The Walrus restaurant in Arrowhead Plaza makes the finest Italian food of any restaurant in Bismarck, no questions asked (Sorry, Greg). They have one particular dish that I just can’t escape, the Italian Sausage Pizziola Pasta, which I’ve come to lovingly refer to as “the ISP.” I used to eat my way around the menu over the course of various visits to the Walrus, until the fateful day when our server recommended the ISP. It’s a penne pasta with spicy Italian sausage in a red tomato basil sauce and a mix of fresh peppers, mushrooms, tomatoes, and onions. Wow.

When I have spicy food, which I love, I tend to have some interesting dreams that night. The more I eat, the more kick I get. This can be an especially wild ride since I like to make quick-n-dirty rotini pasketti before bed some nights, and I always throw in plenty of basil and oregano. This despite knowing what awaits after my head packs the pillow.

I came home tonight to find that my wife had taken the ISP to a whole new level. She knows how I love this particular dish; we ate it on our first date, our 1 year dating anniversary, and our wedding day! Yet more evidence that she’s the most wonderful woman I could have ever encountered: she put her culinary skills to work, gathered the ingredients, and somehow made a dish that is so perfectly identical to my beloved ISP…yet somehow so much better. It’s got that special ingredient: love. Double wow. So, I got to shovel a bunch into my head tonight with leftovers to spare. It’s going to be a goooooooood lunch at work Tuesday.

Fast forward to sleepy time. I hung around the house to do some chores while my wife went to a friend’s place. The evening was winding down as she got home. She wanted to play a game, perhaps with the Peanuts chess set she bought me for Christmas. I, on the other hand, wanted to finish the important work of single-handedly killing terrorists with my X-box. So she started to get ready for bed. Thankfully I not only diffused the bomb and killed the terrorists, I also realized that it was time to turn the darn thing OFF. So I darted off to bed so we could cuddle and recap our day with each other.

Meanwhile, I’ve got a remarkable blend of herbs and spices working on me. Have you ever had one of those nights where you have an eight-hour dream, and wake up to find you’ve slept for two hours? I had a couple of those. But then I dozed off pretty hard…when I awoke again, I had to wake up and fire up the laptop for this one. I don’t want to forget.

This particular dream started out in a pretty ethereal way, as most do…I ran into a friend who needed their bike fixed and I had a key to the hardware store at the mall (I have no idea where it all came from) and then bounced around to a few other nonsensical situations. Once things started to solidify, I found myself in a fancy hotel/mall complex, with a modular glass roof and white tile, not unlike any of a number of buildings I’ve visited in Minneapolis. There was some big party on the top restaurant level later that day, and the whole complex was buzzing.

Details then get a little hazy until that evening, when I was at this big party of some sort. I do remember bumping into an international dignitary earlier that evening, and of course he looked like Manute Bol, who I saw on satellite (for real this time) Monday night because he was arrested for fighting with his wife. So I find myself at an offshoot of this party, which is an Italian dinner hosted by my friend Pat. Pat just got married and is an old school Italian, and he’d whipped up a fancy dinner for a few of us. (I wonder if that would cause me to have a weird dream within a weird dream? Oh man, I better stop right there.) Manute Bol showed up for a few but didn’t like the potatoes…and then I took off to circulate at this huge event.

This is where it gets really wack. I bump into Bruce Willis. His character in my dream is there because of some fancy art exhibit that’s part of the gala celebration. The reason he needs to see it is that he lost his wife recently and one of the things she wanted most in life was to see this one particular painting. She never got to see it because they never traveled. Now the painting was here, and this guy was here to see the painting and grieve for his wife. This whole situation actually took what seemed forever.

We broke company for a bit because I ran into Michael J. Fox’s character from Boston Legal. He’s had a temporary part on this show as a multi-billionaire who is dying of cancer and can’t buy his way out. On the last of the three or four episodes where he guest starred he had a big “living funeral” at a pub where everyone had to dress up in a hockey jersey and have a good time. I forgot to look for Sioux jerseys, but I’d have worn one if I was there. But in my dream, he was doing pretty much the same thing: having a big send-off. Apparently I knew him, because I gave him a big slap on the back and we shared a brief conversation I don’t remember.

The next thing I remember is that the party’s wound down. Most of the guests are gone and all that’s left is a full-scale cleanup on all floors of this complex and restaurant and suites. Pat’s gone… that party’s disbanded too. I run all over looking for Bruce Willis, thinking there’s a way to console him. He’s nowhere to be found. Michael J. Fox is gone too, presumably having gone to a trendy ski village in the Alps to die alone, as he did in the TV show. And then the question hits me in the face. What’s the last thing you’d want to do…ever?

