Jeff’s Dark and Early Blog

It never fails.

Whenever I hit the QT to fill the tank in Cruiser 980, I inevitably will get either a comment, a question, or both from someone in the parking lot.

Some recent editions include:

“Do the cops let you drive really fast like an ambulance?”

“Do you work from KMBZ?” (no, I painted my own car like this)

“Do you guys do catering?”  (yes, someone actually asked that)

But for the most part, the comments are great.

“We listen all the time!”

“I can’t get enough of your station.  Shanin and Parks were right on the money yesterday.”

And then, there are those who think E.J. and Ellen use fake names.  I’m not sure where this theory comes from.  Are they under the assumption that, like many authors, we use pen names?  Clearly Major Miles is an “on-air” name.  But Ellen Schenk?  E.J. Becker?  Thse don’t exactly sound like made up names.  For the record, their names are exactly what they are.

However, Ellen does admit she once wanted to go by the name “Vanessa”.  It just never panned out.

Until next time…

The cat did not come back.  But he did try his hand, er, paw at journalism.

4:45 a.m.

I leave the radio station to hit the streets, stopping at the QT to fill up on gas.  I get back in the car and begin driving to Olathe.  As I listen to the Wall Street Journal Report, I notice a cat in the background.  Odd that there would be a cat in the Wall Street Journal studios, I think.

I hear it again.

I turn down the radio and realize the cat is not on the radio.  He’s with me.

Like the deer scene in “Tommy Boy”, I leap out of the car, open the back hatch and the cat shoots out like a captive that has just found freedom.

The obvious question becomes ‘how did the cat get in the car’?

Bushman?

At the car wash?

He wanted an internship?

We may never know.

Those of you who listen regularly (and God, we love you!) probably noticed my absence both Friday of last week and this past Monday.  Those of you who read the blog (also known as Rock Stars) know why I was missing in action.

I had what was a fairly simple and yet, quite painful procedure to correct some sinus issues I’ve had for years.  This was brought on by both a deviated septum and a small gremlin who lived in my left nostril.  Both have been removed.  (Remember, don’t give the gremlin water!)

It will still be 4-6 weeks before I feel the full impact of the surgery, but I wanted to say thank you to Dr. Eric Christensen with Midwest Medical Partners, as well as the staff at the Shawnee Mission Surgery Center.  (This excludes the woman who was rude.)

Everyone involved did a truly remarkable job and I am well on the road to recovery.

The best reaction of all, however, came from my little boy.  When he saw the large bandage taped across the front of my nose, he did what any sweet, innocent one-year-old would do.  He pointed at daddy and laughed.

It doesn’t get any better than that.

Tomorrow I am having nose surgery. I can’t say that was ever on my list of things to do.
I’ve had ear surgery.  Had toncil surgery.
I assume that one day, I’ll have surgery on my knee or perhaps my hip.  If I get really unlucky, I’ll have surgery on my heart.  And, judging by the number of times I’ve stubbed my toe, I’ll probably have surgery on that before it’s all said and done.
But nose surgery?
And we’re not talking about cosmetic stuff here.  I’m not pulling a wacko Jacko on anyone.
This all dates back to high school football.  I was kicked in the nose during spring practice. It bled, I got over it, and life moved on.
Well, it turns out that kick may have contributed to what’s known as a deviated septum.  That means my allergies are worse than yours, and when I get a cold, it feels like I was run over by a train and then ironed. Yes, ironed.  As in a clothes iron.
Hopefully, tomorrow will change all that.
Adiex!

Working in the mobile news business, I usually tend to have a good idea of what’s going on with traffic conditions around the metro.  KMBZ listeners trust me.  My wife?  That’s a different story.

As we made our way to the Deanna Rose Farmstead in Olathe on Saturday, car full of kids and grandparents, I remarked to my lovely bride that there were going to be periodic delays on U.S. 69 and we ought to find another route.

“There’s nothing going on!” she said, and proceeded to take U.S. 69.  We were delayed for 20 minutes.

So as she attempted to navigate our way home following a day of ice cream, barn animals and more, you would think she might listen to me this time around, right?  Wrong.

We took 69 home as well, because, as she put it, “all the problems were in the other direction.”  I tried to explain to her that “problems” run north and south.  I shouldn’t have bothered.

We waited 15 minutes as the sugar highs kicked in in the back seat.

At least the listeners trust me.

