The other night, during the Winter 2008-2009 Inaugural Traffic Snarl, I was bluntly reminded of one of the very few issues I have with Wauwatosa.

You see, as I’ve said here, many times, I’m a Tosa Enthusiast. I love all things Tosa, except for this. What’s the problem, you ask? Well, Tosa during a snowstorm can be like Mt. Everest – pretty to look at but tough to summit.

It was around 6:30 pm and I was returning home after an appointment in West Allis. Generally, that’s a 10 minute trip. I prepared for a delay, but didn’t expect the toughest part to be less than a mile from my home.

I exited the highway at 84^th Street and figured I’d take one of my many super-and-maybe-not-so-secret ways through the village. Great idea, except for during a sorta-snow/ice storm. The Harmonee Bridge was closed. It was gridlock. Nobody was moving.

If you know that area, you know that, near the Tosa Village, there are only two ways to get from south to north – The Harmonee Bridge or 70^th/68^th street. Everything in-between is off-limits…to cars, that is.

The other issue is that “north Tosa” is higher than “south Tosa” and the tiniest bit of ice can make it virtually impossible to get from one end of town to the next.

On a typical day, commuting through Tosa works pretty well. Sure, it’s a little putzy to navigate the streets where you can’t turn left during rush hour, but once you figure it out, it’s fine. During the “traffic snarl,” it was a nightmare. At one point, I considered abandoning my car and walking home. In fact, if I had done that, it probably would have lessened my one hour commute.

And so, in mid-November, I was slapped upside the head by Mother Nature. “It’s winter, dummy! Drive carefully!”

Sigh.

If you know me (and most of you don’t), there are two things you know: 1) I love TV. I watch a lot of it. More than I should, but at this age, some things won’t change. Unlike Tom Gaertner, I have cable and lot of it. 2) I’m easily distracted. I probably can’t walk and chew gum. If you’re talking to me and have some spinach in your teeth, I will not hear a word you’re saying. (Primarily because I will be having an internal argument with myself about whether or not to tell you.)

Sorry, I digressed. The point of this post is to talk about what is, to me, an annoying trend – televisions in restaurants. I eat out a fair amount and there seem to be many restaurants in Tosa that have giant televisions for all to view. This is really starting to bug me.

Let me say, however, that I have no problem with bars that have TVs. I think lots of people visit places like Colonel Hart’s or Leff’s to have a drink and watch a game. That’s just fine with me.

But when I go out to eat, I just can’t stand it when there is a giant TV where I’m having my dinner or my lunch. If I’m facing the TV, I have the most difficult time focusing on my dining companions. If they’re facing the TV, I know they are not paying attention to me. It’s a lose-lose situation.

Here are just a few of the Tosa places where I’ve found TVs:  ***'s Chinese Restaurant, Pizzeria Piccola, Firefly Bar & Grill, John’s Sandwich Shop and Cheesecake Factory. At many of these, the sound is turned off. That’s certainly better than competing with the TV sound, but still distracting.

Growing up, watching TV during dinner was a HUGE no-no, with the possible exception of a major news event, like the Lunar Landing or a presidential election. Once in a while, we’d have TV dinners and sit with metal trays in front of us as a special treat. Eating without television forced us to talk to each other, a foreign concept for many of today’s families.

What do you think? Am I being a cranky old lady about this?  

I don’t know about you, but I have reached the burnout stage of this election. If I never hear another commercial with the tagline: “I’m _______ and I approve this message,” then life would be pretty good.

There’s an excellent chance that I’m preaching to the choir here, right? And yet, somewhere, in some “war room,” there’s a strategist saying: “We need to make more robo calls!”

Is your answering machine filled with messages from both presidential campaigns? Ours would be except that the brilliant invention known as Caller ID has allowed me to intercept these calls and hang up on them before they get started.

Seriously, who is answering the calls that come from this phone number: 000-000-0000? And my favorite is when that number is paired with the name “O” above it. “Look honey! Oprah’s calling!”

I’m not sure who either campaign thinks they are reaching, but it’s nobody who has paid taxes in this decade. Maybe there’s some poor unsuspecting old school fellow (still watching TV with an analog signal no doubt) who picks up his rotary dial phone and is flattered that John McCain or Barack Obama took time from their campaign to call him.

Just because it’s so popular, we’ll call this guy Joe. Do you think at the end of that call, Joe tries to speak to the candidates and is offended that they ignore his questions and hang up on him? No, I don’t either. Joe doesn’t exist and you can’t help but wonder how much both campaigns would save themselves in dollars and us in annoyance if they suspended that campaign tactic.

Honestly, neither candidate will sway me with their attack ads, their scary mailers (which go right into my handy recycling bin) or their incessant calls. Unlike some of my friends and relatives, I’m not reading the endless stream of rumors about both candidates. I’m not parked in front of my TV watching The Situation Room. I’m on Facebook but I did not “become a fan” of either candidate. At cocktail parties I avoid any and all political discussions.

