The Closet Reclamation Project - part 1

When Indiana Jones goes DIY

I knew it was there.

The "secret closet" was hidden behind mouthwash-blue paneling from an era of Mary Tyler Moore, Disco and Ford Mavericks.

I'd heard the rumors of the former storage space for years, and a closer look at the room showed there was a mystery wall space not accounted for.

My wife grew up in our circa 1917 Danish farmhouse, and remembers the lost cubby was "icky and dark" thirty years ago, back when it was her childhood room. That's when her Father decided to abandon the closet for a paneling job.

I had to see it. I had to be Indiana Jones for just a spell and peak into this time capsule, right down the hall.

Since our closet space was minimal, the "lost closet" could help our storage problems.

The paneling came off easily, and behind it was a spider web-laden broken plaster room about three feet deep and wide, with items on the floor and even a few hangers on the rod.

On the floor was a Milwaukee Brewer baseball card (pitcher Skip Lockwood) and a bright orange "tray" of sorts, dusty and textured.

"Hey, that's the piece for my 'Don't Spill the Beans' game!" My wife exclaimed, seeming to have really missed the item. "I wondered where that ended up."

The Closet Reclamation Project was successful all around: We gained much needed extra storage space in the Guest Room and it forced me to cover the wall in cool car siding wood, and even better, a mystery was finally solved.

She said there's another lost storage area above the stairs, this one larger and even "grosser," she warned.

I'm wondering if I'll need a whip and a fedora.

Pinstriped Phavoritism?

It doesn't matter that he hasn't broke the Top 50 All Time, what matters is that Derek Jeter is the hittingest Yankee Ever. Again, showing how the MARKET is more important than the team, player or event.

Nothing against DJ, or certainly the Late Mr. Gehrig, but fellas, there's others - including a certain Mr. Rose - who've kicked this records arse.

Pontiac, Swine Flu and Pirates, Oh My!

It's not the end of the world, just a really bad inning

There was a time in America when our troubles were thin: Wars, lending rates, heating costs, invasive species on a few crops, maybe a bad storm or two.
Now, it's seems to be getting to a new level of garbage.
Whoever thought we'd have to wear a Swine Flu face mask to a fish fry, or for the college educated to get turned down for a "name tag job," or worry about pirates while on a cruise, or not be able to buy a Pontiac.
Wait, no more Pontiac? You mean the guys who MADE THE FIRST MUSCLECAR? Is this some sort of Al Gore-based joke?
Pontiacs are as American as the Hollywood blockbuster, or an ice cream sandwich in August. "Super Chiefs" were fireworks, sunburn and a hot dog in July, or jell-o in a nursing home - well, maybe not THAT American, but you get the point.
When it comes to "Americana," Pontiacs are up there with earth-tone colored appliances, Crock Pots and surfing movies as the epitome of red-white and blue.
To quote Warren Oates in the 1971 cult-classic "Two-lane blacktop:" "Yeah man, Pontiac's are the deal!"
The late Oates (known to later generations as Sgt. Hulka in the Bill Murray-classic, "Stripes") spends that whole movie telling lies, talking trash, picking up hitchhikers and driving fast on the late Route 66 from the air conditioned jet fighter cockpit of an "Orbit Orange" 1970 Pontiac GTO Judge coupe, packed with a snarling, 455-cubic-inch dinosaur heart under the hood.
"With a few mods, this thing could be a street sweeper," Declares "The Mechanic" in "...Blacktop" (and Beach Boy drummer) Dennis Wilson.
Later Pontiacs made starring roles in movies like "Smokey and the Bandit," "Blue Velvet," and on TV as James Garner's discreet weapon in "The Rockford Files." That gold colored Firebird Esprit also made Rockford's signature move possible. Often referred to as a "Rockford," the speeding-in-reverse J-turn is easy on ice with a front-wheel-drive, but requires a stunt driver and and a tight parking brake on pavement!
But Pontiacs have always been "cool." Their mantra for years has been "driving excitement," and sales have never faltered all that much.
And the "new" GM, which WE sort of own, is killing them. Hmm, maybe to make a point? Is this there idea of punishing America for not lending them U-hauls full of more cash at minus-four-percent interest? Is this the "socialization of the auto industry?" Does this mean the end of the road for driving excitement? Does it mean we'll never get to hear Jean Luc Picard say "Pawn-tee-ack" in his fake-French, Star Trek-esque way every again?
Nah, it can't be. Tell me there will still be a hot rod Pontiac for sale in some showroom, even if it is a hybrid, electric or wind-powered.

