Plated for Travel...

Why State's Righters are missing the points

I recall a recent local debate over the merits of enforcing tobacco sales to those under 18. The lengthy discussion touched on issues of parental control, responsibility, individual choice and whether we should entrust teenage retail clerks with the job of “gatekeepers” for society’s evil habits.

I agree it is a noble cause, keeping kids from “cancer sticks.” But it seems ludicrous for government to bet their budgets on people smoking forever to balance their books with related tax increases.

While fining someone up to $500 (add another $189 for court costs) for selling a pack of smokes seems reasonable to some, I would remind them that retail workers are truly the lowest paid workers in America today; they are the primary reason for minimum wage laws.

Again, we’re relying on the poor to feed the tax coffers, whether through smoking heaters or selling them to the wrong people.

But I am a man from another era; a time when fake ID’s were easy to make, finding buddies to buy a case of beer cost $5 extra, and driving into Wisconsin on your 18^th birthday to buy booze was a rite of passage - and a test of your car’s rear shocks.

Wisconsin was a haven for booze commerce due to its lower drinking age and ridiculous drivers’ licenses, which looked like glorified library cards.

Today’s Wisconsin driver licenses are routinely six to eight years old. At my last renewal, I paid my fee and instead of receiving a new, high-tech, state-of-the-art hologram license, the DMV sent me a sticker for the corner, stating it now expires four years later than what it reads.

There’s a bargain.

As a recovering bartender, I saw first-hand the difficulty in discerning “real” from “fake” identification.

I challenge any local law enforcement officer to describe a Delaware driver license. Or Missouri, Kansas, Alaska, Rhode Island.

The problem is that drivers’ licenses have become little self-esteem enhancers for the states. No two states’ licenses are even close to similar.

There are few standards on what we consider the “universal” ID, short of a passport. Driver licenses are it.

Retailers, bartenders and other business firms are not afraid to use their “right of refusal” for anything they deem suspicious.

Apparently, being from another state in the Union is suspect.

While many people are still convinced that the Patriot Act is the biggest threat to our liberties in all our lifetimes, the concept of “state’s rights” has been taken to an extreme for years.

Did you know Minnesota law enforcement does not legally need to respect a Wisconsin temporary vehicle tag? I’ve talked with several officers who assured me that they do, but don’t need to. How kind.

Sure, you can pay taxes in their state, work in one and live in the other, but God forbid you drive a vehicle there until the plates come in the mail.

States have become oblivious to the meaning of being an American. They treat it like some sort of generic, umbrella term.

Don't believe me? Cries of "Socialism" beginning to leave your lips? Then consider trailers in Michigan.

Several years ago when I licensed my vintage Shasta camper, I realized that under Wisconsin law, it DID NOT NEED a tag, since it was under 3,000 lbs. Confused, I called a State Patrol administrator, who said I "may want to consider it, if I was planning on leaving the state," he said.

Hmmm, not realizing what was going on, I inquired to the Michigan State Police, who confirmed that yes, non-licensed trailers would be ticketed in that state, but that some confusion existed.

OK, where's my State's Righters now? Is it bad enough that a car with Arizona tags can have jet black window tint, but not Minnesota or Wisconsin cars? Or that my camper only needs a plate so I can hit the UP for a spell?

The same thing applies to driver’s licenses.

I firmly believe Americans have a right to a nationally sanctioned identifier; a piece of plastic that protects my rights no matter which bridge I cross over the Mississippi, or state border I traverse.

It is time for a national driver’s license, or something like it. Same size, embossing, type of picture, hologram, maybe a “secret tag” or barcode that easily identifies the ID as real, legit and legal - here’s a patriotic concept – and as a derned American.

States could have a little spot in the corner for their logo or seal so they feel good. But the ID would essentially be the same no matter if it were issued in Madison, Montpelier, Sacramento or Raleigh.

This would overcome much of the national obsession with age-related violations, virtually eliminate fake ID’s, and help with homeland security.

Civil rights groups and state’s rights extremists will hate this idea. But it makes sense and could help guarantee the rights of Americans to engage in interstate commerce, and would help law enforcement with state-to-state record sharing, which is spotty.

With three-fourths of all U.S. states facing serious red ink, it might be time to consolidate forces on ID production, both to save money and to protect individual freedom.

It might also make it easier for those 16-year-old gatekeepers to see whether your kid is buying a pack of Camels.

And it might make me visit Michigan again.

The 'Great Sconnie Commuter Secret

...and other reasons we will be watching the Stillwater Bridge lawsuit results.

Yes, it's true. We have a lack of quality jobs in Western Wisconsin. Maybe it's because of our affection for anything "Big Time" - a former local Mayor once declared a city holiday when a McDonalds opened in his river town eight years ago - or maybe it's because the State of Minnesota has decided that the World We Pay Attention To ends at the St. Croix River. Or maybe there's just not enough of us to justify working, living wages (Polk County's unemployment rates are traditionally among the highest in the Midwest.)

Regardless of why, until the recent housing meltdown/collapse, parts of the region (St. Croix County, specifically) were among the fastest growing areas in the Midwest, and ranked pretty high, nationally, as well.

Hence the long, drawn out fight for a new Stillwater Bridge (aka "The St. Croix River Crossing Project") which officially goes back nearly SIXTY years!

In an interview several years ago, current District 30 legislator Kitty Rhoades (R-Hudson) made her pitch for the new bridge, and brought up how some of the first correspondence on the need for a replacement to the venerable Lift Bridge would be needed soon.

"That first letter to the State Highway Commissioner was written the month I was born, April 1951!" She said without battling an eyelash on the obvious mathematical-age-determining-formula she handed me.

"And now I'm bombarded with AARP literature!"

Rep. Rhoades has joined forces with all Western Wisconsin legislators, and numerous Minnesotans, of all flavors, ages and parties in pushing for a new bridge, yesterday.

Several false starts along the way have seen the costs of the project mushroom from "several million dollars" in the early Sixties, to reports of almost $700 million today. But the real "fly in the ointment" in the past decade-and-a-half was a successful Sierra Club/National Park Service lawsuit in 1996 that sent the whole project back to Zero.