Yes, that’s right. THIS voter has gone rogue. I’m unreachable and I’m thinking for myself. You can try to throw your mud and your accusations and your frightening worst-case scenarios at me but it’s not going to stick. Somehow, some way, without any help from the mainstream or underground or digital media, I’m going to try and make a thoughtful, intelligent choice.

And then on November 4^th, I’m going to stand in line with my neighbors and do the most amazing thing. I’m going to vote. Join me, won’t you?

I need to vent. This is driving me NUTS. I think I’ve blogged about this at least once, no, actually twice! I would like to propose that we take back Halloween and put it back on October 31^st!

On the front page of WauwatosaNow.com, you will see this notice:

 This year, Halloween is on a Friday. What would be the harm in having citywide trick-or-treat from 5-8 pm on that day? Most neighborhood associations are doing it on Friday. Kids don’t have to worry about being out on a school night. Parents don’t either, for that matter.

I don’t know about everyone in Wauwatosa, but I have virtually NO trick-or-treaters during the Citywide session. I can understand doing the business trick-or-treat ahead of time, but can’t we just have all trick-or-treating on Halloween?!

In this day and age of “less is more,” seems like we should be looking at ways of spending fewer dollars on things like candy and costumes. With the potential for THREE Halloween celebrations in Tosa, that is difficult to do.

What do you think, readers? Are you confused by the multiple trick-or-treating dates? Do you just wish Halloween was on October 31^st?

We just returned from a brief vacation to the land where Brett now rules the land. Yes, New York City is quite bedazzled by Broadway Brett…at least until he throws that first interception. Then we’ll see if those jersey sales slow down a bit.

Anyway, the one thing that I notice more often when I travel are cell phones and how deeply imbedded they are in our culture. Everywhere you go people are firmly attached to their cell phones. I know. Kind of a “duh” statement but still sort of chilling. No doubt about it, we are in touch, everywhere, no matter where we go.

(Oh and don’t forget that Brett and his cell phone were all a big part of Favre-gate, so at least he’s got that signal down.)

When we used to go on trips, and I’d see something that I think would interest my kids, I’d make a mental note of it and tell them when we got home. Or if I was really prepared, I’d take a photo and later share the accompanying story. Now, I take a photo and send a “pix” message. (And trust me – I do not have a fancy cell phone at all.) Sort of like carrying my kids in my pocket for the trip – very little cost and less attitude.

When we accidentally ran smack-dab into Mercedez Benz Fashion Week, I knew my 16-year old daughter would be jealous but would definitely want to share in the experience. So I snapped cell phone pix and sent them to her. Suddenly, my messages were slightly more cool and less annoying than the week before.

One thing that puzzles me about cell phones are those Bluetooth headset things that people wear around. I think they’re great for people that are driving. Very convenient and slightly more safe than the hands-on option. What I don’t get, however, are the people that use headsets when they’re NOT driving…or doing anything else. Suddenly the weight of a cell phone is more than they can bear? Or, that Bluetooth hanging on your ear is the next big thing in fashion? I don’t think so.

And no discussion of cell phones would be complete without mentioning etiquette. We are definitely still writing those rules. What we should and shouldn’t do with our cell phones. During movies? Bad. On the street? Apparently OK because EVERYONE is doing it….everywhere. We’re texting, we’re checking e-mail. And, as a result, we’re oblivious to our surroundings.

That brings us to the topic of loud cell phone conversations. Here’s my proposal: If you are talking on a cell phone in public, loudly and in front of others, your conversation is everyone’s business. In other words, we get to participate.

For instance, in the airport, I heard one woman talking about how she and her husband were bidding on a house but they and the seller were $9,000 apart on a price. Since she was speaking so loudly that all of us at Gate B3 could hear her, I think we were entitled to say things like: “Girl! You stick to your guns. The market’s bad, honey. Lowball it. You can’t lose!” What? That’s rude but her talking loudly isn’t? I don’t know. Seems fair (and fun) to me!

We could have a slogan for this new rule: “Your loud chat is everyone’s business!” Or, “Go ahead and talk loud. I can’t wait to hear more!” Or “Speak up! Those of us on the other side of the city can’t hear you!” Just imagine the possibilities.

It seems like everyone I know has Olympic fever. They’re watching and talking about the Olympics more than ever before. And how could you not watch them non-stop? They’re everywhere. I mean, really. They’re on NBC, USA Network, Oxygen, MSNBC, Universal HD and of course, online all the time.

Count me among the folks that are just a little bit befuddled by this Olympic experience. I think the problem is that I missed the opening ceremonies, a.k.a. the gateway to Olympic addiction. I was out that night and forgot to record it. I tuned in as the guy lighting the torch was walking along the top of the Bird’s Nest. Let me tell you, Peter Pan’s got nothing on that guy.