If the last thing you ever did was recorded for posterity’s sake, what would it be? Peanuts chess with your wife? A gathering with friends, perhaps over homemade Italian food? Perhaps something silly, meaningless and self-absorbing while the one who loves you waits in the next room for you. You could obsess over some material object or status you can’t take with you (Luke 12:16), or depart never having done or seen something you wanted because of a silly hindrance. Or maybe, just maybe, the last remembered thing you did could be the one thing you love the most, shared with the person you love the most. That would be a nice epitaph, wouldn’t it?

I signed a pair of life insurance policies today to provide for my wife should something ever happen to me. Perhaps that, combined with the spicy food, put me on this journey. I didn’t really think I had my own mortality in mind while signing the papers. Maybe deep down I did.

As I woke from this dream, I actually remember myself walking past the shelves of a gift store in this big complex, my eyes searching a rack of DVDs, hoping to find the DVD of this. Boy, the semiconscious mind is wild, isn’t it? Sadly, it wasn’t out on DVD yet. So I woke up, looked at the big blue 4:34 on the clock, and grabbed this laptop. I wanted to remember this dream because I think that nagging question is a very important one. I’ve got a friend who’s a screenwriter in Hollywood, maybe I should pass this one along to him. Note to Mike: can you get Bruce and Michael J.? Just make sure you send me a copy on DVD. The gift store didn’t have it in stock.

(My wife made this wonderful ISP off the top of her head, but offered to write down the recipe in case I wanted to make it on my own sometime. I told her I didn’t want it without her, but if anyone wants the recipe I can get it and post it here. It does not contain any hallucinogenics, honest.)

I don’t know how many of you are familiar with the nonsense written about North Dakota by John Hoff. He’s a guy who came to Grand Forks, somehow won a local government seat, then proceeded to act like such a jackass that they threw him out. He landed back in Minnesota, where he now puts his pen to work making North Dakota seem like a vast wasteland of despair. You can read this stupidity here.

Now we’ve got this, a post on rakemag.com that sums up North Dakota as a place where only the trapped remain, attempts at productivity and happiness are futile, and the wise escape to Minnesota. Drivel.

I would agree that small towns and outmigration are a problem, but I have yet to personally talk to anyone genuinely unhappy about living in North Dakota. Making feigned complaints about the winters are almost a sport here. Sure, our high school kids want to attend a “big city” college after graduation, but what about the numbers that return back once it’s time to raise a family?

I don’t know why some Minnesotans seem to have a chip on their shoulder about our state. It seems to be a dandy place to hunt and fish, though, because they’re sure screaming about having to pay non-resident fees for that. But it’s not even the sportsmen writing articles like this. It’s just another sort of elitist, looking for perceived angst somewhere that they can use in order to spew nonsense in the name of insight.

So, go ahead and read the article here. After that, if you still want to live in “hell with the fires out,” I’ll see you out on the streets sometime. I’ll be the one with a smile on my face. I love North Dakota.

I couldn’t resist the term “hate speech.” I know, it’s a liberal term for anything that might imply a sense of right and wrong, or just something they don’t like or declare as “intolerant.” I, unlike liberals, still recognize the right of people in this country to say whatever they’d like. It shows us who the writer is, and where they come from. In this case, it also illustrates that they have no idea what they’re talking about. –Thanks to my friend Shari G for the heads-up on the Rake Mag article.

I’m taking a few minutes to eat here at work, with a bowl of my favorite canned pseudo-food. Saying grace before dinner, it occurred to me again that we really live like kings here in the Bismarck-Mandan area. The least among us has got life infinitely better than the majority of the people in this world. We make fun of “pseudo food” like this stuff; yet it’s more nutrition than many people might see in a week. It’s certainly more sodium!

And perhaps it’s just the theme of the day…while shoveling generic Cap’n Crunch into my head this morning, it occurred to me that there are millions, perhaps billions, of people out there who are so undernourished that their teeth probably couldn’t even handle Cap’n Crunch.

I think of Philippians 4:11 in the Bible: “Not that I speak in respect of want: for I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content.” Or Titus 6:8 as well: “And having food and raiment let us be therewith content.” We as Americans are very prosperous. I don’t consider that an accident, either. But it should occur to us daily to be thankful for, and good stewards of, all that we have. In today’s society, and with technology advancing as fast as it is, it’s very difficult to be content. But we should always be thankful…and not to Chef Boy Ar Dee.

