Almost the News XXXVI

 

Real Headlines. Fake News.

Man to Appear in Court After Fatal Hit-and-Run
This marks the first time a corpse will have been called as a witness.

Minneapolis City Council Denies Developer for George Floyd Square
"Actually, he's the coolest cat we've ever met. Not square at all."

Deputy Working at School in Georgia Accused of On-Duty Sexual Assault at Nearby Home
Sheriff Uttoh states: "What a person does on their own time is their own business, but when you're on the clock..."

U.S. Launches More Strikes in the Middle East
Accordingly, they are leading in the World Bowling Championships currently being held in Lebanon.

Large Police Presence in Inver Grove Heights Neighborhood
A local resident who wished to remain unidentified is quoted as saying, "There are three or four of 'em in my front yard, and they're each at least seven feet tall!"

New Report Shows Crime Trending Down in Minneapolis
Meanwhile, crime isn't a trendy thing at ALL up in Duluth.

Explosive Diarrhea-Causing Parasite Infects More than 1,000 People
The trick is to get the parasite to explode before it infects you.

Video Shows Tense Moments During South Minneapolis Standoff
"Let's take a break from this standoff and watch a clip of Indiana Jones outrunning a boulder."

Headlines to Hope for in 2026

 

Please, oh please, oh pretty pretty please!

Campaign Promises to Lower Prices Are Fulfilled

Hollywood Produces 10 Films People Actually Want to See

Minnesotans Give Up Their Juvenile Insistence on Calling "Duck, Duck, Goose" "Duck, Duck, Gray Duck"

Airlines Replace Tasteless So-Called Cookies with CornNuts

Ice Cream, Like Water, Declared Essential for Life and Free at All Restaurants

Art Garfunkel, James Taylor, and Paul Simon Release Cover of Satchmo's "What a Wonderful World"

Campaigning for Mid-term Elections Restricted to Publishing of Position Papers

Waste-of-ink comic strip, Fred Basset, finally shuts down. #FredBassetMustDie

Leonard Skinnardsen: The 398th Greatest Song of All Time

 

What if The Sons of Norway did the 398th greatest song of all time instead of Lynyrd Skynyrd?

We play Duck Duck Grey Duck
While detractors raise a din
They insist it's Duck Duck Goose
Back in the land where they've been
And I think it's a sin, yes

Well I heard Frank Sinatra sing about her
Well I heard Chicago's a toddlin' town
Well I hope Old Blue Eyes will remember
A northern man don't need him around anyhow

Sweet home Minnesota
10,000 lakes maybe more
Sweet Home Minnesota
Loons a-callin' on every shore

In Minneapolis they love the Lutherans
The Catholics kind of own Saint Paul
But the way we drink every weekend
You'd wonder if we believe at all

Sweet home Minnesota
Mosquitos are our official bird
Sweet Home Minnesota
And uffda's clearly our favorite word

Now Paisley Park has got the TAFKAP
Making hits, more than a few
Got me clapping hands on two and four
Which Scandahoovians seldom do
Now how 'bout you?

Sweet home Minnesota
Where it's winter 6 months a year
Sweet Home Minnesota
Gotcha wonderin' why you moved here

It's Not the Heat, It's the Humans

 

It has certainly been ungeographically hot for a while now.

I made up the term "ungeographically" to replace the more-normal word that would go in that sentence: "unseasonably".

Because the thing is, this stretch of highs in the 90-degree range fits right in with it being June...if I lived in a desert!

I'm in Minnesnowda for farnsworth's sake! People around here are used to needing to chip open the frozen mailbox as late as the 20th of May. Needing to run air conditioning other than during the two weeks of the State Fair in late August is unheard of.

However...

I refuse to actually complain. I don't want to be like the string of customers that drag themselves through FastStop's doors whining about how cold it is in February and March and then ALSO groaning and moaning about any heat that happens to make it up from the Gulf of Mexico during July.

And then there's those that actually prefer the cold: "I can always put on another sweater, but once I reach naked, I'm stuck."

