Does Ken Buehler Have Leprosy?

As a rule, I try to refrain from criticizing small-market TV personalities and their sundry peccadilloes. Even the most minor on-air positions require more guts than most jobs and pay a lot less money. Plus, making sport of local broadcasters' shortcomings can feel like fishing a stocked pond. (Put yourself on YouNews sometime and see how fast you catch a hook.)
 

For whatever reason, the excessive stage management of local news broadcasts (and the attendant absurdities) inspires less restraint. Exhibit A: the virtual caste system NBC 6 has created for the meteorologists on its NewsCenter at Noon program.
 

On most afternoons, Shannon Murphy pairs with Barbara Reyelts to rehash the previous evening's news and serve up some canned infotainment from various syndicators. The broadcast typically opens with some amiable banter between them as they stand side-by-side, and then slides directly into a weather update (usually the only thing, besides the time, that has changed since the evening broadcast) from Murphy. Later, Murphy returns for the main weather segment, which begins with the two talents chatting at the anchor desk -- sitting close enough to mingle split ends. Then, at program's end, Murphy returns cheek-to-jowl with Reyelts to deliver the sign-off. (Note: Recently, in the latter two segments, the anchors stand on either side of -- wonder of wonders! -- a flat screen television mounted on the studio wall.)
 

Once in a blue Monday, however, Murphy's responsibilities -- whether professional or personal -- require her elsewhere at noon. With trusty weekend meteorologist Dave Anderson unavailable (perhaps recovering from an allergic reaction triggered by the station's gaudy "Weather Garden"), meteorological duties fall to third-stringer Ken Buehler.
 

Some of us may know Ken better as the executive director of The Depot. There, he presides over the city's historical legacy (including potential city savior Minnehaha in her stained glass incarnation) with impressive erudition. In fact, at the Aug. 26 city council meeting Buehler delivered an insightful and articulate argument against selling one half of Duluth's Tiffany tandem. Even if you disagreed with him, you had to admit: He seemed in good health and looked reasonably clean -- even at that late hour.
 

Catch one of his noon cameos on NBC 6, however, and you'd think he has leprosy or something. In these broadcasts, the opening segment with Reyelts is cut, the weather segment begins with Buehler already standing in front of the green screen, and the closing segment contains not a whiff of him. It's like he's been placed in on-air quarantine. Why treat him like this?
 

Ideally, there'd be some juicy circumstance behind it. A failed romance between Buehler and Reyelts, perhaps? And a resulting restraining order? Please???
 

Sadly, the reality seems more prosaic than tawdry. The aforementioned Anderon's airtime provides the clue. As the number-two man on the totem pole, Anderson also gets dropped from the tops and bottoms of the broadcast, but does rate a chat with Reyelts for the weather segment. This puts him squarely between Murphy and Buehler in terms of exposure (in "cooties" territory, I guess?) -- pegging airtime directly to pecking order.
 

Whether this is driven by egos, cost considerations or -- most evil of all -- focus group research, it provides a sad look into the small universe of TV news. And of course, my life -- given that I have noticed these issues and taken the time to comment on them here.
 

Posted by: The Auslander on 9/11/2008 at 11:34 AM | Comments (1) | Permalink

Goodwill Overflows at Village Place

One of the challenges of moving to a new place and running your mouth is that you're not always sure who to slag.  Consider my current quandary: My fellow residents at Village Place have established a practice of leaving piles of unwanted household items -- items that people in every other place I have ever lived take to the Salvation Army or to Goodwill -- on the bench in the building's entry way.   

Being new to both Duluth and mixed-income housing, I admit to being flummoxed:  Is this a Duluth thing?  Or a public housing thing?  Perhaps as part of this symbiotic blogger-reader relationship we've developed, you can help me figure it out.

Here's how the system works:  At any given time, a pile of clothing, shoes, baby toys, light appliances and/or sundry goods appears in the lobby.  These occurrences have no correlation to the beginnings or ends of months, when residents tend to move in or out and some residual detritus might be excused.  Sometimes a handwritten note proclaiming "free stuff" accompanies the pile; sometimes not. 

Over the next 36 hours, various items from this pile (but never more than 50 percent of the total) disappear and then reappear -- presumably as the interested parties run them through in-home trials.  These comings and goings often include the bags and other vessels (such as, in one case, a plastic jack o' lantern) used to tote them to the lobby.  In fact, these almost always make the final cut -- unlike the pitted-out T-shirts and sole-less shoes.  

Then, after about two days, the entire lot disappears without further trace.

Of course, the cogs do not always run smoothly.  Given the inconsistency with which the aforementioned note of intent accompanies these piles, periodic breakdowns have occurred in which residents have taken items that were left in the lobby for extended periods of time but were NOT meant for altruistic redistribution.  These items have included a baby car seat, a Hello Kitty backpack and, as best as I can tell, a small dog. 

How do I know this?  In such cases, the misinterpreted parties often post handwritten notes demanding the immediate return of their items (often to the lobby, as opposed to their residences) on the outside door.  A threat to have the police review the security tape of the lobby often accompanies these admonishments.  Such notes also last about 36 hours -- far shorter than the intrigue, let me tell you.

So what's driving this practice?  Classic Minnesota nice -- in the form of a desire to save possible beneficiaries of their charity a trip to the Goodwill store?  The lack of personal initiative that conservatives love to charge people in public housing with?  A yearning on the part of residents here for the return to a barter economy?

I'm dying to know.  Can you help The Auslander out?

Catch a new Dulusions every Tuesday morning here on AreaVoices.com.

Posted by: The Auslander on 8/5/2008 at 11:34 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Angels, Devils on 4th Street

Lately I have taken to cradling my belly in my arms and pondering different theories for why it came.  Some of them -- an utter lack of will power, for example -- have merit.  Others -- say like consistent proximity to fattening foods -- perhaps not so much.

