The Thin Man…Well, In One Specific Area

Yesterday, on FirstNews, Donna Pitman was nearly rhapsodic about how great Donny Osmond looked for being in his 50s…as if, by age 50, a person should be appearing in Dannon Yogurt ads like those featuring residents of Soviet Georgia.  She’d say something like: “Wow!  Donny Osmond looks great and is in such great shape for being around 50….”  Then, the unspoken part of her comment: “Especially compared to these two loads I sit next to every morning.”

We did receive a couple of emails saying Kris Ketz and I were not really so bad.  Although, I must say that when one writer referred to us as “Mr. Ketz and Quasimodo” it did give me pause.  Not paws, pause!  Speaking of paws, a fellow employee here at KMBC, when told that there were viewers who actually liked the looks of not-so-little, old me replied: “Well, it is nice that their seeing-eye-dogs are able to lead them to their computers to send the email.”  Tasteless and hurtful all at the same time!

One emailer told me I should get a haircut in order to prevent “all those women from running their fingers through it!”  That reminded me to stop by the dry cleaners and pick up my weekend hair so I can look “playfully casual” at the  Harvesters Check-Out Hunger event on Saturday.  Actually, I don’t have any toupees…yet.  However, again this week, I had visual evidence of my fading follicle future.

First, while doing the report from the Harvesters Headquarters this past Monday, a shot of me sitting at the computer revealed quite an amazing look at the back of my head.  Of course, some may say that’s my best side but it did show a rather extreme…well…let’s call it a “part.”  Rather like the Red Sea as Moses was moseying through. 

Now, I do try to comb the sadly thinning hair back there in such a way as to minimize the scalp-sighting opportunities.  But, Monday morning, I wore a turkey head for one segment and I think that damaged the ‘do.  Maybe, if I just go with the turkey head at all times, none of this would be a problem until my snood turned gray and my wattle started to recede.

Again, today, as I was finishing up a weather report I caught a glimpse of my bulbous head in one of the television monitors.  It looked like one of those satellite pictures you see showing how a river has exceeded its banks during serious flooding.  Ever-widening.  Wiping out everything in its path.  I’m pretty sure I saw volunteers from the Salvation Army down there handing out blankets and cups of coffee.

As I quickly become the poster boy for male-pattern baldness, I must say it is a bitter thing.  Years ago, there was a fellow who was quite bald who would always make mention of my emerging waistline.  “Putting on a few pounds there, Joel?” he’d say with a smirk.  With quick, Oscar-Wilde-esque, wit, I’d reply: “Well, at least I’m not a cue-ball head!”  Is this what they mean by Karma?  Or, the Wisconsin version: What goes around, comes around?

I am not kidding myself.  I can almost feel my skull emerging where, once upon a time, there were tufts of youthful fur.  Frequently, I sense that I’m being followed by phrenologists who want to use me for their research.  Birds have started to use my natural bulls-eye with uncanny accuracy.

I guess I could grow the front of my hair really long and then swoop it back ala Barry Gibb.  Forget about how to mend a broken heart.  I want to know how to cover up some broken hair.

Or, better yet, maybe I could get taller!  That way fewer people would be able to notice my waning waves.  Becoming taller would also make my current weight seem almost proportional.  Almost.

What about these options:  Hair Club For Men!  Permanent Magic Marker!  Construction Paper and Super Glue!  Shoe Polish!  Wear lots of caps.  Carry a small ferret, on my head, at all times and then, when people inquire, say “What ferret?”

The barber who cut my hair, in the town where I grew up, used to tell me I had “Audubon Hair.”  “Audubon” on a dog.  At this stage of game, I’d take that…fleas and all.

Sunny Day…Everything’s A-Okay

November 10, 1969 was the day our nation was invaded by a bunch of fuzzy, colorful, noisy, goofy creatures.  No, I’m not talking about the initial broadcast of FirstNews.  That happened some years later.  I’m talking Sesame Street!

I was not really a Sesame Street kid.  I was more of a Captain Kangaroo person.  Any show with a guy wandering around named Mr. Green Jeans played by a guy actually named Lumpy Brannum had my vote.  I also liked the moose and silent rabbit.  Not to mention the attack of ping-pong balls at any moment.  However, whenever The Captain started creating something special using an empty shoe-box, glue and construction paper, I became frustrated and switched the channel to Sunrise Semester.  No matter what I tried to do in the “craft” department, my shoe-box always ended up looking like a shoe-box.  Still, I liked the Captain and stayed loyal despite the onslaught of these hippies of the puppet world who seemed intent on teaching me something.  Frankly, I was little old for the show.  I was getting my education from shows like Get Smart and F-Troop by that time.

