Professional football season will soon be upon, and there’s nothing like getting cozy on the couch with a pillow and a blanket and watching my favorite football team — the Minnesota Vikings. I usually stay awake through the first quarter and then wake up in the fourth quarter, and I don’t really feel like I missed much in between, especially since the important plays are shown more times than I can count anyway. 

There is no doubt that today’s NFL players are bigger, stronger and faster than they have ever been. We may all have theories as to why this is, but there is no denying it. There is also no denying the size of the players’ gargantuan egos.

Maybe the egos were always large. Maybe. But if any NFL player wants to know how to act, he should just review clips of Barry Sanders when he scored countless touchdowns and simply handed the ball over to the referee. No dancing. No singing. No spiking. No taunting.  He simply acted in a way that said, “I’ve done this before, and I will do it again.” 

Today’s players should also watch Walter Payton, one of the greatest running backs of all time, who also knew how to be humble — other than that truly awkward “Super Bowl Shuffle” thing. 

I don’t know if legendary Vikings quarterback Fran Tarkenton could have been cocky, even if he wanted to. It simply wasn’t part of who he, or many other NFL players of years gone by, were. 

Listen, I understand the emotion of scoring a touchdown and wanting to celebrate, but the outreached arms of Joe Montana said all that needed to be said. What I don’t understand are the celebrations after seemingly every play. Does every tackle warrant a chest thump? Does every first down require a forward hand motion from the runner? Does every deflected pass have to be followed by comments to the defender or the sidelines or the fans? And I haven’t even mentioned the way today’s players treat the referees — and even their coaches. The egos are out of control and need to be put in check somehow, some way. 

I realize the NFL has struggled with how to deal with this — how to determine what is excessive celebration, what is taunting, what is unsportsmanlike conduct. It seems to me that each of these things now happen after nearly every play. Unfortunately, when young people see this, they act in similar ways on the elementary playgrounds and the high school fields — and that behavior perpetuates. 

Fans seem to like this behavior — and the ratings might prove it — but all this commotion can be quite disruptive not only to our general society but also to my Sunday afternoon nap. 

Have a fantastic Friday, and thanks for reading.

Shane Goodman
Editor and Publisher
Times Vedette digital editions
shane@gctimesnews.com
641-332-2707

Today’s topic is on a little something we all know called repetition. The more we do something, the better we get at it, or so the saying goes. If we are being honest, the whole “practice makes perfect” theory really isn’t true, though. If we continue to do something incorrectly, it will never become perfect. The better saying is “perfect practice makes perfect.” Meanwhile, we keep doing things. Repetition. And it adds up.

My mother had me making my bed every morning at an early age. By 5 years old, this was a daily habit. With me now at age 57, I estimate that I have made my bed more nearly 19,000 times. Sleep on that.

I take a shower or bath every day, whether I need to or not. (That’s a joke.) When I am in a cycle of exercising, that number increases. Based on once per day since my birth, I have showered or bathed more than 20,800 times. That’s a lot of soap and water.

I have been brushing my teeth on my own since I was about 5. Doing so twice per day, I have used a toothbrush somewhere in the neighborhood of 38,000 times. Flossing? Not so much. 

Like most of you, I have been driving a vehicle since I was 16 years old. On average, I would guess that I start and drive a car about five times per day — maybe more. Even at five times, I have operated a vehicle nearly 75,000 times. 

According to one poll, about 40 percent of us check our email between six and 20 times per day. If you are reading this via newsletter email, you can relate. I am on the higher end of the range, but let’s go with an average of 10 times per day. I’ve been using email regularly since about 1995, which is 27 years. When I do the math, I learn that I have checked my email more than 110,000 times — and I discovered that I won an international lottery in about one-third of those emails! 

The good news is, I think I am getting better at these and the other tasks I continue to repeat — but I am still not perfect. When my mother used to visit, she would find a wrinkle in my bedspread, and my dentist seems to locate an occasional cavity. And even with all my driving practice, I have still garnered a few speeding tickets. Meanwhile, the practicing for perfection continues. Here we go again.

Have a terrific Tuesday, and thanks for reading.

Shane Goodman
Editor and Publisher
Times Vedette digital editions
shane@gctimesnews.com
641-332-2707

When you work with words every day, they tend to be important — much like a mechanic’s tools or a farmer’s machinery. Every industry has its jargon, and the publishing industry is no different. Those outside of our industry may write off these distinctions as simple semantics or splitting hairs, but they are meaningful — and distinct. 

