- Member for
- 3 years 9 months
So once again, I am waiting for the kid. She has yet to obtain her driver's license (working on it, slowly but surely, with an emphasis on the slowly) so this morning I'll do what I've been doing every morning for the past 13 years: drive her up the hill from West Duluth and deliver her to Hermantown High School. The daily round-trip will soon be ending, however, because this particular day is the last one of her senior year. Graduation looms and then she's out of the house, off to college and starting up her next life adventure. Away from her mom and me.
So I saw that Don Ness recently won an award for his book "Hillsider: Confessions of a Teenage Mayor." It's great that Don is being recognized for achievements above and beyond potholes, but did you know his book wasn't always so popular? In fact, I remember one of his autograph appearances late last year that I personally witnessed ... (Harp sound effect) MANAGER: Welcome to Barnes & Noble, Mayor Ness. And may I say, you've been a great mayor for us. DON: Thanks, but aren't you technically in Hermantown? You have your own mayor.
So I heard that the West Duluth Memorial Day parade may not happen next year due to a significant price increase in Tootsie Rolls. To offset those costs, organizers are insisting that only moldy potatoes and phone books from 2003 get tossed at children's heads this year.
So lately I find myself pondering some of life's simple questions ... "Which came first? The McChicken or the Egg McMuffin?" "Why are some people so judgmental?" "How do idiots arrive at their idiotic decisions?" Yes, I have been thinking about the thought process.
So we've rounded the bend of Frozen Minnesota Spring Season and are headed for Slightly Less Frozen Minnesota Summer Tourist Season. These oxymoronic names serve as a reminder as to why we live here in northern Minnesota. (Or is it that those names remind us why we're morons for living here in northern Minnesota?) Either way, it's time to get ready for sweaty temps and even sweatier tourists.
So I was cleaning out the ol' Mind Attic recently when I came across a musty cardboard box with the words "Random Thoughts: Moms" scrawled across the top in blue crayon. The box was tucked wa-a-a-a-ay in the back, behind other dusty piles of random thoughts about squirrels, ranch dressing and Dolly Parton. The timing was quite fortuitous as we are now smack-dab in the middle of that special day meant to commemorate moms, the creatively-named Mother's Day. Let's crack open this box and make her proud! Sort of!
Trudging up a fog-enshrouded trail, coat clutched tight against the wind. Meeting others who come stumbling down, faces numb against the cold and the day's events. Snippets of "1999" drifting in and out of the mist. Finally reaching the summit and staring mutely at a familiar landmark, bathed entirely in a ghostly purple. This is what it sounds like when Minnesotans cry.
So time, as they say, slowly marches on. Except in my case, it's not slow at all. For me, time is sprinting faster than Darren Danielson rushing through the news so he can get home to update his hairspray blog. ("Tried the John Frieda Luxurious Volume Extra Hold today, dear readers, which was good because Justin Liles couldn't stop exploding with laughter at his own weather puns.")
So I am writing this column while preparing for the Minnesota State Speech Tournament. You may not know this, but in addition to being the second cutest Budgeteer columnist (after Larry Weber) I am also the assistant speech coach for Hermantown High School. Last week, five of our speakers qualified for this year's Big Dance. (Oops. Actually, that's the nickname for the NCAA college basketball tournament, so I'll have to come up with something else. Go ahead and continue reading while I think on it ...)
So I hope I don't come off as rude, but if you're excited about tall ships and the world's largest rubber duck floating into the Duluth harbor this summer, you've got more goofy than five Disneylands combined. For me, there's zero appeal to standing in an outdoor line for hours and being trampled by sweaty strangers only to end up paying money to some promoter for an up-close look at ... what exactly? Old boats. That are kinda tall.