Nobody asked, but…
Yoopers
Are you a Yooper? Am I a Yooper? Were you born here, or are you a transplant? There’s great disagreement about what constitutes being a true Yooper.
Here’s my take… I don’t care, because I don’t like the term “Yooper” anyway. It rhymes with stupor which sounds like stupid which is what I think when I hear “Yooper.” There are some cool geographic nicknames out there, like Cajun or Tarheel or Okie. Yooper isn’t one of them.
Apparently some DJ from the Copper Country coined the term back in the early 80’s, and to his credit, regardless of what I think of it, it stuck. Prior to that I remember hearing the locals being called “Yoops.” I thought that was fine, but since we can never leave well enough alone, Yooper became the nom de plume. (Look it up. I had to.)
I wasn’t born here, so if that disqualifies me from being a true Yooper, fine. If I need to be identified by where I live, I prefer Upper, as in, “I used to be a Lower, now I’m an Upper.” Upper. Think that’ll catch on?
Sending Money Out of Town
Whatever happened to mailing payments for services rendered locally to a local address? Sure, if I have a bill from a business located out of town, which I seldom do, I fully expect to send my payment… out of town. But when I patronize a local business, and I’m asked to send my payment somewhere other than the 49855 zip code, I wonder why I’m going out of my way to “buy local.”
I imagine the money from that payment, or at least most of it, comes back to the local business, but don’t they have someone on staff here who can cash a check? I understand sending complicated assignments somewhere else, but c’mon… processing payments isn’t rocket science. Someone around here could probably use the gig.
No Room to Change
I don’t mean to pick on a local business, but I will. Maybe a legitimate criticism will prompt a change.
Just so you know, I like Meijer. Clean, wide aisles, good produce, plenty of parking, bla bla bla. And of course, in addition to groceries, they have apparel. But what they don’t have is changing rooms.
No changing rooms? How do I know if this garment is going to fit? Or look good on me? Or be comfortable?
Apparently they eliminated their changing rooms during the pandemic and just never brought them back. They don’t want you to use the bathroom either. It’s their call, but it’s also my call to buy my clothes somewhere else. And if they knew how much of a clothes horse I am, they’d know how much that’s gonna hurt. Yeah.
A Tradition to Remember
Most traditions are worthy, and harmless. Things like family gatherings on holidays, or shaking hands at the completion of a competition, or simply blowing out the candles on the birthday cake. Good stuff.
On the other hand, some traditions serve no real purpose and should be assigned to the bin of history. Like shooting guns into the air on New Year’s Eve. Those bullets have to return somewhere. And letting balloons fly in the remembrance of someone or something. When the balloons come down, they’re no longer part of a celebration… they’re litter.
And here’s another one. Painting the year of your graduation from high school on the 3rd rock at Marquette’s Picnic Rocks.
Really? Desecrating a rock is how you show your school pride?
When friends or family visit from another town, do you include a drive by Picnic Rocks to show them the clever artwork marking the year you did something just about everyone does? “Look! It says ’75. That’s the year I graduated. Neat, huh?” No.
The tradition, pictured above, needs to be reevaluated. It’s unnecessary, and neither clever nor creative.
The real problem with the practice is it visually contaminates one of our more popular public parks. The beautiful lake, with its natural outcroppings, is besmirched by someone who probably still has the tassel from his graduation mortarboard hanging from his rear view mirror. Not to mention, it’s vandalism. And, it’s against the law. I think.
The next MSHS alum who rows out to 3rd rock shouldn’t be packing paint, but rather paint remover. The tradition had its time, but that time is up. It’ll be a great memory to talk about at your next class reunion.
Round and Round We Go
Our love/hate affair with roundabouts has been raging lately with the announcement of a roundy going in at the uneven corner of M-35 and CR 492 in Negaunee Township. Some people wonder if the level of traffic out there warrants the investment, while it’s pointed out by others a lot of big trucks go through there and struggle to negotiate the awkward angles.
The thing to know about roundabouts is they aren’t placed just anywhere. People who are paid to know about such things decide where they should go. And the more we see them, the more comfortable we become using them.
With that, the cry for other roundabouts has flared up, with the leading candidate being the corner of CR 480 and CR 553… the crossroads.
According to people who frequent that intersection, it can be quite the hot mess, especially during the rush hours. It appears there’s enough room, so it would seem to be the perfect location for the area’s next roundabout.
Like some of you, I’m still not totally comfortable navigating the paved ring, not so much due to my own uncertainty, but rather that of others. As opposed to a traditional traffic light, where you just have to know red from green, a roundabout requires decision making, and a reliable sense of timing.
Heck, it’s hard enough for some drivers to just keep it between the lines. Now we’re expecting them to negotiate traffic flow in real time, in an unfamiliar setting. The combination of cars circling in front you and cars lined up behind you can create a situation fraught with doubt and anxiety. I’ve heard.
Finally…
Don’t try to stop me if you’ve heard this diatribe before, because you probably have. Sadly, as much as I’ve complained about it, nothing has changed. Is no one listening to me? Maybe you’re trying to, but can’t hear me over the LOUD MUSIC.
To all bar bands, for the last time, maybe… please turn it down. You’re not playing a concert, it’s a bar. We’re interested in your music, but we’re also there to socialize. If I didn’t want to talk to people, I’d stay home. I have plenty of beer in the fridge, and Pandora.
Louder is seldom better. Can you hear me now?
Okay… boomer rant, over and out.