tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-102006712024-03-23T12:56:12.432-05:0019 Minutes Past the HourPlatitudes, thoughts, general blah blah blah, and otherwise banal observations from a public radio talk show producer who watches too many infomercials. These opinions are NOT those of Milwaukee Public Radio (which, technically, is a radio station and not a sentient being with thoughts and opinions, anyway). Also, pictures of otters.Mitch Teichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02755362614003939247noreply@blogger.comBlogger375125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10200671.post-10025713145234700812008-05-11T10:18:00.003-05:002008-05-11T15:29:07.685-05:00Et tu, Charlie...<div><br /><br /><div>Charlie, a.k.a. "Squeaky McWhimper" is seven-and-a-half hours old, and somewhat less shiny than he was in the previous picture, but still pretty cute: </div><br /><div><br /> </div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5199219181079881026" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_NvHY7zsd0qw/SCdWTG2p5UI/AAAAAAAAADU/UgWzvEjqYD0/s200/cjt2.jpg" border="0" /></div>Mitch Teichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02755362614003939247noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10200671.post-12766717832570297072008-05-11T03:27:00.002-05:002008-05-11T03:30:40.962-05:00Charlie, Take 1No one looks great right after they're just born. But Charlie gave it a pretty good shot:<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_NvHY7zsd0qw/SCaunW2p5TI/AAAAAAAAADM/jLbSdS__Ba4/s1600-h/100_8407.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_NvHY7zsd0qw/SCaunW2p5TI/AAAAAAAAADM/jLbSdS__Ba4/s200/100_8407.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5199034811018765618" /></a>Mitch Teichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02755362614003939247noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10200671.post-38927141511837372662008-05-11T03:09:00.001-05:002008-05-11T03:10:46.473-05:00Heeere's...Charlie Joel Teich, born 2:41 a.m., Sunday, May 11, 2008.<div><br /></div><div>7 lbs., 10 1/2 oz., 19 1/2 inches. </div><div><br /></div><div>Mom & Charlie doing great!</div>Mitch Teichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02755362614003939247noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10200671.post-57721777203725217612008-05-11T02:04:00.002-05:002008-05-11T02:08:58.233-05:002:00Holding pattern here on Labor & Delivery. Gretchen got a little midnight epidural, and she's squeezing in a little rest before it's officially showtime. I've been alternating between a coffee that's gone cold and a Coke that's gone warm and a packet of Cool Ranch Doritos, which seem completely inappropriate while the nurse is in the room checking vital signs. I also managed to pull off a shower, partly because I felt disgusting, and partly because I didn't necessarily need Baby Boy Teich's first impression of his dad to be, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Geez, doesn't this guy bathe? And what's up with the hat-head?</span><div><br /></div><div>But before things get too crazy, we took a hospital self-portrait:</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_NvHY7zsd0qw/SCabam2p5SI/AAAAAAAAADE/za7Gjcp7zfE/s1600-h/100_8400.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_NvHY7zsd0qw/SCabam2p5SI/AAAAAAAAADE/za7Gjcp7zfE/s200/100_8400.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5199013701254505762" /></a>Mitch Teichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02755362614003939247noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10200671.post-72321673484859412302008-05-10T23:32:00.001-05:002008-05-10T23:33:28.934-05:00The 11:30 CT UpdateWe're watching "Bowfinger." K.I.T. = "Keep it together." A good lesson for all of us, brought to you by Eddie Murphy.Mitch Teichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02755362614003939247noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10200671.post-53924975996940286732008-05-10T21:57:00.002-05:002008-05-10T22:05:07.436-05:00And now, a message from Dairy QueenWhile we have a few spare moments (see previous post), a quick word about the miraculous work performed by the simple banana milk shake:<div><br /></div><div>June 9th, 2004: My wife and I head out to Dairy Queen on Flagstaff's west side, as she is - at 35 weeks pregnant, craving a banana shake. We come home and her water breaks. Sylvi is born June 10th.</div><div><br /></div><div>May 9, 2008: We've held out on Dairy Queen until Gretchen's 38th week, but finally decide it's worth trying to introduce a control group to the experiment. This time, it takes about 22 hours for Gretchen's water to break. The delay, we believe (not really), was linked to Milwaukee's lower elevation (630 feet) than Flagstaff's (7000 feet).</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Mitch Teichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02755362614003939247noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10200671.post-4227003914496202952008-05-10T21:42:00.003-05:002008-05-10T21:44:02.755-05:00The labor of blogging19 Minutes is live from Froedtert Memorial Lutheran Hospital in Wauwatosa, Wisconsin, this evening, as my wife is ready to, um, give birth.<div><br /></div><div>It's an amazing and awe-inspiring time for both of us - though things are pretty slow at this moment, so mostly I'm amazed that there is wi-fi on the Labor & Delivery floor. </div><div><br /></div><div>Further bulletins as events warrant.</div>Mitch Teichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02755362614003939247noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10200671.post-65281549330018955782008-05-03T16:13:00.002-05:002008-05-03T16:27:23.341-05:00Notes from Red Sox Nation, Wauwatosa bureauI'm writing. Not surprising, because that's how a blog post is brought into the world. But I'm writing at a coffee shop (also not surprising) in Wauwatosa, Wisconsin. The place is full; probably sixty-five or seventy people are drinking coffee and using yellow highlighters or texting whoever they text from a coffee shop on a Saturday afternoon.