I’m all for brand loyalty…but who’s the idiot who came up with this sticker? They must be a rich idiot by now; I see these things all over the place. Many of them use the character Calvin of Calvin & Hobbes fame, without license I’m sure. Then you just pick the logo of your least favorite car/truck/whatever and voila’! Instant jackass!

Wake up, people! You’re putting a picture of someone URINATING on your vehicle for all to see. Hasn’t that occurred to you? Are you really too crass to care? How do you suppose the world sees you? It makes me wonder what kind of person would put something like this on their car. Does it just not sink in? Do they think this kind of humor is funny? Do they show their own kids and laugh?

I couldn’t agree more with this guy’s sentiment towards Fords. But there’s such a thing as common decency, and I think a depiction of someone peeing is far over the line as far as decency’s concerned.

During a recent walk along the path I made this discovery. Some real tough guys descended on Sertoma Park to prove themselves with a can of spray paint recently. In a daring feat of epic proportions, they painted the hidden side of a remote park building, probably not in broad daylight. It’s amazing to think of the courage it must have taken to commit such an act!

I am not proficient when it comes to reading “gangsta” but out of this I get a crown, an unintelligble character and “PS Krew.” Well, PS must stand for Pusillanimous* Spraypainters or something. In any case, what’s the point? You’ve painted it where nobody’s even gonna see it till Spring.

I think that if someone’s so insecure that they need to spray paint their name somewhere, they should have the sack to do it somewhere out in the open. What kind of chicken goes and paints places where they’re guaranteed not to be caught? Who’s the tough guy in that equation? Give me a break.

So, if you’re looking at tagging around Bismarck or Mandan, do us a favor. Show a little initiative and do it where there’s constant traffic. Take some risks…and pay the penalty when you’re caught. Otherwise, just huff the contents of your spray can and save us all the inconvenience. Cowards.

*pusillanimous = “contemptibly timid”

Check out the court reports from this week in the local newspaper and you’ll see a shameful statistic. Not only are there several DUI charges in there, but nearly half of them also involve driving under suspension or revocation. There are also a number of drivers arrested for driving under suspension or revocation, two of them their fourth offense!

This is ridiculous. If someone has enough disregard for the safety of others to drive under the influence, they certainly are reckless enough to keep driving after someone takes their license away. The law needs to be tougher.

When someone is convicted of DUI they should lose their vehicle. Period. It should be confiscated and either auctioned at the police auction or turned over to the leinholder if it’s being financed. Obviously taking away a little plastic card is not enough to prevent these people from getting behind the wheel and putting us all at risk.

I’m not sure what this grotesque has to do with Lewis and Clark, thunderbirds, or anything else…but there it sits. No one I’ve talked to thinks it’s anything but an eyesore. Now I hear rumors of a second one?

I stopped in at JC Penney in the mall yesterday with my wife to exchange a jacket for a different size. While she was tending to that and perusing that 50% off sale, I grabbed a bunch of sale Nike stuff and wandered over the men’s suits department. Boy, am I glad I did!

First off: I’m like a lot of guys…I’d buy more dress clothes if 1) I only knew what the heck I was doing, and 2) I had any idea what my size is and how to buy stuff that fits nice. I was in luck Sunday. An older gentleman there by the name of Dick came up to me and started out by helping me find my shirt size. This guy helped me out as if I was at a custom tailor. So we ventured over to the suits after finding my proper shirt size.

I’ve been meaning to get another suit (I love suits) and they were 50% off yesterday. So with Dick’s help I tried on a few, he explained how they should fit in the shoulders, waist, and sleeves, and we found one that worked perfectly. He spent all the time necessary to make sure both my wife and I understood what we were trying to achieve in fitting a suit. All the while he was very professional, courteous, and great conversation.

At one point another customer came up with a question. He explained that he was fitting a suit and couldn’t help them right away, apologized, and found another employee to help them. Talk about feeling like I was being attended to – again, as if I were at a custom tailor. I forgot I was in a department store.

Employees seem to be treated as a disposable commodity these days, especially since many of them seem incapable of proper customer service. A gentleman like this suit salesman at JC Penney stands out as one in thousands, perhaps even more rare than that. I am going to buy all my dress clothes from JC Penney in the future, as long as a guy like Dick works there to help me out.

So, if you’re like most guys – willing to dress up, but uncertain about (even intimidated by) shopping for dress clothes, go to JC Penney and see this man. You’ll be glad you did.

Aside: I value good customer service and professionalism in general more than most, or at least I make a bigger deal about it. When I have a positive experience at an establishment, I make sure that someone in charge knows about it. They need to; most of the time the only people who seek out a manager are the angry ones. Employees who go above and beyond deserve recognition, and I am always more than happy to give it.