Ten Replies to My City Being Called Lazy

(This will be posted by Milwaukee's Shepherd Express sooner or later. I couldn't wait.)

As you might know, Milwaukee was once slandered by Homer Simpson in an episode about America’s most overweight city. If it’s any consolation, Homer is not always an accurate source of facts, and as for me, my intent is not to taunt; I’m here to commiserate. In an article posted on 24/7 Wall St. titled “The Laziest City in Each State,” my home of Fond du Lac was pegged with that dubious distinction.  

The study was posted a while back, on November 20^th, and I meant to write this rebuttal sooner, but you know... Naps. 

Thankfully, all those naps have at last unclouded my mind, and I’m determined to defend my city. I’m pretty jacked for a counterattack, and the best part is, 24/7 Wall St. will never see it coming since they assume I’m too much of a deadbeat to fight back.

     

It’s a shame how people can get skewered by judgments just because internet lists are so addictive. But, on the other hand: Revenge. So, let’s all judge the foibles of those mudslinging list-makers who supposedly know everything about the stock market and which cities are lazy. (‘Cause those two areas of expertise are basically the same, right?!) Here’s a list composed by a shockingly motivated man from Fond du Lac:

"TRTMCBCL"

(^ I used this catchy abbreviation 'cause I didn't wanna go through the hassle of typing the entire title all over again, you know?!^)

10.) The population of the city of Fond du Lac is about 43,000, but the article claims our population is 101,577—which more closely resembles the number of people living in Fond du Lac County. Cities and counties are by no means one and the same, so their tally is off by nearly 60,000. Nobody likes being slandered in light of shoddy research and poor focus. They ought to be ashamed of themselves at 247Walleyes.com. 

9.) The notion that it took four authors to write this one article is pretty ironic. I’ll bet the quartet was formed after the first writer said, “Oh man, this is too much work.” So instead of overachieving and devoting extra time to exposing American laziness in ten-thousand words, the workload got divided by both the Mason-Dixon Line and the Mighty Mississippi, until each writer only had to do a brief summary of like 12-and-a-half states. That’s lazy!

8.) My birthplace is deemed “the least active in a particularly active state.” What a joke. That’s like being called the least-talented member of the Jackson-5. Even if we’re not getting much hype, we’re content to spin, grin, and pluck our bass while the intense spotlight consumes Michael. That’s what being from a middling Midwest city is all about.

7.) The study reports that our adults feel unhealthy 2.9 days every month. Fools! Those are just hangover days. And frankly, I’m pleasantly surprised to see our hangover totals are kind of low. Looks like I don’t know as many alcoholics as I thought I did! We should get a keg to celebrate.

6.) Most Fond du Lac residents are active. Many have gym memberships. Others hunt and fish. Some prefer volleyball. Personally, when my workday is done, I’ve been known to rock the Shake Weight. Speaking as a casual fan of exercise, I am so comfortable admitting that I pumped the Shake Weight a handful of times last week in spite of the putdowns I might receive for endorsing a product so readily associated with masturbation. (Notice I didn’t call it something crude like “jacking off” or "punching the clown." Because contrary to the bad press, I assure you, I am not a boorish slob.) 

5.) OK, the name of the site is 24/7 Wall St. That suggests they’re focused on Wall Street 24 hours a day, seven days a week, leaving no time whatsoever to do a credible account of another subject such as the laziest city in each state. These go-getters were so constantly immersed in Wall St. that they couldn’t spare a minute to double-check our population on Wikipedia.

4.) Even if there’s a modicum of truth in these accusations, indolence is not the worst flaw. It’s certainly not the most dangerous. Our city’s rates of theft and murder aren’t very high, and maybe that’s because laziness helps reduce crime. It’s really easy for cops to chase down and arrest a perpetrator whose “getaway car” is a Rascal Scooter.

3.) FdL county’s villages and towns went unscathed despite the fact that their populations were added to that of our city’s. By that logic, an out-of-shape person from Brandon is making the city of Fond du Lac look bad even though these areas are separated by 18 miles. I’m not saying it’s right to dump on the likes of Mount Calvary, Campbellsport, or Calumet, but there is some kind of sloth-taxation-without-representation sham happening here.

2.) The article claims that “Populations with higher levels of education are often more physically active.” Accordingly, it seems the most glaring factor in FdL’s lethargy is its low percentage of residents who possess a bachelor’s degree. At this point, I feel like we’re being called both lazy and stupid by self-righteous New Yorkers we’ve never met. If I wasn’t so bogged down with Golden Girls reruns, I’d ride east fifteen-hundred miles on a mountain bike to tell the staff at 24/7 they’ve besmirched the wrong city. (Plus I could bring along some of the classics from my own personal library. You know, to burn for campfires at night.) Until then, I’ll get the word out from my laptop. With help from the true giant of social media. Myspace.

1.) Finally, our obesity rate (or “fat stat,” to the layperson) is slightly higher than the state average. I’m 5’8”, 142 lbs. Built like a hairy ninth-grader, I’m clearly not part of the problem, but I can help. Running from a mob of fatsos I’ve angered with fat jokes is a fine way to burn calories. And when I reach total exhaustion after three-quarters of a mile, I’ll face that mob and announce, “Wait a second, don't you see? We’re being active, guys! We did it!” Then we’ll all bask in the love that was so sorely lacking in “The Laziest City in Each State.”

