Wind. Snow. Ice. Cold. Excellent.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Ungraceful Travel
“The essence is to travel gracefully rather than to arrive.” - Enos Mills
I’ll try to put this delicately: that quote can go ahead and shove it.
This is what happens after an nine hour and change drive from the Twin Cities to my parents’ house in the U.P. I get a little cranky. Travel gracefully? Humbug! Just get me there!
In the summer this should be a seven hour drive. However, holiday travelers and snow lengthened it out dramatically.
The first step was getting out of the cities. To be honest, this could have been much worse, as I managed to get on the road by 2:30 in the afternoon, and traffic was relatively light. It thinned out as I began to make my way north on 35. However, that was when all of the seventeen year old males wearing their hats sideways got cocky and began to speed up and slide into the ditch. Traffic would slow down to a crawl, and eventually I would see a seventeen year old male, standing on the side of the freeway and looking at his beached cars in a very confused manner, as if either trying to figure out just how it happened, as he was only driving eighty miles an hour on slushy roads, or what he were going to tell his parents when they got the bill for the tow.
I’d heard that Duluth was going to get hammered with snow, which wasn’t that much of a shocker, since it is Duluth, and I decided to take 70 into Wisconsin. At this point the highway was snow covered and slushy, but so was the freeway. Avoiding Duluth turned out to be a good plan until I got stuck behind a plow and another truck which were going 35 miles an hour. This lasted for approximately infinity minutes. (I truly believe I was stuck in some sort of time warp between Grantsburg and Spooner, where once I’d just about gotten to Spooner, our whole mini-convoy was instantaneously transported back to Grantsburg, where we had to do it all over again.)
Several years later, I made it to Spooner, sporting a full beard, and headed northeast on 63 towards Ashland. I was soon caught behind another convoy of cars driving agonizingly slow, but soon they all finally chickened out and turned off. Now it was just me and the highway and the slush that kept sucking my car all over the road in whatever direction it felt like. Fun! But with my veins pumping what at that point must have been eighty percent coffee, I pressed on.
By the time I hit U.S. 2, I’d mastered driving the slushy roads and was making decent time. This meant, of course, that I would get stuck behind a three mile chain of jittery drivers going 30 miles an hour into Ashland. Several decades later, I stopped at Holiday to refuel and gnash my teeth
From there, traffic thinned dramatically and the roads got a little better. I settled in and happily listened to Jim Gaffigan, feeling like I’d made it through the worst.
Of course, I’d forgotten that I was traveling to the U.P., where there obviously would be heavy snow and wind. Hooray!
Somewhere after Bruce Crossing things got bad. Poor visibility, slippery, snow-covered roads, and deer running all over the place, as if they had bets with other deer to see who could cause the most accidents. I meandered all over the road, pulled by the snow, hitting rumble strips left and right, my fingers digging into the steering wheel. I passed several cars that were going thirty, as I figured if I was going into the ditch, I wanted to get it out of the way sooner rather than later.
At some point it became a grudge match between Mother Nature and me. I wasn’t going to give up, given my stubborn heritage, and neither was she. I got angry at being on the road for so long and decided I would show her a thing or two about perseverance. I put Kid Rock into my CD player and cranked it up, my veins now about 95 percent coffee. I pressed on, a glint of insanity playing in my eyes.
Twin Lakes. The Mosquito Inn. Painesdale. South Range, where a deer was running down the middle of the road, slipping and sliding all over the place. Then Houghton! I let out an audible ‘Woo-hoo!’
I chugged up Quincy Hill, Kid Rock shrieking in my ears. I plowed through the drifted snow across the road by the airport, where I knew it would be, because it’s always there.
Finally I hit Calumet. I laughed loudly but passed on giving Mother Nature the double bird.
Then the Wolverine Market. I blew past the Last Place On Earth, wondering if I would eventually need to be pried out of my seat with heavy equipment. Allouez. Ahmeek. Snow was everywhere. The Wood’n Spoon!
Then I was home. Nine plus hours later.
I made a mental checklist: new tires and go to the bathroom, as I’d ingested an estimated fourteen gallons of coffee.
But I’ve arrived and its time to reap my rewards. More coffee. Turkey. Stuffing. Family. Pumpkin Pie. It’ll be fun, just as long as my fingers relax at some point and I’m able to put down this steering wheel.