There's a term for those who like the bitter cold of winter in the Great White North: weirdo.

"Look! I can throw boiling water into the air and it instantly turns into a cloud of ice crystals! Isn't it wonderful?"

Yeah, just as wonderful as how when I open my eyes, they instantly turn into frozen marbles.

♪♫ Dying in a winter wonderland ♫♪

How to Tell Someone's Not Minnesotan

All this week, and continuing through Sunday afternoon, Beloved and I have been/are performing in the 20th Anniversary production of the Dakota Chautauqua.

It started as a commemoration of Dakota County's 150th birthday, during the Dakota County Fair of 1999, and has featured original songs and mostly-humorous scenes based on Minnesota history.

In recent years, it expanded to celebrate Minnesota's quirks and contributions to culture...

...which is what led me to write the song, "You're Not From Around Here."

I'm thinkin' that you're not from around here

I can tell by the funny way you talk

Your kids play Duck, Duck Goose instead of Grey Duck

You don't say "wanna come with" when you go for a walk

Your opinions are stated bold and clearly

You never say "what a fella might want to do"

Your compliments are not one bit back handed

Your aggression's never passive, that's the truth

You say what you mean and mean what you say

I could go on like this all day

I'm sorry, this might sound harsh, I fear

I'm not one for playing dumb

But you stick out like a sore thumb

I'm pretty sure you didn't grow up here

I'm thinkin' that you're not from around here.

I can tell by the way you flaunt your style

That parka that you wear in mid-October

Makes all the Scandehoovians point and smile

And when in the mail an ad comes from Cabela's

You rush to put that thing right in the trash

You must be allergic to all things flannel

If not, then please explain that nasty rash

In January, you stay inside

You're scared that you might freeze your hide

And May's your favorite season of the year

First you're cold and then you're hot

Gee, you sure complain a lot

I'm pretty sure you didn't grow up here.

Yeah, and if I'm not mistaken

With all your belly-achin'

I'm sure as shootin' you're not from 'round here

©2017 Music GGGGus

My Barista Knows Bupkes About History

Caribou Coffee owes me ten cents.

I don't know about the overpriced, oh-so-precious coffee emporium you frequent, but here in the Bold North, Caribou Coffee locations post a daily trivia question that, if you answer correctly, gets you ten cents off your overpriced, oh-so-precious coffee. The question they were asking the last time I went in for my Hot Apple Blast ended up raising my hackles:

"How many U.S. presidents signed the Declaration of Independence?"

If you're like me, well, first off, you should enlist a team of prayer warriors to lift you up before The Throne. But secondly, if you're like me, your first thought at reading that question is "Zero. There were no U.S. presidents in existence to be able to sign the Declaration of Independence on July 4, 1776."

The thing is, zero was not one of the choices for this multiple choice question.

When I explained this deficiency in the question to my barista, she first expressed confusion and then assured me the answer was two: Thomas Jefferson and John Adams.

When I informed her that they were not U.S. presidents at the time of the signing of the Declaration of Independence, she said, "Well, the question doesn't say they had to actually be president when they signed it."

I gave up, forced a laugh, picked up my drink, walked to my car, shook my head, and thought, "With that logic, they could have asked 'How many dead people signed the Declaration of Independence?' and the answer would be 'All of them'."

It's a good thing I'm not a stickler for things like this.

Really...I'm not.

Suffering at Subway

[Too lazy to read this? Watch ME read it below, or by clicking HERE.]

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

I was on assignment to get a salad from Subway for Beloved. I was uncharacteristically confident, as I had successfully completed identical assignments in the past.

I know the saying is "Curiosity killed the cat," but I'm thinking maybe it should be "Confidence."

The first bump in the road was walking into Subway and finding there were five people in line already. It is at times like that when you realize Subway should NOT be listed as "fast food".

Seriously.

What with people who have NO IDEA what kind of sandwich they want...even though they've been standing in line for a half hour...and Sandwich Artists who need to hear things three times before their brain sends any messages to their hands, five people in line in front of you translates to roughly 90 minutes before you're given a chance to repeat your order three times to the pimply-faced sloth that Corporate has entrusted a knife to.