That lawsuit forced the creation of a group of so-called "Stakeholders" - ranging from local and state governments from both sides of the river, to environmental and transportation groups, as well as DNR and National Parks Service interests (The St. Croix Riverway is a Scenic National Riverway) to weigh-in on the most recent incarnation of a bridge, approved in a memorandum of Understanding by the Feds in

The NPS changed their tunes, and approved the most recent designs. Because of that, it has been pretty much the "Sierra Club against the World" in the latest lawsuit, which claims the most recent draft design is no real improvement over previous versions.

After several delays, that lawsuit comes to a head in the coming weeks in a Federal Courtroom in Minneapolis, and there seems to be little doubt by most of the players that some sort of bridge will come out of Chief Judge Michael Davis' summary judgement.

"The biggest issue now will be money," stated Sen. Sheila Harsdorf (R- River Falls) at a recent Wisconsin Towns Association meeting. "We're staring at a lot of red ink in the (Wisconsin) state budget, and Minnesota isn't much better off."

A number of local elected officials were disappointed the Bridge Project did not qualify for economic stimulus cash, since it is still at least three years away from having ground broken - even if the latest Sierra Club lawsuit collapses.

But much of the design and prep work has already been completed or is ready to roll, since the various stages of Environmental Impact Studies have made their way sluggishly while the lawsuit spooled up and moved eventually into a courtroom.

The need for a new bridge may have waned somewhat in the past year with the "cooled" Western Wisconsin housing build-up, but the region will no doubt continue to be a growing metropolitan player, as the tired and aging Lift Bridge sputters like a 50s Buick - classic in design, but woefully behind the times in modern terms.

History played a role in the Stakeholders Group, with several historians and preservation players pushing for and winning approval for a sort of "bike and hike retirement" for the old bridge.

The near-final plan would save the rare, classic lifter, and turn it into a silent sports icon if the new bridge is built, and part of a grandiose bike and hike trail that runs the old alignment from downtown Stillwater across to Houlton and downstream to the new bridge and into Oak Park Heights.

That brought quite a few historians on board, and also some of the very people who fought so hard to kill the project previously.

While the monetary costs continue to spiral up - more than doubling since the original Sierra Club/NPS lawsuit was filed - the cost in environmental damage is also noteworthy: Hundreds of thousands of idling, creeping car and trucks every year.

The volume of vehicles continuing to make their way through St. Croix County and into downtown Stillwater and back again each day continues to grow, sometimes pausing for half-an-hour at a time to wait for river traffic or obsolete engineering repairs or upgrades. Those repairs can cause legendary congestion or detours, since there are only a few nearby crossing alternatives: Hudson, Osceola and St. Croix Falls.

And while the Twin Cities suburban ring inches west to Big Lake, St. Cloud and the like, the Metropolitan Council has only recently begun to take the western Wisconsin region into their future plans. meaning commuter trains and rail alternatives are decades away from fruition.

But the Western Wisconsin Commuter Secret - previously only relayed by realtors and commuters with a few to many 'Leinies' under their belts means the 'Sconnie growth should continue.

That secret? The sun is always to our backs.

Don't tell 'em, I told you.

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.

The Whole Ladybug Deal

In Latin they are officially referred to as Harmonia axyridis, but locally go by several nicknames: Asian Lady beetles, Halloween beetles, Harlequins, Stainbugs, Ladybirds, Eurasian Beetles, and as one buddy put it: "The lining of my vacuum cleaner."
We've all got them. Even the cleanest home or office fights off their territorial invasion.
They harbored over-winter in our siding, light fixtures, attics, ceilings, sheds, campers, even in our playground equipment. I even found a moving brood of the little orange beneath a pile of last years Maple leaves!
And with the warming temps, they have emerged in some places like a silent invasion of breathing orange carpeting.
While there are over 4,000 varieties of beetle, world-wide, only several hundred are native to this region.
Now they've become more than just a pest or a nuisance, they're pretty gross.

Local beginnings

I first got a whiff of their extent at a Polk County (Wisconsin) committee meeting nine years ago, when Supervisor Dick Coen of rural Luck noted that he and his wife had seen so many that fall, they had "started naming them," as they crossed their living room floor.
"I told my wife, 'hey look, there goes old six-spot!'" he chortled to the property committee.
The laughs slowly turned to the grim realization that everyone on the committee had a similar issue.
We were slowly being invaded by the tiny, dome-shaped insects that gardeners used to love, Germans fashioned a car after and that kids would delicately carry into the house to name and care for in years past.
The cuteness seems to have worn off years ago.
Now they have become an almost accepted part of Midwestern living, and are so numerous, "surveys" of their extent have become unnecessary.

When did they roll into town?

For almost a decade now, the Ladybugs have swelled into a true example of what "invasive species" really means.
The rumors about the causes and the notes of a possible Ladybug invasion started shortly after the first few million were spotted here in the Valley, going back to the fall of 2000, and even earlier to the south and east.
Going backward, "invasions" were noted in Kentucky in early 1992, central Pennsylvania a year later, and Champaign, Illinois in the late summer of 1994. They've slowly marched north during the warm weather, and have adapted remarkably to the climate along the way.

