Thoughts on the Jacob Wetterling case

I was only ten years old when the news of the Jacob Wetterling case broke. Like Jacob, I lived in a rural area of Minnesota near a fairly sizeable city. Even at the relatively young age of ten, I knew what abduction meant. To be frank, as I heard the somewhat sketchy details become public, the idea of a kid close to my age being abducted scared the shit out of me.

That's what child predators, child abusers, rapists and other cellar dwellers of society thrive on is fear. If you have confidence and feel safe, those who prey on other can catch you off guard. If you live in fear, the abusers, murderers and rapists win. It's truly a damned if you do, damned if you don't scenario.

The basic idea of that scenario came to light for me a few years after the abduction of Jacob Wetterling. I remember that my parents, and probably every other parent across the country, became extra vigilant. Stranger danger was no joking matter. The eerie tale of an adult male abducting a nearly teenage boy in the very state I lived in struck fear in me. I was scared. Suddenly we were told in school to be on the lookout for strangers. Schools – those buildings where you were supposed to be  safe from the evils of the outside world – weren't even safe any longer.

As I aged, though, a good portion of that fear left me. Once I reached the final year of middle school I felt safer. The disheartening tale of the abduction in the fall of 1989 near St. Cloud, MN faded from my memory. But for the Wetterling family it never left. It became their mark on the world. They never forgot about the son they lost – and in recent years it came back into my world.

As I had children of my own, I recalled that sense of vigilance my own parents instilled in me as a ten year-old. The fact that one of the worst people on Earth has confessed to the abduction and murder of Jacob Wetterling closes a very dark chapter for the Wetterling family and likely for the entire generation who grew up in the aftermath of his abduction. What it has done, though, lives on forever.

We teach our own children to be aware of strangers – to not talk to them or get in a vehicle with them or even leave a "safe area" with a stranger. Our neighborhood is safe – at least in our eyes – and the parents know each other. Our children roam from home to home in the summer months and play with each other but even when the children aren't within our range of vision, I still wander closer and listen for their giggles and playful screams. I pay attention to vehicles which drive through our area of town and pay attention to that vehicle which is going too slowly or paying too much attention to one thing or another.

I guess that those lessons instilled in all of us after the abduction of Jacob Wetterling have stuck with us. Maybe fear didn't win out after all. Maybe the Wetterling family can finally have some closure after that terrible tragedy in 1989 that made every neighborhood seem less safe. Maybe justice will finally be served. Maybe.

The Vikings are clueless

The NFL has a problem. They seem to be completely unable to have consistency in how they punish players who commit crimes while employed by the league. After the entire Ray Rice domestic abuse scandal just over a week ago, the NFL had to think that the worst was behind them but then came the story, bubbling under the surface for months, that Adrian Peterson (Minnesota Vikings running  back) had beaten his four year-old son in the Houston area.

We know that the Minnesota Vikings knew about this months before it became public on Friday. We know that the Vikings have disciplined offenders in the past and have done so rather swiftly by cutting them from the team without batting an eye. But this is Adrian Peterson. He is arguably the face of the Minnesota Vikings and is one of the biggest stars in the entire NFL.

There in lies their conundrum. How does the NFL and the Minnesota Vikings discipline one of their greatest stars and best players? Obviously, the Minnesota Vikings waffle on their stance and take a wait-and-see approach rather than doing the right thing in making a quick decision as they have done in the past and sever ties before the shit hits the fan.

But the Minnesota Vikings did let the shit hit the fan with the child abuse allegations surrounding Adrian Peterson. They deactivated Peterson for the team's week two game versus the New England Patriots but reactivated him for the week three game against the New Orleans Saints. But in the wee hours of this morning, the Minnesota Vikings placed Adrian Peterson on some bullshit exempt list where he exists without being activated or deactivated.

Adrian Peterson is truly a player in limbo when, if the Minnesota Vikings followed the precedent they had set with prior cases of abuse or law breaking, he would have had his contract terminated and been shown the door. Instead, the Minnesota Vikings come off looking like they are not just willing to but totally fine with looking the other way when a millionaire who plays a child's game beats one of his many children for something extremely trivial because "that's how he was raised".

