This morning's FirstNews, Thursday August 23, was the very last newscast from the original KMBC studios, located in the basement of the Lyric Opera Building, downtown. Starting at 5:00 p.m., the Channel 9 news will be coming to you from the brand-spanking new facilities over near the KC Zoo...which, based on how TV folks sometimes behave, seems appropriate. In addition to being a whole new look, the broadcasts will be in High Definition. I'm not sure what that means, but I have been reading Webster's Dictionary, just to be on the safe side. So far, I'm up to the letter "K." For example, did you know that kumiss is a drink made from the fermented milk of a camel? Now, that's a high definition!

The old studios looked pretty sad this morning...as if the Grinch had made an appearance. Many years ago, I found an old Channel 9 blazer in the back room. I used to wander around on the edges of the building a lot and not just to avoid work. Anyway, I would put on the brown tweed with the Channel 9 logo on the pocket every now and then, just to annoy Maria Antonia. According to a patch inside the coat, the jacket was "tailored exclusively for Dick Hocter." Mr. Hocter was a very popular TV personality and weatherman in KC for many years...a lot of them at KMBC. Thursday morning, in honor of the history and legacy of KMBC, I wore the blazer again. It's about 40 years old but, sadly, it maybe the highest quality sport-coat I have hanging in my closet.

My first visit to this building was nearly 20 years ago. I flew in from Wisconsin (and boy were my arms tired. Thank you very much.) for an interview and audition. I've always thought this old building deserves the credit (or, blame, depending on your perspective) for my getting a job in the first place. There just had to be some sort of gas leak or high level of unsafe materials floating through the vents for an otherwise brilliant news director to actually hire me. That morning was also the first time Bob Barker appeared on The Price Is Right with his natural hair color and it caused a hullabaloo! Everyone in the newsroom was transfixed by the sight. Later I did my audition with Maria. She was terrific at making a cheesehead feel at ease.

While the new building is cool and totally high tech, the kids around my house are lukewarm about the move. For them, this old building is Channel 9. They would hang out quite a bit when they were just little punks...climbing on the Jellybeans obstacle course...running up and down the marble staircases...bothering the big shots in the newsroom. Of course, as they've gotten older, they try to avoid any association with me so their visits have become far more hit and miss. In fact, just the other day, I caught two of them trying to get into the witness protection program. However, back in the old days, they loved coming to the station.

This is a great time to say thank you to all of you who have watched FirstNews for the last couple of decades. Hope you like the new look which starts Friday morning. Also, starting on Monday, I will be hosting a good group of channel 9 viewers on our big trip to Ireland! If possible, I may try to check in now and then from there but that could well turn out to be just a bunch of Blarney.

One of my former bosses died a couple days ago and it was reported in the New York Times! Remember Leona Helmsley? Back in the 80s, she was all over the papers and nightly news. She was called "The Queen of Mean" and portrayed in a TV movie by Suzanne Pleshette. She served 18 months in federal prison for tax evasion among other money-related crimes. Yes, she apparently treated the people around her with contempt more often than not and was, in general, what my mother would call "a pill." But, to me, Leona was nothing but complimentary. Well, not face-to-face, but in a "Letter of Commendation From The Desk Of LEONA HELMSLEY!"

When I was attending the University of Wisconsin-Madison, I worked at the Sheraton Inn and Conference Center as a front desk clerk and part-time piano player. I played the piano in the dining room four nights a week, seriously testing the digestive process of our guests, and checked people in and out of the place on weekends. The hotel was owned by Leona and her husband Harry. I never saw either of them but they would send a guy out to check up on us now and then. I think his name was Jerry. He had slicked-back hair, smoked little tiny cigarillos and wore expensive suits with lots of shiny accessories like cuff links, watches, ID bracelets. Although you never saw him without a tie on, you could imagine that, under that monogrammed, silk shirt, he was wearing gold chains. Lots of them. He hated coming to Wisconsin from New York and never let anybody at the hotel forget it. Someone had told me that this guy had a summer home in Cape Cod so, trying to be ingratiating, when he walked into the dining room, I started to play the tune Old Cape Cod, segueing into New York, New York. He never even looked up. Considering the way I butchered these numbers, maybe that was a good thing.

Jerry, from the home office, called a property-wide meeting while he was there one time. We all filed into a conference room and heard Jerry tell us how lucky we all were to work for Harry and Leona Helmsley. At one point he said, "You know, the Helmsleys really consider all of their employees, family. You are all like their children." So, I raised my hand and asked if I could borrow the car that night. Nobody laughed. Jerry appeared to make a mental note of my appearance and moved on.

Well, it was within a couple days of that awkward moment, that I got a personal letter from Leona. One of the Sheraton's big corporate customers in those days was a company called Ohio Medical and one of that outfit's executives stayed at our hotel on a very regular basis. His name was Charles DesIslets and he lived Nevada when he wasn't living at the hotel. Charlie was a gregarious guy. He never got miffed standing in line for his room-key. He was always in a good mood. Well, Charlie sent Leona a letter telling her how great the front desk clerk was which led Leona to send me my "Letter Of Commendation From The Desk Of LEONA HELMSLEY!"