The Hemlock efforts

But where did they all come from? Was it a semi-successful terrorist plot run amok? Maybe a Biblical Plague that never really gained traction? Maybe a kid really did find a Genie in a bottle, and happened to wish for "Lots of pretty little Ladybugs!"
No, no and Definitely NO.
While they have been identified for over a century as a one of the original biocontrol agents for aphids and other pests, there were planned releases noted in the US as early as 1916, but they didn't catch on.
According to several entomologists, it was the US Department of Agriculture that attempted massive releases of the spherical pests several times in the late 70s and early 80s, hoping the multicolored Asian lady beetle would help to control pests in agricultural centers along the East Coast. The target was primarily the dreaded Hemlock Woolly Adelgid, a pest that has single-handedly threatened most flavors of Hemlock tree. In parts of the Northeast, the future for Hemlocks is grim at best, and the USDA apparently saw the writing on the wall years ago, and tried - unsuccessfully, it seems - to introduce the Ladybug as a last ditch way to save the trees.
The New Orleans theory
Entomologists have tried to trace them genetically, and seem to think the US infestation essentially ALL came from one initial batch, but pinpointing where that colony entered may be twenty years too late.
The beetles were noted in Louisiana in late 1988, although most science-types think that batch may have been an accidental release, possibly from a Japanese cargo vessel or cruise liner in New Orleans. They note that the critters were never released in those areas they were first spotted that year, so the fingers point away from the earlier USDA southeast releases, and may lean toward a new source.
Others have noted the use of the Ladybug as a way to help control aphids on Pecan and Apple crops in the Deep South, from private producers, and that the invasions may have caught on and spread fast, since the warmer weather allowed them to produce many times their usual four to five generations per year.
Where are they?
Whatever the cause, and wherever they entered the US, they are here and they are almost everywhere. The bugs have now been confirmed from far eastern Canada down to Florida, and all along the Atlantic seaboard and mid-Atlantic states. Of course, they have been here and throughout the Midwest and are now even into the Pacific Northwest, where they have become so prominent in Oregon and Washington, shipments of everything from apples to Christmas trees must be inspected, so they don't spread any further. California vintners have made extra efforts to eliminate the bugs, since even a few on the grapes can taint entire batches of wine.
What can we do about them?

But the real issue has become how to control, or at least limit them, since they have no natural enemy - except maybe the Shop Vac.
The problem is that they sort of "communicate." They don't really speak their own language, per se, but communicate via smell - a pheromone, actually. It's called an "Aggregate Pheromone," and when one of the little beasts discovers a nice, safe, warm place to hide out when the weather gets cooler, it realizes that smell, and all the ones around pay attention and flock to that spot.
Those flocks can number from a dozen to tens of thousands, and there have been reports of massive colonies found behind siding or in vents.
They tend to favor the south and west side of buildings, especially areas warmed by afternoon sun. They are also drawn by sharp color contrasts, especially light colors of siding.
The critters are tiny, and they probably do not want to be trapped in your home.
The best trick to eliminating them is to keep them outdoors. Weatherstripping, caulking, sealing holes and obvious entry points will help dramatically.

But they have this spray...

Chemicals and pesticides can and do work, to some extent, but should only be applied outdoors. Many professional think you should only use pesticides as a last resort, and even then, only in the early fall or late summer, to keep them from over wintering.
Would you want thousands of dead ladybugs in your attic or in your walls? It really is best to keep them outside, and use pesticides only as a deterrent. Without mentioning names, there are a number of proven pesticides that work pretty well on the beasts, but many are quite toxic to plants, pets and other critters.

And the good news?

Regardless of our efforts or their numbers, they are probably here to stay at some level.
Yes, they really do a good job of controlling crop-eating aphids, and if you want to control them humanely, it's wise to apply them to a garden.
Efforts and studies are underway to control them biologically, even at a genetic level. One notable area of research involves genetic manipulation to make the bugs nearly flightless, so future generations would be less mobile and likely to spread. Some of these strains are already being used in some controlled environments.
Other tests have proven worthy, although slightly gross: They essentially turn the critters into cannibals during one of their earlier stages, decreasing the number of males so dramatically, they don't even need to wear cologne or buy fast cars to attract females.
Hate them or not, Ladybugs are considered sort of the coolest invasive species. In fact, the Mall of America reportedly releases them ON PURPOSE to keep their over 400 indoor trees pest-free.
Other regions of Europe and Asia have dealt with the critters for decades, and still have a positive view. Some western Europeans even relate to the bugs in Biblical terms, with several nicknames associating them with the Virgin Mary. And several cultures still consider them good luck and positive fortune.
One long-held myth was that killing one was bad luck.
If that is true, then forget broken mirrors and seven years; my Shop Vac has doomed my great grandchildren.



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Gangster Road Wagon - Vintage Camper Showcase #18

As we prepare for the release this summer of "Public Enemies" - a Wisconsin/Illinois-based Johnny Depp film that promises to be one of the coolest ever movies about gangsters - I present his Gangster-era camper and tow car set-up.
Tell me you can't see ol' John Dillinger behind the wheel of this sweet pre-war V-8 sedan, towing a swank Circa-1936 "Tin Can" dream, hiding out in plain sight!
Yes, the echoing "pocketa-pocketa" of the stubby Tommy guns, and the sweet drifting odor of stolen Depression-era bank cash is too sweet to forget.
Hmm, I think it would go kind of like this....
(Cue the slamming door of the bank, a quick "pocketa" of the Tommy's, fired into the ceiling for effect.)
"Awright, everybody FREEZE! Down on the floor, and keep yer hands where I can see 'em, ya hear?!"
"I got it from here, Lefty. Awright, you, yeah, you, Bub. Get over here and open the vault, see, and nobody gets hurt, see? How about you, pretty lady? Any other cash? Yer not holding out on me, is ya, sistah? I hopes not, cuz yer one swell-lookin dame! C'mon, pops, hurry up! I ain't got all day, here! Whoa, wait! Look, Farmer Brown, I don't want your money, no, see, you keep it. I just want the bank's dough, ya see? You earned your cash. Mr Bank President here thinks he's better deserving of your money than you are, see? We're leaving your pockets alone, feller. There we go, now we're cookin with gas, see? Thanks, sistah! Hey Lefty, tell me this dame ain't the real deal! She's a keeper. hey, dolly, you got a sistah at home for Lefty? See they call him 'Lefty' cuz all the dames left him for me, get it? hahaha! Folks, you go home and tell all your neighbors that you just got robbed by the toughest, fairest gang in the whole Midwest, and lived to tell about it. Heck, tell 'em he GAVE you some of the money! Go ahead, Lefty, give 'em all a Jackson so they can buy some viddles for next week. haha, now, Mr. Senior VP Bank President, I want you to go over there and change your pants, cuz I think you just wet yourself, see?!"
"Now I want yous all to put yer heads down, and count to 47 real slow, ya hear?! We'll be leaving you now, and I want to thank you for your time and patience. And My name's 'Lefty' cu I'm a southpaw!"
(One last "pocketa" as they leave in a blaze of burning rubber, with a few wild bills thrown out the windows for effect so the people will get in the way of the coppers.)