Since I had some extra time, I started perusing the menu board and noticed something I had never seen before...

"Make any 6" sub a salad: $1.75 additional"

And I'm thinking to myself, "What the farnsworth? The only difference between a six-inch sub and a Subway salad is the absence of a bun and the presence of an extra handful of lettuce. If anything, a salad should cost LESS...unless, of course, a handful of lettuce costs twice what six inches of bread does."

I whined about this on Facebook...no wait...I offered this up as a discussion topic on Facebook and one of my so-called friends suggested the upcharge was because of the extra labor involved in creating a salad. And it's true, the Sandwich Artist/Sloth (SAS) does take the time to manually chop the meat and cheese before tossing the lettuce and other pre-chopped veggies into a bowl. But does the SAS get paid more for doing it? Does Subway Corporate actually incur more expenses because of it? 

I. Think. Not.

No. We all know the real reason for charging more is BECAUSE THEY CAN. The Powers That Be have conditioned the yearning masses to think that eating healthily will naturally cost more. It goes along with the whole warped and evil idea that we must suffer in order to deserve something good.

SUFFER	SOMETHING GOOD
Pay More	Better Health
Behave Properly	Heaven
Five Months of Minnesota Winter	Two weeks of perfectly warm days and cool evenings in September

Oh...and if we're still talking about eating healthily, let's not forget that most of it tastes like a dusty cardboard box somebody found in their grandmother's attic.

Under a damp blanket from when the roof leaked.

Or was that a squirrel that leaked?

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

The Great Minnesota Sweat-Together

Monday afternoon, Beloved and I took our lives in our hands, along with a sizable bankroll, and braved the streets and gastronomic challenges of the Minnesota State Fair.

The Weather Channel promised there would be overcast skies all day, with a decent chance for scattered showers, so we thought the final-day crowd would be slimmer than normal.

We were wrong...and not just from the viewpoint of the calorie-rich, batter-dipped, deep-fried carbohydrate bombs being passed off as food by the unending parade of vendors. There were tons of people, some weighing close to a ton individually, on almost every square foot of horizontal surface.

We carefully tip-toed our way to what passed for a line of people waiting to purchase different seafood offerings from a place called Giggles. Beloved had her palate poised to enjoy what Giggles calls a "Boatload of Perch", but what the picture on the menu board made clear was three small filet in a tiny paper basket. We'll never know what it was really like, because after the 15 minutes it took for the barely-dressed gal in front of us to decide which authentically-crafted beer she wanted in a souvenir plastic cup, we were told that Giggles had run out of perch...but we could have a crab cake if we'd like.

No...we would not like.

Beloved settled for a bowl of Greek-flavored chicken and rice from Flavored Chicken & Rice in a Bowl. (Okay, that wasn't the real name of the place, but it should have been.) Me? I tried one of this year's new offerings: SpamCurds.

I've found a new fair favorite; worthy of piling up next to Australian Batter-Dipped Potatoes with Ranch and Cheese. These little cubes are lightly breaded with a crisp burst of flavor that perfectly complements the marvelous mystery of Spam®.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Now, go back to the 4th paragraph and revisit the phrase "barely-dressed gal."

First, what an interesting oxymoron barely dressed is.

Second, the gal in front of us in line, with her napkin of a top and sliver of denim of a bottom, was in no way an anomaly in the crowd. Between cover-ups that didn't and pantyhose posing as leggings posing as pants, there was nowhere safe for my eyes to focus except for my ever-expanding belly. Beloved just grabbed my hand and tried to keep me from running into people.

Ha! Fat chance!

Dakota Chautauqua Bloopers

Last week was the 12th time I'd spent a week in Farmington, Minnesota, performing scenes and songs written by Pete Martin and Eric Peltoniemi (and even a few by me!) in a little production called Dakota Chautauqua. It began as a way to commemorate the sesquicentennial (150th anniversary) of the founding of Dakota County, Minnesota. It has continued as a way to promote Dakota City Heritage Village and the Dewey Roth Sweat-Your-Way-To-Your-Perfect-Weigh weight loss plan.