I know you're thinking that I'm making way too big a deal out of a simple letter I received over a quarter of century ago...a letter Leona may not have even read before she signed it. (In fact, according to the citation it came from her desk, not her.) But, that letter is the closest thing I've ever gotten to an Employee of the Month award or, prize of any kind, for that matter. Oh, sure, in our old neighborhood I was given the Pooper-Scooper Award for picking up after the dogs, but that was really a shared honor. I mean, where would I have been without the dogs? Just a guy wandering around with a tiny shovel and an empty baggie. So, in honor of my brush with the iconic Leona Helmsley I may frame that letter and display it on my desk in the new KMBC building: proof that, once upon a time, I actually did something well. As Leona used to say in those ads: "I wouldn't settle for less than the best. Why should you?"

So, you're sitting at home. Minding your own business. Watching a favorite TV show. Then, it happens. You are verbally attacked by the very TV station you're watching: "Tonight, at 10, the danger lurking in your kitchen cupboard that could make your ears fall off! See our special report!" or "If it happens in Kansas City...it's NEWS to us!" or "We saved you from (pick one) predators/bad meat/faulty seat belts/shady siding salesmen/crooked yarn vendors. Now, we're going to make sure you know it and watch us forever!" Yes, the ever-present, increasingly strident, "promo." They are really commercials for the station but are called "promos" in an effort to pretend we're not really pleading for your viewership. Kind of like the "Corporate Underwriting Provided By..." things that run on PBS nowadays. We all know what it really is but Charlie Rose, Bill Moyers and Elmo would all burst into tears if they felt they had gone "commercial!"

I'm not knocking them and I fully understand that they serve a purpose. It is important that viewers know, for example, that the weather team will be here and on the job when severe storms bubble up. Keeping folks safe is the main idea when the weather turns bad. And, frankly, anything that will entice you to watch FirstNews, for example, I'm all for! I've got lots of mouths to feed, shoes to buy and college tuitions to fork over. I just wish, every now and then, we could have a little more fun with them. This very day, the entire Channel 9 weather team will descend on the new building to shoot one of these promos. In this video bit, we will all look very serious and hard at work. It will resemble, in no small measure, several scenes from Star Trek: The Wrath Of Kahn, and not just because the new weather center does look like a space ship. If we had a crane available, I'm almost certain the promo would end with a high shot looking down on us as we look up and scream "STOOOOORRRRRMMMM!" A few years ago, we did one of these things and there was a shot of me leaning over the computers staring out into the distance with a look on my face that said "I am the only thing standing between the people and the apocalypse." I was probably really thinking "I wonder if we have any string cheese left at home or did the kids eat it all."

Every station, everywhere, does this kind of thing. Back when our daughter, Samantha, was just a toddler, a different station introduced their new SuperDooperDoubleScooperDippityDooDahDoppler Radar during the Olympic games. Every time it aired, with the big, booming voice, scarily urgent music and rapid fire changing video, Samantha thought there was a major storm striking at that very moment. She couldn't quite say "tornado" so she'd run around saying "Oh, no. A big tomato is coming!" It wasn't always this way. There was a time when weather promos and, for that matter, station promos in general, were kinder and gentler.

The first station promo I was ever involved in was back in Madison, Wisconsin at WMTV, Channel 15. It started with our main weatherman, and most popular person on Madison TV, Elmer Childress, indulging in one of his passions: golf. Elmer hit a ball which then bounced all over town...finding the Channel 15 folks out and about. I was sitting on a pier with the then-young Jingles the Dog, as the golf ball rolled by. Sometime later, we shot a winter-time promo out at the lake home of my mom and her husband. All the anchor folks put on their parkas and hit the frozen tundra. That snow-covered hill, dotted with pines, would've made Norman Rockwell proud. Snowmobiles, skates, sleds...it was all about having fun in the Wisconsin winter...as opposed to today when most winter promos make sure we all know that snow maybe pretty but it is deadly! Don't be fooled!

Here at KMBC, we once did a weather promo with former Good Morning America weatherman, Spencer Christian. It was pretty simple. Just Bryan Busby, Spencer Christian and I sitting in the weather center asking folks to watch from morning 'til night. Now, there was a lot of laughing going on and more than a few out-takes. So, the very clever and creative promotional producer, Steve Revare, decided to make two versions of the clip. One was played straight and to the point. The other featured all the goofy stuff. By far, the goofy one got the most attention. All of it positive. Steve also made a promo for my little talk-show, after*words, that featured me interviewing myself about the new program. Now, two of me is really two too many, but it was still a neat idea. It didn't air for very long before the big cheeses pulled it for fear that viewers would revolt at the revolting sight of two Joels.