Vintage Camper Showcase #19 - 007's weekender

Those wacky Brits! First they drive on the wrong side of the road, then they eat "pie" made of meat and without fruit, and drink warm beer with an egg in it, and then they make this crazy camper!
Somewhere in between they conjured up James Bond, Robin Hood and Twiggy - which are all cool - and of course the music is among the best in all of humanity.
Oh yeah, and I'm totally all over Monty Python and slinky brunettes with a British accent are sexier than the Victoria's catalog.
But leave the campers to the bloody Yanks! Here's why.
Even though it looks sorta cool, it reportedly didn't work all that well. It's a 1963 Martin Walter Romany Conversion Bedford Dormobile. 

Yes, I know. A mouthful. Quick say it by memory! A little clunky, maybe, but worthy of a view. And I'm sure they're worth a pretty pound these days!
"I say, Love, throw me a few quid for a loxie if you might. The old birds' feeling a bit randy, if you know what I mean..."

Columbus Day Blue

"Columbus Day Blue" is a jokey-esque theme tune I wrote a few years back, in response to my good friend J.Skibbe's dedication to education, and his amazing MLKjr themed program for his elementary students.
Frankly, mine's a bit too depressing for fourth graders, but it forced me to do a little research on Columbus, and his day in the American sun.
I'm sure some will find it "politically correct," or some other "I don't agree with it - so it must be wrong" term.
I've included the subscripts, and forgot that it actually had a ring of iambic pentameter, to it, occasionally.

"Columbus Day Blue"
by G. Marsten

One Monday... in October
(repeat twice, slow swell in ferocity)
We close the banks, let the kids watch cartoons,
and forget to deliver our junk mail
Recalling the day in 1492
when Columbus crossed the oceans blue.
America just slows down a bit,
and forgets who brought the flu.

He sailed three ships, with a crew of Spaniards
luffing sails and lashed down lanyards
One Monday... in October
It's Columbus Day, hey, hey
it's Columbus Day, whoa, whoa
we'll celebrate
with a box of Chardonnay,
spread evil bugs to dark skinned neighbors
Pandemic fever, native culture favors,
bloodshed, scalped heads and shiny gold dublooms...
From King Ferdinand himself
That's worthy, I'd say
of another bank holiday

The Nina was the fast one
and the Pinta speedy, too,
but the booty stayed on the Santa M
where Ol' Chris' dreams came true.
Too cool to ask for guidance,
Columbus' boys kept sailin on
and hoped they'd stay on track
for another wavy island Caribbe-ahn
(repeat chorus, add lapping waves, native chants and island drums)

(bkgrnd, syncopated)
we'll let the stars be our guides
and let destiny rule our souls and tides.

white pepper, thyme and basil
marjoram, salts, witch hazel .
Columbus' boys had spicy goals
as they navigated the rocky shoals.
spreading Europe's spicy ways
in a renaissance black pepper haze.
It wasn't Chris' fault, you know...
(repeat chorus, louder bkgrnd chants)

That shortcut burned,
The crown was spurned
It was superhero destiny.
a continent found, now culture's doomed...
lets stay inside our Spanish room

Just one day...
in October
Fill the spice rack with pride
That Monday
in October.
Take the Pinta for a ride
Just one day
to notice all we've done
all we've broke and all we fixed
all we've took and all that's mixed.
America was born again
with Columbus' detour west.