They probably left the camper at the Hideout, and used it as their HQ, don't ya think?

"Hey, Lefty, this here table is great for counting all our dough! Hey Dolly, grab me a beer, would ya? I think we's need to get to know each other a little bettah...""

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)

More Soothing Outdoor Photos for Conservatives

It's okay to feel a little odd, un-loved, ripped-off and distanced. These are tough times for Red Staters.
Look, it's not that they don't like you, it's just that their not IN LIKE with you, anymore.
It's not you, it's us.
Wait, it is you, kinda.
No, it's okay to feel a little upset, a little angry or mad at Ohio, or Michigan or any of the other several dozen states that voted against you.
We've been their, and I think at one time or another, we've all lost someone we loved.
Don't even think of ordering a "double," or taking up smokes again or getting all Baldwin on us and claim your going to go be a Canuck for four years.
No, just take a moment or two and remember the good old days: When houses sold for more much more than they were worth, and even more the second time around, and your relatives weren't unemployed, or when you were the only one on your block with health insurance, so they always made you clear the snow off the roof! Oh, man. Those were deceptive, but kinda good, times, weren't they?
Yeah, it's been a tough week, and a bad couple of months.
Let it out. Just let it out.
No, I agree, McCain is a nice guy, and yes, I know you're sorry you were so hard on him about Russ Feingold and all that South Carolina stuff a few years ago. We all say and do things we regret later.
Yeah, I know, the whole "Palin thing" was weird. Should've kept those troopers quiet, I know. Yeah, the baby names were kind of creepy, but who else should he have picked? Romney? The mayor guy? Huckabee? C'mon, you can laugh. It's fun to say, I agree. I think it's okay to laugh when your crying. Yeah, Condi would've been fun. So would Ted Nugent. Sure, no, I'm sure he's actually real smart inside. Chuck Norris, too. He would be real good as vice president. Sure! He'd get the attention of all those bad guys who attack people one at a time with numchucks, I agree.
It's okay to let it out.
Can I make you some soup? I've got some nice fruit.
Maybe you'd like to watch "Family Ties?" That always makes you feel better.






For Conservatives feeling a little down on their luck. Maybe uncomfortable, or out of place in a new world of Hope, Change and Economic Stimulation. I offer these soothing outdoor and barn photos, and a word of encouragement: Biden will say something ridiculous at least once a month. Now, he might not shoot anybody in the face or trump up exotic weaponry or slide from secret location to secret location in a jet-powered wheelchair, but he'll say something really screwy. You know it. Just be patient. Keep your chin up and smile when appropriate!

The Vintage Tiller Chronicles

How a 40-year-old, hard-to-start garden tiller predicted the recent Economic Collapse


Reverse hasn't worked since the Carter Administration, and even my top notch small-motor guy couldn't find an air filter that fits.
But man that 5-horse tiller rips up some turf.
Rusty, permanently dirty and louder than a fat-chested Harley, I prefer to paint the old Gamble-Skogmo garden tiller as more of a "construction tool" than a "gardening tool." Think hard hats, stump pulling and the clang of metal on metal - all while drinking coffee from a dented thermos.
The lamest phrase in redneck pop culture actually applies to this beast: "Git 'er done."
Somehow with it's blatty, dirt bike muffler and faded tractor-red paint, calling it a "gardening tool" seems to lessen it.
The beast was originally from northern Minnesota at my late Grandparent's Red River Valley farm. I distinctly recall my Grandpa Oscar fighting with the monster tiller on occasion, ripping our former whiffle ball field into a future home for tomatoes, peas and beans.
When the farm was sold a decade ago, it was one of the first things I grabbed.
Sure, it can be a project to get it started that first time each spring; No amount of fresh gas, oil or filtering will keep your right shoulder in its socket after spending all morning trying to pull it to life. The old Briggs and Stratton needs a little trip behind the quanset, with a shot or three of high-test starting fluid.
After a blast of near-pure ether, the old tiller is ready for the rest of spring, usually starting on the first pull.
Sure, it's a dinosaur, but it works and it works well. It just needs a little TLC to get going; not unlike many of us.
The tiller is usable scrap to most people, but it's also a snapshot of the old ways of doing business, and may be a pre-cursor to the recent financial meltdown in the making. I'll call it the "Gamble-Skogmo Gambit."
For folks over forty, Gambles stores were pretty common in this region. Their hardware stores were commonly thought to be the best in many local towns. Gamble-Skogmo was a giant for decades, owning numerous and diverse companies ranging from the Red Owl grocery chain to Snyder Drugs, with dozens in between.
The Gamble-Skogmo empire started nearly 100 years ago in Fergus Falls when Bertin Gamble and Phillip Skogmo pooled their limited cash and bought a (failing) car dealership.
It didn't take long for them to realize that the real money was in auto parts, not the actual sales. They started a variety store and it caught on like pink eye in daycare. They moved their headquarters to Minneapolis, expanded further and not only survived the Market Crash of '29 (they were still privately held), they also survived the Great Depression with aplomb, actually expanding to the point of going public with their empire in 1947.
They eventually became the poster child company for mergers and diversification - including everything from financing to real estate to retail. By the time Jimmy Carter took office - and my tiller lost the ability go into reverse - Gamble-Skogmo had become the 15th largest retailer in the US, with over 25,000 employees.
Then it fell apart fast. Gambles, that is. Not the tiller.
An over-eager Gamble-Skogmo investment arm smelled blood in the water and attempted to takeover the seemingly vulnerable Garfinckel chain of stores (which included the prestigious Brooks Bothers) only to find the family behind the firm less than ready to roll over.
An ensuing court case went in favor of Garfinckel, and the tattered remnant of over-leveraged Gamble-Skogmo was nearly broken and later merged with the equally struggling and over-leveraged Wickes Corporation in 1980.
It was about 1982 when the choke went on the tiller and ether was required for a start, about the time when the chewed and stewed remnants of Gamble-Skogmo were divvied up among a few foreclosure parties.
All that was left were a few Alden's mail order stores and an occasional Red Owl grocery store. One in Green Bay and another in Rochester.
There's probably a place for an old-styled Gamble-Skogmo - A store that specializes in something, anything, that nobody else does. But that's not the philosophy of today.
I remember the old CEO quote that, "General Motors wasn't in the business of making cars - they were in the business of making money."
Maybe GM needs to get back to making cars and trucks, just like Bertin and Phillip in that Fergus Falls garage - finding out they do something really well, and then doing it even better, and applying it to other businesses, within reason. That worked for over half a century. But the later "Gamble-Skogmo Gambit" failed miserably. After rising so fast and steady on what they did best, the company got greedy and shot themselves in the foot.
You can fall pretty fast and far when you stand on someone else's shoulders.
Like many speculation-based companies, they got so bloated, heavy and dividend-greedy, they used beheading to lose weight.
But Bertin and Phillip, that wasn't their way; They found a niche, and filled it.
That's the "American Way," and it's something we can do again.
We could start with a few well-built garden implements.

