It might as well be spring…

Things are starting to look a bit brighter these days. The weather is supposed to give us a bit of relief this week. This is good, because my SUV needs washing desperately, and I’m tired of buffing it one spot at a time with my coat when I repeatedly underestimate my personal width as I walk by.
Another reason I find my excitement level spiking is that American Idol is finally getting down to business as they trimmed to the top 20 this week. I always think I’m safer proclaiming my love for the show in a blog so I don’t have to be scoffed at by some of you in person. I find that it doesn’t help, however, as I can still visualize some of you rolling your eyes at the mention of the show. I used to think the same thing…before I ever watched it, of course. I imagine that being a musician for most of my life helps draw me to the show. The added drama of becoming emotionally attached to some of these fledgling stars makes it downright addicting. This year has some extra spice, as Ellen DeGeneres has replaced Paula “What did she just say?” Abdul on the judges’ panel, and last year’s newcomer to the show, Kara DioGuardi gets all flushed whenever contestant Casey James performs. He will win the votes of millions of females during the competition…oh yeah, and he can sing also. I’ll be the first to admit that even I think the guy is good looking…not a judgment I normally make with males. If there is a downside, it would be that at this point in the competition the show is on for an unwieldy five hours per week. I still encourage you to give it a chance from here on out…I can’t imagine that the show wouldn’t melt even the coldest of hearts.
Of course anyone who has even remotely known me over the course of my life knows that one of my greatest joys in life is following the Minnesota Twins. You may want to reserve a spot on the bandwagon this year. They are going to be HOT! If, that is, they can find the new Target Field under all that snow by April. They have plugged a couple of holes in the lineup this year, and I’m excited that with spring training gearing up, I get Twins news EVERY DAY in the Minneapolis Star Tribune.
My tinglyness is nearly maxed out by the fact that coming up the first weekend of March is the annual Wilmes Family Board Game weekend in the Cities. Tune in next week to learn more, as this year’s event has an exciting twist…
I want to thank all the people who responded to last week’s blog about being happy by blog post, Facebook and email. Who knew there would be that many of you out there that are as passionate about the subject as I am…
Lending even MORE credence to my plea to spread happiness were a couple of guests on Minnesota Public Radio on Wednesday. Interviewed were Nicholas A. Christakis and James H. Fowler, authors of “Connected.” The book goes into great detail about how contagious an individual’s mood can be. One happy person can affect an entire network of friends and family in a positive way, just by being happy. One sad and depressing person can pull an entire household and environs in the other direction. Happiness breeds happiness people! Go out and infect someone this week!
And what the heck…do it without a coat!!!

I’m no Bobby McFerrin, but…

I am happy that Paula Abdul is no long on “American Idol.”
There. That was easy. Within about five seconds of my asking myself, “why should I be happy?” I came up with a great reason. One of my favorite shows (scoff if you must, “American Idol” has all the excitement and emotion you could reasonably expect in a reality show) no longer makes me sit through long and incoherent critiques of burgeoning musicians twice a week from January through April by Ms. Abdul.
Happiness…it is all I am asking for the remainder of my days.
Happiness.
Happiness seems to be more elusive than I would have imagined. As I’ve mentioned, I spend some time on Facebook, and a few hundred people’s random thoughts scrolling through my “live feed.”
So many seem to be unhappy every day of his or her life.
I am happy that I was not born in Haiti.
I have people who are close to me who are unhappy way too much. I go on ad nauseam about how an unhappy minute is a wasted minute.
Everyone has adversity in his or her life. It is how quickly you shake it off and move on that can be the deal-breaker on living an awesome life. Of course, the older a person gets, the more that person thinks about those things. I can’t waste my life on being unhappy. Every time I see an “I hate my life” post, I fight the urge to intervene…despite the fact that it is probably none of my business.
I am happy that Minnesota downhill skiing Olympian Lindsey Vonn posed in a swimsuit for Sports Illustrated.
I always preach that you can’t count on your friends or your family or your hair stylist or your cat (well, maybe your cat) for your own happiness. You can only count on yourself. Your day…or week…or life…is what you make of it.
Some days are diamonds and some days are horse manure. You can’t change that. Sometimes you have to dig through a little horse manure before you can find that diamond…and unfortunately, more often than not, you’ll never find the diamond.
If you expend much of your energy on making yourself happy, what you get from others is just gravy, baby.
I am happy when I think about gravy.
I haven’t perfected my theory yet. I still let people bring me down once in awhile, but I do my best to fix the problem quickly and move on. We’ve all had people try to steal our happiness at some point in our lives. Sometimes it is intentional and life-changing…won’t mention any names…but usually it is unintentional, and we tend to make it a bigger deal than it really is. Sometimes people leave us for reasons we don’t understand, and sometimes people are taken from us before their time, for reasons we don’t understand.
I am happy I don’t have cancer.
Unhappiness seems to strike the young and the old more readily. Everything in many a young person’s life is played out with steep mountains and deep valleys. OMG!!! I THINK HE LIKES ME! OMG!!! MY HEART IS BROKEN!!! I HATE MY LIFE!!! WHY IS MILEY CYRUS SUCH A SLUT???!!! I HAVE TO GO TO SCHOOL TOMORROW!!! I HATE THAT SCHOOL IS CLOSED AGAIN TOMORROW…WHY DOES IT ALWAYS HAVE TO SNOW!!! OMG TAYLOR LAUTNER IS CUTE!!!
Of course old people’s version of this would be something like, “get off my lawn you rotten kids!...” or “I ordered these eggs over easy!!!” or “Obama is a Nazi.”
I am happy with the feeling I get when my phone vibrates in my pocket.
I’m sure I’ve had my drama queen moments in my life, but I’m doing my best to curtail my future unhappiness. I refuse to grow into an unhappy old man…and if that annoys some of you…I’m not sorry.
Need a dose of happiness right now? Here, for those of you old enough to have seen the movie “The Jerk,” I’d like to remind you of one of my favorite movie quotes…
Well I'm gonna go then. And I don't need any of this. I don't need this stuff, and I don't need you. I don't need anything except this.
And that's it and that's the only thing I need, is this. I don't need this or this. Just this ashtray. And this paddle game, the ashtray and the paddle ball game and that's all I need. And this remote control. The ashtray, the paddle game, and the remote control, and that's all I need. And these matches. The ashtray, and these matches, and the remote control and the paddle ball game. And this lamp. The ashtray, this paddle game and the remote control and the lamp and that's all I need. And that's all I need too. I don't need one other thing, not one - I need this. The paddle game, and the chair, and the remote control, and the matches, for sure. And this. And that's all I need. The ashtray, the remote control, the paddle game, this magazine and the chair.
And I don't need one other thing, except my dog.
Oh, I forgot to mention you have to picture Steve Martin saying this with his pants around his ankles.
Never saw the movie? Go to iTunes and download The Beatles’ “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer.” If that bouncy little song doesn’t just naturally elevate your mood, then you should seek professional help.
It’s easy to make yourself happy.
Research says (yeah, like anyone is going to check my sources) that it actually takes less effort and is easier on your body to be happy. It even has healing powers. Look at me…I’m proof that laughter keeps you healthy! (Don’t tell Aetna I said that.)
We’re in times when it seems like the entire country is angry and pointing fingers and shouting.
Dial it down a couple of notches for Heaven’s sake.
I am happy there is a Charlize Theron…and you would be too if you just saw the picture that came up when I Googled her name to make sure it was spelled correctly.
If you promise to be a little nicer to everyone in the future, I won’t print the words to “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” here…although sorry I just put the song in your head.
Over half my life is most certainly gone, and by golly I plan on making the best of what’s left.
And all I need is a daily dose of happiness…oh, and well, I need my remote control.
But that’s all I need… :)