Now, I know that some of these ideas may seem kind of hokey and old-fashioned. I'm sure there is very expensive research that indicates what kind of promos work and what kind do not. Still, as that great philosopher Huey Lewis, once sang "It's hip to be square." Just on occasion, maybe we could do a promo that makes a person feel happy, rather than anxious. I am approaching a quarter century being around broadcasting...much longer if you count my babyhood when my dad ran a radio station...and, in that time, one weather promo got more of a response than any other with which I've been involved. Again, it was back at WMTV in Madison with Elmer Childress. Elmer and I had been sent a song, written by a pair of local brothers name Howland, called The Cloudy Skies Will Clear Up. It was a simple tune with an uplifting message. So, for the spot, I played and the two of us sang. No dramatic footage of houses being blown over. No mention of radar. No intensely somber looks at the camera. Just a couple of guys singing a happy little song. "The cloudy skies will clear up. They soon will turn blue. Just smile and the sun will come through." Pure corn. Silly. Nothing the least bit frightening. The only remarkable thing about it was its success. People loved it. They actually called the station asking to see it...asking for a commercial!

Yes, here at KMBC, we have the very best, most advanced weather technology. We have the most years of experience studying and talking about our area's weather. We will be here...on the tube and on the net...to keep you safe and informed. But, would it hurt anything to let everyone also know that, even when the weather is not turning nasty, we maybe able to brighten your day a bit? Like that old song said "So, please, don't be sad. Just smile and be glad. For the cloudy skies will clear up, if you will only cheer up. The cloudy skies will clear up for you."

It is called an IFB. That stands for Interruptible Feed-Back. It is the little earpiece that on-air folks use to hear from the director and producer during a newscast. If you ever saw the movie Broadcast News starring Holly Hunter and William Hurt, you may recall the scene where Holly Hunter's character, a news producer, is feeding information to the rather air-headed anchorman played by William Hurt, during a breaking news special report. It became even more of an information chain than usual, when the sad-sack reporter played by Albert Brooks, started calling in some background material from home to the producer in the booth who then told it to the anchor on the set who then passed it onto viewers at home who mentioned it to the cow with the crumpled horn
who tossed the dog
who worried the cat
who killed the rat
who ate the malt
that lay in the house that Jack built.

Oops. Sorry. Got carried away.

In the old days, nobody used an IFB. There was a floor director wearing one of those big headsets, in his spare time he could talk to NASA, who then, through hand signals, passed time cues along to the anchor people. If there was a change in a script or breaking news or something along those lines, a person would have to physically walk into the studio and hand it over. That way, the anchor man or woman could say, with dramatic flourish, "This just handed me!" Now, they would have to say something like "This just e-mailed me!" or "This just instant-messaged me!" or "This just yelled into my ear!" Not nearly as exciting. Weatherdorks were among the last on-air people to get an IFB. Then, when we did, it was like something Uhura would've worn on Star Trek. It looked like I had rutabagas growing out of my ear...which my mom always said would happen if I didn't do a better job scrubbing them. Eventually, the IFBs became personalized. You would take this powdery stuff...mix in the water...smush it around in your ear and let it harden up a little. Then, you would pull it out and have a mold, from which a snug-fitting ear piece could be manufactured. You could always wait until you were in a store or on a bus and then yank the clay-like substance out of your ear...just to make on-lookers scream "YUCK!"

Even with a form-fitting ear piece, the IFB can have problems. It only takes a little crack in the plastic tubing to make the thing act up. Sometimes, it cuts out completely but often it becomes an intermittent problem. Certain words get lost, for example. I remember once thinking the director had said "Joel...you...ape...why...don't...you...shut...up...nimrod." But, it turned out to be just my IFB acting up. She really had said "Joel, I need you to mention the Great Grape Juice festival at the YMCA. Also, don't forget you need to shut the computer off before you head upstairs....Nimrod." Every now and then, the director and producer will accidentally hit the button for me when they mean to talk to the big shots, Donna Pitman, Jere Gish or Johnny Rowlands. Many's the time I've heard "We all know Joel is dragging the show downhill but...oops...sorry, Joel...wrong button."

Monday morning the IFB problem was not technical or anything like that. It was all because I'm a pea-brain. As mentioned in this space last week, Channel 9 is in the process of moving to the new building across town. Saturday we had a run-through at the new place. I took my handy-dandy IFB. Well, sometime between then and now, I put it somewhere. I think it is in the pocket of the suit-jacket I was wearing that day. Anyway, when I arrived at the old building to do this morning's FirstNews, I realized I had no IFB. Because, we're moving, my old, back-up gizmo was not around. Thanks to a very creative audio genius named Cody, I was outfitted with a make-shift deal. The problem was, it kept falling out of my ear. The holes in my head are just too big. All through the show, I had to reinsert the pretend IFB. Now, having done weather for over 20 years, I've been told to "Just shove it!" often enough to know what I had to do. For some reason, the ear plug I was using had been colored bright red by a bored audio board technician so, every time it fell out, it looked like I was bleeding from my left ear. It would not have been the first time I was bloodied during the news. One time I questioned Jim Flink's journalistic judgment, personal ethics and fashion sense and he hauled off and belted me. The fashion remark really got under his aloe-treated skin.