Stickers and Mom spit

Don't lick the light fixture, unless you're a Mom.


Yes, the Economy had a stroke. Businesses across the planet are trimming employees like they were stray ear hairs. But we still put up with crappy quality. I’m convinced we have become a society of spineless consumers, too often settling for “good enough” if it means we can save a few bucks.
I'm afraid it's only going to get worse, because "quality" affects the Bottom Line. One of the first branches of employees to go will be customer service reps.
So, the poor folks left will have to deal with even more angry consumers.
Regardless, I'm taking the gloves off.
One memorable nightmare came courtesy the Michigan Department of Natural Resources for their excessively permanent one-year snowmobile validation stickers, which are required and do not go away, ever.
Yes, when the only things left on the planet are bronze statues, cockroaches, Twinkies and Keith Richards, he'll be riding around on a vehicle protected by a Michigan DNR sticker.
It was a real project, removing that sticker from my sled’s hood. Eventually, another sticker over the top was the answer.
But there's more: When finishing a long remodeling project in my daughter’s bedroom, it was supposed to culminate in a new, energy saving, halogen light fixture.
Not only was I saving the world, she would be basking in the warm glow of soft, natural light - "Easier on the eyes!"
All that was left was to remove the half dozen various warning stickers, including that it was "UL-approved."
I’m sure in a litigious society like ours, it makes sense to tell people to turn the power off before installation, to use certain wattage bulbs and not to cook meat products on the warm fixtures or not to insert your tongue into the socket. But the stickers would not come off. If they did, a slight halo of adhesive remained, right there on the most visible part of the lighting fixture.
No amount of spit, elbow grease or detergent would remove the sticker goo. Nail polish remover destroyed the finish and even licking them – kind of odd, licking a sticker that says not to lick it – would not release their grasp. (I figured the old “Magical Mom Spit Postulate” might apply, where a Mother’s spit can take care of any stain on the human body, short of a tattoo.)
Even with The Magical Spit Theory, the ghost of the stickers held on like an aging southpaw relief pitcher with two remaining contract years.
No choice but to remove the whole light fixture, pack it up as best as possible, pile the family into the car and head for the lighting store, an hour away.
We found a new fixture, and decided to dig back into the bedroom project.
I hoped to set up our new, hot rod CD player stereo with a “random shuffle” to have a little background music while we performed our delicate bedroom art.
Sorry, Charlie; The month-old CD/DVD player refused to recognize that function. An hour of researching the directions – transcribed into five languages, including Portuguese and Korean – and still no way to reach the function.
All avenues explored, the player “required authorized mechanical service,” according to an eventual E-mail response from the manufacturer.
I can taste another customer service conversation coming.
It’s getting old, people.
Did I mention my lousy cell phone plan and flaky customer service? Or the substandard auto repair recently? Or that the hood release and defroster on my truck have never worked right? Or the wireless computer problem that never seems to get solved? Or the foam brushes I bought locally that fell apart into the can of paint after ten minutes?
I’m not pointing fingers and did not name the manufacturers - yet. Maybe it’s just a coincidence that a variety of products and services from different nations, stores and professions just seem to be, well, less than acceptable.
Part of the problem is a lack of product testing and logical designs. But a major part is simple corporate corner cutting; Spending more on marketing, flashy (difficult to open) packaging and executive comp packages than actual product improvement.
I’m ready to become the new, official American quality control “Squeaky Wheel,” even if it means licking light fixtures.

"Took a Detour" (aka: Milltown Study # 1)

All photos by me, taken a few hours before a winter storm and all within about eight minutes of each other. Took a detour through nearby Milltown, Wisconsin. There's plenty of old wood and iron, much of it strangely historic: The little Polk County village served as an "internment town" during WWII, for German POWs. Many worked at a local Stokely Canning facility, and became an integral part of the area for a spell. Being a "detainee" was a little different then. I have a B/W photo study series of remaining Milltown military facilities, but not on the digital yet. That and about 16,000 other photos. Hmmm, biz opportunity or massive pain in the Blagojevich? Maybe a bit of both. ("Are you there, Santa? It's me, G Mars. I could really use a good negative film scanner for Christmas. I'd ask for a Senate seat, but I don't have the cash. I've been pretty good, this year. Sorry about the whole "power outtage thing," that won't happen again! Thanks! Help yourself to the cookies. Your friend, Greg [Who could really use a negative film scanner] Mars.)

:>)  

My guest letter for a high school graduation…

Every Spring, thousands of young men and women will get puffed up and don mortar boards, gowns and tans as they graduate from high school.
This letter/column was meant to be a realistic addendum to the numerous speeches and many years of public education they have endured.
It is also a sample speech I can give for any large event, christening, Grand Opening, shuttle launch, inauguration, execution or pre-school graduation ceremony.
I title it: "Do as I say, not as I did."