What are you looking here for?

You know what? If you are 52 years old and you don’t feel like doing your homework, you shouldn’t have to, right?
Right.
With that, I give you my Top Ten Reasons I’m Not Doing A Blog This Week…
10. I’m having a hard time dealing with the fact “Glee” won’t be back on the air until April.
9. Spending all my time looking for the perfect Valentine’s gift for the love of my life. You wouldn’t believe how many kitty toys there are out there!
8. Frankly, I’m still a bit woozy, and more than a little star struck after watching Sarah Palin’s teleprompter-free Tea Party speech.
7. Hello! Hollywood week on American Idol!!!!!!
6. Just never seem to have enough time to read my Tyler Tribute.
5. Wanted to do a blog on my cat, but didn’t want to give Noelle an opportunity to make fun of me.
4. It’s my annual “try-to-suck-all-the-Dorito-crumbs-out-of-my-computer-keyboard” week.
3. I tweaked a tendon on my “P” finger.
2. Can’t stop laughing when I use the term “P” finger.
And the number one Top Ten Reason I’m Not Doing A Blog This Week…
1. Spend all my time online trying to find Lady Gaga’s dress from the Grammy’s for Kathy.

Join us, we’re waiting for you…

Any of you who have read this claptrap over the past few years could have surmised that I have an addiction to
A.) Movies
B.) Television
C.) Gadgets
D.) Computers
E.) All of the above
Unfortunately, I have Best Buy tastes on a thrift store budget.
I still manage to get by, however. I communicate with others on my cell phone. I spend my day at the office working on a computer…okay, actually two computers. I listen to my iPod on the way home, where I turn on my computer and check my email before allowing my Facebook buddies to entertain me. I take a short supper break before returning to my home office. Some evenings I have photography or video work to do. If not, I will park my ample fanny (um, hi Jeff) in front of my computer anyway, and while Kathy is watching something on Bravo or Lifetime in another area of the house, I watch a movie or fire up Hulu.com and try to get caught up on The Daily Show or sometimes just make sure my computers are updated with virus protection or the hard drives are healthy.
Finally, before bed I go “old school” and do some reading, then I roll over to sleep…with the TV on, of course.
If I weren’t expected to contribute to the financial health of our household, I really would seldom have a reason to leave the house.
I have a freezer full of ground beef, after all.
Human interaction? I have too much already. Sometimes people call me while I’m entertaining myself on my laptop!
I have a wife and daughter with whom to interact. When they get tired of interacting with me, I always have my online community. Facebook is perfect for me. I don’t have to speak to anyone in person, I can keep in touch daily with friends, past and present, old and young. I highly recommend it to everyone. Many who have told me they didn’t have any desire to join Facebook over the past years, enjoy it more than he or she expected when they finally give in. You can participate as much or little as you want. You can share as much or little as you want.
I am able to enjoy news stories or videos recommended to me by my friends, advertise for the Opera House and upload videos and photos to share with my family and friends, and enjoy the same uploaded by them. I can communicate with others, investing a total of about 20 seconds, and then move on. No 15-minute conversations for me. If they reply to my communication within a week or two, that is no problem. If they ignore me, that is fine also.
Sometimes it is just fun to post something controversial, and watch people post comments and argue about it for a few hours.
There are friends from whom I have never seen a post, and there are friends who seemingly post something every five minutes. I probably ignore 98% of the posts that come up on my live feed. I can’t believe there are a million Facebook groups out there, and some of you feel the need to join them all. Groups like “If 1 Million People Join This Group, Taylor Swift Will Stop Singing.” Yeah right.
I have my favorite posters among my friends...usually people who make me laugh or keep me informed. You know who you are.
Since it is already too late to turn back on one of the least interesting blogs I’ve ever composed, I’ll give you a little taste of the gripping stuff you can find on FB…
Direct from my site…(drum roll)
Here are 25 random things about Mark:
1. I created the "Rhumba."
2. Sometimes I wake up at night and think the monkey from the Taco Bell commercials is watching me sleep.
3. The keys to my backyard shed are in the upper left drawer of my computer desk.
4. When nobody is around I put butter on my pizza.
5. I love butter.
6. I'm forced to watch TV at home on a 26" screen.
7. Sometimes when I burp, other stuff comes up with it.
8. I am the (illegitimate) child of Red Skelton and Totie Fields.
9. I watched The View once when I was in the hospital.
10. My middle name is Alice.
11. Sometimes when I do the moonwalk on carpet, my socks come off.
12. I think Iowa is creepy.
13. When I was very young, I didn't know that the "k" in unknown is silent.
14. For some reason "Kokomo" is going through my head right now.
15. In kindergarten I was in love with Valerie Gravley.
16. When I was a senior, I was in love with Valerie Gravley.
17. I watched "Ellen" once when I was in the hospital.
18. I just got a new cell phone.
19. I don't believe I have ever "skipped" while walking.
20. For a couple of weeks in 1977 I had boogie fever.