The NFL comes into the third week of the 2014 season with a black eye. They are a league with a very clear discipline problem and a very pervasive history of sweeping misbehavior under the rug and looking the other way when their stars commit crimes. They are willing to defend their superstars when the commit crimes which would land average citizens in jail for at least a brief stint. The NFL, like the NBA, is full of spoiled man-children whose inappropriate behavior is overlooked in favor of sponsorship deals and television ratings.

The fans, the sponsors and the owners are all to blame just as much as the players.

It's time for the NFL to lay down the law and have some consistent guidelines for punishment - especially when it comes to spousal and child abuse.

The world's angriest toddler

I had no idea that coloring a picture could make someone so angry. At least that what appears to have happened with this rather angry child who is either intensely focused on the artwork at hand or wants to kill whomever is being drawn.

3 things to remember when you get older

Every day we probably all think of things that we should remember down the road a stretch. But how many of us actually remember those bits of information for a later date? In lieu of taking actual notes, I though I'd put those wise bits of information right here for all to see.

You can never tell your children something too many times.
SUre, you're going to come off as a broken record when you tell them, for the twentieth time, that it's not safe to hitch a ride with a stranger unless they have a sharp knife or can of mace close at hand but beating some words of wisdom into a child's brain is better than finding out that they've spent four long months in the bottom of Buffalo Bill's well in his creepy sex dungeon. It's just common sense. Oh, and don't take candy from strangers.

Your kid(s) will have premarital sex.
You did it too so don't think you're better than everyone else. If you think that your teenager isn't already fooling around in their car, in the local cemetery, in a deserted barn or underneath the bleachers at their high school's football field you are fooling yourself. Talk to your kid about sex. Yeah, it's gonna be hella awkward and you'll probably find yourself alluding to bumble bees or bananas but it sure beats that excruciating weekend you had back in 11th grade when you waited for your girlfriend's Aunt Flow to come-a-knocking.

It's never too early to think about your own death.
Get a plan together. Your own death is nothing fun to plan for and yes, you have to pay even to die but it's part of the circle of life (or death in this case) so at least have a list of who gets what. I know that everyone in your family will be fighting over the rights to take home that killer collector plate that says you did in fact tackle the biggest burger in the west and won.

Another Christmas in the books

Christmas, thankfully, has come and gone. This year was the first that my daughter, now just over two years old, began grasping the concept of Christmas. Her realization that there was a bunch of additional presents surrounding the tree on Christmas morning was almost instant. Her plan of attack was to plow through the wrapped boxes and proceed to drag the fully assembled pink and purple big wheels through the other gifts. Apparently this one item was all she really needed but her peekaboo doll was also a hit and kept her entertained as her two sleepy parents napped in the living room. I've never known the daughter to stay so focused on one thing for so long but that doll kept her out of the refrigerator, it kept her out of the upstairs and it kept her from grabbing scissors, tape and knives out of assorted kitchen drawers.

In short, a doll for a few bucks was a small price to pay for a short nap after an exhausting week and an even more exhausting weekend. Were other parents as lucky with their toy choices that they were able to catch a Christmas morning nap? I sure hope so.

My source and inspiration for wonder

December 4 – Wonder. How did you cultivate a sense of wonder in your life this year? (Author: Jeffrey Davis)

My greatest source for inspiring my own wonder is my daughter. She turned two years old only three weeks ago and it's amazing to see what everyday, seemingly normal things bring joy to her. She is amazed by Christmas lights, a helium balloon and will almost uncontrollably dance -- that is the thing that inspires me most. She hears music and begins dancing. She even has different moves which, for a two year old, is impressive being that she has more (and better) dance moves than I do.

How to mess up the morning routine

Mornings in my house are hectic. I'm sure that my level of hecticity are no worse than the hecticity in your home but everyone always views their situation as worse than the situations of others.

It's hectic for two reasons. I have an almost two year-old daughter whose wake-up routine consists of crying when she finally wakes up and is she isn't the center of attention every waking moment the situation escalates. The second reason is that three mornings each week my old lady is already at work when this happens.

While I typically don't allow enough time to get ready for work (showering, dressing, shaving, etc.) my ineptitude is only amplified by the fact that I am trying to juggle the needs of myself and my daughter solo.

