UFO Day, PG-13 Princess Diana and 4th of July

Spiess in the Morning for Tuesday July 1, 2025.

Welcome to July. Look at that—we made it halfway through the calendar, my beautiful otters. The year’s grown its summer beard, the sunnies are starting to stir, and the sun refuses to clock out on time.

Today is July 1st, a day that doesn’t just turn the page—it flips the whole script, with a wink, a joke, and maybe a cookie or two. This isn’t just another day—it’s a sampler platter from the universe’s more playful shelf.

Let’s start with the obvious: it’s International Joke Day. Now, don’t worry, I won’t subject you to my knock-knock repertoire before your second cup of coffee. But I will say this—jokes are more than punchlines. They’re bridges. A joke is a handshake from the soul. A brief break in the storm. A little light that says, “Hey, we’re all stumbling through this together.” And whether it’s George Carlin, Gilda Radner, or your Uncle Ron with the questionable material at Thanksgiving—humor keeps us human.

Now let’s sweeten things up—it’s National Gingersnap Day, and if ever there was a cookie with character, it’s the gingersnap. Spicy. Crisp. No frills, no frosting—just flavor that bites back. Like an old friend who tells you the truth, even when it stings. Pair it with coffee, or crumble it into ice cream. Either way, it’s a taste that lingers and laughs all the way down.

Today is also World UFO Day—so if the sky feels a little busier than usual, well, you’re not alone. From Roswell to Rendlesham, humanity’s long been gazing skyward, wondering who—or what—might be out there. Maybe we’re just looking for connection. Or maybe we’re hoping someone smarter is watching this wild experiment of ours and hasn’t lost hope. Either way, keep your eyes open tonight. Or maybe stream some X-Files.

And if your feet are itching for something grounded, grab a pail—it’s Pick Blueberries Day. Nature’s little orbs of joy. They don’t shout. They don’t demand. They just are. Quietly sweet. Modestly powerful. Blueberries don’t need hype—they have antioxidants and patience. Maybe we could all take a cue. Here in Minnesota, today’s more of a locate your blueberries day since they won’t be ready to harvest for a few weeks.

Now, let’s raise a glass—or a gingersnap—to a few folks who share this solar orbit and some cosmic candles:

Debbie Harry, born today in 1945. The bleach-blonde trailblazer who made punk stylish and danger sound like disco. Blondie’s voice was the growl beneath New York’s glitter, and her presence redefined what it meant to be a frontwoman. Part street poet, part electric goddess.

Dan Aykroyd, Canadian sorcerer of strange. From the Blues Brothers to the Ghostbusters, he gave the absurd a rhythm and the paranormal a punchline. And yes—he’s a real-life believer in UFOs. Sometimes the actor and the universe line up just right.

Pamela Anderson, born this day in 1967. More than just red swimsuits and slow-motion beach runs, Pamela’s carved out her space in the cultural psyche. Activist, survivor, and symbol. A reminder that there’s always more beneath the surface—especially when the tides shift.

Princess Diana, the people’s princess, born July 1, 1961. A woman who walked through royal halls with a common heart. Who turned pain into purpose, and a crown into a cause. Her compassion cut through the noise. And even now, years after her passing, her story still pulls at the threads of our own.

Liv Tyler, daughter of rock royalty, actress of ethereal presence. Whether she’s walking with elves in Middle-earth or navigating love in indie flicks, she carries a gentleness that feels like moonlight. Anyone else an Empire Records fan?

Carl Lewis, born in 1961. Olympian. Sprinter. Long jumper. Eight-time gold medalist. The man who made gravity look negotiable. Carl didn’t just run—he flew. And in doing so, reminded the rest of us what the human body—and spirit—is capable of.

So here we are, July 1st. A day for punchlines and propulsion. For cookies with a kick and berries with balance. For aliens in the sky, and royalty on Earth. For laughter, for running, and for picking something ripe off the branch of life.

This is Spiess in the Morning, reminding myself and anyone else listening that the universe has a sense of humor—just look at the platypus. Or bureaucracy. Or your own reflection when you realize it’s blueberry season and your teeth are blue.

