Dr. Snow…going where no man had gone before…

I was a fool when I was young.
I didn’t drink alcohol often, but when I did, I drank too much. The ’71 Pontiac GTO I drove could go way too fast and could get to “way too fast” in a hurry. I didn’t get enough sleep (same as now, only then it was a conscious decision) and my school habits—and later, my work habits, suffered due to that lack of sleep. I spent more money than I made. Kudos to me, however, for never sending a text message while I was driving…although I occasionally switched 8-track tapes on the fly.
I was still leaning towards “fool” eight years ago, as was proven by the video blog I posted earlier this week.
Of course, this could be said of most of the human race. I would assume there are responsible young people who never commit any of these errors, but for the most part when we are young we live with gusto and don’t put much thought into long-term consequences.
Eventually, most of us “grow up” and start using a bit more common sense. Inevitably, we try to pass on to the younger generation what we have learned, hoping we can save them some of the pain we suffered when we finally learned some hard lessons about life. The unsolicited advice is usually greeted by a roll of the eyes.
Before a person knows it, though, you wake up one morning in your life and you are struck with the realization that you are 51 years old. Fortunately, sooner or later even fools start looking at ways to reduce the risks in his or her life.
Included in that newfound sense of need to prolong your life, comes a vigilant indulgence in practicing preventative medicine.
You make trips to your local clinic to have someone keep an eye on your heart, your lungs, your prostate, your breasts and yes—your colon.
On Monday morning, four people got up close and personal with mine.
Most of you out there know the routine. My routine started Sunday morning, when I was only allowed to have Jello or chicken broth for breakfast. Twenty-four hours of fasting had begun when I opted instead for a Diet Dew.
No problem. I would spend the day preoccupying myself with entertainment, interspersed with a little work here and there.
It turned out that the biggest challenge, outside of watching the fourth quarter of the Vikings game, was the premixed cocktail I was required to start drinking mid-afternoon. At 2:00 PM, according to my handy instruction sheet, I was to start consuming a keg of clear, mildly chalky-flavored beverage. I was asked to pound down eight ounces every 10 minutes until it was gone. This task sounds like it would be very difficult. It is actually much more difficult than it sounds. OK, it was only a gallon, but I thought I would burst by the time I finished my final eight ounce glass. I was so happy to be finished that I could have danced a jig. Once the beverage began to kick in, it wouldn’t have been prudent to be dancing any jigs. As a matter of fact I spent the next couple of hours walking very gingerly on my frequent journeys to exorcise the beast within.
The next morning at the Tyler Healthcare Center I was briefed thoroughly by Dawn on what was about to happen. I signed a few papers that said it was OK if I died from the procedure and before I knew it, I was outfitted in a breezy gown and lying on my side in the procedure room. A team of four readied the equipment as Dr. Snow again explained the procedure and reminded me that “nothing is without risk” and that it wasn’t inconceivable that I could end up dead.
I was soon submitted to some “conscious sedation” and the last thing I remember clearly was the widescreen video terminal being placed perfectly in my viewing range and me thinking that I wasn’t all that sure I wanted to watch. I needn’t have worried. I was apparently in a twilight sleep for about 30-35 minutes and I barely remember anything.
That half hour could best be described as…well…have you ever been engrossed in an exciting movie, and you vaguely realize there may be some activity at the back door, but you really don’t care? Well, it’s kind of like that.
I was told I would also be given an “amnesia drug,” but considering that is my usual state, I really didn’t notice any difference.
Dr. Snow came in to visit once my head had cleared. He was bearing pictures of the petite camera’s sojourn, not unlike, I suppose, images sent back from Voyager.
I’ll refrain from any jokes about Uranus.
That, however, reminds me of the final shot—a photo with the camera turned back to shoot the cable actually feeding into the “entrance.” Many who have known me over the years would say that is my normal view…
The great news was that the investigation revealed no problems and I won’t need a repeat performance for another 10 years.
So with a sigh of relief, I will continue to try to stay ahead of any more health issues and I would recommend the same for all of you. I will also continue to drive sans texting…although admittedly, I have difficulties texting while sitting on the couch.
Hopefully, the trauma will eventually fade for any of you readers who have suffered as a result of the images I have just created in your mind. At least you didn’t have to see the printouts.
The bright side is that I won’t be writing about colonoscopies again until about October of 2019.If you are still troubled a day or two from now, you might want to pay a visit to your local caregiver. They have this drug that helps you forget...I think.

