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So we all have story vaults in our heads, fully stocked with dusty narratives that are ready to be exhumed at a moment's notice. Yes, even that quiet guy working the return counter at the Duluth Public Library, once he gets a few fines in him, can start to unspool some whoppers. The categories in our individual story vaults are unique to all of us, of course. But generally, they can be broken down into three categories, which I'll illustrate with some examples from my personal collection. Brushes With Greatness anecdotes. I have been in a movie with Oscar winner Kevin Spacey.
So there's talk of us getting a new library in downtown Duluth. Now many of you may be thinking, "When did we get a library?" And to those people I say, "Dive back into your device and instagram a tweet, will ya?" Yes, we have a library. With real books, too.
So now that March has come and gone (in like a seagull, out like a seagull looking for doughnuts) it's time to focus our attention on the first holiday of spring: Muddy Mondays. Oops, nope, wait, that's the first holiday of Superior car washes. The first spring holiday for everyone else is actually Easter. You remember Easter, don't you? That holy day that celebrates when Jesus rose from the dead, rolled a giant rock away from the entrance to his burial cave and stepped out into the bright, warm sunlight.
So Uncle Fester, Doc Brown and the Rev. Jim Ignatowski have all been working up in Virginia for the past few weeks. For those of you keeping score at home, that's almost as many fictional characters as Superior. Of course, all three of these fake characters reside inside of one real person: actor Christopher Lloyd. Yes, the star of movies like "Back to the Future" and the TV show "Taxi" has been spending his spring on the Iron Range, but it hasn't been because he loves taconite. He's been making a horror movie.
So I've heard it's not nice to fool Mother Nature, but much like a professional athlete's loyalty, that's a deal that only goes one way. When it comes to dealing with us puny mortals, Mom can do whatever she wants. Let's face it. Except for the occasional Gandhi or Mr. Rogers, human beings are an arrogant bunch. We like to think we know what we're doing. Nowhere is this presumption more evident than in our man-made structures: we carefully plan and meticulously build these mammoth edifices of concrete and steel.
So here are a few random facts about today's installment: It's the 249th column I've written for the Budgeteer since I started cranking them out in June, 2010. You remember 2010, don't you? The time was Pre-Flood, so we still had seals at the zoo, and Post-Women's College Hockey Title No.
So have you ever found yourself engaged in an activity that's so horrible, so inconvenient that you have to rename it if you ever want to do it again? It's the same thought process behind making an appointment for "teeth whitening" instead of "dental bleaching." Or watching the "TV weekend meteorologist" instead of "awkward sweaty pointy guy." Or a "day trip" to the Twin Cities, instead of "down and back in one frenzied and nightmarish 24-hour pockmarked time period." You know how it starts. You find yourself with a Saturday that suddenly opens up.
So they say that the future is now. Of course "they" also say you should wait at least 30 minutes before you walk under a ladder on the way to seeing your bride on her swimming day. Or something. Truth be told, I haven't really listened since "they" told me to speak the speech trippingly upon the tongue, which would have been fine if I hadn't been snacking on chocolate-drizzled, caramel-covered kettle corn at the time. Despite that, I happen to agree with these anonymous "they"-sayers who say our future is here. It's happening all around us righthisverysecondhurryfasterNOW!
So three different people purchased winning Powerball tickets a few weeks back and they split that mega-huge $500 million jackpot. Since you're reading this, I'm assuming none of them were you. I mean, why waste your time on free stuff like the Budgeteer when you could afford swanky periodicals like "Gold-Plated Commodes Quarterly" or "Better-Than-You Homes and Gardens?" I also know it wasn't you because you're smarter than that.
So I'm plopped in a cushy armchair in the lobby of the beautiful Southview Country Club in St. Paul as I write this, constantly shifting my position in an awkward attempt to hide the fact I'm wearing jeans. My wife and daughter are inside one of the conference rooms, learning about the options available to high school golfers who want to play in college. Kaylee is excited about the possibility of continuing to participate in a sport she enjoys, Sue and I are excited about the possibility of that participation paying for college.