Of course the hitch to the whole weight loss thing is all the fair food I ate throughout the week (which ends up sounding like the 12 days of Christmas): 32 ounces of fresh cut fries, 1/3 pound Angus burger, one-and-a-half servings of deep-fried cheese curds, two waffle cones, two roasted potatoes (with bacon and cheese), one Pronto Brat, a root beer float, and a New Zealand Breakfast Meat Pie.

The show itself was stuffed full of the weird and goofy things that make Minnesota and its overwhelmingly Scandihoovian residents...how shall we say it...unique.

For example:

• Norway vs. Sweden: The Lutefisk Controversy (white sauce or butter?)
• Spam
• "Doncha know"
• Moonshine-makin' mamas

• An obsession with Paul Bunyan
• Arsonist, thief, and murderer: Marjorie Congdon Leroy Caldwell Hagen
• The total fabrication of St. Urho (Giving Finns a reason to drink the bars dry the day before St. Patrick's Day)

As for the bloopers mentioned in this post's title?

You should have been there for the opening night performance when the whole cast totally blew the words of the closing song, which  -  appropriately enough  -  was titled "Uffda!" We just stood there shaking our heads at one another and repeating the word "uffda", but with none of the other lyrics intact.

Not to mention my mini panic attack every performance because I could never guarantee whether I would say the scripted "We keep the chicken-heads out of Wisconsin and they keep the margarine out of Minnesota" or if "marmalade" would inexplicably spring from my lips instead. 

Oh wait...I guess I DID mention it.

Gotta love live theater.

Leaf Wars

There's an annual game in my neighborhood. Well...maybe "game" is too tame a word. Perhaps "competition" would be better.

No. Still not enough.

There's an annual war in my neighborhood.

And I am consistently listed among the defeated.

You see, a nice little perk here in the Minnesota suburbs is when the street cleaner comes through and sucks up all the leaves that we've raked from our front yards to curbside. The conflict revolves around me getting my leaves to the curb before the totally unannounced and completely random suck-up day.

Last year, the combination of a late fall and early winter had me raking leaves and shoveling snow at the same time...and the leaf removal didn't happen at all.

The year before that, the street cleaner went through sometime in late August...just a little too early for me to have climbed up my trees and plucked the leaves off.

But this year...oooooh...this year, I got the upper hand. My normally-delinquent hickory...the one tree that holds on to its leaves until February...gave up its bounty of golden leaves during an early fall windstorm and I got my whole yard raked clean before the municipal marauder came through.

Yes! Victory at last!

As I drove home from work yesterday, it was apparent the sweeper had been through our neighborhood. The curbs and gutters were pristine...

...until I rounded the corner and saw the street in front of our house.

The leaf-sucker had clearly driven up to our property line, swung the rig to the left, avoided my leaf pile, then snuggled back up close to the curb at the neighbor's property line.

I am not kidding.

Next year, expect an escalation into shock-and-awe territory.

Suburban Puma on the Loose!

I met a mountain lion on a walk through our neighborhood.

I was taking a late-summer stroll on one of the many well-groomed paths that snake through the suburbs south of the Minnesota River here in the Land of 10,000 Entitlement Programs...my mind full of TV theme songs and quotes from Gilligan's Island...when the aforementioned meeting took place.

About 20 yards ahead of me, the big cat crossed the path and entered a wooded area to the left that sloped down to a small creek and back up to the back yards of several houses.

As I put my walk on hold, I thought, "Cool!" But then it got unbelievable.

I saw the mountain lion walk along the fence row, and then, with what looked to be an effortless leap, it jumped the backyard fence of a house...a house with a working barbecue grill on its deck. The cat bounded up the steps of the deck, knocked over the grill, picked up the thickest steak of the bunch, and started back down the steps.