Between the Labor Day holiday weekend and the recent case of bubonic plague I acquired, it’s been awhile since I’ve been able to blog.  That all changes right now.

It’s a funny thing when you get sick in the radio business.  When the average person wakes up with say, the flu or a bad cold, or a combination of the two, all they have to do is call the boss.

When you go to work at 4 a.m., calling the boss usually involves waking them up, which I was forced to do on Wednesday.  But before I made that phone call, I truly tried to make it to the office.

3:30 a.m:  I sent a text message to Jayme that read something like this: “Have temperature of 112.  Probably just going to head straight onto the streets as to not get any of you sick.”

3:31 a.m:  Jayme’s response:  “You’re coming to work?!?”

3:32 a.m:  E.J. calls.  “Dude.  Go back to bed.”  “No really, I’m fine, I’m on my way.”  “Dude.  Go back to bed.”  “No really, ah-aha-ah-choooooo!  I’m okay.”

This continued briefly before I was convinced that going back to bed might not be such a bad idea.

On my way home, I phoned Nichole.  This always scares me.  Not because Nichole is an unpleasant person.  It scares me because, when I hear the phone ring at four in the morning, I assume someone has died.  Plus, it’s a hell of a way to wake up when you find out you only have one reporter for the day since the other is already on vacation.

4:05 a.m:  I return home, the garage door opener malfunctions, I set the alarm off, scare the crap out of the dog and finally make it back to bed.

What a morning.  Oh, and a special hello to Jerry Adams.  You know who you are.

It just goes to show that we all have our stereotypes.

I spent my morning at Bishop Ward High School in KCK, covering a duo of Iraq war vets who are now opposed to the war.

As I made my way to the event, I assumed it would be similar to the hundreds of anti-war protests I’ve covered during my career.  I assumed I would hear a lot about perceived injustices carried out by coalition forces, and a lot of old cliches, like “war is not the answer”.

It turns out, I was only half right.

21-year-old Josh Stieber of Maryland and 25-year-old Conor Curran of Ohio have been biking cross-country, spreading a message of peace, understanding and active dialogue.  Sounds like more of the same, right?  Just wait.

Now, I want to be clear, both young men are strongly opposed to the war.  And they did talk about American soldiers behaving in a way we’d rather not think about here at home.  But their message is anything but a blanket statement against military might.

When Stieber’s feelings became strong enough, he filed the necessary paperwork to become a conscientious objector.  According to his story, this wasn’t very popular within his unit, and he took some verbal abuse for his actions.  But when a local peace group asked him to speak out in opposition to the war, Josh Stieber did a funny thing.  He declined.

As Stieber explained to the group of students he spoke to, he had come to the realization that lack of understanding and more importantly, lack of love is the cause of so many of the world’s problems.  By joining the other side of the debate, he wouldn’t be acting in love, just in protest.

Once both men got out of the military, they struggled to put away the pain of the past.  One thing led to another, and soon, they found themselves on this American road trip.

Their message is that understanding comes first through dialogue.  They preach that cultures must work to understand cultures, while on a smaller scale, neighbors must work to understand neighbors.

Trying to save the world isn’t going to happen, says Stieber.  But true unconditional love can make a small difference in the smallest, most insignificant of lives.

On his blog, Stieber says, “I want to do a little to remember the man that churches are built for.  The man who visited the orphans, served the poor, clothed the naked, fed the hungry and loved”.

Even my blogging on this subject cannot do justice to the powerful message which these two young men are preaching.  I find it profound, and much bigger than I could ever hope to be.

You know you’ve been spending too much time thinking about work, and things related to work when this happens:

Shortly after the news of the passing of Senator Edward Kennedy, I dreamt that ABC News brought all of us from the KMBZ newsroom in to cover the event.

Ellen was our reporter in the field.  Odd, because you would have thought she would be at the anchor desk, but in any event, she did a fantastic job.

E.J. was doing an infomercial on cat toys.  Don’t ask me where that came from.

Jayme was producing, because, well, Jayme produces.

Scott and Mike were anchoring, but could only take one caller…some guy named Eric who claimed to be an expert on the Kennedy assassination.  (The newsroom will understand where this came from).

And finally, Nichole, Grady and myself were on the floor, speaking to dignitaries.

The dream went haywire about the time we all realized that none of our equipment was working and I began to feel the stress and pressure that sometimes comes along with a rough day.

That’s when I woke up, went to work, and listened as ABC previewed the Kennedy funeral.  What a weird night.