Since then, I’ve tried to watch the Olympics, many times. But every time I tune in, I either get boxing (which hurts me to watch), a water polo match, (a ridiculously hard sport that's pretty boring to watch) or a replay of a sport where the results have been splashed all over the internet. Or, I get all excited about an event, only to find that I’m watching a HEAT. Sorry, but nothing could be less exciting to me than a heat. Sort of like pre-season football or spring training. (I know it counts more, but if the athletes don’t care about finishing first, then I don’t either.)

I’m a huge sports fan, but in this day and age of instant information, it’s incredibly tough to get engaged in a medal competition when I can walk over to my computer and find out who won. I just don’t have that much self-control.

And NBC has tried their darnedest to ratchet up the drama. They’ve done background mini-documentaries, complete with tear-jerking music, on virtually every U.S. athlete. Perhaps that’s the problem for me. They over-prepared. Rather than allowing us to experience the real drama as it unfolded, they had to spoon-feed it to us until we practically gagged on it.

Then there’s the big kahuna - Michael Phelps. It’s not his fault. There’s no denying the fact that he’s one of the most amazing athletes of all time and I congratulate him and wish him the very best. I just wish they could have dialed down the over-the-top hysteria and just let us see it as it happened - without the anatomical diagrams explaining why his giant feet and short legs make him such an uber-athlete. I’m going to say this and it might be un-American: I’m Phelps-ed out.

In defense of NBC, how else do you fill HOURS of prime-time television? The time difference of 13 hours makes it unrealistic to show anything in real time. I guess they just crossed their fingers and hoped that people were OK with seeing their sporting events on tape delay. I can’t explain why I’m not. Perhaps it’s just the cynic in me.

Maybe the problem isn’t so much the viewing as it is the listening. I imagine Al Trautwig, Tim Daggett and Rowdy Gaines clutching their NBC-issued Official Glossary of Adjectives as they attempt to explain to us how a seemingly small mistake is really “disastrous” or “catastrophic.” Meanwhile, Bela Karolyi, whose wife coaches the U.S. Women’s gymnasts, makes absolutely no attempt to appear unbiased in his commentary. I guess that’s OK, because I’m rooting for the U.S. women too, but perhaps he shouldn’t be a regular “fixture” in the studio.

Bob Costas, who I usually like a lot, has really disappointed me this time in his role as NBC’s Olympic ring-master. I have never seen a more awkward moment on television than the split triple screen with Costas, Phelps and Mark Spitz. Rather than asking Spitz something mildly compelling like: “How does it feel to no longer be THE Olympic guy?”, he lobbed softballs and instead went for: “Mark, what do you think of what Michael has done?” Gee Bob, what did you think he was going to say? It was all just so painfully predictable as the two multi-medalists practically wrenched their shoulders patting each other on the back.

Now that I’ve totally rained on the Olympic parade, I’ll say that the other day I was brought to tears by the Olympics. It was the medal ceremony for the 55 kilogram wrestling weight class. The gold medal winner was Henry Cejudo of the U.S. who was apparently a surprise medalist. As our national anthem played, the announcers deftly explained that Cejudo is the son of illegal immigrants who had never slept in his own bed until he arrived at Olympic training camp. At that moment, I choked up and beamed with American pride as both Cejudo and his father had tears in their eyes.

Now that’s the kind of Olympic moment that I love.

I’m sorry, but it’s just too early. I don’t care what you say...it is.

In fact, I would argue that being this early will mean that some things around your house will be stale...really stale.

What am I talking about? OK, so on Sunday August 10^th, we were wandering the aisles of Sentry, picking up a few essentials.

Suddenly, just northeast of the produce department, we ran into a GIGANTIC display. I could NOT believe it. I was so stunned that I took a photo with my cell phone. Here it is:

Please forgive the quality, but what you see there is an enormous display of Halloween candy. That’s right, I said Halloween candy. On August 10^th. Exactly 82 days before Halloween.

It's not enough that every neighborhood has multiple dates for Halloween. Now we have to think about those multiple dates nearly three months before they arrive!!!

Like I said, it’s just too early.

Next time, I think we’ll just do lunch.

It all started about a year ago. My grade school friend, Margie, and I were trading e-mails at the end of the 2007 baseball season.

“Tell the Brewers to stop winning!” she pleaded.

“Not a chance,” I replied.

“Next summer, we should go to a game in Milwaukee,” she suggested.

At that point, I should have politely declined and offered to meet her at Six Flags. I hate roller coasters, but even that would have been more fun than yesterday.

Thursday afternoon, I took Margie to the Brewers’ game. I refuse to call it a Cubs’ game even though the crowd was at least 80% Chicago fans. (It was a day game. Don’t these people have jobs?!)

A month ago, this outing seemed like a very bad idea.

Last weekend, it seemed like a great idea.

Monday – less great.

Tuesday – um, well….

Wednesday – oh no!

