The idea of a Wisconsin smoking ban is lighting fires.

You can hear about it all over the state these days, a debate over a smoke-free Wisconsin.
I’m a non-smoker myself. I long ago decided that I didn’t like the way cigarettes made my mouth taste the next morning.

If you listen to the radio these days you’ve probably heard advertisements promoting a smoke-free Wisconsin.

So far I’ve heard the same two ads repeated over and over again and I’m rather unimpressed with both.

The first commercial features a woman who took her daughter to a bowling alley after being told that it was non-smoking during the day.

She then proceeds to complain that the alley’s bar had patrons who were smoking. Apparently the alley made the distinction between smoking on the lanes and smoking in the bar.

While I agree that it was wrong for the bowling alley to be less than candid about their policy when she first asked, her next statements are where I get lost.

She claims her daughter was sick for three days after bowling in a smoky environment.

“It’s scary to think what second-hand smoke can do to your body.”

Regardless of the fact that this ad relies on a “think of the children” formula, which I hate, there are a number of reasons I find it to be ridiculous.

Now I’ve been to alot of bowling alleys, and have never seen one where the bar was less than 25 feet away from the lanes. They might exist, but I tend to think they’re rare.

I understand that the smell of smoke carries a long way, but at 25 feet I just don’t see it making someone sick, and especially not for three days.

The woman in the commercial never states how old her daughter was, but if I had to guess I would say she’s at least five if she’s strong enough to shove a bowling ball down the lane.

If your five-year-old is sick for three days after smelling smoke, then you should probably put them in a plastic bubble and have them under 24-hour medical care.

As a person who likes to consider himself quite logical, I find it much more likely that this woman’s daughter used one of the alley’s loaner balls which hundreds of other children had touched.

It’s a simple fact that objects out in the world and covered in germs.

So, to my mind, the arguement is that this little girl picked up a cold from a bowling ball and that’s why we should ban smoking.

Of course there is another commercial which I am more sympathetic to.

A gentleman who owns a bar tells the story of his battle with throat cancer. He says he has employees whom he cares about, which I find admirable.

At first glance this really does seem like a valid arguement for a smoking ban.

Only there’s a catch. Couldn’t this gentleman make his bar non-smoking all on his own?

It is the legal right of any establishment to ban smoking. There exist a number of bars which are non-smoking, and they continue to enjoy fine custom with a number of regular patrons.

Non-smoking establishments do tend to have four or five smokers standing right outside the doorway, but in general the inside of the bar, tavern or pub smells quite clean and fresh–or possibly like spilled beer.

Of course, not all bar owners are so generous to their employees, and the claim is that those employees should not be forced to put their life on the line for a pay check.

Being a journalist, I have news for you. Lots of people put life and limb and health on the line for a pay check. A drastically abridged list of these people would include law enforcement officers, fire fighters, nuclear technicians, demolitions crews, farmers and everyone who rides a bus or drives a car to work.

Bar employees just face a different sort of hazard.

Just because something is dangerous or unpleasent to some doesn’t mean that it needs to be banned.

Today they’ve come for the cigarrettes, tommorow they’re coming for the spicy and fatty foods. The day after that they’ll be coming for the alcohol, again.

Where does it all end? When we’re left with nothing but tofu and wheat grass juice. My tastebuds shudder to think of the day.

Not to mention that state legislators just raised the tax on cigarettes this year. If, in theory, a ban on smoking in taverns is carried out, wouldn’t that mean less people smoking and less money from the new tax?

With government spending continuing to grow, you just know that revenue lost on that tax is going to come back to bite your wallet in a different way.

Of course, the advertisements don’t stop on the radio. Other newspapers are carrying full pages of ads depicting Wisconsin as an ashtray between Illinois, Michigan and Minnesota.

It’s good advertising, there’s no doubt about that, but is it really fair?

I personally would rather see the flame of freedom burning brightly, even if someone does occasionally use it to light a cigarette.