My morning ear ache was caused by my own dunderheadedness...how's that for a word! Still, it made me long for the days when I didn't have to stick anything in my ear to do the show...when we had real live people hanging out in the studio rather than robotic cameras and disembodied voices...when I didn't feel like I was impacting enough ear wax to make candles for every Christmas Eve church service in town. Then, again, I have always marched to beat of my own drum. My own damaged ear drum, that is.

I'm just going to come right out and admit it: the new KMBC building scares me! Maybe you've seen the promotional spot running on Channel 9, lately. The way the camera moves around...the stuff hidden in the shadows...the commanding voice telling us something major this way comes! I keep waiting for an alien ship to land and large headed creatures to disembark...commandeering the newscast. "On the lighter side, from Venus, we have this: a water-skiing zeptelotte named Kondar." (A "zeptelotte" is quite similar to a squirrel and "Kondar" is Venusian for "Skippy." Speaking of Venus, apparently all their window coverings are Venusian Blinds. Good thing, too, or it'd be curtains for all of us.) Anyway, I'm scared. I think I'll end up getting lost. It is going to be embarrassing to hear, over the intercom, "We have a little boy up here at the front desk who tells us his name is Joel and he seems to have misplaced his co-anchors. If you could come up and claim him, he'd sure appreciate it." Maybe the receptionist will give me a Tootsie Pop like they do when I get lost at the mall and my wife has to come and get me.

I've been over to the new place about three times. Once for a quick tour. Once for Picture Day. Once for Make-up Day. I also was given my new key card for entry into the building. On the surface that may make one think that one's job is secure but in this case, I'm not so sure. My ID tag is marked "TEMP" and my name is spelled Joan Nitchels. At the old building downtown, the weather center is in the basement, away from the rest of the newsroom. In the new digs, we're all in one big area. What will that mean for my attempts at free-form yoga every morning at 3:15? Right now, I can pick up a stack of weather maps, walk briskly through the newsroom looking worried every couple of hours and people think I'm on the job. How am I supposed to keep up that ruse on a full time basis? And, if Jere Gish thinks I'm sharing my breakfast of Oreos and chocolate milk with him, he's crazy.

A few people have asked when we will actually make the big move. (In fact, just today at a stoplight, a guy rolled down his window and yelled at me "Hey! Are you going to move or what?" I think the accompanying gesture meant "You're number one in my book!") Folks have been going around the station labelling things with "MOVE" and "DON'T MOVE" and "WORKING" and "NOT WORKING" signs. As you might imagine, moving a TV station is a major undertaking. It happens in stages like becoming a butterfly. Some folks are already over there...spreading their wings in full-blown Monarch fashion. A few are hanging out in the netherworld of chrysalis. Then, there are some who are crawling around like caterpillars. For me, I'm just barely to egg status. And, I suspect, once I make the transformation, I'll end up being a moth.

More on the move in the days ahead....uh oh! Someone just came along and slapped a sticker on me: "NOT WORKING. DON'T MOVE."

School bells are ringing this week, all over town. It seems like just about everyday from now through Labor Day, on FirstNews, we have additions to the list of schools opening their doors for a new year of learning and fun. Around our house, here is how everyone is doing when it comes to being in a school daze about school days:

Alex: He is already on campus. His college was allowing students to settle in as early as 8:00 on Sunday morning. Saturday night, he announced that he'd like to be there as early as possible, which his mother and I took as a direct indictment of our parenting techniques over the last 18 years. I didn't set an alarm, figuring if he really wanted to head down the road that early, he'd be up and raring to go. Well, the dog woke me up as usual on a Sunday morning, ready to eat and take a walk. Alex was snoring. The dog ate. Alex was snoring. We walked for about a half hour. Alex was snoring. I ate a bowl of cereal. Alex was snoring. My lovely wife got herself completely ready to go. Alex was snoring. I read the paper. Alex was snoring. I did a little work on a jigsaw puzzle. Alex was snoring. Eventually, Alex started to stir. We got on the road a bit later than he'd first suggested. The trip was uneventful until we actually got into the college town. Apparently, nobody bothered to find out where Alexander's hall was located. We took a bit of a tour...occasionally stopping in the middle of an intersection...unsure which way to turn. We'd roll down the car window and ask for directions only to be greeted with some friendly but unsure responses. Turns out the name of the hall is also the name of a dorm and a class-room building and several area cats. The "Larry, Darryl and my other brother, Darryl" of college housing. When we arrived, the van was swarmed by upper class men, all eager to help carry Alexander's cargo...including the large, stuffed rainbow trout. He remembered that but forgot about towels and the charger for his phone. He has a great set-up. Sharing a room with a good friend...a game room, kitchen and well-appointed living room...a bunch of good fellow classmates. My wife and I left town feeling very comfortable about the whole deal. A day later, my wife sent Alex an e-mail about some of the things left behind. Alex called back to say he'd spent most of the first day watching comedy DVD's and playing Frisbee. Ah, college life.

