It’s been a month of trade shows and traveling and draining the bank account to zero.  It’s the kind of work that drains your brain so completely empty that you can barely make decisions on the simplest level.  Such as, “Should I have coffee or tea?” as you deliberate for 15 minutes.

I’m a passionate Bulldog Hockey fan.  I’m lucky in that I have been able to be home for every home game and have even caught some on the road.  This week I pushed home from Chicago to prepare for the big rival game against the #1 ranked U of M Gophers.  To clarify, this is a rivalry of intense emotions.  One that usually doesn’t involve much respect.  The rivalry against the U of W is one of mutual respect for two high class teams.  The feeling towards the rodents couldn’t be any more opposite and I had to express my sentiment with more than just my heckling.

Spreading the love at big game. This pic by Clint Austin of the Duluth News Tribune.

Imagine my excitement when I discovered many of the Bulldog players copied and pasted the no-gophers logo to make it their Facebook profile pictures. Watching these young women play is the only thing that makes me wish I was 20 again.  The ONLY thing.

Oh yeah.  UMD Swept the series with a shut-out Saturday night.  Thing of beauty, eh?

Note: This is  re-posting of a story that I am submitting to The Great Experiment, a writing contest. HOW TO VOTE:  If you like what you read, please go on over to the host of the contest, The Girl Who, and leave a comment on the post relating to this months entries where you will see my blog listed.  Leaving a comment mentioning ME or THIS POST is a VOTE. Voting is only open for 24 hours starting today, December 17th so don’t dilly-dally.  Chop-chop! If you want a Christmas present from MK, you will vote. One vote per computer, they can read IP addresses so no funny stuff.

8 Minutes

“Mom, Dad? I’m applying to work at Boy Scout camp this summer.” Since nothing could really shock my parents at this point in my rearing, there was little reaction. I was 15. Questioning my parent’s sanity years later my mother responded, “We weren’t worried about you, we were worried for the guys.”

I had considered being a counselor in training at the Girl Scout camp, Camp Ehawee, down the road, but then I heard of all the cool things to do at Camp Decorah. And besides, who wants to make macaroni-noodle art and co-exist with girls all summer? I never really cared for large groups of girls.  Still don’t.  It didn’t even occur to me that a young teenage girl working with teenage boys and pre-adolescent campers might raise some eyebrows.  Not one bit.

Telling people that I worked for the Boy Scouts for 9 years garners some interesting looks. There weren’t a lot of women in scouting when I got involved and there were even less that worked at camp. Many assumed I was there for ulterior motives.  I’m not sure how a 15 year old can have an ulterior motive but in their minds, the only reason for girls to work there was to score guys. Clearly. I was way too naive for that to even be a fleeting thought in my mind. I wanted to canoe, climb, and work on the ropes course. I wanted to do the things the guys were doing. I was willing to work hard to keep up and be great at my job.

Camp was the major theme of my life well into my twenties. The guys I worked with became my best pals– my brothers. We spent our weekdays during the school year waiting for Friday to come so we could go to camp and do service projects. We spent our lives waiting for camp to start and when camp was in session, we didn’t want it to end. To this day, in our thirties, you can’t get us together without some story re-told for the bazillionth time. We tell stories about times at Camp the way people do about college.  It drives the people in our lives that weren’t part of camp absolutely crazy, especially all the guys’ girlfriends and wives.

Yes. I still have my uniform, or, my Class A's. And the socks, too.

When I look at the staff picture, I’m initially mortified.  We were so young.  We were so dorky, yet we thought we were cool because hordes of young campers wanted to be just like us.  The picture draws me to the people that have had such an impact on my life. There’s Jeremy, my long time friend who knows the most about me, standing over a foot taller than me in the back row. There’s Brad, who hadn’t yet discovered the sheer joy of beer. There’s O’Hearn and John, all guys that I still see regularly. Max, sitting next to me, asked me to go to his high school homecoming with him. I was always the back-up girl. Who knew that a handful of years later we would say good-bye to Max by spreading his ashes in the Black River while we sat in the council fire bowl and wept?

Then there’s Joe. Our Camp Director was not only fearless, but evoked a healthy fear in every one of his staff.

During staff training, Joe explained the risks of staff relationships. Feeling a little defensive as one of four women in the room, I began to roll my eyes, so not interested in hearing about it. I was there to work. Before I could pull off my teenage chip-on-my-shoulder expression, he shared with us in a low mumble that “It only takes 8 Minutes you know”. We weren’t completely sure what “It” was but we could only assume he was talking about [looks side to side] sex. In our adolescent immaturity and discomfort we tried to hold in the laughter until we were in tears, chests heaving with the absurdity of the idea.