21. I, too, thought Abe Vigoda was dead.
22. I like grape jelly and garlic bologna sandwiches.
23. The tabloids have been trying for years to link me with Madonna.
24. I am a Grobanite.
25. I used to just assume Hannah Montana was Joe Montana's daughter.
How can you resist? Come join us on Facebook. If you haven’t already had just about enough of my non-stop drivel, look me up when you get there for hours of “entertainment.”
We’re waiting for you…

Nothing a little birthday pizza won’t fix…

For those of you who may have stumbled on last week’s blog…no, I didn’t hear a thing from Conan O’Brien on Tuesday. Apparently he has no problem keeping all that money for himself. I did, however, have a birthday that I will remember for many years. For the first time in 52 birthdays, I rang in my birthday stranded in a cornfield south of Chandler. As a matter of fact, I spent the first 10 hours of my 52nd birthday stranded in a cornfield south of Chandler.
Thankfully, that cornfield houses the building I’ve worked in since last March, so I was warm. Not wanting to look like a girlie-man, I waffled on whether or not to head home early with the high winds and blowing and drifting snow on Monday morning. I waffled a bit too long though, and ended up getting stranded at the office until 10:00 AM on Tuesday...my birthday.
Working in a building that lies in the middle of a cornfield isn’t normally a big issue. There are drawbacks. The wind seems as though it never stops and it always seems to run about 10 miles per hour higher than any other location at which my time is spent. Considering I’m working in the wind industry and we are located at a site with 137 turbines, my suspicions are probably valid.
It gets a bit more difficult, however, in bad weather. Eventually it gets to a point where nobody is able to get in or out of our location. So if all you brought to work were the clothes you are wearing, then all you will have until you leave are the clothes you are wearing. You can’t run across the street to order take-out.
As it turned out, I waited too long, and by the time I thought it was probably time to make a run for it to get back to Tyler, the DOT closed all the highways. It seemed that I would be at the office until further notice. Fortunately for the 10-12 of us who were going to be stranded, the last person who made it in on Monday brought four large pizzas.
All meat…my favorite.
Our building is always manned 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Usually, however, we let people go home every 12 hours or so…if they can get there.
As long as I was stuck there anyway, I put in a 12-hour day (which would be a short day if I were still working in the newspaper business) before clocking out. I had delusions for awhile that the wind would stop blowing and I would head home before midnight, but the wind didn’t subside until early Tuesday. Full of pizza and wielding a bag of microwave popcorn, I settled into the conference room and a few of us enjoyed watching movies until sometime after midnight.
Yes, I got to follow up my favorite pizza with my favorite pastime while munching on my favorite snack. Things could have been worse.
Unfortunately things did get worse, as soon as I attempted to get some sleep. Unlike the “Center for Wind Energy,” or whatever it is called, up by Hendricks, our building isn’t equipped with four hotel rooms. We have two choices for sleeping…office chair or tile floor.
I tried both, without much success with either. My attempt to sleep in my office chair at about 1:30 AM failed after about two hours. I then hit the floor, lying on a thin fleece blanket and using my coat as a pillow. This lasted for a half hour before I gave up. The next half hour I spent trying to get up off the floor with my gimpy knee. Picture a manatee attempting to do ballet…it wasn’t pretty.
When I finally was able to scale the side of a desk and plop back into my office chair it was 4:00. I remember checking my cell phone clock at 4:30, and don’t remember much after that until my cell phone alarm rang at 5:45 AM.
I swiped my card through the time clock at 6:00 AM and began another work day. Happy Birthday to me.
The view outside after sunrise was remarkable. It looked like one of those documentaries on Antarctica that they show on The Learning Channel…with the exception of a few protrusions that appeared to be vehicles rising out of the snow banks.
Finally, by 10:00, enough of the snow in the parking lot was removed so that I could snake my way back to County Highway 1, and make my way home.
Once I got home, I took a quick tour of my driveway with my snow blower, had a little lunch, and me and Joe the Cat headed to the bedroom for what we thought was going to be a long winter’s nap. Over the next three hours, I was reminded of how much our phone rings while we are at work during the day. At about 3:30 I gave up, leaving Joe the Snooze to sleep by himself under the blankets.
I somehow stayed awake through our previously scheduled birthday dinner and a movie on Tuesday night, and was back in bed by 11:00.
I was still apparently recuperating this morning (Thursday), as I overslept by about 45 minutes.
After being quite vocal in the past about my affinity for winter weather, I’m guessing there will be some of you out there who will enjoy the fact that I spent part of my birthday in a cornfield. Go ahead, I probably have it coming.
A little piece of advice, though, if any of you find yourself in a similar position…
Pizza and movies makes everything better.
Even in a cornfield in Antarctica…