The locals had been here years before
but dead reckoning ain't always best...
when land gets in the way.

But it wasn't all Chris' fault, I'm sure
His crew was sick and didn't know it.
Columbus found the shortcut...
but we all let that Genie out
(Repeat and fade chorus with slow chants, lapping waves and sand friction, like a boat landing. Drink beer and pretend you're healthy.)


(copyright 2007/prairie spy productions, downstream music)

The mystery of Lac qui Parle Church

One of my lifelong, best friends, JW - who affectionately brags of "having known me since I was a fetus" - recently moved some of his life to the semi-abandoned "ghost town" of Lac qui Parle, Minnesota.




















Just a few dozen miles from the South Dakota border, the semi-abandoned village may have been one of the possible original choices for the pre-state, territorial Minnesota capitolship, and prominently displays a sign bragging of its' Post Office roots.



Very little history can be found on-line, and the winter hours of the local historical society make it unrealistic to dig into archives when it isn't warm.
But the town seems poised on the verge of fading into the prairie, and that troubles me.
Specifically, there is an old church, pictured here and in my blog's title, that seems close to being a loss forever.

Many people have no trouble with that, and find old, decaying structures or objects "eyesores," and worthy of burial.

I'm just the opposite, and have found a stunning beauty in that decay, but mainly for the history behind it.
I have elicited the help of some of my Flickr photoshop wizards to try and decipher the NAME of the church, which is all but illegible. I could only make out "church" and "synod," and a few Flickr-ites found "Ev Luth" and "John" in the battered wood with extensive digitizing, maybe even a "St." before the John. 

The Minnesota State Historical Society has one photo of the church, from 1971, although they list as the Lac qui Parle 'Union Church."

Hmmm- the plot thickens.

I took several dozen photos in and out of the church, but one of the more stunning features is a nearly century old wood stove (shown here) that I was able to trace back to at least 1912!
Next on the order was genealogical society records, which seem to indicate little about the church, but may reference a cemetery near the site - which I couldn't see through the four-foot-tall snowdrifts. However, that is a game changer, and if a cemetery is "lost," it MUST be noted or reclaimed for protection, by many state statutes.
If that "lost" cemetery is for real, it may indicate the church had an actual congregation until no later than 1922, before pulling up stakes when the village fell apart.
Regardless, the biggest threat to this once amazing structure is obvious: The former landscaping trees that lined its flanks!
Imagine, one hundred years ago, a group of dedicated people did their best to beautify the plain-sided church, and "pretty it up" with some bushes, or shrubs and small trees from their clippings. Those trees/shrubs/bushes are now over thirty feet tall, and growing through the walls and windows, threatening the old church more than the elements, development, critters or even other denominations!

JW and a few of us who moved helped move him have discussed a "save the church" weekend, where we bring our chainsaws, trailers and formidable muscles in to cut those offending trees back and give the church - and possible cemetery - a new chance.
It would be a cool retreat, or shop, or showroom, or ski/snowmobile/ATV stop, or yes, Brother JW, again as a church.

As Lac qui Parle's newest resident put it, he's hoping the church returns the favor.

Winter's Soft Face

Winter is the picked on step-child of the four seasons. It’s too easy to call the Old Man bad names, like he is some sort of frozen, bomb-laden weather terrorist. Ever the one to side with the underdog, I rather enjoy his testing methods.
Winter has plenty to celebrate, and not just the skiing, sliding or snowmobiling. No, there are unique little things of the “final season” that escape most souls:


=Kids, create your own Slurpees! Just leave a can of soda pop overnight in Dad’s car, he’ll love the extra effort.
=Wet, frozen hair means you’ll never have a “bad hair day” again, and it may also provide extra crash protection.
=We all look 20 pounds heavier with long underwear, parkas and five shirts.
=Rust from road salt makes vehicles lighter and more fuel efficient.
=Frozen, frost-encrusted cobwebs create free artwork.
=Just unplug the freezer and use the porch.
=No need for expensive potpourri, toss those rotten Halloween pumpkins into the fireplace.
=Real Northerners wear long underwear without, you know, other underwear.
=All childrens’ sports that keep score are indoors.
=That ‘emergency’ candy bar is still good from last winter.
=Mosquitoes? Wood ticks? Horseflies? Fleas? Roaches? They’re all compost now.
=Old feed supply store hats are still fashionable, as are torn coveralls, greasy mittens, snotty jacket sleeves and scuffed boots.
=Tan lines? Bikini waxing? Sunburn? Skin cancer? We’re safe from it all.
=Hotter-than-the-interior-of-the-Sun fast food coffee is palatable in less than five minutes.
=Blaze Orange becomes a primary color.
=Lake property owners pay higher taxes year-round, even though the lake is frozen.
=Spelling your name in snowbanks.
=Misspelling your name in snowbanks is easily erased.
=Watching short-haired dogs shift their weight from their coldest foot.
=Vehicle wheelwell “fender booger” kicking gets you in shape for summer field goals and soccer.
=Banks give away cheapo ice scrapers.
=Cheap street Drifting practice. Yes, I skid ON PURPOSE!
=That rare, brilliant “moondog” halo that appears around a full moon.
=My hot, homemade tongue-twister: “Frost is frozen fog, frost is frozen fog, frost is frozen fog” (Repeat until warm.)
=Just knowing that beneath all that lake ice, carp are freezing their fins off.
=Snow forts, snow forts, snow forts. Make two and declare a Snowball War, but first demand weapons inspections and “unlimited access to your palaces.”
=Frozen dog ‘waste’ makes for good off-season golf practice.
=Road salt turns every car into an artists’ palette. REALLY endorse a candidate or a cause.
=Actually feeling the nasal hair when you breathe.
=Frozen 35mm film creates incredible photos that even fancy digital cameras cannot reproduce.
=The pungent smell and brilliant blue color of windshield washer fluid.
=Real Northerners barbecue year-round, even in warm summer weather.
=Snow days! (Note to school administrators: These are great for student and teacher morale, use them generously, and remember, stuck school buses are awful p.r.)
=The timeless smell of still green, burning maple. Our forefathers and their parents walked to school with that same odor keeping them company.
=National news reports of our region after a snowstorm, showing kids throwing snowballs, stuck station wagons and spinning tires. People down south think we’re nuts to live here...let’s keep up that illusion.
=‘Snow humans,’ the new politically correct Genus for our old friend, Frosty.
=Bootprints with logos and cool patterns.
=Snowballs are rarely dense enough to break a car window.
=Frozen condensation on the glass means bathroom drapes are unnecessary.
=Beneath your boots, nobody cares if your socks match.
=Even Martha Stewart is forced to buy fruits and vegetables.
=Elvis’ long version of “Blue Christmas.”
=The more expensive the home, the worse the ice dams.
=Using a snowblower as a landscaping tool.
=Comparing the various Santa Clauses and watching your kids quiz them.
=The wafting breeze of fresh-cut spruce, pine and fir Christmas trees, mingling with the sticky green odor of Boy Scout wreaths.
=Islands of fog rising over open water.
=‘Enhanced’ egg nog, brandy slush, Tom & Jerry’s and full wineskins.
=You don’t feel guilty sitting by the fire, reading a paper and drinking coffee in the middle of a Sunday afternoon.
=Cuddling up under mounds of comforters while the Old Man beats on your well-insulated home with his best shot.


Merry Christmas from TTG! Now go celebrate, damn it.

(All photo credits are mine. The "fire" shot comes courtesy M and H Rosendahl and their rockin' winter Master's grad party recently, during a near blizzard. The other two are some of my favorite trees, including the Legendary "Broccoli Tree." The other pine was featured on the Dec. 19, 2008 cover of "The Valley Wire." How DO they stay so green in the winter?)

Genuine Imitation: Order a brand-new, custom-made 007 classic re-creation thingy...Or "I'm ordering a Batboat!"