     

Hopefully I’ve convinced some Milwaukee readers that our cities can bond over the unfair criticism we’ve received. Although in Milwaukee’s case, getting roasted by one of Homer’s zingers might actually be an honor. Unlike having some Wolf of Wall Street dudes call you lazy when they’re too careless to make sure they got their facts right.

In your face, 247Walleyes.com.

Ghosts vs. Lowlifes

vs.

My outlook on ghosts has transformed over the years. As a child, predictably, the notion of ghosts made shivers jolt through my spine. Then as a teenager and into my early 20s, regrettably, I honed a smartass callousness toward ghosts. In one instance, at the reputedly spooked residence of a friend, I paced up and down a hallway taunting the specters. I trash talked to thin air, wanting to provoke a reaction. Sure enough, as I pivoted back toward my scowling friend seated on a dryer shaking his head no, I felt a sudden tug beneath my ankle. I looked down. On that shoe, my laces had been forcibly untied. Later I was told the laces burst open like a flourish of silly string.

In the interest of reiteration, I was 20 and passing through a callous smartass phase, especially when it came to ghosts, and so I laughed dismissively. Undoing my shoelaces seemed petty and underwhelming, as though I was dealing with the spirit of a second-rate junior high bully. All spite, no smite. Pathetic. I knelt down and retied with ridiculous pride. The knots would not be coming loose anytime soon and I felt perfectly fine.

“What's next?” I scoffed. “'Kick Me' sign? Does the ghost scratch out noogies?”

I acted like the snotty naysayer who becomes the second murder victim in a horror movie, the one who makes people shrug and quip, “He had it coming.”

The friend in question had testified accounts of antique dolls somehow relocating on their own, unfounded murmurs from the closet, and most chillingly, waking up next to a disembodied scream in the pitch black of night. Now, I can't confirm the veracity of his accounts. Still, maybe the “ghost and noogies” routine was ever so slightly insensitive.

Thankfully, I'm the type who likes to endure long enough to look back and realize how much of an asshole or coward I could be—having that cathartic moment of smacking oneself above the brow, head swinging like a quick pendulum, sighing miserably but smiling and saying, “Now I get it... Maybe I won't regress this time!” 

With that in mind, I want to atone for my derision of the paranormal, and to those who have been terrified by it. Part of my mindset regarding ghosts was valid, but it was too extreme. It's sane to fear the paranormal, but one has to do so with relativity.

Ghosts are undoubtedly freaky. But the truth is they're not as scary as mortal, breathing, flesh-and-blood lowlifes. Because over 99% of the time, the worst and freakiest atrocities on this planet are committed by somebody with a pulse. Paranormal activity horrifies because it's inexplicable more so than because it's dangerous. When the intent is to inflict harm, being dead is a serious drawback.

Consider some examples: A serial killer who has the advantage of being alive is a greater threat than one who died decades ago. If I was forced to have a sleepover at a notoriously haunted site like the Villisca Axe Murder House, I'd be most worried about packing enough underwear to withstand eight or nine crappings, not realistically getting brained by a floating lumberjack tool. Trust me, an axe-wielding sociopath prowling around any place that has no history of hauntings whatsoever is a lot more perilous than Ol' Ghosty McMurderaxe on his own spooky turf—scowling at people, slamming a door or two, and maybe swaying a chandelier a few times.

Furthermore, there's no reason to fear the tortured spirit of a woman from the 1920s hanged in your attic more so than you should fear a crack-incensed psycho knifing you at the intersection of wrong place and wrong time. Nights of fitful sleep caused by the moans of some phantom flapper who 86'd herself actually make for intriguing, nonviolent stories to tell coworkers, friends, and family. That's preferable to calling home in the second scenario and having to say those three dreaded words: “Daddy got stabbed.”

Perhaps I'm teetering on “too cavalier” again, but the YouTube classic “Real Scary Ghost Pictures” suggests that someday a ghost might startle any one of us with a photobomb. Whereas the nightly news may report terrorists reaping devastation with regular bombs—the kind that blow up and make loud noises. With all due respect to paranormal entities, terrorists with bombs are scarier.

It can be unnerving to sprout goosebumps as you wonder how that antique doll in the living room could have turned its head to face you while your back was turned. But moments of fright like that are not as bad as mass shooters, suicide bombers, stranglers, satanic slashers, child abusers, sex offenders, sadistic religious extremists, thieves, burglars, wife beaters, Grand Theft Auto copycats, coke dealers, fat and rude customers at Taco Bell, homophobic carnies, misogynists running for president, or Dallas Cowboys defensive lineman Greg Hardy, among other lowlifes.

If you're petrified of ghosts, I hope that helps.

Ultimately, the most harmful thing an apparition can do to the living has got to be inciting cardiac arrest. On rare occasions, someone who supposedly spots a ghost will have a heart attack. Imagine that, being so filled with spite or unrest as a fraction of your mortal self that you'd be willing to frighten a fragile human being to death. It's sad, and I feel sorry for all involved.

In the end, ghosts are but a grim, anguished reminder not to live a disgruntled life in vain if you can help it. I'm not claiming there's a heaven, but I've also never heard of a happy ghost.

Happy or not, though, you've got to admit they're still a helluva lot better than evil dictators or the Kardashians.  

Draw.