<div><br /></div><div>There are three of us in the place with baseball caps - at least baseball caps that represent a <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">baseball team</span>. They're all Red Sox caps, which strikes me as a little odd, since we're all of a ten-minute drive from Miller Park, which drew more than three million fans last year to watch the Brewers. </div><div><br /></div><div>But more than casting doubt on the depth of Brewers fandom in suburban Milwaukee, it causes me concern that my Red Sox cap has become iconic, more than a Red Sox beacon in the Central Time Zone, like a Michael Jordan shirt in a remote Guatemalan village, or a Brett Favre jersey in Warsaw. Maybe the other people in the Tosa Alterra saw Tony Conigliaro play DH at Fenway Park in his short-lived comeback attempt in 1975. Maybe they pulled half their hair out every time Bob Stanley came into a game in the mid '80s. Maybe they know that before there was a Jacoby Ellsbury, there was a Steve Ellsworth, and before that, a Dick Ellsworth. But alas, I'm guessing not.</div><div><br /></div><div>On the other hand, I've purchased two Red Sox caps in the past five years, and each time, the Red Sox won a World Series. I believe there's a direct cause-and-effect relationship there, but in case I'm not the factor at work, I urge everyone else to stop by their closest hat shop.</div>Mitch Teichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02755362614003939247noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10200671.post-18973733757451471452008-04-30T14:48:00.003-05:002008-04-30T14:56:07.513-05:00Admit it. You were wondering why I hadn't posted.It's been a good six months since the last activity on the 19 Minutes front. I had a variety of stories I'd concocted as to why we've been offline for so long.<br /><br />But the truth is, I'd been stunned. Stunned... to read the fine print on <a href="http://www.baskinrobbins.com/Promotion/31cent.aspx">this flyer</a>, advertising today's now-imminent 31-cent scoop day at Baskin-Robbins, which informs me:<br /><br />Limit ten scoops per person, per purchase. Really? My wife, daughter, and I are limited to only 30 scoops between us? Unless of course, we come <span style="font-weight: bold;">back to the counter and make another purchase.</span><br /><br />So we're back at work, here at the 19 Minutes World Media Headquarters. After we take a Lactaid, anyway, and dig into our first ten scoops.Mitch Teichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02755362614003939247noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10200671.post-29716410458695836592007-11-24T09:14:00.000-06:002007-11-24T09:22:22.122-06:00Let the good tidings begin, whatever they areThe building managers in the mall above <a href="http://www.wuwm.com/lakeeffect">19 Minutes World Media Heaquarters</a> put up the garland and Christmas lights on November 2nd this year. <br /><br />It snowed, a beautiful, light, fluffy cotton candy snow, across the upper Midwest, Wednesday morning and afternoon.<br /><br />My wife and I found ourselves at the Mall of America yesterday, Black Friday. We have Chanukah and Christmas presents in place.<br /><br />Yet, I was having a hard time reconciling all of this with the notion that the holiday season is beginning.<br /><br />I'm currently at the Caribou Coffee in Eagan, Minnesota. <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio2/soldonsong/songlibrary/wonderfulchristmastime.shtml">Paul McCartney's "Wonderful Christmastime"</a> is playing on the sound system here. That is, perhaps, the <span style="font-style: italic;">worst</span> holiday song ever written.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Now</span> it feels like the holiday season.Mitch Teichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02755362614003939247noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10200671.post-82112486297801513632007-11-05T22:26:00.001-06:002007-11-05T22:28:10.861-06:00Bill of WritesRight. I’m still out here, even though this space has been dark for some time. Much of my spare time has been consumed with writing. And as an <a href="http://www.catherinemurdock.com">author I know</a> pointed out to me, “You can either write about writing, or you can just write.” <br /><br />I’m just writing.<br /><br />But there will be more.Mitch Teichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02755362614003939247noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10200671.post-76618624550892171492007-09-13T15:54:00.000-05:002007-09-13T15:55:21.557-05:00Harumph.It's taken us three days, but we've finally been able to figure out what was causing all the strange characters to show up in our most recent blog post. Which is no longer our most recent blog post, since I've written this.Mitch Teichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02755362614003939247noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10200671.post-46568336878230486042007-09-06T18:50:00.000-05:002007-09-13T15:54:10.862-05:00Don't Sit So Close to Me (2007 remix)A couple of things in the 19 Minutes Universe today, neither of which adds up to anything extremely useful, but I thought they were interesting:<br /><br />The <a href="http://www.ridemcts.org">bus I take</a> to 19 Minutes World Media Headquarters is also used to get Milwaukee high school students to and from school. As I may have noted in this space previously (but which I can’t seem to locate at this point), I apparently give off some kind of Don’t Sit Next to Me Under Any Circumstances vibe, so I don’t really get much insight into these students’ lives.<br /><br />But we reached the point on the trip today when there were no other seats available. Really, every single seat, including the one next to the guy with the two large garbage bags (full of, um, I’m not sure) on the bus filled up before the one next to me, despite my recent application of anti-perspirant. And so one of the students braved whatever strange aura I give off, and sat down next to me to go about her morning ritual of listening to her iPod at brain-frying levels.<br /><br />And that would be about it, except that I noticed the text book on her lap. A history book, called “The American Pageant.” The same history book I used in high school, twenty-one years ago. Which isn’t all that remarkable, I suppose, considering the book is in its 13th edition. What strikes me as remarkable is the fact that I remember the name of my high school history textbook.<br /><br />Onward.<br /><br />On another note, I’d like to point out that I was WAY ahead of the curve on the whole iced coffee phenomenon.