A company called "Fiber Classic" started taking orders for a brand-new, re-created, classic 007 Bond boat, from "Live and Let Die." If they're building James Bond re-makes, why not an even cooler Glastron: The Batboat?!

Check out the video for a bit of a background, and weigh-in if you think it may be the best "Bond" song ever, as well. Short of the theme, of course. (Don't want any 007 fans to shoot me with a fake pen at a convention anytime.) 

The soundtrack morphs into the re-make by Guns and Roses, and then shows how to get a "New" old boat:

Yes, you can now get a fresh off the shelf, brand-new, fake, recreated-from-scratch version of one of the coolest boats ever made: The Glastron GT-150. This is one of the first "muscle boats" for everyman. It was affordable, solid, fun and most importantly, light. With a 50-horse on the tail, it could pull two skiers and get on plane in ten seconds. With an 85-horse, it could beat almost anything on the lake and pull a (dropped-ski) bare-footer. With a 115-horse? It ruled the lake. There are plenty of stories of folks who bought a GT-150, and then went to another dealer and ordered a big ass Mercury 150-horse "tallboy" and "re-stickered" it to look like a 115, for insurance purposes. A few dealers had an extra 115-hp sitting around, and probably made out pretty well. The boats would do over 65-mph with the right prop, trim and lightened up. Tweaked and "greased" - a way of waxing the hull - it pushed 70-mph and beyond. That's cooking on the water!



Why a Glastron for James Bond? It sure helped that Glastron previously got the call for one of the most visible boats in all of media: The famous "Batboat."
The Batboat is seen here undergoing initial break-out runs, with creator and chief engineer Mel Whitley at the helm. It is a fascinating story behind the machine(s) and their fate is chronicled very closely at the site. Unfortunately, one of the true original Batboats was turned into a, gasp, CAR! (No, I don't get it either.)






While the other original apparently got lost along the way, and was believed to have ended up in South America.




I can see it now: Kathleen Turner, (now ACTUALLY a horse-voiced, semi-retired, former vixen wannabe romance novelist) who while on "holiday," gets tangled up with a Drug Cartel kingpin. (I hate when that happens on vacation! ) Her old friend Michael Douglas happens to be in nearby Columbia, (undergoing hyper-baric chamber treatments to prolong his life, and allow him to keep up with wife Catherine Zeta-Jones) when he gets the call from Turner. (Squeeze your throat with a belt while mumbling) "Michael, dahling, I'm in it up to my ahm-pits with a silly older fella. Please assist." Then they meet the Drug Lord (portrayed by, hmm, someone lost to time, maybe a slurry-speeched Dick Clark?) Who later tries to outrun "The Federales," and takes them on an exotic river run in the original Batboat, which he hides in a camo shed along the banks. He bought the rare classic with crack money at an auction in Bogotta. As he launches the classic into the Amazon, the bat-theme plays and Turner and Douglas must be stuffed into "lil buddy" Robin's chair. It's an uncomfortable and highly-sexually charged moment for our stars. Then the drug lord proclaims "Say hello to my yill bat-friend!"

No quote yet on my Batboat, I'm guessing twenty large, plus licensing fees. (Of course, I could find a tattered Glastron V-174 on e-Bay in Missouri for $400, drive a 12-mpg pickup down for a delivery, and get into all kinds of adventures along the way...)

Lost Belize Study #1

My one and only trip to Belize - and other Central American stops - included a few fantastic little junkets across the tiny nation with several Mayan ruins, cool coastline and some of the richest history in the world. I shot about 40 photos, maybe ten are worth showing. Here's batch #1. The locations are Belize City, Altun Ha Mayan ruins and a lighthouse/warning structure on the beach near La Caracol. I forgot about the shots when I got a new hot rod computer, and they never made the transfer. I found them and the memories came flooding back in like a high tide.  

Origin of the Species

Oldest friend JW - who routinely introduces me as someone he has known "Since I was a fetus" - passed along one of the rare, but oh-so-cool Fels-Naptha Soap ads and background on the origins of "Tattletale Gray."
Thanks, Jay-Dub, for the history, kitsch and Americana!