Taylor: He's actually been doing homework...in advance! And, working diligently on debate prep. Of course, we rushed him to the emergency room for evaluation. While Taylor would be perfectly content playing his guitar, listening to Bob Dylan and competing in a variety of video games, he does realize that career opportunities utilizing those particular talents and interests maybe rather limited. He got a haircut. He plans on taking his school stuff over early. The more I write, the more I wonder if we've had an Invasion of the Body-Snatchers deal occur right under our noses! Taylor would never admit it, but I think he is ready for school to start and to get back at it...especially the debating stuff. I know he needs that because, lately, when asked what he wants for breakfast, he launches into a three minute harangue about why waffles are better than pancakes and how that affects the use of the limited water-supply in Africa and the benefits of reinstating the draft and the potential constitutional questions raised by the Patriot Act.

Samantha: As an incoming freshman, she is raring to go. She's been to the school about 400 times already...checking out her classrooms...decorating her locker (how she got that sofa, plasma screen and coffee table in there, I'll never know)...trying out for various teams. She has already spent most of her baby-sitting money on clothes. She did the summer reading and wrote her reports. We can always tell when she needs to school to start because she gets completely goofy around the house. Not really misbehaving. Just acting like a lunatic. The other day, she took empty Kleenex boxes and taped them to the bedroom doors to act as mail drops. Why? I really don't know. It was just a harmless diversion until Mr. McFeeley showed up at my bedroom door with a speedy delivery. Samantha needs school! Teachers! Friends! Homework! Extra-extra-extra-extra curricular activities!

Harrison: Middle school is calling for Harrison but he's letting the machine pick up. He, of all the kids, is the least interested in getting back to the hallways of academia. We've had to remind him that the school frowns on kids showing up just wearing their boxer shorts and carrying a handful of Oreo cookies. Also, when summer started, Harrison promised to read a lot and work on his math facts. Well, he did read...mostly video game instructions and the back of cereal boxes. As for math facts, his memory is full...of TV commercial dialogue. He can sing any jingle that comes on and repeat just about any ad. When he says "I'm thinking of a number..." it has nothing to do with arithmetic...it has to do with credit ratings. If the middle school choir sings a song that includes the words "Weight-Loss Surgical Center," he'll be all over it. Also, lately he's decided he's a human-leech boy. He'll stare at your home with widening eyes...then lean fast and smooth with his mouth (a rather large opening, frankly) assuming leeching position. It is just weird and troubling. I don't think his teachers or fellow students will approve. We are fully prepared for the first call from the principal. "No, Harrison is very polite and pleasant. But, Mr. and Mrs. Nichols, your son is, well, a leech."

Speaking of school starting, let me say a belated thank you to the Olathe School District for letting me be a small part of their big day: Convocation 2007. Last Friday morning, all the folks that make that district terrific got together to kick things off. It was, as always, a wonderful event. They even did a little thing called Are You Smarter Than a Channel 9 Weatherman? The result: Yes. Everyone is! To Olathe, and all the area schools, have a great year. Oh, if you see a kid in boxers, eating Oreos and introducing himself has Leech-Boy, just smile and walk quickly in the opposite direction.

When I think back to the Saturday mornings of my youth, two things jump to mind immediately: vacuum cleaners and chocolate. Before you break out those old psychology books you never really looked at back in college, let me assure you this has nothing to do with any lingering "mind games" from my youth. Frankly, when it comes to mind games, I have always been a bench warmer. In fact, I still have slivers in my frontal lobe. No, my memories are grounded in reality...obviously, quite unlike most of my weather forecasts. I would wake up on Saturday mornings to the smell of chocolate chip cookies baking and the Hoover humming. I think it was a Hoover, the J. Edgar model. It was guaranteed to find every crumb, dust-bunny and Communist-sympathizer hiding out in your shag carpeting. At one point, my dad bought a very expensive vacuum cleaner, from a door-to-door salesman, with every imaginable attachment. Put together properly, the machine could actually clean the surface of the moon. My dad was a little odd about money. He bought the best vacuum...the most expensive, most complete encyclopedia set...the highest quality carving knives. All from guys that knocked on the door, but, just try to get him to pry open his wallet for a new bike or video PONG or a color TV! Thinking back, I really should have put on a fake nose and moustache and rang the doorbell.