<br /><br />As an iced coffee fiend, I’m enjoying the ubiquitousness of frostly caffeinated beverages. As far as I’m concerned, McDonald’s iced coffee is a wonderful invention. They could start serving the stuff at Linens-n-Things, or One Hour Martinizing, or Radio Shack, and the world would be an even better place.<br /><br />That’s why I was dismayed when I stopped in at a local, <a href="http://www.stonecreekcoffee.com">Milwaukee coffee purveyor</a> Wednesday, only to find out that “iced coffee went out of season on Tuesday.” Wednesday’s high temperature in Milwaukee: 91 degrees. Sounds like hot chocolate weather to me.<br /><br />But maybe I'm ahead of the curve there, too.Mitch Teichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02755362614003939247noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10200671.post-53886060172503913472007-08-10T16:24:00.000-05:002007-08-13T09:43:02.380-05:00Friday afternoon band namesFirst off, there's relatively new material on our spin-off blog. If you're too lazy on a Friday afternoon to go looking down the right column for the link, <a href="http://www.revolutionhealth.com/blogs/mcteich">here</a> it is.<br /><br />Monday's <a href="http://www.wuwm.com/lakeeffect">show </a>is recorded, and the climate control system here in the basement of the <a href="http://www.grandavenueshops.com/">Shops of Grand Avenue</a> is set comfortably on the "lukewarm sauna" setting, so our brains at 19 Minutes World Media Headquarters are coming up with nothing more complicated than hypothetical band names. On today's chart:<br /><br /><ul><li>Bulbous Coffee Can</li><li>Croutons of Various Sizes</li><li>Soggy Cake Cone (feat. Dratsuc Nezorf)</li><li>My Wife's Birthday</li></ul><br />Actually, that last one is more the current state of affairs than a good band name. So it goes.Mitch Teichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02755362614003939247noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10200671.post-41962440345020687292007-08-08T21:17:00.000-05:002007-08-08T21:46:46.367-05:00Mainely lobster<a href="http://19minutes.blogspot.com/2007/06/ironwood-dining-report.html">Not long ago in this space</a>, shortly after returning from a brief road trip to the <a href="http://www.westernup.com/">Upper Peninsula of Michigan</a>, we published our first-ever dining guide, helping our millions of hypothetical (and 11 actual) readers wondering where to get the finest Cornish pasties in the greater Ironwood, Michigan metroplex.<br /><br />We're just back from what's known as <a href="http://www.mainesmidcoast.com/">Midcoast Maine</a>, where we managed to consume a year's worth of lobster in the span of a week. We thought, then, that we'd provide a similar public service in regard to eating lobster. (By "we", of course, I mean "I". One lobster roll is more than enough to meet my wife's lobster needs for the year.)<br /><br />I had lobster at a variety of co-ops, roadside stands, and restaurants, and came to the following conclusion:<br /><br />You just can't go wrong with lobster in Maine. I mean, you probably can, but you'd have to try pretty hard. Like, you'd need to eat at Red Lobster or something. <br /><br />While we're at it, another conclusion: Everything is better with drawn butter. Except, maybe, for beef jerky.Mitch Teichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02755362614003939247noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10200671.post-7493853296229505752007-07-26T16:45:00.001-05:002007-07-26T18:10:53.263-05:00A stroke of NalgeniusIt seems trite to say that this is one of those "only in the Midwest" stories, but it does seem unlikely that this would happen in, for example, Newark. Or Long Beach. Bear with me.<br /><br />It's a month ago. We're at Target, the one near Miller Park in <a href="http://www.westmilwaukee.org/">West Milwaukee, Wisconsin</a>. Of the three Milwaukee-area Targets we see fit to patronize, the West Milwaukee Target is the only one with a layout I can wrap my brain around. There's another Target, about four miles away whose layout is <span style="font-style: italic;">exactly the opposite</span> of the one in West Milwaukee. This is a problem for me, because my wife is liable to send me out to Target to buy, say Sensodyne-brand toothpaste, because my autopilot will send me to the Sensodyne location imprinted in my brain, and I will return home with an acetylene torch, which might void the warranty on her electric toothbrush. So I go to the one in West Milwaukee. <br /><br />None of this is especially relevant to the story that follows, but now you have some insight into my shopping psyche.<br /><br />As I was saying, it's a month ago. We're at Target, the one near Miller Park in West Milwaukee. We're looking for something that comes in at a cross between a messenger bag, a backpack, and a purse, for Gretchen (to carry around her acetylene torch). Our three-year-old, apparently confident that she's mastered her tricycle, which she has owned for a month and can almost pedal up a 2% incline, decides to check out the bicycles in the next section over. "Checking out," in this case, means touching each one to see which is most likely to fall over on her so that she can injure herself, and we can sue Target for negligence and get an out-of-court settlement of 300,000 tubes of Sensodyne toothpaste. Somehow, Sylvi manages to escape the section with out breaking any bikes or bones. My wife survives another unsuccesful search for the perfect bag (enabling us to adopt bag shopping as a hobby for the indefinite future), and we go on with our day.<br /><br />Halfway home, we realize Sylvi's water bottle is not in the car. Not, under ordinary circumstances, an especially big deal - only we're rapidly approaching nap time, which means that she's adopted the timbre of voice known as the International Symbol for Three-Year-Old Meltdown, namely a whine on par with a Boeing 717, or possibly a tornado siren. Plus, it's a real, live three-year-old-sized Nalgene bottle, which is <span style="font-style: italic;">de rigeur</span> for hip three-year-olds at <a href="http://www.zoopass.org">the zoo</a>. So I employed the lose-lose option, which was to drop Gretchen and Sylvi off at home in a futile attempt to distract her from the trauma of Water Bottle Loss long enough to get her to nap, and I went back to Target in a futile attempt to locate the water bottle - an effort that involved an overly long conversation with the disinterested person manning the lost-and-found and a 25-minute wander through every aisle I remembered walking through earlier.