About halfway down the steps, the beast did something you'll never believe. It turned around, went back up to the deck, popped open a cooler, snagged a six-pack with its right paw, and loped back down the steps, across the yard, over the fence, and into the trees...apparently on its way to a relaxing evening with friends.

It's at this point that I feel the need to remind you that this blog is called Almost the Truth.

However, it IS true that there's a path near our house with a wooded creek running beside it.

Open Mouth, Insert Everything Not Nailed Down

Congratulate me.

Well, not just me, but everybody in these here parts who have just survived another life-threatening period of time in the Upper Midwest.

Yes, it's true...we've just made it through the annual spring ritual known as Graduation Open House Season.

Back home in Indiana...at least back when my siblings and I all ended our high school careers...graduating from high school wasn't considered a very big deal. Almost everybody did it. I mean, if you just showed up often enough the principal eventually got tired of seeing you, handed you a piece of paper and told you to get out.

But in Minnesota, it is considered a great accomplishment...along the lines of devising a safe way to transport plutonium...for anyone under the age of 23 to be given a high school diploma. 

It must be thought of as a spectacular feat, judging from the time and expense put into each graduate's neighborhood-wide celebration known as an Open House.

It all starts with a complete remodeling of the family's home. If a room isn't added, then at least the kitchen will be re-tiled and double-paned windows installed. This doesn't make a whole lot of sense, though, because the only people who will actually see the inside of the house during the "open house" are immediate family members and the catering crew. Everyone else will be sitting or standing in the yard or driveway, under a rented canopy. Or, if the weather turns bad, gathered in the garage...which has had its floor steam-cleaned and its contents moved to a storage unit in North Dakota.

Cakes will be decorated, fatted calves will be sacrificed, bands will be hired, and engraved invitations will be sent. Make no mistake. We. Will. Celebrate. This. Graduation.

At this point, the alert reader will be wondering, "What's so all-fire 'life-threatening' about this?" That's because I haven't told you about the food.

When you are invited to a graduation open house in Minnesota, you are expected to 1) bring a card with a check payable to the graduate inside of it; and 2) leave weighing 15 pounds more than when you arrived.

Really, that's the expectation. The invitations specifically ask you to come and eat their food...and they usually describe the food to be ingested with the gusto of the head waiter at Chateau le Bombaste.

Menus include tacos, pulled pork sandwiches, barbecued chicken, macaroni and cheese in individual cups, waffles, 12-foot subs, baked potatoes, a Chinese buffet, leg of lamb, and truffles from Upper Mongolia. And don't even get me started on the dessert tables.

And then at the NEXT house... 

Oh yes, I didn't tell you yet. Because of my involvement at church and with Giant Step Theatre, I get invited to 87 of these things a year...which means on an average weekend in June, I have to drag myself through 17 of these extravaganzas.

Life is good.
    

The Grocery Bag Scene

August 6-12, 2012, ActorBoy and I will be appearing at the Dakota County Fair, Farmington MN, as part of the cast for the brand new Dakota Chatauqua. It's a tent show full of original songs and both humorous and dramatic sketches (but mostly humorous) based on true events from Minnesota history. This is a resurrection with the production staff and most of the cast members from the 1999-2005 iteration of the show, but with all new material...some of which, I have written.

To give you a taste, and with hopes of enticing any local readers to come see the show, I share with you here the script for one of the sketches. The facts about the invention of the grocery bag with handles are accurate. The plot line of the inventor's wife being a lovely distraction (i.e., a bit of a tart) is fabricated.

Walter Deubener: Hello, my good sir, nice little store you have here.

Abner: Thank you. I do what I can.

Walter Deubener [extending hand]: Deubener’s the name… Walter Deubener

Abner: Abner Singlenite.

Walter Deubener: And this is my lovely wife, Lydia.

Abner: Oh…my…um…pleased to meet you.

Lydia: The pleasure…is mutual.

Walter Deubener: Lydia and I used to run the little grocery stand in the Kresge building in St. Paul…you know, the corner of 7th and Cedar?