I’ll try to put this delicately: that quote can go ahead and shove it.
This is what happens after an nine hour and change drive from the Twin Cities to my parents’ house in the U.P. I get a little cranky. Travel gracefully? Humbug! Just get me there!
In the summer this should be a seven hour drive. However, holiday travelers and snow lengthened it out dramatically.
The first step was getting out of the cities. To be honest, this could have been much worse, as I managed to get on the road by 2:30 in the afternoon, and traffic was relatively light. It thinned out as I began to make my way north on 35. However, that was when all of the seventeen year old males wearing their hats sideways got cocky and began to speed up and slide into the ditch. Traffic would slow down to a crawl, and eventually I would see a seventeen year old male, standing on the side of the freeway and looking at his beached cars in a very confused manner, as if either trying to figure out just how it happened, as he was only driving eighty miles an hour on slushy roads, or what he were going to tell his parents when they got the bill for the tow.
I’d heard that Duluth was going to get hammered with snow, which wasn’t that much of a shocker, since it is Duluth, and I decided to take 70 into Wisconsin. At this point the highway was snow covered and slushy, but so was the freeway. Avoiding Duluth turned out to be a good plan until I got stuck behind a plow and another truck which were going 35 miles an hour. This lasted for approximately infinity minutes. (I truly believe I was stuck in some sort of time warp between Grantsburg and Spooner, where once I’d just about gotten to Spooner, our whole mini-convoy was instantaneously transported back to Grantsburg, where we had to do it all over again.)
Several years later, I made it to Spooner, sporting a full beard, and headed northeast on 63 towards Ashland. I was soon caught behind another convoy of cars driving agonizingly slow, but soon they all finally chickened out and turned off. Now it was just me and the highway and the slush that kept sucking my car all over the road in whatever direction it felt like. Fun! But with my veins pumping what at that point must have been eighty percent coffee, I pressed on.
By the time I hit U.S. 2, I’d mastered driving the slushy roads and was making decent time. This meant, of course, that I would get stuck behind a three mile chain of jittery drivers going 30 miles an hour into Ashland. Several decades later, I stopped at Holiday to refuel and gnash my teeth
From there, traffic thinned dramatically and the roads got a little better. I settled in and happily listened to Jim Gaffigan, feeling like I’d made it through the worst.
Of course, I’d forgotten that I was traveling to the U.P., where there obviously would be heavy snow and wind. Hooray!
Somewhere after Bruce Crossing things got bad. Poor visibility, slippery, snow-covered roads, and deer running all over the place, as if they had bets with other deer to see who could cause the most accidents. I meandered all over the road, pulled by the snow, hitting rumble strips left and right, my fingers digging into the steering wheel. I passed several cars that were going thirty, as I figured if I was going into the ditch, I wanted to get it out of the way sooner rather than later.
At some point it became a grudge match between Mother Nature and me. I wasn’t going to give up, given my stubborn heritage, and neither was she. I got angry at being on the road for so long and decided I would show her a thing or two about perseverance. I put Kid Rock into my CD player and cranked it up, my veins now about 95 percent coffee. I pressed on, a glint of insanity playing in my eyes.
Twin Lakes. The Mosquito Inn. Painesdale. South Range, where a deer was running down the middle of the road, slipping and sliding all over the place. Then Houghton! I let out an audible ‘Woo-hoo!’
I chugged up Quincy Hill, Kid Rock shrieking in my ears. I plowed through the drifted snow across the road by the airport, where I knew it would be, because it’s always there.
Finally I hit Calumet. I laughed loudly but passed on giving Mother Nature the double bird.
Then the Wolverine Market. I blew past the Last Place On Earth, wondering if I would eventually need to be pried out of my seat with heavy equipment. Allouez. Ahmeek. Snow was everywhere. The Wood’n Spoon!
Then I was home. Nine plus hours later.
I made a mental checklist: new tires and go to the bathroom, as I’d ingested an estimated fourteen gallons of coffee.
But I’ve arrived and its time to reap my rewards. More coffee. Turkey. Stuffing. Family. Pumpkin Pie. It’ll be fun, just as long as my fingers relax at some point and I’m able to put down this steering wheel.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Red Light Sing-Along
I’ve realized there is a major disadvantage to living in the suburbs of the Twin Cities.