Anyway, in addition to sound of cleaning, the smell of chocolate chip cookies (or chocolate cake or brownies) would often greet me first thing on a Saturday morning. It was a sweet, gentle way to start the day. Well, last night, an odor, once again, woke me up. It wasn't "sweet and gentle." This smell stormed out of the kitchen, marched up the stairs, blew open the bedroom door and proceeded to slap me around the room. My nostrils were screaming "UNCLE" so loudly I practically fell out of bed. What was that aroma? My first thought was that maybe one of the kids had made something in the kitchen and left it on the stove. So, I rambled down the stairs...thinking I may actually be saving lives. Well, it turned out that the whole family was still awake. Watching a movie...having snacks. Clearly, they have parties as soon as they hear me snoring. It turned out that the smell was from some sort of vegetable soup my wife was whipping up. She had basically cleaned everything out of the fridge, tossed in a bunch of spices and boiled it up. Now, I'm sure it will taste good and, with all the vegetables, be very nutritious. But, it really had a pungent punch! Being from Wisconsin, I grew up believing that cheese curds were actually little orange veggies and, frankly, when it came to hot foods, just watching Charo on The Dean Martin Show was about as spicy as we could stand. So, when my nasal cavity grabbed me by the throat...not an easy thing to have happen, frankly...and shook me out of my tropical torpor, it was rather unsettling.

The only thing worse than being awakened by this overpowering assault on my schnoz, were the looks of disdain directed at me from my loving family. It was clear that they consider the late evening their break from my presence. "It's just soup. Go back to bed, please!" they said, in unison. I don't think I'll be having any of this gumbo today but I will be having nasal nightmares for some time to come. And, the next time someone yells "Soup's on!" I'll probably burst into tears, grab my blankey and head for the corner of our basement.

A few weeks ago, I mentioned that it was picture day at Channel 9. Well, today, is make-up day. No, I don't mean the day when I am required to go around and apologize to all of the other employees for my lackluster performance, public humiliations and general, all-around, doofus-ness. That requirement falls on September 24th, this year. I am talking about sitting down with an expert in powders, creams and potions. Since KMBC is moving into a new building with different lighting and with the increasing use of High Definition television, it is necessary to take a look at what everyone is using to look good on camera. If looking "good" is too tall an order, as in my case, it is, at least, an effort to not look too repugnant.

When I first started on TV, back during the Hoover administration, one of the oddest things I had to do was buy make-up. In a house full of brothers and a mother not too interested in, or in need of, make-up, I just had no idea what was required. (My dad wore rouge and false eyelashes once, but that's not important to this story so just drop it.) At WMTV in Madison, they had a young lady sit down with me, in the first few days after I was hired, to make some suggestions: "You need something in the warm beige category... about the hue of a paper bag. In fact, why don't you just go ahead and use a paper bag." There was talk of running a special paper bag give-away to introduce me to Madison viewers. "We'll send you, our loyal viewers, a special Channel 15 Paper Bag to wear whenever our new weatherman, Joel Nichols, is on the air...just in case the one he is wearing rips open! Just send a self-addressed, stamped envelope to 'Double Bag the Weatherman' care of WMTV...." Anyway, I ended up going to the cosmetics counter at the local Ace Hardware, admittedly a dangerous thing to do as you run the risk of ending up looking like John Madden. After I convinced the woman there that I was really making these purchases for myself, she ended up selling me a bunch of stuff...something called foundation...powder...concealer...lipstick...eye-liner...a fake mole.

The day of my first appearance, I spent quite a bit of time applying everything. I used so much of the goop, I had to apply it with a trowel which made it necessary for me to join the bricklayers union. After I went on the air, viewers called in to say they really enjoyed watching Joan Crawford do the weather...or was that really Faye Dunaway dressed up like Joan Crawford? The next day, my mother surprised me by stopping by the station just before show time. She looked at me very closely and asked a question she had never before had to ask any of her sons "Is that Cover Girl that you're wearing and what shade is that lipstick?" Soon it became very obvious that I was wearing way too much of the stuff. Frankly, I got sick of kids coming up to be and asking if I had seen the Hamburgaler or Mayor McCheese anywhere.

Over the years, I used less and less make-up. A few years ago, a different make-up expert came in and scolded me for not using enough. The lights in a TV studio can be pretty harsh and make even a healthy person look a little drained not to mention the shine that can appear on just about any forehead. Apparently, the glow emanating from my increasingly large forehead, exposed as my hair-line recedes at warp speed revealing, by coincidence, my warped noggin, was so bright that children and small pets were being needlessly frightened. The day I had my appointment, I had forgotten to shave. I don't have a very heavy beard but it still left enough stubble to make the expert feel I really didn't care. She did not appreciate my apathy. By the time I left her chair, I had enough layers applied that it required a sand-blaster just to open my eyelids.

In recent years, I usually just use a little powder to take off the shine. Sometimes, if I happen to have a blemish, I will try to cover that so as not to affect people's breakfasts anymore than I do just by my mere presence. At my age, I'm actually happy to get a little pimple now and then. It makes me feel young. (Unless, it actually means I'm already entering the adolescence of my second childhood!) But, in this new age of HD, that minimalist approach may not cut it and that brings us back to today's make-up session.