Abner [focused on Lydia]: Cedar…riiiight.

Walter Deubener: Well, I noticed a little problem. People would only buy as much as they could carry in a single bag…because they had to use both hands to carry the one bag…isn’t that right, Lydia?

Lydia: Oh yes…they had to use both hands.

Abner: Both hands.

Walter Deubener: We tried all sorts of things. I wrapped up their purchases with heavy string attached to a wooden handle, I supplied market baskets…nothing worked.

Lydia: It was SO frustrating.

Abner: Frustrating.

Walter Deubener: Finally one night, it hit me like a lightning bolt out of the blue: handles.

Abner [coming to]: Handles?

Lydia [capturing his attention again]: Handles.

Walter Deubener: We made up some prototypes, tested them out, and now, as of May 27, 1919, I hold a patent on the Deubener Shopping Bag. You see, with these handles here, customers can carry away up to 50 pounds in each hand. Just look at all the things I can put in this bag.

Abner: Just look.

Walter Deubener: At only 5 cents each, these little marvels will more than pay for themselves with all the extra sales you’ll be making. [Lifts the loaded bag, but all the canned goods are left behind.]

Lydia: How many would you like?

Abner: I’ll take two…er…two hundred.

Duck, Duck, What?

Having been neither born nor raised in Minnesota, I grew up calling the game wherein people sit in a circle, one person stands, walks around the outside of the circle, tapping each person saying, "Duck" until they decide to say "Goose," and the person tapped in synchronization with the saying of "Goose" stands and chases the first person around the circle, hoping to tag the Gooser before they reach the spot just vacated by the Goosee "Duck, Duck, Goose."


[Wait a sec...let me catch my breath.]

I even have empirical evidence that the proper name for that game is "Duck, Duck, Goose" because that was the correct answer to a question posed by Regis Philbin on Who Wants to be a Millionaire? several years ago.


None of this matters to native Minnesotans, who insist that the rest of the country...nay...the rest of the world is wrong and needs to fall in line with the aberration to nature that is "Duck, Duck, Gray Duck."


Now...I told you all of that so I could tell you this...


I was walking through the neighborhood earlier this evening, and up ahead I could see some activity in someone's front yard. It looked like a small dog had found something particularly odorous in which to wallow and was thoroughly enjoying flopping around in it. I thought, "Ah! He looks like he's having a really good time!"


As I got closer, I could see a small green head and a periodically-flailing wing and realized that it wasn't a dog, but a duck. I thought, "Oh! Is it hurt? Did a dog get hold of it?"


A few more steps, and I realized that it was actually two ducks behaving in a decidedly twitterpated manner, with no regard for the public nature of their display of affection. I thought, "Eww! Get a room!"


Closer still, and it became clear that the commotion was actually three ducks: two colorful drakes and one plain hen.


It was at that moment that my mind realized the true meaning of Duck, Duck, Grey Duck.

Big Brother Is Watching

Toward the end of last month, Beloved and I spent a couple days at the Great Minnesota BragFest, which I've written about before (http://almostthetruth.blogspot.com/2009/09/great-minnesota-get-together.html).

The biggest shock to my system this time around, other than the Australian Batter-Dipped, Deep-Fried, Ranch-n-Cheese-Sauce-Smothered Potato Slices, was heading into the Public Rest Room and being greeted by the following sign:

"This restroom is under video surveillance by State Fair Police."

I'm wondering just where the cameras are focused, what out-of-work pervert do they pay (or, more likely, pays them) to monitor said cameras, and...gosh...don't people get sent to jail for that kind of stuff?

Not being one to let a performing opportunity go to waste...and thinking that maybe this was a new recruiting technique for America's Got Talent, I quickly went to work with a little song-and-dance number I keep in my back pocket for just such occasions.

I had just finished the second chorus and was beginning the dance break when my left (jazz) hand was grabbed and put behind my back, where it was greeted by and manacled to my right hand. It seems the State Fair Police (whose uniforms are apparently plain white coats) thought I was busking for dollars without a license.