Stay crunchy Otters

Spiess in the Morning… broadcasting and podcasting from the spectacular studios next to the swamp. It’s July 1st, and I hope your soul is wearing sandals, or flip flops, ‘cause we’re walkin’ down memory lane today, folks.

Today marks a curious cultural footnote — or maybe more like a tectonic plate shift, depending on how you view the shape of American storytelling. On this day in 1984, a new kind of movie rating slinked its way into our collective consciousness: PG-13.

That’s right. The first time audiences ever saw that peculiar hyphenation was when Red Dawn — yeah, the one with Patrick Swayze shouting “Wolverines!” while Russians parachute into small-town America — hit the silver screen. Rated PG-13. A fresh stamp from the folks at the MPAA, the Motion Picture Association of America. Suddenly, there was a new way to slice the moral pie.

Before that? We were living in a black-and-white world. G, PG, R, and X. No nuance, no middle ground. Either you were safe for church potlucks… or you were shoulder-deep in Scarface and satin sheets. But in walks Steven Spielberg, patron saint of cinematic awe and terror. After parents clutched their pearls over the face-melting finale of Raiders of the Lost Ark and the heart-ripping ceremony in Temple of Doom, Spielberg nudged the MPAA and said: “Hey, maybe there’s something in between sugary popcorn and existential dread?”

Boom. PG-13 was born.

What’s wild, my fellow philosophers of the airwaves, is how quickly the culture just… accepted it. No protests in the streets. No op-eds in the Daily Otter Tales. It was like dropping a single pebble into a still pond and watching ripples stretch all the way to the far banks of adolescence.

From there? The floodgates opened. The Goonies. Gremlins. Back to the Future. Films that were fun, edgy, maybe a bit grotesque, but not quite ready for the adult table. Hollywood had found its sweet spot: just enough rebellion to hook the teens, but sanitized enough for a family of four on a Saturday night.

And you know what they did with it? They marketed the hell out of it. Studios realized PG-13 was the golden goose. You could imply sex, flash some weaponized fashion, throw a couple f-bombs, and still keep your box office wide open. It wasn’t just a rating—it was a demographic strategy. A middle-school manifesto. A rite of passage carved out in celluloid.

But beneath that, I can’t help but wonder… what does this say about us as a culture? I mean, really.

We invented a rating to make ourselves feel better about letting our kids watch violence, as long as it had a musical score and a moral arc. We engineered a rating to say, “This is just grown-up enough.” And that, my friends, is the purest form of social engineering. A whole new language of acceptability, built not by philosophers or ethicists… but by marketers, directors, and a ratings board.

PG-13 is like the middle child of morality. Not as pure as G, not as wild as R. It's the cultural equivalent of sneaking a sip of wine at Thanksgiving—technically forbidden, but with a knowing wink from Mom.

It’s not censorship. It’s packaging. It’s not rebellion. It’s calibrated dissent. And in doing so, we didn’t just create a rating — we crafted a mirror. A two-hour reflection of what we’re okay with, as long as it’s wrapped in Dolby surround.

So as you go about your day in the land of marmots and mystics, think about the lines we draw — and who holds the chalk. Are they protectors of innocence? Or are they just good salespeople?

This is Spiess in the Morning, reminding you: reality doesn’t come with a rating. Life is PG one minute, R the next. And the true art? Is learning to sit in the theater of your soul… and watch it all.

Spiess in the Morning, coming to you live from the cattails of the cosmos where’s the sun’s hanging low, coffee’s percolating, and my mind’s drifting through the curious fog of a phrase that seems so American, so vague, so infuriatingly clear and unclear all at once.

"You know it when you see it."

Now that, my friends, is a loaded line. It’s what Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart said back in 1964, in Jacobellis v. Ohio, when trying to define obscenity. He couldn’t quite nail it down with a legal definition, but he gave us that little gem instead: “I know it when I see it.”

Ah yes. The legal system, folks — a place where lives are judged, property’s divided, and entire belief systems are weighed in the balance — and the best we could muster was a kind of shrugging, eye-squinting, gut-check wisdom. Ain’t that just America?