Plenty of mornings it involves me plucking the child out of her crib and sitting her on the bed and turning the bedroom TV on to either MTV, VH1 or Disney. Sometimes that trick keeps her entertained enough for me to take a shower and get dressed. Other times she will scream for the entire seven minute duration of my shower.

Under typical circumstances I can get all morning things done in about 35 minutes but today that all fell apart. I couldn't find season-appropriate clothes. Due to the lack of closet space int he original portion of our house, the clothes for upcoming seasons reside in the 1950s addition to our 1899 house. Sure it's inconvenient but it works until I can come up with a grand solution to fix everything.

Between running back and forth in the upstairs hallway and a couple treks up and down the stairs to get juice for the tiny monster and tidy up the mess I had created upstairs I eventually left home about 14 minutes later than usual. Sure, it's hectic but I bet you have a story worse than mine...

Toddlers love ice - too much

Last night it hailed a bit at our house. That happens when the entire state is blanketed in end-of-the-world darkness that is typical with late-spring severe thunderstorms and the dozens of tornadoes we were cursed with here in Minnesota. In typical dumbass fashion, I waited until the rumble of thunder was steady to drag my after-work ass out to the garage and make room in the project-filled single stall death trap of a structure work the wife's crossover (SUV). My car, however, would have to linger curbside and pray to the gods that it survives without hail damage for the second time.

But as I said earlier, it hailed. Not a whole lot but enough for me to panic and slide my sandals on and run full speed from the front porch to the street and give my car the shelter of a Maple tree to ride out the storm. I didn't get a chance to inspect my sexy black beauty this morning as my old lady took it to work before I even crawled out of bed but the real story here is about my daughter.

The 19 month-old terror that she is wanted to go outside and see why dad was outside and she wasn't. After the worst had passed, we ducked outside to grab a few hailstones. I, of course, had to snap a photo and relate the hailstone's size to a quarter (the hail was larger) and after I had taken the photo, The Youngling grabbed the piece of ice and was instantly happy.

Until it melted. That's when the breakdown happened. I've never seen anyone of any age so utterly distraught over the melting of ice. It was sort of funny to me but also maddening and a little deafening because she expresses herself only three ways -- giggling, cryling and hysterically crying. But last night she took it to a whole new level and added a fourth form of expression. Hysterically screaming with intermittent fits of stomping wildly.

Somewhere, deep inside, I was laughing but this sort of behavior -- at least from a kid -- isn't tolerated. So we stepped in to action and tried to calm the situation but once a toddler's hailstone melts, there is no place for calming. The only cure for a loss as great as a piece of ice is time. And in due time, she calmed down enough to move on from that tragic loss.

If you want to see photos of the storms which swept through much of Minnesota, check out MinnPics.

The battle surrounding food

I don't plan on venturing in to parenting blog territory because I'm the last guy that should ever give parenting advice - outside of don't become a parent at 15 years old because that will never turn out well but I've been a dad now for about 19 months so that qualifies me for something.

The toddler is as cute as a whole truckload of buttons but the problem is that she knows it. She is already using her stunning good looks to her advantage and that is never good. Before she has turned two and before she has truly begun to talk she is already a tiny diva. I've heard stories about how she makes little boys her age do what she wants for her. If that isn't a glimpse in to the future, I don't know what is.

But this isn't about her manipulating of the tiny males around her. This is about her eating habits. I'll just say that I don't view obesity as ever being a problem for her because, from what I understand, obese people usually eat. This eating thing is something that the toddler rarely eats in my presence. Last night was especially tough as we actually held her down and put food in her tiny, angry mouth. Lately her eating habits include sitting for about two minutes (actually eating some) and then running around with us increasingly frazzled parents stuffing food in to her mouth as she sprints by.

I don't usually compare notes with other parents because I have other, more important things to talk about like what I'm having for lunch and the status of my shoes (disintegrating) but her eating habits are disturbing. Obviously, based on her steady weight, she is actually eating at some point and the pediatrician said that the whole not eating thing is normal but I'd love for her to eat at least a couple meals each day (maybe even sit for the entirety of them). Maybe some meat in her diet because as delicious as fruit is, it's not exactly rich in protein.

I'm sure this will all work out in the end but I've gone as far as having a sit-down conversation with the toddler where I discussed how if she doesn't eat she's going to be the first toddler to starve with a full plate of food sitting right in front of her.