Marriage

“When are you guys getting married?”

It’s a question my friends know better than to ask, but one my girlfriend’s friends seem to have no trouble tossing around.

I think some of them expect me to have a real answer like “June” or “2014,” but it’s just not like that.

It seems almost blasphemous to ask, but what is the big deal with getting married? Can’t people just be happy that we’re not rushing into things?

One of my many opinions on the subject of marriage is that with just over 40 percent of all marriages ending in divorce, why not do my part to bring that number down by just not getting married?

That way, if for some reason (God forbid) one of us feels like walking away, there is no legally binding document to mess around with before we divide our assets and get separate homes.

Of course, one of my best friends, Joe, tells me that this is a stupid way to think about it. He might be right.

According to him I need to, “Lock that (expletive deleted) down.” In other words, I need to get a gold ring on her to keep her from leaving.

I’m really hoping that keeping her around doesn’t require expensive jewelry, that my personality and charm are enough, but maybe I should take my friend’s advice.

What is marriage though? I mean, sure it’s a great loophole in the legal systems which might keep you protected from certain uncomfortable questions in court and lets you pay less in taxes, but as far as the social ramifications go it’s not much more than a promise to stay together, one that about 40 percent of people don’t keep if you believe the U.S. Census Bureau.

Other, more practical and legally-minded compatriots of mine tell me that a prenuptial agreement is a must-have for any man thinking about getting married.

I’m not so sure though; seems to me like it’s admitting to failure before even trying.

Besides, those agreements are really meant for millionaires and movie stars who really have something to lose. I on the other hand don’t really own anything of greater value than my television, and if she really wants to divorce me to get half of that, then I’ll gladly take an axe and divide it myself, no lawyer necesary.

They say that love means never having to say you’re sorry, which must mean that I’m not in love since I find myself apologizing quite often–mostly for arriving late or forgetting to send a card on some special day or write a column that pokes a bit of fun at a hallowed social institution (like marriage).

It’s nice to know that my brain is safe from the mental malady sometimes referred to as love; it leaves me free to make
rational decisions which concern how the rest of my life will play out.

On the other hand there are many comedians who would tell you that love really doesn’t have much to do with marriage. I’m really hoping that isn’t true.

Of course no digression on the sacrament of marriage could be complete without some thoughts on religion.

It should surprise no one who has read my column in the past to know that I’m what is sometimes referred to as a “lapsed Catholic” or “recovering cathoholic” as a witty Mormon friend of mine once quipped.

Marriage in the Catholic Church is a solemn ritual of union with a number of rules. It is also a pain in the behind to be married in the Catholic Church to someone who isn’t Catholic. Since my girlfriend is of a Ukranian Orthodox background, a church wedding doesn’t appear to be in our future.

That’s fine by me–but not by my maternal grandmother–because I don’t want to get married inside of a building (another Catholic rule).

If I have my way–which I probably won’t– we’ll get married next to a river, stream, or creek and neither of us will be wearing shoes when it comes time to slide on the rings.

I’m also hoping to avoid that part of the wedding where the bride and groom smear cake onto each other’s faces, but that is also unlikely.

I suppose the desire to be outdoors for the joining process precludes a winter wedding (at least in Wisconsin) which means that I’m a bit closer to answering the “when” question.

As you can probably tell, I’m more concerned right now with the “how” and “why,” which I feel get left out of many marriage equations as I’ve watched friends try to budget and plan.

Suffice to say that I’m not in any big hurry and, luckily, neither is she.

When I was born...

There are some decisions in life that, while relatively inconsequential, are still incredibly difficult to make.

It seems to me like many of these situations arise yearly right around my birthday.

One conundrum I encounter is the singing. Do it or not?

The Happy Birthday song is a perennial favorite around the nation since it was popularized by a hit musical in the late 1930s. You won’t see it in many movies or musicals today though, since the holders of the copyright charge an arm and a leg for it–look for characters singing “He’s a Jolly Good Fellow” instead.