A half century, plus two...

Here we are again. It is hard to believe it is already time for my annual birthday blog. It seems like it was only yesterday that I was whining about turning 40. What a silly young man I was… Hopefully, eight years from now I’ll be looking back and chuckling at how I was whining about turning 52 back in 2010.
Usually, after I whine about how old I am, I encourage people to send me gifts. This has never worked out so well, but maybe this year Conan O’Brien will stumble across my blog and be motivated to send me a little something with the extra cash he has lying around.
Sorry, back to whining about my age…
Reading the Minneapolis Star-Tribune this week, I was shocked to read that it has be 33 YEARS SINCE THE VIKINGS WERE IN A SUPER BOWL!!! That cannot possibly be. I watched that game. And to make matters worse, I remember watching the three they participated in before that one!!!!!
All the things I struggle to remember in my life, and I can't seem to shake the memory of those heartaches.
Most of the items in my growing catalog of age-related issues, however, are exacerbated by the amount of weight I carry. Since an October Camden State Park photo shoot I’ve been hobbling around on a sore knee. Finally, in the past few days I’ve been able to navigate without the cane. I’ve been probably 90% cane-free. The diagnosis was a Baker’s cyst—a small balloon of joint gunk leakage on the back side of my knee.
Of course Dr. Snow has a lot bigger words he uses when describing it.
The bottom line is that a cortisone-ish cocktail injected into the cyst a month ago has helped relieve the pain significantly, which in turn should enable me to return soon to my nightly jazzercise sessions. (Wow...Microsoft Word, as I type this, actually recognizes “jazzercise” as a word.)
I also require way too many drugs to keep me alive. Considering the number of trips I make to the back end of Thrifty White Drug in Tyler, you would think I would be burning calories faster than I can consume them.
I guess not.
I can not, however, complain with too much conviction. I have a very good life. I am surrounded by a great family and many very loyal friends (albeit not so loyal that I get birthday gifts from them annually), as well as a job with a company that treats me quite well.
I’m thankful also that I don’t recall ever walking around with my cap on sideways and my pants on the ground…an affliction of the very young and, I would assume, the very old. For those of you who don’t get the “pants on the ground reference,” ask your kids about it…or at the very least, ask someone as young as me.
I am also experiencing elevated levels of joy over the current football season…but I won’t tempt fate by discussing it until after Sunday night.
Just when I think I can’t possibly have any more joy in my life, I find out I can get 10% off hotel rooms with my AARP card.
Yeah, my life is pretty good despite the fact that it is flying by at a break-neck pace. Before I know it, I’ll be bragging about how good my life is at 82—probably to my 92-year-old sister.
In the meantime, no matter how good life is for me at 52, there’s always room for more bliss…so Conan, if you are reading, I like movies and music. A simple gift card would be a great place to start. (PO Box 89, Tyler, MN 56178)

Not bored...