Despite my penchant for shoe-phones and “We’re the Hekawi” jokes, I do remember the first time I noticed Sesame Street.  I was home, sick, from school.  Back then, for a punk, afternoon TV truly was a vast wasteland.  All you had to choose from was Search For Tomorrow and some guy on the public TV channel lecturing about improper fractions.  (At first, I was intrigued by the idea of  “improper fractions” but then I saw that it was just about math and nothing naughty.  I lost interest.)  All of a sudden, into this sleepy little video village, came singing, dancing, joking characters like Bert and Ernie, Big Bird and Cookie Monster.  Initially, I thought I was hallucinating due to the heavy combined odor of Lysol and Mentholatum.

As the years went by, I learned how to play the theme song so that my nieces and nephews would think I was a cool uncle and race all over the house like the kids in the open of the program.    Although they are all adults now, I’m pretty sure they still would break into a run…Pavlovian-like…if they heard the music which explains why they didn’t want me to play piano for their weddings.

Right here at www.kmbc.com, you can find a whole section devoted to Sesame Street, including a way to find out which character you most resemble…not necessarily physically. 

When our oldest child, Alexander, was little, he did watch the show fairly often and developed an affinity for Telly Monster.  That was the one who worried a lot.  Alex was about five or so when he got tackled by a bigger kid in the neighborhood and was convinced he’d broken his arm.  He insisted on walking around with a while towel wrapped around the “injury” for several days.  Then, all of a sudden, he was healed.  It was at that point that we discovered that Telly Monster had  a broken arm, too.  The day Telly’s cast came off, so did Alexander’s towel.

We took the boys to see “Bob” from Sesame Street in concert at Johnson County Community College one time, too.  To this day, I occasionally find myself singing “One of these things is not the like the others.  One of these things just doesn’t belong…”  In fact, if my life had a soundtrack, that would have to be the recurring theme.  ”Bob”  was great and, so far as I could tell, not a Muppet. 

Personally, I always liked Guy Smiley and Vincent Twice Vincent Twice.  In fact, I’ve based most of my so-called broadcast career on those two. 

I never warmed up to Elmo.  We’ve had a rather unhappy history.  No fault of the little, red monster.  All because of me.  I don’t want to get into it but let’s just say that if you plan to go to a costume party dressed as Elmo, just make it plain Elmo.  Not Tickle-Me Elmo.  Apparently, there are several local ordinances that come into play when a grown man, dressed in red fur, asks people to “Tickle Me” and then giggles like a maniac.  To put it in Sesame Street parlance, you could wind up serving “One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.  Ten Years In Cell Block D!”  Where, I’m told, it’s not that easy bein’ green.

I must say that I am happy with the success Snuffleupagus has found hosting This Week with George Snuffleupagus right here on KMBC!

I took the “Which Character Are You Like” test here on the website.  My wife would have guessed that I’m most like Cookie Monster.  My kids would have probably voted for Oscar the Grouch.  My employer would have said “Joel who?  Isn’t he that really old intern?” 

Turns out my downy Doppelganger is Grover!  I remember reading The Monster At The End Of This Book to the kids and trying to do Grover’s wild voice.  My larynx was in traction for a month. 

I do feel a little sorry for Grover.  He was a pretty big deal on Sesame Street for a long time.  Running around. Always a part of the action.  Sometimes wearing a cape and calling himself Super Grover.  Being generally cute, cuddly and crazy.  Then, along comes a younger, cuter fluff-filled critter who steals Grover’s thunder.   See “Elmo” above.  

Now, I’m not saying I feel left behind around KMBC. I was never a big deal, anyway.  But, if I show up in a cape and knight’s helmet, you’ll know why.

Nice Wattle But Your Snood Needs Work

Monday morning, as part of the kick-off to KMBC’s involvement with Harvesters Check-Out Hunger Food Drive, I was lucky to visit the scene of the action:  The Harvesters Distribution Center.  Before moving along, just a quick reminder that you can contribute to Harvesters in a whole bunch of ways over the next couple of months including the Virtual Food Drive starting right here at www.KMBC.com.

Like any big-time organization, Harvesters has a mascot.  Harvey The Turkey.  Naturally, because I am immature and love to play dress-up, I asked to don the turkey head.  And, because the people at Harvesters are just too polite, friendly and eager-to-serve, they let me.  So, I did an entire weather and interview segment being Harvey…from the neck up. Although, truth be told, my legs have been referred to as fowl-like before and I was molting all the way home from work yesterday.