If that was too wordy for you, try some photos. Check out the best photos of Minnesota at MinnPics!

I'm a terrible role model

Yesterday as we made our way from my house to the Minnesota Zoo in Apple Valley to meet friends and try to wrangle about a dozen kids, I decided to pass the time by conversing with my three and four year old nephews. I tried to steer the conversation away from the topic of poop which isn't exactly easy. Those kids definitely love to throw out the word "poop" as often as possible. Having failed in that area and after finishing my sausage and egg biscuit, I decided instead to corrupt the little guys. After all, they don't know what I'm talking about most of the time so there's little harm in it. Right?

As for how much harm I did, I'll know in the coming months if their mom complains to me about them repeating what I said. After all, they're too young to know what a "deadbeat" is and what it means to be bald.

I did manage to get in to a heated argument with them. Each time I asked them what we were riding in, they responded with "A van" and I countered with a different object such as armadillo, garbage truck, sail boat, suitcase, giraffe and my favorite, a pocket rocket. Amazingly, I came up with responses for about ten minutes at which time I told them that it was time to sleep. Yes, I dealt with two sugared-up little boys in a confined space for about twenty minutes before telling them to go to sleep.

The Minnesota Zoo, though, proved to be a mystical place for my daughter. She growled at the bears, tired her best to oink at the pigs and made monkey sounds at the monkeys. For the price - free - she definitely got her money's worth. Even after she walked about a fifth of the overall distance on her own two feet, she still had the energy to run around outside once we got home. How a kid can do that, I have no idea but even though my feet still ache a bit today, it's all about trying to create memories for her and as she growled like a bear at me while I got her dressed this morning, I have to say that we accomplished that mission.

I even took photos of the animals - some of which may end up on MinnPics because the photos were taken in Minnesota so check out the MinnPics blog and see what you've been missing.

Is Trick or Treating Dead?

"Is Trick or Treating Dead?" WCCO Good Question guy Jason DeRusha asked this question earlier today on his blog and his general reaction was that it's moving from a neighborhood event to a mall/event-centric "holiday". Hell, calling Halloween a holiday, in the traditional sense, is a bit of a stretch but it's marked as such on calendars so holiday it is.

Halloween, in my experience, isn't becoming any more of a mall-centric holiday for kids than it was when I was a wee-little goblin shaking down neighbors for candy. Halloween has always been about the kids because, let's face it, you look like a total dick if you're walking through the neighborhood smoking a cigarette in costume. That's either a sign that you're too damn old to beg for candy in your "costume" (turning your hat backwards and wearing your dad's uniform is NOT a costume) or you're a delinquent who needs to be locked up for your own good. And as much as I appreciate a nice cleavage-sporting costume, fifteen years old is not the appropriate age for that costume, now nineteen is a totally different story.

But back to the candy. The prices of candy are what piss me off - I spent about twenty bucks this year because I'm actually a nice guy. I willingly throw on my porch light each Halloween night and hand out candy to those who come to the door. It's usually the only time each year that I see 99% of these kids and they know damn well that they're leaving with at least one piece of candy.

Which brings me to another point. At least have the decency to say "Trick or Treat" when you hold out your pillowcase, shopping bag or plastic pumpkin. Don't be some ungrateful little prick who feels entitled to candy just because you had to walk all the way from your mom's minivan to my front door. And say "Thanks" after I drop the piece of candy into your little bag. Where the hell are your manners? That's why I like the under-five crowd. They are always the most polite (or shy) and they usually have mom or dad in tow with them. The ten-plus crowd is where they get to be "too cool" to try. They've taken on the mentality of their group leader and follow whatever attitude he or she displays - rarely is it a polite one. This is the douche crowd. They are too cool to even mutter a single word after I open the door. They are the ones who sometimes just walk around without a costume. Come on, even I wear a costume. This year, trick or treaters will either be greeted by hula girl Sornie or slutty nurse Sornie (both costumes I've previously worn - I like to recycle).

Which brings me to my final point. Halloween is one of the few "holidays" which is equally enjoyed by a broad group of ages. We all know that kids love it because they get "free" candy. But adults love it because they get to dress up like hula dancers or slutty nurses. And the adult women also get to dress up. That's what I like seeing...