I don't have any idea how high definition TV works. Frankly, I'm still trying to get my 8-track tapes to play. But, as I understand it, HD will make everything look sharp, defined and clear. That means the smallest of flaws will be magnified. For example, a close look at my aforementioned aforehead reveals so many bumps and humps that it could well be a relief map of one of the moons of Jupiter. There is a scar from a time I got hit in the head by a rock thrown by one of my brothers. He claimed he was just trying skip stones in the lake. Oddly, we were visiting Death Valley at the time. In High Def, the scar actually resembles the Grand Canyon...if you look closely you can see a team of pack mules and Gabby Hayes. Near that monument to brotherly love, is a bump. I'm not sure what it is. It's just a bump. One explanation is that the same people who built Stonehenge once used this bump to tell time. They called it Stonehead. In HD, this little fleshy molehill becomes a mountain of skin. In fact, you'd need a Sherpa just to get from one side to the other. Those two attributes are accented by increasingly deep furrows brought on by having four children. So, while they may not be too noticeable on a 13 inch black and white Zenith, in HD, those elements tend to overwhelm the hapless viewer. And, that's just my forehead. In HD, the bags under my eyes would have to be checked prior to boarding if I was flying somewhere. The pores on my nose begin to resemble a Putt-Putt Golf for fleas which I don't mind except for the windmill hole. The crooked nature of my teeth would embarrass Kukla and Fran, not to mention Ollie. My chin(s) and jowls begin to vibrate like a tank of Jello after a wrestling match between Roseanne and Rosie O' Donnell. (This is the second day in a row I've mentioned someone named Rosie. Yesterday, it was Rosey Grier. Tomorrow I will have to work in a reference to Rosie the Riveter.) The bottom line is that my face may start to look like my bottom line if I don't pay attention to the expert.

So, I'm off to see the wizard of aaahhhs. I don't have high hopes. If they're going to change the technology of broadcasting, I wish they could make it so a person looks ten years younger and 20 pounds lighter. I'd like to think that, even with all the attention paid to the appearance side of things, it is still content that matters. Never mind. I'm on even thinner ice looking at it that way.

Today's silly blogiphany will have you in stitches! And, on pins and needles! It may even put you into a s'knit! It is really about the very fabric of our society but I will try to thread lightly. Monday morning, on FirstNews, we had a story about the increasing number of men taking up knitting. Yarn stores...which I thought were places people frequented when they wanted to find some good stories to tell...are reporting more and more males coming in to buy goodies. Some men say they do it to relieve tension. One older guy was quoted as saying it helped ease his arthritis. Historians say that among the earliest knitters and sewers were fishermen working on their nets. So, men wielding needles is nothing new.

Before proceeding, let me make it clear that I do not know the difference between knitting, sewing, darning, macrame-ing, needle-pointing, crocheting, croqueting, quilting, mending, serging, embroidering or anything else connected to this art or craft. To me the phrase "Knit One, Pearl Two" sounds like a baseball score between teams of Hobbits. Growing up in a house of all boys, we were expected to know how to do the laundry and dishes and dust and vacuum but, if needle-work was ever covered, I must have been in the other room watching Gilligan's Island. Speaking of TV, I admit a wave of envy and jealousy does come over me when I happen to see a sewing show. For example, I'll bet Nancy of Sewing With Nancy, actually knitted and sewed her entire house. There is nothing that woman and her guests can't create with a little thread and a needle. When I was a kid, there was a local woman on TV named Fern Fowler who was capable of needle magic, as well. Fern would take a pile of thread at the beginning of the half hour and, by the time Stan Bran's Outdoors Calling came on, Fern had created clothing for the entire Von Trapp family. She could also turn empty toilet paper rolls into weaponry, although she only did that once during a special cross-over appearance on Stan's show.

We did have a sewing unit in school where we were supposed to create a pillow in the shape of a whale. Mine ended up looking more like something a stuffed dog would leave on the carpet...if a stuffed dog could leave things on a carpet. Sure, I attached a couple of buttons for eyes but it didn't help. I tried to convince my teacher that all the missed stitches were actually extra blow-holes. This was a whale even Ahab would've passed by. I also got in trouble for trying to borrow an extra needle from a class-mate having lost my own. The instructor was livid: "We do NOT share needles in this class. Where do you think you are, Amsterdam?" She was extra irked when she found my lost needle in her chair. Well, it was originally in her chair. The episode gave a whole new meaning to "turning the other cheek."

My grandma was good at this kind of thing. Her sewing kit always seemed like something of a treasure chest to me. Filled with needles and buttons and thimbles and pin-cushions. I remember we'd play that old hot/cold game with the thimble or "Button-Button-Who's Got The Button?" That last game is not one you ever want to hear the president playing. We had to quit playing those games when my brothers kept hiding the thimble or button under an orange road construction cone near our house.

Really, this whole idea of men knitting is not a new story at all, even forgetting about the aforementioned fishermen with the hole-ly nets...not to be confused with the 12 Disciples who were fishermen with holy nets. In the 70s, football great Rosey Grier even wrote a book called Needlepoint for Men. I had him on after*words back in 1992 and he talked about learning how to do this kind of thing as a child and using it to relax all through adulthood. Who's going to tell a member of The Fearsome Foursome not to relax? If it works for Rosey, it would work for everybody.