Turns out my gobble was particularly effective when emanating from a giant turkey head.  It appeared to frighten FirstNews anchors, Kris Ketz and Donna Pitman, even though they were miles away.  Okay, I did threaten to find their cars and leave a gift from Harvey’s feathered colon…as Johnny Carson once put it when a chicken released a stinky “review” on his desk.  That may explain their trepidation.

While in the Harvey-Zone, I became particularly proud of my snood.  That is the fleshy, wrinkled fold of skin that hangs down over a turkey’s beak.  “Fleshy, wrinkled fold of skin.”  Kind of describes me as I get older.  Anyway, Harvey’s snood is bright red and beautiful.  I couldn’t help tossing it back off my beak  in that devil-may-care-Cheryl Tiegs sort of way. 

In fact, one of the folks wandering about the warehouse complimented me on my snood and said I had a nice wattle…that’s the fleshy lobe that hangs, forlornly, from a turkey’s neck.  Unfortunately, Harvey’s head did NOT have an attached wattle.  I really need to lay off the dairy.

The most disconcerting thing about walking around with a turkey head on was the number of people who glanced my way and said, casually, “Oh, hi Joel.”

Now, if you’re thinking that KMBC fowled or fouled up by having me talk about such an important issue, be at ease.  There was a terrifically articulate  spokesperson there with immense knowledge of the topic, a calm, poised, mature demeanor and enormous sincerity.  My teenage daughter, Samantha.  She really carried the day. 

On the way home, Samantha told me I was grounded…until Thanksgiving.  Sorry, Harvey.

Heading Out The Door

They have banished me from the studio this morning.  It was only a matter of time.  Actually, my daughter, Samantha, and I get to talk about all the great work done by Harvester’s in our area and how you can be a part of the outreach.  More tomorrow on this fun stuff.  And, a bit about Halloween.

Speaking of that, a kid came to our door the other night looking like an empty hot dog but wearing a big smile.  We asked him what he was and he said:

“A Happy Hollow-wienie!”

Ghost of Halloween Past

As we head into this weekend for haunting, I decided to go bobbing for bloggles.  I came up with this one from 2006:

For many Halloweens, my lovely wife created the Halloween costumes for our four children. Early on, our oldest went out dressed like a giant pumpkin…sort of a berry on steroids. She also made a bunny outfit that looked something like Bugs but it wasn’t Bugs…just in case any Warner Brothers lawyers are paying attention. “Here Comes Peter Cottontail…Hopping down the copyright infringement bunny trail…Hippity. Hoppity. Litigation’s on its way.” Perhaps her greatest creation was turning our daughter into a box of pop-corn. She was rather short at the time, so her brothers called her Pop-corn Shrimp. Of course, we had our share of clowns, Power Rangers, Spidermans, devils, goblins and witches. Yesterday, our 16-year-old son, said he was going to comb his hair into a sharp point, then plaster it with hair-spray and mousse. After preparation, he would proceed to go up to people, push his head into their body and say he was a “thorn in their side.” He doesn’t plan on getting much candy.

One year, my daughter started out to be a ballerina, then morphed into a witch, then tried to turn that into a princess. She ended up looking like a member of the royal family on Pluto. A couple years back, our oldest son went out in the neighborhood wearing a Chief’s jacket, wire-rimmed glasses and scrunching up his face in a pained smile. He looked just like Dick Vermeil. He once did his impression for the Coach himself on a Red Friday. Mr. Vermeil, ever the gentleman, patted my son on the head and then made me do a hundred push-ups and 20 laps around Barney Allis Plaza.

This year, our youngest son is about the only true trick-or-treater left. He is recycling one of his mother’s greatest hits from years past: a giant Butterfinger. He’ll make a decent haul in candy. And, actually, our daughter, dressed as a baby, will also make the rounds. It’s one of the advantages of being kind of small for her age. Who am I kidding? Our daughter is the kind of person who will be dressing up for Halloween her whole life, just for the fun of it. I, on the other hand, am not that kind of person.

I tried it one year. Wore a “blood-stained” shirt with a pocket-protector, horn-rimmed glasses with white athletic tape over the nose portion, matted my hair down and puffed up my neck until I looked a little like a cross between Mr. Wizard’s evil lab assistant, Buddy Holly and a bullfrog. I was quite proud of the overall effect until I opened the door for the first trick-or-treater, and was greeted with “You’re that weatherman, aren’t you?” I knew the TV cameras added pounds but, until then, I didn’t know they revealed the inner child, so clearly. After that I mentioned to a co-worker, that I was done with costumes. “Next year, I’ll just go out dressed like a weatherman.” From across the newsroom, my news director chimed in “Bad idea. According to our research nobody will ever believe you as a weatherman.”

Have a safe and happy Halloween!