Still, this was my old friend who I hadn’t seen in a long time. We grew up together on the north side of Chicago. We wore the same ugly plaid uniforms at St. Mary of the Woods grade school. We sat at our high school lunch table together. Back then, Margie made green Rice Krispy treats for everyone’s birthday. We’d catch up on old times and she’d make it fun, right?

When we entered Miller Park, Margie and I apparently looked like an odd couple. She in her Cubs’ t-shirt and hat and me in my really cool Brewers’ jersey. (I now hate the fact that this jersey just happens to be Cubbie blue. Dang it!) The Miller Park employees and vendors shot me pitiful glances, as if to say: “I’m sorry. Did you lose a bet or something?”

I knew it would be tough, but I never expected the force and number of Cubs’ fans that I encountered at Thursday’s game. I felt like the proverbial salmon swimming upstream against the tide of giant “Cs” and Chicago apparel. But I hung on to the hope that MY home team could send them back to Illinois, crestfallen and sorely disappointed. Alas, that was not to be.

At first the game looked like it could be a fair contest, until the home runs started…the Cubs’ home runs. Margie would clap loudly, stand up and then bend over and say: “I’m sorry!” “No you’re not,” I’d reply with a false grin hiding my grim demeanor.

And then the text messages started rolling in. First it was Margie’s sister: “Hey! The Brewers just traded CC and Sheets for Santo! Edmunds rocks!” Then it was our grade school friend, Liz, who sat with a bus-full of flatlanders in the nosebleed section. “Sorry for the delay in my response to your last message. I was distracted by the GRAND SLAM!”

Man, this was a very bad idea.

In the middle of the 8^th inning, when I could no longer sit and watch the massacre, I suggested that we wander up to visit Liz and her friends. Great idea, right? How much worse could things get?

My jersey and I walked up the steep steps into their section and I was greeted by a rousing chorus of boos and jeers as I valiantly waved my newly acquired Brewers’ car flag. This emboldened group, fueled by victory and alcohol, questioned my allegiances, my heritage and my ability to cheer for a team from Milwaukee.

“The Cubs never did anything for me when I lived there,” I started.

“I’ve lived here longer than I lived in Chicago,” I continued.

“They built me a stadium!,” I finally added, somewhat desperately. “It’s nice, isn’t it?” They agreed and said they really, really liked Miller Park. I would too if I were them.

Then they made feeble attempts to console me: “Karen, this will be great. The Cubs will win the division. The Brewers will win the wild card and then the Cubs will win the World Series. Everybody’s happy!” Um, sure. You did well in logic class in college, didn’t you pal?

Finally, it ended. Margie and I waded through the Cubs’ merchandise, the stupid Cubs’ victory songs and the “W” flags (apparently their fans need single-letter explanations for the outcome of a game – perhaps the Tribune sports page is too complicated?) And of course there were the brooms. Yes, we know. You swept us. Now go home. Your mommy needs to clean up the kitchen.

In the end, I’m a die-hard Brewers’ fan. There’s no turning back. The truth is, I’m jealous of their over-the-top euphoria. I’d like to think that we Milwaukeeans would handle it a little less obnoxiously, but I don’t really know that. All I really do know is that there’s only one way to stop this humiliation – just win baby.

In the meantime, Margie and I will stick to lunch….or roller coasters.

I have heard that retirement, like many major changes in life, is tough. One day you’re an important cog in the wheel. The next, you’re spending your mornings at Walgreens waiting for your prescriptions, at a time of day when you used to be in meetings.

My father and my late father-in-law spent decades on their careers. And although their jobs took different paths (my dad in marketing and my father-in-law in medicine), they had one thing in common. They dreaded retirement. How would they define themselves without a job title? They eventually figured it out, but it took years.

Now, we Packer fans have a front-row seat for Brett Favre’s own late career crisis. The player most likely to create drama on the field has brewed up a perfect storm of controversy pitting himself and his legacy against Packers GM, Ted Thompson.

Brett, I know it’s tough to retire, but you should be ashamed of yourself.

Let me back up and tell you that I am one of the biggest Brett Favre fans there is. When everyone else in my house booed his interceptions, I continued to cheer him on. We all have bad days on the job, right? I was continually impressed with his team-first attitude, despite professional and personal challenges. Oh and one more thing: I do not blame Favre for the NFC Championship loss to the Giants. Sorry, no. It takes an entire team to lose.

Today, my feelings have changed. (About Favre, not that frigid game.)

Favre has single-handedly put the Packers in a no-win situation. He points the finger at the team administration for asking him to make a decision before the draft. Can you blame them? The team’s job is to look to the future and prepare for the upcoming season. It is not their job to look out for Favre and twiddle their thumbs while he rides his tractor and mulls over his choices.

He has changed his mind several times since his retirement press conference. And rather than answer to the rumors swirling about, he allowed his brother and his mother to talk to the media. C’mon Brett. Do your own talking.