That phrase is a cultural Rorschach test. It floats in ambiguity. It’s intuition dressed in a tuxedo. We invoke it when something defies precise language, when words don’t cut the mustard but the feeling does. It’s used to justify taste, morality, fashion, even love.

Think about it: art critics use it when they see a painting that moves them but can’t explain why. Music producers hear a demo and say, “There’s something there — I know it when I hear it.” Fashionistas look at a runway model and say, “She has it.” Not beauty, not symmetry — it. And what is it? You know it when you see it.

But here's the rub: that phrase can illuminate or obscure. It's a double-edged cliché. Sure, it's got intuitive charm, but it's also been used to justify censorship, favoritism, and discrimination. It can be a tool of the gatekeeper — an invisible standard only the "in crowd" understands. And if you’re not part of that club? Well, you’ll never know it when you see it, because you’re not even looking in the right direction.

It’s the kind of thing you hear when someone’s trying to explain why a certain person “doesn’t have what it takes,” or why a movie “just isn’t right for our audience.” It’s exclusion behind a velvet rope, with a knowing smirk and a drink in hand.

In pop culture, it’s all over the place. It’s how people describe charisma, talent, that mystical “X factor.” It’s the reason one actor gets the role, and another walks away wondering what just happened. It’s the intangible spark in a first date or the reason why a joke kills in one room and dies in another.

In politics? Oh, it’s the favorite of pundits. “Is he presidential?” “Well… you know it when you see it.” They say that as if democracy should be filtered through a casting director’s lens. And in religion, too — some use it to defend the sacred, to say a text or a ritual feels true without being able to logically unpack it. Faith by gut instinct.

But we’ve got to be careful with this phrase, friends. Because “you know it when you see it” can become a lazy shield for bias. A subjective short-cut to objectivity. And when that phrase starts creeping into law, education, hiring, or justice — well, we better be damn sure we’re seeing what’s really there, and not just what our assumptions are whispering in our ears.

You see, words matter. Definitions matter. Without them, we drift. We react instead of reflect. “You know it when you see it” might work for love at first sight or spotting the Northern Lights in a midnight sky… but when it comes to truth, justice, and fairness — maybe it’s time we do more than just see. Maybe we need to understand. Maybe we need to ask questions, demand clarity, look deeper.

So next time someone says, “You know it when you see it,” take a breath, smile gently, and say: “Maybe. But I’d like to know why I see it.”

Keep your eyes open my beautiful otters— and your mind even more so.

Anyone else getting ready for Friday when we collectively as a nation say, Happy Birthday, America.

Here we are again, folks—July 4th. That glorious date where backyard grills sizzle like a jazz quartet on a summer night, Roman candles light up the sky like Jackson Pollock got his hands on a bottle of gunpowder, and we all gather under one big, star-spangled sky to celebrate not just a country—but an idea.

Now, I know, I know… there’s always that one guy at the barbecue—he’s had three hot dogs too many—who asks, 'Why red, white, and blue? Why not gold or green?' And that’s a fair question. So let’s dive into the old patriotic paint bucket.

The colors, my friends, weren’t chosen at random like socks out of a drawer. No sir. In the language of heraldry—yes, that’s a thing—red symbolizes valor and hardiness. Think of those Minutemen standing firm at Lexington and Concord, or a farmer-turned-soldier gripping his musket with calloused hands.

White? That’s for purity and innocence. The kind of wide-eyed dream the Founding Fathers had when they put quill to parchment on that hot Philadelphia day in 1776. The belief that something new, something better, could rise from the ashes of monarchy and taxation without representation.

And blue—ah, blue is for vigilance, perseverance, and justice. The deep hue of midnight watching over us. It’s the idea that even though the journey is long and winding—sometimes ugly, sometimes divine—we keep marching forward, hand over heart, hoping the arc of history bends toward something better.

As for those stars and stripes—well, the stripes are the OGs. Thirteen of them for the thirteen colonies, standing shoulder to shoulder like cousins at a family reunion, bickering but bound together. And those stars—fifty now—each a state, each its own little cosmos, twinkling in a field of blue unity.