<br /><br />A month passes by. Sylvi has gotten over the trauma, but also has lost her status as Best-Appointed Toddler at the zoo. Still, she's hydrated, so it's all good. Gretchen has found a bag that can accommodate a driver's license, chapstick, a couple of diapers, and five years' worth of receipts, or the new Harry Potter book ("Harry Potter and the Sensodyne Brand Toothpaste") if you take everything else out of it. Now, we're at Target looking for a bag for me. My laptop, anyway. <br /><br />Not only do we come up with a laptop case, but as we traverse the luggage aisle, Sylvi notes, casually - as though she had just been waiting for a trip back to the luggage aisle for the last month in order to point this out - "Oh, there's my water bottle."<br /><br />Not only had the water bottle not been thrown out, taken by someone, or sent to lost-and-found, it <span style="font-style: italic;">hadn't been moved</span>. It was still half-full of water. <br /><br />And after we got home from Target today, Sylvi took a nap.Mitch Teichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02755362614003939247noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10200671.post-5688159014847012472007-07-21T22:30:00.000-05:002007-07-21T22:39:19.766-05:00Spinning off again into Outer BlogospaceNot that our fourteen loyal readers were necessarily complaining about the littany of Crohn's-related posts, but on the off-chance any of you were getting tired of references to my surgical scar and my pants size, we've decided to add a new 19 Minutes spin-off to the blogosphere. There will, naturally, be some cross-posting, because a) I'm not that creative, and b) really, you can't read too many references to my scar. <br /><br />But it seemed to make sense to put some of that material in a place where people with some interest in health-related material might find it. So Crohn's stuff moves <a href="http://www.revolutionhealth.com/blogs/mcteich">here</a>, and we now return to writing about infomercials, comically bad drivers, and belly button lint.<br /><br />Speaking of which, there's much less room in my navel these days for lint, on account of my scar.Mitch Teichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02755362614003939247noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10200671.post-48812296549824105922007-07-17T21:51:00.000-05:002007-07-17T22:34:16.066-05:00The weighty responsibilities of pantsOne of the odd side effects of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Crohn's</span> disease is the vague sense of emasculation you get. If you're a guy, anyway. And not literally. But my crack medical team has me taking calcium supplements, which Walgreen's packages in a very manly pink-and-purple box. If the color scheme wasn't enough, they're called, helpfully, "Calcium for Women." It's cool, though. They taste pretty good. Better than the fish oil capsules, anyway.<br /><br />My real preoccupation, though, is a strange level of concern with my pants size. Seriously. Compare the number of references to my pants in this feature before April (9) to references since the surgery (4). Okay, not a good example. But really, the fear of dropping a pant size or two is always out there, since it represents losing weight, which in turn represents my intestines, again, trying to kill me. A heavy thought to lay on Dockers, to be sure.<br /><br />But pants have again been playing on my mind recently. I wore blue jeans today for the first time in more than three months. Not something that should be commemorated with a bank holiday, but it's also not something I ever expected I'd say in my life. Frankly, three <span style="font-style: italic;">hours </span>without wearing jeans used to be a long time. One of the key reasons I've spent a career in public radio is the general acceptance of blue jeans as business attire.<br /><br />But the <a href="http://19minutes.blogspot.com/2007/05/sens-ational-recuperation.html">abdominal surgery</a> kept me from wearing a belt for a month, and I feel about as comfortable wearing jeans with no belt as I do wearing a monocle, or a New York Yankees cap. And the thing was, after a month, I decided I <span style="font-style: italic;">liked</span> the three pairs of pants in the rotation, none of which required a belt. The beige <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">convertible</span> pants, the beige sort-of-but-not-really-khakis, and the <a href="http://19minutes.blogspot.com/2007/05/scarpaste.html">olive linen pants</a> eliminated all the excess angst of the dressing process (which, to be fair, was not much to begin with).<br /><br />Two months in, I still hadn't worn a belt. But I started getting weary of finding new ways to wear a pedometer, a key card, and a cell phone with no belt, so I gave in. And finally, after three months of wearing the same three pairs of pants at work (with thanks to the patience of my co-workers), I added the jeans to the rotation this morning.<br /><br />Maybe I'll wash the other three pairs now.Mitch Teichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02755362614003939247noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10200671.post-1909169591838273362007-07-15T22:30:00.000-05:002007-07-15T22:52:58.921-05:00And on Bastille Day, tooWe're pretty sure this is a fever dream, but the "World Cup of American Football" appears to have been played over the weekend, resulting in a football headline of the variety that we're also pretty sure has never before been written:<br /><br /><a href="http://wc2007.info/cgi-bin/news_e.cgi?38"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><blockquote>Korea shocks France</blockquote></span></a><br />Because you were wondering, we'll note that Korea's big victory was a 3-0 win earned with a field goal (by noted Korean kicker Choi Kyung Ho, no less) with 2:09 remaining in the game, played at <a href="http://www.kawasaki-kyujyo.co.jp/zenkei.JPG">Kawasaki Stadium</a> in, um, Kawasaki? Kanagawa? Okay, here's a map:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_NvHY7zsd0qw/RprpgfhtwxI/AAAAAAAAACk/V_RVNQxKAJE/s1600-h/map.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_NvHY7zsd0qw/RprpgfhtwxI/AAAAAAAAACk/V_RVNQxKAJE/s200/map.