Now I know I’m not a Jolly Good Fellow, but I think I might rather have that sung at a party in my honor rather than the “Happy Birthday to you” which used to get dusted off every time mom walked in with a dessert full of candles.

Speaking of birthday dessert, whether to have pie or cake on your birthday is another tough decision with almost no weight behind it.

Of course, birthday cake with candles and your family singing is an American tradition. It just wouldn’t be a party without it.

While you could stick candles in a pie, it’s much harder to get wax off of crust than it is to pick it out of frosting.

Considering that many guests don’t take to extremely sweet things, which cake with its sugary frosted goodness always is, pie may be a better option

Pie also goes much better with ice cream, another staple of the birthday party. The trouble is that you’re going to need more than one if you’re planning on having more than eight friends at your party.

But that brings up another highlight of cake, the fact that there are always leftovers.

Need a high energy snack in the next few days after your birthday? How about some cake? Feeling down and in need of a pick-me-up? I suggest cake–especially chocolate. Looking for an easy breakfast because you woke up late after your party? Cake?

There’s the sticking point though, cake isn’t nearly as good for breakfast as pie.

And with pie you can pretend you’re eating healthy because it has fruit in it. It won’t be true, but who cares, you have pie.

If you wanted to pretend to have a healthy cake you could get a carrot cake with cream cheese frosting. It’s still not quite as good as pie in the morning, but it comes close.

I know that it’s a personal preference, but I’ve always liked the texture of pie much better than cake. Where cake is spongy and soft, pie is slightly crisp with a gooey and delicious filling. If you time your party right, you can even have warm pie to complement your cold ice cream, which is much more difficult with cake.

If you absolutely can’t make up your mind, I suggest splitting the difference and making a cheesecake. Even though it includes the word “cake” it can still have that pie shape. Not only that, but you can make it as “healthy” as you want by choosing a topping from the multitude of delicious fruits or the decadent option of chocolate sauce.

If you don’t like cheesecake (are you crazy?) then you’ll be left with the unpleasant choice of having both cake and pie at your party.

Actually, that doesn’t sound so unpleasant at all. I need to get to a bakery.


Birthday Facts

There are more birthdays in August than in any other month, with July and September coming in close behind.

More people are born on Oct. 5 than on any other day, which is not surprising when you consider that their conception would have happened on New Year’s Eve. The least common birthday is May 22.

The two billion birthday cards mailed out every year make up 58 percent of the cards sent in the United States.

The biggest birthday cake ever made was created in 1989 for the 100th birthday of the city of Fort Payne, Alabama. It weighed 128,238 pounds and used 16,209 pounds of frosting.

The Cold

When you live in the northern half of the United States freezing temperatures are simply a fact of life.

A week ago a friend of mine summed up living in Wisconsin–“It ain’t upper Canada, but it’s not Maui either.”

Which is true, Wisconsin is neither Canada nor Maui and could never be mistaken for either. Well, maybe Canada, but once a person tried to go to a hospital I think they’d figure it out.

I grew up in Northeast Iowa, and lived in Minnesota for a while, so cold midwest winters aren’t really anything new, but they are to some people.

A few weeks ago for example Floridians were scrambling and preparing for temperatures that were *gasp* in the 30’s. From what I can see of folks around here, the 30’s are when it’s time to break out the spring wardrobe and start wearing cutoffs.

I’ve been wondering for a while what exactly causes this phenomenon. Are those of the southern climates smarter, dumber or just less tough than those of southern inclination. Actually, I really don’t think it’s any of those.

For years now I’ve harbored the idea that cold is really just a state of mind. Over the last two months I’ve decided that that state is Wisconsin.

It seems like not a day goes by when someone doesn’t ask me the rhetorical, “Cold enough for yah?”

If there was an answer I’d probably say yes. But lately I’ve been wondering what “cold enough” really means.

If it means that I can set fruit juice outside for two hours to make popsicles then yes.