Legend has it, Betsy Ross stitched the first flag. Whether she did or didn’t, that tale’s been sewn into the quilt of our national folklore. Like Johnny Appleseed planting orchards or Paul Bunyan dragging his axe across the Rockies. These stories, real or embellished, are the sweet nectar in the hive of American identity.

And let’s not forget the music. 'The Star-Spangled Banner'—written by a lawyer who witnessed bombs bursting in air—and 'Yankee Doodle,' which started as a British insult and got reclaimed like a front porch rocking chair at a flea market. That’s America, baby. Taking the broken, the borrowed, the barbed—and making it sing.

July 4th isn’t just fireworks and flag cakes, my friends. It’s a ritual. A reminder. A reaffirmation of that dangerous, exhilarating notion that we the people can govern ourselves. That liberty isn’t given—it’s earned, protected, and sometimes protested.

So whether you’re watching parades, flipping burgers, or just lying in the grass wondering what the heck happened to the American Dream—remember, that dream is still out there. Worn and weathered, sure—but still flying high.

From Thomas Jefferson to Thurgood Marshall, from Walt Whitman to Walt Disney, from Rosie the Riveter to the Rosie who works the late shift at the diner downtown—we're all woven into this red, white, and blue tapestry.

So this Fourth of July, wherever you are, whatever you believe, raise a sparkler, a toast, or a question—and celebrate the freedom to do all three.

This is Spiess in the Morning, sending fireworks of happiness from the land of otters…. and let your freedom flag fly!

The OtterTalk media network – Doing our best to keep the small town smiles alive, fish tales told and the coffee percolating.

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OTTER TALK COMMUNITY CALENDAR

Erhard’s 4th of July Celebration. It is a community celebration including live music, activities for kids and adults, and food and refreshments which will take place from 12 PM to 5 PM, with a parade earlier that morning at 11 AM.

Loon Lake Boat Parade on July 4th! Line up in the bay at 11am. Any questions, contact Katie Jensen (Site 18)

Wall Lake 4th of July Boat Parade Friday, July 4th, 2025 12:00 PM Boat parade will line up and start on the south side of Wall Lake. In case of rain, the parade will be delayed 1 hour.

Patio Party at the Vergas Liquor Store on Friday, July 4th from 2-4pm! Local musician damian will be performing on the brand new patio!

Kate’s Korner Antiques & Collectables is NOW OPEN in Elizabeth! Located across the street from the liquor store on Hwy 59, Kate’s Korner is a must stop and see. If you see the flags flapping in the wind, she’s open and ready to serve your nostalgic needs.

Paul’s Farm Fresh Eggs - $3/dozen - call or text 218-205-7779 (The Greater Elizabeth Area)

Abbie’s Farm Fresh Eggs - $9 for 30 eggs - washed or unwashed - call or text 320-349-0942 (The Greater Morris Area)

IBC Totes for sale - Endless uses for these totes from firewood storage to rainwater catcher to stacking two for an outdoor shower. Pick up encouraged, delivery available. Food grade are $100 each and non-food grade are $65 each. Call 218-639-1116

The Shoreline Bowling Alley in Battle Lake has open bowling All Summer Long. Call 218-864-5265 for more info or stop by 505 N Lake Ave, Battle Lake, MN.

The Bookmobile has books, movies & magazines to check out, but the Bookmobile and member libraries also offer a wide variety of electronic resources including Ebooks, downloadable audiobooks, streaming movies, TV and music, and a wide variety of educational databases and distance learning resources.

The Bookmobile stops across from the Parkers Prairie Post Office every other Wednesday throughout the year. You can find the Bookmobile there from 3 pm to 4 pm.

The Bookmobile stops in Elizabeth, only this stop isn’t at the community center or the public park, rather it’s a private house. Next stop is July 3 in Elizabeth and it’s a block north of the C-Store on the gravel road, or 206 N Pelican Street, for you GPS folk.

Check out more Bookmobile towns by clicking here

If you have a community event for the Community Bulletin Board, email studio@ottertalk.media

Want Otter Talk to highlight a local musician or upcoming gig? Email studio@ottertalk.media

Happy Monday Everyone! Feel free to like, share and or comment!

Please tune in Tuesday for more local lakes area tunes, totally tubular tales, and some small-town smiles.

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