FORE!!!!!

Just a few random thoughts this week…
I’ll start with my job again. For those of you who have been reading this twaddle over the past few weeks, you know that my new place of employment, more specifically my boss, Lyrae, forced me to fly in one of those death machines to Houston and back. Recently she threw me another curve. I have been commanded to bowl on Monday evening. I’ve only bowled twice before in my life. Neither time was very pretty. The mandatory sentence was part of a summer party, compliments of enXco, the company for which I work. “You WILL be there,” I was told.
Since we monitor wind turbines 24 hours a day, seven days a week, the employees have to experience their summer bash in two shifts. Those who aren’t going to be bowling on Monday evening will be golfing on Tuesday.
“Things could be worse,” I thought, “I could be golfing.”
Yeah, you guessed it, I was also told I will be golfing on Tuesday.
I have never golfed.
Why do I get the feeling that next week’s column will pretty much write itself?

I have been so troubled over the past few weeks about the unsettling downward spiral which is the debate on health care reform. People are making complete asses of themselves at many of the “town hall” meetings, spouting some of the stuff that they have heard from those who want reform to fail. Michelle Bachmann, the Minnesota Loon, begging people to “get down on their knees and pray for health care reform to fail.” Again, she invoked the “death panels” scare tactic. She doesn’t seem to let truth get in the way. It was Michelle who ironically was pointing fingers at people who are “un-American” last fall!
And then there are those who feel it necessary to bring assault weapons to Obama events just to exercise their freedom of speech. Wouldn’t a sign saying “I’m an idiot” convey the same message?
I just want to say this: If you are getting your news from MSNBC, or FOX NEWS or The Heritage Foundation then you are NOT getting the news. You are getting lots of hyperbole from people who get paid a lot of money to stir up controversy. Get your news from network news, from USA Today, the Washington Post, The New York Times, The Los Angeles Times, the Minneapolis Star Tribune, The Wall Street Journal. You can read them all online. One video I saw this week of a town hall meeting had an angry man proudly announcing that he gets all his news from FOX News, because the rest of them networks have too much spin.
The prosecution rests.

Tryouts were held on Monday evening at the Lake Benton Opera House for the fall play, “Delval Divas.” We had an astounding total of 11 ladies come down to try out for six parts! All were fully capable of taking a starring role in this production. It will be a painful task for this pudgy director, trying to pick six, leaving five without parts in the play. The show will open on October 2nd and run for two weekends. Come see it if you can. You will get to witness some great acting.
Oh, and if you think this will be the last you will hear of it here on my blog, then you haven’t read much of my stuff over the past few years.

I’m have online accounts with several of the “biggies.” I’m on facebook, and Twitter, and Myspace, and flickr, and Skype, as well here on blogger.com. They all have their pros and cons with the possible exception of Twitter. What Twitter has basically done is take the most potentially annoying aspect of facebook, the news feed, and stripped everything else away. It is most likely my problem. I should probably care more about when people are making dinner, washing clothes and watching reruns of Project Runway.
I have to say, however, facebook has its redeeming values. You can ignore the most annoying of your friends by blocking them from your news feed, but enjoy the people who make me laugh or share their photography or just “friend” me to say hi. In recent weeks I have reconnected with many musician friends from long ago…some who I haven’t seen in 20-25 years. I’ve hooked up with classmates and teachers and even a few people who I may not know, but they knew me for years as the newspaper guy, and they wanted to say hello.
I enjoy the online connection with names from my past—people who I may have never heard from again if it weren’t for this remarkable cyber community. It has been fun. My sister can take a picture of her amazing flower garden up in Cloquet, and five minutes later I can see it online. I can post videos and pictures of past Opera House shows and share them with actors who have participated, or even advertise upcoming productions. Every week I see more and more of us geezers appearing on facebook. It is always fun to make a small wager as to how long it will take for a newbie to actually get their face on facebook. If you haven’t posted a profile picture, you see a weird silhouette with a goofy cowlick on the top.
It has been a blessing for many who live hundreds of miles from their families and friends. With a webcam, you can record a live message from your children in Washington that your grandma in Florida can see seconds later.
I’m guessing we’re cramping the millions of teens who used to rule the site, but do we really care?
If you are somewhat computer-literate and have a little or a lot of spare time (up to you how much time you spend), give it a shot. My suggestion? Upload a profile picture immediately, before people start laughing at you…