Camp staff was divvied into patrols that had scheduled tasks throughout the week and you can imagine the creative answers we had to come up with when the campers asked us where the “8 Minute Patrol” got its name. Every task that summer would be assessed in increments of 8 minutes.  Many tasks in our adult lives are naturally broken down in to 8 minutes.

We thought we were so funny. Still do.

I just entered a writing contest… of sorts.  There are 15 spots.  It’s ten bucks to enter.  Then you (yes, YOU) vote.  I could win $145.  I want my ten bucks back so you have to vote for me. Plus, I’m entering the season in which I am broke.

The contest is called The Great Experiment.  An idea that has been fun to follow over at The Girl Who blog. She will post the links to the entrants blogs on the 17th and there will be 24 hours to vote.  BE READY PEOPLE, be ready with you fast clicks of the mouse and quick stroke of the keys.

-mk

… I shall work as a puppeteer for The Jim Henson Company or his Creature Shop.

I found this via the community blog here in Duluth, Perfect Duluth Day. It’s a good glimpse into life in Duluth as I know you are all dying to move here and experience a real winter.

A couple of weeks ago, I landed in Boulder to attend the GoLite sales meeting.  It was, hands down, one of the better sales meetings I’ve attended.  Great product combined with great people and management that knows how to run a business.  GASP!  These three attributes are hard to find in the world of small to mid-sized outdoor brands.

GoLite is a new brand for me and many of the people I would meet were new to me as well.  I have worked with a couple of the existing reps before on other lines but that’s about it.  So I say to myself, “Self–keep your mouth shut, and just watch and well, don’t make an ass out of yourself.”  That lasted five minutes.

Official Day One of the sales meeting began with a game.  A Competition.  My heart instantaneously raced hearing words like “Race” and “Prizes.”  Random team selection landed me with two strangers.  A lovely young rep who hailed from Scotland and has been with GoLite longer than, well…. me.  Quiet and unassuming, yet I knew somewhere in there was his malcontent and rage for the British and what they did to William Wallace.  (This is the fantasy people, go with it.  Also, it’s really how my brain works.)  Also, a brilliant PR woman from GoLite’s newest PR firm.  Green to GoLite but a former Division I College Soccer Player.  Oh yes, she knew competition. This was not her first rodeo.  As I tried to reel my true self back in, I may have quietly asked while biting my bottom lip and staring at my feet the way humble native Minnesotans do, “So, uh… how competitive are you guys?”  That was all I needed to say. Our eyes locked. Glance shoot around the room to measure up the other teams.  A three way-nod to acknowledge the goal.   It was go time. Bring it.

The race/scavenger hunt took place on the famous Pearl Street Mall in downtown Boulder.  We raced from location to location with the help of clues earned at previous stopping points.  While the GoLite in-house team intended for this to be a social event– possibly a stop to enjoy a drink or an appetizer at the ten different way-points (Bars, Restaurants, Coffee Shops and a Hot Dog vendor), we were in it to win it.  WIN IT.  Though I did order a T&T while impatiently waiting for our turn on the heels of a older, slower and less driven team.

Team Awesome (that’s us!) was hauling ass back to the lovely and fabulous St Julian Hotel and holy shit if there wasn’t another team running towards the front door.  We made it in first, completely confusing the bellman as we ignored his greetings that he could not get out in time:  “Hello! Welcome to the…”  As we rounded to the corner to the finish, I turned to see where the other team was.  Were they on our heels or simply going to the bar where there was a stopping point/ clue station?  There are so many reasons never to look back to the competition.  A new one being that Dansko Sienna Clogs are not developed for that kind of range in motion from the body.  For those of you that have experienced the “Dansko Roll”, you know what happened next.  For those of you that have not, let’s just say this is the closest I’ve come to wearing heels since my high school prom and folks, it wasn’t pretty.

I fell.  I fell hard.  I tried to get up and immediately fell again.  I made it to the finish line with plenty of time and a ham hock for an ankle. I hobbled for the next four days.  Still can’t do stairs. But we won. WON, I tell you.  WON!  We blew the competition out of the water.  And it was soooo worth it as the grand prize were gift certificates for the spa at the St Julian. And of course, bragging rights for Team Awesome.

Needless to say, I had the massage therapist work on the ankle.

In retrospect, I’m beginning to detect a theme.  First there was the, “Let me show you guys the proper way to slide into a base” demonstration on some wood floors somewhere in Truckee.   Then there was the “Hockey Night in Canada” shinny game where despite the actual surface being nothing more then a fine layer of packed snow on top of a cement slab, I dove for the puck over and over.

Problem is, recovery is getting harder.  Perhaps I should just stick to the selling part.

I heart you, Kineseology Tape.

