- Member for
- 3 years 9 months
So the Duluth Entertainment Convention Center just finished up another round of Businesses-Crammed-Into-Every-Nook-And-Cranny-Of-The-Facility-That-Have-Tenuous-Connections-To-Your-House-But-They-Loaded-You-Up-With-Free-Pencils-And-Tootsie-Rolls-So-It's-All-Good. Or, as it's more commonly referred to, the Home Show.
So it took almost six years of writing columns, but I finally received my first payola in the mail last week: a T-shirt from the good folks at Gordy's Hi-Hat in Cloquet. Seems they remembered an article I wrote a couple years back about Gordy's mouthwatering, waist-expanding delicacies and they wanted to remind me how much they enjoyed it. The same way my digestive system reminds me a few hours later how much I enjoyed a couple dozen Gordy's coney baskets.
So I recently tried taking my wallet from the jacket pocket where I keep it hidden from predators like pickpockets or my kid and, moving it into the well-worn back pocket of my jeans, but I ran into trouble: It wouldn't fit. It was too wide. (The wallet, not the jeans, wise guy!)
So St. Patrick's Day is "right around the corner," as the lazy copywriters say. Time to disinfect your blarney stone and get ready for the third-biggest drinking holiday in the history of alcohol, right behind New Year's Eve and Meeting Your In-Laws Day. Although it's marked on the calendar, many people are unfamiliar with the details of the Irish holiday. This could be due to the fact that none of us really know anything about Ireland itself, but more likely it's the barrels of green beer that get dumped down our faux-Irish throats every March.
So when I was a high school senior, I was an idiot. Sure, I was the starting center for our football team, earned salutatorian status in our class and even won a first place medal in the district speech tournament, but this is not a Braggy Brian column. (That's next week.) What I'm referring to is how, despite all these senior successes, I still took part in activities on graduation night that proved how my 17-year-old head contained 100 percent bone.
So the end of February means the beginning of March (I don't like to brag, but I figured that out all by myself WITHOUT the use a calculator or removing my shoes) and, although we're supposed to beware the Ides of March, I can't say that I even know where they live. However, I do know where there was a waterskiing squirrel last week, which circuitously leads me to this week's column: Random Thoughts for the End of February/Beginning of March: the Ides Beware Edition! XXXXXXXX BULLET POINTS XXXXXXXXXX
So it's the cold and flu season around our house, which is as delightful as it sounds: Alternating hot and cold snot taps, flowing freely from both nostrils. Puffy piles of brain cotton jammed behind eyeballs. More joint pain than a Colorado hippie who's jammed his thumb. In other words, I'm a mess.
So it's Valentine's Day and, as usual, I'm here to bail out every one of you last-minute-dimbulb-clueless-narcissistic-nitwits, or "men," who neglected to obtain something special for your beloved this Feb. 14. Let's face it, "I'm Donald Trumping it, baby!" isn't going to work as a valid excuse for being a jerkwad this year ... unless, of course, you really ARE Donald Trump. However, then you have an entirely different set of obstacles to deal with, not the least of which is that you're Donald Trump. But where was I? Oh yes! Getting ready to be your Sweetheart Savior.
So it's Hockey Day Minnesota this weekend, which is weird all by itself. How can one day stretch out over an entire weekend? I mean, I've had days that seemed to have no end in sight but those were usually during Duluth City Council meetings. But it's also weird to give hockey the special designation of "day." It already takes up an awful lot of time for Northland families. In fact, there are some folks who live and breathe hockey and I don't know how they do it. After one whiff of sweat-drenched breezers, I'd be forced to shove a bowlful of lilacs up my nose for a week.
So the subzero temperatures blew in a couple weeks ago, chapping every pair of cheeks that I own. Luckily, the thermometer's back up to where it belongs and my breath no longer screams as it leaves my body and moves to Florida.