The Year the Grinch Tried to Steal My Christmas...

OK, here it is...the infamous Christmas lottery winner video.
The year was 2001, or otherwise known as the year my sister-in-law, Cruella, tried to steal my Christmas.
You will notice at the beginning of the video, my wife, Kathy, throwing a ball of wrapping paper at the videographer (Cruella) and pointing to me. Yes, my wife was in on the cruel joke also.
The only other thing I would like to mention is that you will have to pardon may language when I find out I've been hoodwinked. Hopefully, you won't be offended. Just think of the words YOU would use if you lost $10,000...
Click this link to view, "Hook, Line, and Sinker." http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=10f2FWwHS-8

Can’t…stop…blogging

Writing a newspaper column for nearly 12 years was an arduous task. It seems I whined about it regularly during my newspaper days. “So,” the average person would ask, “why would you continue to do this to yourself…for free?”
First of all, it was kind of for free when I was an editor. I got paid the same every week whether I wrote a column or not.
In the weeks after I was run out of the business, however, I had many gracious former readers who told me they missed my ramblings. This was normally immediately after I told these people that—no, I would NOT be starting a new newspaper, no matter HOW much they begged me.
Been there…done that.
Of course these days there are tens of thousands of bloggers out there on the Internet. The very few who have a large readership attract enough advertising to make some nice money, but most of us do not. I read someplace on the Internet that the average blogger is “a 14-year-old girl blogging about her cat.” I, of course, am a 51-year-old who…well…occasionally blogs about his cat.
Most bloggers, they say, do it mostly for themselves. It gives people a creative outlet, of sorts. The average blogger gets fewer than 10 hits per day.
My blog gets an average of 22 “unique” hits per day. That is, 22 different computers are recognized as opening the page at least once. I get an average of 35 “page views” per day. That means that 22 computers have opened the page 35 times during a 24-hour period. That could be the same person going in multiple times from the same computer in that day, or maybe two or three family members going in to read it from the same computer on the same day. For the sake of argument, though, we’ll just leave it at 22, meaning over the past 2-1/2 months I’ve been doing this, I’ve averaged around 154 readers per week. Far short of attracting advertisers, but enough so I know somebody out there is interested in my ramblings. Add in another handful who do not have Internet in their homes, and I know are reading printouts of the blog who don’t get counted, and maybe we hit 160.
These 160 people comment from time to time about what they’ve read. Most are complimentary. As long as I don’t let any politics creep into my blog, all are complimentary. It seems the “other side” doesn’t really feel a need to keep their comments civ…oops, there I go again.
Of course it is hard to tell how many even get to the end of the blog before they move on to something else. I would guess if I’m writing about the Minnesota sports scene, more than a few “X” out after the first paragraph. Fortunately for me, they are still counted as a “unique” hit.
We’ll see how many can fight off the urge to click out next week when I review next Monday’s colonoscopy.
Some people respond immediately with comments on the blog site, on facebook or by email. After last week’s column, for instance, I had several who were offering their services to help me protect my $50 million. So far I have a security guard, house cleaner, pet sitter and landscaper hired.
My sister Darla was offended that I’m not taking calls from siblings after my windfall. Fortunately she forgave me long enough to allow Kathy and me to visit her in Cloquet over the weekend, however. (I got to see FOUR movies during our stay. Maybe I’ll share some of my fortune with her after all!)
Then there is Albert Jaspersen in Tyler, who regularly sends word that he misses the newspaper days when I regularly dished up the dirt on my wife and kid, as well as my sister-in-law, Cruella.
I might point out that dishing up dirt on my wife when I’m working 70 hours per week and dishing up dirt on my wife when I’m working 40 hours per week is a big difference. We have enough uncomfortable silence in our house without me stoking the fire.
Cruella of Mankato, however, is a different story. After last week’s blog, I was reminded of the time she slipped me the fake lottery scratch-off card at Christmas. For about 120 seconds, I thought I had won $20,000. She even videotaped my astonished celebration. It wasn’t long after I received everything documented on a tape entitled, “Hook, Line and Sinker.”
This event went a long ways towards earning her current title.
If I can figure out the technology, I’ll upload the video to this site in the next couple of days. Those of you who don’t have Internet might have to pay a visit to your neighbors and have them type in http://markwilmes.blogspot.com.
Bottom line…thanks to those of you who read this stuff every week. Please pass it on to someone you think might be interested. Maybe someday I’ll hit that magical 200 per week level and leave those teenage kitty bloggers in the dust.