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087635473496392466" border="0" /></a><br />It will surprise no one that the American team won the World Cup of American Football. It will, perhaps, surprise a few people to note that the previous two championships were won by Japan.<br /><br />That's really all we have to say about the World Cup of American Football, except that the <a href="http://www.amerikanskfotboll.com/">Swedish team</a> has the following word prominently displayed on its website. We have no idea what it means, but it is worth reproducing:<br /><br /><b style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"><span><b><span style="font-size:180%;">Här!</span></b></span></b>Mitch Teichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02755362614003939247noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10200671.post-34483351578468481642007-07-09T21:42:00.000-05:002007-07-09T23:12:43.323-05:00Notes from the haystackThere are a lot of things that make <a href="http://19minutes.blogspot.com/2006/12/where-im-at-besides-wisconsin-that-is.html" target="_blank"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Crohn's</span> Disease</a> not much fun. Right off the bat, there's the constant desire to spell it "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Chron's</span>." Then, there's the onion ring prohibition. And the constant uncertainty over pants size. Plus, you have your minor issues, like pain, fatigue, and digestive distress.<br /><br />Mostly, though, it's the feeling that the medical world is constantly doing something to you. If they're not taking large amounts of intestine out of you, they're putting probes into you, each one in a place less pleasant than the last. (We're thinking of spinning off a book: "From <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Colonoscopy</span> to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Cystoscopy</span>: 50 Internal Organs to See Before You Die.")<br /><br />Not a few times during the past eight months, I've gone through a test and felt, with some relief, that they couldn't dream up anything worse... only to find out a day later that not only *could* they dream up something worse, but it's something that strains the boundaries of worse.<br /><br />But since my surgery in April, the total number of items poking and prodding me has been kept, blissfully, to a minimum. The exception has been one little needle every month. One lonely cc of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">cyanacobalamin</span>, a.k.a. <a href="http://ods.od.nih.gov/factsheets/vitaminb12.asp">Vitamin B12</a>. B12 deficiency is a pretty common issue in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Chron</span> -- er, <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Crohn's</span></span>, and I'd gotten used to getting the shot once a month. I'd also gotten used to my doctors and nurses pointing out that one of these days, I ought to learn to give myself the shots. I thought it was a nice sentiment, and one I looked forward to hearing every thirty days for the next, oh, ten or twenty years.<br /><br />But at my appointment last month, Sarah, my nurse practitioner, sounded a little incredulous that I'd want to come in every month for the rest of my life, just to get jabbed with a 1 cc syringe. And so I thought, <span style="font-style: italic;">Hey, it couldn't be </span>that<span style="font-style: italic;"> painful to give myself a shot, right? I mean, I enjoy removing splinters with a sewing needle, and my favorite part of eating pizza is scalding the roof of my mouth. This is just like that, only more sanitary, right? Right? Millions of diabetics give themselves shots every </span><span><span style="font-style: italic;">day. </span><a href="http://brandingadvice.typepad.com/photos/uncategorized/untitled_1.jpg">Wilford Brimley</a><span style="font-style: italic;"> gives himself shots.</span></span> <span style="font-style: italic;">It couldn't be </span>that<span style="font-style: italic;"> rough.</span><br /><br />So I got the prescription for the syringes. I got the prescription for the B12 (which, honest to God, showed up with a label saying it was for someone named "Myrtle"). I got a lesson from one of the nurses at the hospital, who sent me home with some syringes the size of javelins to practice. She suggested I practice on an orange, but I thought they looked like they'd go right through it, so I practiced on the tires of my neighbor's pickup. Mostly, I practiced getting nervous. And I got pretty good at that.<br /><br />And so I stalled. I stalled long enough that I went from thinking I could use the B12 to <span style="font-style: italic;">really needing</span> it. I stalled long enough that my mother-in-law, a nurse, came to visit, and I seriously considered just having her give me the damn shot. But she wasn't planning on visiting every month for the indefinite future, and so I settled for having her supervise.<br /><br />I washed my hands. I cleaned the top of the vial. I cleaned off my skin. I drew 1 cc of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">cyanacobalamin</span> into the syringe. <span style="font-style: italic;">It's just like burning the roof of my mouth with a pizza, right? Except that it's a very sharp object that I'm about to jab into my gut. Plus, no pepperoni.</span><br /><br />The needle was about a half-inch long and it went into the wad of skin almost without effort. And after my hands stopped shaking, I actually pushed the plunger down and gave myself the B12. It was, in all, an enjoyable experience, the First Shot of the Rest of My Life. And I look forward to the energy it'll give me. I might need it, if my neighbor figures out what happened to his tires.Mitch Teichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02755362614003939247noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10200671.post-53900520735778030592007-06-30T21:05:00.000-05:002007-06-30T22:06:52.527-05:00Because you were hoping for more band namesTwo band names, courtesy of a Saturday afternoon at the Starbucks in <a href="http://www.villageofwauwatosa.com/" target="_blank">Wauwatosa Village</a>, Wisconsin:<br /><br /> <b>The Smoking Nurses<br /> Billy Idol Blowing His Nose<br /><br /></b>I should at least explain the second one. Amazingly enough for 2007, there was, at this particular Starbucks, a teenager doing his best impression of Billy Idol, circa 1986 - spiky blond hair (not quite bleached enough), black t-shirt, black pants, boots, the big cuff bracelet thing going on. The only thing that blew the look was the cold he had going on, which necessitated that he make constant trips to get more napkins so he could blow his nose. <br /><br />Also, I'm not 100% sure whether Billy Idol had braces in 1986, but I don't remember seeing them in the video for "Rebel Yell."Mitch Teichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02755362614003939247noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10200671.post-45334177378357898532007-06-27T22:39:00.000-05:002007-06-28T11:47:29.693-05:00I'll take that slaw, but hold the MayoI've lived in plenty of places in the past thirty-eight years. An apartment above Willson's General Store in Lisbon, Iowa. A former Catholic School building (from the Church of the Immaculate Conception, which -- given my dating ineptitude in those days -- was appropriate) in Decorah, Iowa. A very large house divided into much smaller apartments in Postdam, New York.