If you like seeing photos from all corners of Minnesota, check out MinnPics. Updated multiple times daily, it's a virtual tour of the Northstar state.

A boy, his balls and the pursuit of an apple

Sadly I don't remember what it's like to know what runs through the mind of a three year-old. But judging from the actions of nephew yesterday, shame or fear is something he does not know of.

It started just before noon when he asked to go out to the back yard to play. His mom obliged but forgot to ask her recently potty-trained son if he had to "go pee". (Apparently kids of that age need constant reminders about their need to pee) This proved to be her first mistake.

Apparently just minutes after he had entered the back yard, he opened the flood gates and pissed his pants. Embarrassing for someone my age but, again, par for the course with a three year-old boy.

Obviously piss-soaked pants are never fun to deal with so he took them off. While he was at it he also removed his underwear. This is where the no-shame factor enters the story. Now the three year-old boy was literally half naked and apparently running around the back yard which is encompassed by a chain link fence.

That is when he got hungry.

The neighbors have an apple tree which hangs conveniently over the fence and they're cool with sharing their apples. Not happy with one that had fallen on the ground, my three year-old nephew decided that he would instead scale the fence and pick his very own apple to eat - he knows what he wants and likes.

This is when the no-fear part of the story comes in.

Once the half-naked boy reached the top of the fence, he sat straddling it and found himself to be rather stuck. Around this time, or shortly after, his mom realized that her son had been gone for a while longer than usual. She decided to investigate and entered the back yard.

She immediately saw her naked little boy stuck atop the chain link fence with his twig and berries mildly stuck in the fence. Fearing for his sexual future and general health, his mom ran toward the fence and carefully removed her naked son.

The saddest part of the story is that, despite all his trying, he never got himself a fresh apple from that tree.

Full nudity hasn't been featured on MinnPics - yet - but feel free to check if it made the cut today.

At least it wasn't a donkey punch

"There's no way you can give me a bloody nose."

To anyone of any age, that's a challenge you'd be an idiot to pass on. It's a free pass to ram your fist into a willing victim's nose with the ultimate goal to inflict pain on another person. Of course at five years old the ramifications of this don't really register.

That tale and more are just part of the random and confusing memories of my childhood.

I chalk it up being easily influenced by friends and the bloody nose was no different. The victim in this story was the older brother (yep, older) of my best friend at the time. I don't really recall how we found ourselves in this conversation that could lead nowhere good but it started with the older brother uttering that sentence doubting my strength (and aim).

So I started punching him. Being five years old I am fairly certain that these were not Mike Tyson-like blows but after a few minutes (and probably a rather sore fist) there was blood pouring down this kid's face. Chalk it up to his stupidity (who challenges anyone like that?) and my eagerness to prove myself but the end result as the bus pulled up to the elementary school on Austin's west side was one bloody seven year old and a five year old confused about why he was in trouble. At least the older brother (who was the instigator here) didn't throw me under the proverbial bus on this one.

I know that we both ended up spending the before-school recess sitting in the principal's office for a week and that my parents were "very disappointed" in me. Thus began a couple trends for me. That time spent in the principal's office wasn't the last.

MinnPics is violence-free as I am a reformed guy. Check out the great photography unearthed daily!

We've got a screamer

A lot happened during the past weekend. My sister-in-law stumbled down our back steps and broke a terra cotta pot as well as bruising her knee and foot. Two of my nephews got in a fight with one receiving the business end of a toy tractor in the head - yes, there was blood. I grilled many pounds of meat. I saw a lot of sauerkraut eaten. I finished the swing project in the back yard which resulted in a whole gaggle of happy kids.

And then there was the baby. I have a very happy girl. Well, whe wasn't exactly the picture of happy late Friday afternoon as we struggled to get out of the house by 7 PM to get to a birthday party. It was one of those epic meltdowns. We could't figure out what the hell was wrong. She screamed to the point of hyperventilating. We fed her which didn't accomplish anything because it really isn't feeding (drinking) if she won't take her bottle. We changed her diaper. We tried to get her to relax by rolling on the floor. We gave her a bath which she screamed all the way through. We then resorted to drugging the baby.