The term “tattle tale” wasn’t exactly a very nice name to associate with people who intentionally got a friend, acquaintance, family member, and even adversary in trouble. It also wasn’t a very nice name for the laundry, either.

Husbands immediately knew their wives were washing the laundry with inferior soap. How did they know? Their (supposedly) white shirts were an awful shade of “Tattle Tale Gray.” When this happened, husbands weren’t bashful in letting their wives know about the error of their ways--- in a less than happy manner. Although Tattle Tale Gray wasn’t the major reason for divorces back then, it sure did make life miserable.

This dingy looking color was awful, but it could easily be dealt with. Actually, there were 2 possible solutions for the wife. First (and it’s an excellent thought), let hubby wash his own shirts. Guaranteed, it prevented him from complaining further on this subject, but it didn’t exactly solve the overall problem of Tattle Tale Gray. The practical solution was to wash the laundry with Fels-Naptha. It didn’t matter if it was the original Fels-Naptha Soap Bar or Fels-Naptha Soap Chips--- as long as it said Fels-Naptha on the wrapper or box. When Fels-Naptha was used, the white clothes were actually white. That meant white shirts and happy husbands. With Tattle Tale Gray an unpleasant, but distant memory, husbands and wives were getting along very well, thanks to Fels-Naptha.




(Photo above is JW, posing with his patented "People Mover" golf cart trailers. He can build you a way-cool ride for less than it takes to buy an Illinois Zoning Commissioner seat from Rod Blagojevich. Plus, you can customize the trailer with hot rod wheels, hot colors and graphics and even a stereo or cooler! Full feature to come, along with a shameless promotional link!)

"Say cream danish!" Caption Contest #3 (also, Vintage Camper Showcase #11)

This photo has it all: A classic Buick LeSabre, vintage Airstream, mock windmill and a smiling family in their Sunday best! If it had a puppy and a Gerber baby it would qualify for federal restoration funding. GBA! (Ah, that's "God Bless America") Let loose with the captions!

Caption Contest Two; "Edward, don't waste your film on us..." (Vintage Camper Showcase #10. a/k/a "Ed's new hat")

Some photos tell stories accidentally. Those stories not only have dialog and humor, but act as a snapshot that could be deep and interesting or dryer than cotton lint. Hmm, what was the occasion? Thanksgiving, maybe? Retirement? Or are they several siblings or cousins, seeing each other for the first time in years? Maybe only neighbors. Maybe mob figures on Holiday.
Regardless, it's a caption contest natural. Run with it!

(Airstream photo courtesy the C. Dickenson - RV/MH Museum Collection. No other details.)

Vintage Camper Showcase #7 - Meet Miss Spartanette!

She's a sassy little vixen, all smooth and shiny like a lake's reflection on a sunny day. Spartans were known for their shiny polished styling, variety in sizes and lush, rich interiors and woodwork. They have become one of the primary vintage campers for restoration, in part because of that classic look, which I like to call the "Jetson's Style." Here's a few prime Spartans for the first time on TTG.




(All photos and literature courtesy the RV/MH Museum in Indiana.)

A Food Stamp by any other name…

The State of Wisconsin spent $10,000 in 2003 to explore alternate names for "Food Stamps." I'm sure we could have received pretty good ideas for free.
I had a college graphic design class where the professor sought out local and regional projects for his students to be part of. It gave underling, wannabe artists a chance to either design a portfolio-worthy logo or a real, live advertisement.
During my term, we had two contests, including a "re-design an ad" contest, which I believe had the grand prize of a year's supply of mailing labels or pen refill cartridges.
I didn't win that one, although the professor used my Courvoisier liquor project as an example of "how to apply critical dead space to magnify the attention of the product."
Yeah, I'm real proud of that.
The other "public project" was a chance to design a new logo for a public access cable channel in Melrose, Minn., called - oh so creatively - "Mel-TV". I'm afraid my logo looked suspiciously similar to my signature - which is a cross between a doctor's prescription for Valtrex™ and an EKG reading.