In fact, the latter theory has been called onto the carpet in recent weeks, due to some poor judgment on my part: I moved directly across the street from a Whole Foods store.  As a lifelong city dweller, I have always lived closer to a gas station or chain convenience store than an actual grocery store with vegetables and all that.  That's why I have become an incurable (as opposed to incorrigible) fat @$$. 

Now, thanks to this thoughtless relocation of mine, the jig appears to be up.  And in an additional turn of the screw, a Super America gas station (yes folks, it's a bona fide obsession of mine) sits just steps away from this Whole Foods.

For those who may not be familiar with either or both establishments, allow me to oversimplify:  Whole Foods is the place where you pay a $100 membership fee for the privilege of saving $2 on $7 hunks of cheese.  Of course, I am not being fair, but fair is rarely funny -- unless there is some cruelly poetic retribution involved.  (This piece deals almost exclusively with human frailty.  Sorry.)  The key to saving at Whole Foods is to buy in bulk, but that strategy can be problematic unless you can somehow shoehorn a Tough Shed and a commercial freezer into your apartment. 

Don't get me wrong: The food at Whole Foods is fantastic, the people there are the nicest grocery store clerks on earth, and the businesses you support are doing things the earth-friendly way.  But you pay a premium for that righteous, self-satisfying spring in your step as you carry your paper bags out the door.

Super America, on the other hand, offers different delights.  After all, what's more super about America than cherry-flavored Mountain Dew, 3-lb. microwave burritos and $4-a-gallon gasoline?  At Super America you can save money and earn valuable "Speed Points" on a mind-blowing array of hyper-processed foodstuffs -- all while subsidizing wage slavery, validating Pavlovian corporate branding tactics, perpetuating international terrorism and killing our planet to boot.  In fact, there's probably enough plastic packaging stuffed into that little bodega to kill 100 dolphins[1] -- just on negative karma alone. 

Oddly, Duluth offers many of these epic -- if not ironic -- juxtapositions.  Down the block, for example, Uncle Loui's [sic], the infamous breakfast spot cum hangover haven, is sandwiched between St. Mary's Home Health and Lake Superior Medical Equipment.  In a sense, it's one-stop shopping: After finishing your biscuits and gravy, you can stroll right next door and price out the Hoveround power chair and other medical devices you'll need once you balloon to 500 pounds, develop Type 2 diabetes and suffer your debilitating stroke.  Speaking of which...

So what's to be done about the outing of this trusty psychological crutch of convenience?  Change my eating habits?  Admit that I have an eating disorder and get help?  Pitch myself to Quizno's as a counter-culture answer to Subway's Jared?  Any of these might work, but I'm opting for Plan D: measuring the distance from the entrance of my building to both Whole Foods and Super America and then letting mathematics decide the issue.  By eye-balling it, I can probably guess which one (Whole Foods) will win.  But if you factor in that crossing the street anywhere but at an intersection or designated crosswalk is technically illegal (this is Minnesota, after all), and the fact that Super America occupies the corner lot, things become just a little more interesting.  Ah, American ingenuity: Ain't it super?

Posted by: The Auslander on 7/29/2008 at 10:53 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Fresh Duluth Sequel?

Like most of you, I was shocked when the final frames of Fresh Duluth scrolled by without a single scene from the Super America service station on Fourth Street and Sixth Avenue East.  It was an egregious omission by a film that - at least according to WDSE's fawning panelists - counted the celebration of Duluth's diversity among its goals. (Did they have an off-camera wager regarding who could say "diversity" the most times?)

(Note: In most other American cities, demonstrating diversity requires more than assembling a cast of highly educated and motivated white folks - regardless of whether they are designing houses, airplanes, craft beers or cancer treatments - to talk about how much they love a certain lake.  And the message for those people of color who aren't accomplished musicians is...what?  That the Kozy Bar is looking for wait staff?)

Anyone living within shouting distance of the station (which, on some Saturday nights, can be as far as 12 blocks) knows that it has become a de facto public forum for the airing of grievances, the consummation of business deals and the exuberant expression of self among Duluth's Hillside residents.  (Rumor has it you can also get gasoline there.)  Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, this slice of urban paradise draws Duluthians of every stripe: burnouts, bikers, cake-eaters, co-eds, canoeists, cabbies, cranks, drunks, druggies, doctors, dealers, hookers, hippies, hipsters, posers, players, pimps, rednecks, runners, skaters and slackers  - just for starters.  (Note to the owner of the lavender 90s Oldsmobile: e-mail me - I gotta know the story behind that car!)

If another locale captures this town's complexity more completely than this rich human pageant, please let me know because I'd like to move across the street from it.  Really.

Just last week, for instance, I saw something that 12 years of living in various big cities couldn't deliver: a man riding on the hood of a car as it peeled through the parking lot, its driver swerving and slamming on the brakes intermittently in an attempt to throw the free-rider off.  Thrills like that will cost you $50 a head in Orlando or Orange County, yet we've got them here for free.  Terry Mattson, get your team at VisitDuluth.com on that!  (Or are scenes like these at odds with the Duluth brand, the town's product strategy or some other decades-old buzz phrase?)

Point is, Fresh Duluth's slender 30-minute runtime delivered short shrift to numerous emblematic locales across the city.  For this reason, I suggest we put together a sequel that features Duluth in all of its diversity - not just those places of possible interest to Twin Cities tourists.  Of course, we'll need a location list.  Having volunteered the SA above, I throw the floor open to your suggestions...

Posted by: The Auslander on 7/4/2008 at 4:46 PM | Comments (1) | Permalink