We tried baby Tylenol. We followed that with baby gas medicine. Then my old lady rubbed some Orajel on the baby's gums. Whatever the case, one of the thirty or so things we did calmed her down and we were on our way to Friday's obligations and the rest of the weekend.

Then came late Sunday. The baby grabbed my sister-in-law's fingers and stuffed them in her mouth. She said that she felt something. My reaction was "Yeah, she's slowly gumming you to death". But she went exploring. Pulling her lip down and pushing that tiny baby tongue back. And there they were. Two front bottom teeth just through the gums. That explains the screaming from Friday night but she's a total trooper. Two teeth at once and nothing more than a couple hours of screaming. Color me impressed.

Head over to MinnPics to see what a happy baby in a swing looks like. And other stuff from the weekend that was.

Kate Gosselin in a bikini!

Why is this in the top news searches on Google? Kate Gosselin in a bikini. So. What.

Wow. America is officially completely fucked when we care this much about an essentially single mom on vacation with her brood of medical miracle kids. We get it, you guys have your own show on TLC - a cable channel which should have its letters repossessed because when, in the last decade, has anyone gleaned one damn shred of intelligence and learning from this channel? Why not call it TMLC - The Manufactured Life Channel because it has become - with the help of the Gosselin family and their brood of whiny misfits - an 18/5 freakshow with every freakishly gargantuan family having their own show. There's the Duggards (sp?) and their cult-sized family of 18 kids and then Table for 12 whose family could field an entire baseball team - but none of them would be anything without the odd success of a woman who is today famous because her marriage is a total trainwreck and she wore a bikini - to the BEACH. Wow. Scandalous. And she isn't exactly smokin' hot in her bikini but if I was asked by her if I wanted to hit that , I'd probably say yes (with low lighting being a prerequisite) and quietly slip out the door before the inevitable crazy came out to say good morning in its own crazy way.

The Gosselins won't go away

Are Jon and Kate Gosselin (of TLC's Jon & Kate Plus Eight) getting divorced? Are they together? Or is this whole circus surrounding them a huge, elaborate, sprawling promotional stunt?

The timing of Jon Gosselin's supposed cheating surfacing is rather convenient. The rather forced drama surrounding the premiere episode (last night) seemed to be beyond contrived. All of the controversy surrounding the family of 10 seems a bit too convenient to me. I don't know about the few people reading this but I am sick of seeing them. That damn Gosselin family is everywhere. They are plastered across the Discovery Television Channels on cable, salacious headlines regarding Kate's past, her attitude, her behavior, Jon's behavior, his past, their tumultuous marriage, separation and now their supposed divorce are on the cover of every celebrity-obsessed waste of paper at every damn checkout stand in America. They need to go away. But they won't.

The Gosselin family is a product of their own making. A mom who saw a way to fund her life, sold the soul of her children to a television channel and is at their mercy and she loves it. Oh, so what if it ruins the lives of everyone who is a part of it outside of her? I find her over-the-top behavior nauseating and if the whole thing is a publicity stunt coordinated by some faceless person behind tshe show, kudos to them for basically bringing the entire country to a screeching halt over the aupposed antics of a couple of non-celebrities from Pissant-Nowhere, Pennsylvania and actually making casual fans of the show turn in to rabid, frothing jackals who are starting flame wars and opposing blogs online.

If TLC pulled the plug on this show tomorrow, America would forget about the fmae whore known as Kate Gosselin and they'd all slip in to obscurity by summer's end - and I'd be happier for it happening. They are a product of manufactured fame and with the youngest six kids going off to school in the fall (they turned five in last night's premiere) that fame is about to end. Hopefully TLC has someone with half of a brain running things and realizes that filming a show that revolves around the fabulous and exciting adventures of a brood of pre-schoolers will lose something when they have homework to do and begin to become actual people who are less and less influenced by their power-hungry mommy.

They are essentially singing their swan song for the next couple months and if a divorce is actually in the works for Jon and Kate Gosselin, her desire for more fame will ultimately be their own undoing.

MinnPics isn't about fame and glory. It's about quality photographs from across Minnesota. Click and see what's new today.