What bothers me most is that everything Favre has done demonstrates that he feels he is more important than the team. The good ole boy from Mississippi apparently has a sizeable ego. He doesn’t want to be traded, he just wants to be released. He won’t be a backup ($12 million for holding a clipboard - nice work if you can get it) and he doesn’t feel like he should have to compete for the starting job.

And to add to the drama, Favre is supposed to be in town this weekend to help induct Frank Winters into the Packer Hall of Fame. Poor Frankie Bag O’ Doughnuts. His big day of celebration just became a media circus all about Brett. Way to go, gunslinger.

I heard former Packer wide receiver Don Beebe on the radio the other day. He had a great suggestion: Favre shows up at training camp and proves that he is humble enough to get out there with the rest of the guys and compete for his position. This will force the Packers’ hand and make him look like the all-around great guy we thought he was. They’ll either have to reinstate him as a starter, trade him or release him.

For those who have said that the Packers owe Favre his release or his job back, I disagree. Favre has always been paid handsomely and, in turn, has performed commensurate to his salary. Both sides upheld their ends of the bargain. That’s it. Favre gets the endless accolades for ever and ever. But to bow to his every whim, at the expense of the future of the franchise, is just plain foolish. To let him go and get nothing in return would be, in my opinion, a poor fiscal decision for the team.

There are no winners in Favre’s self-created soap opera. His legacy has been forever tarnished. The Packers are damned if they do, damned if they don’t. It didn’t have to be this way. If Favre had just left us wanting more and moved on to pursue other hobbies, I think we’d all be happier. I would much rather remember him in that last heartbreaking game, leaving it all out on the field, than hear him whining to Greta Van Susteren on Fox News. (What? Was ESPN’s Chris Mortensen busy or just tired of the theatrics?)

Now, we’re just left with the name of a popular Tom Petty song:

Brett, “Stop draggin’ my heart around.”

As I began writing this, I was on hold for 25 minutes with Time Warner. The irony is that I was calling about my high-speed internet service, which doesn’t seem to be very high speed at all.

What they should have said on that recording would be a line from Dante’s Inferno:

Here are my two initial thoughts as I sat there on hold:

1. If my call were important, they would have staffed sufficiently to be able to answer my call in less time, which is what I would have liked.

2. Not sure who thought that repeating the above message every 30 seconds would make me feel even more valued or less irritated.

And so began my descent into what could be best described as the tenth circle of hell (Dante wrote about nine, but he didn’t have Road Runner) – Time Warner Customer Service.

Look, I understand that when a company becomes successful, they grow. And when they grow, it’s tough to continue to offer truly personal customer service. But during my odyssey (a total of about 3 hours on the phone), I spoke to no less than six people – six! I started out patiently explaining my problem and just when I felt like the person to whom I was speaking understood my dilemma, they transferred me somewhere else.

Each time I was transferred, a seemingly nice person would listen to me, apologize for my troubles and express empathy for my frustration. But then, every time, I would have to repeat the same information that I gave the person before them.

Along the way, my patience diminished and the follies multiplied. For instance, the first tech support person told me to reboot my modem by unplugging the power cord. Great idea, except that we also have digital phone (All the Best!) and that small action disconnected my call. My dog Millie cowered in the corner at that moment as I shouted at the now non-working phone: “Are you kidding me?! Are you KIDDING me?!”

It seemed like every person I spoke to contradicted the person before them.

After numerous rebootings and multiple speed tests, it was determined that I’m only getting half the typical Road Runner speed. Um, yeah. I kind of knew that. That’s why I’m calling!!!

So, next week, I get a personal visit from a Time Warner truck to, pardon the pun, try and get me up to speed. My expectations are rather low. Yes, I have already abandoned hope.

It’s not perfect, but I think Summerfest is one of the very best tourist draws to our city. Based on the amount of Cubs and Bears apparel I saw wandering the grounds, lots of folks agree. I have always been a huge fan of Summerfest. Growing up in and around Chicago, Summerfest was one of my first introductions to the city of Milwaukee. After moving here, I fondly remember being pregnant and sitting on the rickety wooden plank benches of the old main stage watching Stevie Ray Vaughan. I’ve never been one to dance on picnic tables but I’ve almost always enjoyed my ‘Fest experiences.

Here are some of my random Summerfest musings:

- I much prefer any of the smaller stages to the Marcus Amphitheater which has, in my opinion, some of the worst acoustics of any venue in town. And that includes The Bradley Center.

- This year’s lineup of bands seemed refreshingly diverse – something to please almost everyone….at least in our house!

- I have only experienced human gridlock twice in my life. (The phenomenon where you’re walking and then suddenly nobody can move.) The first time was at Epcot Center on New Year’s Eve. The second time was July 3rd at 11:30 pm outside the Miller Oasis Stage. Pretty scary.

- Note to self: The base of the Miller Oasis sign is possibly the worst meeting place in all of Summerfest. Why? Because 10,000 other people are meeting at that exact same spot at that exact same time.

