Translate:
Published Weekly - Family Owned & Independent Media Company - Est 2016 - Haslett, MI
Columns
Sunday Morning Coffee Thoughts: 1-900-Party
By Glen Dudasik
I’ll say the not so quiet part out loud, there are things we just did right in the 80’s. No not MTV (youtube is better, hands down); no not shopping (Malls were expensive and I love having my niche steak sauce hand delivered to me by a two day delivery private courier); and no not cars (Lambo’s were cool but we are practically driving space ships in comparison).
The one thing we did better in the 80’s above all else though was talk to each other.
I’m remembering those stay up all night at a friends house and blather about the most important nothingness until the parents turned off the lights kind of talking. The call your friends house and talk to their Nana or whoever it was that picked up the phone first. And of course those 1-900-Party lines (that had nothing to do with politics) where we could actually yammer on with a few of our besties at the same time. The 80’s weren’t perfect but wow were we good at talking.
Somewhere along the way that all stopped. A text replaced a call, a like button a conversation. We use a social media like as a way to stay “connected” but what does that really mean?
So 80’s kids unite! Let’s pick up this magic device we call a phone and actually use it to call someone. Call your parents, call your cousins or best of all call your friend from high school that you used to burn the wee hours with. Let’s make actually talking to each other popular again. You bring the Aqua Net and I’ll bring the blank cassette. We can teach these kids today how to do it right.
We need each other now more than ever before, and a long phone call can make all the difference.
Not for them, but for us.
-GD
Sunday Morning Coffee Thoughts on a Saturday Morning: The Week that Wasn't
By Glen Dudasik
This week was hard. Between the tornado and losing two students in a car crash from one of my favorite communities...it was too much all at the same time. The journalist in me wanted very much to run out and capture every moment. It was the perfect opportunity for adrenaline journalism – the damage, the emergency lights, the chaos. All of it very intoxicating.
But when the community member in me saw it all I paused, and when I did, I silently wept.
These were my friends. Sure most of them were strangers – but I knew them. I’ve driven their streets, sat in their restaurants and passed their houses a million times. Their lives torn apart by fate. In the ensuing days as I viewed the landscape from the kaleidoscope of the community boards where it was literally thousands of people calling out in anguish. People were begging for help – for basic human necessities. Water for animals, help with downed trees, fear of losing medicine, help to check stranded loved ones and endless hope that their power would be restored. Just so many people in true peril.
And THEN we learned of the students dying in a car crash. No. Just no. Not again. Understand I didn’t know them. But I’ll tell you I’ve seen their faces a million times. Three students, just like I see at every game and every event. Always surrounded by their friends and families, laughing and having fun. Knowing that they didn’t make it home just hurts and hits too damn close to home. I know them because they are no different than my own.
Normally I can spin this into something inspirational, but today I just can’t. Now that things have settled the gravity of the week is weighing heavy. I saw an image from Thursday night of two balloons in the stands in honor of the lives lost. That image has been ingrained in mind since I saw it, so beautiful and so sorrowful. (I'd have shared it but it's not mine to share.)
I am thankful for a community that can carry those in their weakest moments, myself included.
Today, I’ll refill my cup of coffee (both literally and metaphorically), count my blessings and enjoy the holiday weekend ahead.
Published September 3rd