How NOT to spend your weekend

I got stuck in a slide. No, not one of those shitty new-fangled plastic models with curves and bumps on it, this was an old-school burn-your-legs-in-the-hot-summer-sun metal slide. Straight as an arrow. The only problem was that I didn't really examine its width before chasing the oldest nephew down it. Now before you throw your head into overdrive and assume that I am a fatty (of sorts) let me preemptively defend myself and remind you that my waist is a slim and trim 33 inches and is very well proportioned to my 6-foot 1-inch tall frame. It's just that the slide wasn't designed for 30 year-olds.

And I think that this is a problem. Why should it be that a 30 year-old guy can't have a bit of fun on a slide? Why should that level of fun be left to four year-old kids who have so little focus that a swing bores the crap out of them even after my simple instuctions. Maybe it's time to develop an adult playground. No, not that type of adult playground but one with swings (no, not those swings), teeter-totters, those spinny merry-go-round things, the animals on ultra-sturdy springs and slides built for an adult-sized waistline. It's truly what America needs right now.

And America also needs grea tphotography. That's where MinnPics comes in. It's a showcase for great photography with hand-picked photos from across Minnesota.

I call it "Boy with Cigarette"

For many years we've heard the damned liberal media pedaling their outright lies about tobacco companies marketing their products to children. I don't know about you but I've never seen the Marlboro man during The Bugs Bunny and Tweety Show. Maybe I wasn't paying close enough attention. Maybe every frame of the animation prominently featured Joe Camel's penis nose. Again, I didn't see it.

But sometimes companies (me) go too far and the advertising message is so obvious that Ray Charles could see it.

I present to you my latest creation, Flavor Country. 

I'm aware that it won't sit well with some people but breathe deeply for a second and consider how ridiculous it is. And then remember that I have a very real problem taking anything seriously.

Once you're done pondering the ridiculousness of this faux advertising message, head over to MinnPics and bask in the greatness of the photos featured there from Minnesota's most skilled amateur photographers.

Does a boy poop in a ditch?

I don't speak much about my past because I like to live a life cloaked in mystery. Or maybe it's due to the fact that my past is downright embarrassing. For instance, the time I pooped my pants.

Now before you jump to conclusions about how wild last weekend was for me, let me clarify one thing: it's been months since I pooped my pants in a fully drunk, mildly retarded stupor. (Am I joking?) The truth is that this incident happened well over twenty-five years ago. It, sadly, is probably one of my earliest memories.

As a child of two farming parents, I was carted everywhere. If dad was doing some field work involving a tractor, combine or grain truck; chances are that I was along for the ride. Other times I'd end up with my mom doing the exact same tasks. Sometimes I was left at one end of the field in the trusty red 1977 Ford F-150 with the AM radio on for entertainment or as I called it, nap time.

The image of that particular late-morning is still burned into my head and my underwear. For whatever reason, both parents were hard at work in the fields and that left me in the F-150 to take care of myself. Maybe I was being too whiny to be dealt with or maybe I was expressing my independence. Whatever the case, I remember being nearly a mile from home along that gravel road. New gravel was being added by a brigade of gravel trucks and this youngster had to poop.

And poop I did. Right there in my Fruit of the Looms. Maybe it felt especially warm between my tiny butt cheeks. Maybe I was red with embarrassment because I was five and I had just managed to shit myself when I knew far better than to do that. I remember my dear mom returning to the F-150 to find me, either crying profusely or smiling at my newest achievement. There were words of frustration. I know that mom suggested/questioned why I hadn't squatted it out in the ditch. But, mom, the embarrassment of big guys in gravel trucks watching me drop a brown snake in the grass and nothing to wipe with. I just couldn't do it.

Hell, she probably made me wash the brown shit out of my drawers. Maybe she still remembers that incident today. Oh, and if you're wondering what jogged my memory back to this tragic yet landmark event in my life, I think you know.

Am I alone with such tragic yet hilarious childhood fecal mishaps? Dish 'em.

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Can children sense "good"?

Are kids -- especially youngsters (2-5 years old) drawn to those whom they sense are "good"?

Yes, I know that the phrase "good" does little as a descriptive phrase but we all know what it means. Someone who is kind and caring, someone who isn't afraid to help others, someone who would never hurt another person. Are kids wired to detect this subtle trait even if the person whom they are drawn to does their best not to publicly display their "goodness"?