- I’m all for introducing young kids to the joys of live music, but I’m almost to the point of suggesting that no children under the age of 10 should be allowed after 8pm. For example, I can’t begin to count the number of infants I saw at 11:30 pm. 11:30 pm. Seriously. What were those parents thinking?

- Although I wouldn’t want one for myself, I’ve become reluctantly accepting of tattoos. Not so much with some of the piercings that I saw. Especially the one where you create a hole in your earlobe large enough to drive an SUV through. I can’t help thinking, what will that look like when that person is 70 years old? Ick.

- I hate to give away a secret, but the Usinger’s sausage garden on the far north end of the grounds is the most peaceful place to grab an authentic Milwaukee meal. Good food, lots of space to sit and surprisingly quiet.

- The Big Bang Fireworks, which we could clearly see from the Zippo Rock Stage on Thursday night, were strangely endless. Did they have leftovers from last year? There were two finales. Two. It made me realize that there is such a thing as too many fireworks.

- One of the most entertaining stages (even if it’s not my favorite style of music) is the Cascio Interstate stage outside the Marcus Amphitheater. It’s a teeny tent with a light pole directly in front of the stage. The kids performing heavy metal and punk have more energy and enthusiasm than you’ll see on any other stage. Plus, watching the head bobs of the small audience is oddly mesmerizing.

- Good news: I do not have ADHD. That is according to the test I took at the ADHD tent near the south end of the grounds. I cannot quite wrap my head around why such an exhibit was needed, but I’m glad to know that I can cross that worry off my list.

- Summerfest Pull Tabs = Possibly the worst use of your festival dollars.

- One of the best places to listen to music is at the U.S. Cellular stage. Sure, the music is pretty good, but reading the texts that people send to the giant screen next to the stage can be just as amusing. Some of my favorites: “U R Staring at a giant screen.” And “If U R cute, look left.” (Everyone looked left after reading this.) However, this is not a place to find good spelling.

- If you have to park in Lot P on the far south end of the grounds, try to leave early. My friends and I were stuck in gridlock after leaving a 10pm show. It took us 90 minutes to get back to Tosa.

- One of the oddest promotional sights was the KC Masterpiece Barbecue Sauce stain removal beanbag toss (or something like that) outside the Marcus prior to the Tim McGraw concert. That’s what I’m thinking about when I go to Summerfest – stain removal.

- I was consistently impressed by the pleasant demeanor of virtually every Summerfest employee that I encountered. I cannot fathom being that friendly for 11 days.

- The new Harley stage is amazing. I can’t help but wonder if the folks at Miller are a little jealous.

Got any Summerfest thoughts? Leave a comment and share your thoughts, criticisms or quirky sightings. See you next year at the ‘Fest!

There’s a brief but interesting discussion on the Tosa Town Square about watching fireworks on TV. This is something that fascinates me, for no good reason except that I have a strong opinion on the topic.

Here’s the thing: I love fireworks. I love TV. (Sad, but true.) So, you would think that combining two of my favorite things would make a new thing that I would like even better. Not so much.

I believe that fireworks should never be shown on TV. Never. They just don’t work. To me, fireworks on TV seem like a great idea. You don’t have to battle crowds, look for a spot to sit, or soak yourself in bug spray.* You can sit in your comfy, perhaps air-conditioned, house and enjoy the show.

The thing is, there’s nothing less-fulfilling than watching fireworks on TV. Except perhaps watching taped Olympics coverage when you know the results. (Don’t worry. I’ll get on that soapbox later in the summer.) I have no interest in what Mike and Carol think about the fireworks. Zero. In fact, they annoy me to no end.

To truly enjoy a fireworks show, you have to earn it. You have to search for parking. You have to lug and carry stuff until you’re sweating. You have to try to get comfortable. And then, hardest of all, you have to wait. And if you have young children, you have to listen to the endless questions and whiny cries: “What time is it?” “When will they start?” “I’m bored!” “I have to go to the bathroom.”

But when the fireworks start…when you feel that first gigantic percussion resonate in your chest…it’s so worthwhile.

And I agree with the citizens on the Town Square. Skip the music, unless by music you mean the chorus of “oohs” and “ahhs” that you can’t avoid joining in on.

While I have your ear, let’s talk a little fireworks etiquette:

(1) Leave Fido at home. I’ve seen far too many cowering, trembling pooches at the Tosa fireworks every year. The dogs do not look happy and their owners are clearly not enjoying themselves.

(2) Leave the sparklers at home. Sparklers in your backyard – good idea. Sparklers in a giant crowd of people – very bad idea.

(3) Unless you’re joining in the Oohs and Ahhs Chorus, please don’t talk over my fireworks. It’s only about 30 minutes. Feel free to chat before or after. Definitely not during.

(4) Wait to leave or be nice. The crowds are going to be HUGE. You may as well take your time leaving or accept that it will take you a while. Honking or getting irritated adds nothing to the equation.