Let’s say you’re out and about in your automobile, and you find yourself stuck at one of the estimated 187 million stoplights in Plymouth. No big deal, unless there’s an eighty-seven year old man driving up behind you who’s so out of touch with reality that the only time he knows when to stop is when he collides into something else, after which he’ll always blame the other party, even if that other party turns out to be a stop sign or a convenience store.
But say that isn’t the case, and everything is going just fine. No worries, right?
But then it happens: a good song comes on the radio.
First, your feet begin to tap along with the beat, which is always adventurous if you’re tapping with your braking foot. Second, you get the head bob going, which from a distance makes it look like you’re choking on a jawbreaker. Third, you haul off and start to sing along.
Singing along to the radio takes all of your mental concentration, especially if you’re reaching the high part of ‘My Maria.’ Therefore, you don’t pay much attention to anything else going on around you. You put your heart and soul into it, sometimes using your cup of coffee as a microphone, until the song finally ends. Luckily, the light is still red, and it will be for several more hours. However, you look around and see that everybody in adjacent cars is staring at you like you’re an escapee from a mental institution.
Now what? You can’t drive away, because you’re stuck in gridlock. You could roll down your window and yell, “Hey, that was ‘Friends in Low Places’! What was I supposed to do?”, but you’re still going to look stupid. Basically, you’re out of luck. You’ve now proven to the world that you’re a first class dork.
Usually, this is where I reveal that this exact thing has happened to me. Luckily, I can honestly say that it hasn’t. This is because I’m always aware of what I described above, and I do everything to make sure it doesn’t happen. So, whenever a good song comes on the radio, I sit rigid in my seat and stare ahead blankly, while every fiber of my being screams at me to start singing along.
To sum it up, my urge to not be humiliated is winning out against my urge to belt out songs in my car, which I find annoying. I mean, you’re not supposed to care what people think about you, but I obviously do. How insecure can I be?
If only I was in some rural area, where I was free to sing in my car as much as I wanted. Sigh.
But there’s really no use fighting it. I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to change, as I'm dead set on my decision, and I guess I’ll just have to find other outlets for my need to sing.
I guess there’s always the shower.
Let’s say you’re out and about in your automobile, and you find yourself stuck at one of the estimated 187 million stoplights in Plymouth. No big deal, unless there’s an eighty-seven year old man driving up behind you who’s so out of touch with reality that the only time he knows when to stop is when he collides into something else, after which he’ll always blame the other party, even if that other party turns out to be a stop sign or a convenience store.
But say that isn’t the case, and everything is going just fine. No worries, right?
But then it happens: a good song comes on the radio.
First, your feet begin to tap along with the beat, which is always adventurous if you’re tapping with your braking foot. Second, you get the head bob going, which from a distance makes it look like you’re choking on a jawbreaker. Third, you haul off and start to sing along.
Singing along to the radio takes all of your mental concentration, especially if you’re reaching the high part of ‘My Maria.’ Therefore, you don’t pay much attention to anything else going on around you. You put your heart and soul into it, sometimes using your cup of coffee as a microphone, until the song finally ends. Luckily, the light is still red, and it will be for several more hours. However, you look around and see that everybody in adjacent cars is staring at you like you’re an escapee from a mental institution.
Now what? You can’t drive away, because you’re stuck in gridlock. You could roll down your window and yell, “Hey, that was ‘Friends in Low Places’! What was I supposed to do?”, but you’re still going to look stupid. Basically, you’re out of luck. You’ve now proven to the world that you’re a first class dork.
Usually, this is where I reveal that this exact thing has happened to me. Luckily, I can honestly say that it hasn’t. This is because I’m always aware of what I described above, and I do everything to make sure it doesn’t happen. So, whenever a good song comes on the radio, I sit rigid in my seat and stare ahead blankly, while every fiber of my being screams at me to start singing along.
To sum it up, my urge to not be humiliated is winning out against my urge to belt out songs in my car, which I find annoying. I mean, you’re not supposed to care what people think about you, but I obviously do. How insecure can I be?
If only I was in some rural area, where I was free to sing in my car as much as I wanted. Sigh.
But there’s really no use fighting it. I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to change, as I'm dead set on my decision, and I guess I’ll just have to find other outlets for my need to sing.