Finally, in the fifth decade of my life, I am learning to appreciate the month of January. I used to think that the month was worthless, and other than one day at the end of the month when I would get presents each year just for turning a year older, the month could have just as well be stricken from the calendar. Half way through January, 2010, however, I’ve discovered an appreciation for the coldest month.
January still has its issues. Most noticeable is the fact that it has turned my 45-minute commute to the office into a one-hour drive, minimum. Weather drawback #2 would be a cursed wind chill that at times can suck the air right out of you.
Then there is the reality that the excitement of the holidays have passed, coupled with the arrival of the December credit card bill. This can be survived also, but it requires making sure Kathy (a.k.a. Oh-My-God-We-Are-Destitute-Nelly) is sitting down when she opens the MasterCard bill.
Here in 2010, however, I’ve learned to appreciate the post-holiday lull, and now that I’m no longer in the newspaper business, I even get to stay home in the evenings. At the height of the craziness, I would have my choice of 18 basketball games in which a Lincoln County basketball team was participating, as well as an assortment of school board and city council meetings.
Now, however, I only head out in the evenings when it is MY choice, and that is usually only when the temperature is above 20.
The rat race has slowed to a crawl.
Being an active Facebook participant, I am always amused by the number of “I’m bored” posts by young people on my live feed. These posts appear daily, but increase exponentially on, say, the second consecutive snow day off from school. I distinctly remember school snow days from 40 years ago. There was the anticipation of hearing the WCCO announcer giving the list of school closings and the agony of listening through the alphabetical listings before finally hearing the magical words, “Russell, two hours late.” One particular January…I believe it was either 1968 or 1969…this announcement was always followed with “Russell, closed.” That year we might have made it to school three or four days in January, and they sent us home early a couple of THOSE days.
I don’t recall ever, during any of those many snow days, experiencing boredom. I was usually too excited about the prospects for the day to even permit myself to go back to sleep.
There were games to play, puzzles to assemble and usually a round or two of Canasta or Scrabble with Mom. Once the snow and wind subsided, there was a natural amusement park outside our door. There were a host of activities to keep a kid busy, from snow forts to snowmen, but nothing more fun than grabbing a sled and heading across the road from our house to the giant hill in Mr. Hively’s field. Ten minutes of climbing to the top of what seemed like a mountain would be rewarded with the fastest trip you could imagine on a plastic “flying saucer”…even if nine times out of ten you found yourself upside down at the bottom of the hill.
Midday, we would trudge back in and lay our socks and mittens on top of the heater (where these items would acquire a stinky, burnt smell), fill up with a hot meal and then head out for round two in the afternoon, smelling of burnt, slightly wet yarn.
We hardly noticed the cold, and if we were lucky, the red in our cheeks might have faded by the time we crawled into bed, where we would drift off to sleep hoping that WCCO would once again make our school famous the next morning.
Bored? It wasn’t part of the lexicon.
When all those other activities were exhausted, there was always reading. In those days I would read books about Fran Tarkenton or Bart Starr or Harmon Killebrew, but the choices were nearly unlimited, and today the choices are even greater. Kids! Open a freaking book!!!
Today, with the onset of middle age, I’ve realized that I can actually have too much fun lined up, and have had to scale back my magazine subscriptions from an unwieldy seven or eight to a more manageable three. This has freed up some of my precious reading time for catching up on my Stephen King addiction. Mr. King can write books faster than I can consume them. I have probably read around 35 of his novels and collections of short stories, but that still leaves me 10-12 books behind. Last week I was able to start “Wolves of the Calla,” which was written several years ago.
So, this year I am embracing the slower pace that January brings me…a pace that I am hoping lingers well into February.
You youngsters (look at me sounding like an old person), before your next “I’m bored” update, think about making a trip to your local library.
And starting today, I believe I have come up with the perfect daily status update for my Facebook page…
“Not bored.”

You can count on it…

I know you’ve all been waiting for it, and just because I don’t work for a newspaper any more, doesn’t mean I can’t bring you my bold Predictions For 2010!!! OK, I’m no Amazing Kreskin, but that is not necessarily a bad thing. I actually went to www.amazingkreskin.com, just to see what HE was predicting for 2010. All I found was a blank blue page. If he was trying to connect with me telekinetically, I wasn’t receiving anything. This was just reinforcing what I’ve been telling Kathy for years…I can’t read minds.
The only other psychic I could think of was Jeanne Dixon: Psychic to the Stars, but I found out she died of cardiac arrest in 1997. Rumor has it her last words were, “whoa, I didn’t see that coming!”
So with no help from a real psychic, and without further ado, I give you my Ten Bold Predictions For The Coming Year.
Thank me in December…
1. Syndicated television program Entertainment Tonight will uncover shocking news about Michael Jackson’s death.
2. Tiger Woods will put away his putter and go back to playing golf.
3. Katie Couric will be granted another interview with Sarah Palin, during which Palin will admit she doesn’t really know what the term "going rouge" means, but she can split open an elk from top to bottom with one arm tied behind her back, reaffirming her credentials for a presidential run.
4. The Twins home opener at Target Field will be delayed two hours due to a winter weather advisory.
5. Governor Pawlenty will continue to make appearances throughout the country while not running for president.
6. Brett Favre will break a hip during the third quarter of the NFC Championship game, but will bark incredulously at Coach Childress on the sidelines when Chilly suggests Brett comes out of the game.
7. Fox News entertainer Glenn Beck will uncover a covert plan by the Obama administration to change the sky from blue to green, spurring an impromptu tea party on the Potomac.
8. The Minnesota Twins will win the World Series. (One of these years this prediction will actually be correct.)
9. It will be revealed that Paula Abdul’s defection from American Idol was actually predicted by Nostradomus.
10. Nobody will remember any of these predictions by March.