It’s the 40th anniversary of Sesame Street, in case you’ve been living in a cave.  I was tipped off last week when Google started using characters in its logo.   Today’s logo revealed a large cast to which my sister asked, “Where is Snuffleupagus?”  I had to remind her that (at least in my day), Snuffy was an imaginary friend to Big Bird.  SO OF COURSE WE CAN’T SEE HIM. Scheesh, where were you in the late 70’s and early 80’s?  Oh, that’s right, you were onto teenage things since you are nine years older than me.  Snuffy was made “real” in an episode in ‘85, just about the time my sister was graduating from high school.

I pretty much think Sesame Street is the best thing ever.  It has way more staying power than Dora the Explorer, is a tornado to that Bob the Builder crap, and Barney?  Yeah… Sesame Street CLOWN STOMPS that purple dinosaur.  I am not ashamed to say that if I’m down for the count and sick on the couch, I’ll gladly search for an episode of Sesame Street over some over-acted soap opera.  I am luke-warm on some of the newer characters and prefer the classics like Big Bird, Grover (Super and Regular), Bert & Ernie, and even Oscar.  The obscure Yip-yips (the martians) are stellar and way under utilized.  Then there were the Twiddlebugs that lived in Ernie’s window box. DON’T REMEMBER THEM, DO YOU?  Yeah, that’s because I’m the Sesame Street guru. The Twiddlebugs were kind of annoying, but I love the obscure stuff.  Speaking of obscure, does Slimy the Worm and his parents, Dusty and Eartha, still make appearances?

Sesame Street turning 40 is a frightening realization that, well, I’m getting old.  And I don’t care much for that.  Watching Sesame Street clips on YouTube, however, has the reverse effect.  There is no difference in the way I feel now compared to childhood when the adults have to explain to Big Bird that Mr. Hooper died and that means he won’t be able to make bird-seed milkshakes anymore. GUT WRENCHING.

Recently, I stumbled across some clips some time ago that made me stop in my tracks.  Someone had put the whole movie, “Christmas Eve on Sesame Street” up on YouTube.  I had this on VHS.  If memory serves me, it was recorded off the television.  I watched it so many times, I WORE IT OUT.  I actually didn’t know the name of the movie until I saw it on YouTube.  I loaded the first of many parts and suddenly I was three again.  I could sing every song, practically recite the dialogue and tell you what was going to happen next.  It was as if Jim Henson had taken over my brain. The music, the feeling, the vibe– it’s not any different 30 years later.  I remember feeling sad for Big Bird when he couldn’t skate.  I’m still sad for him watching it, even though I know that two minutes into the scene, the little girl helps him and suddenly he’s completing Triple Salchows ala Nancy Kerrigan.

I love Sesame Street and I think you should too.  Here’s the first segment of the movie you must show your children.  Right Now. It’s as good as finding your old blankie that you used to go to bed with every night.

I’m helping Matt with WordPress.  He’s having some issues.  This is a test to see if I can help him.

Here’s a picture of my double chin while being Ms Race Director USA at the Lake Superior Dragon Boat Festival.

I believe this was around 6:30 am. Not my best time of day.

There you go.  I have lots of posts in my brain.  I’m feeling the motivation to blog again and get my readership up to 10.

More smile fodder. This rocks in so many ways. I was gonna save it until the next Snow Day, but I’ve been saving a lot of things and not blogging. Then I get yelled at by Porter. Here’s a little mental break for your day, provided YouTube isn’t blocked from your work computer….ahem?

I should have been a rock star but instead I worked at Boy Scout Camp. Go figure.

This video went bonkers viral when I was out at the Outdoor Retailer show in July.  Since I’ve been in the office to catch up on recreational email, I cannot stop watching it.The reasons?  I can watch and watch and not predict.  I completely enjoy it for each moment never anticipating.  I do a chair dance each time which is usually accompanied by the white-guy-head-bob.  There in no pressure, no stress, no anxiety weighing down on me for FIVE WHOLE MINUTES.  It’s my daily meditation, my zen.

I love the irony of two Minnesotans (stereotypically labeled as reserved as stale and emotionless Lutherans–a la Garrison Keillor) doing the unexpected at a time and place where the expected is the only accepted way.  Better yet?  NOBODY DIES.  Nor does hell freeze over.

If you are not smiling, laughing, and doing a chair dance yourself, you are not a human.  I would kindly ask that you step in the back of the line, with the ugly people.  Here’s to fellow Minnesotans Jill and Kevin for bringing a smile to a majority of the people that have viewed the video 15 MILLION times.  And to a girl a couple hours north on I-35 who is getting down with your wedding party on a pretty regular basis.

One of my whiny-ass customer service reps gave me a hard time at Outdoor Retailer last week because he was sick of bringing up my blog and seeing that nasty ear wax photo.  So here’s some filler until I feel like talking to you all again.

Taking names and high-kicking butt

In the meantime, someone should really tell Matt about RSS Feeds.  But given that over 50% of the Kokatat family glazed over during the presentation by Verde PR on the new social media plan, I’m not gonna hold my breath.