I've always believed that if you really want to protect yourself from "identity theft," make your signature consistently ugly, quick and illegible. Then stick with it.
Besides, credit card signature areas are way too small for the average autograph anyway.


I think the state could have done something like this for the Food Stamp issue.
In these times of red ink, we need to use free talent more often. Utilize hungry students, interns, job seekers, retirees, and the underemployed for all they're worth. I think you would get better, less "corporate" ideas if you hit up the "Regular Joes and Janes" of society. Better yet, have Food Stamp customers submit their best ideas for a new name - killing two birds with one stone. In effect, suggestions with built-in marketing research.
Following the "feel-good" trend, Minnesota changed its Food Stamp program name to "Food Support." I wonder how much that creative genius cost.
I even have a few names for Food Stamps I would have given the state for a reduced fee, seeing as how we're such close buds.
Here you go: Carb Tickets. The Enhanced Table. Hunger Pangs. Belly Jellies. The Gift of Calories. Belt Stretchers.
That'll be $1,800.
The Women, Infants and Children program - which I took full advantage of several years ago as an underemployed writer - has none of the "stigma" associated with Food Stamps, in part because nobody knows what "WIC" stands for.
Most people think "WIC" might be part of the recent "candle craze" taking over the rural pyramid-scheme crowd.
No, Food Stamps just need a good, old fashioned acronym to keep the well-off food shopper in the dark: something like "People Afflicted with Income Disorders" (PAID), or "Government Rehydration And Potbelly Enhancement Service" (GRAPES) - both of which would be pretty easy to ask about at your local Food Lion.
"Excuse me, ma'am, does your store take GRAPES?" or "Is this the line for getting PAID?"
And just in case your neighbor is in line behind you, scouting out your selection of baby formula, whole milk, Muslix® and ketchup, we could fool them all. (Run with me on this one)
"Letting Our Troubled Taxpayer Or Tourist Income Contribute Kalories to Empty Table Settings," a.k.a. "LOTTO TICKETS."
This might be too confusing for our minimum wage cashier, but we could add a few pictures of Elvis, slot machines or ducks to make the tickets seem more "authentic."
That's all I can tell you for free, I'm afraid.
(Photo details, top to bottom: An altered party scene at sunset from a wedding party in Cushing, Wisc, summer of 08. Middle: An abandoned farm outbuilding near Milltown, Wisc. Fall 08. Bottom: Another C. Dickenson Gem from the RV/MH Museum. No credits or details.)

Vintage Camper postcard #2

1966 Aristocrat LoLiner


Today's beauty is chosen for a reason: It's the "sister camper" of my surly beast.
This vintage 66 Aristocrat shares everything but a toothbrush with my 1969 Shasta LoFlyte.
Only this one is finished.

Built on the assembly lines at Goshen, Indiana, this "resto" Aristo was part of the legendary "Lo's."
Shasta, Aristocrat and Mallard all had their own versions of the same chassis. Shasta LoFlyte, Mallard LoWing and this bachelor's hottie from Aristocrat, the LoLIne.
(No jokes about LoBlows or LoStandards. Ha, yeah! REAL FUNNY!)

Note the low profile, sleek aerodynamics and (ouch!) LOW CEILING!

It also had a cool "dance floor" set=up, with a slight step up to the bedroom in back. This made returning "home" from the "Long Island Tea campfire" even more challenging, threatening and exciting.
Kind of like drunk swimming, or night time rock climbing.
Viva La Lo!
Think of it as a mini hotel room, without a front desk, biology experiment hot tub, wake-up calls or neighbors who just got back from a "Bitching wedding."
It's a romantic little "motor hotel," almost a "motel."

(Trailer photos by Charles Dickenson, of his long-gone Aristo. RIP. used w/permission.)