In our own house, sewing is a hit and miss kind of thing. Once, many years ago, my lovely wife mentioned that she'd love to have a sewing machine someday and began to imagine all the wonderful things she would create for the children. Well, being a dutiful husband, I went out and got her a sewing machine for Christmas. After everyone else had opened their presents, I carried out a big, colorfully decorated box for her. Her eyes got very wide as she ripped the paper off and revealed A SEWING MACHINE! The holiday spirit was sucked out of the room. I believe even Bing Crosby stopped singing on the record-player and said "What were you thinking?" To describe the look on my wife's face as disappointed would be an understatement. "Oh, a sewing machine..." she said through a sickly smile. "Well, you said a couple months ago how much you'd love to have one and so, here you go!" I replied, hopefully. As it turned out, she was much more interested in the potential of a sewing machine than the reality of a sewing machine. It wasn't a total loss. She took the machine back to the department store and ended up having a great time picking out things she really wanted. Sometimes it pays to listen to your spouse. Sometimes it doesn't.

I really think my own personal aversion to knitting and sewing comes from Sunday School. Ever since I heard that verse about getting a camel through the eye of a needle, when it comes to all this kind of thing, I just haven't been able to get over the hump or humps.

In Hollywood, they want to put pigeons on the pill. The pigeon population is out of control there so the city honchos want to put a birth control drug in the bird feeders. It will cost about 60 grand a year. Apparently, the "Just Say Coo" campaign was a flop. Across the country, in New Jersey, it's not pigeons but geese that are making too much whoopee...as Bob Eubanks would've said on the old Newlywed Game. The geese have taken over parks, ball-fields and golf courses leaving their calling cards everywhere. So, in Jersey, too, they are going to slip the geese an anti-romance mickey. How will they pay for it? Just put it on the bill! The bill! I love geese jokes but I hope it didn't bring you down. Down! Goose-down! Whew! That was fun. Anyway, these two stories put me in mind of my mother. The bird part, not the birth control part. Although, my dad always used to tell me that I was a good example of why birth control is important.

No, when I think of birds, I think of my mother. Living on Lake Wisconsin, looking out of the picture window, she has gotten into many ongoing relationships with our feathered friends. She likes to see the hummingbirds come up for a slurp of that red liquid. She enjoys watching the little yellow finches come to call. She even likes the rather drab sparrows. However, there are some members of the flying family she has grown to rather dislike.

She finds that blue jays and crackles and cardinals are a little too bossy and pushy. They eat everything and get nasty doing it. Unfortunately, since we all figured she liked birds so much, over the years the family has given her lots of little knick-knacks and Christmas decorations and other gifts with those very birds represented. Especially, cardinals. I think she has enough of that stuff because, now, she has actually started to molt, herself.

Not too long ago, a heron flew up from the lake and perched on the railing of the deck. She carefully approached the window to close the drapes just in case the prehistoric-looking creature decided to try and crash through into the living room. Just as she did so, another gangly fellow arrived and the two started to fight. It was a very light-weight bout. Long, skinny legs were kicking. Wings were flapping. Beaks were pecking. Feathers were everywhere. My mom is pretty sure the melee was over a woman. The birdy battle went on for quite some time. Finally, the dueling duo disappeared. Later, they popped up on Jerry Springer and settled everything.

Another time, my mom was confronted out on the lawn by a giant turkey. At first glance, she shouted "Oh, Joel, what a surprise..." then realized it wasn't me but a real turkey. Now, turkeys are not the most attractive birds in the world...what with that waddle hanging off their heads and all. Then, again, who am I to talk. The only reason you don't see my waddle is that I wear wide neckties. Well, my mom and the turkey had a stare down. In the end, my mom went inside...deciding that, even if the silly Thanksgiving-Dinner-To-Be didn't have anything better to do than stand out in the yard without blinking...she did! After about an hour and half, she was finished!

In honor of my mother, we have one solitary little bird feeder hanging off a tree outside the dining room window. I like going out to fill it up every couple of days as it allows me to pretend I have a large spread requiring me to make the rounds, feeding and watering the livestock. We get lots of finches and sparrows. A few cardinals and blue jays. But, the other day, I went out to discover a great, big hawk sitting there. I don't think he was interested in the bird seed but, rather, in the little field mice that sometimes appear to eat what drops on the ground. The hawk gave me a long look, appearing to calculate the possibility of carrying me off the ground instead of the mouse. Then, he actually laughed, shook his head and, I swear, said "No way I'm lifting that!" before flying off.

I'll be keeping a close eye on our feeder now, after hearing about the birth control plans on both coasts. I have a feeling the Midwest is about to become one big swinging singles club for pigeons and geese. We will know things have gone too far when we encounter something as big as a goose, but cooing like a pigeon, looking for a statue on which to land.