A Christmas too white…

Hello again. I hope all of you out there somewhat salvaged your Christmas holiday. Anyone who had anything scheduled for Christmas Eve through Sunday in the Upper Midwest had to have been affected by the monster storm that just kept dumping snow on us. It turned out to be one of the whitest Christmases of my life.
As I believe I mentioned in a recent blog, I’ve been fighting with an ailing leg over the past couple of months. I’ve had to resort to using a cane to get around town, eliciting catcalls of “old man” and “gimpy” from passersby. On the bright side, if these hecklers are standing close enough, I can whack them with my wooden appendage.
Unfortunately, having a bad wheel is exacerbated when it won’t stop snowing and scooping/snowblowing becomes an around-the-clock job.
That’s where my bossy little sister Darla comes in.
Mom and Darla arrived on Christmas Eve afternoon to join us at the church service and spend the night. Christmas with Kathy’s family scheduled for that evening had already been postponed and the Wilmes gathering scheduled for Christmas Day at the Senior Center was in jeopardy.
Waking to piles of snow Christmas morning I found that somewhere over the years Darla got the idea that she is the boss of me (she isn’t) and commanded me to stay inside while her and Kathy cleared the front and back driveways and sidewalks of snow. I resisted at first, but I could see it might come to blows, and although I had a portable “whacker” with a rubber tip, I refrained from using it. I still have to sit through the story (now legend) that I used to hit her on the head with books when we were kids. I don’t want to be in the nursing home someday and hear how I used to whack her with my cane “back when we were middle-aged.”
So Mom and I watched through the window as they soon realized that shovels weren’t going to do the job, and they had to pull out the heavy artillery…the 20+-year-old Jacobsen snow blower.
A.K.A. “The Beast.”
They soon found out what I already knew. The Beast works best between April and October. The rest of the year, not so much.
It got them through about 85% of the blowing, however, and that was enough make room for any family members who may show up later in the day.
We ended up canceling the Senior Center and the decision was made to host the celebration for all who could make it to our house. This is now referred to by Joe, our cat, as “48 hours of hell.” He is still shaking off the after-effects.
We had a great time, although sorely missed the family members who couldn’t be with us. By Christmas night, sleeping arrangements included just about everything except the cat trees—and Joe thought people were sleeping a bit too close to them also.
By Saturday afternoon, local small engine repair dude Don Kuhn had my snow blower “purring like a kitten,” and I was able to widen out our paths once I was out from under the iron thumb of my sister.
Late Saturday afternoon we were able to gather with everyone who was able to make it from Kathy’s family, so the holiday wasn’t a total loss.
With a four-day New Year’s weekend approaching, I intend to spend my time NOT shoveling or snow blowing—my choice, not Darla’s.
If, however, she has the urge to call and tell me to kick back and watch some movies, who am I to argue?

You might be a Grinch if…

I hope everyone is enjoying the season to the fullest. I’m in full Christmas music mode on my iPod…yes, I am somewhat of a girly-man. I love the season and the snow and the music and the lights. Unfortunately, I’m nursing a gimpy left leg this year, or I would be once again enjoying the shopping also. I have 11 months to get my leg back into shopping shape for next season, however.
Next week I get to spend some time with my two favorite groups of people. Kathy’s family will gather at her dad’s farm on Christmas Eve for lots of great conversation, food and laughter. About the time I think I’ve recovered from the Christmas Eve feast, I’ll start all over on Christmas Day with my family for several more hours of merriment. I can hardly wait.
I would like take a moment to thank everyone who takes time to read this stuff every week…and especially those who took the time to read my column through the years in the local newspapers.
I have so much to be thankful for this year. When your life’s plan gets taken from you unexpectedly, it tends to knock the wind out of your sails. I was so fortunate to find employment after being sent out into the job market when it was at its bleakest. I’m truly blessed.
In order to enjoy Christmas to its fullest, I will be taking another week off from this blog…because I can… So I’ll wish you a Merry Christmas now. I hope you all get to spend time with people you love.
There are some of you out there, however (you know who you are), who tend to put up a Grinch-like front when the season rolls around, but I know deep down that you folks enjoy Christmas more than you are letting on…you might as well admit it.
To those of you who suspect you may truly be Grinch-like, there are a few telltale signs. Here are my Top Ten Signs You Might Truly Be A Christmas Grinch…
10. You are green.
9. Your favorite Christmas song is performed by those annoying barking dogs.
8. Your picture is on the bulletin board at the North Pole Post Office.
7. You think Blitzen is that dude on CNN.
6. Years of coal smudges inside your stocking.
5. The neighborhood kids have nicknamed your yard “Mount Crumpit.”
4. You find yourself repeatedly telling people where they can put there figgy pudding.
3. Your favorite Christmas activity consists of dipping lutefisk in white chocolate and serving it to unsuspecting kids.
2. You have a sore puzzler.
And the number one Top Ten Sign You Might Truly Be A Christmas Grinch…
1. Right after Thanksgiving each year you put up your “Lords not permitted to leap on premises” sign.

If your name is Clay…stop reading here

Okay, okay…yeah, I know I said I was only taking a week off from the blog blather, but you just never know what life will throw at you… That, and the fact that I don’t HAVE a newspaper deadline every week anymore, so it’s not like I’m losing any income. You people start sending me checks and you’ll get a blog every week, like clockwork.
I’ll start by picking up where I left off. I must admit that I was shocked by the number of people who asked me to “send their best” to Meghan, the newest member of the Wilmes family. I should mention here that there are family members I’ve been writing about for over a decade and nobody’s sent them their best. One fresh face and everyone is fawning over her. Just another reason for my brother Clay to feel overlooked… Fortunately for him he can feel a bit special, being the only male in the family eligible for a discount at Perkins.
Oh, and Meghan wasn’t actually at the Wilmes Family Thanksgiving celebration (she was with REAL family) on the Saturday before Thanksgiving, but we acted as if she were. We gathered for the semi-traditional family pie picture, and inserted her via the wonders of Adobe Photoshop. I’ve included the picture here, but don’t tell Clay if you talk to him. As we were posing for the picture, he refused to be included—“…this picture isn’t going on the Internet is it?”
After I assured him it wasn’t, he agreed to pose.
We also haven’t told him his driver’s license had to be rescinded. We just tell him the car doesn’t start.
Wait till we try to explain why Meghan is in the picture.
The celebration was splendid and I truly had plans of taking only a week off from blogging. We trekked to New Ulm to spend the traditional Thanksgiving Day with Kathy’s family. Lots of great food, board games and laughter were served. I spent the rest of the weekend trying to catch up on odd jobs I had lined up at home, as well as rehearsing for the Opera House Christmas Show. It was good.
About Tuesday of last week, however, things began to go sour. Something hit me overnight on Tuesday, and when I got up Wednesday, I knew I wasn’t going to work. As a matter of fact, I would only put in another six hours the rest of the week, and those were not much fun.
Headache, fever, chills, sinus infection, dizziness, nausea and the inability to stay awake laid me out flat for the remainder of the week. I can’t say I ever remember sleeping that much in a 72-hour period over the course of the rest of my life.
Fortunately, I was once again beginning to feel human by Friday evening, when we had another rehearsal for the Christmas Show. Another rehearsal on Saturday, as well as the two actual shows, and I was ready to call it a week.
I would like to send out a big thank you to all the participants for another wonderful show, and to all who came to see it.
There is always at least one fun anecdote each year. This year it belonged to me. I’ve been singing “O Holy Night” in the show for 12 of the past 13 years, as well as once a year at Danebod Lutheran Church. In the evening show, I forgot the words to not one, but two of the three verses. It was a train wreck. All that was left was for me to stumble forward and crush someone in the front row. Thankfully, I was spared.
Oh, and I got my biggest round of applause in years. I promised if they came back next year, I would sing the remainder of the song…
Just to warn you all, I’ll also be committing bloggus interuptus on Christmas Week. Yes, another break. So you might all want to send your Christmas Greetings to Meghan early.
I’ll probably write one next week, though. We’ll see.

