I thought my high school friends would be friends for ages and that I was ready to take the next step. History and 20/20 hindsight has not proven to be as kind or able to validate my optimistic view of the time on both of these areas; I now converse with only one of my fellow graduates regularly (and maybe 1-2 others once every blue moon), and my immediate post-high school educational experience was ... less than stellar (and I am being overly kind with my assessment). I've conveniently blown off the 10- and 20-year reunions (I chose the 10-year to move into a new apartment in Waterford, Michigan, while I was in Florida for the 20th), and have heard nothing about a 25-year get-together.

But I am not here to lament the failure to stay in touch with those who helped (or hindered, depending on how you look at it) my formative years. Instead, i'm going to try to pound out a "Top 10" list of positive memories I have managed to hold on to from 1979-82, when I roamed the halls of Lahser High School. I am sure some of my memories are tainted by lost brain cells the past quarter-century, but what the heck? I'll give it a shot. And I won't even consult my yearbooks for this ...

10 - Earning my drivers licence, March 1980: More specifically, that moment during the winter of 1979 when, during driver's training, I took a left turn at Hickory Grove and Lahser roads a bit too quickly and spun out the car. After coming to a halt, I looked at the instructor and said, sheepishly, "I must have hit some sheet ice." He didn't buy it.

9 - Announcing the Lahser-Troy Athens state soccer regular-season match on WBFH-FM, Fall 1981: Also know as the most amazing soccer game no one could see, because it was raining - POURING - and the field was a quagmire of mud. Lahser was #1 in the state, Athens #2, and in an attempt to trick the opposing team, Lahser's coach had its top star player switch jerseys with another player. (The trick didn't work.) Athens won, but the really fun part in the booth was knowing we were broadcasting on the only land-line, and if there were a medical emergency, we'd have to pull the plug on our broadcast so that medical personnel could use the telephone line. That or my screams of "Oy!" when Lahser hit the goalpost on back to back attempts. I can still hear Scott Booth and Pete Bowers laughing in the background.

8 - Rolling Stones/Santana/Iggy Pop, The Pontiac Silverdome, December 1981: Iggy flopped, Santana rocked, and 70,000+ chanted "You can't always get what you want" a'cappella with Mick and the boys.

7 - The Bobbles "Save The World: Liverpool to Lahser" Tour, 1982: The Bobbles were the band Scott Booth, Tim Olson and I created that reworked Beatles lyrics with environmental themes; we named the band after Robert Kefgen, our AP-turned-science teacher. Among our chart-toppers: "Nuclear Submarine" (about nuclear submarines, of course), "Why Don't We Do It To A Toad?" (about biology and dissection, of course), and "All You Need Is Bob" (a tribute song, of course).

6 - Senior Prom, Memorial Day Weekend 1982: The family was in Philadelphia for a family function; I was alone in the house. That right there had the makings for a disaster. But the weekend went off without a hitch (other than that incident involving train signals that didn't work in Macomb County ... and the incident on the campus of Oakland Community College's Farmington Hills campus; suffice to say, "almost" only counts in horseshoes, hand grenades and those particular moments).

5 - Receiving acceptance letter to Central Michigan University, February 1982: Yay! Onward and upward!

4 - Graduation: Yay! Onward and outward! (And meeting members of the French Grand Prix team at Meriweather's Restaurant after the ceremony; that was cool, too.)

3 - Eagle Scout, Troop 23, Detroit Area Council, Boy Scouts of America, March 1982: Yay! I was the 104th (next-to-last) Eagle earned under then-scoutmaster Nate Trager; my friend Mark Lawton was #103, and Trager's grandson Jeff was #105.

2 - Lahser Symphony Orchestra @ the Ottawa International Music Festival, Spring 1981: Yeah, going out-of-country for a week or so was a very exciting time. So was meeting girls from Virginia and New York. And, oh yeah, did I mention playing both violin and viola in the same session? And being the "metronome" (so to speak) on viola for the Chamber Orchestra's performance of the Pachelbel Kanon? (Our conductor, Valerie Palmeri, left the stage for our performance; the job of pacing our performance fell to me. Yikes.)

2a - Lahser Symphony Orchestra, State Festival, Spring 1980: Actually, the most cool moment of my orchestra career was the performance of "Night on Bald Mountain" the year before, in the gymnasium of Royal Oak Dondero High School, when we (as a unit) hit the initial climax and stopped playing JUST at the right moment, and the echo reverberated for what seemed like hours. Way cool. We even earned a I+ from one of the judges.

1 - WBFH Marathon, Spring 1982: The team of Dave Eicher, Scott Booth, Paul Gaba and Kelly Kossuth (see how that rhymes?) rode the Starship March-Uv-Dymz into the fundraising arena and helped raise thousands of dollars for the March of Dimes in the battle against birth defects. And $400 of that was earned by me wearing a dress (OK, one of my moms smocks) to school. (I was supposed to wear heels, too, but that proved not to be possible.) Yes, there are photos; no, you may not see them.

Well, that was fun :) Sure beats lamenting over the whole "what the heck has happened since then?" issue.