Graduates:

•You can no longer sign your name with a heart or a smiley face. You need to stick to a signature from here on. Make sure it reflects your intelligence level and penmanship.
•Be good to your ears; wear earplugs when necessary.
•While you are sure to celebrate your incredible educational accomplishments, don’t celebrate in a way that will bring an unwanted child into the world.
•If you haven’t started smoking yet, congratulations! Now don’t start.
•Keep track of all your local friends, it is very hard to track them down later. Wherever you move to, bring a local phone book. Much cheaper than 411.
•Stay the same weight; it saves a ton of clothing money.
•Time to think about unpleasant subjects like insurance, paying the dentist, Selective Service, phone bills and waking up before noon.
•Be nice to little kids, animals and older folks. Period. You were a goofy little chump once, also. And you will probably be old one day, as well.
•This is your last chance to travel the world on your parent’s dime. Go everywhere, see everything, and stay out of foreign jails or bathhouses.

•Drive reasonably, wear your seat belts and use your turn signals.
•Now is your last chance to either grow your hair really long, really goofy, or color it purple, green or blue.
•Drinking is likely, just not legal. We all know many of you will be drunk several times this summer. Just don’t break stuff, people or critters. Throw a sleeping bag in the back of your car and a large bottle of aspirin in the glove box. A toothbrush is a good idea, also.
•Remember that you will look extra dorky with long neon hair, nose rings and a name tag in your mugshot.
•Keep track of your own taxes. It’s not your parents’ job anymore.
•Personally thank your favorite teachers for putting up with you and not retiring the year before you came into their class.
•Visit your relatives, especially those in nursing homes.
•Make dinner for your parents on occasion. Make the bed you borrow and remember your family’s birthdays.
•Use sunscreen liberally.
•Vote with your head and heart now; You’ll vote with your wallet later. Just vote.
•Keep track of all your pictures, they are your own little museum of memories. Mark them on the back, and load them into CDs or hard drives, albums or boxes.
•Buy three things: A good dictionary, a piece of art you enjoy and a bedspread that goes with everything. You now have the beginnings of any home you will ever live in.
•Attend your parent’s church on occasion. The parishioners will be flabbergasted and genuinely intrigued - even with the neon hair and nose rings.
•Volunteer for something on occasion: Mentoring, Scouts, church chaperoning, coaching, Adopt-a-Highway clean up, etc. Don't wait for community service requirements from a judge.
•Be very careful at weddings, they can be dangerous.
•Learn to drive a stick shift.
•Take care of your teeth, back and knees. Wear good shoes, also.
•Don’t cuss in public, ever.
•Now is your last real chance to learn a new language. Make it a cool one, like Russian or Farsi. That way no one can correct you.
•Don’t get a tattoo you can’t cover with a dress, sport coat or long sleeved shirt.
•Worth saying twice: Wear your seat belt. No exceptions. It’s amazing what you can survive with a belt on.
•Men, learn to tie a tie, vacuum the carpet and unload a dishwasher.
•Ladies, learn how to unplug the toilet, check the oil on your car and clear a mouse trap.
•Be respectful to people you don’t know. Make them earn your disrespect.
•Attend the funeral of every person you know. It gives you an appreciation for reality, friendship and the passing of time. The ceremonies are amazingly uplifting.
•On that note, have one appropriate suit of clothes for such a “serious” event.
•Always carry a few extra “throw away” bucks, and don’t be afraid to buy a kid a pack of gum. They’ll think you’re a god.
•Hug your relatives, smile often when listening, say “thank you” and always leave an appropriate tip.

•Make the future more than it would be without you in it. We trust you, just as our parents trusted us. Make us proud, baby. Make us proud of that trust.


(A portion of this first appeared in May 2003, in an opinion column in The Osceola (WI) Sun. All photo credits mine,)

Behind the curtains in Talk Radio...

I worked in radio for close to two decades, in all flavors of position. From music director to afternoon drive host and as news director. I've watched the meteoric rise of Conservative Talk from the sidelines, generally, but worked in stations where it was "piped in."
In all my years, I've never read a better assessment as to why it works, and what the strange appeals is to these seemingly ridiculous programs with incendiary, window-licking hosts.
Every suspicion is confirmed here.
One of the true insiders behind Charlie Sykes steps behind the giant wall with the ogre face and pulls back the curtain, revealing not only our inner-most fears, but our desire to follow crowds, ideas and philosophies, whether tepid and meek or riotous and angry.
Mike Shelley's posting should be standard reading for anyone who EVER listens to Talk Radio, regardless of political affiliation.
He nails it, baby.
And it scares me more than it probably should.
Enjoy, and tell me what you think.

The Domestic Car Quandary

It's a pretty emotional story. What to do about the "Big Three" and Detroit? Many people are convinced they should just be let out to pasture and shot, others want bankruptcy - so they can "slim down" - others want a full-blown bailout package to keep the (face it) millions of jobs tied to this industry.
They're all right to some extent, and all equally wrong. 

Here's a perfect example of both. Popular Mechanics pointed out ten things wrong with GM - including the Hummer H2 and the early Saturns? - which is akin to finding hairs out of place on a model. Well, bad analogy, but yes, okay, some of those cars were absolute bombs, but reading the comments on the piece sealed what I'm saying: Most people have NO IDEA WHAT'S REALLY WRONG WITH DETROIT. 