Sorry Darla, sports column this week…

Truly, I suppose there is really nothing else the subject matter could possibly be this week, right? It is all anyone is talking about since Tuesday morning. So, at the risk of my sister Darla not reading my column this week, I must talk sports.
It seems all eyes are on the state of Minnesota this week with the Vikings signing of the Grand Cheesehead…the grizzled future Hall-of-Famer…the man Vikings fans loved to hate…Brett Favre. Or as my wife Kathy calls him…He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. My daughter, Lindsay, thinks that when she heard the news, she may have “thrown up a little” in her mouth. Ewwww.
Even my sports-hating sister Darla surely must have heard the news way up there in Cloquet. As WCCO reporter Jason DeRusha posted yesterday on facebook, the state of Minnesota is in the grips of a Favregasm.
Love him or hate him, he has brought nearly unheard-of attention to the Minnesota Vikings this week.
I will watch the Vikings this year as I have in years past. I will have to swallow hard, but eventually the surreal vision of seeing #4 in a purple jersey will eventually wear off. Right? A life-long Vikings fan, it will be difficult to see a man I have loathed so much in recent years manning the position previously filled by people like Fran Tarkenton, Joe Kapp and Tommy Kramer.
If there is a bright side, it is the fact that many Wisconsinites are whining from the depths of their whiny little whiner holes about the fact that Favre has slapped them in the face. Fun.
In Favre’s favor, he has been handed the keys to a sleek and sassy offense with lots of firepower. All he has to do is not screw up, and the Vikings could find themselves deep in the playoffs.
There is always the chance, though, that the first time he tries to lead Bernard Berrian on a 60-yard fly pattern that his 39-year-old right arm will come off right there on the 20 yard line.
Then, of course, there will be those awkward 5-6 weeks where he won’t be able to decide whether he retires or has it re-attached so he can be back in time for the playoffs.
Or there is always a concern that Tavaris Jackson or Sage Rosenfels may slip something toxic in his Metamucil. They seem to have each taken a giant step backwards on the depth charts.
Who knows, at his age if the Democrats get health care reform pushed through, he may have to stand before a Death Panel…
Who knows how this will all turn out when the dust has settled from the Favre Circus arriving at Winter Park. I’ll temper my excitement as I do every year. I can’t let my hopes get so high that they freefall and crash once again.
I CAN report however that a sports figure DID get me excited in recent days. It was my great pleasure, at around 4:00 PM on August 12, 2009, to stand for a few short minutes talking with former Minnesota Twins superstar Tony Oliva at…get this…the Ruthton Mini-Mart.
Mr. Oliva walked in the front door as I was about to depart. My jaw dropped as I recognized the gentleman immediately, and for a few moments I was once again 10 years old, staring at one of my life’s idols. Tony O., one of the greatest hitting outfielders a pre-teen could ever imagine.
As he walked in the door, he flashed that extra-large grin and pointed at the Twins shirt I was wearing.
“Twins fan,” he said.
I reached out my hand and shook his hand. “What the heck are you doing in Ruthton, Minnesota,” I asked. He laughed, and somehow through his thick Cuban accent I learned he was returning from Huron, South Dakota, after visiting his wife’s family.
“If I had a camera right now,” I told him, “you and I would be posing for a picture.”
He shared his easy laugh once again.
This time he reached to shake MY hand.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“I’m Mark,” I replied.
“OK, now what’s MY name?” he asked with a grin, testing me.
“Tony O.” I replied with a bit of a “duh” inflection to my voice. “I lived and breathed you guys when I was a kid.”
Another smile from old #6 and I conveyed to him what a pleasure it was to meet him. As I was backing out the front door, I reverted once again to the 10-year-old in me…
“Tony Oliva!” I shouted to everyone else in the building. “In Ruthton, Minnesota!!!”
Tony threw back his head for one last chuckle and then I was out of the building.
I’m not sure what happened after I left. I’m not sure anybody else had ever heard of Tony Oliva. I might have caused him and his wife a bit of a delay before they escaped, but all I know is that I got to meet a man who I looked up to a great deal in my youth. I met Tony O.
As soon as I pulled out of the parking lot I called Kathy to tell her of my good fortune. I fought the nearly insurmountable urge to turn around and go back when she reminded me that I actually have a camera on my cell phone. I’m not sure if she used the word “bonehead” or “dork” to describe me. I was busy talking myself down from a U-turn.
I was so upset back in 1976 when his knees betrayed him. He could still hit like nobody’s business, but he could no longer run. I felt bad for him.
Thirty-three years later I find out that I needn’t have worried. Tony is doing just fine. A man who can laugh that easily has just GOT to be doing fine…

*****

To those of you in the RTR School District, I've been asked to point you to the top left of my page for a link to the RTR Elementary School PTSA facebook page. Click on the link to get the latest...

Part 5: And then the clouds parted...