<br /><br />But to my knowledge, all of the twenty or so places I've called home are still standing. Until, apparently, soon. Word has reached 19 Minutes International Media Headquarters of the <a href="http://www.postbulletin.com/newsmanager/templates/localnews_story.asp?a=298870&z=2" target='_blank'>impending demise of the College Apartments</a> in downtown Rochester, Minnesota.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://postbulletin.typepad.com/photos/uncategorized/2007/04/03/collegeapt1.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://postbulletin.typepad.com/photos/uncategorized/2007/04/03/collegeapt1.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>Frankly, I'm not sure how to take this news. The College Apartments were apparently the swankiest apartments in town when they were built. In 1914. By the time they housed my white <a href="http://www.naugahyde.com/">naugahyde</a> couch and <a href="http://www.old-computers.com/museum/computer.asp?c=917&st=1">Toshiba T-1200 laptop</a>, in 1994, they were, well, okay. Reasonably priced. In decent shape. They had high ceilings and big rooms. They also had no air conditioning and a cockroach problem. Bats occasionally rode the air currents around my ceiling fan, and my car was broken into outside (which was, to my knowledge carried out with a different kind of bat).<br /><br />It was the first apartment I'd had that accommodated more than one friend at a time. In an inspired bit of smug self-satisfaction, it played host to an occasional gathering of radio and newspaper reporters to mock the 10:00 news on TV. Then, we started making more friends in television, gave up the "Mock the News" parties and moved the gatherings to <a href="http://www.cccrmg.com/newts.htm">Newt's Bar</a>.<br /><br />And it was a comfortable place to come home to after getting my wisdom teeth out at the <a href="http://www.mayoclinic.org/dental-rst/">Mayo Clinic</a>. I remember very little about returning home that day, actually. But fortunately, a <a href="http://tracymccray.wordpress.com/">friend</a>, fellow radio person, <span style="font-style: italic;">and</span> fellow College Apartments dweller drove me home after the surgery and - after I had stopped giggling and snorting from the anesthesia - left me to the cockroaches and the bats. [It was coming down off the anesthesia, I believe, that I struck an important bargain with the roaches - they would never leave the friendly confines of the kitchen, and I would refrain from blasting them with aerosol air freshener.]<br /><br />And yet, the College Apartments were never what you'd call homey. [Or "homie," for that matter. But then again, everything in Minnesota is just a little too Minnesotan to be called "homie."] They looked like sort of a tudor bungalow on steroids, a strangely placed apartment complex in the midst of Rochester's forty gazillion modern hospital buildings.<br /><br />My friend <a href="http://malgeo.blogspot.com/">Matt</a> once noted that the ideal view of Rochester was in his rear-view mirror. And I shed few tears when I moved out of the College Apartments in 1996. But part of me can't help but feel like Snoopy when he found out the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Snoopy">Daisy Hill Puppy Farm</a> had been replaced by a six-story parking garage. Especially given that the Mayo Clinic, which owns the building, has no plans for the site. (So yeah, why <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> just knock it down?)<br /><br />But there is some good news to report. Willson's General Store in Lisbon, Iowa, may be long departed, but the building appears to have been reborn as the Lisbon History and Culture Center, which - if the <a href="http://www.visitmvl.com/main/community-info/community-info/lisbon-history-and-culture-center.html">center's website</a> is to be believed - will play host to the big Cabbage Weigh-off in August.<br /><br />So who says you can never grow home again?Mitch Teichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02755362614003939247noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10200671.post-12188179436612478342007-06-27T18:39:00.000-05:002007-06-28T11:55:11.127-05:00Twelve yearsJodi Huisentruit went missing on her way to work as an anchorwoman in <a href="http://www.kimt.com" target='_blank'>Mason City, Iowa</a> twelve years ago today. We've <a href="http://19minutes.blogspot.com/2005/07/searching-for-jodi.html" target='_blank'>blogged about this before</a> (and also, improbably, <a href="http://transcripts.cnn.com/TRANSCRIPTS/0605/09/ng.01.html"target='_blank'>talked about it on TV</a>), but it's worth noting that she's still missing.Mitch Teichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02755362614003939247noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10200671.post-64122885252063267272007-06-24T22:23:00.000-05:002007-06-28T20:30:09.471-05:00The Ironwood Dining ReportI'm a firm believer in eating local specialties. As long as they don't involve <a href="http://www.smart.net/%7Etak/haggis.html">sheep's intestines</a> or <a href="http://www.deependdining.com/2005/03/introducing-megan-mccormick-been-there.html">cobra hearts</a>, that is. On our annual trip to Maine, I try to squeeze in at least a year's worth of lobster and <a href="http://www.angelispress.com/TMR/Issues/jun02/jun02art3.html">locally made ice cream</a> into a week's vacation. And so last week, as my wife and daughter and I traveled to the <a href="http://www.westernup.com/">Western Upper Peninsula of Michigan,</a> I went scrounging for the local delicacy: <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2007/06/24/weekinreview/24basics.html?ref=weekinreview">Sloppy Joe on a Stick</a>.