Then again, it might mean it’s cold enough to keep my beer cold, which it isn’t. Leave beer outside in the Wisconsin winter too long and it will explode on you.

Which is really a shame since Wisconsin is also known for its beer consumption prowess. By gallon we consume more beer than any other state. Per capita we’re being beaten by New Hampshire, but that is a measurement of alcohol consumption, not specifically beer.

If Wisconsin were just a bit warmer just think of what taverns could save in refrigeration. If this were any other state they might have to worry about someone taking the beer they left outside.

Of course, the better angels of human nature tend to retreat when facing the demons of free booze; it’s a conundrum.

Speaking of angels, that’s another thing I like about Wisconsin, the churches.

While I’ve admitted before that I’m not really a church-going kind of guy, that doesn’t stop me from feeling reassured when travelling the less paved roads when I see a country church every 10 miles or so.

Also, there are bars about every 10 miles. It’s like God is really watching out for everyone, no matter what they thirst for.

What else is there to Wisconsin? Well I shouldn’t have to tell anyone about the state they live in, but there is some pretty good fishing too.

To me fishing is kind of like being in church and a bar at the same time. You get a lot of time to reflect on your life in a beautiful environment, but no one minds if you’re drinking a beer while you’re at it.

Growing up, one of my mother’s friends, a Badger State native, used to refer to Wisconsin as “God’s country” and now that I live here I’m sort of inclined to agree with her.

Of course, some days I think “Favre country” would be more accurate. I’m fairly sure that if I told people that the Packer’s number four was the second coming of Christ at least half of them would believe me.

I wonder if there’s any money in preaching? It’s a shame he’s got more of a bullet pass than a hail mary arm, that would make it easier.

It’s not the worst idea I’ve had this week. I think I’m going to call it the “First Church of Favre.” Then again maybe the “Number 4 Church of Favre” would be more appropriate.

Using the Internet to complain about the Internet. Ironic?

There are alot of reasons why I'm getting tired of the internet. One of them is probably the fact that I'm surfing the web at work too often.

This constant surfing has caused me to notice some things about internet users which are obvious to everyone. We all know that internet anonimity makes it easy for every pizza faced teenager swigging red bull and listening to Modest Moust to suddenly become a keyboard cowboy who posts irate commentary and horrible flames for sadly imagined slights.

It's a simple fact that there are too many people on the web who need a real life ass whooping to show them the consequences for not keeping a civil tongue inside your head.

But, enough of what everyone knows and on to what I've recently noticed.

The internet (among other things) has caused a false reality to rise among it's users as to the attractiveness of women. This has nothing to do with that old hot/not website, that's old hat.

No, what I'm talking about is the rampant disregard many internet users show toward relatively attractive women. They say insanely asinine things, my biggest pet peeve being the phrase "sharp knees."

Those of you who know me well know that I am a devotee of the news aggregation website Fark.com. It's users are especially vicious to women who's pictures show up with the story. The discussion forums are full of people letting everyone know if they'd "hit that" or not.

Putting aside the obvious question of "Who the hell cares what you'd hit and what you wouldn't?" I've found that internet users have unusually high expectations for female appearances.

I've been trying to understand why that is, and I can only think that a lack of real world interaction has led to a misconception about what real women look like.

I'm convinced that these hordes of unwashed young men are spending their time downloading pornography in their parents basement with a full supply of jergens and kleenex close by. They're convinced that the October playmate (or maybe the girl getting fucked by a horse) is going to walk through the door at any moment and have sex with them.

I'm not sure if the other side of the internet porn generation's insecurity is more or less sad though. In preperation for writing this column I did some chat room lurking (until today I wasn't sure that chat rooms still existed).

As disgusting as my journalistic efforts were, I found a very common trend among males (or people who claimed to be male). Pretty much everyone claimed to have a penis over 10 inches in length. The biggest claim (lie) was 20 inches.

Not that a 20 inch schlong isn't possible, but I'm pretty sure the guy who possesses such a monster has better things to do than brag about it in a chat room (star in porn videos for instance).