So there I was, standing in the pouring rain in the parking lot of the Holiday Inn Express in Houston, and I couldn't find the keys I had just removed from the ignition of my rented Toyota Highlander. I was just moments away from an emotional tantrum, the likes of which the state of Texas had never seen. Logic told me since I had yet to venture more than two feet away from the vehicle, the keys couldn’t be far away. I methodically checked the floors, the cracks, the crevices, the puddles, my pockets, my shoes...and came up empty. The only thing left, no matter how crazy, was to unpack my bags. I unpacked my laptop case, searching each pocket, followed by my suitcase, my toiletry bag, and finally my duffel bag. There somehow nestled in the bottom of the duffel, was a tagged set of keys from Enterprise. Near as I can figure, I laid the keys on top of the bag and they fell inside through the three or so inches that was unzipped. I could finally see an end to my tortured trip.
I re-packed and settled into my room shortly before 2:00 AM. A much needed shower and a quick email to my family that they would no longer need to keep the NTSB on standby, and I was hitting the sack about four and a half hours before I needed to get up and head to my first day's classes.
After what seemed like about nine minutes, my alarm rang, and I rolled out to face three days of classes. I flipped on “Good Morning Houston,” and was alarmed to see the video from while I was sleeping. It didn't quit raining until there was about 10 inches, causing flash flooding all around my secret hotel, and as it turned out, two blocks from where I was sleeping, a woman's car was washed from the road and into a culvert. She didn't survive. I quickly dressed and went to the front desk (passing several buckets placed to catch the water dripping from the ceiling) where I learned that “most” of the roads were no longer under water, and I should be able to get to the training center without a boat. I did end up driving slowly through one pond, but made it to classes on time.
I was somewhat buoyed (pardon the pun) by the fact that my instructor had a similar story about his trip to Houston from Philadelphia. It was nice to know that someone besides me was going to have a tough time staying awake.
The classes were informative, but I ended up being one former editor in a room of 13 engineers, including the instructor. They were the ultimate in geek chic. Most of the week I felt like a duck out of water (OK...ummm...I'll quit with the water references). They spoke a completely different language. Between lessons, a typical joke would carry a punchline like, “no...I said the ALGORITHM method!” This would be followed by gleeful knee-slapping laughter and hoots of unfettered mirth. I always chuckled along as if I actually got the joke.
My day of classes were usually done by 3:30 or 4:00, and I was free to do whatever I desired. The first evening, I ventured next door to Beck's Prime, and got a burger and fries to go. I headed back to the room, ate and caught up on emails while watching TV until I was tired enough to sleep, which didn't take too long.
For those of you who spend any time around me, you know that I am a Diet Mountain Dew freak. The longer I stayed in Houston, the more I found that apparently nobody down there drinks the stuff. During my first two days, I found only one convenience store that carried Diet Dew, and I forgot where I found it the next time I needed a fix. Most of my stay, I had to compromise my standards and drink Diet Coke.
After my final day of classes, I was determined to find someplace that sold the stuff. My flight home didn't take off until Friday, and I wasn't spending another night without the golden elixir. I spent about two hours stopping at a variety of convenience stores, grocery stores, and even a Walgreen's Drug Store, and still came up empty. Finally, as I was about to give up, I spotted an oasis in the muggy heat of Houston. A small bastion of sanity from of the Upper Midwest...nay, a miracle of wondrous proportions. I spotted a real life freakin' Target store. Surely THEY would be stocked with my favorite potable.
Turns out they had been mostly Houston-ized also. I found none in the pop section, but discovered three lonely bottles in the deli. I snatched them up immediately.
Most of the rest of my free time in Houston, I sheepishly admit, was spent looking for burger joints at which I had never dined. The first night's Whataburger was delicious, followed by a scrumptious Beck's Prime Burger and amazing fries on Tuesday. Wednesday took me to Jack-in-the-Box for lunch (I passed on the chicken wraps served on site) and Sonic for my evening meal. Both get a yummy “two greasy thumbs up...”
On Thursday, unable to uncover another new fast food burger, I opted for Steve's Deli, where I was impressed by the most amazing spaghetti and meatballs supper I had ever experienced.
Yeah, I know what you are all thinking about now...“maybe if Mark spent a little more time looking for hiking trails instead of burger joints, he might be able to squeeze into one seat on the way back.
Did I mention I took pictures?
On Friday I was up early to pack, check out, and drive back across town to good old “George H.W.” to start my journey back to the Heartland.
I rode in a giant Airbus from Houston to Denver, with nary a bump along the way. I had to make quite a journey to my next flight in Denver, but their airport has giant “people movers”...large conveyors that probably quadrupled my normal walking speed, and I was at the next gate with enough time to grab myself a couple of 20 oz Diet Dews for the flight to Sioux Falls.
Again, an uneventful flight made me almost forget I was hurtling through the air, and I even enjoyed a few games of Scrabble on my Palm device.
I landed in Sioux Falls on May 1, 2009, about the same time that Kathy was walking into the terminal, and all was right with the world.
Now, three months later, I can oddly say that I look back on the trip as a mostly pleasant experience. I survived what turned out to be five take-offs and landings...Sioux Falls to Chicago to New Orleans to Houston to Denver to Sioux Falls. Will I fly again? I suspect I probably will. Do I crave another flight? Certainly not, but there are places that could probably lure me if the time and price was right.
Next time, however, I'm bringing my own snacks...and probably a GPS.