• Wall Street, bean counters and the stockholders. Have you ever bought something because it gave investors larger dividends? Of course not. That "Feed Us!" mentality has brought the Big Three to the pavement. They don't care about quality, reputation or the future of the product or a brand, they care about the next quarter's dividends - which realistically, for most of them, is a few hundred bucks. Whoopee! Let's drive 'em into the ground to save cash and bring up the bottom line! This killed Detroit as much or more than anything. Tangible companies - meaning they make something - shouldn't make decisions purely on stockholders. They are a small part of the overall picture. The bean counters forced the Big Three to make so many concessions they lost their passion, cut corners to save cash and made everything so cheap it couldn't last, hence the lack of loyalty. 
• Foo-Foo trends. GM especially, and Ford as well. They built heavier and heavier trucks over the decades, requiring more and more power and hence, lesser mileage. They are SO committed to them, they can never go back. Giant SUVs, vinyl tops, front wheel drive (Yes, I said it. It's not the best way to move anything. Costly, heavy and incredibly complicated, FWD makes a flat floor and helps in the snow, but is amazingly fragile.) Remember Fords in the 70s? Giant boats with micro back seats. GM always kills their cars JUST WHEN THEY GET GOOD (Camaro, Buick Grand National, Impala police/taxi, even the EV1 was ahead of its time!). GM is known for letting customers find the problems, and using warranties instead of testing and engineering. Ditto Chrysler, which never seems to learn lessons, and has the same problems on entire generations of vehicles!
• Overblown Japanese reputation. They can make some fantastic vehicles, but they also seem to forget the American way: We speed on bad roads, hit very big bumps, pull trailers, hit the ditch a few times and like to change our own oil. Almost any of those things can make for a tough time with an import. Only now have they realized about the towing, and ever look at the body shop bill after a deer hit? Don't EVER buy a front-wheel drive car after a crash EVER! Japanese cars used to be crap. They used cheap metal that rusted before the first tune-up. They were impossible to find parts for, expensive to fix and when they did fall apart, not worth putting back to together. Some of that has changed, but in reality, their reputation is based more on JD Power and vaguely-substantiated "lists" of repairs. Hmm, if it's off warranty, who do you tell?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
• Service and Dealerships. This alone is reason to let the Big Three fail. Outrageous pricing structure, awful warranty dealings, un-friendly DIY designs, underwhelming loyalty, slickster attitudes, misleading bills for routine items.  
• Engineers and Stylists. GM takes the cake here. The Pontiac Aztek alone proves every previous point. They all have their Azteks: Ford's Pinto-based Mustang (nicknamed "Muskrat,") ...Star-series vans, Expedition,  Lincoln's gorgeous but insane LSCs ($1,200 to fix a headlight?) and many more. Chrysler has a lot, as well: K-car-derivatives for 15 years! Even, aargh,  a limousine! The Dodge Dynasty, St. Regis and Plymouth stutters.   
• Sales staffs. All of them are so bad, they deserve ragging upon again.
• Clueless CEOs and administration. They all made that blatantly obvious at the Congressional Bailout hearings recently. No plans, no cost saving, no humility or pride. They are only there to make money for others. That's not a car company, that's a pimp. 
• Awful negotiations. I don't blame the Unions, at all. If the Big Three couldn't ever get their collective acts together to bargain in good faith for better deals, then it's THEIR FAULT. The same people blaming the UAW are the same people blaming the homeowners for the Foreclosure Crisis. Self-interests, baby, self-interests. Detroit dropped the ball on bail-outs, pensions, CEOS and corporate structure long before they can blame it on the Unions. Blaming unions for Detroits fall is like blaming bad news on the Internet. How many hundred or thousand times the average auto worker's salary do the "corporate administrators" in these three make? It's misplaced priorities, complete lack of pride in a product, and a "blame the union" attitude so prevalent on Capitol Hill over the last decade that's compounded the problem. the unions saw the writing on the wall, and figured they better get what they can. Do you blame them?  

(All photos are mine, from the astounding Las Vegas Imperial Palace Auto Collection/Museum. If you're in the market for a super-rare ride, check them out. BTW, the red '76 Ford Torino at the top of the article? It's an actual "Starsky and Hutch" movie ride, for sale, even!)

Meet the NEW $6-million dollar deputy!

Wars, chemical weapons, hostages, POW’s, drug busts, Special Forces, etc. all bring to light the need for a new $6 million man.
No, I’m not talking about quasi-actor Lee Majors, with his wandering “bionic” eye and monotone baritone, or even Lindsey Wagner’s sheepish “Bionic Woman” reprisal. And no, 2007's short-lived "Bionic Woman" TV version seemed more concerned with fashions and villainous plots to overhaul Wall Street.
Wait, maybe they succeeded.
No, I’m talking about a NEW bionic employee for the 21st Century.
"We could make him faster..."
I’m sure Dick Cheney has thrown the idea out for a “Super American Soldier,” in a vein similar to Reagan’s “Star Wars” plan. That super agent could sneak in under the cover of Afghani night or Damascus fog to retrieve sought-after evil folk, or recover Weapons of Mass Destruction documents from under North Korean henchman Kim il Jong’s pillow while he slumbers, dreaming of new gel treatments for his trollish hair.

I’ve heard there is a new “$6 million man” movie in the works, and I’m sure the special effects alone will cost twenty times that amount.
Which leads to the quandary: How much would the bionic man cost in "modern" dollars? While annual inflation rates would probably raise his medical treatment to $100 million - not including interest and service charges - his co-pay amount would still be just $75, however, since he has a killer health plan.
But realistically, the technology to make a bionic person run 60-mph, or lift a Dodge Ram, or see through walls, is much cheaper today than it was in the mid-70s.
That turbo eye of his could be a marvel of coolness these days, with the ability to discover fake money, forged paintings and see into the guts of suspected drug smugglers.
Heck, even Cub Scout troops now have night vision goggles!
"We can make him better than before..."
I would guess the Bionic Dude would still cost as much as a new 150-bed jail and courthouse, twenty Ford squad cars, and a new radio tower, with a little extra change left over for his receding hairline, back waxing and some minor dental work.
(That always bugged me about Lee Majors, they spent all that cash on his arm, legs and eye, but they couldn’t find him a few bucks to send him to the orthodontist?)
However, due to Title IX restrictions, Congress would likely need to allocate the same amount to a Bionic Woman, but they can’t put a price before her, since it might imply she was some sort of high-priced call girl or something. NOW would be all over that one, let alone the whole cast of "The View."
But then, maybe that would be the icing on the Congressional cake for several male, southern elected officials. I can almost hear the endorsements from the floor of the Capitol.
“The Great State of Tennessee, home to Elvis, Dolly Parton and rockabilly, supports the creation of a bionic supermodel, a ‘super debutante,’ per se…as long as she goes on the campaign trail with me!”
After the campaign, that Bionic campaigner could help again with re-counts!
(Insert sound effect of bionic special effects, zipping through thousand of ballots in the time it takes one Secretary of State to respond to critical media questions.)