<br /><br />No, really, U.P. cuisine is all about pasties - basically, ground beef, potatoes, and sometimes other vegetables inside a pie crust pocket, which in turn is served in a little wax paper pocket, so you can throw it in your lunch bucket, if you happen to be <a href="http://www.hu.mtu.edu/vup/pasty/history.htm">a miner in the 1800s</a>, or you can eat it while you're driving your pickup and talking on your cell phone, if you're a resident of <a href="http://www.ironwoodglobe.com/">Ironwood, Michigan</a>.<br /><br />My wife and I elected to eat our pasties at her grandmother's house, a technique I'd also recommend, as long as you call her in advance. [On a related note, if you <span style="font-style: italic;">do</span> call her, she'll answer on an honest-to-God <span style="font-weight: bold;">dial</span> phone, which actually actually makes the following ringing noise: "Ring."] Our second night in Ironwood, we tried pasties from a different shop than we usually bought them, at which point, we became obsessed with comparing the variety of pasties available across town.<br /><br />Because you will no doubt all be flocking to Ironwood, Michigan, immediately after you read this, I hereby present the Official 19 Minutes Guide to the Pasties of Ironwood, Michigan. None of them should completely frighten you off:<br /><br /><u>U.P. Pasty Express</u>. If you're driving in from the west (which means you will have just reached the edge of the earth), the U.P. Pasty Express is the first pasty shop you will encounter on U.S. 2. It has a downtown outlet, too, improbably called "The Famous Pastry Kitchen," the extra 'r' apparently thrown in to confuse tourists. The Express outlet, which isn't any faster than the downtown outlet, is a storefront in a tiny strip mall. Like all the pasty shops we visited, the pasties are cheerfully baking away in a little oven behind the counter. The pasties here had the most distinctive crust of any that we had - a chewy bread crust seemingly from the sourdough family. The filling was less exciting - it would take a tough, Finnish miner to love the meat, potatoes and onions inside. Fortunately, there are a lot of descendants of tough, Finnish miners still left in the U.P., so the Pasty Express still has plenty of devotees. I am not one of them.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.joespastyshop.com/">Joe's Pasty Shop</a>. Joe's is the pasty shop you'd first encounter if you were driving in from the east (which means that you will have already been driving past the edge of the earth). Joe's has a <span style="font-style: italic;">drive-through</span> window on U.S. 2, which is, tragically, closed on Sundays and Mondays. Fortunately, they, too, have a downtown outlet, and it's reportedly open seven days a week. Joe's traditional pasties - as opposed to the Cornish pasties, which also include rutabagas(!) - are consistently strong. They contain plenty of onions, too, which gives them a distinctive taste, but also makes them literally <a href="http://www.ccfa.org/">hard for me to stomach</a>. The real highlight at Joe's is the concept of the <span style="font-style: italic;">breakfast</span> pasty - which replaces the standard filling with eggs, ham, bacon, and cheese (and potatoes and a scattering of onions). My wife considered it a life-changing experience.<br /><br /><u><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Rigoni's</span> Bakery</u>. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Rigoni's</span> was the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">wildcard</span> on this trip to Ironwood. We had never even noticed it before, but it's across the street from <a href="http://www.masterpieceboats.com/">a boat shop</a> owned by relatives of my wife, and they pegged it as their favorite, so we gave it a try. It quickly became my favorite, as well. The beef was the highest quality of the three, and was a greater proportion of the filling than what we found in any of the other pasties. The crust was flaky and light, and the whole thing gave just the slightest hint that maybe we were eating something that doesn't quite qualify as health food. The only caveat is that they ran a little low on inventory towards the end of the day, so you'll probably want to make your <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Rigoni's</span> run before 4:30 in the afternoon.<br /><br />So there's your guide to the Pasty Shops of Ironwood, Michigan. Tune in next time as we try to locate the restaurants in Ironwood which offer cobra hearts.Mitch Teichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02755362614003939247noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10200671.post-87115798834031785032007-06-14T22:49:00.000-05:002007-06-15T00:23:52.992-05:00Frights of passageLots of excitement around the 19 Minutes home office recently, as our daughter turned three years old over the weekend. But the annual rolling over of her odometer itself wasn't the real excitement; rather, it was that this year also marked <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Sylvi's</span> first real birthday party.<br /><br />Sure, there had been party-like events before. She actually celebrated her first birthday with her friend Phoebe, who is nine days her junior. But that was less a party than it was an experiment to see what would happen if we put frosted cupcakes in front of little kids with only a handful of teeth. Not much, as it turned out. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Sylvi</span> enjoyed moving the frosting around with her finger, and Phoebe tasted a little before turning more to the Osmosis School of eating.<br /><br />And last year, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Sylvi</span> had only been in <a href="http://www.wauwatosa.net/">the neighborhood</a> for a few months by the time her birthday rolled around, the result being a friend-deprived birthday celebration in the dining room mostly remembered for its hippo-shaped cake.