Introspection, Part I

A few years ago, during an extremely low period in my life, when I essentially hated everything about myself, my job, and all that was around me, I happened upon a powerful passage in one of the guidance counselors' rooms at Wellington High School:

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference. - Reinhold Niebuhr

It's been a few years, and I've still gone through some rough spells, but by embracing this philosophy, I think - in general - I'm far better off emotionally and mentally. Mind you, at times it's taken an enormous amount of personal willpower and personal reminding to accept this as a life mantra (and at times, I still have to force myself to accept it), but it's been well worth the effort.

I bring this up because at my Wellington Toastmasters meeting last night, Tim Morrel gave a riveting speech about life in general, and he brought up what he believes are the three keys to a happy, successful life:

(1) Take care of yourself
(2) Forgive yourself
(3) Be eternally thankful

In illustrating his reasons, using personal memories from his family experiences, Tim truly brought these reasons to life. And while he was doing so, i must admit, I got lost in my own personal thought process, and began thinking of my own life ... and in doing so, I realized (rather quickly) that I may have been embracing the Serenity Prayer, but I was not giving equal time to Tim's three-prong commentary. To wit: I don't think I have been taking care of myself, I rarely forgive myself, and while I am thankful for many things, I'm not sure "eternally" applies, nor do I think "thankful" applies to enough (because I am not achieving the first two prompts.

(1) Take care of yourself: I'm overweight (and have been for longer than I care to remember). I don't get enough sleep. I spend WAY too much time focusing on work-related issues, and WAY too little time on self interests. In short, I am living vicariously through my job, my students, and my program, to the point where it is unhealthy. I keep saying I will "cut back" on the time factor, but so far, it's been nothing but empty promises to myself.

I've already taken some steps to actually put this into practice. Next school year, for the first time since 2004, I will only teach 5 classes, not 6; this will help reduce the work load in terms of grading papers, etc. etc. In addition, I have reduced the number of tournaments we are going to. Theoretically, this will open up my schedule for some so-called "personal" time to do things like ... Islands of Adventure! Jaxson's! Sleep! Breathe!

(2) Forgiving yourself: I dwell too much on the "little things," which would (I am sure) annoy Mary Wermuth to some degree; she of the mantra "Don't sweat the small stuff ... and it's all small stuff." I need to seriously loosen up and stop beating myself up over things that I have no control over (ah, the Serenity Prayer battle ...).

(3) Being eternally thankful: To be honest, until I am happy with myself, and forgive myself on a consistent basis, this may be difficult to achieve. I am thankful for the friends I have, for gainful employment, and for parents and family members that love and care for me. I suppose I am even "eternally" thankful for them, for my three nephews in Detroit, for having persevered through some rough times, and for - despite all the negativity that may be flowing through these words - being better off today than I was a few years ago. But ... I have a long way to go.

Now it is summer vacation - from the school job, at least. I plan to take some time this summer for myself, to relax a bit more than normal. Whether helping Alexandra Sencer move to O-town, doing the "Tour de Military Museums" with David Traill (hey, you never know), enjoying my godson's barmitzvah, or hitting Motown for a few baseball games and seeing family and friends, I intend to have a fun, relaxing and enjoyable respite from the rigors of everyday life I have, sadly, allowed myself to shape who I am. And, more importantly, to carry them into the next school year.

I suspect a few life changes may be in the works as well - nothing major, but enough so that I can start to enjoy life more and concentrate positively on rediscovering who I used to be.

Welcome To The Jungle!

Hello, and welcome to my new little slice of the Internet. My name is Paul Gaba, and it is an honor and a pleasure to greet you here.

This is not my first dabble into the world o' the blogger. I did this for a while when I had a MySpace page (which has since met its demise, along with the multitude of posts I contributed there), and I've inundated Facebook with them as well. I may very well see about transferring (or copying over) some of those previous blogs to this venue in the near future. We shall see.

If you want to get technical, I did quite a bit of blogging before the term "blog" even existed. Or before the Internet existed (depending on your sources). When I was a full-time journalist in college (1988) and professionally (1988-1994), I pounded out a weekly humorous opinion column for my newspaper employer of the moment. (They were "weekly" because we published once a week. Yeah!) Even though they were pre-Internet/pre-Blog, they were essentially the same thing: a method by which to express myself on the goings-on of the day, random observations, ways of venting and getting things off my chest, or just trying to make someone's life a bit happier. Or some combination thereof. I can't "transfer" these over to this forum, per se, but I may re-type them here (with original publication source and date included), to give you an idea of the warped sense of perception I had back in the day (which was, incidentally, back before "back in the day" was even a phrase!).

A bit about by background: Along with being a full-time journalist (see previous dates) at various newspapers in Michigan, I have been the assistant manager of a Detroit-area high school radio station (1995-99), a wedding DJ (1986-95), a part-time journalist in southeast Florida (2005-present), and a high school English teacher and debate coach (1999-present). At times one or more of these will rear their heads in some way, shape or form, hopefully in a positive way.

I hope you're comfortable; this may be a bumpy ride at times. So lean back in your favorite recliner, with a tall cool one of your choice by your side, and let's have some fun!