But why should NASA or the Army always get the coolest toys? Maybe every state and county should have the option to apply for a “Bionic Person” grant, kind of like the “COPS” program or "Click-it and Ticket."
Of course, the Feds would only cover the costs for three years, after that, it’s up to the local government to pay his or her salary and costs. The bionic mods would hopefully have some sort of extended warranty, as I can’t see local governments paying to fix a busted bionic eye ten years down the road.
“NASA says they don't even MAKE that kind of cornea anymore! So we’ve decide to just go with a patch until we have the money,” a frugal board member would suggest.
Counties could use a good bionic sheriff’s deputy for meth lab and DWI busts ("Act now and get a built-in Breathalyzer!") Or they could use bionic firemen to deal with bio terrorism and hazardous chemical spills. Tell me there's ever going to be a cat stuck in a tree with that Bionic employees' 45-foot vertical!
The county board debate alone on the purchase could be worth hearing: “But I want to know how it will affect property taxpayers? It’s not just the $6 million, you know - There are interest payments down the road.”
“I say we pay for the bionic legs, but let the Sheriff’s Department finish the arm and super eye job from their budget. I just don’t think we need to increase the tax levy for a non-represented bionic county employee!”
"Send it back to committee."
“We could rent him out to other counties on weekends!”
Let’s see someone give this employee a negative pay review.
But realistically, $6 million only buys a mediocre NBA point guard these days, or about 70-feet of interstate bridge, or a couple of radio towers and maybe a few thousand square-feet of office space.
In the great scheme of things, I think a bionic employee could be a bargain…however, mileage reimbursements could be dicey, with those 60-mph bionic legs.
"Better, faster, stronger than before..."

The Legendary SkibVid Projects unearthed

From the musically-challenged mind of Jonaimal comes one of the legendary lost "Skibvids," which were about thirty years ahead of their time. That time was apparently those lost hours when we move our clocks forward or back. You know, "spring forward," slash "fall back." Where do those lost hours go?
Now we know. They are filmed and released thirty years later, to a waiting - but nearly geriatric - crowd of fans.
Good to have them, Jon! Great to see our old friends before they were attacked by carbohydrates and shocked into grayness, with Palin-esque-looking glasses frames, even! Apparently, all the ones I was in were truly lost (on purpose).
Man, you really were ahead of your time.
This is also evidence of why people should be licensed to carry a video camera, let alone turn it on and dance to music.
There are several Skibvids to review on YouTube, and they are quite funny. It's also strange to see our old stomping grounds in the early 80s. We sure couldn't afford those neighborhoods now.

Where would Jesus shop?

Call me a Scrooge, I don’t mind. I wouldn’t mind a little visit from a few aged spirits on Christmas Eve, if you know what I mean.
My Scrooge-ism started when I was a retail "associate" and it never went away. People who are locked in the throws of the Holidays can be as patient as a bull on meth.
Maybe they can’t help it, the “hustle and bustle” of the joyous holiday season overwhelms them when combined with actually parking the car, paying the bills, waiting in lines, attending the kid’s programs and making all those delicious fruitcakes.
It is a stressful time.
It’s okay. I understand.
But let’s face it, for most Americans, this holiday is primarily about shopping. Now there’s a faith-based justification for stress.
There is a controversial TV public service announcement you might have caught in the past that asks, “What Would Jesus Drive?” The sponsors seem to imply the Holy One wouldn’t be caught dead or alive in an SUV, since they’re such “plagues on the environment.”
Personally, I think Jesus would either ride a burly mountain bike, take the bus or drive a killer V-8 extended cab pickup, with room for all his woodworking tools and a dozen or so of his best friends. Ahem.
But that begs the question: Where Would Jesus Shop?
Would he go online, spreading his business around the world? Would he hit the malls? Or would he only shop locally?
I’m sure he would only shop from labor-friendly businesses, where the name Kathie Lee Gifford or Nike is nowhere near the premises.
Maybe He would only give hand-made gifts, bartering with a little cabinet work for a fancy flute, train or birdhouse.
(Can you imagine how much a Jesus-made birdhouse would fetch on E-Bay?)
Ebeneezer Scrooge was upset about Christmas because it seemed to get in the way of business. I’m just the opposite: I think Business gets in the way of Christmas.
“Wait a minute, son! You can’t be against Christmas shopping, why that’s un-American!” The capitalist in me chortles from my shoulder.
Yes, he’s right. Some businesses base their fiscal year on holiday shopping. The day after Thanksgiving takes its nickname of “Black Friday” from the idea that retail operations can change the year’s red ink to black with one monstrous day.
In my opinion, that’s a bit like curing a hunger strike with a trip to Old Country Buffet. The belly can’t hold it. Retail can’t rely on it. The GNP can’t be based on it. The Economy should not live and die around whether I buy enough video games or over-priced CDs to keep the engine turning.
Similarly, Christmas can’t be based on retail sales any more than Easter should be based on sales of rabbit food.
Okay. Weak analogy.
But the question remains: Where Would Jesus Shop?
He wouldn’t. You see, it’s a representational holiday based on his own birthday, and he would probably just visit his friends, gorge on cookies and eggnog and do a little whittling.
I doubt Jesus would spend every non-work hour at the mall scouring for deals on DVDs, gathering coupons or fighting for the last “Tickle Me Brittany” doll.
Which is why my being a Scrooge of sorts should be a religiously acceptable thing.
I think Jesus would be a little upset about what his birthday party has become. I’m guessing he would even advertise that disgust with a bumper sticker on his 3/4-ton pickup.

(Originally published in December 2002. Photo is of a long-abandoned Plymouth, found sinking into the woods near Bliss Lodge on Big McGraw Lake, Douglas County, WI.)

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.)