Meanwhile studies continue to indicate that the average male is between 5 and 7 inches when fully engorged. I feel like the only guy who's willing to admit to being average. I'm pretty sure it's somewhere really close to 6 and a half inches, but have never really felt the need to get out a ruler.

I guess my point is that it's sad. Sad that there are so many young men with views so grossly distorted. Sad that people feel the need to lie to impress strangers who they'll likely never meet in person. Sad that so many attactive women are being overlooked because of the fake titties of a legalized prostitute on a tiny screen.

Oh, a quick note: If you get paid to have sex, even on camera, even if the guy/girl/animal giving it to you isn't the one paying, even if someone yells cut every five seconds to bring in a fluffer, you're a prostitute (or sex-worker). Is there anything necessarily wrong with that? No, but don't be putting on airs like you're a movie star just because 50,000 people have seen your O-face while a Ving Rhames wannabee puts his thing where the sun don't shine.

Couldn't you just put a fat guy in front of the net?

It’s a question that goes through my mind every time someone scores a goal on the Minnesota Wild and if you watch hockey you’ve thought of it at least once. Why don’t they just get a really husky guy out there who could sit in front of the goal and block every single shot?

Don’t write this off as a stupid question, similar stunts are not without major league precedent.

There are some moments in sports where spirit of the game is violated regularly to great and acceptable affect. If you’re down by two points in the final moments of a basketball game then you intentionally foul to force the shot and turnover and give yourself a chance. If that blitzer is going to knock down the quarterback for a loss of 15 yards and possibly a knee injury then you hold him and take the penalty. These are acceptable violations of written rules.

Except we aren’t talking about written rules, we’re talking about acceptable standards of play, but again, it’s not like this kind of violation never happens in major league sports.

Though I wasn’t alive in 1951 to see it, the story of Eddie Gaedel’s major league debut is one of the great baseball legends.

Gaedel was a American dwarf–they weren’t as concerned with political correctness in 1951. On Aug. 17 of that year, Gaedel donned a St. Louis Browns uniform and stepped up to the plate, filling a small corner of the batting box with his unimposing 3’7” 65 lb. frame.

It was a bit of a joke, his number was 1/8 and he had popped out of a cake between games of a double-header, but he had a valid contract.

It’s already hard for major league pitchers to hit a standard strike zone, and Gaedel’s zone was only a few inches.
Needless to say he was walked and got a pinch runner upon reaching first base. The Browns went on to lose the game 6-2.

That’s a great story, but let’s get back to the matter at hand. Why doesn’t some hockey team hire an obese man to just sit in the goal?

I suppose it starts with the simple fact that hockey is a good deal more violent than baseball has ever been. While baseball sees the occasional bench clearing brawl or struck batter charging the pitcher it just doesn't have the raw ferocity like body checking and hockey fights.

Even great baseball moments like Robin Ventura charging the pitching legend Nolan Ryan–Ryan, 46, headlocked Ventura, 26, and hammered him with his right arm which was capable of fastballs exceeding 100 mph– have almost nothing on par with the standard of violence in a Minnesota Wild game moments after Derek Boogaard gets put in.

What would rogue players do to an opposing team who they felt was violating the spirit of the game.

Equipment constraints could also be a problem. Where would a team find pads to cover a goalie of such proportions that he could adequately cover a 4x6 net?

It is also the policy of the NHL to screen for health problems with a standard physical. Could someone with that kind of girth ever be described as physically fit to play a sport? I would put that in the realm of improbable and unlikely but not necessarily impossible.

Considering that Walter Hudson, at 1197 lbs.. might just barely have filled the net with his world record 9’11” waist, it’s going to take a lot of dieting–in the reverse of the conventional sense–to reach anywhere near that size. Since Hudson died in 1991 he’s not about to walk out on the ice even if he could get onto the ice through a doorway.

So let’s go through the particulars: vengeful opposing players, lacking appropriate padding, hardly able to move.