It took Beloved a few hours to get me released...especially since she didn't miss me until she ran out of money for cotton candy and cheese curds.

But everything's okay now. My parole officer has a very comfortable couch in his office. It's really relaxing and helps me talk to him in our weekly sessions. (But he makes me call him "Doctor." Crazy, huh?)

Minnesota: The Land of 10,000 Boasts

I've mentioned before about my aversion to Minnesotans' aptitude for declaring the state's superiority in practically every measurable circumstance known to mankind. Herewith are some Actual Factual examples:


Minnesota's 49 million turkeys were far and away the most raised in any state and 18 percent of the nation's total.

Minnesota leads the Midwest in a hot trend: cremation

Our state is tops in fishing licenses sold per capita.

Minnesota has some of the most creditor-friendly laws in the country.

Other states have challenged the accuracy of the decades-old breath test device called the Intoxilyzer 5000EN, but Minnesota is the only place where the case landed in federal and state courts.

Minnesota has been named the "Best Trails" state.

Minneapolis/St. Paul is one of the most intoxicated areas of the U.S.

Minneapolis has the purest heroin at the lowest price in the country.

* * * * * * *

Well, well, well...don't you just want to stand up tall and give out a yell?

This State Is Not My Home

I don't know if it's like this in every part of every country, but around here, if you're not from around here, no matter how long you've lived around here, you are never truly from around here.

The fact that I don't really fit in Minnesota, nor will I ever, was made abundantly clear to me last night at a concert by Norah Jones. Ms Jones cranked it up with a slightly honky-tonk rendition of an old Johnny Cash tune, Cry, Cry, Cry. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hP4G2QVX_wQ) It's a song just made for the audience to shout along in the chorus. (Cry! Cry! Cry!)

Well...that was never gonna happen in the comfy confines of The O'Shaughnessy theatre.

What's more, my hands were begging to clap along with the song, but my brain wouldn't allow them the pleasure, knowing that they would be alone in the crowd of politely-listening Scandehoovians.

I leaned close to Beloved and whispered, "Minnesotans just don't clap."

She replied, "That's because they don't know how."

And I immediately knew she was right (an occurrence with which I am intimately familiar). If they had attempted to clap, they'd be doing it on 1 and 3 instead of 2 and 4.

...And it occurs to me even now that many of you need me to explain what that last sentence even means.

Even so, come quickly, Lord Jesus.

The Great Minnesota Get-Together

Having lived in Minnesota for only 15 years, Beloved and I still aren't considered "from around here." And that's okay, because, as much as I love the way snow doesn't shut anything down and there are a limited number of humid days in the summer, there are other things about the Land of 10,000 Entitlement Programs that I would rather not be associated with/connected to/blamed for.

Uppermost in my mind at this moment is the irritating propensity for thinking that Minnesota is first or second in all things positive that seems to be part and parcel of having Minnesota river water coursing through one's veins. Specifically, I find it boggling how much bragging goes on about the accomplishments that have either been invented, originated, perfected, or monetized in The Gopher State. (If you ask, I'm sure that someone will claim that the buzzword monetize was first coined by a Minnesotan school child while contemplating how to turn a profit while serving as Hall Monitor.)

Case in point: it is not enough to call the summertime culmination of the state's best 4-H entries The Minnesota State Fair. That just wouldn't do. It is "The Great Minnesota Get-Together."

Don't ask me why it's called that. My best guess is because it is at this event that hundreds of thousands of Minnesotans get together to conspire against my wallet. Maybe it's because, while standing in the mob (there are no "lines" at the GMGT) waiting to pay close to twenty bucks for a plastic pail of chocolate chip cookies (they are mighty tasty, but give me a break), I am pressed together with other fair goers to the extent of becoming a homogeneous mass.

Speaking of a homogeneous mass, have you ever actually had deep-fried cheese curds? Well, I have...and my homogeneous mass grew to twice its normal size.

But I really shouldn't complain. It's just that complaining is funnier than saying, "Had a great time. Ate myself silly. Wish you were here."