Here’s wishing everyone a Happy and SAFE 4^th of July! See you at the fireworks!

*In my last post, I talked about the shortage of bug spray at local stores. A visit yesterday to the Walgreens at Hwy 100 and North Ave. proved me totally wrong. They had lots of bug spray. Just in time for the fireworks!

I recently visited the brand spanking-new “Intermodal” (i.e. Amtrak/Greyhound) Station in downtown Milwaukee. I was pretty excited when I heard about the renovation because the old station was, um, a dump. I have to say, the remodeling was a success. The place looks gorgeous, with its floor to ceiling windows.

So today, I read this story about how the city is fighting to get a decent restaurant next door, but thus far, the only takers are a couple of fast-food joints. Even Milwaukee Mayor Tom Barrett said “we can do better.”

I agree with Mayor Barrett…sort of.

I think they should look for something better than Dunkin’ Donuts and subs. But, before they look at adding fine dining, they might want to do one simple thing: Look up.

In my opinion, there’s a huge problem developing at the Intermodal Station that gives a worse impression than the smell of fried food. The flocks of circling birds are using the gigantic windows for, shall we say, target practice. That’s right, the first thing you notice about the beautiful new station is the windows and the next thing you notice is that they’re covered in bird poop. In fact, they look like....you-know-what.

And so I ask: Somewhere in that $15.8 million renovation, did anybody put in a few dollars for window washing? Because I don’t know about you, but the sight of bird-droppings doesn’t make me hungry for anything.

A few days ago, I had the opportunity to see Lisa Ling speak as part of the Journal Sentinel’s Smart Talk Series at the Marcus Center. My season tickets to the series are an annual gift to myself. It’s a great excuse to create a girls’ night out with a friend – dinner, followed by an interesting talk by a prominent and/or successful woman. (I’ll explain later why this will be my last year as a subscriber.)

I’ve always been a fan of Lisa Ling. Her down-to-earth journalistic style is a far cry from the overly dramatic and sensationalistic methods used by other reporters. To me, she’s always seemed like someone you could sit down and talk to, without feeling intimidated.

In her talk, Ling made a comment that resonated with me. She talked about the deterioration of television news and how little “real” news is really being reported. Newscasts filled with stories about Brittany and Anna Nicole and Paris Hilton. With the proliferation of all-news networks, that should be no surprise. It’s virtually impossible for networks such as CNN, MSNBC and Fox News to fill their broadcasts, without adding “filler” – opinions spouted by so-called experts, reports on everyday dangers and puff pieces that are basically just gossip.

For me, this is especially true with our local news broadcasts. At the risk of biting the hand that hosts my blog, Channel 4 (owned by Journal Communications) is the worst offender. This week, their big news promotion is “The Meat We Eat,” a behind-the-scenes expose on meat gone bad. They seem to have made a conscious decision to gear their newscasts to the sensational and the scary.  Their “local news” is nothing more than investigative reporting gone over-the-top. No wonder Mike Gousha left.

This is exactly why I made the decision long ago to stop watching television news. It used to be a habit to turn on the 10:00 pm news before I’d nod off to sleep. Night after night, our local television journalists would alarm, scare and depress me before I fell asleep. It did absolutely nothing for my daily attitude.

And so I stopped – cold turkey. If I need to flip on the TV before I go to bed, it’s The Daily Show. Nothing ends the day better than a chuckle over faux news. Unless there truly is a big story on the news, I don’t miss it a bit.

I’m now a habitual daily newspaper reader. I love starting out the day by reading a well-written story. Sure, the Journal Sentinel covers many of the same stories that I might see on the news, but there’s so much more. And nobody is shouting at me, making idle chit-chat or adding a dose of dramatic music to the news. It’s all there. And I can choose to skip the filler.

And, no, I don’t agree with everything the Journal Sentinel covers or their editorial stance. But I prefer my news written, not stirred. I think I get that from our daily paper.

Back to the Smart Talk Series. They’re losing me as a subscriber because like local TV news, the series has become a bloated series of talking heads. I pay for my tickets. And yet, time after time, they insist on parading corporate vice-president after corporate vice-president past us to “introduce” the speaker. And we’re supposed to applaud for each of them after their little introductions. Seriously? It takes THREE vice-presidents to introduce one speaker? I’m not dumb, I know it’s marketing. But we’re getting less speaker and more vice-president. The speakers only talk for 45 minutes, max. Then there’s a question and answer period. They ask for questions from the audience, but the moderator generally has her own agenda and her own questions. To me, it’s not a great buy for my entertainment dollars. Too bad, it was a great idea.

Happy Mother's Day to all the moms, grandmas, aunts, godmothers and special women in all of our lives!

I’ve seen this topic on the Town Square a while back, but we’re now facing it head-on in our house. I’m going on record and saying that I really, really, really dislike the new Time Warner “Navigator” on-screen system.