<br /><br />But in the past twelve months, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Sylvi</span> has developed both a network of friends <span style="font-style: italic;">and</span> a taste for <a href="http://www.dunkindonuts.com/">frosted pastries</a>, so we figured to have found the appropriate formula for a birthday party. The only issue was what the party would physically look like. It's been a while since I've been plugged into the birthday party scene, and turns out that there are a lot of new types of parties that have sprung up since my parents brought me and six of my friends to a <a href="http://www.gwhoops.com/">George Washington University basketball</a> game in 1979.<br /><br />Here in southeastern Wisconsin for example, there are a variety of different "fun" facilities which discerning parents apparently choose in an effort to keep cake frosting out of their <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">DVR</span> machines. All of them, for some reason, seem to be in corrugated metal buildings, in industrial parks, in distant suburbs inhabited by people with pickup trucks larger than at least three of my past apartments. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Sylvi</span> has been invited to several of these, including one in a corrugated metal building with a pool (at which it took her 45 minutes to decide she wanted to get in, leaving her a good 15 minutes of swimming enjoyment, before cake, ice cream, and the 40-minute ride home), and one in the playroom of a corrugated metal building that also housed a kiddie spa where kids can get pampered to take their minds off the day-to-day stress of reading Dr. Seuss and eating American cheese. For these parties, parents are also required to invite every child their son or daughter has ever met, in the hopes that the combined eBay resale value of the presents will be enough to offset the cost of renting the unit of fun.<br /><br />So for those reasons, plus the fact that my wife and I would prefer to be locked in a room with a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Yanni</span> CD on infinite repeat than hold a party in a corrugated metal unit of fun, we decided to aim for a more low-key party. This was fine with both the parents (for example, our friend Mary, I believe, was actually looking for us to set a low-key party precedent) and the kids - who rarely ask for corrugated metal in the context of fun.<br /><br />So with "low-key" in mind, we divided up the responsibilities for the party. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Sylvi</span> would be in charge of turning three. My wife, Gretchen, would get to send the invitations, go grocery shopping, make the cake (a watermelon shaped/flavored cake), provide the other snacks (watermelon), mow the lawn, and otherwise get the backyard ready for partying, three-year-old-style. After a joint trip to Target to pick out party favors, I was left with one vital responsibility: buying balloons the morning of the party. I believed I had gotten off easy. I was incorrect.<br /><br />Sunday morning at 10:00 had me en route to a dollar store about fifteen minutes from our house. I've always been of two minds on the dollar store concept - on one hand, I'm a little suspicious of what happened to the merchandise to cause it to land in such a store. On the other hand, I can get behind a place where I can calculate the total cost by counting the number of items in my basket. Regardless of my sentiments, I was informed balloons were available there, and so it was my Sunday morning destination.<br /><br />It had been several years since I'd last encountered a dollar store, and as my helium professional inflated the ten balloons on my list, I took a few minutes to walk around the store to see what else might make a good addition to the, uh, party <span style="font-style: italic;">oeuvre</span>. I was delighted to discover that not only can one buy helium balloons and knock-off <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">frisbees</span> for a dollar, but also copies of <a href="http://www.bobdole.org/books/">Bob Dole's memoir </a>and something called an ovulation predictor. I resisted the urge (telling myself that neither quite fit with the watermelon theme) but left with plenty of great ideas for future (and highly inappropriate) party ideas.<br /><br />I also left with ten <a href="http://heritage.dupont.com/touchpoints/tp_1952/overview.shtml"><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Mylar</span> </a>helium balloons, which seemed like an appropriate number, until it dawned on me that a) there was a stiff breeze blowing through the parking lot of the Dollar Tree store in West Allis, Wisconsin; and b) I needed to somehow get all ten balloons into the hatchback of a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Jetta</span> wagon. It took a good fifteen minutes, but I managed to get all the balloons in the car at the same time, and also provided the good people of West Allis with an enjoyable new spectator sport.<br /><br />But I made it home with plenty of time to spare and at long last, our backyard gleaming with the reflection of sunlight off of ten <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Mylar</span> balloons, it was party time. And the party was both low-key and enjoyable, notwithstanding <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Sylvi's</span> initial panic that her friends were there to abscond with all her toys, which resulted in a mad dash around the backyard in an attempt to hide all her things under her shirt. A quick re-briefing session later, she was outside and hugged each of her three guests as they arrived. The watermelon cake came out perfectly, and the kids all thought the actual watermelon was great, to the extent that we had to keep reminding them not to eat the rind. Also, "pin the tail on the donkey" was played, for reasons that are still not entirely clear to me, except for the fact that it was my idea.<br /><br />The party favors were a hit, too... with the kids, anyway - Mary complained that flashlights, stickers, and M&Ms exceeded low-key limits, but my philosophy is that party favor bags can contain gold bouillon, as far as I'm concerned, as long as they don't include anything that could be considered a noisemaker.<br /><br />So in all, the birthday party was a swell experience, and we're looking forward to planning next year's event, as soon as we can coat our house in corrugated metal.Mitch Teichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02755362614003939247noreply@blogger.com3