I guess there’s always the shower.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
The Dangers Of Arm Flapping
Has this ever happened to you?
You’re in some sort of social environment, minding your own business. However, this changes when an attractive member of the opposite sex starts heading your way. You frown a little, because you’re naturally suspicious, and you wonder just what the catch is. Then, however, the attractive member of the opposite sex flashes a big, knee-melting smile and subsequently begins to wave enthusiastically.
Whoa. This must be your lucky day. The stars and planets are obviously all aligned for the first time in centuries.
You mentally crack your knuckles in preparation. It’s Go Time! You smile and begin to casually wave back, feeling kind of warm and fuzzy inside. Your wave is initially cool and sophisticated, as that’s the image of yourself you're trying to project, but as you get more excited, it degrades into random arm flapping.
This is when it all comes crashing down around you and the catch is revealed. The attractive member of the opposite sex blows right past you, still waving. You turn around and see that this person is waving to somebody else who was standing directly behind you the whole time.
D’oh!
You quickly turn red and curse under our breath for making a fool of yourself. You hope that nobody was watching, and, if they were, that they weren’t capturing the whole episode on video with their cell phone. When you’re finally done with this mental cursing, some time later, you catch some movement out of the corner of your eye, so you twist your head to see what’s going on. It’s then revealed that you’re still waving/arm-flapping, like a total moron. You reach up with your other hand and pull down your runaway-waving arm. With that complete, you look around for some giant hole to fall into forever.
I’ll admit this has happened to me a couple of times. However, I’ve learned from my mistakes, and I’m now callous and suspicious of anybody waving to me, even if it’s my mother. You know the saying. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Or something like that.
What’s my point? Heck, I don’t know. I just hate it when that happens.
You’re in some sort of social environment, minding your own business. However, this changes when an attractive member of the opposite sex starts heading your way. You frown a little, because you’re naturally suspicious, and you wonder just what the catch is. Then, however, the attractive member of the opposite sex flashes a big, knee-melting smile and subsequently begins to wave enthusiastically.
Whoa. This must be your lucky day. The stars and planets are obviously all aligned for the first time in centuries.
You mentally crack your knuckles in preparation. It’s Go Time! You smile and begin to casually wave back, feeling kind of warm and fuzzy inside. Your wave is initially cool and sophisticated, as that’s the image of yourself you're trying to project, but as you get more excited, it degrades into random arm flapping.
This is when it all comes crashing down around you and the catch is revealed. The attractive member of the opposite sex blows right past you, still waving. You turn around and see that this person is waving to somebody else who was standing directly behind you the whole time.
D’oh!
You quickly turn red and curse under our breath for making a fool of yourself. You hope that nobody was watching, and, if they were, that they weren’t capturing the whole episode on video with their cell phone. When you’re finally done with this mental cursing, some time later, you catch some movement out of the corner of your eye, so you twist your head to see what’s going on. It’s then revealed that you’re still waving/arm-flapping, like a total moron. You reach up with your other hand and pull down your runaway-waving arm. With that complete, you look around for some giant hole to fall into forever.
I’ll admit this has happened to me a couple of times. However, I’ve learned from my mistakes, and I’m now callous and suspicious of anybody waving to me, even if it’s my mother. You know the saying. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Or something like that.
What’s my point? Heck, I don’t know. I just hate it when that happens.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
You Win, Kid Rock
You have to realize how hard this is for me to admit, but I think I like Kid Rock.
If you had told me this when I was in college, I would have been appalled at myself. That was back when ‘Cowboy’ was big, which I believe, to this day, is a terrible, horrible song. (When Jason Aldean covered it at a Brooks & Dunn concert in St. Paul, I had to put my head between my knees and pretend I was somewhere else.)
But Kid Rock seems to be gravitating away from his earlier hip-hop/rap mess and morphing into something that seems actually legitimate.
Case in point: ‘Born Free’. When I heard this song, I couldn’t help but be impressed. Then I read that he shot the video in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, and I had to watch it.
Well, that sealed the deal. Darn you Kid Rock! You’ve won this round, but consider yourself on the strictest of probation. Until then, I think I’ll watch the video again.
If you had told me this when I was in college, I would have been appalled at myself. That was back when ‘Cowboy’ was big, which I believe, to this day, is a terrible, horrible song. (When Jason Aldean covered it at a Brooks & Dunn concert in St. Paul, I had to put my head between my knees and pretend I was somewhere else.)