The Inventory Reduction Column

(Originally printed in 2003)
I am now convinced that anything once considered sacred is now on the block and open for offers.
The San Diego Padres new downtown stadium required a name, of course. The Petco Corporation bought that right, even though they did not earn it. The company contributed nothing to the construction, not a single nail, rivet, weld or even advice.
They just wrote a check and bought the right to sleep with the park, sort of like Robert Redford does with Demi Moore in the movie “Indecent Proposal.”
What are the chance pets will ever see the inside of the Padres’ baseball park, let alone witness the mediocre play on the ballfield?
Let’s just say Old Yeller has a better chance finding a golden fire hydrant than sitting in the luxury box suites with his master.
But this is America, Land of the Free, Home of the Brave, weekend retreat of the dotcom rich and a place where almost anything without Smithsonian written on it is for sale on E-Bay.
But that’s the beauty of capitalism, right? One couple even sold the naming rights to their child.
“Oh, honey, he even looks like a Claritin®!”
Green Bay area voters approved selling the naming rights to Lambeau Field for $100 million to help pay for a refurbishing.
In a time of state budget cuts, red ink and a checkbook so thin you can see through it, so what? Why can’t they sell that right?
Will there be a business foolish enough to tarnish their own name? What if they don’t get a $100 million offer? Are there companies that will not be considered, even if they offer over $100 million?
Surely there are better ways to blow your advertising dollars. For the price of Lambeau naming rights, it works out to about four million newspaper ads, plus 1.5 million radio ads and a few thousand TV ads. Throw in a few hundred billboards and you could paste the world with your company’s name.
Of course there are styles of businesses that will be off the Lambeau list, such as any type of “questionable” industry, services or intimate product.
Massengil Field™ or Desenex Park® could bring objections.
The Lambeau folks are hoping they get a viable offer from a solid, family friendly industry, like a good, old fashioned alcoholic beverage distributor or producer - with a nine digit number in their bid.
Maybe a nice Wisconsin industry will take the Lambeau plunge - like a cheese or food manufacturer, vehicle producer, or maybe a nice motorcycle company.
If not, I guess we’ll take a chain store or fertilizer manufacturer.
There is a history of selling naming rights to parks: Target Center, Miller Park, Qualcomm Field, Investco Park, Busch Stadium, Wrigley Field, United Center, and dozens of other public facilities with private names. Several of the aforementioned stadiums and fields have certifiable sponsorship contracts. They contributed to the construction of the facility, or helped in the construction costs.
Others, such as Qualcomm, Investco and even Enron (Houston’s finest moment) just wrote big checks and put up big neon letters.
Can we expect Polaris or Pepsi to buy the rights to Oakey Park? Or a new road or bridge? Is that okay? What about at the local schools, can we sell sponsorship to our teams or facilities to the highest bidder? Surely not.
It’s already happening.
There is a current battle between soft drink manufacturers to get their name and vending machines in more public schools than the competition. They will donate a scoreboard or two, maybe throw in an exclusive vending machine or three and help struggling school districts meet the future with a fizzy burp.
One local school district fought this to the bitter end, and it may have cost a board member or two their job.
Areas to the south have been selling billboards on school buses, and baseball team sponsorship did not start with “The Bad News Bears” wearing bail bond advertisements.
Is there a line in the sand? Are some things too sacred?
How about Polk County Justice Center brought to you by the St. Croix Casino? The Amoco Village of Osceola City Hall? Maybe Fingerhut brings you the Village of Amery? Or The Cedar Corporation Methodist Church of Taylors Falls?
Ah, I may have found that line for some folks.
Yes, everyone has their own personal limit in this game, be it schools, churches, courts, villages or football.
There was a time - not so long ago - when naming rights to a public facility, place or object were reserved for pillars of the community, elected folk who gave their all or died in a war. Even notable dignitaries or local heroes were honored.
No more. Now it goes to the largest checkbook, and it shows no sign of stopping.
I can see it now: The Washington Monument, brought to you by the Little Purple Pill, Nexium™.

April 2003 GM