What we’re essentially talking about here is strapping–he would probably have to be tied to the crossbar in order to stand–an inordinately husky masochist in the goal and letting angry players slap hard rubber pucks toward him at speeds close to 100 mph.

I’m guessing he’d be in one of two places after the game. the emergency room or the county morgue. Either way he’s not going to be attending a press conference to tell us all how it went.

It’s not that the question is stupid–like my girlfriend told me–it’s just that most people don’t think through the consequences.

Wherein I prove that the worst day hunting is still better than the best day working

I’ve heard it said that the worst day hunting is better than the best day working and I think I proved the true over the first December weekend.

I took a day off so that I could trek down to Iowa and spend two days deer hunting with my dad and my brother.

When we were planning the trip we hoped for good weather. In the week before the trip we watched the forecast and sprayed water proofing on all of our clothes and boots. The day before we left I said a fervent prayer to the higher powers that control meteorological patterns and asked them to push the storm just a little bit north.

It is not an exaggeration at all to say that none of that did any good.

We woke up at 5:30 a.m. on Saturday, the opening day of Iowa’s shotgun deer season, in hopes of getting out into the field to see the sun rise, only to see gray skies and a quarter inch accumulation of ice on everything outside our windows.

We went out for breakfast, and then sat around for three hours. As my hunting party could tell you, I was less than happy that I had driven seven hours to sit in a hotel lobby and comment on the weather.

It was around noon that the rain weakened and we decided to try our luck. We went to the best land we had permission to hunt on. In years past, this three mile strip has yielded hundreds of trophy bucks and heavy does. That day our party of 17 people shot a single six-point buck.

I knew things were going to go poorly as we got to our starting positions for the drive. Five minutes after we arrived at our positions, the rain came back as if it wanted to make up for lost time.

Not only was it a lousy push, but the lack of sun meant that the walkers didn’t have a reference point to judge their position. Along with the rolling hills and dense brush, this set us up for disaster as practically everyone going through the timber got incredibly lost.

I myself ended up in a position that was about an eighth of a mile away from where I should have been when I made it to the end of the push. Other members of the party (my dad being one) got so turned around that they made circuits around the property’s two ponds.

Luckily, the lack of visible deer helped keep us from tragic accident, even with so many wayward hunters.

The walk, which usually takes an hour and a half, began at 1:15 and ended at 3:30 p.m. It took us an hour after that to round up our lost companions.

We were all soaked to the skin and the closest to miserable that I’ve ever seen a party of hunters who haven’t seen the injury of a fellow hunter.

Meeting back at the machine shed where we hang our deer before processing, it was generally agreed that one outing was enough for the day. It was time to go get dry and spend some time at our favorite bar.

Usually the tavern time is a chance for us to exchange stories about the massive amounts of deer that we saw but didn’t shoot. This time, however, it was a chance to complain about the weather and exchange anecdotes about how lost we had become during the push.

And wouldn’t you know it, the atmosphere was just as cheerful as it would have been if we had shot 100 deer.

What makes hunting worth the effort isn’t the actual hunt or the meat in the freezer afterward, it’s the camaraderie of
the shared experience.

In the tavern, we did one of the things we do every year–ordered shots of peppermint schnapps and toasted to my grandpa who passed away a number of years ago.

He was one of the original members of the group that I join to hunt the hills and woods of Southern Iowa, and the few who are still around from his time remember him fondly. Hunting with those guys gives me a feeling of connection to the past, a tie to a legacy that is greater than myself. Well, that and a freezer full of three months’ worth of delicious venison steaks every year.

Luckily for us, Sunday was a better day. The weather was warm enough to hunt but cold enough that I didn’t get overheated walking through the woods and over hills. The party had collected 10 total deer by the time my dad, brother and I had to leave at noon.

Driving back it seemed that all was right with the world. We were tired, two of us smelled like deer guts, but we were generally happy with the weekend and the time we had spent together.