I have written in the past about the importance of keeping news and advertising separate, both in our physical office and in our staff duties. Meanwhile, many of our readers still ask to pay to “get an article in the paper.” Our response is that the news isn’t for sale, but we can certainly help them with advertising. Their reply? “You know what I mean.” 

Back in the days when we published paid subscription newspapers, we would get a chuckle when subscribers would call in to pay for their “prescription.” We don’t offer hydrocodone, lisinopril or amoxicillin, but we can make sure our publications are delivered.   

Another important distinction that is often overlooked, especially in today’s growing world of slanted news coverage, is the difference between reporters and columnists. In the heyday of newspapers, the opinion page was reserved for opinions written by columnists. The news pages were reserved for news stories written by reporters. Those lines — and duties — rarely crossed. Although some would argue that news was slanted even decades ago, it is not comparable to what we see today, especially in electronic media. Most folks without even the slightest interest in politics know which way Fox News or MSNBC lean. The social media giants’ impact on news — and elections — is also now becoming abundantly clear. 

Meanwhile, some bloggers who post scathing commentaries online try to pass themselves off as reporters. That’s unfortunate for the news media, for the viewers and for the general public, as it creates an even deeper distrust of media. 

In this column in the Times Vedette, I try, more often than not, to entertain rather than irritate. It’s not that I don’t have opinions; I just don’t think that my opinions make me right and those who disagree with me wrong. I do enjoy a good debate, as it would be a sad world if we all agreed with each other on everything, but I am fully convinced that our world would be better if we focused more on how we are all alike instead of constantly dwelling on how we are different. That goes for news coverage, too. 

Of course, if you don’t agree, you can cancel your prescription. 

Have a fantastic Friday, and thanks for reading.

Shane Goodman
Editor and Publisher
Times Vedette digital editions
shane@gctimesnews.com
641-332-2707

Deadlines. We all have them. Some of us have more than others, but, yes, we all have them.

Most of us learned about deadlines when we were in school. We had to finish a paper that was due by Monday or complete a class project by Wednesday or study for a test on Friday. If we missed any of those, there were direct penalties, often showing up in our grades. 

That’s not the case in some classrooms today. Don’t turn a paper in on time? No worries. Just get it in by the end of the semester. Didn’t complete your class project? That’s OK. You can get an extension. Flunked a test? Relax. You can retake it. Some administrators and teachers think they are helping students by allowing these exceptions to deadlines. They aren’t. Deadlines are important — and inevitable — in the working world. 

I recognize that meeting deadlines is more difficult for some people. We all have friends or family members who are continually late with seemingly everything in their lives. They are the folks who think deadlines are merely suggestions. Despite this ongoing tardiness, a few of them are still successful in life, as their strengths compensate for this weakness. Most others aren’t so fortunate, as their inability to meet deadlines hampers them for life.

We also know those who thrive in a world of deadlines. It gives them extra motivation or drive to complete a task. They not only want deadlines, they request them. These folks perform better when having the discipline of deadlines. 

A few decades ago, I managed a commercial printing plant. We would create our press schedules and line up press operators and assistants each week to cover the workload. Our customers would tell us when they needed papers back, and we would work in reverse and tell them when we would need files by. Most customers understood this. Some didn’t. I had one customer in particular who was not only hours late but sometimes days late. He would bring his files in randomly and say he would wait at the plant to pick up the printed copies. I would explain that he missed his press time and that we are printing for other customers now. He would reply, “That’s OK. I will wait.” I would clarify that he would need to wait a couple days, and he would then look at me with dismay. This happened almost every month. He simply could not — or would not — meet a deadline. 

Now that I am back on the other side of the printing press, I am now the one working to meet those deadlines. The popular movie phrase “STOP THE PRESS” simply doesn’t happen, at least not in today’s world. Even this digital newsletter has deadlines, and many of you let me know when you think it is sent out late. That adherence to deadlines is a good thing, because, in the real world, there are no do-overs, retakes or extensions. And that’s the way it should be. 

Have a fantastic Friday, and thanks for reading.

