Eric G. Wiley

I noticed a big difference in my environment while walking the dog at 5am. After months of hearing only the wind, the clack of bare branches and the occasional dry leaf scraping across the ground, my ears were greeted with the most welcome sound: Hundreds of frogs peeping away. Either their internal clocks or the outside temperature told them to dig out from their muddy beds and start singing.

This, to me, is the best sign of good things to come. The robins have been here for a few weeks, but they've always bumbled a bit on their timing. Those red breasted loose cannons lost all credibility with me years ago. I can't count the times I've seen this winged "harbinger of spring" come barging in to Ohio, perch itself on the nearest ice coated branch, and start yammering on about how winter's over while I'm mushing through four foot drifts to get the mail.

The frogs, however, are firmly grounded pragmatists. Our amphibian friends, being the lean & ripped fitness nuts that they are, have no external insulation and therefore can't afford to start whooping it up until it's good & warm and they're sure it's going to stay that way. These are they guys one ought to listen to in order to know when to be excited for the season of rebirth. So put your sweaters away, scrape off the grill and sharpen your tulip clippers because the frogs have spoken: Spring is here!

Posted by Eric Wiley at 08:15 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Every once in a while you come across an insane woman where a side effect to her illness is that she sexually teases every man she comes across. They usually turn up at bars or as coworkers in high-turnover jobs. It is, of course, a sad sight that ultimately repels most conscientious men.

Last night I was flipping channels as a pre-sleep exercise and noticed something. Every local news station attempted to tease me heavily with promises of juicy weather information right after the commercial break.

They all had a similar framework: News anchor pimped up the fact that is was a blessedly gorgeous weekend, then passed it off to the weather person who feigned the beginnings of the weather report for the week. "You liked that weekend, didn't you? You want some more of that? You'll just have to give me some work for what you want. Watch these commercials and maybe when they're over I'll tell you it's gonna' be a sunny day tomorrow."

The first two "teases" I flipped onto were the catalysts for me to continue flipping because I hate inane attempts at manipulation. The third tease I stumbled upon gave me all the motivation I needed to move my thumb to the "Power Off" button and go to bed.

This modular tease technique has been used by newscasts for decades. It used to be annoying, but effective, because viewers had nowhere else to get their information. Now it is just annoying. We don't need to waste our time waiting for you to get onto the bar and show us your weather tits, Ms. Insane Local TV News. Thank you very much, but your overt gyrations and suggestive smiles only serve to clear us out of the room.

Why don't you go home and get yourself cleaned up, Ms. Local News? You've been off your medication for a decade or so now. Back when you still had your looks and there were less sources of entertainment in town you could get away with those antics. But now...well I hate to say it but now your attractiveness has faded and the fact that you haven't changed your moves to compensate is just sad.

Maybe you'll get better. When you do, please come back and join us for some fun. You know where you can find us - we'll be right here hanging out with Ms. Internet, Ms. Cable and all their gorgeous friends.

Posted by Eric Wiley at 07:51 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Went to Columbus last weekend to visit my Mom. Since Mom's coffee was purchased pre-ground back in 1994 and has been sitting in her pantry ever since, I went to Starbucks early Sunday morning. After purchasing my paper silo full of toasty black goodness I sat in the parking lot and listened to one of my favorite radio stations, CD 101. The morning sun was beautiful. It was 7am and I had Old Town Worthington all to myself.

The DJ finished up her set and gave the run down of each band we had just heard. One of the bands, she said, was from "...sunny and warm Los Angeles, California." Since I was already enjoying the sun all around me and the DJ was kind enough to throw in some extra adjectives, it didn't take my imagination much effort to conjure up a pretty picture of So. Cal. My tranquility was shattered when she reflexively capped off her sentence with the mewling phrase, "Must be nice." I cringed.

When the fathers of our country came to this region to draw up the boundaries of our state in the winter of 1803, they wore multiple of layers of wool. When packing their bags in Virginia prior to the journey, there is no documentation of them twittering about, asking one another questions like, "Are you taking your flip flops?" They were intelligent men and wisely forwent the flip flops in favor of an extra pair of muskrat socks.

The local Indians they saw when they came to Ohio were wearing lots and lots of fur. The journals of our forefathers noted that the Indians, despite having only a crude system of communication consisting of grunts and ululations, were not taken by surprise when it snowed. The sight of their own breath did not frighten them or cause panic. They were a brave race of indigenous people.

My own family passed word down from one generation to the next: "It gets cold here in the winter." My wife's family did the same. Thanks to a strong tradition of trans-generational education, we now own boots, gloves, knit caps and warm sweaters. We hope to pass these teachings on to our son when he gets old enough.

Because we are prepared, we do not envy people who live in warm places. We, ourselves, are warm and are therefore never compelled to shout out, "Must be nice!", every time we hear the name of a geographic location where it is known to be warm.

Posted by Eric Wiley at 08:10 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

...is a question frequently and unexpectedly blurted out in this region. I haven't come up with a canned answer to it yet, because my brain reflexively puzzles over it each time this question is asked. Are they saying:

• It has been universally agreed that it is bitterly cold out, but I want to know if you're some weirdo who actually likes it. I'm watching you closely to see how you answer.


• I would like to have a conversation with you. Let's start out with something obvious and then work our way into more engaging topics.


• If you had the power to control the outside temperature would you turn it up, down or keep it the same?


• Are you a real man or some big shivering Nancy?


• I want to have sex with you.

I can't think of a better response to this four-word nuisance than simply saying "Yes". However, the brevity of that one-word answer would be construed by most Ohioans as a curt response. Being an Ohioan myself, I wish very much to avoid being viewed by my peers as rude, so I try to lubricate my answer with a laugh: "Ha ha ha yes."

So every time someone asks if it's "...cold enough for ya" I sacrifice my dignity and look like a retard for one whole second. After the exchange, as we walk away in opposite directions, I feel bad for us both.

Posted by Eric Wiley at 12:43 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)