But Kid Rock seems to be gravitating away from his earlier hip-hop/rap mess and morphing into something that seems actually legitimate.
Case in point: ‘Born Free’. When I heard this song, I couldn’t help but be impressed. Then I read that he shot the video in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, and I had to watch it.
Well, that sealed the deal. Darn you Kid Rock! You’ve won this round, but consider yourself on the strictest of probation. Until then, I think I’ll watch the video again.
Friday, November 5, 2010
The Benefit Of Don Williams
They say that time changes everything. While I believe that’s mostly true, I do think there are still a few things you can hang your hat on.
I was reminded of this as I watched the Don Williams concert on Thursday. I’d seen him one time before, about eight years ago. It was my very first concert, actually. This time around everything was still as I remembered. Don didn’t go pop. He didn’t go punk rock. He just strolled in, took a seat, and without a dash of flash or glitz, sang his songs as smoothly as the first time I’d seen him. He had the same hat, and once again he hardly chatted at all between songs. (He’d just say something like “Mercy” if the crowd was particularly loud, although he’d draw out the word with his southern drawl so that it lasted for about 10 seconds, which was great. I think it would take about 3 hours to have a simple conversation with him about the weather. “Weeeeeeeeeeellllllllllll, if you look at them clouds over yoooooonder……..”)
For me, however, nearly everything has changed since that first concert. Back then I was either 21 or 22, with a full head of hair, working on co-op in Minneapolis. It was my first time living away from home, not to mention my first time working a real, soul-sucking cubicle job. I didn’t have a clue. I was totally flying by the seat of my pants with no idea as to what I was doing or what I was getting myself into.
Flash forward to now. I’ve been steadily employed for seven years, most of them in Wisconsin. I have a 401K. Heck, I’m even eligible for a pension with my former company. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still flying by the seat of my pants, but in a little more of a controlled way.
The point is this: everything’s changed in a short time. Once you get out of college, life becomes a blur and the years pass faster than you’d ever imagine possible. Change is constant, to the point where it makes you dizzy. Sometimes it gets pretty overwhelming, and that’s when you need to be able to fall back on something you can count on to help steady your proverbial ship. For example, seeing Don Williams without worrying if he’s dyed his beard pink or if he’s going to be covering Hannah Montana songs.
So, thanks Don, for being a pillar of consistency. It’s good to have something you can count on, unlike a full head of hair. Come back soon!
I was reminded of this as I watched the Don Williams concert on Thursday. I’d seen him one time before, about eight years ago. It was my very first concert, actually. This time around everything was still as I remembered. Don didn’t go pop. He didn’t go punk rock. He just strolled in, took a seat, and without a dash of flash or glitz, sang his songs as smoothly as the first time I’d seen him. He had the same hat, and once again he hardly chatted at all between songs. (He’d just say something like “Mercy” if the crowd was particularly loud, although he’d draw out the word with his southern drawl so that it lasted for about 10 seconds, which was great. I think it would take about 3 hours to have a simple conversation with him about the weather. “Weeeeeeeeeeellllllllllll, if you look at them clouds over yoooooonder……..”)
For me, however, nearly everything has changed since that first concert. Back then I was either 21 or 22, with a full head of hair, working on co-op in Minneapolis. It was my first time living away from home, not to mention my first time working a real, soul-sucking cubicle job. I didn’t have a clue. I was totally flying by the seat of my pants with no idea as to what I was doing or what I was getting myself into.
Flash forward to now. I’ve been steadily employed for seven years, most of them in Wisconsin. I have a 401K. Heck, I’m even eligible for a pension with my former company. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still flying by the seat of my pants, but in a little more of a controlled way.
The point is this: everything’s changed in a short time. Once you get out of college, life becomes a blur and the years pass faster than you’d ever imagine possible. Change is constant, to the point where it makes you dizzy. Sometimes it gets pretty overwhelming, and that’s when you need to be able to fall back on something you can count on to help steady your proverbial ship. For example, seeing Don Williams without worrying if he’s dyed his beard pink or if he’s going to be covering Hannah Montana songs.
So, thanks Don, for being a pillar of consistency. It’s good to have something you can count on, unlike a full head of hair. Come back soon!
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