Moving on down the road

I've enjoyed my time here, and I hope you have, too.
But now it's time for me to move onto something bigger and better.
My brother and I are co-blogging at The MPRS Rant. Stop by and chat.
Peace and love.
-Nick

Face for radio

As a politics reporter, my stories are sometimes brought into conversations among news commentators, like Renk. He does a local radio talk show in Battle Creek on WBCK 95.3 FM, and this morning, he was talking about a story I wrote.

To summarize the story, Democrats are accusing U.S. Rep. Tim Walberg, R-Tipton, of being a puppet for Big Oil, and the GOP is blasting Walberg's likely opponent, state Sen. Mark Schauer, D-Bedford Township, of lying about "never" taking contributions from oil companies.

There's a lot of nuance here, so it's easy to get lost in the rhetoric. As I pointed out in my story, Schauer hasn't taken any contributions from oil companies in his congressional race. However, he has accepted contributions during previous state House and Senate races. Walberg, on the other hand, has accepted contributions from big oil companies, and he hasn't tried to deny it.

You can listen to Schauer's comment that started this particular exchange here.

Renk, as well as Schauer's campaign manager, brought my story into the mix. You can listen to our conversation here.

Weddings, elections and other random goings on

I once heard blogging compared to someone standing on a virtual street corner and yelling their personal thoughts out loud, as if anyone walking past within earshot could give a crap. Well, here I am on my virtual street corner. Just your local crazy guy yelling about God-knows-what.

This weekend, my cousin Marissa got married to this great guy, Larry, and it was a really cool wedding. It was at A Ga Ming, a golf resort in northern Michigan, and the view was incredible. The golf wasn't bad, either. Here's wishing them a happy and fruitful forever.

The primary election is Tuesday, which means I'm half-way through one of the craziest times of the four-year election cycle. November can't get here fast enough.

A quick note about hockey. For those of you who've been keeping up with my attempt to make a professional hockey team, I've lost about 20 pounds. That means I've got about 2o more to go by September. Exercise is hard, eating is not. That just doesn't seem right.

Peace and love.

Common sense

Being stupid should be painful.

Sorry. Just had to vent.

Balloons!

Sorry it's been a few days, yo, but it's balloon week in the Creek. For those of you who not that of which I speak, it's the 2008 Battle Creek Field of Flight Air Show and Balloon Festival, or as my editor has dubbed it: 2k8BCFFASBS. To most people, that means a long week of fun and frivolity, midway games and carnival rides, hot air balloons and the air show. For us in the newsroom, it means an even longer week of the same reporting we've done the past six billion years with new names in the stories and some new faces in the photos.

The "it's been a long week" factor is compounded for me because it's election season, which means interviews, phone calls, e-mails and almost hourly press releases from candidates clamoring for my attention. (That will end promptly, by the way, once the election is over.)

Whether it's a balloon or a politician, my life feels like it's all about hot air right now.

Now, THAT was funny!

B.Y.O.B. (Bring Your Own Bag)

I'm proud to say my family is almost completely plastic bag free. We have been for several months now, with my mom taking the lead quite awhile ago. We now use cloth bags for grocery shopping, with special insulated bags for hot or frozen food.

The other day, my brother sent this slide show to me, and it's made me realize just how smart the decision was to abandon plastic and how good I really feel about the change.

It took some time to get used to, and there still are some habits we have to work to break. It's a culture change, for sure, but it all starts with one person.

Thanks, Tony, for putting this out there.

Look at the grouse!

My mom get's to do some pretty cool stuff as a teacher, and this is one of them. The photo is her holding a newly hatched House Wren chick at the Kellogg Biological Station.

She also said she learned the old story about mother birds rejecting their young if they've been touched by a human is a myth.

One for the WTF file

Today started like a great Saturday. I was up at 6 a.m. and met my brother-in-law at 6:50 to golf. We left my car at the D Avenue carpool lot, by US 131, and headed off for 18 holes. Felt great. Had a good round, lots of fun, just a little rain.

Sounds great, right?

When I got back in my car and started it to head home from the carpool around 2:15 p.m., it sounded like the world was coming to an end. I panicked a bit, shut the car off after only a few seconds, and tried it again. The noise was horrific and my eyeballs were vibrating in their sockets.

Someone had stolen my catalytic converter; reached underneath my car and cut the thing off. WTF!?

After a few hours of calling the police, talking with my insurance company and visiting the local mechanic, I still have the noisiest car in the Western Hemisphere and I am looking forward to paying about $850 to repair the damage caused by someone who will get about $120 for my used catalytic converter at a scrap yard.

I have two thoughts here. The compassionate thought is not to get upset, because really, there are greater tragedies. And clearly someone has hit rock bottom if they've resorted to stealing and selling catalytic converters. Perhaps I should be more sympathetic.

The other thought is to rip the S.O.B.'s heart out through his throat.

I'm trying to stick with the first one, but I'm an angry man. Who the &#$@ does some stupid !*^% like that? What the #@*$ were they thinking?

Do my job for me

As the Enquirer's politics reporter, I get to talk with some pretty interesting people. This election season, I'll get to interview candidates for two congressional districts, four state House districts and a smattering of others -- including presidential candidates -- who may pass through the city.

Since these folks are elected of, by and for the people, I'd like to know what you, "the people," would like to ask of your potentially elected representatives. It's your questions I want them to answer, since they will answer to you if they are elected.

Let me know what you want to ask in a comment on this post, and I'll do my best to work it in.

Peace and love.

From a son and a father

Today is the one day of the year when Dad’s expect to get obnoxious ties, hand tools, homemade cards or any one of the various and sundry Father's Day gifts from their children, and I promise you they’ll cherish those gifts for as long as they live.

As a son, I think it’s important to remember the man who taught me how to throw a baseball, bait a hook and to always tell the truth. (I still have nightmares about hairbrushes.) I owe my dad a debt of gratitude for showing me the kind of father I want to be. Because of him, I understand what fatherly love feels like and what it takes to show that kind of love to your children.

As a father, I want my sons to be able to look back someday and know they were loved, respected and encouraged. No matter how hard I try to explain my feelings for my sons, I don’t think they’ll ever understand until the have children of their own. My only hope is that my efforts to show them how much I love them aren’t in vain.

I hope 20 years from now, my sons will look back on our time together and realize that everything I said and did was an honest effort to make them better men. And I hope they realize I did the best I could, and that they forgive me for my shortcomings. No one’s perfect.

Today is the day to call your dad, send him a card, stop for lunch or just keep him in your thoughts. Remember the good times and the bad, the hugs and the angry looks. Remember the times when you didn’t think it would ever be possible to be happier, and the times when you promised never to act like that when you had your own kids.

Remember all those things because they are part of a father’s love; they are his wishes, dreams and hopes for your life spread over a lifetime in small fragments and embedded into your every day.

See, Dad? I was paying attention.

I love you.