Meghan who?

My family is getting together for Thanksgiving this weekend. There are several in this little corner of Minnesota who know a little bit of history from this event, it was well documented in my weekly column during my newspaper years. Who can forget the great gravy shortage of ’02? You may recall my dismay over the year I inadvertently scheduled a wedding photography gig on the same day as Wilmes Thanksgiving, and the photo my family sent from the dinner table. Then there was the time my sister Barb put the chocolate milk in the mashed potatoes…
Of course the downside of having a son/sibling/uncle/nephew/husband/stepdad who writes a weekly column is this: what happens at family gatherings doesn’t necessarily stay at family gatherings. I regularly have trotted out anecdotes—from embarrassing to amusing—over the past dozen years. Time and again I am reminded that my family members are pretty good sports and can take a jab in the spirit in which it is intended. They also have a talent for landing a few jabs of their own. I readily admit I have made myself a target for unfair ridicule from my brothers and sisters.
The stuff that goes out for public consumption, however, has some of the warts removed and I generally keep a lid on a few of the more personal antics. Last week, however, my family found out we probably have been sharing some of our more intimate thoughts with a complete stranger over the past couple of years. Apparently, despite her efforts to warn us…
I will be the first to admit that my family has an above average sense of humor. Having the best sense of humor in the family, I should naturally be the one to make that judgement… Last week, during a typically amusing exchange of emails among my family about food assignments for Thanksgiving and a debate on how long my brother Todd and his wife Susan has been married, we were jarred by the fact that we have been sharing a bit too much information with a young woman named Meghan Wilmes. Turns out she has been included in mass emails originating from my brother Clayton, as well as all the “reply all” responses…some of which have gone on for days, even weeks. In the middle of a rather intense discussion of pie, we received the following email:

Hello to all,
I've been following your emails which have made me laugh. I wish I could come to your Thanksgiving....homemade pies!!!! I know I've told a few of you but apparently not everyone, I'm not actually in your family. :) It seems many of you have my email address saved as a Mark Wilmes and although I do have an uncle Mark I know its not the same one. Anyway, just thought I would send this to everyone because I've also received family pictures and some emails about people with medical conditions which may be urgent at times.

I hope you all have Happy Holidays!

Meghan

I could almost sense the dead silence of my family members as they mentally reviewed the emails and pictures that have been sent out in the past, in an attempt to assess the collateral damage we may have inflicted on this young innocent person. That silence wouldn’t last long. My sister Barb called and we were laughing so hard we could barely speak.
I couldn’t stop going back to the line, “I'm not actually in your family. :)”
It doesn’t take a baseball bat to the head to get through to the Wilmes family, by golly.
A little history: Back in April of 2007, I signed myself up for a web-based email account, enabling me to communicate from my laptop when I was out and about. In Clay’s address book, a combination of an old work email and my new web-based address was added, instead of the actual address. This merging of old and new ended up accidentally making Meghan an innocent bystander in the affairs of our family. We still really don’t know which pictures she has seen and how much she knows about our past medical conditions, and she isn’t saying. We do know, however, she can identify family members from photos.
Despite the faux pas by Clay, entering the wrong email address, I have somehow been blamed for the mix-up by at least one family member, as is revealed in the following missive:

Well, if Mark didn’t feel he was so important as to have a dozen different e-mail addresses, then maybe we wouldn’t have this issue and poor Meghan could live her life in peace.

Nicole

This is troubling, as I really only have three email addresses (home, web-based and office, the last of which I was forced to take, regardless of my perceived “importance”), so I am a bit worried about who Nicole is communicating with by way of those other nine email addresses.
Of course, never being a family to back away from being entertaining, everyone continued to include Meghan in the follow-up emails, and even sent her a family picture and invited her to Thanksgiving (you will notice I included the family picture, in which Meghan graciously added her own picture and sent it back to us). She still can’t get rid of us.
Of all the places those loose cannon emails could have been sent, in the end it turns out Meghan lives in Hugo, MN.
That’s not all…
That “uncle Mark” she referred to??? He and his wife are members of the same church as my sister Darla up in Cloquet.
I would guess that Meghan still hasn’t heard the last from us. I personally added her to my address book. How could we not send her a picture from this weekend’s family gathering? It wouldn’t surprise me if she gets invited to the annual Wilmes Family Board Game Weekend at Clay and Linda’s in the Twin Cities in February.
Of course, I’ll have to send her the link to this blog…
In the meantime, whether she likes it or not…welcome to the family Meghan. Sorry.
Oh, and we’ll be expecting photos and descriptions of your medical procedures in the coming weeks. It is only fair.
You have our addresses…
*****
Don’t look for a blog next week...although maybe a picture. I’ll be attending Thanksgiving II in New Ulm with Kathy’s family. I’m giving myself the week off. If you signed on to this blog recently, take the opportunity to scroll down and check out the archive of previous blogs.