Willing to sacrifice for the good of mankind

I recently read a story online about how horrible winning millions of dollars in the lottery can be for certain individuals. The story told of eight lottery winners over the past 20 years who are now without a dime, or worse.
The story told of one woman in New Jersey who won the lottery twice, a total of over $5 million. She now lives in a trailer house without any money left. She told the reporter that “everybody wanted her money,” from relatives to friends to strangers. Oh, and she liked to spend some time at the slot machines in Atlantic City. Another gentleman won $1 million and proceeded to buy helicopters and ride in limos. His lawyer added that he spent the rest on a divorce and crack cocaine.
One family won over $4 million and went broke after buying a large home and they succumbed to repeated requests to help relatives get out of debt.
There were many stories of gambling or drugs or risky “overseas investment opportunities.”
In nearly every story, there were problems with family and friends. The general rule, according to one expert, is you have choices:
1. You can keep your money while losing friends and alienating family,
or 2. Keep your friends and family happy by giving them your money.
Yikes!
The experts cited Sudden Money Syndrome as a recurring problem for lottery winners or those who suddenly find themselves inheriting large piles of cash.
From reading these stories, I also concluded that a frontal lobotomy must be mandatory before you can collect your money…and I concluded I would like to give it a shot. I would be interested in being a part of any project that would study the effects of sudden wealth upon an individual. I am willing to be that proverbial guinea pig, giving selflessly to help others with SMS in hopes that someday there will be a cure.
I’d like the experiment to start with $50 million. I don’t care where it comes from—it could be from the Powerball coffers or perhaps collected from you readers. Perhaps someone would like to spearhead that for me…???
I already have a plan. My first step would be to buy an obscure house up somewhere in the north woods. The path leading to the house would only be wide enough to allow one vehicle. The access to that path will be obscured by brush.
My hideout will be equipped with satellite TV and ultra high-speed internet.
My freezer will be filled with ground beef.
My fridge? Diet Dew.
My morning will start about 8:30 with a light breakfast. I’ll head to the exercise room, and will watch “Ellen” from the treadmill, although I won’t turn it on until she is done dancing. I’ll then retire to my study, where I will read the morning’s newspapers before switching to the computer for a few online newspapers. About noon I’ll stop for a lunch of…well…ground beef.
In the afternoon I’d field a few calls from friends and family to tell them they can’t have any of my money.
A couple of days a week I’d let Kathy visit.
She, of course, would have half of my fortune, so I’m thinking her schedule might not allow for two visits every week.
The rest of the afternoon I’d count my money.
I’d wrap that up in time for an evening meal of ground beef.
After supper I would retire to the Movie Room for some popcorn and a DVD or two.
Once a week I’d call the enXco office to tell them “no thanks, I won’t be flying anywhere in the near future.”
After the initial investment, my day-to-day expenses would be fairly reasonable. I’ll have my satellite and internet fees, some electricity and a pound or two of ground beef a day. I’d even have enough money left to hire a guy to stand outside the house and make sure nobody gets in.
So, the next time the University of Phoenix does a study on the effects of SMS on an average American (which I am, no matter WHAT Sarah Palin says), I’m here. I will make that ultimate sacrifice. The amount doesn’t really matter. We can start with $1 million and work our way up.
When it happens, watch this blog. I’ll be taking applications for The Guy Who Stands Outside My House.
A year or two down the road, if things work out really well, I’ll probably also be looking for The Guy Who Fries My Ground Beef. Then, who knows, maybe the Guy Who Walks On My Treadmill For Me.
I’ll be the model for lottery winners everywhere.Pick up the phone and give me a call—quick…I may have already alienated my family…

There is no shot they can give you for baseball fever

Well, how could I NOT talk about sports this week? Going back one week (which seems like a month in recent Minnesota sports time) my Minnesota Twins were three games behind the Detroit Tigers in the mild American League Central Division with only four games to play. No team in history had ever come back to win the division from three games back with four to play…until this year. The Twins defeated the Tigers last Thursday to pull within one game. This was still a tall task—two games back with three to play. It was especially difficult considering the Twins wouldn’t be playing the Tigers over those last three games. Instead, they had to sweep an improving Kansas City Royals team…which they did…while hoping the Chicago White Sox could win two out of three in Detroit…which they did.