For those of you that don’t have digital cable, Navigator is the on-screen listing and DVR guide that was recently “upgraded.” Prior to this supposed upgrade, our on-screen TV Guide and the DVR Guide worked great. I had no complaints with it at all. A quick internet search yielded no reason for Time Warner to make the change.

In our house, we have more than one digital box. Despite several mailings from Time Warner announcing the change, Navigator showed up on each box weeks apart. Every time it happened (sort of like the cable fairy sneaking in at night), we grumbled.

Fortunately, the HD DVR was last. I held out hope that the cable fairy might leave that box alone. Alas, it was not to be. We turned on the TV last night and there was Navigator in all of its complicated glory.

To be fair, there is one thing I like about Navigator. It tells you how much room you have on your DVR. That’s it – that’s the list.

Nothing and I mean nothing about Navigator is better than the old system. It’s slower than the grand old days of getting up, walking to the TV and changing the channel. Despite the fact that I probably suffer from middle-age vision deterioration, it’s really hard to see. The on-screen type is SMALL and therefore virtually impossible to read across the room. Can I sit closer to see it better? Sure, but my Mom told me I’d hurt my eyes if I did that. Mom is always right.

Looking for a show to record? Good luck. Although I found shows when searching, the process of selecting them for a season pass is sort of like a maddening shell game. Now you see it, now you don’t.

Here’s the other new “feature.” It doesn’t automatically delete shows that are older. It simply doesn’t record new ones if there isn’t room on the DVR. Grrr….

Sure, they sent out mailings with intricate instructions. I started reading them and dozed off several times. Why should I have to “study” something I didn’t ask for in the first place?!

The good news is I felt a little better when I read Tim Cuprisin’s April 4^th column and blog on this topic. I’m not alone in my extreme dislike of Navigator. The bad news is, Time Warner is apparently crossing its arms and standing firm. Gee thanks for the customer service, folks.

I guess I don’t have a choice in the matter. Navigator is here to stay. But I’m telling you, if I miss the next episode of Grey’s Anatomy, I’m going to be McSteamed!

I have always been a Caller ID enthusiast. Over the years, it has saved me from countless telemarketers, fundraisers and sometimes an overzealous relative or two. I tend to use Caller ID aggressively and often. I like to get my money’s worth.

For me, Caller ID is most valuable prior to an election. Today alone, we’ve received four pre-voting calls – from Jill Didier, two from Scott Walker and one other that I can’t identify because I cut off the recording before it finished. It’s late afternoon, I expect a whole bunch more around dinnertime.

What baffles me about these calls is that they are just recordings, every single one of them. I just have one question: Who listens to these recordings in their entirety? Do politicians really think that little of us? I’d be curious to know how much it costs them to record and then “distribute” these calls. Regardless of who I am voting for, I refuse to sit on the phone and listen to a machine talk to me. If I wanted to do that, I'd call my insurance company...or Time Warner.

Despite the fact that I ignore, hang up on and delete these calls, I fully expect them to continue beyond tomorrow’s big vote. After all, come November, we have a really big vote happening. I’m sure my phone will be fielding calls from some heavy hitters around then.

In the meantime, I’ll just sit here and enjoy the benefits of telephone technology. Oops, gotta run. My phone is ringing. Never mind, it’s just the “Friends of Scott Walker.”

Besides the fact that we’re annoying each other, a little tired of being land-locked and our cabin-fever is at an all-time high, another undesirable by-product of this record-breaking winter is that we’ve become a household of sickos.

We are doing what I call trading illnesses. With our son gone at college, there are three of us in the house. At any one time, at least one of us, often two, have a cold or the flu. Don’t worry. I’ll spare you the grim details.

We’re going through Kleenex faster than water. There’s hardly enough decongestant in all of Tosa to stop our noses from running. We throw away our toothbrushes weekly. We spend our many trips to Walgreens wandering the aisles in search of something, anything that might provide a secret, miracle cure. (Yesterday, I seriously considered a Neti Pot . That’s how desperate I am.)

I have visions of calling a service, something along the lines of an exterminator, to tent our entire house and fumigate it from the germs that are apparently embedded in our walls, sort of like toxic mold.

I no longer listen for the sounds of creaking floorboards to know that my family is awake. Now it’s a cough and a few sneezes to announce their awakening.

We wash our hands so much that they’re raw to the touch. It’s obviously not helping.

I have daydreams. They involve a beach and warm, sizzling sun. Something to bake the bugs until they shrivel up and die.

I know it’s only a page turn in the calendar, but I too am really glad it’s March.

 Do you feel safer today? I thought so. Me too. Yes, folks, the crack TSA team at New York’s LaGuardia airport has spared all of you from a potential disaster – me transporting toothpaste into Milwaukee. Let me explain.

My family and I just returned from a short trip to New York City. Great town. Huge crowds, Broadway, miles of walking. Everyone should visit at least once in their life. You should see the sandwich that $20 can buy! You think the prices at John’s Sandwich Shop have gone up? Try Times Square. Gulp.