Part 4: Murphy’s Law rears its ugly head

By the time I was leaving the Enterprise Rent-A-Car parking lot in my shiny black Toyota Highlander, the rains had returned to George H.W. Bush International Airport and the city of Houston. It was pouring. I set out for my hotel room in this city of 2.2 million in the middle of the night, during a downpour, with no GPS, in a foreign vehicle that had everything in the wrong place. It took me five minutes just to find the windshield wiper switch. Exacerbating the situation was the fact that the Mapquest printout that I brought along from home was now wet, with ink running down the page in all the wrong places. Speeding down the Sam Houston Tollway with a thousand other freaks who had no reason to be out driving at this time of night, my first thought was that I had survived the flight from hell, only to be killed on a freeway in Houston. Frustrated with all the events of the previous 12 hours, things continued to get worse. It seemed to take forever to get to the Katy Freeway, where I would eventually find my hotel room. The aptly-named Sam Houston Tollway proved to be an annoyance in itself, as I stopped about every 400 feet to pay another $1.50 toll.
Finally, through the downpour I could see the exit for the Katy Freeway and I assumed I was home free. I turned on the frontage road, and if my blurry, ink-streaked map was correct, I would be pulling up to the Holiday Express almost immediately. I was mistaken. I drove far past where I thought the hotel should be before crossing under the freeway and heading back towards the toll road. I still saw no Holiday Express. I made this loop at least four times and still nothing. At 12:15 a.m. I called Kathy back in Tyler and had her fire up the computer. Parked in front of a large car dealer, I had her “Google” the name and give me the address to reassure myself that I was in the general vicinity. After a few minutes of feeding me street names I didn’t recognize, I let her go back to bed and I continued my futile search. According, once again, to my cell phone call log, I phoned the toll-free number for Holiday Express at 12:55 a.m. A lady with a very thick Asian accent tried to direct me to my hotel. As I’ve mentioned before, I don’t do accents very well. I did gather from our conversation that I was on the right road, and I think she said something about the hotel being hidden behind a restaurant. I resisted the urge to get into a debate with her over whether or not this was a good marketing decision. Another two times around the loop and I was getting close to being out of patience. I pulled into a place called “Whataburger,” and failed in my attempt to enter when I found the doors locked. “Drive-through only after 11:00 p.m.” the sign said.
So drive through I did.
I ordered the “Double Meat Whataburger” and an order of fries. When I pulled up to the window, I relayed to the gentleman my sad story and indicated my inability to find the Holiday Express. A big smile crossed his face, and with a very thick Spanish accent, he pointed and nodded his head and proceeded to give me another set of instructions that I could not understand. I paid my bill, grabbed my bag of fast food, and continued my ill-fated search…albeit on my first full stomach since Sioux Falls.
It was shortly after 1:30 a.m. when I pulled into the parking lot of the Marriott Hotel. The front door was locked. I rang the service bell and a very nice lady came out to greet me. I apologized for disturbing her and again asked for directions to the competition. In full-blown English she graciously directed me to my destination, behind the Cattleman’s Restaurant. “It is hard to see the sign from the road,” she admitted. I robustly thanked her and promised that next time I would stay at the Marriott. With a hardy laugh, she sent me on my way.
I turned at the Cattleman’s Restaurant, and sure enough, there was the Holiday Express, tucked in behind the back parking lot.
I was so excited I nearly cried. I checked in at the front desk (again thinking I should keep my marketing suggestions to myself) and pulled around to the side parking lot.
Barely noticing I was getting drenched, I merrily gathered all my bags and was prepared to slide into my room…when I couldn’t find the keys I had just taken from my fancy Highlander’s ignition. Three quick searches from the steering wheel to the back storage area, including the puddles beneath the SUV, turned up nothing. I wasn’t going to leave it unlocked and unattended in the nation’s fourth largest city. Fourteen and a half hours after I lifted off the runway in Sioux Falls, I was standing in a motel parking lot in Houston in the pouring rain wondering what to do next.
Next week: Part 5—What next? Boils and the locusts?