This, of course, set up a wild day at the Metrodome on Sunday, when officials had scheduled a gigantic farewell party for the dome, in what was supposed to be the last Twins game there…ever.

The season ended with the Twins and Tigers tied for first place, forcing the one-game, winner-take-all regular season playoff on Tuesday evening. I can guarantee that there is absolutely no way you non-baseball fans could have had a more exciting and jubilant Tuesday evening than did us Twins fans. Most of us know that the game went 12 innings, with the local nine ending up victorious.

Normally, that playoff game would have been held on Monday evening, but there was the small task of eradicating cheeseheads from our midst via a Vikings victory over the Packers.

Being bumped until Tuesday causes some problems for the Twins. The win meant they had 20 hours to get to New York for the first game of the ALDS against the hated Yankees, or as Tyler native Jeff Steen would call them, the “Bankees.” The team arrived in their New York hotel at about 4:00 AM. First pitch was 5:07 P.M.

Of course with five straight exciting Twins games, each one more important than the last, we baseball fans picked up a lot of bandwagon jumpers…people who really didn’t pay much attention throughout the other 158 games this season. That’s OK, we’ll still take you.

Of course it is easy to pick up on the baseball novices most of the time…usually shortly after they speak. My favorite was yesterday morning on WCCO radio. The reporter asked a young lady the following: “So, how are the Twins going to do against the Bronx Bombers?” The young lady replied with a clueless, “I thought we were playing the Yankees.”

Funny stuff.

I spent the summer at the Opera House bemoaning the omnipresence of those “Damn Yankees,” and here I find myself with a bonus Act 3 in the fall. I hate the way the “Bankees” can throw money at any weak spot that pops up in their lineup and prey upon the smaller market teams. It seems like cheating to me. The Twins have won five division titles in eight years by playing smart, scrappy and fundamentally sound baseball on a budget. It’s tough to take that next step, however, on their payroll.

That’s OK though, I’d rather pull for the little guy any day. We’ll be lucky if they win one game against the Bombers, but what a season they gave us.

I thank them for delaying for one more week the inevitable rite of fall…cheesehead baiting.

And that will have to help pass the time until pitchers and catchers report in February.

Oh yeah, I typed this while I reconciled my checkbook

For the time being at least, I have once again managed to fill my life up to the brim. Some of you, of course, may remember me occasionally whining about this problem back in my days as a weekly newspaper columnist. Okay, okay…it was more than occasionally…all right, fine, in reality, I actually used up most of the free time I had by engaging in an extended whine about how busy I was. As a result, I can almost hear droves of online readers “X”-ing out of this blog right now. (For those of us bloggers who like to pretend that lots of people are actually reading this twaddle, “droves” translates to roughly five people.)
The days of 16-to-21-hour Tuesdays, however, are lodged deep in my past. As a matter of fact, if I get through this week, my life will morph into something much more relaxed.
A combination of opening week of the fall Opera House show and a spate of photography and video side projects however, finds me searching for ways to squeeze 28 hours into 24.
I’ve tried sacrificing more sleep, but I can’t seem to get by on less than six, and even that has me occasionally waking to, say, 16 lines of “ffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff…” at the office, when I briefly lose consciousness while working on the computer. We should all be very thankful I’m not a surgeon.
Since I can’t afford to lose any more sack time, I find myself multi-tasking for most of my waking hours. I check my email while I eat my breakfast. During lunch I try to read my newspaper. My evening meal is for placing photo orders or printing an invoice and maybe taking time to deal with emails I’ve ignored during the day.
While I drive I either catch up with the world’s current events on the radio or listen to an audio book.
I self-medicate while my toast is burning in the morning, and when I bend over to pull on my shoes I pet the cat.
I’ve even taught myself to breathe and gain weight at the same time.
And this week, just to save a little more time, I trimmed my column from the usual bloated 700-800 words, to under 400.
And look at this, in the process, I saved you some time too…