Waiting for the beep…

Is it only me, or does everyone my age try to keep a constant vigil for signs of his or her own early-onset senility, or whatever it is called these days. I’m guessing that the word senile is no longer politically correct. I constantly wonder how long before I’m considered by others to be a doddering old fool. In my younger days, I always felt a twinge of pity for elderly people who were obviously beginning to slip in to a semi-sentient state. Now that it is I who is showing early signs of becoming doddering, I’ve picked up an entirely new perspective. I find it a constant source of amusement—which I would assume has become a growing font of consternation for the younger members of my family.
I now have to wear my keys around my neck. I had no choice. I work for a company where I need to swipe a plastic fob and punch in a code in order to have access to part of the building. If I don’t remember to bring it to the office—37.1 miles from my front door—I am required to go home and get them.. Knowing my proclivity for misplacing my keys, I took preventative measures and acquired a lanyard with my SecurID OTP key fob, my HID access key fob, the key to my ignition, the remote to lock and unlock my car door and the key to the front door. This memory-assist method is all held together by the fact that I have to drive my Trailblazer in order to get to work, making it impossible to leave home without the rest of my essentials. This should save me from ever adding 74.2 miles to my commute. The lanyard (if used without fail) will prevent me from placing my keys on the canned fruit shelf in Maynards when I’m choosing my Mandarin oranges.
There are some symptoms of doddering, however, that just can’t be fixed.
I’m reminded of the day earlier this year, when I was standing in Scott’s Electronics in Tyler, waiting patiently for the customer ahead of me to finish. A cell phone started ringing. Not, I thought, an unusual sound in a business that sells cell phones. After three rings, I noticed all three of the others in the room were looking at me. I smiled and made a “don’t worry, I’m in no hurry” sort of gesture. It wasn’t until after I left the building that I noticed the missed call beep notification coming from the front pocket of my pants. Apparently the sound of my phone ringing cannot travel out of my jeans, over my belly, and to my auditory canal with enough volume for me to notice. My retro-active amusement was slightly elevated by the fact that I remembered thinking when I was standing in Scott’s that someone else had my same ring…
There are other signs...like the day a couple of weeks ago when I went to work showing signs of doddering. It seems I started my morning by fastening button two in hole three, button three in hole four, button four…well, you get the picture. There is no beep notification for something like that.
Back in October I showed up one week early for my doctor’s appointment. I noticed it AFTER I had, earlier in the day, demanded that my blood test results be ready by 4:30 PM. At the check-in counter, Darla tried to soften the blow. “That’s OK, Mark, you aren’t the first patient to do something like that,” she said, carefully avoiding the word doddering.
I got a good laugh from that one.
On a regular basis, MY end of a conversation will sound something like this:
“I saw what’s-his-name today…the guy that lives on the old…um…oh man, what was the name of those people…you know, they live down the road from that guy with the comb-over we talked to in church Sunday morning…”
Most of this stuff is fairly harmless fun, of course. I do worry a bit about when I will start taking it to a new level, though.
I had a real scare in the front yard the other night. Kathy and I were bagging leaves and she made the comment, “not sure if you noticed, but you have a pile behind you…”
My heart leapt to my chest.
I was scared to look.
Turns out she was talking about leaves…but it took a few minutes for the fall color to drain out of my cheeks.
Sometime in the future, if you see me in my front yard with my shirt buttoned crooked, my front pocket beeping and something behind me on the lawn, do me a favor…just smile and wave.
You’ll know I’m having the time of my life.

Consider it my gift to you…a week off

For those of you who remembered to set your clocks back over the weekend, I hope you enjoyed your extra hour of sleep. For those of you who forgot, that is why you were the first one there every place you went this week. I’m feeling so refreshed, in fact, that I’m taking the week off from writing a column. You just received another five minutes of spare time this week.
You’re welcome.
I won’t leave you completely high and dry however. I would like to introduce you to the newest blogger in my extended family. Some of you may remember from the days when I was the publisher of the Lake Benton News and the Hendricks Herald, I had an occasional columnist named Brian Driscoll, who penned the column, “Brian in the Big City.” Brian, my nephew, has always been the family “yarn spinner.” The following link will take you to his newly launched blog spot. His site will have a place where you can contact him about how to be notified when he posts a blog. I will also have a link on the top left corner of this page.
This week I am sending to an extended list of people. To those who are new to my blog, I have been writing online for the past few months. If you scroll down on this page, on the left you will see the archives if you wish to go back and peruse what I have been doing since I was run out of the newspaper business. If you would like to be added to the weekly email notification list, you will receive a link to this blog whenever a new one is posted. Thanks again to all who have been reading over the past few months!

Link to Brian in the Big City: http://brianinthebigcity.com/
Email if you would like to be added to the “Off the Mark” blog email notification list: markwilmes@gmail.com.

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…