Shane Goodman
Editor and Publisher
Times Vedette digital editions
shane@gctimesnews.com
641-332-2707

I am convinced that most of us, over time, can learn to do just about anything. Just about. I have several kryptonites, but one comes to mind each morning when I drive to work — washing my car windows. No matter how hard I try, I leave streaks. I try more solution. Less solution. Various cloths. Even newspaper. Doesn’t seem to matter. Streaks. My wife does it once, and it’s perfect. 

I don’t mind washing windows, especially in my car. It’s worth the small effort to have an unobstructed view out of my windows. And I do an OK job on the exterior windows.

For years, I kept a small bucket in my vehicle that had a roll of paper towels, a small scrub brush and a spray bottle of window cleaner. I used to travel a lot for my job, and when I got home each evening, I would wash the exterior windshield by hand. Yes, I would do this when filling up with gas, too, but there was something about having a clean windshield every morning that I truly appreciated. One of my good friends recognized this when we were in college. When I would be driving, and we would stop to fill up for gas, I would see him cleaning the windshield of my car. I thought it was a nice gesture, until I realized he would only clean the passenger side. Jerk. 

Later in life, I discovered the pre-packaged window wipes in flat, resealable packages that fit in the glove box. Those came in handy with my obsession of cleaning my dog’s nose prints off the windows. My kids learned that cleaning the inside windows of my vehicle was a ritual when they rode with me. They even learned to start cleaning before I even asked. Wonderful. 

If you, too, appreciate clean car windows, then you know the struggle in cleaning the inside of the front window. This brings me back to my kryptonite. As much as I try to clean that glass, it ends up looking like I wiped it down with a raw egg. I am reminded of this each morning as I drive to work heading into the sun. 

I once bought one of those cleaning pads on a handle that promised to make washing the inside of the front windshield easy. The handle broke off in my hand the first time I used it. Ugh.

Aside from the initial frustration and the deductible cost, I actually look forward to a cracked windshield on my car, as that means I get a perfectly clean replacement — at least for a few months.

How about you? Do you like clean car windows? Do you have a few tricks of the trade? Send them my way. 

Have a terrific Tuesday, and thanks for reading.

Shane Goodman
Editor and Publisher
Times Vedette digital editions
shane@gctimesnews.com
641-332-2707

It was a late-1960s era Volkswagen Beetle, but this car was not owned by any hippie. Quite the contrary. This “Bug,” and several others like it, was owned by a farming family in Kossuth County where I was born and raised. 

Its orange paint was faded by the Iowa sun, but the usefulness of this VW held strong. A large iron hitch was welded to the front of the car, and it was used to hook it up to farm machinery as a way to pull the vehicle to the farm fields. This allowed the tractors and combines to stay in the fields overnight and provided the farmers a vehicle to drive home. The VWs were light, easy to pull and inexpensive to replace. As such, they were a common sight on some farms in the area.

As a teenager, I was employed on one of those family farms, mostly working with livestock. In the north-central part of this state, that meant hogs — and a lot of them. And when you work with hogs, you smell like hogs, despite your best efforts not to do so. Some of the farmers claimed that if you washed your hands with toothpaste, the smell would go away. It didn’t. Instead, my hands smelled like minty hog manure. I didn’t mind, though, as I was happy to have a job. 

Back to the orange Bug. The farmer I worked for was kind enough to allow me to drive that VW to and from my house in town. This saved my personal car from the aroma of hog manure, which those who rode with me certainly appreciated. The Bug wasn’t so lucky. The scent stuck with it, so much so that my mother wouldn’t allow me to have it in the driveway. So I parked it in the street — unlocked. Nobody dared to get close enough to break into it. 

This Bug had issues. Windshield wipers didn’t work. Gas gauge was broken. Speedometer was stuck. The brakes were iffy. There were holes in the floorboards, and a 2×4 propped up the driver’s seat. The list went on, but you get the idea. Even so, that car provided me with the necessary transportation to get back and forth to the farm, and I was grateful. 

Orange Beetles weren’t too popular in rural Iowa, so most people would recognize me coming down the road from a mile away. The large iron hitch was the giveaway. 

I sometimes wonder where that car ended up. Rusting away in some junkyard. Restored by a VW enthusiast. Or maybe still collecting dust in the machine shed I first pulled it out of. You might not be able to see it from a distance, but I am guessing you could still smell it. 

Have a fantastic Friday, and thanks for reading.

Shane Goodman
Editor and Publisher
Times Vedette digital editions
shane@gctimesnews.com
641-332-2707